Eko 2099

The rain in Eko never fell down. It fell sideways, through the gaps between the towers, on a wind that smelled of salt and solder.

Zainab Lawal rode it on a hoverboard the colour of old chewing gum, weaving between the vertical rivers of traffic. Below her, the Undercity glittered in the dark: a maze of rusted gantries, lantern markets, steam vents and neon, the whole thing lashed together with cable and prayer. Above her, a hundred storeys up, the Spires caught the last of the sun and turned to molten gold.

"Courier Lawal." The voice in her ear was her dispatcher's, crackling and bored. "Parcel pick-up at the Ajegunle Dock. Priority."

"I'm on the Marina run."

"Reassigned. Double fee."

"How double?"

"Four thousand eko-credits."

She nearly fell off the board. Four thousand would cover three months of her sister's medicine. "Who's the client?"

"Anonymous."

"Is it legal?"

"Zainab. It's Lagos."

She swung the board hard left and dived through the canopy of a defunct billboard. The Ajegunle Dock lay at the bottom of the Undercity, where the old waterline had once been, a black cavern of cranes and rusting container-stacks. A single lamp burned over a door. Beneath it, a figure stood waiting.