She didn’t know how long she sat there, but it surprised her when she heard a chime and the steel door slid open.
“You’re still here,” her father said, looking down at her with a wistful smile. He placed his hand on her shoulder. “My family went home a while ago. I was about to leave, but security told me you were still here. Come on, let’s go.”
I’m writing Fighting for Utopia as a serial on Substack. You’ve landed on chapter four of this sci-fi short novel about a young hero who finds a solarpunk commune within a cyberpunk world but is not content to enjoy the peace there.
Enjoy chapter four below | For chapter one go here
She stood up and let him walk her out. They both walked in silence for a moment, instinctively, she began walking west toward Mom and Benji. Her father followed.
“I can get us a limo or auto-cab if you’d like,” he said. She just mumbled incoherent syllables, non-formed words of grief. Her father nodded and walked alongside her.
He began trying to explain himself, but she could barely listen as he made disjointed talking points about the techno-elite, social hierarchy, her mother, and propriety. She could tell it was awkward for him, but she no longer cared about his feelings or excuses.
As they walked away from Upcity toward her house, they entered a rough part of town without paying enough attention. Funny how that can happen in a city, the rough parts with higher crime can be so close to the nicer parts of town. One block so different from the next. The meticulous streets and beautiful buildings of Upcity gave way quickly to flickering neon lights, graffiti, dead grass, and a plastic trash bag blowing gently in a circle by the corner of a garage door, caught in a wind eddy from the right angles.
As they talked, neither noticed eyes on them, watching them from the shadows, sizing them up, taking in the dress, the father’s tuxedo, his watch. Calculating the risk, then stepping out to follow them at a comfortable distance.
The man listened to their conversation for a few minutes. Listening to the upper crust of the city made him sick, the taste of stomach acid filled his mouth, and he spat quietly.
“Hey!”
The voice was loud, right behind them. Zara and her father turned at once, surprised at the interruption. The man stood with the bright fluorescent streetlight to his back, and his face shadowed, more silhouette than man, until the light reflected off the barrel of his gun.
Zara felt her chest tighten, her muscles tense. Her adrenal glands, perched atop her kidneys, flooded her with all their stored adrenaline.
Benji had sparred with her, but she’d never been in an actual match, let alone a street fight.
Her father said calmly, “Take what you want, but we’re not carrying mu–” his last word was cut short by the heel of the pistol grip coming down on his face. With a spray of blood, he went down.
She screamed, and the man grabbed her arm with his free hand. In one motion, he pulled her into him and slid the barrel of the gun under her chin. “Scream again, and I will kill you, you fucking techno-elite bitch!” He then pushed her to the ground next to her father. He was moaning and clutching at his face, probably concussed, shocked, or both.
The man quickly pulled her father’s wallet from his coat, took the watch off his hand, and then began searching her, making sure to grope her breasts while he was at it. Other than her handheld terminal, she had nothing on her, and those were coded to individuals, worthless for a mugger. He leered down at her, coming in close enough that she could smell his sour sweat.
Her mind reeled, trying to calculate any way out. A light suddenly shone down from the sky, cutting through the mist. “You there, stop!” said a robotic voice from the light.
Their assailant was off sprinting. Gone faster than he came. The light grew brighter as the heli-drone descended to the height of the building's roofs. A police bot jumped and landed gracefully next to them.
“Mr. Sarimoto, are you alright?” the bot said, addressing her father as the Heli-drone landed in the middle of the street. “Your body sensors set off alarms. We cross-checked your location, saw you were in a rough neighborhood, and came as fast as possible. I’m glad we got here in time before anything drastic happened. We always aim to please our premium subscribers.” Her father just murmured and coughed on the blood draining down his throat from his broken nose.
She stared at the bot’s chest, Upcity Security, printed in bright letters across his metal chest chassis. A private security company, essentially the private police force of Upcity. The bot turned toward her and paused. “I am sorry, but you are not a paying subscriber. Please be more careful. You should call 911 for the police.”
The bot lifted her father and steadied him on his feet, walking him to the open door of the heli-drone. He glanced back at her for a moment and attempted an apologetic, sad smile through the blood on his face. She said nothing.
The door shut, and the heli-drone lifted straight up, cleared the roofline, and canted in the direction of Upcity, back toward safety, taking her father with it and leaving her alone in the middle of the street.
In the next chapter, we’ll see the introduction of the solar-punks!
If you like my normal newsletter, I go back and forth. I post regular futurism newsletters and essays along with chapters from Fighting for Utopia. I’ve been thinking a lot about two very different topics lately, one is energy and the future (loving the Fallout show on Prime BTW), and another is cultural identity in a global society.
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