The first week of class passed in a blur. Urban’s head hurt from all the new things she was learning. Before she knew it, her first jiujitsu practice arrived.

Urban shuddered as she climbed off her motorcycle into an empty alley with dark, reflectionless puddles.

Lillian would pick a sketchy place like this to train. While locking up her bike, a ping from Everest arrived.

[Everest: Wanna grab dinner tonight?]

Urban thought about the mounting homework she had. And it would be tricky to sneak off somewhere to meet too. But it had been too long since she’d seen him.

[Urban: Yeah! I’ll be coming straight from jiujitsu so I might be a little smelly.]

[Everest: I’m out. Can’t do smelly.]

[Everest: Just kidding.]

[Everest: Like I care. You’d look great even in one of those gis.]

Another ping showed up.

[Lillian: Are you on your way?? Don’t be late your first day of class.]

Urban checked the time. Class started in six minutes.

She made her way through a tiny door into what looked like the back entrance to someone’s house. Urban double-checked she was at the right location before continuing down a flight of stairs into a basement.

Fluorescent lights exposed every crack in the wall and every speck of dirt on the bare concrete floor. It was eerily empty and quiet except for a random pop song playing somewhere in the distance. She entered an all-white hallway with a paper sign with crude characters scribbled on it pointing to the left for the jiujitsu gym. Urban’s eyes darted around her surroundings. This seemed like the sort of place people got mugged.

But she relaxed as laughter bubbled from behind a cracked door and voices mingled with the music. She entered a large open room with bright white lights overhead. The floors were made of soft mats, and the walls were lined with punching bags. Urban hopped on one foot, as she pulled her shoes off at the entryway where there was a stack of them. Students dressed in white robes stood, mingling near the center of the room.

One of them, spotting Urban, broke away from the group and trotted over.

“Hey, sis!” Lillian extended a bundle of white to Urban. “Your gi.”

“Hurray. I get to join the bathrobe club.”

Lillian gave her a little push. “Changing room’s back down the hall and to the right.”

A few minutes later, Urban stood in front of Lillian again. Her sister helped teach her how to fasten her belt at the front of her gi. Then they joined a line with twenty other students in matching white gis. The instructor paced in front of them. He only seemed a couple years older than her and had blond hair and brown eyes but no obvious enhancements. Somehow, he looked familiar. When he spoke, he had a slight accent, as if he was from somewhere in the Eastern Federation.

“That’s Orion,” Lillian whispered. “He’s the head of the Inceptor’s gene pool. Wasn’t he amazing in the Exhibition Game?”

Urban realized now why he looked so familiar. “Does Mother know an Inceptor teaches this class?”

“Of course not.” Lillian wiggled her eyebrows. “But this is the best school in town. Don’t worry, Orion might help give you some instructions, but he keeps his distance. Unfortunately.” She gazed wistfully at the instructor. “You’ll be fine.”

Urban studied the instructor. Would Orion be able to read her thoughts? Find out she was a Natural by her lack of athleticism or her physique?

On the other hand, he was the Inceptor GP Lead. Being in his class alone could potentially help boost her sosh. She glanced at Lillian. If her overly protective sister thought it was safe, it was sure to be fine.

Orion began class with a warm-up, then ordered everyone to sit kneeling.

“Discipline,” he began in a low commanding voice, “is the most important thing I can teach. Without discipline, nothing you learn here is of value.” He paused a moment. “I’m going to tell you a story, but I warn you, it doesn’t have a happy ending.

“A long time ago there was a tribe of warriors. At the age of four, one of the tribal members had captured a horse and broken it in. He grew up to be the best warrior in his band.” He then proceeded to tell a long-winded story.

Urban wondered where this was going. Numbness crept up her legs, and she wanted desperately to shift positions, but she noticed everyone else remained perfectly still. She wondered if this was part of a test or had something to do with discipline. So, despite the pins and needles, she remained still.

Orion stopped. “And I’ll tell the second half of the story at the end of class.”

She couldn’t believe it. With annoyance, and pain, Urban joined the class in standing. It was difficult to walk now that she could feel again.

They did another lap around the room before Orion gave a new drill.

“Shrimping, go!”

Urban looked around in bafflement as everyone lined up on one side of the room and started making their way slowly across the floor on their backs and sides.

“What the—”

“Shrimping is one of the key building blocks in jiujitsu,” Lillian explained beside her.

“An essential really.” It was Orion. Neither of the girls had noticed him approach.

Add stealthy to the list of reasons I shouldn’t trust this guy.

“You’re new here. I’m Orion.” He extended a hand and they shook firmly.

Her breath froze.

His touch was exploratory, like he was reading her life story in the palm of her hands. Would he detect her elevated temperature or pulse? Urban fought the urge to jerk her hand away, knowing that would only attract more attention.

“Urban.” She withdrew her hand from his grip.

“A good name,” Orion said with an amiable smile. His intense amber eyes studied her.

Urban’s heart beat faster.

“This is the sister I’ve been telling you about,” Lillian interjected.

Orion looked at Lillian and Urban relaxed again.

“Right. Let me show you what shrimping is, Urban.” Orion led her away from the group and dropped to the floor.

“Shrimping is a form of creating space.” Orion motioned Urban to join him on the floor. “You start on your back like this, but then move one shoulder into the mat and you thrust your rear backward and away.”

He laughed at the look on Urban’s face. “Here, watch this.” He gave a quick demonstration. Laying on his back, he pushed from side to side, inching away from her. Urban copied him.

“You got it,” Orion coached after a couple of tries. “Good. Keep it up.”

He returned to surveying the rest of the class in their warm-up exercises while Urban practiced shrimping in a corner. She felt like a floundering fish, and she was all too conscious of the students’ eyes on her.

After a few minutes, Orion motioned Urban over.

He scanned the class, searching for someone. His eyes stopped on a Super. “Craig, come here and pin me down.”

A Super with horns on either side of his head came promptly. Urban noticed he had padding surrounding his horns to protect the other students. She tried not to laugh at how ridiculous he looked.

Orion looked at Urban from the floor. “This is one of the worst positions you could be in. It’s incredibly dangerous. You need to get out of this fast. Shrimping can create the needed space to escape.”

He demonstrated his point by shifting to his side, bracing his hands against Craig’s knees, and shooting his backside away from him. He wedged a knee into Craig, locked him into his guard, then swept Craig onto his back. Orion then put the Super into an armbar until he tapped.

Orion made it look easy, but Urban was skeptical. “How does that work if his weight is fully on you?”

“If his full weight were on me,” Orion got back on the ground and motioned the Super over again. This time Craig rested all his weight on him.

“You do this.” Orion trapped Craig’s leg and one of his hands against his chest, bucked upward, and then rolled. While rolling, he scrambled out of the Super’s guard and to his side. Orion shot forward, leaning against Craig’s chest and trapping one of his arms at an awkward angle.

The Super groaned in discomfort. He tried to fight but then, just as quickly, tapped the padded floor again.

Orion stopped applying pressure. “Even with your lightweight genetics, it can be done.”

Urban’s face reddened. “My parents thought they’d try skinny genetics,” she said casually, hoping to keep him from comparing her to Lillian.

Orion laughed genially. “We all have something unfortunate our parents picked out for our DNA.” He stood and helped Craig to his feet. “Anyhow, if something doesn’t work, try something else. Jiujitsu is a creative art. It’s physical prowess mixed with intelligence. It’s a game of moves and countermoves. It’s chess but with the human body. Whoever can outthink what their opponent will do next will be the victor.”

After practicing some more, Orion gathered the class back together, sitting once again on their knees, to finish his story. “What happened to that brave tribal warrior?” he asked, peering into each one of their eyes.

Urban felt he was seeing into her very soul when his gaze reached her. She knew she should clam up around Inceptors, but Orion was warm and friendly. At least, compared to Olive and other Inceptors she’d met.

“A clever rival band of warriors settled near him. With their guns, they conquered the brave tribal warriors. Eventually the band gave up fighting back. All the warriors of his clan lived harmonious and quiet lives on their tiny pieces of land. And that is the end of the story.”

Urban arched a cynical eyebrow.

Orion’s sharp eyes caught hers. A slight smile twitched at his mouth as if he knew what she was thinking. “The story is terrible because a brave warrior, one of the most amazing and gifted of his time, stopped fighting. He spent the rest of his life living a peaceful but meaningless life. He was confined to complacency while rival warriors continued their conquest.” He paused a moment. “I’d rather die fighting than end up like that.”

Urban tried not to wince. She glanced at her sister and saw she was deep in concentration. In fact, the entire class seemed spellbound by Orion’s words.

“What did you think?” Lillian asked later as they left.

“He’s either brilliant or crazy,” Urban remarked.

“Orion seems a little strange until you start connecting the dots to his stories, theories, and exercises. Then you realize he’s a genius.”

“All that survival talk . . . I’ve had enough to last a week.”

Lillian picked up on the tone in her sister’s voice. “What happened?”

Urban shook her head, not wanting to talk about it.

“That bad?”

“I just had too high of hopes.”

Lillian sighed. “Uni isn’t perfect. That’s for sure. It will get better, you’ll see.”

“Maybe for you,” Urban wanted to say. Instead, she said, “Thanks. See you Wednesday at class?”

“I never miss.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Urban muttered as she climbed onto her motorcycle. She realized she had a ping from Everest.

[Everest: Running a little late. Meet at your favorite spot?]

Good. I’ve been needing some practice. She responded with an animation of her avatar giving a thumbs up.

Urban set her maps to take her the long way on a less-traveled route. She zipped through the city until reaching an underground tunnel with bright lights. Upon entering, she held her breath to see how far she could push her limits.

The last time she’d tried to do this, she’d run out of air seconds before reaching the end of the tunnel. This time, she was determined to get all the way through. If I’m going to compete soon, I have to be comfortable with faster speeds.

The lights blurred as she twisted the throttle of her electric bike. Her motorcycle shot forward as she weaved smoothly through autonomous cars.

Urban’s vision narrowed as she focused on the road. At this speed, all it would take was a tiny distraction and she could hit a car and wipe out. She didn’t want to think about what would become of her if that happened.

Lungs burning, she checked her timer and saw forty-seven seconds had passed.

Halfway.

Ignoring the pain in her chest, she pulled the throttle again so she was flying silently. All her attention focused on maintaining control of her vehicle. The wind beating against her body at this velocity was an invisible barrier, determined to defeat her. She crouched lower to ward it off.

Her entire chest screamed for air. One minute and seven seconds had passed as a bend in the tunnel came into view.

Almost there.

Approaching the corner, she loosened the throttle and waited for the precise right moment.

As she entered the bend, she paused, then smoothly opened the throttle, increasing her speed. Her entire body leaned with the bike so far that her knee nearly touched the road.

Rolling off the throttle, she gradually stood the bike back up as she pulled out of the bend.

Her lungs were on fire.

One minute and ten seconds counted by as the exit to the tunnel appeared.

She gritted her teeth. I can do this.

Her limbs tingled. Her lungs were dying stars, caving in on themselves.

Then she was through the tunnel and the sun blinded her. Urban gulped in air hungrily and triumphantly as she checked her timer. She’d made it through the tunnel in one minute and twenty seconds and held her breath the entire time. A new record.

She arrived at the Hutongs, still breathing heavily and only a few minutes late. Her retina display flashed a warning.

<Entering yellow zone. Exercise CAUTION.>

The Hutongs were all classified as yellow zones and had a giant dome over them to preserve the climate and keep its pollution out of the Metropolis. Urban stared through it at the crumbling buildings preserved from dynasties gone by. The familiar sight of smoke from burning coal rose in the air, then stopped abruptly as it hit the dome.

This plot of land was one of the few things remaining of old China. The new melting pot of cultures and tech had cropped up all around, trying to crowd it out, but like a stubborn weed, it refused to be choked away. In this small patch of city, life went on as it always had for the past few centuries.

The trees wilted after a hot summer, their leaves a toasted brown. The one-story houses stood with sloping, tiled gray roofs and cherry red doors. Laundry hung out to dry in the courtyards. On the streets, people walked or rode on bicycles. Pigeons flapped in graceful circles overhead, flying in unison. Urban always wondered how this ancient way of life had survived.

She made her way toward one of the checkpoints through the barrier. She watched a lady with silver skin enter before her. She fumbled for a mask as she, too, crossed the barrier and coughed.

Urban breathed in deeply. The polluted air smelled of roasted corn, firewood, and incense. Only rich city slickers with no exposure to bad atmospheres were intolerant of it. While long exposure was bad for everyone, at least Naturals could breathe in yellow zones without having a coughing fit.

Excitement pulsed through her at the thought of seeing Everest again.

As she made her way through the Hutongs, it was as if all the growing pains the world had been experiencing for the last century had never touched this place. Urban loved the maze of completely impractical and winding narrows streets—each one full of surprises. Here was an old woman with a dog wearing a hand-knitted sweater, a child with split pants, and on the next street, a grandfatherly figure with a missing tooth, selling corn right off a portable furnace on a bike.

It was peaceful in its own way. There were no drone deliveries buzzing by, pings from tatts, or people talking on the streets to unseen callers through their retina displays. There were still sounds, but they were different. Here, people haggled over goods and talked to each other in person. Bike bells rang at pedestrians, and dogs the size of rats yipped at each other.

They were the sort of sounds you never heard in the Metropolis or the Outskirts. Urban had been told they were the sounds of the old Federation.

Here in this patch of land where coal and plastic bags were still used, where social credit was blocked, where the fastest form of transportation was a bike, where the ceilings leaked, the plumbing was awful, it was perpetually too cold or too hot, and the roof tiles didn’t match—Urban was at home.

It was like her mismatched DNA belonged here. As if she were meant for a simpler life in the Hutongs. She could let her guard down, be herself. She always felt like she was safer here. The howl of a white temple monkey made her shudder and look to her right.

A looming paifang arched over a stone stairway. Behind it rose an overly bright display of hand-painted buildings that reminded Urban of a grinning clown face. A deserted stone courtyard with statues and trees haunted the space between the lurid buildings.

The temple used to be a place to worship the gods or ancestors. As the years went by, and Buddhism declined in popularity, it had morphed into a new purpose.

Now, the temple was a place to house the cremated bodies and the memories of the dead. Urban’s grandma’s remains were at a similar temple. Lillian and Mother frequented it to access her memories—stored from her tatt. The place creeped Urban out, and she’d only ever set foot in it during the funeral.

Urban walked faster until she passed the temple and entered into a crowded row of souvenir shops. Each store touted traditional colorful papercuts, embroidered silk handkerchiefs, jade rings, tea sets, paintings, beaded necklaces, and hand-painted fans. A hole-in-the-wall restaurant loomed ahead. A giant sign above it read: Auntie Tongtong’s Noodles. Urban stepped through plastic flaps, pulled to the side like curtains drawn back, and entered.

No decor adorned the plain white walls, and only simple plastic tables and stools filled the restaurant. Urban took a seat against the back wall with a view of the front door.

“Dear, what can I get you?” A middle-aged woman in a stained white apron smiled down at her. She was skinny, like Urban, and had straight black hair, pulled back into a simple ponytail. When she smiled, she lit up the room.

“Hi, Auntie. How are you?”

“All right for an old woman.” She poured Urban a cup of green tea and set it on the rickety table. “You ready to order?

“Two bowls of chaomian. One with chicken and one with beef.”

Auntie nodded as she tucked her pad and paper into her apron before disappearing back into the kitchen.

The smell of cilantro and beef stew hit her nose as a wave of heat passed over her. The fan beating furiously in the corner couldn’t compete against the heat of the cooking fire. The male patrons had their shirts rolled up past their bellies to try and keep cool.

Urban swirled the tea in her cup. She watched as it went round and round with little bits of tea leaves hitting against the sides of the porcelain cup.

It was silent in the restaurant. The only sound was the loud slurping of noodles as the customers bent their heads low to their steaming bowls. A wok scraped against a stove in the kitchen next door, and Urban heard the whoosh of flames.

Auntie had allowed her in the kitchen once. Urban had watched as the cook used open flames and a huge, blackened wok.

Scrape, scrape, toss. Scrape, scrape, toss.

The cook would fling the noodles into the air, and flames would leap around the wok.

Auntie came back out with a platter of noodles and served a patron.

Noodles. Tea. A pair of chopsticks, sitting on a wooden table.

Something about that combination gave her déjà vu.

Then she gasped as she realized what was missing from the picture: the microneedle patch. She knew where she had seen it before. It was next to a pair of chopsticks, tea, and noodles.

At home.