Skyline

By Patti Larsen

Skyline is home. Skyline is family. Home is where the heart is.

Aurelie Bay and her family are loyal to Skyline and the corporation that has saved humanity from the apocalypse threatening their extinction. With the surface of the planet destroyed by an ancient disaster and only their city between the human race and annihilation, she trusts in her parents, her guard brother and the very foundation of the city her people have been building for over a hundred years. She has been taught that their salvation lies upward, and that Skyline's management has the health, welfare and survival of all of their citizens at heart.

But when her best friend's troubles lure Aure down a path of rebellion and selfishness in an effort to save him from himself, she learns to question the truth behind the city in the sky. Pitted against her leaders, her family and the very tenets she's grown up believing, Aure is forced to face the fact that those in control of Skyline and the continuation of the human race may not be telling the people everything and that they're far closer to catastrophe than anyone is willing to admit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patti Larsen
• Release date: Jan 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9781989925867

Patti Larsen

About me, huh? Well, my official bio reads like this: Patti Larsen is a multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in her head. But that sounds so freaking formal, doesn’t it? I’m a storyteller who hears character's demands so loudly I have to write them down. I love the idea of sports even though sports hate me. I’ve dabbled in everything from improv theater to film making and writing TV shows, singing in an all girl band to running my own hair salon.But always, always, writing books calls me home.I’ve had my sights set on world literary domination for a while now. Which means getting my books out there, to you, my darling readers. It’s the coolest thing ever, this job of mine, being able to tell stories I love, only to see them all shiny and happy in your hands... thank you for reading.As for the rest of it, I’m short (permanent), slightly round (changeable) and blonde (for ever and ever). I love to talk one on one about the deepest topics and can’t seem to stop seeing the big picture. I happily live on Prince Edward Island, Canada, home to Anne of Green Gables and the most beautiful red beaches in the world, with my pug overlord and overlady, six lazy cats and Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn.

Book preview

Part One: Obedience

Chapter One

When the chime sounds, I stand with the other students and head for the classroom door. Amid the quiet murmurs and the farewell from our teacher, CEO Paxillia Moss’s voice drones in the background.

Skyline needs you. Skyline is your family. We build upward to live. Earth below is death. Our home, our survival, depends on you and our continued climb to the sky. Home is where the heart is.

I’ve heard it so many times before that it is mostly white noise, though there’s enough guilt built in I still take a moment to salute her image on the massive screen as I make my way out.

My parents raised me right, after all.

He’s waiting for me outside school, loitering like he hadn’t just missed biology, backpack absent, shoulders pressed to the white surface, lift of one eyebrow summoning me like his smirking smile isn’t rebellious enough.

Missed you, Lathe says.

Of course, I say in return, fighting off the urge to punch him in the shoulder because there’s no way I’m going to let him know how much I’ve been worrying about him in the last few weeks. Carry this. I hand off my backpack and walk on, the tall blond I’ve known my whole life shouldering my burden like it belongs to him, towering over me and staying close as we exit the school’s entrance and pass through the gates into the main thoroughfare of Level Ten’s midtown. I’ve heard the levels above are even more impressive, though I’ve never been invited higher.

Someday, maybe, if I work hard and do my part keeping Skyline safe. Right now, Ten is home.

Paxillia smiles down at us from every smooth surface, Skyline’s logo replacing her in a complex dance of graphics new enough that I still get shivers. Sunlight streams down from the overhead panels, lighting the pristine thoroughfare in a soft, golden glow, the brilliant blue of the sky marred by some artful clouds a tech thought would add to the realism.

They weren’t wrong.

Where have you been? I know better than to ask Lathe anything. He’s been cagey our whole lives, only sharing what he wants known when he wants to share. I have to fight off the familiar sullen resentment that rises at his lack of confidence since I can never help but blurt out news to him the moment we’re together. Sometimes I wonder why we’re even friends.

Except he’s my only real friend, the only one I’ve ever felt close to. Sure, I’m friendly with some of my classmates, but for some reason, I always gravitate back to Lathe. Maybe it’s the fact he always pushes the boundaries of what’s allowed that’s so appealing. Or perhaps it’s easier to be friends with someone who doesn’t constantly talk about their duty to Skyline.

I know that’s selfish and disrespectful to our city, but it’s nice at times to focus on something other than duty.

He dodges a young woman in medical white with her head down over her palmreader, swinging my book bag over his opposite shoulder, the rattle of my plastexts making me wince. The tough plastic hybrid tablets might be strong, but I was well aware Lathe’s disregard for other people’s property meant I might lose all my notes if I wasn’t careful. I retrieve my bag from him as the next round of our CEO’s videos begin, her voice carrying gently in the faint breeze generated by the hidden ventilation system buried deep behind the walls of the city.

Lathe glances upward at her when her image fades, replaced by the newest video series, this one focusing on the mushroom farms. I’ve seen this one twice already, though it still makes me pay attention, if only because of the look on his face.

Disgust twists his lips, Lathe’s head dropping while he tucks both hands in his pockets, his dark, baggy pants hanging around his hips, t-shirt snug over his lean muscles. He’d be handsome, I always thought, if he wasn’t so disdainful all the time.

I’m thinking about it, you know, I tell him as we carry on, the tall tree on my left wafting artificial scent from the filters lining its branches. While I know it’s fake, it still delights me. It’s a new fragrance today, something sweet but light at the same time, lifting my spirits enough I continue speaking despite Lathe’s dark glare. The mushroom farms. Dad says I’d be a great candidate.

Lathe’s snort isn’t unexpected. Aurelie Bay, he says, "you’re a right fool for believing anything they say."

I sigh, because his response is as expected as the shift of image from the new video to the logo of Skyline on the screens around us. I’m ready to be done with Lathe for the day, despite my previous worry about him. There are times he’s kind and thoughtful and funny and makes me think. But there are others—more often than not, now—when he’s unbearable.

We all have to live here, I say, ready to put distance between us. My parents have been asking for years now, concerned about Lathe’s influence. And with the increasing incidents caused by the rebels, well.

I’d never tell them I worry he might be more than just talk.

He doesn’t comment, Lathe standing aside to allow me to go ahead through the entry to the residences, leaving behind the sunny façade for the more muted evening feel maintained overhead. Even though I know the sky isn’t real and the ceiling lies only fifty feet above, I always have a feeling of endlessness when I look up. Tonight’s sunset is exceptional, one I adore and I’m happy it’s back in the rotation.

Lathe doesn’t seem to notice, striding past doorways with his shoulders hunched almost to his ears, blind to the lines of flowers and small bushes so carefully tended, the wash of pinks and oranges and reds across the ceiling panels bleeding into dark purple on the edges. The three-story houses that line the street form an endless march of cream and brown, walkway that same comforting coloration, vid screens embedded in the occasional bench and scrolling archway. The silence becomes oppressive and I’m not sure how to break it or even if I should try. When I pause at the corner, my turn to the left, his to the right past the small park, I’m ready to finally admit our friendship isn’t going to last despite my best intentions.

Only to have him catch my hand.

I know I’ve been a jerk, he says, gray eyes lifting to mine, blond hair tousled and reminding me of the boy he’d been, the best friend I’d leaned on since I was very small, breaking my heart and not knowing it as he went on. I’ve been busy, Aure. Working on something. He looks away, licking his lips, shuffling his feet, reminding me of the kid I’d adored and triggering an about-face. Maybe I’ve been judging him too harshly? Listening to Mom and Dad and my older brother, Vasher? Lathe deserves better than they allow him. I didn’t want you to get involved, that’s all. I don’t like the sound of that. It’s just… I’ve seen things, Aure. Heard things. He finally meets my eyes again, his full lips pursed.

If you’re in trouble, I say, reaching out to him, fingers hooking his at the tips like we did when we were kids and he didn’t want to hold hands, you can talk to me.

Lathe shakes his head, free hand rising to push back his unruly waves, shoulders straightening. Like I said.

What about your mom? I know as soon as I say that it is the wrong suggestion. He lets go of my touch and backs a half-step away.

She’s busy, he says, crisp and almost angry, though to someone who doesn’t know him, that anger would sound like arrogance. I know better. And that his mother, a corp nurse and single mom has done her best. Doesn’t help his security officer dad died ten years ago in an altercation, either. But I have a feeling someone like Lathe Rasper has always been meant to walk his own path.

Maybe it’s time I let him.

Whatever it is, I say, you can trust me, Lathe.

He nods then with a smirk, the moment gone, his bad boy act returned in full force. Good luck with the shrooms, Aurelie, he says, backing away from me.

I know in my heart if he walks away, we’re done. It’s just a feeling, a bit of intuition, but it crushes me and before I can stop myself, I close the distance between us again. Where are you going?

He hesitates before shrugging. I have something to look into, he says, suddenly decisive, the boy he was gone into the young man he’s become. I see the shift in him, feel him leave me before he’s even turned and left. Like this is goodbye and he doesn’t know how to say it.

The silence between us hurts more than anything I’ve ever experienced, and I feel my breath catch. There’s one last, long pause before Lathe flips me a mock salute then turns and strides off, heading for the park, while I watch him go with my heart in my shoes. I need to leave things be. I have my own path now, and Lathe’s isn’t going to lead him anywhere productive, I’m sure of that.

Why then, instead of heading home, do I follow him?

***

Chapter Two

He doesn’t notice I’m behind him until it’s too late. By then, he’s passed around the edge of the park where children laugh and run and climb the complex geometrical designs of their towering play place, the shape reminiscent of Skyline itself. I barely notice it today, though there are times I’ve found myself lost in its dizzying sculpture, my focus on the tall, lean form striding away in front of me. I have to double my speed just to keep pace, aware that Lathe always shortens his stride to match mine and rarely as unhappy about my bare five-foot-two as I am rushing after him right now. When he turns the corner onto a side street, I fear I’ve lost him, but when I slow to look right and left at the next intersection, I spot him heading for the boundary with dread rising in a wash of worry that has me almost sprinting.

I pant to a halt beside him while he turns with a shocked expression, looking up and around, frown creasing his youthful face into a much more aged appearance. What are you doing? He hisses that question at me, big hand grasping my arm and tugging me toward him, practically shoving me into the shadow of a tree. He looks around again in visible agitation, lips twitching, and cheeks flushed. Is that fear? What has Lathe done to be afraid of? Or I ask myself as I look over his shoulder at the dark glass on the city boundary, what is he about to do?

You can’t cross, I blurt, both hands rising to grasp at him when he lets me go. Lathe, that area is off limits, and you know it.

He shakes his head, tsking softly under his breath, though his anxiety doesn’t lessen, only feeds into some facsimile of irritation at my presence. Go home, Aurelie, he says, using my full name like he does sometimes when he’s angry or wants to hurt me. Stay out of this.

Out of what? I shiver at my reflection in the black glass. Techs haven’t yet rewired it to create a horizon of sorts, the recent rebel attack in that section of the city cutting it off from the rest of the complex. What possible purpose could be served by poking around in a restricted and dangerous area? What are you up to? I’m not even sure I want to know, but keeping him safe? That’s a priority suddenly.

I feel like I’ve turned my back on my best friend for the last few months and my guilt won’t be set aside lightly.

He sighs then, leaning into the tree, gaze flickering to the dark panel behind him. There’s something I need to see, Aure, he says. Something I was told I had to witness for myself.

I’m over his mysteriousness, thank you. You’re risking your life and your freedom for what? Not only is this ridiculously dangerous, if he’s caught, there’s a chance he’ll be sent below to work maintenance. He doesn’t have a great record with security, after all, and I have no idea how many offenses he’s racked up since he started avoiding me. I shiver at the thought.

You really have no idea, he says, breathing those words into the scented air, the aroma from the tree intense at this proximity, twilight sky overhead now punctuated by the rising moon, glowing lights humming to life along the street. None of you do. You’re living a lie, Aure. I just need to see the truth for myself.

He’s talking gibberish. Whatever it is you think you’ll find on the other side of the boundary, I say, it can’t be worth going below for the rest of your life.

Lathe flashes me a tight grin, his fear vanishing as though he’s made some kind of decision and I helped him arrive at it. We’ll see, he says before stepping away from me, hand fishing out a rebreather from his back pocket, the cylinder blocking his mouth as he slips it into place before turning and touching the panel’s edge with agile fingers. A console wakes, flickering numbers and letters lining the command square. He enters a line of text that has me gaping—where did he get an exit code?—then steps back.

The panel hums once and then shudders aside, the cold darkness beyond beckoning him, apparently, because he immediately enters.

I need to go home. I need to report this. I have to leave him to his own fate. But he is my friend, and with a groan of despair I’m going to live to regret my terrible decision, I follow, my rebreather fished out of my bag while I lurch for the slowly closing panel, rushing through to the other side.

I make it, feet sliding on the slick surface of the median, one hand rising to steady myself against Lathe’s back. He doesn’t even twitch at my touch, the tight space between sections barely big enough for both of us. The chill cuts through my light jacket and coveralls, my face and hands suddenly tight with it and I flash back to my first-grade training. The cold I feel now is nothing compared to what’s to come out there, past the boundary, though I hope the section remains intact enough we’ll have some protection.

It's not until I feel a tug on my arm that I realize I might have cleared the panel, but my backpack isn’t so lucky. I’m forced to let it drop, the strap now hooked in the glass. Cursing softly under my breath at my clumsiness, not to mention this horrible life choice, I try to tell Lathe to wait, to help me free my bag. Nothing will look more suspicious than my satchel hanging from a boundary panel. But he’s already finishing his typing, the next panel sliding open and he’s striding out into the bitter cold while I hesitate and finally follow.

I have a clean record and a plan for the future, so I need things to stay that way. If we get caught, I’m going to kill him.

I have to slow my breathing, oxygen recycling already straining to support my panicked intake as the rebreather filters chug through a cycle far too quickly. I only have five filters before I need to return inside, and I have a feeling Lathe is going to be taking his sweet time. It’s not like I expected to be out here or anything. The rebreather is meant for emergencies only, for breaches in the city’s outer walls, not for breaking the rules this way. I hover with my back pressed to the closed second panel, gaze sweeping over the residential street, though nothing about it is as it should be. One valiant light flickers in the distance, the rest shattered and dark, no taste making it through the breather’s filters even if the constructs continue to pump their scent and flavor into the air. Intense discomfort averts my eyes from the withered remains of the trees lining the street, two of which have toppled over the walkway, Lathe circling them and carrying on as though he crosses the boundary every day. I take a bit more time to slow my breaths and then follow.

I know to keep my head down but make the mistake of glancing at the line of buildings ahead. My gaze travels along the rooftops to the sky that’s not a sky at all, up and up despite my best intentions, the endless, falling darkness on the other side triggering panic all over again. Stars, an endless carpet of them, stretch out into nothingness through the shattered rooftop panels, the curving, clouded planet forty thousand feet below just visible as the blazing sun—the real one—sets over the corner of shattered glass and sends my senses reeling. Both hands cover my eyes, my rebreather’s second filter sliding into place while I force myself into calm. When I look again, I keep my gaze firmly on the ground in front of me and allow myself to sink into the icy cold as a distraction.

When I follow Lathe at last, it’s on shaking legs, so I’m fortunate he hasn’t gone too far. He looks up from something he’s crouching over when I