The Eastern Sector of the Outer Ring

The Republic’s Outer Ring isn’t exactly the safest place to live, but the east side makes the rest of the district look like a paradise. It is here that the squat cigar shop sits on the corner of two trash-filled streets. I press the wrinkles smooth on my uniform jacket, then cross the street and push open the cracked glass door. A small metal bell tings as I step through the doorframe.

“Hello?” a crackly voice calls out.

“Hello,” I respond to the mysterious voice. The shop is filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves of cigars, cigarettes, and smoke pipes of any size and shape imaginable. Technically, smoking isn’t outlawed in the Republic, but it isn’t viewed fondly by upper Party officials, hence why it remains a pastime for the poorest Ring. I weave between the narrow shelves until I find a dusty counter at the back of the shop. An old woman sits on a stool, dressed in a faded lavender robe, puffing smoke from a silver pipe.

“Can I help you?” the old woman asks as I approach the counter. She must be the old woman from the girl’s letter.

“I’m here to see Cyana,” I say. The woman blows out a long stream of purple smoke.

“Who?” she asks.

“Cyana,” I repeat. Am I pronouncing her name incorrectly? “I’m a friend of hers.”

This time, the old woman chokes on her breath out.

“I ain’t know no Cyana,” she says annoyedly. “And I certainly ain’t fond of you soldiers stompin’ ‘round here like you-”

“It’s alright Grandmother.”

I turn around at the familiar voice. It’s her- the girl disguised as a plant worker, her hazel eyes sparkling in the dim electric lights. Bandages poke out from beneath her shirt, and a strip of gauze runs down half her right arm. I’m glad to see she’s been taking care of her wounds.

“Why are you hanging out with Party boys,” the old woman cackles. “Didn’t your father teach you better than to trust ‘em?”

“This is the one I was telling you about, Grandmother,” Cyana says. “The one who saved my life.”

Cyana approaches me and takes my hand. Hers are small but warm. I also notice her fingers are covered in scars. Are they from laboring as a plant worker?

“Are you hungry?” she asks me.

“Famished,” I choke out. It’s suddenly impossible to speak.

What’s gotten ahold of me?

“Come on then,” Cyana says. “I know where we can get some food.”

With that, she drags me out of the cigar shop and down Maverick Avenue to a sandwich cart nestled between a grocery stand and a brothel. The stand owner seems delighted to see Cyana. After a few minutes of conversation, he gives Cyana two sandwiches wrapped in re-used plastic bags. Cyana thanks the sandwich man, then drags me further down the street to a bench. She commands me to sit, then throws a sandwich into my lap.

“If I come at the end of the day like this,” she explains with food in her mouth, “he always has leftover sandwiches that won’t hold until the morning. They’re a little stale from sitting out all day, but hey, they’re free.”

I unwrap the food Cyana has given me. A cheap protein patty covered in orange sauce is stuffed between two slices of toasted bread. As much as I don’t want to, I take a bite. The bread is certainly stale, and the protein patty is just as bland as I remember them being during basic training. Supposedly, they’re a blend of all the leftover animal products from the slaughterhouses. Since nothing can go to waste in the Republic, the slaughterhouses turn their leftovers into ‘patties’ and sell them as cheap protein sources to the Outer Ring and the military. They make for inexpensive mass gainers for military men during basic training.

“You don’t like it?” Cyana questions.

“It’s better than what they fed us in bootcamp,” I respond.

“So you don’t like it then,” Cyana says, her lips downturned ever so slightly.

“I didn’t say that,” I say. “It’s just been a while since I’ve had protein patty.”

“I see,” Cyana says. “You’re used to rich foods.”

“Contrary, you can’t be picky in the military,” I respond. “I’ll eat anything you put in front of me. But with that said, do you really survive off moldy leftover sandwiches? If that’s the case, I can get you some fresh bread and sliced meat.”

Cyana shakes her head.

“I’ve already accepted too much of your generosity,” she says. “I couldn’t think of asking for something more.”

She seems softer and more genuine this evening. I wonder if being back at home has softened that hard outer shell of hers.

“Is that why you left?” I ask.

Cyana shakes her head.

“Well, that and your sister was starting to get too nosey,” she says. “I may have lied to her that I was pregnant.”

“You what!” I shout. Cyana laughs.

“It was the first thing I could think of,” she says. Great.

That is almost certainly going to come back on me.

“Anyways,” Cyana continues. “I do need to find some way to repay you for your kindness. You risked your life stealing those medications to save me.”

Of course, what I really want as a ‘thank you’ is the identity of the Cherry Blossom. But I know it would be too soon to ask for that. I haven’t earned Cyana’s innermost trust yet.

Play it cool, Matthew. You’ll get the information you need, it’ll just take time…

“Ah, it was nothing,” I say, then offer a quick smile. “Like I said, I don’t think it’s right that-”

Cyana puts her palm over my mouth and leans in like she’s going to kiss me.

“You can’t say these things in public,” she whispers. “They have ears everywhere.”

“Sorry,” I whisper back. Cyana sits back down on the bench and inhales the last bite of her sandwich. She stands.

“I have to go now,” she says. “Come back by the cigar shop when you want to see me again. And next time, don’t wear your uniform.”

She tugs gently on my sleeve.

“It attracts unwanted attention in these parts.”

“Understood,” I say. Before I can muster a word more, Cyana has disappeared into the shadows. I sit on the bench for a few moments more, trying to comprehend what just happened. Finally, I stand, throw the sandwich wrapper in the trash can, and head for the tram station. When I arrive home, I quietly push open the front door and try to sneak inside.

“Matthew.”

Oh no.

I turn and see Father standing in the doorway to his office.