All characters are over eighteen. The author does not condone violence or non-consensual sex.
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*****
Thomas doubted that Silvia South had any idea what she had done.
He'd been forced to endure her constant insults for over two hours while he tried to fix her family's access point. The only thing that kept his anger in check was knowing that any sign of disrespect would cost him his job and land him a place out on the streets. If he was lucky.
Mrs. South and her husband were High Risers. They lived in one of the luxurious penthouses and horizontal buildings that blocked out the sun for people who lived in the Lower Levels. People like him.
"Would you hurry up!" she spat. "My husband and I are hosting a party soon, and I want you gone by then, Servicer!"
Servicer. It was an insult that High Risers threw at people like him. As far as they were concerned, everyone of lower-class existed only to serve them. He'd been forced to endure it before, but rarely with as much vehemence as Mrs. South.
"I'm almost done, Mrs. South," he called back. "Your implant should be working again in a few minutes."
Like everyone else in the city, Mrs. South carried a neural implant. It allowed everything from wireless communication to body modifications. Tom's job was to fix her access point so that she could access all the features of her implant again.
Pulling up the interface of his own implant, Tom ran a diagnostic to ensure all was working correctly. The sooner he was done, the better.
His concentration was interrupted by the loud entrance of a six-year-old boy who had not yet learned how to walk silently.
"Mommy, is daddy back yet?" he asked.
"Not yet, sweetie," she said, scooping up her young son. "He'll be back soon." For the first time since Tom met her, Mrs. South smiled. She may have been ice-cold toward him, but she was still a good mother.
Taking advantage of her distraction, Tom packed up his tools and prepared to leave. His hopes of exiting unnoticed were foiled when her son asked, "Mommy, who's he?"
"Oh," Mrs. South said, her face returning to the cruel contempt she showed every time she looked at him. "He's a Servicer. Just ignore him. He's no one."
Mrs. South had no idea what she had just signed up for.
*****
Tom checked his implant and saw he still had five minutes before the next train arrived. One of the few things High Risers and Servicers had in common was that high-speed trains were the only practical way of getting around the city.
Naturally, High Risers had bullet trains rising hundreds of feet above ground, ensuring they never had to leave the comfort of the Upper Levels. He rode little more than rolling boxcars with handles to take him from housing to access elevators. No Servicer would ever be allowed to ride with a High Riser.
Moving quickly but not hurriedly, he reached the platform just in time to catch the train. And a welcome face.
"Emily," he said.
"Hey, Tom," she said. "Hop on."
Emily Holland had been one of Tom's best friends since grade school. He was quiet, studious, and gifted: the perfect tutor for the popular but pressured girl. Emily came from a more privileged background (at least by Lower Level standards). There was a very small caste of civil servants in the city, of which her father was a member. The expectations he placed on his daughter were only made worse by the social expectations of her peers for someone as popular as her.
Tom was the complete opposite. Brilliant enough to skip more than one grade, he always had trouble adjusting. Emily taught him how to fit in. He trusted her more than anyone else in the city.
"How's that school inspection going?" he asked.
"Just finished the fifth district," she said. Like her father, Emily's job as a civil servant included administering school districts for Upper and Lower Levels. Her family wasn't that rich, but they did enjoy a higher quality of life than the vast majority of the city. Emily was self-conscious enough to be aware she never had to experience the kind of poverty that Tom had. "It meets all the requirements."
"Is that good or bad?" he asked.
"Bad," she sighed. "It's just average, and we both know the state loves to inflate those kinds of figures."
"Not to mention High Risers love to bribe teachers into saying their kids are better than they really are," he said.
"Yeah," she agreed. "What about you?"
"Another day, another bitchy High Riser who needed her WiFi fixed."
Emily shook her head. "Dude, everyone knows you're one of the best engineers in the whole fucking city. Why do they have you fixing people's shit like you're tech support?"
"Best guess? High Risers are all business people. They don't like competition."
