From Rachel’s apartment, the street looked like a rainbow circuit board after rain. She stood gazing down at the tiny people and cars that flooded the streets. It had been quite a while now since she had ventured out, down there with the commons. Sec-Op minders were far too expensive these days to hire for simple shopping trips. Now she had almost everything delivered.
Streaks of rain began to hit the glass again.
She shook herself out of her reverie and turned her attention back to her new hands. They had been grown from an exclusive design that no one below the towers could even dream of affording. She held them up against the window, watched the coloured neon dance over the translucent skin that covered the fine steel fingers, and smiled over at Dean. He looked up briefly from his constant study of their stocks and shares and told her he admired the way their joints moved. They looked entirely natural until she spread her fingers and made each one bend in a different direction.
Their maid saw and stared in wonder as she entered the room.
Rachel smiled. “You may speak.”
“They’re beautiful, madame,” the maid said in a quiet voice.
She carried in a small silver tray with two piles of white crystals on it. It was time for their early-evening hit of Snow. As she walked towards them, her cheap replacement leg gave a sharp squeak on the polished floor. Dean winced at the sound.
“When the hell are you going to get that fixed?” he snapped.
“The service appointment is not until next month,” she stuttered nervously.
“Then walk somewhere else until then.”
He looked over at Rachel.
“Remind me why it is we keep this defective creature?”
“Because she is faithful and cheap, darling,” Rachel replied.
Then, to the maid, “Is everything ready for this evening?”
“Yes, madame,” the maid replied.
That evening, they threw a party for the elite and invited Jack, the Fusion Doc who had handled several difficult fittings for their friends. Rachel praised the precision of his work to the other guests. Dean showed him the patent drawings for her hands. Jack smiled and feigned ignorance to please Dean, although he had seen the mechanism a few days before on his back-room counter. Some Reaper was asking a crazy price for it that he was not prepared to pay. Besides, it was clear that the item came from an Ascendant, and he knew there would be Tracers and Hammers kicking down his door looking for it if he took it.
They drank, spoke of improvements to the human form and laughed when the maid’s leg announced her approach from the corridor. She left as quickly as she could, embarrassed and ashamed in a room full of perfect mechanisms.
“My God! Are those old models still around?” exclaimed a young woman as she paused between sniffs of Snow.
Eventually, Jack got around to the main reason he had accepted the invitation to the party and asked Rachel whether her company intended to continue supplying independent clinics.
“Of course,” she said, smiling, then added, “The good ones.”
He believed she meant him. So did she, for the length of the party.
But the next morning, she closed his clinic’s supply account. Her company had acquired a chain of its own and would direct clients there. Jack called before breakfast was finished. Dean answered, listened, then looked over at Rachel. She waved her hand dismissively. Dean knew what she meant and told Jack she was with a client.
“Don’t worry, old man,” Dean said. “You do excellent work. You’ll soon find another arrangement.”
With that, he ended the call. Rachel flexed her new fingers and blocked any further calls from Jack on her phone. Dean called the maid to clear the cups. They heard her coming long before she reached the door.
Far below in the streets, Jack threw down his phone and thumped his desk. “Fuck those arrogant Snobs. Never mind, more work for the Reapers.”