Wailing, moaning, screaming. Always kicking up a ruckus as they destroyed homes,
wandered, or dragged people screaming into their hungry maws. They were always a nuisance,
but it seemed they were more active lately. The Asag stalked and patrolled sporadically, and
whether this was due to some natural cycle or some great cosmic influence was still unknown.
But day after day, there they were. Slabs of metal or bulbous red flesh dragging
themselves through the streets. The lowlier, weaker Asag were normally all that wandered
around this part of the Waterslums.
There was an outlier today, though. A massive Asag trailed behind the main crowd,
slowly striding forward on four tall, thin legs. Mounted on these extremities was a large head that
resembled a camera of some kind. A stream of concentrated white light shone forth from its
central lens, the great beam sweeping back and forth over the buildings as the Asag moved its
head around.
Kim stood up and brushed some dirt off her pants. The Asag came in all sorts of flavors,
but their strange effects were never good. She figured she’d better get out before she was caught
in the sweeping beam
Plus, she had Class to get to.
Kim made her way past the apartment rooftops, avoiding the gazes of Harry’s boys, the
local gang that worked under Smyth. They weren’t as much of a threat as some of the Asag, but
they were still dangerous, clad in gray and carrying their billhooks. Kim snuck past two of them
who were pounding on something with thick wooden planks. Whether the victim was human or
Asag, she couldn’t tell, and didn’t want to know.
Eventually, she found herself on top of an apartment block, squatting in front of an old
vent cover. The vent didn’t provide any actual circulation; the building itself was long
abandoned. Plenty of people still used its space.
Case in point: Kim entered through the vent, dropped into an empty hallway, and made
her way to room 33, where Class was held. She could hear the laughter and rattling of objects
from the activities conducted in the rooms below.
Kim pushed open the door.
Kim was early for Class, as usual. She made herself comfortable in the small living room
where Class was usually held. The teacher usually arrived last, anyway.
A rat scuttled overhead, and Kim turned to look. When she turned her gaze back to the
coffee table, Liam Otto was standing before her, cleaning his glasses with a brown cloth. Today,
he was wearing a baggy white hoodie, which draped like a blanket on his tall, skinny frame. Kim
stared at him, deadpan.
“You’re getting rusty,” Kim said. “I almost heard you that time.”
Liam put his glasses back on.
“Als ob,” he replied. “Besides, you’re not so quiet yourself. Did you hear all that noise you made
when you were making your way down here?”
Kim scoffed. “Von wegen.”
The door opened, and in stepped Anderson, a hulking giant of a kid. The rest of Class had
never learned his surname, and he had not provided one. Anderson made his way to the usual
spot in the corner, sitting down on a plastic stool that buckled under his weight. Liam made a sort
of sound in greeting, and as usual, Anderson did not respond.
Behind him, the door opened again, and Beatriz Pascual walked in. Bea was messing
with some strange gadget. She exchanged greetings with Kim in Old Tagalog, and then went
back to messing with the gizmo.
Kim leaned over for a closer look. “What is that thing?”
“Dunno,” Bea said. “Found it somewhere. I don’t understand electronics, but this seems
valuable somehow.”
A new voice came from the doorway. “What’s valuable?”
More members of the Class had walked in: Bry Ly and Owen Zhou. Bry was one of the
divers, one of the many in the city that threw themselves into the waters of the South China Sea,
searching for scrap or fish they could haul up. It made sense that he’d be into the shiny thing Bea
was holding.
Owen was playing with a ring or something in his hand. That was Owen. Quick with his
hands. He was always playing with something or another. Kim watched as he rolled the ring
across his fingertips while Bea and Bry started discussing their new toy.
Speaking of Matic, there he was, right behind Owen. Hands in the pockets of a dark
trench coat. Matic liked timing his entrances so he could be last. Something about being
fashionably late.
“Hey, folks!” Matic said. He tipped an imaginary hat. Someone was in a good mood.
“How are we all doing?”
The rest of the room mumbled a greeting. Matic went to rummage in the kitchen cabinets,
as he did every Class. There was nothing inside, but he always went through them anyway.
“Students.”
Eyes swiveled to face the teacher. He had arrived almost silently.
Mr. Ramirez was a tall, bespectacled man who always carried one of those massive book
bags, typically for a lesson. He’d been a fancy English professor or some sort back in his heyday,
although no one was at the peak of their career now.
Mr. Ramirez stressed the importance of reading, especially the indulgence of fine
literature. He always talked about “quality education,” and had his Class read books frequently
distributed in the classrooms during the Silicon Era. Right now, they were partway through a
novel called Number the Stars.
Mr. Ramirez was already handing out the battered books, instructing his students to make
their way to chapter nine, where they had left off. Kim stared at the girl on the cover.
Annemarie kind of reminded Kim of herself. Well, Kim wasn’t Danish, and she wasn’t
suffering through WWII, but Annemarie was scrappy and brave.
Kim could respect that.
As a massive Asag somewhere in the Waterslums reared its head backwards and a distant
wail pierced the air, Mr. Ramirez turned a page and asked Kim to read.