The Yield of Yana Yeoman

Chapter 2 of The Triple World

The wind creeps through the towers of rubbish, almost nervous about knocking them over. Yana sifts through the pile of rubble in front of her, her long, brown coat flapping like a flag.

“Oi, Shay,” she calls to the wolfish creature slinking across the walkway. “Here.”

Shay lifts his enormous head, eyes glinting, teeth shining, tongue lolling from the overwhelming heat. He lumbers over, more nimbly than his size should render him capable. Yana pulls out an old washing machine drum and a dead skybot motherboard and places them beside him.

“Guard,” she orders, pointing at the old, rusty hunk of metal. Even though the drum is in pretty bad nick, she knows that if she cleans it up a little, the Aetherians would probably buy it back as some sort of ‘avant-garde’ piece of furniture — especially if she paints it or decorates it in some stupid, sky-like way. They’re a bit dim like that.

Why is it that the thickest in society always seem to rise to the top? Which is painfully accurate, in this case. Life at the top is quite literally above the clouds. God forbid the Aetherians would ever even have to look at the Surface. Or its Earthbound.

What makes Yana despise them the most is their propensity to throw everything away. Everything. Anything. Even bodies. And when you live above the clouds, where are you going to dump your waste? On the Surface-dwelling, of course. Then as soon as some Earthbound artisan uses his smarts…