The 32

I had been counting down to this day for twenty years.

As usual, Brinn knocked at my door with two steaming cups of coffee in his hands. He gave me a I-am-your-best-mate-and it-is-my-job-to-be-here smile. The sort of smile you give someone just before they go in for an operation. "Hey Quinn."

"Hey man," I said accepting a cup.

He knew what day it was. He wanted to keep me calm and make it normal as possible. The heat of the steaming liquid pressed through the styrofoam into my fingers. He leant against the counter in my small apartment and slung me my old Anti-G 420 model.

"Finally finished it; all modded up," he said taking a sip.

Brinn was one of the most talented Anti-G hackers in New London, famous in the Anti-G racing community. He was constantly evolving his hacks and boosts. The guy was a genius.

"Thanks," I said, but he knew it meant more. Brinn had been like a father, brother and best-friend all rolled into one.

"You have your lucky card?"

I gave him a grin and took it out my wallet, a worn piece of card with a date and a barcode.

"Good. Well it is time for me to go my friend." The corner of Brinn's lips raised in that grim tight-lipped way. "See you on the flip side, man."

He extended his hand. We never shake hands but this was a handshake of a magical friendship, of adventures, hardships and victories that was all about to change. I gripped his hand and shook it firmly and swallowed down the lump in my throat.

As he left he glanced back once more and gave me a sharp nod of camaraderie, holding my gaze as my porte door slid closed.

Seeing Brinn like that had made everything feel different, like the day had stepped forward out of an abstract dimension locked away in my head and into reality, kicking down the door into my life.

Shit and balls.

I fought back against the eruption of panic in my gut and walked over to the glass sliding doors that looked out at the glittering expanse of the neon lights of New London. It was early and dark but for the first poke of a purple dawn far to the west. Brinn and I lived on a lower floor, part of the middle city – one click up from the ground. I shrugged on my Anti-G, and zipped up my jacket and pulled open the sliding doors. The wind sucked at me, teasing my trouser legs trying to suck me out. I stood the ledge, looking down at the sheer drop of twinkling lights giving way to the blackness below. Great Anti-G engines, spat out grav, supporting the buildings. Far, far down, those on the ground eked out a living in the rank pollution that hugged the surface, a hard life fighting for o2, trying to work your way out.

I knew all about it – Brinn and I had lived that life.

The toes of my trainers were over the edge and even now after all these years I could still feel the pull of vertigo from looking so far down.

I took a breath, looking past my trainers and down into the mind-bending fall.

Then I jumped.

As always, the first few moments of the fall pulled at my stomach. I felt like for a fraction of a second maybe my Anti-G wouldn't kick in like maybe I'd do the 32, and fall the 32.5 seconds to the ground, with parts of me ending up for sale on some kind of Surface-roaming meat skewer. It happened.

The Anti-G jerked alive and pulled me back up. I manually directed myself to the nearest traffic stream of people zipping past, in my best superman pose, before pulling on my flight-face.