Chapter 2

A Rich and Full Life, or a Life Full of Riches

Despite her assurances that he wasn't a prisoner, he couldn't help the sensation of being trapped creeping through his tired but healing body. He was in an unfamiliar room, with unsanitised furniture and bedding, relying on the charity of a strange woman who had told him she wasn't medically trained. For the first time in many decades, he feared losing his life. More so than he had during the attack. His faith that he would be rescued overrode any thoughts that he might have died out in that dirty patch of land.

Earth was too unpredictable, too dirty, too sick. He hated it.

For the most part, he tried to spend as much time on his beloved Torus as he could, but with profits slowly taking a swan dive, he'd been spending too much time in his office at his factory, breathing in the contaminated air, arguing with investors who couldn't think long term.

Delacourt promised to secure his contracts, but now that the software coding he'd written had been stolen, would that still apply? How did she intend to rectify it? Without further investment from Elysium, his company would eventually grind to a halt. Workers were getting slower and sicker. Kids had a higher chance of dying before the matured into productive workers. It was a never-ending battle of hiring and firing. He couldn't trust anyone else to run things on his behalf, and whilst he had a largely competent assistant, she didn't have the longevity he did. He had built the company from nothing before the Torus was even a glint in Architect George Markus's eye.

A true feat of engineering and software with no expense spared, so that they could preserve their way of life. He'd never felt guilty for choosing to leave a dying world. In his mind, he'd been saving the best humanity had to offer. The only greater achievement they had made was the creation of the Med-Bay. There was nothing it couldn't cure, including ageing. The cost for making a single home Med-Bay was more than most on Earth would ever see in their lifetimes.

It took far longer than he was used to for him to fall asleep, despite the physical exhaustion. Ordinarily, if he ever struggled, which wasn't often, he would simply take a pill and in 10 minutes he would be out for a good eight hours.

He wasn't sure he wanted to trust any pills she might have to hand. He wouldn't know where they had come from or if they were even in date. Would they have the same potency? Were they even made in the same place Elysium got their medications from? Too many variables he couldn't control. He didn't even want to ask for painkillers for the constant throbbing in his chest and the searing headache pounding in his skull.

But sleep eventually came and Cleo made sure not to wake him. Sleep was one of the best natural healers and one she never underestimated.

As dawn broke, Cleo woke, tossing a blanket over the back of the couch and groaning as she sat up, her back protesting from the unnatural position she'd adopted in order to sleep. Her bed was technically big enough for two people, but she'd decided to show a little kindness and let him have the space to himself.

She stood up and stretched, her back popping and cracking. She used the bathroom then took a glass of water to him, intending to leave it on the bedside table for when he eventually woke up, but he blinked up at her when she approached the bed.

"Oh. Uh, I wasn't expecting you to be awake yet. I brought water. It's filtered, just in case you're worried about tap water," she said, placing the glass down.

"The pain woke me."

"Oh, I have pills for that," she offered.

"No. No, I'd prefer to be in control with what is going on within my body. I would currently like to use the restroom," he responded, giving a dismissive toss to the blanket as though it might burn him if it remained over him any longer.

Cleo fought the urge to roll her eyes at his demeanour and sucked in a breath. He was still in his trousers and socks, and the torn open shirt she hadn't wanted to jostle him to get off.

She moved closer and leaned in for him to slip an arm around his shoulders, but he jerked away suddenly.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

She blinked at him, as though the answer was obvious. "Helping you onto your feet."

"I would prefer for you to keep your distance."

Cleo straightened up like she'd been slapped. She'd saved this ungrateful fucker's life, and now he was getting precious about her touching him?

She scoffed. "Fine. Figure it the fuck out yourself. Bathroom is the door on the left. Have fun."

She left him in his prone position and strode back out to the living room, picking up the nearest device amongst many she'd been working on and angrily tinkering with it as she seethed.

Back in the bedroom, he attempted to sit upright, but groaned when his throbbing became a shooting pain at the bending his body wasn't quite ready to do. Instead, he had to do an ungainly shuffle to get his legs over the side, using the power in his thankfully undamaged arms to push himself to stand up, swaying slightly as his body adjusted to the change in his centre of gravity.

He took a few careful steps, a hand reaching for the bedpost to steady himself, then made the long and arduous journey of a further 15 steps to the bathroom to hopefully reclaim some dignity and assess the damage that was so crudely done to him.

The bathroom was moderately tidy, though it lacked all the technical mod-cons he was used to. It had a shower/tub combo, a basic basin with taps, and a basic toilet. He would have to settle for an unsterilized environment for the time being. He would use a Med-Bay as soon as he got home. This was to be his mantra.

Cleo had stopped working and was busy listening for anything untoward coming from the bathroom. She told herself it wasn't out of concern, but to protect herself against any accusations of letting him get hurt. She wasn't concerned. No. He was Elysian. People on Earth were the shit on his custom-made shoes. Useful only until they weren't. Expendable and replaceable.

He fortunately had been able to use the bathroom without cracking open his skull and he'd slowly shuffled back to the bedroom, holding what was left of his tattered shirt closed. It was undignified to be so shoddily dressed.

Cleo had already propped up some pillows so he didn't have to lie quite so flat, and was busy rummaging through drawers for a t-shirt large enough for him. Her home was full of scavenged parts, items, clothing, even shelf-stable foods, most of which she donated as and when people were in dire need.

Food was harder to grow in an environment where a near ecological disaster had slowly poisoned the Earth. Very little greenery existed outside of biodomes, and biodomes was how most people on Earth managed to get hold of fresh foods, but with a large population to feed, such foods were rationed and expensive. Most people survived on preserved foods, most of which focused on nutrition over taste. She understood the necessity, but she regularly offered her engineering abilities to the nearest biodome in exchange for so-called wonky fruit and veg. They were the cheapest on the market anyway. Elysium got first pick over the freshest produce, though they made a lot of their own on the Torus. The rest was left to the people of Earth, priced according to quality.

During her last trip out to the biodome, she'd managed to acquire some strawberries, along with her usual requests. She'd been looking forward to having them and part of her begrudged the idea of sharing them.

She finally found a t-shirt that looked like it might fit, and smirked at the logo. It had the words 'DREAM BIG' on it, and a print of the Torus below it. As though anyone on Earth could ever dream their way to Elysium. The only way anyone ever set foot in Elysium was on an illegal transport.

"This should fit you," she said, dropping the shirt on the foot of the bed. "Uh, you hungry? I can do toast? I have plenty of ration packets."

He gave her that same look of disgust again at the mention of food, but his stomach clearly didn't care where it came from. Perhaps toast would be safe. After all, it was just bread.

"I think toast would be adequate for the time being," he replied after a long moment.

She nodded and went off to make some for both of them. She could envisage more difficult moments with him. People from Elysium were like aliens. It was as though they had forgotten what it was like to be an average human, but in reality, they hadn't ever been that way even before the left the Earth. They were rich. Entitled.

She'd known John Carlyle's history. He was actually born on Earth in 2010 before things had gotten so bad. From what she could recall, the Torus went operational by 2075, built by his company, Armadyne Corp over a five-year period. He had been 65 when he'd relocated, though he looked closer to 40 these days, thanks to the miracle of the Med-Bay invention.

The fact that every home had one in Elysium, but they couldn't even spare on for the hospital, truly enraged her. They had the means to help everyone on Earth, but simply didn't want to.

She tried not to burn the toast as she got lost in her angry thoughts, and brought two slices to him. Surprisingly, he was in the shirt she'd left on the bed, and now propped up against the pillows. She handed him the plate.

"Preserved jam. We don't get much butter down here," she explained.

She then went back to retrieve her own plate and brought the strawberries with her. She smirked when his eyes widened slightly at the fresh produce. She sat on the other side of the bed.

"It's a rarity, but they're fresh. From the same place some of your produce is grown in."

"I didn't realise they offered fresh fruit to people down here," he commented when she put the punnet down near his thigh.

"We get whatever is left, priced according to quality and shape. But, as long as they're fresh and taste good, most people don't care what they look like."

He hesitated a moment before picking one up and putting it to his lips, taking a small bite. He blinked a few times, surprised that it did indeed taste like most strawberries he'd eaten before.

"Not bad, huh? How's the chest?" she asked, nodding at the area covered by the bandage.

"I didn't notice any bleeding."

"That's good," she said, finishing her first slice of toast.

"How did you stop the bleeding?"

She swallowed her mouthful and put her plate down so she could retrieve the coagulant injector.

"With this," she stated, holding the injector out to him.

He looked at her for a long moment, then took the device from her. It was remarkably rudimentary, but it had clearly done the trick.

"Coagulant of some description?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I had to use it twice. First time to save your life, then a second time once I got the bullet out. Which reminds me…"

She retrieved a small pot with the bullet in and held it out to him.

"Souvenir."

He hesitated before taking the pot and staring at the small, crooked piece of metal. That something so small could have killed him wasn't lost on him.

"I was unconscious the whole time?" he asked.

"Sort of… I used a delta wave device to keep you under. I didn't have any anaesthetic. They keep that locked up pretty tight at the hospital."

He gave her a horrified look at the knowledge that she'd deliberately used a device on him to induce sleep.

"Would you rather I had let you wake up whilst I was pulling a bullet out of your chest?"

"No. I suppose that would have been counter-productive."

"Again. You're welcome," she quipped as she sat back down to finish her toast.

"How long do you propose to keep me here?" he asked.

She huffed. She'd already told him he wasn't a prisoner. "I don't intend to keep you at all. I just wouldn't recommend leaving until the bandage comes off and the coagulant has done its job and dissolved."

"I'm sure you can understand my eagerness to return home and assess the damage being done to my company in my absence."

"I'm sure you can appreciate that I don't give a fuck about your company. I would think you'd appreciate saving your life, or is your company more important? You got family it would go to?"

He cleared his throat. "No. No family," he replied, his thumb absently stroking the golden signet-style ring on his right hand.

She noticed the movement. "Then what's with the ring?"

He looked at the ring and cleared his throat again. "It was my father's. Henry Carlyle. My name is John…"

"John Henry Carlyle. I know who you are. Your company built that flying eyesore in the sky."

"That flying eyesore, as you so euphemistically put it, was a feat of engineering and architecture that had never been attempted in the entirety of human history."

"Oh, I'm sure everyone down here is infinitely grateful to get to lay their poor, pathetic eyes on it day after day, knowing they will never have the slightest chance to set a dirty foot on it," she responded sarcastically.

She popped a handful of strawberries onto her empty plate and stood up. "You can finish the rest."

She moved to the bedroom door and called over her shoulder, "Scream for Cleo if you fall out of bed and crack your skull open."

He watched her leave the room feeling… he wasn't sure how he felt. He couldn't remember the last time anyone outside of the Elysium political sphere chastised him. It was… less than pleasant.