Leo Tanner
The recycling plant sprawled beneath several residential blocks, with sections extending from Block A through F, a labyrinth of conveyor belts, sorting mechanisms, and workers. I worked in the section beneath Block C. I'd been here four years, since I turned eighteen and aged out of the orphan housing program. At twenty-two, I was already considered a veteran sorter. Torres had hired me because I didn't talk much, didn't complain, and showed up.
"Leo!" Torres called from his elevated platform. He was a large man with artificial lungs, a common upgrade for plant workers. "Damn, you're early. Either you're bored or broke."
Broke, it was obvious, I didn't answer. He meant it as a joke, but nobody in this damned dome could afford to be bored.
I nodded, hanging my jacket on the hook and grabbing my protective gear. The gloves were worn thin, but requesting new ones meant paperwork and questions.
"Listen," Torres said, climbing down to my level. "Got you on e-line tonight. Chen swears he's dying, but I've seen healthier corpses do more work. I need a brain on electronics tonight. Don't make me regret trusting yours."
Electronics sorting paid better. If I stay on this line, I could cover both my energy bill and classes next month. It was exactly what my electrical engineering program focused on: salvaging and repurposing old tech. I was only two semesters away from certification, which would let me transition from sorting to actual repair work and double my income. "Fine."
"Still a man of few words, huh?" Torres laughed, clapping my shoulder. "That's why I like you. No drama."
The shift began, and I lost myself in the monotony. Separate the copper. Salvage the rare earth elements. Discard the useless plastics.
My hands moved without conscious thought until they paused over a cracked casing. Inside, nestled among the burnt wiring, was an intact Series 7 microgyroscope. Obsolete military tech, no doubt from a drone crash outside the walls, but the harmonic resonator within was still valuable if you knew how to bypass Admin regulations for it. Worth fifty credits, easy. Enough for that phone charge I needed.
I eased it free with my fingertips and slipped it into my pocket before sweeping the rest of the worthless junk down the line.
The electronics line was more dangerous. Nephilim junk sometimes slipped through. Those creatures were bio-tech hybrids; bits of them stayed active, or just plain weird, after death. The Resistance had an entire classification system for them—Titan-class for the massive ones, Prowlers for the stealthy hunters, Colossal types that could breach dome walls, and various sub-classifications that didn't matter much once they killed you.
I found a shard last week, thick as my thumb. It resembled standard bio-casing, but where it had snapped off, the break wasn't rough. It was smooth. Perfectly smooth, layered like cut metal, not shattered bone or chitin. My engineering-trained eyes recognized core material immediately—from a Prowler-class, based on the layering pattern. Strange. Didn't fit with standard salvage. Dumped it in hazardous. Another day, another piece of dangerous scrap that Admin wouldn't pay out for if it took your hand off.
Last month, a worker on second shift lost three fingers when a piece of Nephilim neural tissue encountered his bare skin during sorting. The tissue latched onto his living cells, causing rapid necrosis before they could amputate the affected area. The Admin denied his injury compensation claim, stating he should have identified the contamination and worn proper protection.
Reaching into the sorting bin, my fingers brushed against something that sent an unexpected jolt up my arm, somehow penetrating through my protective gloves. I pulled out a fragment of crystalline bio-circuitry. Deep blue material embedded in a matrix that resembled neither metal nor organic tissue pulsed faintly against my palm, the rhythm matching my own heartbeat for a disorienting second.
I stared at it, transfixed. Definitely Nephilim tech. Possibly from a core component based on the crystalline structure. Dangerous as hell, but fascinating from an engineering perspective. The energy conductivity alone would be worth studying if it weren't so toxic. For a single moment, the fragment seemed to grow warmer in my hand, the pulse intensifying—
"You finding anything good over there?" Maya's voice snapped me back to reality. Faint shadows marked Maya's eyes. Her shoulders carried that familiar slump from too many hours standing and not enough rest.
She'd been doing this since sixteen. Twenty-four now. A brother in the Med sector depended on her. She knew how to survive, and how to spot someone about to screw up.
The pulse of the fragment faded. Something in my chest went with it. I couldn't say what. My breath caught anyway. I dropped it into the hazardous waste chute, wiping my gloved fingers against my pants.
"Nothing worth keeping," I hastily answered. Even to myself, the words sounded suspicious when they left my mouth.
Six hours in, my phone died.
Maya caught me checking it, her gaze sharp even after hours on the line. She slid her charger across the station, the cord snagging on a taped knuckle.
"Here," she said. "You disappear, and I won't be able to cover your shift or your ass."
My shoulders tensed. An automatic refusal formed on my tongue, but I bit it back. Help was not often offered, but it always came with a catch. But this was Maya. Practicality won. I nodded and plugged the phone in. "Thanks."
She gave a short nod back, turning her attention to the conveyor belt. A flash of electric pink hair, shaved close on one side, was a vivid slash of color against the dull metal and shadows. She stood out against the grime and gray uniforms, piercings glinting along one ear. Maya was attractive, though not my type. My type involved broad shoulders and hard chests, not curves.
Not that it mattered. Relationships were another luxury I could not afford.
"No problem." She did not look over, already sorting through a pile of burnt components. "Heard about your building. Block D's having all kinds of issues."
Misery always had the best grapevine. Everyone was scraping by, watching who fell next. The UV lamps in our sector had stopped working months ago. Those pale imitations of sunlight were supposed to prevent vitamin deficiencies, but only managed to bathe everything in a sickly blue glow. Administration said they'd fix them. They never did.
"It's fine," I said, turning back to my work.
"If you need a place to crash…"
The offer hung in the air. For a split second, the thought of a warm room that wasn't my cold, dark apartment was tempting. A dangerous temptation.
Warmth was dangerous. Hope, worse.
I pictured the complications, the expectations, the potential for things to go wrong. Easier to cut it off now.
"I don't."
She backed off. Smart.
Even with Maya, I kept barriers up. Caring too much always ended in attachment, and attachment was a weakness I couldn't afford to have. If something happened to her, I'd probably worry, and I didn't possess that kind of mental energy to spare. Nothing in the domes was free, especially not caring about people.