Excerpt: -working title-

“E District, last stop,” the voice boomed through the empty car. When there was no responding movement from the car, the driver stood and made his way back through the seats to tentatively shake the shoulder of the young woman curled up fast asleep on her textbooks.

“Miss? Miss, this is the last stop.” She stirred groggily, blinking heavily and looked at him through bleary eyes.

“Mmwhat?” she asked sleepily.

“Last stop, miss,” the driver said again. “You’ve got to get off.”

“Oh!” the girl sat up straight, gathering her books and shoving them into her book bag. “I’m so sorry! I must’ve fallen asleep, I’m sorry.”

“Happens all the time, miss,” the driver said blandly. He motioned her to the door and she got the sense that he was in a bit of a hurry. Emma stepped off the train, hoisting her bag over her shoulder and wrapping her arms around herself.

It wasn’t until the driver had shut the doors that it registered in her head that she’d ridden the train well past her stop and was now in a district she’d never been in before. All she knew was that E District was where the Epsilons lived, and she’d been taught that Epsilons were aggressive, stupid, dirty poor people with very little actual magical talent. She’s always somehow gotten the impression that they were less than human, although all evidence pointed to the idea that they were made up of exactly the same stuff Alphas and Betas were.

Clutching her bag closer to herself, she started looking for a Contact booth so she could call her mother and ask her to come pick her up. She didn’t see the comforting blue glow of the Illuminations that were always cast over such booths. In fact, there wasn’t much light anywhere. She walked hesitantly towards the ticket booth and found that the man inside it was sleeping, emitting noisy, wheezing snores through the little slits in the glass.

Emma rapped loudly on the glass. “Excuse me,” she said as confidently as she could. “Excuse me sir, when does the next train run to the Government District?” The man behind the glass didn’t stir. She knocked louder, too hard, and brought her knuckles to her mouth with a grimace of pain. This time the man wheezed and heaved and managed to look up at her. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away a strong of yellowish drool that had been connecting his mouth to the desk.

“Wha,” he said by way of greeting.

“Excuse me, can you tell me when the next train runs to the Government District?”

“Morn’n,” he said incoherently. “Runs n’tha morn’n. Six.” Emma cursed under her breath.

“Thank you,” she said politely, and stepped away from the window. The man slumped back down onto the desk and his snoring resumed almost instantly. It was only six or so, but it was late Fall and already the sun had set and the sky was growing dark. She’d slept on the bus for a good hour and a half, she realized, the train must’ve made its cycle multiple times.

She turned back to the window and rapped on the glass again. “Sorry, sir, to bother you again but-”

“G’tha fuckout,” he mumbled into the desk. Emma drew back, not sure if he was talking to her, but offended nonetheless.

“Sir, please, I’m just wondering where I could get a cab-”

“It’s no use,” a voice came from behind her. Emma jumped back and a figure that she had taken to be a pile of refuse strewn on the bench unfolded itself and revealed itself to be a man – or a boy, rather – of about her age.

“He’s service personnel,” Emma said by way of explanation. “His job is to answer these kinds of questions. Where is his manager?”

“Scripps is the manager,” the boy said, eyes narrowed into a glare. “What the hell do you think you’re doing all the way down here, an upper level in E after sundown?”

“It was a mistake,” Emma said defensively. “I fell asleep on the bus. I was just trying to ask this man where I could get a cab.”
“Cabs don’t come down to E,” the boy said with a grating laugh. “Nobody down here can afford ‘em, and nobody who can afford ‘em wants to come down here.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Emma asked helplessly. “I need to get back to the Government District tonight. My mother will be worried.”

“Walk,” the boy said, sounding as though he were speaking to a child. “It’s only a few miles.”

“I don’t know the way,” Emma said, “and it’s dark. What if…I mean, something could happen.”

“Yeah, you are a target,” the boy said with a chuckle of dark humor. “You look like someone who carries a lot of cash on her. Maybe some expensive jewelry.” He stood and took a few steps towards her, looking her up and down. She took a step back, suddenly frightened.

“I don’t,” she said desperately. “I’m a student. And we’re struggling to even pay for University. My mom’s a Delta, and-”

“Deltas aren’t struggling,” the boy said disgustedly. “Deltas get cushy little government jobs like your mom has, while Epsilons shovel shit for the waste systems and eat the food Deltas throw away.”

“That’s not true,” Emma said. She stepped towards him, her fear suddenly forgotten in her anger, eyes blazing. He raised his eyebrows and she suddenly felt childish.

“Let me guess,” he said in a low voice, towering over her, stubbly and wild and smelling like man and garbage and smoke and train station. “Your mother is…a receptionist. No, a typist. No, a mailwoman. No, wait…” he stopped, and locked her eyes with his. “A secretary,” he said finally. He could tell that he was right from the way Emma’s face fell and her eyes lost their fierce shine.

“Can you please just tell me which way to go to get to the Government District,” she forced herself to say tightly.

“I don’t want to find your body in my gutters tomorrow morning,” he said coldly. “I’ll walk you to the gates of the Gov District.”

Surprised by this magnanimity from such an aggressive individual, Emma gaped at him for a moment before responding, “Thank you.”

“Don’t act like I’m being gentlemanly,” he said bitterly, “I just tend to get blamed for things around here, and I don’t want to get pinned with the mugging, rape, and/or death of some lost little Beta.” He started off towards the exit with long strides and she hurried to follow.

“How did you know I was a Beta?” Emma asked, curious, as she drew even with him.

“It’s easy to tell from the way you carry yourself,” he said, sounding bored. “You clearly think you’re pretty great, and you’re very prim and proper, but you don’t have that ‘I shall spit on you’ air that Alphas have. You seem to have good intentions, you’re just selfish, judgmental and pretentious because you were born into this world.”

Confused as to whether she should take that as an insult or a compliment, or neither, Emma chose to remain silent.