Sated ✔

1 TO MY FIRST LOVE

I keep my hand at my nose to fight off the smell. It's not my father's fault; we don't have any credits for water. Since it comes down to daily necessities, and there not being enough, that means the fault is mine.

My father still sells his water allotment to afford other things for me, even when I'm not around.

"How is the combat training coming along at Job's gym? You finish your reps?"

"Yeah." I nod without looking; my eyes stay transfixed to the vid screen on our old, tattered wall. It was a wonder a structure as shabby as ours even had the capacity for an interface with the computer. "I came back early to see this interview, remember?"

Our dinner in hand, my father shuffles his weary miner frame around the table and puts the tin plates down. Tin? Even Job's gym uses ceramics. And it didn't have such a rank smell.

When I live here daily, I never notice this sour stench. Only when I leave for long periods of time, that's when I get it—I understand what everyone always whispers about.

I'm Colony-born, but my father has survived Topside to make it down here to the underground. I think he's tough; other people think he smells.

I guess both are true.

Only...this smell's strange, like a sickness. I won't ask about it again, because it upsets him, but I worry.

He tells me something, but I don't catch it.

"Philippe..." he says, finally, using my given name.

That's also something so Topsider-ish that I've come to notice. Down here in the Colony everybody carries their family name in the back; Topsiders in the front.

He's Philippe Raul and I'm Philippe Remy.

"Phil," I insist, still watching that interface across from us. Lately, I feel uncomfortable with people knowing so much about me just from my name. Phil's easy, Philip's even better.

He sits down at our little table, his imposing figure reeking as he speaks through those dirty teeth.

"What'd Job say about the fee? Did he say we can square it later?"

I focus on my father, finally. I don't like to ignore him, and he rarely gets angry when I do, but I wish he'd grow some balls about Job overcharging us because Topsiders don't know any better. My pa knows better. We've paid twice the rate of everybody down here and it's all for some stupid dream.

"Phil," he corrects himself. "What'd he say?"

Luckily the interview on the screen isn't the one I am waiting for so I glance at my father again.

"He cut the rep time, but we should just go somewhere else, somewhere cheaper."

His eyes dim and I know that look. My father is nearly twice my size in bulk. I beat the hell out of him in height, though. But while my muscles come from training, his have come from fighting to stay alive on the surface—and maintained by working the mines down here. I used to think he was unstoppable but now that I have to start earning some credits, I can see that he's maybe not as smart as he thinks he is.

"No. We should stick with Job. Nearly half his fighters turn ELETE. ELETE is safe."

My breaths come shallower because he's going into one of his rants, and I know them all by heart. Maybe if he'd put some power behind his words, I'd take them seriously, but he never speaks harshly; he just doesn't have it in him.

"ELETEs are safe. No ELETE's ever sent Topside for breaking a law. You get food, a nice place. You get everything. I'm too old and I don't have the guts in me to make it, but you...you can do it. So...." His thick eyebrows knit together as he leans to the right, trying to meet my gaze. "So just humble yourself and go back and ask Job for an extension. We can borrow some credits for an extension on the training and pay it back after you make ELETE."