Implanted by Lauren C Teffeau

Author:Lauren C Teffeau
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, solarpunk, climate fiction, cyberpunk
Publisher: Watkins Media
Published: 2018-08-01T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

The metal chute closes around me, humid, slick, and stinking, as I slide down countless levels. I keep my toes pointed and my hands tucked into my chest, forcing back nausea.

Blue sparks dance around me as my sleeve catches on something sharp. I get brief snapshots of welded metal and refuse in various stages of decomposition. Pretty sure I could’ve gone my entire life without seeing or smelling what surrounds me now.

The tube widens slightly as it intersects with others, and I’m dumped out onto a pile of garbage that dozens more chutes feed into. Air gushes out of me when I land – feet first, but my momentum flips me head over heels, and I roll a bit before I come to a stop on my back. Half-sinking into who-knows-what as my chest stutters.

Along the perimeter of the pile, garbage bots chirp as they excavate the mountain of trash. A fine wire mesh makes up the floor. Fluids are filtered through it, then siphoned off for processing elsewhere. The bots pick through the rest, routing the refuse to the appropriate channels. Compost, biofuel, incineration, compaction – each a separate opening in the far wall.

Gaining my feet, I teeter toward the edge. Ten feet to the floor, give or take. Before I can decide how to get down, my foot slips. I fall back, sliding on my ass all the way to the bottom.

I’m coated, but my clothes are still intact despite the rough treatment. Can’t say the same for the rest of me. My hip’s bruised, but it’s not too bad as I step unnoticed past the garbage bots and find a maintenance door on the far wall. Unlocked, at least. After all, who’d come down here willingly?

I glance back at the garbage chutes. The muscle’s probably too wide to fit, and I highly doubt that woman would come down here herself, no matter how important the data is. And that’s assuming they’ve figured out where I’ve gone.

A short hallway leads to a small locker room for the bots’ human minders. Empty. End of the workday? I don’t question my luck as I start the shower, get in with my clothes on, and soap them up. Even though the Terrestrial District isn’t the sweetest smelling of places, I can’t risk attracting any more attention. Forgoing modesty, I strip down. Slime and grime spirals down the drain, leaving me as clean as I’m going to get.

Jimmying a locker open, I find a beige canvas jumpsuit. That’ll serve me better down here than my sodden clothes, which still aren’t clean enough for my tastes. My shoes are harder to salvage. I have to pry into a few more lockers before I locate a pair of work boots. Way too much space in the toe box, but as long as I don’t have to run anywhere, I’ll be OK.

I wad up everything into a spare trash bag from the janitor’s closet and shrug into the jumpsuit. Have to roll the sleeves

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