Chapter 12
TWELVE
Four listings for Generator Scrubber, under Wolrick Isle.
That last one made me pause. Under the island?
Until now, I hadn’t given much thought to what was hidden beneath these massive platforms, but apparently, there were generators down there.
Maybe the secret behind all this electricity.
Harnessing the ocean itself? I didn’t know enough physics to guess how it worked, but it made a certain kind of sense.
As I considered it, two of those six unique jobs vanished right off the list. Already claimed. A minute later, the list refreshed again, and the other four were gone too.
Were people from our group ignoring their officer’s advice and jumping at the odd jobs? Or maybe there were others out there, on different islands, all fighting for the same slots? Either way, the jobs were gone, and I couldn’t help but wonder who was fast enough, or desperate enough, to grab them.
At a quarter past eight, I joined what was left of my family and friends outside, and together we boarded a shuttle bound for the construction site where we’d all reserved jobs.
As the long vehicle pulled away, I stared out the window at the rising sun, its light scattered across the waves, turning the sea into an expanse of glittering diamonds. The shuttle rumbled over our island’s bridge and, for the first time, carried us across the border into Founders’ Isle.
I figured we’d have to get off once we reached the end of the bridge, but to my surprise, it took a right turn and kept moving.
We ran along a shuttleway which spanned the perimeter of the island itself, or at least part of it, which I hadn’t noticed from afar.
It wound us around the island, giving us glimpses of several other neighboring artificial islands, before it took a right turn about fifteen minutes later, rolling us over another bridge—and toward Isle H.
The shuttle rolled to a stop at the far side, and we spilled out onto the pavement, joining a crowd that had already gathered. Some faces were familiar, others not. We queued up in front of a row of booths marking the island’s official entrance.
Robert eyed the barrier ahead, fidgeting with his ring. “So this is it, our grand initiation,” he muttered, a wry note in his voice. “Swipe your ring, sell your soul.”
I couldn’t quite manage a laugh, landing instead on more of a grimace as my gaze lingered on the metal barrier while the line inched forward.
Once we reached the barrier, each of us pressed the flat edge of our rings to the embedded rectangle, and the barrier lifted in turn, letting us through.
On the other side, aside from a single finished road to our left, the island was a chaos of construction: heaps of prefabricated walls, doors, and staircases stacked in massive piles—“pieces,” as Hayden had called them—and alien machinery scattered everywhere.
Jessie let out a low whistle, her eyes wide as she took in the scene. Some people were already working at the far end, machinery whirring in the distance, but most newcomers stood in front of a crowd of… robots? That was the only word that came to mind.
“Wait. Are those exo-suits?” I heard a gasp behind me, and saw it was Ryland’s father, who had shared the same tram shift as us.
“What are exo-suits?” Jessie asked, frowning, but Ulrik was too preoccupied with gawking at them to answer her question.
We got a demonstration of one barely a minute later, when a blue-uniformed man approached one of the large, metal figures—formed in a very clunky shape of a human, with arms, legs, a head and a wide torso.
He proceeded to explain how they were used: step inside the padded interior, press the red button on the right to close oneself inside, and begin moving.
He did so, and I stared in awe as the machine moved around him like a clunky second skin.
“So, they’re basically machine suits,” Jessie breathed.
Rosalie appeared beside us, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. “And by the looks of it, they’d give anyone an advantage.” She caught Robert’s eye and offered a shy smile, her cheeks coloring just slightly. “Though I’m not sure you need any extra help.”
Jessie shook her head, amused, while Robert moved closer to Rosalie, slipping an arm around her shoulders and pressing a brief kiss to her cheek.
“Sensors within the suit detect your movement, so the suit will move along with you automatically,” the instructor explained.
“Extending the suit’s limbs is also possible, for tasks that require it.
” He showed us green and orange buttons positioned at the right and left of the interior, which extended the machine’s arms and legs.
“Even with the machine’s limbs extended, the sensors will continue to detect your movements. "
It was oddly straightforward for something that looked so complex: just step inside, press a button, and suddenly you had the strength and reach of a small machine.
I couldn’t help thinking how useful these suits would’ve been back in the jungle.
No more scrambling from spiders, or keeping watch for anacondas and poison dart frogs; the suit would have turned all those dangers into minor inconveniences.
Our instructor signaled it was time to practice. Soon, thirty of us were moving cautiously around the site, getting used to the clumsy weight and movement of our new mechanical bodies.
Behind me, Robert’s voice came through the visor, amused despite the distortion. “I could get used to this.”
I couldn’t help a brief smile. Jessie approached from my right, arms open in her suit, making a slow, exaggerated gesture. “Come here, you,” she called. I met her halfway, and we made a clumsy attempt at a hug, the suits knocking together with a hollow thud.
“Enough. These suits aren’t toys,” the instructor called sharply from behind us.
Jessie and I broke apart, stepping back in unison, both of us suddenly sheepish.
“Sorry,” I muttered, but the instructor had already turned his attention elsewhere.
It was easy to forget, inside the suits, that we were here to work—not play.
After another twenty minutes of maneuvering and adjusting, the instructor finally seemed satisfied. He directed us toward the piles of materials stacked near the construction site, ready for the real work to begin.
“I want you all to head there and pick up materials from the first row. They are wall pieces. Try picking up two each. But be careful not to squeeze too hard, or you could damage the material.”
He then headed to the hard suits to get inside one himself, while the rest of us lined up to do as instructed.
Everyone did a surprisingly good job picking up the wall pieces, myself included, with only Zina dropping one of the pieces accidentally.
Nico helped her gain a firm grip on it, and before long, we were all standing with large white wedges held over our heads.
I had to hand it to the engineers—the suits were pretty “intuitive” to use.
Our instructor then joined us in his suit, and we marched over to the construction site.
The foundations for the buildings had already been laid. Large metal clips had been set into the ground at intervals around each foundation, and I soon noticed the corresponding metal clips on the materials themselves.
The rest of the morning passed almost in a blur.
We worked nonstop to slot each piece of wall into the ground, clicking it into place over the corresponding metal clip, to form the basic structure of a ground floor.
Our supervisor watched us closely, directing us, and not mincing his words whenever one of us got close to making a mistake.
There was little to no time for chatter.
We were all too focused on not screwing up any of his instructions.
And despite the suits doing the heavy lifting, it was surprisingly hard work.
We were constantly moving around, and making sure the machines always did what we wanted was brain-taxing.
The temperature inside the suits rose along with the sun outside, and while they seemed to be designed to keep us at a safe temperature, it got more unpleasant the more the day wore on.
By midday, we were all sweating and panting. The thirty-minute break was direly needed.
We stepped out of our suits, leaving them on the side of the road, as a large shuttle stocked with water bottles and steel-gray flasks pulled up. Everyone lined up in front of it to collect the refreshments.
Jessie, Robert, and I settled on the curb in the narrow band of shade thrown by a wall we’d raised, dust still clinging to our clothes. I uncapped my gray flask, sniffed, and winced. It smelled like something left too long in the sun.
Jessie gave hers a suspicious look. “If this crawls out on its own, I’m not chasing it,” she warned, and took a tentative sip. Her face twisted. “Nope. That’s worse than fermented mangrove root. Definitely not up to your usual standards, Robert.”
Robert swirled the flask, studying the liquid the way a chef would. He took a cautious sip, then pursed his lips. His sour face was enough of a response.
A dry voice chimed in from behind. “It’s a complete meal,” announced a blue-uniformed manager, watching us with open amusement. His bronze ring flashed as he saluted us with his own flask.
Jessie eyed him, unconvinced. “You sure about that? Looks like something I used to skim off the river.”
He smirked. “You could say that. Algae, nutrients, all sorts of ocean harvest. Apparently you can survive on it indefinitely.”
I peered into my flask. “Do you actually eat this stuff, or do you just tell newcomers that?” I murmured.
The manager grinned. “We all get a taste. You’ll appreciate it after a week of twelve-hour shifts. The sandwich paste is the same base, just… chunkier.”
Robert gave a theatrical sigh. “All those years foraging, and now we’re living off pond sludge.”
I downed another mouthful, forcing myself to swallow. “At least it’s filling.”
The manager raised his flask again. “Survival’s the same everywhere, just with different flavors. Bathrooms are over there, by the way. Don’t wait until you’re desperate.”
We continued doing the same line of work in the afternoon, the repetitive task quickly becoming tiresome despite the impressive suits.
The novelty wore off fast, and by the end of the workday, my body felt spent.
I was used to physical activity—we all were—but not the specific repetitive motions required to move the suit.
That combined with the mental strain left me feeling ready to collapse when our instructor announced we could go home.
We walked the suits back to the area we had taken them from, parked them, and then stepped out. My knees wobbled as we trudged toward the bridge where the shuttle waited, humming and ready to carry us home.
At the barriers, I swiped my ring, a jolt of anticipation cutting through my exhaustion. I hurried through, glancing down at the ring’s screen, heart thumping a little harder.
Four characters flashed up: 100c.
Jessie caught up beside me, her brow creased as she checked her own display. “One hundred C.”
Robert let out a low breath, his tone flat. “So that’s today’s pay.”
I stopped for a moment, letting the number settle in my bones.
Far too low. Anna’s words echoed back: ten thousand coins—bronze level—to qualify for more responsibility, for any hope of reuniting my family.
At this rate, I’d be waiting a hundred days just to get my parents out of the hospital.
Over three months, three times as long as Hayden had managed.
What had he done differently? The answer simmered, obvious and out of reach: the odd jobs, the riskier ones, the ones I couldn’t touch yet. That, or there was some other trick I hadn’t figured out.
Jessie’s voice was thin, brittle. “Maybe it’ll go up, if we keep at it? Otherwise…” She trailed off, the weight of the calculation written on her face. “It’s going to take forever to get my siblings back.”
I couldn’t muster any comfort. The crowd was already pushing onto the shuttle, and none of us wanted to be left behind.
We shuffled in and sank into our seats, side by side but silent, staring out at the sunlit water.
The landscape blurred past, beautiful and distant, but all I could see was that number, and the long, uncertain road ahead.
Back at my house, I headed straight for the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water, then collapsed onto the sofa. The job list still blinked on the wide screen, cycling through rows of the usual assignments.
I sank deeper into the cushions, letting the silence settle. My eyelids grew heavy. I might have dozed off, water glass in hand, if not for the sharp beep that cut through the quiet. I startled upright, almost spilling my drink, and glanced down at my ring.
House utility bills advance debit: 50c.
A moment later, my balance dropped: 50 coins, not a hundred.
I stared at the screen in disbelief, then swore under my breath, scanning the room as if the house itself might be to blame. My so-called “automatic” house was eating my wages alive.
I shot up and marched to the control panel, flipping off every light.
Mike’s tour flashed through my memory as I scrambled around, unplugging every device except the freezer—small enough to justify the electricity, and necessary for keeping my bread and sandwich paste from spoiling.
From now on, I’d watch every drop of water, every bit of power I used.
If I had to live like Ebenezer Scrooge to get my family back, so be it.
I climbed upstairs and collapsed onto my narrow bed.
Maybe now, with most of the house unplugged, I’d avoid another surprise bill for a while.
Still, a sick feeling lingered. The whole system felt needlessly complex, every day another scramble to stay afloat.
Back home, life was straightforward: grow, gather, make do.
Here, everything was measured in invisible currency and silent deductions, stress in every transaction.
I buried my head in the pillow, fighting the urge to compare old and new. I had to adapt—cut corners, keep expenses down, figure this place out. Surely it would get easier.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about those odd jobs—gone in seconds each morning, tempting me more with every lost coin.
Two weeks of patience felt impossible. Maybe I’d just hold out until the end of this week, then try for one on Monday.
After all, they wouldn’t be on the list if they were truly forbidden.
If it went badly, the worst they could do was send me home. At least I’d have tried.
Resolved, I sat up. Monday it is.
But until then, it was back to the building site.