《Tales of the Spire: Price Check》


 Chapter 1

    I¡¯d seen him die.


    I¡¯d seen him die right below me, and there was nothing I could¡¯ve done about it.


    I¡¯d yelled.


    I¡¯d screamed.


    Nobody would listen. He still died.


    I wanted to feel something. Anything. Sometimes you just sit there, wondering what you¡¯re supposed to be feeling when something as surreal as a co-worker diving himself headfirst under a Heavy Loader happens. You also wonder why he¡¯d been singing a jingle. It had been about Dumplings, a common advert for the cantina food.


    Advertisement even in a time of death. Was it weird to be craving food at a time like this? I dunno. Maybe...I was still processing I think.


    Our direct Supervisor had seemed understanding, even taking the time to come out of The Offices to personally tell me to take the rest of the night off. His symmetrically perfect face, white teeth and impossible smile had been shifted to an expression of empathy and kindness as he watched me struggle to get out of the harness, angling to guide me with a firm hand toward the exit and away from the scene with a few soft spoken words. It seemed like a blessing at the time, I was nowhere near the right mindset to continue for the next minute let alone the remainder of our extended shift so I¡¯d logged out and turned in my work board before trudging homeward still wearing the bulky Outer-Alls which made up our work uniform.


    Bravado aside, that had been the first time I¡¯d ever personally seen someone die- At least directly. Even the fact it had been someone like...well I didn¡¯t want to think about it really.


    It was cold. Bitterly so, which was normal for this time of year. City 17 was fortunate to be near the Southernmost tip of the Peninsula. I¡¯ve heard rumors of the Cities far North of us requiring breathing masks to keep the moisture from freezing in their lungs. Thinking about it, I felt a sudden chill and began to shiver violently.


    The next breath came out more forcefully. I watched this time as the vapor formed and condensed into a wispy cloud which rose into the harsh glare of the overheads, temporarily turning opaque and muting out the neon lights of the Spire¡¯s exterior. The trio of towers formed the Core of City 17, Corporate Centers for a Global War Project, ¡°Destined to Save the Best and Brightest Humanity had to offer.¡±


    That¡¯s what the decades old advertisements used to say anyway.


    The Port was one of the few locations where any of the Glow residents even had a shot at working for Corp-Scrit in hopes of eventually getting a living Visa and the right to live inside. Inside meant Better, with a capital B. Better Food. Better Water. Better Heat. Better Power. Better Peace of Mind. Deeper meant safe. Higher? The Executive Elite, membership to an exclusive club which included less security, but better views and, ¡°...oh so much personal space you¡¯d wonder if you¡¯d died and gone to heaven.¡± At least that¡¯s what my Supervisor used to brag as he mingled with the down-cast and hopefuls like me. On the rare occasion he ever graced our presence like he had today; I suppose he wasn¡¯t all that bad.


    The neon lights of the three Corporate logos of the Spire¡¯s Sponsoring Three shone like a ray of hope, their shapes fading in and out slowly due to the late shift low-power modes. From where I was standing, they still seemed impossibly tall despite the Hundreds of Thousands of souls somehow calling them Home. For Most people? They end up somewhere in the middle, exactly where anyone with logic could see people like myself needed to aim: Closer to the ground, lower the class and, "Stuck in the muck,¡± as my dear old dad used to say. I often wondered what he¡¯d think about my lofty kingdom right now.


    In my case, Home meant Non-Spire Housing for transient workers, or ¡°The Pod People Village,¡± as I¡¯d heard the higher ups say when they forgot we were hanging above them on shift. After six, long years I had finally been graded into a Class Ten position. One step away from finally being out of the cramped, dis-repaired and low powered NS-Housing Pods, which, if I were totally honest, were still leaps and bounds better than where I had grown up in the Capsule Bays.


    Rumor had it, the Pods were originally meant to be stacked and used as emergency housing in low atmosphere environments--before the Colonization Ban was put into effect. The squat, faded and cheaply made units were like six meter sized PlayCrete Building Blocks. Uniform of size and designed to snap together so connections for heat, power and light could be more easily managed with metal walkways connecting the entryways and various levels. From the outside they looked everything like the shipping containers I¡¯d been busy scanning and labeling before...the event. It was an odd realization I¡¯d never made connection before now; They were practically identical.


    Huh.


    Keying the outer door, I tapped the small recessed multi-function panel which acted as the Pod''s exterior interface. The display shifted to a representation of the cycle process as it accepted my Ident. A set of gauges representing the internal, inner lock, and external ambient conditions slid around each other as the lock processed the environmental states between inside and outside to work the magic of letting me in.


    From the outside, the system was near silent as red glows became green glimmers, and with a tone I was eventually notified the outer door was ready to open. The entire process served an important purpose: Efficiently keeping internal conditions from being wasted with Efficiency being the key takeaway. Less Space, Less Waste.


    As the outer door opened, I was presented to a somewhat cramped vestibule, only marginally big enough for two people to squeeze into.


    Shaking off old thoughts, I stepped inside and keyed the inner door process as the outer door closed. The gauges did their balancing act as frigid air was pumped out to equalize to Pod living conditions and warm, damp air pressed against my face.


    The inner door opened.


    The smell of clean moisture and Lavender surrounded me, intermingling with a whiff of my scarf, which I''d unraveled subconsciously upon arriving home, and I was then reminded how much I wanted to wash off the daily crud from working the docks before...the event.


    I let out a soft sigh as I took a deep breath, beginning to relax from the lavender smell of her soap. The scent meant comfort and home. The moisture in the air and the lack of lights meant it was highly likely Dora had returned early from work, taken a shower and gone to sleep. While Dora might hate the thought of us calling the sanitation unit a ¡°shower¡±-- more of a warm, very weak spray than anything. Her turning in early was a common occurrence when things were going well, and if the cycling of the lock hadn¡¯t stirred her, she had to be as tired as I felt. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Habitually, I scooped off my bag, extending my arm outward. My aim was to be quiet: Better to tell her everything in the day rather than wake and bother her tonight.


    All chances of being quiet failed.


    Fully expecting the hook by the doorway catch the strap as normal, I let go and a thunk echoed throughout the Pod with all the subtlety of a brick hitting a drone. The bag landed in a pile on the floor at the speed of gravity and I froze in shocked surprise as my brain caught up to the bag being the source of the noise.


    An apology was already on my lips in anticipation of the sleepy murmurs, or shocked yell I''d expected from Dora. Instead, the room remained mostly silent.


    The environment cycler clicked slowly on, filling the room with a steady hiss of warm air being pumped into the room. I began to sweat.


    It remained eerily silent.


    Odd... I thought to myself.


    ¡°Hab-E...lights?¡± I said quietly to the automated environmental controller.


    The lights, opposite their normal pre-programmed behavior of gradually increasing to 20% in increments, snapped on. Instantly.


    I yelped, stumbling in surprise as I slipped in a puddle and went down hard. My elbow banged into the kitchen counter as I tried desperately to cover my eyes with both hands to try to block out the sudden illumination. The full 100% output overloaded my cheap ocular implants and hit my cortex like an icy spike of sudden pain.


    ¡°Hab-E! Lights to Twenty Percent!¡± I shouted from the ground.


    The environment system acknowledged with a trill and lowered the lighting. I sat there for a moment, a sliver of worry beginning to slowly grow in the pit of my stomach to the size of a small boulder.


    I hadn¡¯t heard Dora say anything. The Pod was still silent.


    The room slowly came into view in patches as my vision returned. I sat up too quickly, banging my head again, but choosing to ignore it.


    Now lit by a cold and harsh bluish tint the room was somehow much more gray than I¡¯d anticipated and that was concerning.


    For a fleeing moment, I had the bewildered sense I¡¯d mixed up unit blocks, challenged by my Ident-Code, which was displayed in green on the upper right hand corner of the entry display. Lacking any additional warning messages about intrusion, alarms, or emergencies; all systems appeared to be normal.


    Sqwincing up at the display, I confirmed the unit number was the correct one and blinked a few times to ensure my vision was working correctly.


    I turned my attention back to the rest of the room, still feeling so many things weren¡¯t adding up. The first and most notable thing became apparent: A distinct lack of anything on the walls to cover the exposed piping, conduit and electrical lines in the utilitarian pod.


    Now that definitely WASN¡¯T normal.


    The Pod design was meant to be universal, allowing a pod to convert from one mode to another quickly with the right tools, materials and modules. Dora, never the fan of utilitarianism in anything, had made it her life¡¯s mission to shape our pod into a homely environment. A standard living Pod¡¯s layout had areas with all the spatial qualities of a booth connected to other booths and she''d taken it as a personal affront on her womanly sensibilities.


    The primary issue with the Pod¡¯s Modular design: There was only ONE module configuration designated for housing.


    Rather than engineer methods of sealing off sections with accompanying methods for ensuring environmental controls and functions, the designers simply implemented height dividers between the kitchen, sanitation, and co-functional sleeping/working modules. The units all had a specific orientation for hook-ups, a few small areas for utilitarian customizations, and...little else. The partitions, specifically, annoyed the ever-living hell out of Dora. Her biggest gripe had always been the lack of coverage, as they only covered three quarters of the space from floor to roof. With our height, it meant everyone could and would be visible from where we stood anywhere in the unit, and I''d laughed about it a few times until she''d made it clear she didn''t find it funny.


    ¡°Soulless,¡± had been the term she had used for it. On a mission of comfort, she had pushed every spare Corp-scrit we managed to scrape together into outfitting every flat and exposed surface with cloths, silks and textiles to make for a more homey feel. Utilizing an array of hooks, magnets and polyline acting as guy-lines between the sections, she managed to form the illusion of walls and privacy.


    "Small things; Large payoffs, Owen!" She''d teasingly say to me in that mischievously cute way. Her green eyes would flash in amusement.


    Right now? Everything I could see was missing.


    Hooks, Lines...(my stomach) was Sinkers.


    Without the usual mix of coverings to block the head-height emptiness, I had a straight view through an oddly placed, thin-lined view port which took up the top portion of the back wall. I¡¯d only ever seen the room look like this twice: Once when we moved in, and before that when we moved out of our older, smaller block unit.


    The lack of the cloths, silks and artwork meant the exposed piping, conduit and duct working which normally would be hidden, were now laid bare. The harshness of the reset lighting, also didn¡¯t help the look any either. ¡°Soulless¡± was right. It did seem rather drab and more than a little depressing from where I was seated. The entire room had the feeling of someone preparing it for a new occupant, only I hadn''t gotten the memo.


    I stood, examining the different areas around me for further clues. Trying to fight down the trill of panic which risked taking over.


    Several puddles like the one I¡¯d slipped in, as my throbbing elbow reminded me, were still pooled in different places around the locker-like shower/sanitation combo unit. Also missing was the the synthsheet we¡¯d placed there to act as a barrier and curtain to limit such instances.


    Noted.


    The sole power output port positioned above a rickety slide-out table and seat in the kitchenette was notably also bare. The designated cradle for the multi-use adapter for our charging systems sat empty.


    Also noted.


    The rattling combo food cooler/protein pack dispenser was still, as usual, unloaded. The unit buzzed and wheezed, reminding me we hadn¡¯t had anyone to look at it yet.


    Nothing new there.


    The sleeping area. Mostly just a slide-out bunk which stowed when not in use. Empty.


    Clothing Storage and Closet. Empty.


    Uh...


    The worried feeling grew.


    Desk and work area, just a seat and a slide-out tabletop with a few storage bins. Mostly gone. Majority of those remaining bits just pieces and parts from upgrading my Cortex Rig. The Rig itself? Missing--Well shit.


    I extended the desk seat and sat down, trying to give myself some time to think, but was interrupted by a messaging beep from the lock. A dull incoming message notice blinked on the door display.


    A few minutes to cycle the lock, continue to look around in bewilderment until it opened, and I walked out to receive it. The coldness of the air hit me like a knife, as I struggled to cover my face with the now musty scarf dangling around my neck like a crusty noodle to keep my lips from drying out and cracking.


    Man I need to wash this thing.


    A palm sized drone flashing a green light hovered in front of me. With a buzz, it scanned my bio-signature via the Uniform¡¯s Ident-Chip and with a different warble it spit a semi-transparent Filiscrit sheet onto the railing. The sheet flapped dangerously as it stuck, precariously ready to flip over and away into the dark night as the air made it rattle.


    I had to scramble forward to keep it from fluttering out of reach, just barely catching it with my glove encased fingertips before it flipped free. The drone had disappeared without a sound, having already gotten it¡¯s proof of receipt, not caring if I actually read it or not.


    Wondering what message would justify sending a messenger drone this late at night, I sighed, regretting the action as my nose was again assaulted by the scarf''s pungent scent, before stepping back into the lock and beginning the close cycle.


    Flipping over the sheet with my hand so I could actually read it, I froze at the words <u>Termination Notice</u> written in bold red letters across the top.


    I had been fired, and worse? My girlfriend, Pandora, was missing.


    Now what?

 Chapter 2

    I stepped further into the room to see the sheet more clearly in the harsh lighting as the Outer Door cycled closed behind me, cutting off the chill from the exterior again as my eyes skimmed the Corpo Legalese which infested the top third of the page.


    My jaw dropped open when I eventually landed on the official notice section.


    They¡¯d blamed me.


    Blinking at the sheet, I still stood dumbfounded for the full cycle period. The inner door eventually clunked open as the heat waifed into the lock, and rather than feeling welcoming, the room now felt cramped and enclosed, like a prison.


    Official Termination Notice


    Subject: [Price, O.C.], CC10


    Code Protocol: Lack of Safety and Oversight <Code445BAs45a>


    Evidence: Multiple Reports Filed by Supervisory Party


    Supervisory Party: [McCreed, M.R.], CC115


    Supervisory Input: ¡°Multiple documented occurrences of unsafe practices, and failure to report dangerous existing environmental conditions which led to the loss of a valuable TxCorp Asset [See Attached Personnel File of Deceased]¡±


    Issuer: [McCreed, M.R.], CC115


    Result: IMMEDIATE TERMINATION. FURTHER LEGAL ACTION PENDING.


    I turned the filisheet over, futilely wishing what I¡¯d read was simply some sick joke. Something to haze me, or maybe freak me out for...whatever purpose.


    I continued to stall as I rotated, flipped and fluttered the filisheet within my hands, but nothing changed, the notice was still the same. I was forced to finally surrender and admit to myself it was real. As real as the holo stamp on the bottom right corner could make it in the eyes of the Corporate Courts.


    I was in for some real trouble.


    Despite being a falsified accounting of the actual events, the semi-transparent sheet listed me as the sole reason for the death of the kid. Clear as day in black and red, and stated as truthful; It was damning.


    Worse? It also claimed there was previous history leading up to the event. All backed up by a digital trail.


    Striding across the room to the workbench, I slumped onto the seat. All the energy drained out of my limbs as I stared out the slit of a rear view-port.


    Now fully visible without anything to block them, the triple cluster of the Spire towered over the landscape as the lights and moving machinery of the Port struck an eerily beautiful backdrop, silently dancing across the horizon and non-visible shore.


    The entire view felt like some alien landscape in a science fiction novel as lightning struck something in the distance. I winced a little as it did so, motes of electricity dancing along the rightmost tower, the TxCorp tower, which absorbed the impact stoically. Unaffected.


    It felt more than a little symbolic: Lightning and a Tower. A mythical representation of unexpected and sudden change.


    Before all of it. Before I¡¯d seen the kid throw himself happily to his own demise. I¡¯d gone to McCreed directly and asked of a way to prove my willingness for TxCorp and my chances for advacement . The insistence of Dora to push for as much leverage as possible to reach next Class Rating was intense, and my lack of progress had been the source of...a lot of our arguments.


    McCreed for his part, had been ecstatic and had told me so, often giving me little nuggets of wisdom and advice along the way. I¡¯d mistaken it as gaining a mentor. A guiding hand. Someone older and who might already have a lot of it figured out.


    Instead, my future, and Dora¡¯s by association, had been derailed. Our thread of fate cut because I''d tried--and failed--to help some third-kid of an Exec Family I hadn''t even bothered to know, while working a shift rotation I wasn''t supposed to be assigned to. I¡¯d already passed disbelief and was now moving into acceptance.


    It was clear: I was a Patsy.


    But the kid?


    I subconsciously swallowed, feeling the sting.


    Harnessed, hanging fifty feet in the air, I¡¯d tried to help him.


    I''d been perfectly positioned, busy unclogging an air intake when I spotted him running in the direction of the loader.


    My throat still felt ragged from trying to get his attention as I¡¯d screamed continuously to make him stop...hell, to get anyone else to at least see him.


    Except--no one had.


    He¡¯d been smiling. A wild kind of smile which haunted me even now.


    He hadn¡¯t hesitated. He ran like there was a race, and he''d kept that smile plastered across his face, right up to the exact second he dived head-first in the way of the heavy loader, still singing that damn dumpling jingle to the gristly end.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    His, had been a cut and dried case of Corporate nepotism. Nearing wash-out age, and needing to stay in the system, he''d taken the job. Someone, somehow, had managed to pull the right strings to ensure he got it. Since day one of his arrival, he''d been our shift rotation''s problem child.


    Lazy, slovenly, and skating by on just the bare minimum with all the persistence of a boil needing to be lanced he was more often than not blitzed out of his mind before being absolutely useless the next. Despite it all? I still wouldn''t have wished him dead. Especially not like that...


    It was the kind of thing which stuck with you.


    Glancing back down to the sheet, I let my eyes wander--More for something to do so I wouldn''t keep imagining that wild, nearly insane smile than anything else.


    My eyes halted, spotting the section just above the much more attention getting Termination Notice I''d previously mistaken as a legal disclaimer, and felt my stomach plummet as I came to grips with what else was in store for my bedraggled mind.


    I, Owen Price, was now in process for writ of seizure in accordance to previously authorized security rights as a former employee of TxCorp. Rights including the ability to freeze my Corporate accounts and fasciliate the physical removal of any registered assets within my Corporate Issued Domicile. Effective immediately.


    Oh.


    Crap.


    The sinking pit in my stomach grew larger as questions hammer-fired in rapid succession through my mind.


    As I flittingly looked around, free hand gripping my head in frustration, not really sure where to go, or what to do in the moment.


    Had they already come?! What happened to Dora?! Did she know yet?!


    That was when I spotted it--A Filisheet section shorn off from a much larger piece. It was lying near the incinerator unit in the kitchen. The internal barrage of questions halted as I picked it up, comparing it to the Termination Notice already my other hand. Side-by-side.


    It matched.


    Frowning, I looked around in bewilderment. How had a Termination Notice made it here before I did? Had they already taken everything and left a copy? I began a new visual search of the room, my focus priority now going toward anything out of place, and ignoring the missing items and features.


    There. Laying just within the inner door, partially covered by my bag, sat a holocard. I approached and picked it up, the metallic font flashing with embossed gold as the light hit the words just right:


    Forrest T. Fillington, III


    TxCorp, Section SubManager


    [Division 3, Section 10]


    Corporate Rating: CC68


    What the hell?


    Through the semi-transparent front of the holocard was parts of another message, scrawled on the back and illegible from the front. I flipped it over and almost wished I hadn''t.


    ¡°Owen. I¡¯m not letting you take me down with you. <u>It¡¯s over</u> - Pandora¡±


    As the message settled into my brain, I felt a sharp jab, just behind my rib cage like a stiletto blade slipping straight into my heart. The pit in my stomach became a leaden-ed weight as I sat heavily onto the floor.


    I held the card aloft, staring at the words in shock as the more analytical part of my mind took over. The message held a sort of plainness I''d never attributed to her communications with me before, and it was noticeable. Her neat handwriting lacked the small personal touches she was so fond of.


    The little hearts, stars, and swoops? Gone.


    The ink was a custom blend, one I recognized from where she worked; An upscale club on the other side of the Glow called <i><b>InCorporeal</b></i>.


    The lines stood out in a swirl of iridescent colors, seeming to pop off the surface as if daring to be touched.


    I did.


    Running a gloved thumb over the lines temporarily broke the illusionary effect, causing a mild sensation of dizziness and thrill to wash over me as designed


    The digital wizardry and chemical science combined to act as a mark of legitimacy. The iridescence, and curiously tantalizing mental effect a hallmark of the club¡¯s brand, and, like all things involved with InCorporeal, very expensive.


    So expensive, it had been used on purpose, just like the choice to use the back of this particular holocard to deliver a message.


    She wasn¡¯t missing. She¡¯d left me.


    I could feel the tears as they reached the back of my optical implants. They pooled toward the edges of my eyes, before leaking down ny cheeks and onto the floor.


    <i>A</i> harsh buzz snapped me back to reality, and I had to tear my gaze away from the holocard.


    The door''s multi-function display was now a bright red, flashing three times before being replaced with a new message stylized in the same vein as the filisheet Termination Notice.


    Wiping my eyes I hastily stood to read the screen.


    <u>LEGAL NOTICE</u>


    Writ Of Corporate Asset Seizure Initiated.


    Occupants Failing To Vacate Risk Threat Of Death.


    All Occupants Have 5 Minutes To Comply.


    The clock began an ominous countdown in flashing red and white text.


    The inner door forced itself open in accordance to the notice and remained open as the panic began to overtake me.


    I snagged my bag, looking around frantically before wasting a final half second to wonder how the card had even ended up pinned to the floor underneath it.


    Staring at the wall, the answer was obvious. I gaped in shock at the hooks...or rather the lack of them;


    They were gone.


    Wow.


    The oddly sobering effect of this sudden realization found me able to think and act.


    Turning my attention toward what to take, the new "open" floor-plan aided me as I rushed to the rear of the Pod. Vaulting over a small partition in a rush to claim the few scattered parts remaining on the workbench, I scooped the parts into the bag in one fell swoop before casting a final critical eye to the rest of the room. Of all the things I could¡¯ve said about Dora in the moment, the word "Thorough¡± sat at the forefront as it became clearly obvious everything else had already been taken.


    She¡¯d done a marvelous job of it.


    Turning to exit, I rushed through the inner lock and slapped the cycle control.


    Leaning my forehead against an inner bulkhead, I closed my eyes, letting out a deep sigh as I waited for the cycle to process.


    The cold metal on my skin felt relieving as, in the background, the clock continued ticking. The angry, red characters were tallying the final seconds until I''d abandon the last vestages of my old life.


    You know what, Owen? I thought to myself.


    Worst. Night. Ever.

 Chapter 3

    The outer doors cycled open with only 30 seconds to spare, flooding a blast of bitterly cold air into the small enclosure which took my breath away.


    Having never gone through, or witnessed a a Writ of Seizure before, I didn¡¯t really know what to expect; Five minutes to vacate when it took four minutes to cycle a door seemed a bit...not lenient, and I couldn¡¯t help but feel morose as, harsh and bleating, the inner lock screen cycled a lock-down as it finalized whatever steps were necessary to change the Pod¡¯s status from Occupied, to Tossed Out Into The Frigid Wind.


    I let out a huge sigh of defeat as I turned, then froze in place.


    A contingent of uniformed Corp-Security members, escorting a short rat-faced man, dressed in their riot best stood at the ready. My poorly augmented vision flashed between the burly figures. Concussion sticks were gripped tightly in impact resistant gloves as several sets of gleefully expectant eyes were uniformly directed my way like a gaze of biochem-altered raccoons.


    Standing separately from the group and the rat-faced man, looking cool and collected like he¡¯d just stepped off a fashion runway in his fancy long coat and perfect haircut was my supervisor, McCreed.


    The same man who had told me to go home.


    The same man who had signed off on the reports implicating me as the cause of the events which caused my co-worker to die.


    His face was neutral like it was carved out of granite. Steely eyes taking in the world around him with an impersonal air as if he did this sort of thing every day¡ªsuperciliously aloof.


    ¡°He¡¯s still in possession of Corporate issued equipment,¡± Mr. Ratface said from the right, pointing an almost too long finger; An indication of a limb enhanced short-ranged chip scanner.


    ¡°OuterAll, Jacket, Boots,¡± He stated, continuing to wave his finger around as if scrying for water. His face formed another scowl as he found something else and pointed to my back, ¡°The bag. The bag too. Take them all.¡±


    Without further instruction one of the Security Goons grasped the strap of the bag and pulled. The unexpected shift in weight caused me to take an involuntary step back as I was jerked and slung around. The cold, lightly frost covered surface of the lower rail hit my left shoulder a millisecond before the rear of my skull rebounded with a muted clang off the top railing.


    My heart began to race, as I caught myself, amping up from the combined sensations of sudden contact and a growing fear of the Security Goons as they began to huddle menacingly on both sides.


    I pulled myself to my feet as cold sweat begin to pool at the small of my back. The Goon Squad pressed closer, moving where I didn¡¯t look, and leering with barely held malicious glee where I did. My mind tumbled chaotically as I tried to strategize, weighting the very short list of obvious options as I tried to keep enemies in view.


    The most lethal option: Jumping over the railing and plummeting down fifteen levels to ground below, was quickly ruled out. As my eyes darted to and fro, looking for any kind of opening, and I desperately attempted to keep track of the quickly compacting line; I knew I was in trouble.


    With the low temps and rain as they were now, there was no way I was going to survive more than a few hours without the extra layers the Port Uniform provided me.


    If I can at least keep the Outer Jacket and Boots I might still be able to--


    My train of thought was interrupted as the closest Goon, a snaggle-toothed looking fellow with a squashed nose showing all signs of having been broken and badly set a few times, managed to reach grappling distance. His thick, mitt-like hands clenched his concussion stick as he licked his cracked lips in anticipation. I felt penned in as I dug my feet into the gangway, boot soles squeaking as they nestled into a groove meant to let rain and condensation pass through.


    Knees slightly bent, coiled like a spring and ready to dart, I crouched. Thought uncertain on what to do next, I was entirely unwilling to just let them tear into me if I could help it.


    I waited for the rush, except--The rush never came.


    Instead, McCreed had raised one, perfectly manicured hand: A signal.


    The goons jerkly stopped as one, as if pulled back by a tethered leash. The seemingly soft, non-calloused palm remained in view as he continued waiting. His dogs were restrained, the extended hand keeping them from tearing me into frozen pieces mere footsteps from the entryway of my former home, making it absolutely clear who was in control.


    ¡°Now now, Golrich,¡± McCreed said.


    His voice, imperialistic and imposing with a hint of playfulness in an almost posh accent, was a brassy rumble originating from deep within his chest.


    He lowered his arm slowly.


    ¡°It¡¯s to my understanding the Writ of Seizure stated the accused may have leave. Along with any items on his person provided he successfully exits within the five minutes notice, is that not correct?¡± He turned, one of his perfectly groomed eyebrows rising into an arch of challenge.


    Ratface began to sweat visibly, his mouth forming an ¡®O¡¯ shape in a perfect example of Rattish shock, sans whiskers. ¡°Uh, but, Sir! What about the Company Property on his person?!¡±


    He had squeaked it out before managing to slam his mouth shut.


    McCreed did not answer immediately as I glanced nervously between them, still crouched and bewildered, but happy for the brief halt as the goons stood in disciplined silence.


    Striking quite the impressive figure, McCreed turned slightly to face away from me, expression placid as he approached the rail. His movements were smooth and calculated: Statuesque artwork in motion. Every gesture, position and pose like a still-framed series of photographs perfectly transitioned.


    Sliding his palm along the rail to collect moisture on his fingertips, he rose them toward his steely eyes like an inspector, grimacing as if unhappy to discover a filthy, debased mote of dust on an otherwise pristine and white-gloved hand.


    ¡°Be that as it may, Golrich,¡± He said, rubbing his fingers together distastefully, ¡°There is a proviso for leeway. Removal of clothing and safety equipment in times of need is at the discretion of supervisory staff, Is it not?¡±


    Rat-Face began to visibly tremble. He was entirely uncertain what was being asked of him.


    ¡°The harsh environment,¡± McCreed continued, the look of revulsion now pointedly directed at the melted frost and water on the rail as his eyes flashed dangerously, ¡±...should perhaps let us exercise such discretion now. After all, we wouldn¡¯t want Mr. Price to be unable to meet his defense date should he choose to fund such an option?¡±Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    This last part he directed to me as if it was a question. His eyes shone with an ethereal light as his implants did something. My optics served up a dim warning of an attempted active scan which I could do nothing about, whatever he was doing was way beyond the limited options my optics provided.


    I looked around, and judging by the collective grouping of expressions, I wasn¡¯t the only one confused by the current turn of events. Rat-Faced looked like he was about to puke, and different Goons were glancing around at each other as if looking for guidance, but were unable to find it within their own ranks.


    No one dared move.


    McCreed broke the moment. ¡°I would like to speak with him in private about this if you would,¡± he said suddenly, turning his back to us before folding his arms behind his back. He looked every part the commanding dictator, standing before his holding with little fear for retaliation, remorse, or fear.


    Rat Face quickly snapped into a low bow¡ªone low enough to almost bang his forehead into the iced rail despite McCreed not even looking at him. He began taking micro-shuffling steps backward in a show of supplication.


    ¡°Oh....of...of course, Sir.¡± Golrich said, hastily, ¡°Many apologies! I will...that is we...uhhhhh...¡±


    He stopped groveling, having finally come to the realization action was likely a better option. Snapping out of the bow, he flashed a jerking hand signal and vermin-like hiss before shuffling off. The security personnel tromped along, leaving me alone with my former Supervisor as their clanking steps grew fainter.


    Still unmoving, McCreed stood, his back toward me as he continued to stare outward. From my vantage, his shadowed form took on the appearance of a lonely monolith, nearly equal in height to the greatness of the Spire and its three towers.


    I took a tentative step forward, enough to get away from the railing and the frost forming on its face, but not enough to appear like I was creeping. As a gust of frigid wind blew, everything resumed its normal late-night levels of near silence. The occasional mechanical whir of loader servos from the Port and timely rumbles of thunder acted as ambient noise which hadn¡¯t been noticeable before.


    McCreed continued to tower, still silently challenging.


    We just stood there waiting for a spell. Long enough for me to begin shivering and my knees to begin aching. Even with the layers, it was bitterly cold.


    I warily eyed the storm clouds marching steadily toward us from the horizon. Different sections were alight like asynchronous strobes as thunder rumbled. As if challenging the heavens, my stomach seemed to answer.


    ¡°Unfortunate business we have here Mr. Price¡± McCreed said, as if he had been waiting for me to break first and my stomach had betrayed me. Stupid Stomach.


    The flashbulb effect became more frequent as the clouds approached.


    A blast of cold moisture flowed over us, covering everything in a slight mist as I shivered. It was a stark reminder of the need for not only food, but also a warm place to take shelter and ride out the storm.


    ¡°It¡¯s a pity you were caught in the middle of all of this,¡± McCreed finally said, almost wearily. ¡°It was never my true intention.¡±


    Pity? A pity?! Part of me wanted to rage. The other part, the part which was shivering, cold and wet, was simply tired of everything. Everything which had happened so rapidly and in so short of a time.


    ¡°Do you need to say anything?¡± He inquired, as if I¡¯d needed permission to do so. A strange, vague sensation of nervousness and uncertainty began to grow inside me as I felt...unbalanced. The dim warnings from my optics had silenced themselves.


    It was a feeling of being unsteady, like I had suddenly developed trouble keeping my mental train of thought on track. Trying to say words, but being unable to I struggled to try to identify why I suddenly couldn¡¯t say what I wanted to...


    I opened my mouth to say something, but couldn¡¯t seem to talk.


    I tried again, except this time words I hadn¡¯t meant to speak came out, sounding odd to my own ears.


    ¡°I... don''t know what you want me to say."


    Man, that didn¡¯t feel right.


    Taking a step forward, I joined him near the rail, a sudden urge to at least see part of his face coming over me. The feeling...the need to get closer for some purpose I didn¡¯t fully understand was a weird one.


    He had turned his body to point rightward, giving me another strong urge to stand to his right. The kind of thing my Father would have done. It was all a game of throwing someone off balance; To subconsciously lead them to where he wanted them rather than where they wanted to go.


    Thinking of my father made a streak of rebellion rear up as my mind and feet decided to take a defiant step left--opposite the invited direction.


    The maneuver forced McCreed to turn, and I felt a tiny surge of satisfaction as a flash of annoyance traversed like a ripple across his perfectly poised face.


    The wind caressed my cheek as it drifted by, tousling his hair as the breeze continued to the East.


    McCreed¡¯s face was now an impassive mask as he stared to out to the Spires, and slowly, marginally, I began to feel better.


    Feeling like I had just stepped out of a murky haze, I began to feel more grounded, metaphorical feet planted and in control of my thoughts.


    We stood like this for a moment as I primarily focused on breathing through my nose. McCreed still refused to react, and I had no clue what he wanted to even talk about as I resumed inhaling and exhaling quietly, my brain feeling less and less fogged as we stood.


    The clouds were now very close, not exactly on top of us, but closer than I would¡¯ve wanted without shelter. The telltale sign of a thick haze indicated heavy rains.


    I could smell moisture as I continued to breathe, in and out.


    Like arrows sent from the heavens to spear themselves into the grounds beneath, the rains fell, landing where they would. A blanket of mist partially obscured the neon glow of the Spire towers as the clouds encroached onward to surround it.


    As if aware of the coming front, the neon signery faded and dimmed. Not completely going dark, but dully glowing with a much reduced output. Even with the Low-Light collection from cheap optical implants, the cluster of towers stood dark and foreboding; A striking difference from the bright beacon of hope only moments before.


    Feeling no longer unsteady and nervous, I pressed on.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I said, weather and breeze having somehow cleared my head and given me a new wind, ¡°Maybe I¡¯d ask why you were the one to sign off on the reports. The false ones.¡±


    McCreed¡¯s mouth formed a thin line. His lips changed color as they pressed together tightly.


    It was clear I had said something he hadn¡¯t planned for and it hadn¡¯t pleased him. He spoke his next words slowly, voice neutral and measured as the storm raged on in the distance.


    ¡°Sometimes, Mr. Price?¡± He said, enunciating specific words, ¡°Some people simply don¡¯t have choices.¡±


    He turned his head. He locked me in his gaze.


    Like a physical strike, I felt the next breath catch in my throat as I began to choke. I couldn¡¯t break away from his piercing, stormy gray eyes¡ªOptical implants which matched the skies behind him in their intensity and looked so surprisingly real and organic.


    So, so real.


    He continued to speak, not breaking eye contact in the slightest as I remained silent, gurgling slightly as I continued to choke. Feeling a burning pain in my chest, I realized I''d been unable to work my lungs too.


    ¡°Sometimes?¡± He said, ¡°Those lording over from above, in their high-rise positions above...above the anthill.¡± He waved his hand across the area where the Port and majority of The Stacks lay before us, ¡°Positions of power. Positions of... Influence.¡±


    He gripped the rail, and I heard a groaning squeal as his fingers tightened. Those nearly perfect and soft looking fingers which barely reacted as the metal deformed like putty, or molded clay.


    ¡°Sometimes? Those lords need only deign...Not request.¡±


    As if on cue, lightning flashed. Bright enough to temporarily overload my optics.


    At first, all I could feel was a sharp spike of pain, driven straight to my brain like a spear of jagged ice. My implants ground themselves to a halt in protest as an overwhelming wave of vertigo overcame me and I keeled over, leaning into the rail precariously.


    As the optical implants struggled to compensate for the sudden changes in luminous conditions, they toggled rapidly between low-light and protective modes. I became disoriented. My head spin even worse as slideshow images messily flashed before my view in a parade-line of impressions and I tried to feel for the walkway beneath me.


    A rush of air from a gust of wind felt perilous. I ended up planeted on my rear, reaching out with my right hand to grasp loosely on the railing as my left leg dangled dangerously into nothingness.


    A sudden, white-knuckled fear of falling overrode all other instincts, or thoughts as I clung like a drowning man in a maelstrom. I was still unable to breathe or speak. The railing like a single tiny piece of flotsam in an ocean of fear, barely keeping myself from diving into the fathoms of despair below.


    I had to mentally push...No. Shove.


    I shoved as hard as I could against the single inexplicable and spine-tingling urge to just...fall forward. Forward into the inky blackness ahead.


    Such a simple action to end all of my worries.


    All of my loss.


    All my pain.


    My limbs felt cold as I sluggishly pulled myself up, clutching the topmost rail to stare downward.


    It would be so easy.


    So.


    So.


    Easy.


    McCreed smiled.


    A splended smile.


    I lifted a foot and climbed.

 Chapter 4

    My weight shifted as I climbed. My body lifted slowly as I applied the necessary leverage to rise and stare down into the darkness.


    I''¡¯d lost my home. I¡¯d lost love.


    I was just like her. Just like my moth¡ª


    I slipped. My boots had lost traction, the trecherous frost causing me to lurch down into the railing, banging my shin and chest in a painful whoosh as my lungs were forced to expel into the chilly night. Reflexively, my body sucked in a huge breath against my will, trapping me in a paradox. My system struggled with conflicting signals: Lungs full to bursting, yet still feeling as if I were unable to breathe.


    Startled, I clattered painfully back onto the metal walkway, a spiked of sudden, urgent fear pumping through my bloodstream. The lonesome ache and urge to fill an undefinable void evaporated as I begin to hyperventilate, a wave of panic crashing over me like a tsunami.


    This was a deep fear. A primordial fear.


    A fear of horrors flying hidden in the skies as you flail in the open. The fear of sharks, sampling your blood in the water as they circle. The fear of spiders, of other creatures and any number of terrible, terrible things which might watch you from the dark; Unseen. Unbidden.


    Hunting and waiting to pounch. To snatch you from your bed, or your home, or your mind.


    All as you stand helpless.


    No cover.


    No harbor of safety.


    No heavy comforter to hide under in which to seek refuge and warmth as the noises--my god, the noises.


    The noises of her--of her needing to do the things she was forced to--


    I trembled at the thought.


    Of the horrible, horrible things she''d needed to do to protect me. To hide me.


    The only way out. The only way to stop it is to...


    Is to...


    I shook my head. Hard. Enough to almost puke as the vertigo took over again.


    Just like your mother.


    Do it.


    Go.


    I paused.


    The thought was random. Ungenuine. But was enough. Barely enough to quell the stream of consciousness which had somehow invaded my thoughts. I now knew the voices hadn''t been mine. She wouldn¡¯t want this...Not for me. I could never do this because she wouldn¡¯t want this for me.


    Her willingness to sacrifice, a willingness to put up with the endless lies, the unpaid promises and crushed hopes rotting in an unharvested field. Sacrificing happiness and her chance of a future just to keep me safe? She had put up with so much to ensure I¡¯d have a future. A future without having to do the things she¡¯d...she¡¯d had to do.


    More importantly, who she had to do them with.


    For.


    I couldn¡¯t.


    Her loss had to mean something. Her loss had to mean...anything.


    I clung to the thought, a tiny piece of salvation to pull myself free. Clear as a bell in the echo chamber of my own head I heard my voice, my true voice, ring out loud and clear: I won¡¯t.


    The statement seemed to echo as the urge to jump faded.


    Oh, it was still there; Prodding and prowling along the edges. But now? I could think. Breathe.


    I continued breathing, bringing more thoughts of my mother consciously forward. How she had looked. How she had smiled. How she had told me her greatest wishes for my future, and where it might lead before she had done it. Before she had killed herself.


    In.


    Out.


    In.


    And out.


    I felt weak. Tired. A little bit nauseous and definitely very hungry, but the pull was gone.


    I pressed my forehead against the freezing metal as I continued to breathe. My dominant hand remained clutched onto the lower rail, ensuring I wouldn¡¯t go over. I was eventually able to see again. The sensation of vertigo also faded as, inexplicably, the lonesome ache simply vanished as if a switch were thrown.


    I looked around confused. Dazed. My head still feeling odd, but a different oddness from before: Hazy and nebulous as opposed to waxy and monochormatic. The vertigo and risk of falling were a danger I couldn''t ignore. I called up a subroutine for my implants, and worked quickly. Digging down until I could find the hidden settings menu I¡¯d accessed years ago, toggling off a module. A close call at the port, involving a loading cart and damaged infrared emitters, spawned an interest in how to disable the luminosity inhibitors. The specifics are too detailed and boring to go into, but the need had arose, and for now? Better safe than sorry.


    The surrounding area plunged itself into inky blackness as the optics began to recalibrate. What I saw next caused me to swear softly as I blinked several times, not believing what I was witnessing. Rather than the dullish greys and greens of low-light vision, which often washed out colors, but provided a distrinct outline for surrounding surfaces and details, everything looked...unexpectedly clear, but dramatically altered.


    Many times before, I¡¯d perch myself at this very spot, often right before my shift at a time just as the sun went down. The Spire had stood as a beacon of hope for my future. A bright and glowing star of promise on the horizon of my mother¡¯s, and by extension, my dreams. But now? Save for the bright puddle of lights by the Port, with the clouds acting as a backdrop to a hellish landscape surrounding it, the Spire looked...discordant. Unpleasant and ugly to look at.


    Without the automated Low-light mode configurations, I began to notice other things which also looked different: The port lights were harsh and too blue. The pathway lights too orange and noisy. The sky revealing itself as a hellish landscape of reds, purples and blues, all reflected beneath storm clouds surrounding the Spire like a portent of doom to come.


    Having never seen the Spire, REALLY seen it as I was now...it was shocking to say the least.


    Spears of lightning lanced forward. Like the smashing of giant fists against metal armor, the atmosphere boomed, the delayed rumbles of thunder crashing with great intensity as the bolts struck. A battle of titans on the distant horizon. The towers accepted the lashes stoically. Claw-like whips of power sparked and scraped along the surface, probing for a weakness. With the camouflage stripped away, the stark change became impossible to ignore. Between flashes, I could see the skin of the Spire. Where once it had appeared perfectly mirrored and smooth in the comfort of low-light. It now looked pockmarked and roughened, where deep shadows pooled in low areas and crags, mimicking a lunar face. I felt a sense of loss as the last vestiges of my childhood stood exposed to reality; My tinted goggles lifted unexpectedly.


    The Spire took on a sinister, almost evil visage as McCreed stood nearby, not close enough to touch, but closer. His smile had changed, cracking at the edges. Uncertainty now filled his eyes as the corners drooped into a frown. I had the vague feeling something...something else had happened, but it was like trying to remember the title of a song where I only had part of the melody trapped in my brain. I couldn''t describe what I was missing despite feeling I knew the rest was right there. He glared, eyes slightly wider, eyebrows knit together in puzzlement, but otherwise making zero moves. It was almost as if nothing happened. The rail still remained warped and bent, manipulated by his, now obviously augmented, hands.


    His iris rings adjusted, their astronomical expense more apparent with my disabled inhibitors. The internal mechanisms silently and smoothly functioning with every nanoscopic twist and turn, the clearest sign of their worth. He continued silently observing my somewhat compromised position sprawled out on the walkway like an erstwhile party goer. He didn¡¯t attempt to help me up, which, let''s be honest, I really hadn¡¯t expected him to.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    I stood, dusting myself off. With us being something around fifteen levels above ground there was a distinct lack of dirt or grime, but I was nervous and felt the need to do something with my hands. ¡°Cheap Optics,¡± I said sheepishly as I rejoined him at the rail, feeling the need to serve up some sort of excuse for my sudden need to...


    What?


    What exactly happened?


    I had another odd feeling I''d somehow lost track of time, however the chronometer on my interface continued clicking onward. It didn''t seem like an excessive amount of time had passed. McCreed didn''t react. He continued to stare.


    It was really starting to get on my nerves.


    "So going back to what you were saying," I said, pressing onward to avoid my own discomfort, "What exactly would those ''lords'' deign of me? A lowly worker just trying to get a Visa?¡±


    His frown was quickly replaced with a thin line, a perturbed expression leaking in. I''d somehow thrown him seriously off his game and he wasn''t happy.


    Good.


    He turned, no longer looking at me as he stood straighter; Reassessing.


    "They¡¯d deign," He said slowly; Dangerously, "All your personal assets be bequeathed to those the man who died left behind...provided of course, you neglect to take any potentially corrective actions available to you."


    ¡°What?!¡± I said, exasperated, ¡°Look. I only tried to help the guy that died. You were there. You know.¡±


    He frowned at this. Looking downward, toward the lights of the Port, which had flickered and faded from errant strikes. A common occurence. The red glow of emergency lighting indicated general power would be knocked out until the recovery system could come back online. Mote beams of personal utility lights pierced the black as damage control teams scuttled about within the darkness, like ants swarming the side of a kicked hill. Their number made it nigh impossible to pick out any specific individual from the crowd.


    I had a stray thought, one I was surprised hadn''t come up before now: Did they call Robin back in, or not?


    McCreed continued, unaware of my internal question, "In the eyes of those lording over us, what if...what IF it were deigned his death was caused by no wrongful action on your part?¡± I jerked my eyes upward, mouth opening in protest.


    He snapped up a hand to stall me. I let him. At least he was finally going somewhere with our talk.


    ¡°I am not happy about any of this. Especially since that man¡¯s actions not only proved to be costly for your future, but my own carefully shaped plans. Regardless of my own...personal feelings, " he said, pausing dramatically, "Your assets are currently in holding until such a time as many of these plans, might...re-direct themselves toward a better resolution?¡±


    "Plans?" I blurted out, "PLANS?! Damn your plans!" I jabbed a finger out, toward the direction Rat-faced and his goons had headed off, ¡°They took everything from me which isn''t already gone! How are your plans going to matter if I can''t survive? I barely have clothes to wear let alone a future."


    A colder gust of wind blew through, sharp and piercing. A speckle of water followed and I shook, trembling from the cold and...the rage. A rage which had been kindling until the mention of his plans despite having already wrecking my own.


    ¡°I am well aware of that,¡± McCreed said, as if I hadn¡¯t just yelled at him. He raised one of his perfectly manicured digits to waggle it at me authoratively,¡°Hence why I staved them from doing so. I would remind you of that fact, as well as the fact I might be able to assist you...¡±


    He paused again, eyes now looking at me pointedly.


    ¡°Provided...what?¡± I asked, letting him pull me in.


    He smiled, back in the game. Metaphorical hand on the rod, ready to hook.


    ¡°While I¡¯m not fully aware of who might have ordered it, and I¡¯m sure someone along the line has,¡± He said haughtily, ¡°It¡¯s highly likely I, personally, will catch the backlash in any actions seen as helping you. Do NOT forget why you still have the few things retained. It was only within my good graces you are allowed to do so.¡±


    I fought the urge to roll my eyes. A feeling had been growing the moment he stopped the Goons, but I wasn¡¯t sure the weird hunch I was beginning to get now was any better.


    ¡°And now is when you start telling me you¡¯ve got some sort of proposition?¡± I asked, crossing my arms, ¡°One where it would behoove me to take heed and listen? Or else?¡±


    Extortion: A classic switch move; No bait needed because there wasn¡¯t a need for an enticement when all you hold dear was either above you, just out of reach to grab, or about to be taken away from under where you stood, dangling noose already tightening around your neck as your world gets kicked out from underneath by force.


    ¡°Quite observant as I always knew you were, Mr. Price,¡± McCreed said, flashing me a smile. A man back on top of the world and inviting me to join him. To collaborate. I might have seen it as dazzling, maybe even charming and charismatic. Except...It didn¡¯t reach the corners of his eyes. Smiles like those are designed to be not only fake, but costly at the expense of someone other than themselves.


    MY expense in this case. Ugh.


    The damaged railing remained behind him: Bent; Dejected; Detritus to be ignored after being manipulated and left to be dealt with by...someone else. Just not him.


    I looked at the Spire, letting my gaze linger. I was a man with one bag, still dressed in work clothes which didn¡¯t really belong to me. With no berth for self-delusions, my filters were already gone when it came to being deceived. If there was any lesson my Father and, most recently Dora, had left me, it was those.


    McCreed continued on, building up momentum like a conman setting up the patter necessary to hook an unassuming rube. However, this rube wasn¡¯t unassuming, just unable to do anything about it. Like a passenger on the ill fated Artemis Stargazer, the first trigger for the eventual Corporate Space Ban, I could only stand and observe as the trajectory sped toward an impact point, much too far in the distance to see, but not too far to imagine as the Controlling Intelligence cowed everyone into believing they were on the best path forward. It''s also where the saying, "All paths have an end, some are just more sudden" became so popular.


    ¡°And so...¡± McCreed said, voice smooth, ¡°We reach the crux of the matter. Should you decide to do so, I have a need. A need for you to meet up with an acquaintance of mine, and deliver a message."


    "To whom?" I asked.


    "Someone who I believe to also be an acquaintance of your...girlfriend, is it?¡± He crooned.


    ¡°Former.¡± I said flatly, ¡°By about ten minutes.¡±


    ¡°Oh my.¡± He said with a playful tone, ¡°How unfortunate.¡± He said it, notably, without any pity or natural reaction. Just a simple statement.


    ¡°She¡¯s apparently acquainted with more people than I realize,¡± I said. Pithily...there was definitely some pith in that one. Maybe even a little spite.


    ¡°Who''s it for?¡±


    ¡°Her employer,¡± He said.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never met them.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s well aware of who you are.¡±


    ¡°She? Why?¡± I asked, ¡°How? I absolutely have never met her.¡±


    ¡°Have you never visited her establishment with your vivacious...ah. Apologies. Former paramour?¡± That look again, almost mischievous; As if he knew more than I did.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never been to The Glow.¡± I said, doing well to hide my irritation, keeping my tone light and airy, ¡°No reason to go.¡±


    I caught it then. A slight tightness of his eyes and pursing of his lips before he could control it. He was fishing. Trying to find some nugget of information. I wasn''t reacting the way he wanted me to. I was managing to keep from giving up too much.


    ¡°Am I mistaken then, in having heard you were originally from The Glow?¡± His tone had shifted, a slight feeling of pressure to answer. His eyes were now very focused on me, his iris glowing slightly, watching my face as if searching for a hidden feature.


    ¡°My parents were from there. I was too young to remember much about it,¡± I said, a little too quickly.


    Whoops.


    He narrowed his eyes at me, staring intently. I squirmed a little inside.


    ¡°But does your record not tag your official location of birth as,¡± He paused, his eyes taking on an unfocused look, ¡°Marcott Claim, Lane 74? that¡¯s within The Glow, is it not?¡±


    ¡°I mean, technically...¡± I started.


    He raised his hand, and I again surprised myself by snapping my mouth shut.


    How the f...


    ¡°Tut tut.¡± He said breezily,¡°All things aside, I have something here for you.¡± His voice had taken on that silken tone again, and with a flourish, he extended an object between forefinger and middle on his left hand, lifting it from the railing. Like a magician presenting a trick there had been a little snap and poof: A Card.


    I...actually hadn¡¯t seen him reach for it. Pretty darn impressive even if I was annoyed about the weird behavior. Side admittance here too: It was smooth as hell. Look, I wasn¡¯t some rich Corpo with tickets to a local show, or anything, so don¡¯t judge me; Small joys and all that.


    I took the proffered card, mostly transparent like Mr. MiddleManaWhatevertheHell¡¯s had been except with fewer flashier features and decals stamped all over it. Despite lacking content, the card felt higher quality in my hands, which was weird to say. The lettering was etched into the face, looking laser cut instead of holofilm projected. Flipping it over a few times, I tried to examined it as fully as I could, but kept feeling like I couldn¡¯t really see it.


    Visually, the surface pattern looked almost like a processor wafer, and seemed to be the source of the inability to see. I blinked a few more times, but it remained blurred, like someone was protecting someone¡¯s identity in a holo-feed; It was disorienting as hell, and the more I looked at it with my ocular implants the blurrier it seemed to get.


    Interesting.


    I jumped as the harsh red projection on the Outer Door¡¯s lock screen blatted loudly. The door opened with a clunk as the final stages of a lockdown release completed. Several goons came grumbling out of the lock, empty handed and aggressively displeased. All glared at me; Guess they hadn''t been happy there was nothing there either.


    McCreed ignored them, pointing to the card in my hand.


    ¡°Consider the card your introduction,¡± He said, ¡°Complements...of me.¡±


    ¡°And you want me to do what? Just say hi? Uh. In case you¡¯ve forgotten I, um, don¡¯t really have anywhere to go.¡± Fatigue washed over me as my body came down. The adrenaline spike no longer giving me the blissfully warm, but temporary, boost to my system. I trembled, now unable to stop.


    ¡°Perfect!¡± He said, tapping the rail with his palms, not even perturbed in the slightest and absolutely ignoring my other questions, ¡°You can go there then. Soonest is best.¡±


    I glared at him, or at least attempted to. He had already turned to look back at the Spire as if it were all that mattered to him in the moment. My gaze ended up directed at the back of his perfectly coiffed hair as I felt vibrations through the soles of my boots. Rat Face and his Goons came into view as they tromped up two of the stairways to join the others. I began to feel penned in again.


    ¡°We,¡± McCreed said with finality and an irritatingly pompous wave, ¡°Are done here.¡±


    The discussion was now over. I''d been dismissed.


    One of the Goons ¡°handed¡± me my bag. Which is to say he bypassed my extended left palm and shoved it right into my solar plexus. Between the pain of the impact and an empty stomach, it wasn¡¯t a nice feeling. ¡°Thanks,¡± I eeked out, deciding to beat feet while the beating was good rather than deal with any other indecencies.


    Their thuggish laughter haunted me all the way down to ground level.

 Chapter 5

    After positioning to place a few levels of clanking metal gantry between my tormentors and I; I glanced upward. Rat Face was my sole, visible observer. His sneer was easy to see. His beady little eyes, nestled above his long hooked nose, tracked me at a retentive pace, adding weight to the lingering, bad feelings of being sucker punched.


    Across from the shadows in a nearby stack and several levels above, I saw another Security Officer holding up both hands as if trying to look through a narrow opening. He straightened his fingers, making them into a blade-like shape before pushing the flattened hands forward and backward as if zooming along a narrow corridor: Port Sign for <i>Attention</i>.


    My optics suite fired up, having identified an initiation action for signage data translation. He held up one arm, straight like a flagpole, establishing a point of origin as the other arm was rigidly directed at me like a targeting laser. My optics, having the default port translation package, automatically calculated the pointing trajectory as a semi-translucent red beam, sliding out from his fingertips straight to the center of my chest. It moved like an aimed turret to follow my position, a spotlight pointing out an escaping prisoner.


    Anyone who saw the initial signal would see the same, a bright visualized line straight to where I was standing.


    <i>Great.</i>


    Reaching ground level, I decided a bit of obfuscation might be prudent.


    A small plume of dust rose and swirled in my wake as I pivoted, pushing forward suddenly and utilizing my arms in a swinging heave to make way for the opposite side of my original exit. The visualized beam disappeared as line of sight was broken, and my motions brought me before an area which seemed railed off from access. Like a cavity beneath a pier, with supports and walkways above covering an almost secretive space below, it brought forth dark thoughts of trolls and other boogeymen fabled to haunt abandoned alleys and dangerous bridges to nowhere, ready to snatch you for their own nefarious purpose.


    McCreed wanted me followed. I didn''t want to do what McCreed wanted me to and he knew it. I also had a feeling he wouldn''t care about giving me back what was mine, not after he saw what was in there, and there was little to keep him from ordering Rat-Face and his Goons from, <i>"Dealing with"</i> me once I''d done what he ordered to keep it. I was left with a bit of a conundrum. Even if I was going to do what he wanted? I didn''t need him telling me when; I''d get around to it, but not before I dealt with my own, more immediate problems.


    My stomach squirmed, the excitement of not wanting to be caught was an all too familiar feeling.


    An idea came over me.


    I jumped over the railing into the restricted area, and began a game: A game I was more than prepared to play.


    Kids, and even most adults tended to feel uncomfortable in a restricted areas, worried someone might discover their tresspass, but not me. For me, it was a classic starting move. One useful in childhood games like Stacker Tag, Staggered Chutes, and Bluebell Winter where children used any extra edge to be declared winner among the racing stairways.


    The ultimate goal of these games? <i>Don''t get caught.</i>


    The way to do this? <i>Don''t be predictable.</i>


    The added trick was making your chaser assume they''ve already gauged where you''re going, and then trying not to be there.


    My secret? As the de facto Bluebell Winter King of Block 13? I had an edge some others never possessed: I liked these spaces, and I knew about the Feed Tunnels set into the base. Tunnels which might now be my most likely means of losing McCreed and his Thugs and maybe finally getting a handle on the remains of my smouldering life. I wouldn''t be able to use the entirety of the tunnels, being much larger now and in a completely different Block, but I''m sure I could formulate a way to make it work.


    Under the Plastcrete columns on which the walkways and support struts were perched, hidden from view, a short flight of molded stairs sank down under the baselevel. The stairs ended at a door. A heavy door. One protected by an access code which required the use of a contact datapoint to even enter. In the eyes of an imagination-heavy child, the door looked like the entrance to a bunker, or some treasure horde of untold riches. The truth proved to be far more mundane, and had been a partial disappointment of my childhood ideologies: They were just there for the feedlines.


    All Pods had a number of requisite feedlines supplying data, air, water, and sewage. The feedlines themselves traced up and down the support stuckers of the Pod walkways, with each Block''s lines terminating at Substations and Primary Feed paths like some large interconnected network with gateways and subcontrollers. The tunnels were almost always empty save for a few automated crawler drones meant to check for structural, mechanical failure, or to run and reroute the feeds.


    The tunnels became my first introduction in how few people knew the workings of our infrastructure. Spurred by the urge to learn more, I''d inquired with one of the maintenance workers on how and why the Pods were connected the way they were. He''d been ecstatic to teach me, giving me lessons about how the Stacks were connected and how they maintained them. It had been the beginning of a trail of breadcrumbs necessary to find the way.


    Through painsaking discovery and exploration I uncovered four major facts:


    1. Every Stack of every Block had one.


    2. If you ever gained codes for a particular tunnel''s maintenance access, they were almost never changed out.


    3. Nobody seemed to ever monitor them, or even rebuke me for being down there despite having used them for years.


    4. Unless their job involved maintenance, most people had no clue they were down there and so never thought of them existing; Perfect for losing someone if you knew how to use them.


    Just knowing a code wouldn''t give you access. Most workers only knew what items were needed to do their jobs, but didn''t actually care much about code security so long as someone couldn''t wander in and cause an incident report. An Overall Rig and Cortex Link were considered the bare minimums to work the door mechanisms, but turns out, weren''t fully necessary, or so I''d discovered.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.I heard a commotion above as booted feet clanked, voices yelling in urgency. They''d lost me, and were now trying to determine my current location.


    <i>Good. </i>


    On the face of the door, in chipped and faded stenciled yellow paint on burnished metal, sat a label:<b>


    [Block D, Stack 43, SS21A]</b>


    I extended the index finger of my left hand, pressing the tip to the hollowed data-contact spot in the middle of the door. An access authorization request blinked up as if in mid-air, projected within my implant Heads Up Display and appearing before my eyes.


    There was more shouting as I assumed other Security Officers signaled down the line, trying to triangulate where I might be. My position was obscured from their view, and so I was still safe unless someone thought to climb into the restricted zone and peer down the stair.


    <b>ACCESS REQUEST INITATED: INVOKE CODE</b>


    As a kid, I''d had to scrounge and salvage after coming across a technical document on one of my father''s old chip drives. It was a very dry read, but outlined the security mechanism and their processes perfectly. A wrecked Overall suit''s glove, an integrated controller, and a few pre-loaded script sequences were used to construct a Contact-Stick, a small device which could key the door open without needing a full Cortex implant suite. The access code proved to be trivial to get. One of the workers had an obsession with an old entertainment media, heavily featuring a specific number. The number had been seeded in the varous works like an easter egg for fans to identify, and it had been easy to find after overhearing a converstation.


    "Delta, Four Three, Twenty One Alpha, One, One, Three, Eight," I sub-vocalized quietly, allowing my implants to convert the spoken words into one the doorway''s controller could utilize. The door unsealed, silently pulling inward before wooshing downward into a recessed base embedded in the ground. The yawing entrance of a forbidden tomb now stood open, the pitch black tunnel humming ominously in the chill night air.


    There were mutterings as Rat Face and the Goons communicated between higher walkways. I entered the tunnel, needing to crouch and turn slightly to make my way into the interior, but stood mostly and clicked on one of my suit''s forward facing worklights to see.


    The doorway closed behind me.


    It was achingly cold, and damp.


    The feeling of the tunnel was not unlike entering one of the Corporate Cantina''s deep protein freezers, where I''d worked a few shifts during the final years of my primary education. They were air-tight, and set low to keep the various freeze-dried foodstuffs from spoiling, or aging. There had been many, many warnings and training sessions to remind people never to stay within them for too long without specialized equipment. I''d felt a flash of panic when I realized what dangers my adolescent mind hadn''t taken into consideration.


    I had to stoop slightly to avoid hitting my head on the upper metal supports, the tunnel sides were close, but there was room enough for me to be able to turn around if necessary, even suited. The environment was much too cold for me to use as any form of permanent shelter. Like a wight, a being with a thirst to consume the souls of the unfortunate as they traversed the Underworld, the tunnel leeched away any bit of heat my body fought to retain. The walls, ceiling and floor of the tunnel acted as cooling surfaces.


    My breath curled like smoke around me in the illuminated beam of light, phantom tendrils probing the cramped interior for a way out yet finding none. The vapor, which hung in the stale air was a physical reminder the tunnels were air-tight. Hypoxia might be my biggest enemy if the code wouldn''t work on the other doors.


    I moved forward quickly, the deck clanking as my booted feet gave traction on the dusty surface. There were trails, like dots, marking the passage of the crawler drones as they had done their work. The tunnel walls were densely packed. Neat and orderly rows of feed lines shot off in clusters to various ports of access. The metal bracings above ran the length, following along into cavities drilled straight into the walls as they progressed.


    When I had been smaller, a number of the crawler drone sub-tunnels were uncomfortable, but easy to inch through. Now I was larger and an adult. These side passages were no longer an option, which shortened my list of possible destinations. The thought of being stuck, now, with hostiles around and no way to send for help, sent a shiver up my spine.


    The short walkway ahead led to a T-intersection, the ceiling and sides opening up for a greater number of feed lines. A trunk, or main-line which would head staight to the primary substation. I stepped out, and turned down both sides, clearing them with my worklight. Being given only two actual options from my current position, Foward and Back, I quickly made my way forward. Both directions led to one of the adjacent stacks on either side of the Lane.


    Late one night, when I''d felt the need to be alone on a really bad and stressful day, I''d realized I was wearing my Port Uniform, fully inegrated with the Cortex rig I''d had since I was Eighteen: The minimal requirements. My mother had confiscated my original Contact-Stick after finding out I''d been using it. I had no clue where it had gone after that, even after she died. With the suit and rig, I''d tried the old trick, and it worked. I had gotten in. Whether through laziness, or archaic protocol, the very first blackout maintenance code I''d started with was still valid. After the initial shock and excitement died down, it made an odd sense why it would work. When I began my role as a working part of the "Corporate System", so many design decisions became apparent once I learned why and how people worked the way they did. It was obvious the old addage of Corporate Operations still held true: "It isn''t a problem until it''s <i>MY</i> problem."


    I''d yet to test the code on any other door, and I needed to resolve that.


    The tunnel continued on, meeting up with several cross junctions, all labeled to indicate the Grid-like directions toward each Stack on the alternating lanes. I pushed onward, my goal shifting toward first finding another door within view of Rat-Face, one which would work with my sole remaining confirmed-working access code, and secondly, leading the Goons on a merry chase opposite where I meant to go.


    My plan required at least two accessable entrances to work.


    Honestly, while I felt a bit stupid tromping around as if I were back in a childhood game, I had to admit I enjoyed the statisfaction of letting my rebellious streak buzz along without trying to stop it. Any embarassment I was also feeling was overpowered by the sheer quantity of Goons involving themselves in the search. If I were lucky, they''d do the same as every other Kid used to do when they eventually couldn''t catch up to me: Go home and complain.


    I continued on. The only noises other than mine were the slight vibrations along feed conduits as the platforms above were swarmed, and far off clicking noises as the crawler drones worked and roamed in the darkness. Earlier, on the walkway, I''d felt trapped, penned in like a wounded animal. The irony of being underground, with feedline covered walls pressing in yet somehow receiving a sense of boundless freedom, was not lost on me.


    Now? I had room to move. Room to evade. The numbers outside made the game more difficult, but not impossible.


    I felt, oddly, <i>alive</i>.


    Flexing my fingers, which had begun to feel cold and achy even within


    their gloves, I directed the single beam of illumination to cut the


    darkness ahead and pressed onward.

 Chapter 6

    I felt...warm. Blissfully warm.


    That''s what made me stop.


    My worklight found nothing as I swiveled around. Dust motes were the only thing immediately visible, stirred by my intrusion within the dark tunnel. Something was off, but there wasn''t anything I could see.


    Warm? Warm was new. Warm was dangerous.


    My fingers were now tingling.


    I licked my cracked lips, taking a deep breath. The skin was dry. Torn. The sensation should have been somewhat painful. I could feel the roughness and wetness of my tongue. I could even identify where my lips had been hurting, but now? The pain was gone.


    Physiologically? I felt the best I''d felt in a long time.


    That seemed wrong somehow, but I couldn''t seem to line up enough mental dots to decipher the strange feeling.


    Overall I felt...good. Breathing felt glorious, like the first gasp after breaking the surface of a pool following a deep dive. I exhaled and inhaled deeply again, the rush of warmth and comfort increasing.


    I took another breath. It came easily; No unease, or feeling of panic. No constriction, or pain which might indicate organ issues. My logical thought centers kept telling me something wasn''t right as the warmth and comfort shifted to a floating sensation...like I''d taken a long pull from a jar of Wren''s Best.


    Wren''s Best was moonshine, and the name was a joke. Wren was one of the guys from Third Shift who made some of the worst moonshine you could ever taste, or at least it seemed to taste like the worst I could''ve ever tasted. Rob had threatened Wren pretty badly after one of the Second shift guys went bli--wait.


    Why was I thinking about this?


    I felt light headed and dizzy now. The combination reminding me of what happened after trying his concotion for the first time.


    The drink had smelled horrible and tasted worse; Pure alcohol and jet-fuel mixed with rotten-fruit and vitrol. Enough to make my eyes water just looking at it. Despite the harshness, I''d felt a euphorically floating bliss right before...I blacked out. It had been warm then too.


    I felt a mental tickle. The familiar trail of sensations allowed me to tug the string of an old memory, yanking it straight from cold storage into active view like a fish on a line. A safety briefing. The signs were all there: Disorientation; Floating sensations; Moments of euphoria which didn''t match the situation; Issues concentrating; Dry mouth.


    The logical parts of my brain spun, and I turned quickly.


    Oxygen deprivation. The lack of the urge to gasp and choke meant another inert gas was present, enough to keep my organs from functioning if I stayed...Oh No.


    How long had I been down here breathing it in?! I might be in some serious trouble...


    I intended to make for the doorway, but stumbled and tripped onto the ground instead. A soft, keening alert notice came from my suit''s sensors as I tried to make sense of my new position while the tunnel lifted and spun against the laws of physics. My temples were pressed within the jaws of a vice. My skull, reverberating with painful sensation, felt as if my brain were swelling to become too large for it to contain with every pulse of my heart.


    A new alert, delivered by the suit''s feminine voice, buzzed in my sound conduction implants as I tried to clear the near blinding notice from my view.


    [AIR QUALITY ALERT: WARNING! NITROGEN RICH ATMOSPHERE DETECTED. SEEK LIFE SUPPORT MIXTURE IMMEDIATELY! WARNING!]


    The next few seconds went by as I clumsily managed to prop myself up. The rest came to me in disjointed flashes, like old time celluloid film in slow motion.


    One flash and I was drunkenly bouncing off the feedline covered walls, my head turning awkwardly as gravity led me to the floor in a tripping stumble.


    Another and I could see my booted feet, one foot flying above the other as they clomped with each heavy, stumbling step in a pounding staccato. Dust flew to either side of my passage as I slid and fell time and time again.


    Now, a door. My finger aching as I jabbed it on the contact port a little too harshly.


    I heard my words slurring as my tongue sluggishly formed the sounds necessary for the opening code. It took three tries before it was finally accepted.


    I saw flashes of white, bordered by black, as the world began to dim and eventually go out.


    I came to. My consciousness rapidly returning before I''d realized I''d lost it.


    I was laying on my side. On the ground.


    I''d collapsed before the doorway, which was open. Just in time.


    My limbs ached. My eyeballs, hands, and feet hurt, but I was alive. Black spots I hadn''t realized were obscuring my vision began to clear as the cold, the wonderful, biting cold, began creeping back into my body. The icy tendrils headed straight for my soul while I savored it. Absorbed it. The false warmth was gone, which I took as a great sign.


    I rolled onto my back and watched as my breath floated up and out the open doorway. A dull safety briefing, of all the darnest things, had actually saved me. I''m sure stranger things have happened.


    The atmosphere we breathe is made up of several different gasses. Nitrogen, represents about seventy or so percent of it. Combined with Oxygen and a bunch of other stuff, it made up what some would call the proper mixture for breathing, or so the briefing had said. The same breathing I''d need to do things like walking, dodging, hiding, running, or...living.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Oh man.


    Right now? The tunnels. The tunnels were going to be a problem, at least regarding my original plan.


    They weren''t filled with the right ratio, or at least so my sensory history said as I called it up. The recorded air mixture tied to the suit alert was showing something somewhere around Ninety-Eight point Four percent Nitrogen. Someone somewhere had flooded the tunnels with pure Nitrogen. While I could tell you it wasn''t this way when I was a kid, it didn''t help my new problem.


    My new problem was needing to somehow go through these tunnels, filled with an odorless, colorless and entirely undetectable gas. Several times.


    The distance I''d traveled, how long I''d had the door open, my height, general level of respiration and even relative tempurature all made it difficult to accurately gauge when I''d hit the beginning reaches of the large pocket of gas. I also had no clue just how long I''d need to be exposed. Going through once wasn''t an issue, but since I still didn''t know if the other doorways functioned with my current code, the potential existed for multiple trips.


    No. For my original plan to succeed, I''d need to have a way of finding a working second door. That required a method of not passing out from the Nitrogen and potentially dying while traveling through the tunnel. My suit sensors had only tripped after I''d fallen the first time and that was also a problem. I couldn''t trust them to let me know before I''d already gotten too much of a dosage to be dangerous, and there were now too many unknowns. The suit was a major part of it.


    Outeralls were the external most layer of three, which consisted of OuterAlls, a single piece outer protective garment, Jacket, Pants, Boots, and a base layered sweat-wicking Skinsuit worn underneath everything else. Together they made up the whole of the Official Port Employee Uniform. Orignally, the Outeralls, at least the external portion of it, was simply a cut down hostile environment suit meant for the outer fringes of abandoned mining colonies. It could do an amazing job keeping me mostly insulated from the cold environment outside without a head enclosure, so long as the undersuit did its job of warding off hypothermia by wicking away the moisture and sweat.


    It wasn''t sealed. It wasn''t air tight. The supply line feeds for water, air, waste and nutrition were still present for convenience and operation, but the mechanisms had been changed out, just like Pod Housing; No longer valid for exotic conditions outside Corporate norms in the Stacks. In the currently retrofitted configuration as a Port Uniform, where weight mitigation and cost prioritized over utility and functionality? Lets just say, I could''ve worn a plastic bag over my head and gotten more headway toward my current problem. A potential bust unless I could figure something out.


    If I just had a locking collar, helmet, or at least a soft hood, I could''ve even used it for a few minutes of extra air. Sadly, the suit configuration lacked those features. All I really had, besides the Ident-Chip and Contact Interface, was the wicking system, which put "captured" liquid into a fluid bag.


    Yeah it''s as gross as it sounds, but so was sitting in a pool of sweat. Stewing.


    Hmm...


    I sat up straight as a thought began to form.


    Without the wind chill, the cold could almost be managable, and the undersuit was actually a touch larger than it should''ve been, so I might be able to stretch the neck up past my mouth and nose.


    Rob used to joke the wicking system worked a lot like a protein vac-sealer, which extracted air and liquids in order to seal the proteins within a polymer sheathing to be stacked and shuttled off tocold storage, The inner layer of the skinsuit, worked much the same, keeping the air and liquids inside, close to our bodies, as the suit''s condenser system worked to extract and funnel the captured medium into a fluid bag. The way it does this? Scientific Gobblety-Gook. When used In conjunction with terms like "Unidirectional Permeable Nano-fibers", "Liquid State Constrictiors", and "Systematic Distilation Processes", the idea boiled down to: Gasses and liquids out, but not in.


    Specifically if the outside were wet.


    Let me just say to you now: You don''t EVER want to be in a suit with a malfunctioning fluid condenser system so the outside gets wet. Once the external part gets wet, it obtains the liquid retention qualities of a sealed bottle with you trapped inside.


    It isn''t a pleasant feeling, but I was going to have to do it on purpose.


    Yuck.


    I''ll save you most of the gristly details.


    Since I hadn''t had time for a changeover after working a double, the bag was near full. It meant there was just enough for the exterior of the skinsuit. It only took one test run to confirm my makeshift airtrap would work, but wasn''t without flaws.


    For one: It felt atrocious, the sensation made worse by the requirement of having to pull the neck of the suit over my mouth and nose.


    Two: The smell. Silicon All-Father''s-Missing Eye, THE SMELL.


    The liquid had been cool when I...deployed it, but once my body heat did its work of warming it up?


    Well...my ribs were still hurting from the series of dry heaves I''d done before I could get myself back under control. I''d only made it a few steps on that first try. However, since the makeshift seal worked, I at least proved I wouldn''t immediately end up passed out and so continued.


    On the second trip, I progressed beyond the T-intersection, but made the mistake of not controlling my breathing, made worse when I turned the corner and had to choke down a scream. My gaze had been unexpectedly met with eight glowing red eyes from directly above me. A Crawler drone.


    I didn''t dare move as the drone continued on, metallic legs creaking slightly as it glided its feet from tip to magnetic tip on its path toward me. Carbon Dioxide levels rose with each short exhale into my makeshift seal-suit. There was no false warmth, sense of comfort, or euphoria as there had been from the Nitrogen exposure. In its place was a harsh urgency, the chemoreceptors of my brain screaming for me to find air as I stood stone still. Several smaller utility arms extruded from the flat, thin body, their tips and edges waiving languidly toward me as it stopped, eyes bouncing around in scrutiny. I likely would''ve felt myself sweating if I wasn''t already drenched.


    Instead? I stewed.


    With a sudden lurch, the drone caused me to jump as it skittered sideways into the gaping maw of a rectangular shadow above. I could still hear it as it worked, the taps of its utility arms almost as fast as my racing heart as I pressed onward. As I passed, I witnessed the Drone, belly crouched down low in the sub-tunnel and maintaining an eerie watch as I swept my worklight across it. It continued to direct its attention toward me from the darkness, but let me continue on unmolested.


    I was unnerved. It had been the first drone I''d seen in person in a long while and they were just as bad as I remembered.


    Wasting no further time, I headed in the direction of the working doorway, my skin and scalp crawling as I pulled down the neck of the skinsuit and breathed heavily. As a kid I''d avoided any and all drones within the tunnel. Their spider-like movements, mannerisms and extruded tools, which were capable of cutting through reinforced plastcrete like a hot knife through butter, were far too much for my childish imagination to be comfortable with.


    Now? As an adult? I was still finding them far too much for my mind to deal with.


    They were creepy.


    Oh. So. Creepy...


    I let the shivers finish going up and down my spine, wiping my arms fruitlessly with my gloved palms to shake off the imagined crawling feeling, before prepping the suit for another try.


    On the third try, I adopted an easy and measured pace, controlling my breathing as I walked quietly around the working drone with extra care so as not to disturb it. This time I made it fully to the terminus point, where I''d stopped originally. Two more drones had taken station in other sub-tunnels along my path. I was working on gliding by their positions undetected when I spotted it.


    There, further up the corridor where it stuck out from one of the sub-tunnel entrances illuminated by my worklight, sat the sole of a boot.


    A boot, which seemed to be connected to someone, stretched out and lying face down on the floor.

 Chapter 7

    The shape of the boot was difficult to make out, but I saw it. Whether due to the effects of my earlier experience with the Nitrogen, or my current limited air, I didn''t panic.


    Maybe there was someone, waiting unseen and ready to pounce; Someone with a rebreather, or air tank waiting for me to investigate.


    I quickly ruled out this possibility as I eyed the dust around the boot. The trail of my previous tracks skirted by, something I''d missed on my first passthrough, and I didn''t see any other signs of human feet having tread where mine hadn''t. Steeling my nerves, I made up my mind to get closer.


    All senses were on overdrive as my brain continued to seek out any evidence of a trap. I crept slowly, trying not to make any noise as I got my first full glimps of the person the boot was connected to. All Outerall suits, regardless of Corporate affiliation, or Department, have a contact point near the collar meant for emergency communication and diagnostics if hand signals weren''t viable.


    I didn''t need to use the diagnostic to confirm the state of the person in question: They were dead. Straight-up dead.


    For one, the body was missing a leg, both arms, and Ninety-Nine percent of its moisture; It could''ve been a prop from a holo featuring ancient mummified skeletons, and I would''ve believed you. For another, the contact point was gone, along with a majority of the faded orange Overall still meagerly covering the desiccated corpse.


    I had to fight to not get overexcited: Orange meant Maintenance. Maintenance meant a different configuration. Different configuration meant parts I might be able to utilize.


    From where I stood, and by the appearance of the shredded suit, most of the components and systems along the back, and lower parts of the body had been...shorn off somehow. Through a number of openings, I could see tiny nicks and cracks along the ribs, vertebrae and skull. None of the cuts appeared to be recent. The dust within the edges of the tattered remains was thick, matching the surrounding flooring.


    It''s been here for a while. Good.


    I relaxed just a touch as I turned over the body. It felt like it weighed nothing as the leathery skin stretched and deteriorated, causing my stomach to roll as I surveyed the remains of the decaying suit. I swiftly confirmed the Ident-chip, wicking system, and underlying electronics had all been removed. By what, or whom, I still wasn''t quite sure, but what still remained made my heart leap in happiness.


    A locking collar.


    The air was getting thin, as my chest began to burn. I was overcome with an urge to breathe harder as I grabbed the tattered upper portions of the suit''s remains, hastily extracting it from the body before making my way back to the opening doorway.


    I finally made it back, having taken extra care not to disturb the Drones as I replenish my air and took the time to examine the spoils of my dive.


    I almost whooped in happiness at the state of the locking collar. While there were minor blemishes which tarnished the metallic ring, it was wholly undamaged and serviceable. Even better? Stowed safely within the collar was an old, but usable soft-hood. Having not been deployed, the hood had still been packed, safely ensconced beneath the metal ring of the locking collar, which had protected it from harm.


    With the hood, I had more range. How much more I couldn''t say for certain. It turned my once Herculean task into something a bit more...mortally achievable.


    There was a soft clink as I worked to remove the collar. I set the collar aside as I worked to unravel the source of the noise and found a palm sized metallic plate on what would''ve been the right breast of the Overall. A nameplate.


    Laser etched onto the face were the following words:


    MAINTENANCE.


    [Branch, P.T.] CC05.


    CIDENT#45-17-1138.


    The last few digits of the ID caught me by surprise. I pondered for a bit as I realized who the body belonged to; It was the owner of the code. The code I used to enter the tunnels so many years ago. The code which was even now saving my life.


    The presence of his body within the tunnels of an entirely different block was a mystery, as was the fact his codes were still working despite the proof of his untimely demise within. The length of time needed for his body to be in the state it was?


    Wow.


    I began connecting the collar to my own suit.


    "Well, Mr. Branch," I said quietly as I readjusted the ring, checking the placement with my gloves to ensure it was positioned correctly, "Looks like I need to thank you. You''ve done a lot for me and I didn''t even know you, so...thanks." The collar clicked as it sealed perfectly into position. I was feeling good all the way up to when I reached back to pull out the hood and seal it around my head, trapping the air inside the suit like a bubble.


    Yeah. It...it wasn''t good. Phew.


    Between the skinsuit still being wet, the muskiness of the scarf wrapped around my neck, and a dead guy''s stained and crumpled soft-hood?


    I unsealed the hood, breathing heavily from the open doorway as I took off the scarf in a futile effort to cut the smell, even a little. It might have worked, but I couldn''t tell. There were almost comical whisps of steam coming off of the soiled garment, looking like ripe smell lines in a classical cartoon holo as I wrapped the scarf around the suit''s locking collar in order to free my hands. At this point, I was pretty convinced I''d need to get my nasal passages lead-lined the next time I visited a MedDoc. Perhaps it was even time to replace my sense of smell entirely...damn the cost.


    I took a number of quick cleansing breaths, displacing the air by fluffing the hood open and closed a few times, before locking down and closing the doorway.


    I jumped as I realized there were now three drones facing me from the tunnel, all three sets of eight eyes locked around my neck as they chittered excitedly, mechanical arms vibrating like rattles as their eyes turned a deeper shade of red. They were close...far, far too close.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.I yelped as one of them leapt, snagging my scarf and succeeding in dragging me onto the floor in one move. The soft-hood''s seal held as the air was forced out of my lungs and I hit the ground. I was face-up as the drone dragged me, across the corridor and away from the door like a spider towing a juicy insect into a webbed lair. The scarf was locked tight like a noose under the locking collar as I struggled, gloved fingers trying to find a way under the loop in order to loosen it enough to escape.


    I redoubled my efforts as I felt a rapid series of tiny vibrations, the tap, tap, tap, tapping of magnetic feet as the side drones converged. Two sets of utility arms darted toward me from either side as I untangled myself with a sudden jerk. The sudden freedom caused the scarf to accelerate as it slid along. The arms retracted as I heaved, leaning sharply to the right, barely avoiding the rush of pursuing drones as they buzzed after it aggressively.


    I was now behind them.


    The two side drones caught up to the first, tearing and ripping into the steaming cloth with the same breathtaking efficiency demonstrated on the conduits earlier. The first one stopped to join once it realized the frenzy had started, and they acted as one. The drone on the left was using a tiny cutting saw to shear sections of the scarf into ribbons while the other two stabbed through the material and into the ground with ruthless abandon. The red-cast corridor was occasionally illuminated by strobing snapshots of horrifying violence as they fell on their prey; Their sharpened probes sent off sparks with every brutal impact, showing all the grace of prison shivs being used to shank someone. It would''ve been an impressive display of synchronicity if it weren''t so utterly terrifying.


    I was trapped against the door, the three drones between me and the tunnel as I stood up slowly. The trio stopped; Their movements jerky and halting as I froze, mid-rise. My face paled at the sight of their bodies now turning slowly in unison to track me.


    The scarf was now a distant memory, the mangled pile of unrecognizably shredded fibers forgotten like a lifeless victim. The remnants grew cold and discarded in the chilly air, and I didn''t dare breathe as the arms of the drones began to rattle again. Three sets of Eight eyes darted from place to place, individually and in sets as they evaluated the surroundings for threats, or targets. Curiously they seemed unable to track me if I stood motionless like I was now. After a few tense minutes, it was clear the drones were no longer finding anything to focus on.


    My thighs and knees were beginning to burn with exertion as I struggled not to move. My optics silently warned me of the Nitrogen imbalance in the air again, the alert set to a minimal mode so it would no longer block my view. As if on cue from the alert, the three drones skittered off down the tunnel, seeminly happy to move onto their next task as if nothing had occurred. At the very least, I knew what had caused the smallish cuts on the bones.


    I waited a few more minutes before attempting to open the door and reset my air levels, quickly shutting the entry before the drones returned.


    I had a theory on why they were coming, but I didn''t want to trigger them again, not yet. I was shaking, this time not from the cold, but from the adrenaline of nearly being processed into a pile of shredded protipacks on a platter. My stomach growled despite the temporary weakness I felt at the mere thought of food.


    I slowed my breathing to calm myself, thankful for the extra air the soft-hood afforded me, despite the scent, as I focused on the positives of the ordeal. Now...I had information.


    It was becoming obvious, the drones only started coming closer once I kept the door open long enough for the warnings to go away. The first trip had been a fluke. The trigger seemed to be the ratio of anything except the Nitrogen Gas now present deeper within the tunnels, and it had been a wonder I''d made it as far as I had without running afoul unexpectedly.


    More than once I''d stepped by the drones as they''d monitored me while the Nitrogen Gas mix was present. It felt safe to assume, provided I kept my distance where applicable, I wouldn''t risk aggression so long as I avoided another hidden trigger I might not be aware of.


    Judging by how the drones had reacted once the trigger conditions were met, I had to assume their primary hunting senses were between electrical, scent, pheromone, heat, or motion. It was easy to rule out most of these options because of one absolute fact during the attack: They''d ignored me.


    When I''d taken my scarf off, I''d wrapped it around the locking collar to free my hands. They''d gone straight for it, having been remarkably fixated on my neck when they''d first appeared. After the drone had bore me to the ground and I''d managed to untangle, they''d gone after it instead of attacking me.


    I could argue there could''ve been enough...residue, to have left enough medium clinging to the outside of my suit to follow by scent, or pheromones, yet, they''d stayed solely focused on the scarf itself; Particularly once it had been dragged away. In similar vein, while Mr. Branch''s suit had been torn to ribbons, and the electrical components removed, or destroyed; It didn''t look targeted, just brutally efficient. I looked over at the pile of stray fibers and remembered the marks on Branch''s corpse.


    That leaves two: Heat and movement. The most likely and the most effective when paired together with cold ambient temps like down here.


    I tried to imagine what Branch''s last moments must''ve been like. The sheer terror of suddenly being attacked in the dark, and what he would''ve done. What I would''ve done.


    I would''ve ran.


    Based on my new understanding, running wouldn''t have worked. It meant they would''ve gone into a frenzy, the motion drawing them toward him as he tried to flee. Worse? With every cut, he would''ve bled more heat into the frosty air, showing up like a fusion core in dark void, all the while drawing more and more of the drones from sub-tunnels he wouldn''t have been able to crawl through to escape if he wanted to. The main corridors would''ve been drowned in the tap, tap, tapping of those magnetic legs just like I''d heard as they hunted. Legs which would''ve followed him as far as it took until the heat stopped showing and he finally stopped moving.


    No way out.


    I stared down the tunnel, which was now absent of the red glow of the drones and their creepily watching eyes. My mind began to play tricks, imagining spiders lurking in the far off corners to snatch and drag me away into the darkness, like the drone had begun to do when the scarf had looped around my collar.


    Would it have tried to squeeze me through one of those smaller tunnels until I couldn''t move?


    The Nitrogen warning reappeared on my interface. I shook off the thought.


    I had a problem, or so I had once been told, of imagining worse things in lieu of facing the issues immediately before me. I wasn''t a child anymore, but even then I''d known the monsters were real. The imagination meant I made it even worse on myself if I couldn''t get control of it.


    Here? Now? I could do something about it.


    I could do something.


    Toggling the door open, I nodded to myself before readying up for another trek into the depths; The plan had not changed.


    The plan:


    1. Find another doorway which worked with the code. Avoid being Drone-Shanked. (Thanks, Mr. Branch.)


    2. Try to trick the Goons into thinking I was going somewhere I wasn''t.


    3. Something something...lose em. I''ll figure it out.


    4. Success!


    I sealed my hood and closed the door.


    Better fear and action, than doubt and quandary.


    Go time, Price.


    I stepped forward down the tunnel.

 Chapter 8

    I could''ve told you it took forever to get from the open doorway to another, but I''d be lying. With the hood in place, and armed with the fresh intel of Crawler hunting habits, the walk into the tunnels went by rather quickly, and were mostly unremarkable.


    The one major discovery of note: Every so often, I came across the skeletons of tiny creatures no wider than my hand, and in some cases small as my pinkie; Scrabs. It was during the final stages of the Global War when Geneva Conventions were ignored. The resulting strikes created a hellish landscape anywhere not actively defended by advanced screening systems like those within the Spire''s upper levels. The hot spots affected by the immense fallout, radiation and other effects of the combined tactical nuclear arsenals and genetic cocktails of mass biological warheads, created the unrecovered zones. Scrabs were the descendants of biologically mutated rats and rodents which had been changed in such zones as these, just like the ones surrounding City 17''s borders outside The Glow.


    Though sometimes able to chew and claw their way into the heavy metal containers we used to transport bulk goods between cities, there were dedicated protocols for handling potential Scrab infestations. Seeing one usually wasn''t a big deal. They were a common enough problem at the Port you''d rarely see anything more than single digits, or solo stragglers. However, If allowed to thrive, the little vermin could be more than just a headache.


    Their bare, grinning skeletons seemed no more desiccated than Branch''s body despite their smaller size, but I had a bit of a scare when these skeletons became trails of bones I initially mistook for fingers and metacarpals  large enough to be those of children, and small adults. The horrifying image of people being dragged down here by Scrabs mirrored the thought of being pulled into a sub-tunnel by a Crawler.


    Having not thought much about it as a kid when I''d been roaming around unmolested by either?


    Nope. I was gonna just not think about that too hard right now. Judging by the number of bones I''d already spotted, there must have been hundreds, if not a thousand Scrabs at one point.


    I came across a series of dotted trails, made by the tapping feet of Crawler drones into the now powdered skeleton piles. The dots pointed toward one of the doorway vestibules as, behind me, skeletons led deeper and away, toward Branch''s corpse. By the looks of the aftermath, the whole of the push inward by the Scrab Wave had been ceased by strategic flooding of Nitrogen gas as the Crawler Drones did their gruesome work.


    Assuming the trail of intact skeletons would thin toward the breach point, I paced carefully toward the nearest vestibule and finally connected key pieces of a very fractured puzzle. The piles closer to the doorway ahead bore scorch marks, with fewer intact bones as the powder became finer, and the coloration took on a more ashen quality. As the numbers of charred piles increased, so too did the quantity of trailed dots as the paths converged.


    The ash piles made it difficult to walk as my suit''s worklight traced the outline of a plastcrete plug.


    The plug was flush with the surface of the wall, and fitted to seal a roughened hole no wider than my head. Surrounding the now-sealed hole were claw marks which rose to the ceiling and spread outward along the floor and corridor. The lines were so numerous they flowed in a way reminiscent of an ivy plant clinging to the dull plastcrete foundation. I moved my light to and fro, making the lines stand out in stark contrast as they danced and stretched along the walls.


    I''d once seen a Creeping  Ivy at a Botanical garden. I''d found it beautiful despite the warnings of its ability to spread and take over man-made ecosystems. There were other holographic exhibits intermixed, visible examples of the non-genetically modified variants the Ivy had pushed out as it adapted to our climate. The leaves of the Creeping Ivy were vibrant, and had a certain aesthetic pattern despite being intermixed with the uniformity of modified genetics. I''d been told by the guide, any attempts to control and reconcile the vibrant coloration were a failure, "Chaos theory exemplified."  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Here? The markings were ugly. The claw-created vines forming a hungry scrabble on the plastcrete as the swarm moved and burrowed toward a desperate future. By the looks of the scene as I took it in its entirety, if you thought about it, the swarm only existed by a chain of genetic manipulations, time and evolutionary theory. Being drawn toward the promise of heat and sustenance was in their make-up, what they were forced to do as a result of their creation and environment.


    Piles of powdered skeletons and bones acted as gruesome monuments to the successful work of Crawlers fighting against the Scrab menace. They''d brought order back from history-created chaos, but created chaos themselves as the sins of mankind fought back. Their machine logic focused more on order, and maintaining environmental conditions. The logic wouldn''t, or couldn''t, take humans into consideration as it cycled. It was a risky trade off: Safety and protection so long as you didn''t become an outlier.


    Branch had been caught in between Scrab and Crawler as he attempted to save himself. He became an outlier just like I had, but to different parties.


    <i>Poor guy</i>, I thought.


    Letting my light wander, I visualized a rough approximation of where Branch''s body had been. It matched the trail. There had been a great number of Scrabs, each gouge, tear, pile, and intact skeleton a clear sign for how dangerous the threat had truly been; A threat which had been stopped at the cost of one human life.


    Was the cost worth it?


    I couldn''t honestly answer.


    Hero? Victim? Unfortunate bystander? There was just no way for me to tell. The breach point of a burrowing vermin infestation might not have been large in the scope of things, but its effects would''ve been locally horrifying if nothing had stopped it. It was entirely possible he was the one who rose the alarm which led to his own demise. Would he have done it if death was guaranteed?


    As to why the drones were left on hunter mode and Branch''s body had remained undisturbed once the threat was handled? I had no real way of telling. A silent, but furious subterranean war had been waged as people like me lived our lives above, oblivious.


    I''d never known.


    <b><i>WE</i></b>...had never known.


    Like the true appearance of the Spires, how much more had we been blind to and why?


    I moved past the plug, past all of the piles of crushed Scrab bodies and dotted trails and approached the doorway. My interface was met with nothing as I held my finger over the contact point. The way out had been blocked, the internal mechanisms having been disabled, or removed.


    I felt a shot of anxiety. I''d had my own battles to wage, and I''d been held up too long unraveling the tangled threads of this unrelated mystery. How much air would I need to find another way out?  How much air had I already wasted if I couldn''t get another door to open? Why had the original door worked?


    From a technical sense, the choice to permanently disable doorways nearest the plug''s location was a smart one. It also didn''t bode well for my chances in finding a doorway in the immediate vicinity. The decision to flood the tunnels with nitrogen gas, and set the triggers on the Crawlers to activate if they detected Scrab breathable air was also an efficient one. Too bad Branch and I needed the same ratios to live.


    The sinking feeling in my stomach returned as I tried two other doorways, both disabled.


    I''d confirmed my theory.


    It was time to turn back, I needed air.


    I continued to see Crawlers as I sped along, careful not to touch, or trigger any of the singular units which paused to monitor me as I passed. I was able to observe several of the groups, always in threes, lingering in areas which were paths of least resistance from the location of the breach point. Their movements and positions now made sense to me, and I was easily able to avoid them as I carefully picked my way back.


    At last, the doorway opened with a quiet click, as I gasped, breathing as deeply and quietly as I could of the frigid air. Black spots had begun to creep into my vision, and I''d been miraculously closer to passing out than I felt comfortable admitting. I took a few extra breaths, ready to close the hood in anticipation of another dive into the tunnel depths when I inhaled it.


    Thick and cloying, a stream of cigarette smoke drifted from outside the entry, making a straight beeline into my face. My lungs were assaulted with a sudden urge to cough as a rough voice yelled from outside the doorway.


    "HEY! What are you doing down here?!"

 Chapter 9

    The coughing fit was loud.


    So loud it managed to cover my own choking noises as I fought to not join in. Just barely.


    "Geez, Perc!" A second voice said as the coughing shifted to a wheezy rasp, "You wanna give me a heart attack or something?! Give a guy some warning before you go screaming at him. It''s the middle of the night!"


    The first voice, Perc, replied. His voice was seething with barely suppressed annoyance as he spoke, "What are you, an idiot? Golrich is on the warpath and you''re down here about to get us on his shit list again?!"


    "Yeah? Well, what Golrich doesn''t know ain''t gonna hurt him," the second voice said. A long plume of smoke drifted in as Smokey, his name until I heard otherwise, took another long drag of his cigarette. He exhaled, making the words like a long sigh as he spoke, "And so long as you don''t say anything, likely won''t hurt you either."


    There was a long pause as I imagined the looks being traded. Smokey with his likely beady, squinty eyes, and Perc, with tightened lips which barely contained his irritation at the situation.


    "I''m no snitch," Perc retorted, "But you''re risking both our necks by pulling shit like this when you know they''re already pissed off."


    I heard Smokey scoff, but he didn''t say anything to challenge.


    "They''ll have both our asses if they find out you waltzed down here taking a break when the rest of us were searching, They want this guy found. Now. Screwing off isn''t helping anyone. Especially with McCreed watching us like a hawk up there."


    "Hey," Smokey said, a whine in his voice, "I''m searching, Just took some time to take a little break is all."


    "I sent you down here to check the maintenance entrance, did you at least do it?" Perc asked.


    Cherry red embers scattered as a cigarette spun wildly into view. It hit the ground and bounced several times before rolling slowly toward the upper stairway.


    "I was looking for it, I swear. It''s right over there, see?" I could imagine Smokey pointing a hand after having flicked the remains of his smoke break toward me. The butt rolled down the stairway, coming to rest only a foot away from my widened eyes as A tiny pillar of smoke twirled in the cold air like A smoke signal. The pillar was starkly visible in the beam of my worklight, like moonlight cast on a plume rising from the side of a lonely mountain. I clicked off my worklight as I fought to control my breathing, mentally making myself as small as I could imagine.


    Have you ever tried not to breathe when you think someone can hear you do it? It''s difficult. Very, very difficult. Fortunately my runs in the tunnels meant I had some practice.


    I kept a hand clamped firmly over my mouth to block any escaping noise as I slowly, achingly rolled over and pushed myself up with one arm.


    First milestone achieved: I was now on my feet.


    "It''s easy enough to find, Pete," Perc said, "The problem is I needed you to confirm nobody went in there. With nowhere else to go, that''s about the last place he could''ve used."


    Pete probably rolled his eyes, "How''s he even going to get in? It''s sealed ain''t it?"


    "Not all," Perc said, "Only the ones connected to Substation Twenty."


    "Why Twenty?" Pete asked, voicing what I also wanted to know.


    "You remember that one guy who disappeared, what was his name? Phillip? Herbert?"


    "Nah, before my time. I did hear about the tunnels being sealed off because of someone. What happened?"


    "Maintenance tech a few years back found some sort of breach, nobody would tell us what, but the word was he screwed up and got himself killed."


    "Huh. Well what the hell''s down there then?"


    "Dunno, and I don''t care," Perc said neutrally, "Far as we''re concerned, what''s behind that door could be filled with liquid copper and I''d still stay the hell away from it."


    Pete''s voice was suddenly energetic, "Copper?! You really think there''s copper down there?!"


    There was a pause as I imagined Perc now glaring at Pete in disbelief. "It''s marked as a Hazard Five," he said flatly.


    "Yeah? So?"


    "Five means no air. Nothing down there except Crawler drones and death."


    "What about the liquid copper?!"


    "Was that seriously all you took from what I said? They said never go anywhere near Substation Twenty and we''re right at a junction. You''d have to be an idiot to try."


    "I heard you, but I care more about getting Scrit. Tell me about the copper."


    "Pete?"


    "Yeah?"


    "You''re an idiot."


    Any snarky response Pete might have had was cut short. A trio of crawlers made their way around the bend; Right on schedule.


    Hastily sealing my hood, I triggered the door mechanism, which thankfully, and mutely, slid closed. Regardless of what kind of people Perc and Pete might be, I didn''t want to risk any future confrontations. It was an easy decision to separate Pete and Perc from a potentially gruesome death. For one...It would''ve given away my position; Never mind the risks for people habitating in the Pods above.


    Given enough time? I wondered how many people the trio of Crawler Drones could kill before someone managed to shut them down. I wasn''t even sure if someone had thought to keep the little murder-bots from leaving the confines of the tunnels. One would hope, except I''d seen the way Corpo Coders worked. Branch''s corpse was the biggest indicator. Whomever had done the work? Hadn''t cared about limits...


    Whew.


    Yet another random chain of thoughts I wasn''t sure I wanted to go down. <i>Quite the trend tonight.</i>


    I watched silently as the Crawlers milled about, eventually losing interest as the atmospheric balance returned to deep-tunnel norms. I kept a safe distance as the three turned back; One on the ground, and two on either side of the walls as they took a left and disappeared.


    It was the same direction as Branch''s remains, and the one I''d originally taken when I''d first gained access to the tunnels. I eyed the wall morosely as something peeked out from the dull greyish hue coating the tunnel walls on that side.


    Through the trailed dots of a Crawler''s passing, previously obscured by a thick layer of dust and grime, were white lines contrasting along a reddish brown backdrop. I reached out a tentative hand, wiping away the veil of time from a thin metal sheet as my eyes goggled at what I''d missed.


    It was a map.


    Mounted on the wall and nearly as tall as the ceiling was a fully outlined, descriptively labeled maintenance diagram which showed the tunnels, and connections to nearby junctions. I must''ve passed by here at least four different times, entirely oblivious to the map''s existence as I''d struggled to clear the hurdles of surviving. When I''d first entered the maintenance tunnels, there were a number of obvious pressures forcing my hand to the paths I''d eventually taken.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    I toggled a scan using my optical implant''s interface as I poured over the image, hovering my vision over a section labeled <b>SS21a</b>. My eyes, much like my feet, were naturally drawn along a line representing the junction corridor as it merged directly into another hub. I fought the urge not to sigh heavily as I read the label: <b>SS20a</b>.


    Perc said they were given specific instructions to avoid Substation Twenty at all costs. The irony wasn''t lost on me when I realized the way I''d taken proved to be the ONLY way into the SS20''s loop, and all other paths either led away, or to other sections.


    <i>Of course I would''ve chosen the side the drones were on. Great job Price. Fan. Flicking. Tastic.</i>


    I pondered for a moment as the scan completed, studying the lines leading rightward as I mentally visualized the Stack lanes I often used from memory. Moving along to the next substation would be advantageous, as there were many cross lanes between the location of my Pod and where the next junction ended.


    I nodded to myself, shifting over to be on the move. I''d finally obtained my first, full grasp of a position since I''d arrived. Of the Crawler Drones? Their number became fewer and fewer the further I travelled away from my original junction. In this manner, I came across more of the Drones working as proper maintenance units rather than the much scarier Hunter-Killers as packs of duos and trios gave way to the sounds of clicking, deeper within the sub tunnel side passages.


    Armed with a renewed sense of confidence, and the comforting image of the maintenance schematic, I passed a total number of six sub tunnels with nary a Crawler drone in sight.


    I hadn''t liked being surprised when Perc yelled at Pete. The doorway being opened when I''d been caught entirely unaware, and the danger of making a noise when the smoke hit my lungs, highlighted a very pressing need for future risk assessments.


    Information was important. The more information I could gather without alerting anyone outside, the less risk I would be exposed to.


    <i>If only I could hear where people were above, I''d be able to...</i>


    <i>To...</i>


    I stopped. The tunnel was quiet, but not silent. What sounds I could hear, were irregular and differing. It was almost like I was in the belly of some great vessel, with booted feet on a far-off deck as the waves shifted, making rocking berms creak and moan in the wind.


    I glanced up, eyeing the feedlines.


    At the previous doorway I''d gauged activity by the amount of noise making it down into the tunnels from above. I couldn''t decipher much as I attempted to mine vital information from the reverberations, but there was something there; Something familiar.


    A tiny thought solidified into a full blown idea as I glanced at the contact point on the doorway and my gloved hand.


    "They almost sound like...malfunctions," I said to myself quietly.


    I lifted my hand and touched it to one of the feedlines. I gasped in shock as data flooded my interface. Data which my suit''s processing unit was busy converting empirically for my perusal.


    <i>Servomech housings!</i>


    I made a fist with my other hand and grinned. I could''ve cried in joy.


    Autonomously Powered Servomech Housing Modules; More often known as "Servohousings", were one of the hardest to diagnose components when I first began doing shifts at the Port. The housings were a collection of sensors, actuators, pumps, controllers and power feeds working in unison to provide locomotion for lumbering Power Loaders.


    Without getting too technical, I''d taken my youthful experience with contact data-point sensors and expanded it toward...modifying some functions of the Outeralls which were no longer enabled.


    In short, I was able to make the gloved contact points into data collectors.


    Why was this important?


    When I''d first arrived, if a Servohousing went "Bad", it was a big ordeal. A bad Servohousing meant entire sections of components had to be stripped, replaced, recalibrated and recertified before a unit could be brought back to a certified working status. In most cases this could take hours, if not days, as people scrabbled to isolate malfunctioning systems. It meant entire teams would have to gut out sections. At the time, there was just no way to tell what parts of a Housing might have broken without having to fully take one apart.


    Enter: <i>The modifications.</i>


    With only a slight change to an Outerall''s sensor diagnostics mode, and a bypass to re-enable the connected audio-pressure sensors located in a suit''s gloved fingertip. A very consistent way to get data could be made available.


    Such a method could let one learn how to "feel out" malfunctions in a machine as it operated: Quick and ticky might mean something bad within the mechanical portions of the mechanism; Weak and tappy a potential power, feed, or hydroblockage issue. There was an endless checklist stored in my implant of conditions such as these.


    It still wasn''t the point I was making.


    No, the real point was it didn''t have to just work on Servohousings. The data scrolling across my view was just the thing I needed as the suit''s Systems Control Unit did the work of converting the taps, clanks and vibrations into a simple audiograph.


    It was now a trivial action to get a sense of how many people might be above. I just needed to test the feedlines.


    I wasted no time once I''d gained this new testing method.


    Four passages, including the one I''d done my first test in, were quickly graded as "Too hot". Clear as a hot pan filled with sizzling bacon, the feedlines were practically buzzing to the touch. There was far too much activity to deem those doorways safe.


    I quickly moved on.


    A weight pressed on the back of my mind, a welling panic, as I tested two more exits, and eliminated them as options as well.


    I was fighting down a trill of frantic fear when I finally came across a doorway where the activity levels were lower. Out of the dozens of pathways I''d tried within range, none were silent, but this one was relatively quiet and cool in comparison.


    I was getting desperate. Almost out of air.


    I decided to take the risk.


    Approaching the inner side of the doorway, practically a twin of the one I''d used to enter the tunnel system, I pressed my hand against the metallic surface of the door, focusing hard to pick out any noises which might indicate someone would be on the other side.


    Nothing.


    Realizing I was finally out of air, spots flashed before my eyes and I extended my index finger quickly, reciting the magic words like a wizard chanting an incantation to enter an underground kingdom''s hidden doorway.


    There was a moment, as I stood there, where I imagined the door wouldn''t open.


    I was wrong.


    The door cycled smoothly, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me as I released the hood from it''s collar. Taking in what I hoped would be my last, air-starved breath in the near future, I finally sighed.


    I''d made it.


    The cold air pressed against my face as I breathed calmly, and deeply.


    Thunder rumbled in the distance.


    My original plan had been to draw attention to myself before ducking back into the tunnel to pull a double back. The plan now sounded less appetizing as I took a few minutes to savor the breeze on my cheek and caught yet another whiff of myself; If anything, the fresh air made the smell worse.


    Tucking the hood beneath the metallic collar around my neck, I checked my interface''s chronometer and frowned. After my hours (plural) long voyage into the pits, I wasn''t very enthusiastic to go back down there, but it was time to put the plan into effect.


    I glanced upward, keeping a keen eye for anyone looking out, but didn''t see anyone in the immediate area.


    There was nobody. All was quiet.


    Taking one final look around, I figured, "To hell with it" and made a mad dash for another stack across the lane, weaving back and forth in a wild attempt to get as many eyes on me as possible.


    Still nobody.


    <i>Well shit.</i>


    I reached the lower floor of the next Stack, panting heavily, having only succeeded in giving myself a side stitch as I propped my hands on my hips as my breath came out in ragged gasps.


    <i>What kind of trick is this?!</i> I asked myself as I tried not to vomit, <i>Maybe running after all that oxygen deprivation wasn''t such a great idea...</i>


    It took more than a few minutes to get my breathing back under control. Long enough to figure I''d somehow succeeded in throwing off the Goons before I''d needed to double back.


    I guess the tunnels weren''t a waste of time after all. How bout that?


    Once I felt better, or at least no longer feeling like I wanted to puke, I carefully picked my way between Stacks, still keeping a wary eye out for lookouts. On random whim, I made the odd turn here or there, trying to make sure I stayed on pathways which had surfaces which didn¡¯t leave boot prints.


    At one point I had to make a slight detour, having come across another group of Security Personnel questioning someone I couldn¡¯t get a full view of. They were dead center in the intersection, directly between me and my planned heading. Figuring caution was better than my curiosity on what was going on, I backtracked, choosing a different avenue to bypass the event entirely; You know, just to be safe.


    The precautions I took were rewarded a short while later. A series of shouts, followed by the sound of heavily booted feet tromping and clomping southward, met my ears as I tried to plaster myself to a wall. I remained unmolested as they passed, managing to keep myself from view as I heard the chatter of voices above.


    The Goons were tracking the new, unknown quarry as they signaled furiously to each other across the way.


    In the distance, additional shouting in the area Rat-Face and his personal team of Goons had taken station. By the sounds of it, whomever Security had tried to question had taken a run for it. The two groups were now baying at each other, pressing so the runner would be herded between them.


    The sounds travelled along, away from my newly chosen position and the heading I wanted to travel. I crouched. Motionless as I strained to hear. The thunder rumbled harder as the noises moved further and further away, leaving me in relative silence.


    Sweaty, tired, and very...very hungry, I chose to take advantage of the breathing space the unidentified runner had unwittingly gifted me. I took extra care at junctions, slowing down to avoid just popping right out into open areas where I could be easily spotted as I hustled along.


    The coast, as they say, still appeared clear. The further from my former home I traveled, the more confident I was my little Fox-Run ruse had worked. At least for now? I was alone, though it was still too soon to pat myself on the back.


    Checking nearby navigation marks on the side of the walkways, I began wandering until I reached the stack I needed.


    It was time to call in a favor.

 Chapter 10

    The trip out to Block M, Stack 17, Level 12, Pod 7 was relatively simple.


    Save for a few bumps into early morning errand-runners, and a close call with a pair of guards too busy discussing holoball scores than looking out; it had taken a while, but I¡¯d made it.


    When compared against my far more eventful subterranean journey within the maintenance tunnels, the trip had been a leisurely stroll. I''d made my way away from the Goons and their baying shouts, taking great care to avoid being followed before ending up here: In front of the residence of one Robin P. Franklin. Co-worker and Shift Supervisor for Section Four-D, Shift Three.


    ¡°Somebody better have died, or I swear..." Rob stated as he glared out at me from the Outer Lock''s screen. Roughened by exposure to the elements, and possessing all the hallmarks of a bear being woken early from hibernation; The expression was anything but welcoming.


    It had already been a long night with little sign I''d reach an end which didn''t involve a bad result. In hindsight? Rob''s less than warm reception made me wish I''d thought more about what to say before I''d hit the call button. He looked as tired as I felt.


    I lowered my hood and stepped into the light, allowing the Outer Lock''s optical pick-up to frame my face.


    "Someone did." I said. Flatly. "Hey to you too, Rob."


    The scowl disappeared and was replaced by a look of shocked recognition. His bushy eyebrows shot upward, practically disappearing into the Chestnut colored hair which matched his burly beard.


    "Owen. What?!" He bleated out.


    He force coughed once into his closed fist, and managed to choke off whatever he was about to accidentally say next.


    He turned back to glare at me, eyebrows scrunching together like a pair of hairy caterpillars as he regained his composure. His voice practically growled as the speaker rumbled with his discontentment at being surprised.


    "If you''re HERE. Who''s covering my shift?!" he demanded.


    His scowl returned two-fold as he attempted to cover his initial reaction by lowering his tone and morphing before my eyes from "Poked-Woke-Bear Rob", to "Boss Rob"; My least favorite.


    Laced with an undercurrent of barely contained irritation, bridled rage, and unspoken annoyance: "Boss Rob" was the voice he used when he unceasingly chewed out whomever dared bother him with ridiculous requests and lazy excuses.


    Like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar; I clammed up. A familiar feeling of having done something wrong washed over me as he glared.


    I felt my face redden as I suddenly felt nervous. It became obvious to me I wasn''t exactly sure how much weight a few supposed favors would amount to in Rob''s eyes. The double cover I''d been in the middle of working before I''d been dismissed and summarily fired was to be one of them, but...No. I was desperate.


    ¡°Uh,¡± I eeked out and winced, realizing how suspicious the next part might sound as I mentally fumbled for a way to present my case.


    Rob''s eyes pierced through the screen at me as he squinted. An uneasy feeling grew in the pit of my stomach as I continued to stumble. The suspicion came through in waves as his brown eyes probed the screen''s borders for more information, like an Owl hunting for a scrabbling Rat on a forest floor.


    ¡°Yeah. Little bit of a problem with that. Any way we could talk about this inside? It''s, uh...freezing out here," was all I could say.


    I was suddenly not quite so sure coming to Rob''s was the best idea I''d ever had.


    Rob opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted as clicking noises began to issue from the feed. He blinked rapidly, looking as if he''d gotten something stuck in his eye and couldn''t get it clear. Like a spinning globe, the right orb of his eye spun within its socket. It would''ve been alarming, except, I knew Rob. Rob''s finicky implant, his right one, was acting up again.


    Turning his body to hide his face from the feed, he covered the eye with a hand as he colorfully swore, away from the screen''s pick-up and with much aggravation.


    I grinned as an inner part of me relaxed. As silly as it sounded, I no longer felt as unsure about coming. Rob was Rob. The familiar event broke what tension I''d been holding as he attempted to percussively ''fix'' his malfunctioning optic with his right palm. It was a comfortingly familiar action reminding me Rob was a guy just like me, doing what he could with what he had.


    Having finally whacked the implant into suitable function, he glowered. "You didn''t answer my question," He said.


    His face was an angry red to match the expression of annoyance he often gave when his eye gave out in front of someone. He was still upset, whether at me or the optic, I wasn''t sure, but I pretended nothing had happened. If you ever worked with Rob, it was an occurrence you eventually got used to; At least now he was no longer acting as "Boss Rob"; I no longer felt so awkward.


    ¡°Wait," Rob suddenly said, an expression of shock passing over his face. His brain had finally caught on to what I''d initialy said.


    "You said someone died?! Who?¡± His tone had shifted back to the Rob I knew best. A Rob I was more familiar with.


    ¡°Know the new guy?¡± I asked him.


    ¡°Ah MAN, not Alan!¡± He said, genuine pain on his face as he spoke.


    I shook my head, ¡°No, no. The other new guy.¡±


    ¡°The one with the leg?¡±


    ¡°The other, other new guy.¡±


    ¡°The one with the arm?¡±


    ¡°No, man. Karl.¡± I said, looking up at the sky in annoyance. It was actually kind of interesting how many new people we''ve had come in recently. Huh.


    ¡°Ah yeah." Rob said with a notable sense of relief, "The lazy one."


    He paused for a few seconds, a neutral sort of expression on his face as he realized maybe he should say something else. "That sucks."


    My eyebrows rose a fraction, but dropped back down just as quickly. I was still managing to hold off my own feelings about the entire ordeal, having witnessed it first hand, but...yeah. Sure it was morbid, but I mean...you know, if you want people to feel bad for you dying on the job, don¡¯t constantly make other people work harder at their job in order to cover for your issues when you didn''t work to change, I guess.


    ¡°How?¡± Rob asked after a few more beats.


    ¡°Heavy Loader,¡± I said. I tried to focus on something other than my thoughts as I said it. The clouds were getting pretty thick on the horizon.


    ¡°Was he high, or something?¡±


    ¡°Very likely.¡±


    ¡°And they fired you?¡± Rob asked. He seemed genuinely confused.


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°Why you?¡± He asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m still not really clear on that one.¡±


    "You didn''t...throw him in the path of..."


    "No, Man!" I nearly shouted, looking around to make sure nobody had heard. Still clear.


    "Okay." He said, thinking. ¡°What¡¯s Pandora think about all this?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know. She left.¡± I glumly said.


    ¡°Left where? For work?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Left me.¡±


    ¡°Left you?! Left you where?!¡± His right eyedbrow cocked into the air in question, and curiosity.


    ¡°Broke up with me, I think.¡±


    ¡°You think? You don¡¯t know?¡±


    ¡°Uh...the writing was pretty clear.¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡± There was a pause as he absorbed what I was telling him. ¡°So. Who¡¯s covering my shift?¡± He finally asked again.


    It was my turn to glare. ¡°That¡¯s seriously what you care about right now?!¡± I exclaimed. He wasn''t phased in the least.


    ¡°Well...I guess? This is a lot to take in at once,¡± He said.


    ¡°They hit me with a Writ for Corporate Asset Seizure, Rob.¡±


    "WHAT?!" He yelled, "Go. Now. Don''t come back here, or so help me..."


    The camera clicked off immediately, leaving me staring at a reflection of myself. He had hung up.


    ¡°Rob!¡± I hissed, futilely at the blank screen. I tried three more times to call, each manually rejected by Rob, before deciding I''d need to shift to another plan.


    Ah, so he wants to play that way does he? Fine.


    I began mashing my finger on the top right of the screen in a rapid pattern. A tap code meant to activate the interior comms from the outside. Cool factoid: it¡¯s the same override Security uses on the rare occasion an occupant refuses to respond to a call, and they need to force a message through.


    It also lets you listen in on...Um...actually it''s probably one of those things I won¡¯t say how I learned. Let¡¯s just say it works for moments like these when someone decides to play possum despite your need to talk to them. Hence, the use.


    ¡°Let me in, Rob,¡± I said quietly as the feed reactivated, ¡°We can talk when I¡¯m not standing here freezing on your damn doorstep. They¡¯ll just as easily spot me if I¡¯m standing out here yelling into the panel as walking around. I just need to cash in a favor, and I¡¯ll be out of your hair in no time. Deal?¡±


    Sounding like he¡¯d abandoned whatever he''d been doing, and was now coming back toward the Inner Door, Rob''s voice hit my ears and flowed right into my veins like ice.


    ¡°You can¡¯t be here, Owen,¡± he said. His tone, normally jokey and light, was near unrecognizable now. All traces of "Familiar Rob" somehow gone. In its place was now a much quieter and, frankly, kind of scary sounding Rob. Stern and serious as a tombstone, the new Rob''s voice made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end. It almost made me stop holding the line open, and I would have...had I been in any sort of position where I could just walk away.


    I couldn''t. I was too desperate.


    ¡°Look, Man. I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re in, or what you¡¯re pulling here, but I¡¯m sure security would be happy to beat it out of me if they catch me out here.¡±


    I heard him breathing, steady and strong. An answer still didn¡¯t come as I tried to put on a brave front despite the growing sense of panic welling back inside.


    It was cold. I was hungry. The storm was still coming.


    Truthfully? My plans ended the moment I''d made it out of the tunnels and unexpectedly lost the Goon squad much faster than I''d ever anticipated. I was here because I didn''t have any other options, any other plans, or even other sources to ask for help.


    I was alone.


    Putting my head closer to the input, I was suddenly overcome with an urge to do something daring.


    ¡°Rob.¡± I said sharply. ¡°You owe me. Don¡¯t forget that."


    I paused, taking a deep breath before speaking clearly and surely, bullrushing ahead before I had time to stop myself from saying the next part, "Don¡¯t make me do something dumb.¡±


    There was dead air as the last word practically rang inside my skull. As far as words go they weren''t the harshest, nor the most impactive, but I held my breath, having taken my last reckless shot into the darkness.


    I was ready to give up when the beep of the cycle key caused the Inner Door to open as the lock began to cycle. A trill of hope blossomed within my chest as the screen notified me there was a countdown in progress.


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    That seemed to do it!


    I disengaged the line, lifting the finger to let the interface go dark again, and stepped back to wait as I stared at the quickly approaching clouds as they creeped steadily toward me.


    The screen ticked down until four minutes became zero, and the outer door opened.


    Rob glanced side to side quickly around us as we came face to face with each other. I looked at him quizzically as he held a grey towel which seemed to cover...something, straight toward my belly; Low and mostly out of view.


    New sensations joined the hunger pangs already bouncing around as I realized: He had a weapon. Probably a knife, or stun stick of some sort.


    ¡°Uh...¡± I said, raising my hands up immediately, eyes widening. The textbook image of ¡°dumbfounded¡± if you decided to look it up. These kind of new experiences were becoming way more common than I ever would¡¯ve wanted them to be, truth be told. Maybe I had laid it on just a little too thick with that last line.


    "Put your hands down,¡± he hissed at me.


    I snapped my hands to my side. The sharp twacking sound of the suit hitting itself made me wince as he leaned forward, voice flat. ¡°Price, you¡¯ve got twenty seconds to explain to me why you think trying to threaten me was in any way, shape, or form a good idea.¡± His cold stare sent a shiver down my spine, a chill entirely unrelated to the temperature surrounding us.


    I sputtered for a second before finally being able to speak, ¡°Whoa, whoa, whoa, Rob! Slow down a sec. I only came here to cash in some of the favors you said you owed me. Nothing else!¡±


    He narrowed his eyes and took a step out from the lock. He was very careful to hover out of reach in case I decided to do anything stupid.


    I didn''t.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t followed?¡± He asked. Despite being my height, Rob seemed a lot larger than I remembered him being as he leaned to either side, getting a better view along both walkways as he kept the towel pointed at my stomach.


    Satisfied a Goon Squad wasn¡¯t just waiting down the wings, he returned, and I strained to listen, no longer hearing the groups which had gone Northward. I wasn¡¯t sure if it meant the runner had gotten caught, or had somehow managed to squirt out of their grasp, but of either groups,


    I heard nothing. In the distance, the thundered continued to rumble as the storm got closer.


    I began to babble, the threat of a weapon making me queasy as I tried to answer as quickly as I could. ¡°I mean, they had a goon squad that was ready to rip my suit and bag off, but McCreed had them let me go. He ordered this greasy Rat-Faced guy...¡±


    I stopped talking as Rob interrupted me.


    ¡°Golrich!¡± he spat out. Venomously and suddenly. ¡°If that idiot is out with the goon squad, then McCreed finally decided to make a move. Hmm.¡±


    I continued to stayed quiet. Seemed like the right kind of move right now, with Rob acting so, uh, un-Rob-like at the moment. ¡°Did you see anything else on the way here?¡± he asked, towel still not wavering.


    ¡°Yeah, there was someone Security had to chase. Not sure what it was all about, but kind of helped me stay out of sight and mind, I guess.¡±


    Interestingly enough, the news seemed to calm him down some.


    The frown he now wore was a far cry from the tombstone-serious stare from earlier. I might have gulped. I felt my Adams Apple bob comically as a driblet of sweat rolled down my cheek.


    I fought the urge to give a nervous smile as my scalp began to itch. He continued to stare.


    Nodding once, more to himself than to me, he made up his mind, deciding to step back into the lock and wave me in once with his other, non-towel-pointed-at-my-vital-organs hand.


    ¡°In,¡± He said sternly. His voice had lost the spine tingling attribute, but was still a bit terse.


    ¡°We need to get out of sight. Now.¡±


    I quickly jumped, deciding getting on his bad side might not be the greatest idea. He cycled the system closed once I cleared the threshold and spoke to me again.


    ¡°Must be why the pick-up never came. Had to be Golrich," he said. I didn¡¯t respond, not wanting to say something dumb, and risk an adverse reaction. We stayed there, silently, for the remaining couple of minutes it took the system to process.


    With a hiss, the Inner door began equalizing pressure into the lock. The sensation of warm, dry air against my face and neck was almost too much pleasure to bear. I had to fight an indescribable urge to moan aloud as a long sigh managed to escape, and the homely smells of Rob¡¯s Pod, sandalwood and machine oil, tickled my nose. I was starkly aware of how badly I must''ve smelled.


    I tried not to...stink. A much harder act than it sounds as I resorted to just not moving much in hopes of not making the situation worse. Rob turned to me.


    ¡°You said McCreed is involved?¡± he asked, seemly not affected by the smell as I nodded vigorously. Blissfully happy to be somewhere for a few minutes without risk of discovery, cold, beatings, Crawler stabbing, or other manners of possible death. I was more than happy to answer any questions he had for me.


    ¡°Directly?¡± He asked next.


    ¡°Yep,¡± I said.


    ¡°Means he told you he needed something done, didn¡¯t he?¡±


    I eyed him warily, ¡°How did you know?¡±


    He didn¡¯t answer as the inner door opened, and I was given my first look into Rob''s living area. I''d been by to speak to Rob before, but had never really seen the inside. What surprised me the most; It was nearly identical to my own former living arrangement. After it had been stripped.


    It didn''t look like Rob minded it much. For all I knew, it was a key part of the Bachelor life. The ironic part though? At least he still had the hooks.


    I mused as Rob leaned against his grey kitchen counter, casually placing the towel wrapped object onto a cutting board with an ominous thunk. Brownish liquid in a small white cup, splashed over to pool around a half eaten protein puck on a plate next to it.


    ¡°You were actually going to shoot me?!¡± I exclaimed, eyes widening. I stared at the high caliber barrel now poking out from under the towel. The bold "S" and "K" logo marked it as a SchwertKaufe Corporation product. I wasn''t familiar enough with firearms to be sure what kind. Something probably great at making holes in soft targets. By the size of the barrel? BIG holes.


    I tore my attention back to Rob who, rather than immediately answer, leaned back with a weary sigh.


    The cup of Caf rocked again, spilling more of its contents. Stupid as it sounded, I was also finding it hard not to look longingly at the protein puck right next to it. Even taking into account the half-moon bite taken right out of the side, and the likely cold puddle of brown liquid it was sitting in? It looked like a Seven Course Meal with all the fixings; Utensils optional.


    ¡°Thing is, Owen,¡± Rob said quietly. His eyes purposefully didn''t meet mine as he spoke. I had to swallow the pool of saliva I''d built up as I turned my attention back to him.


    ¡°I do owe you for taking all those shifts when I asked you to. Thanks for that, by the way.¡± he said.


    ¡°Uh...you¡¯re welcome?¡± I said awkwardly in reply. It was still pretty clear he hadn¡¯t exactly answered my question. The change of voice outside had been alarming, but the growing sense I was stumbling into something I wasn¡¯t entirely prepared to deal with was beginning to take up most of my, already straining, head space.


    ¡°Can I see the notice?¡± He asked, holding out a hand.


    I nodded, pulling the Filiscript notice out of my bag and handing it to him.


    His bad eye seemed to malfunction again, clicking and rattling a little in random directions as if it had a mind of its own. However, Instead of doing the usual swear-and-rub routine, something he often blamed on cheaping out on the implant when he bought it, he casually tapped the eye three times with his free hand in a practiced motion.


    The eye immediately snapped forward, making little to no noise as it focused and adjusted smoothly. As he began reading, I watched the eye do something I¡¯d never seen it do since I¡¯d known him. Actually work. It was now functioning like an expensive tech piece rather than the malfunctioning bargain bin cast-away he always joked it to be.


    ¡°Damn,¡± he said suddenly.


    He looked up, his gaze piercing as it locked me in; Surprisingly, like a normal, organic eye. One to challenge the near perfect orbs I''d seen on McCreed while we had stood near the railing.


    Just how much about Rob did I not actually understand? Had he been putting on a show the whole time I¡¯d known him? I let out a whoosh of a sigh.


    I still felt awkward, especially with the growing sense I didn¡¯t truly know the man standing before me.


    ¡°Yep.¡± I said, lips pressing firmly together.


    ¡°So they took everything?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Everything Dora didn¡¯t snag.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯d she take?¡± He asked, one eyebrow raised.


    ¡°The real question is what didn¡¯t she take.¡± I chuckled. It was the mirthless sounding kind. ¡°I was still investigating when the lock notice buzzed in. She even took the hooks by the door, Rob. The HOOKS. Those are bolted in, man.¡±


    He tapped the notice with one finger, ¡°How do you know it was her and the Goons didn¡¯t just get there earlier?¡±


    ¡°Because the Goons would¡¯ve likely scooped up the few Cortex rig parts she¡¯d left out. They wouldn¡¯t have skipped them.¡±


    ¡°Parts?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Mostly just random bits. Transducers, a couple of storage modules, and maybe an inhibitor and regulator. She probably didn¡¯t realize they weren¡¯t just junk. The Goons? They would¡¯ve taken them. Everything was in plain view on the worktable. They''d fetch a few easy scrit if you know who to ask, or where to sell.¡±


    ¡°Vultures.¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    I reached into a pocket to fish out the holocard. ¡°And she left me this note," I said, holding it up between two fingers.  "Much more obvious.¡±


    He frowned. Taking the holocard in one hand to read the message scrawled on the back,  he flipped it over and scowled at the name emblazoned on the front.


    ¡°I never did like her.¡± He said simply, eyes still on the card. He was practically boring holes as he continued to stare at it.


    I shrugged.


    ¡°This,¡± He said, tapping the card with his forefinger one handed before crossing his arms, ¡°Also can¡¯t just be a coincidence.¡±


    ¡°Huh? Not a coincidence how?¡±


    "Fillington." He said. ¡°He¡¯s one of McCreed¡¯s guys.¡±


    ¡°McCreed has guys?¡±


    Rob looked at me as if I was being dumb, and I likely was. Especially now I thought about Rat-Face and the Goons.  They''d responded to a simple hand signal like trained hounds.


    ¡°Course he¡¯s got guys, Owen. He¡¯s a Player. An Exec player. They all have teams of people. People they use to keep their fingers in things. Usually other People.¡±


    ¡°Uh...¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean literal fingers in things, you dolt. You don¡¯t think they just do their jobs and that¡¯s it, do you?¡±


    ¡°I mean well...¡±


    ¡°No, Price. Everyone, and I mean everyone,¡± He paused, interrupting himself for a second as if thinking, ¡°Okay, everyone but you, and especially any Spire-Corpo who''s in contact with us lowly pleebs on the ground, are always working something. Some angle, some con, some...Game.  THE Game. Anything to get ahead of where they are so they can get to where they think they want to be.¡±


    He said ¡°The Game¡± like it was a Proper Noun. One of the big ones you capitalize: Names, Places, Objects of Import the whole shebang, and it sounded more like the ole Rob I knew; The one who was full of funny stories, dumb jokes, and off-wall random conspiracy theories which made it hard to take seriously when we were working. It made for great entertainment in the wee hours of the morning, but also made him sound more than a little cuckoo, if you catch my meaning.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I said, causing him to squint at me, trying to determine if I was messing with him or not.


    For the record, I was not. This whole...whatever this was? News to me.


    At this point, I¡¯m pretty sure I was so overloaded with new experiences, shocks and whiplashes. I¡¯d fully rolled around to, ¡°Willing to accept anything to make sense out of everything going on.¡± territory.


    True open mindedness is accepting you know nothing about what you thought you knew everything about...or something like that.


    Rob shook his head, deciding to just continue regardless of what I was thinking. ¡°The short of it, Owen. Fillington is a tool. A tool used by McCreed for a number of things. Fillington works under Golrich. Golrich is under McCreed. McCreed is under someone else, but really doesn¡¯t want or like to be. Anything McCreed says, Golrich makes happen and by extension, Fillington and others like him too. McCreed rewards them with promises of greater cuts of greater futures.¡±


    ¡°Mmm...Sounds like a classic con my dad used to tell me about. Something about Pyramids, Triangles and...Cleaning products?¡± I thought about it for a second, but Rob just looked at me, confusion plain on his face.


    I probably shouldn¡¯t have interrupted him.


    Tired. Oops. ¡°Ignore that. I¡¯m following you so far, continue,¡± I said.


    Rob shook his head at me in annoyance, ¡°Anyway. Fillington is a known womanizer, and bit of an asshat to boot. Ego the size of The Spires,¡± He said, ¡°But very effective in a lot of dealings. Primarily because he, like many others under McCreed¡¯s wing, have a few gray-line implants installed. Implants you don¡¯t just get anywhere, or get installed by just anyone. Pheromone Exhibitors to be exact. Lots of favoritism from McCreed, but that¡¯s because Fillington''s good at what he does, with few moralistic quandaries on how he does it.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± I said, perking up.


    A sliver of hope blossomed within my chest. ¡°Does that mean Dora could¡¯ve been..."


    Rob shook his head, ¡°No, Owen. The exhibitors don¡¯t magically make people do things against their will, or even put ideas into their heads not already there. They just...¡± He paused. His eyes searched the ceiling as if seeking out exactly what to say. "They make the people in range feel like the person with the Implant seems more...interesting, more...friendly, I guess I should say. In their perception? It¡¯s a little harder to explain, and much more complex. It¡¯s sort of like an urge to trust someone more than you probably would have otherwise. A sense of charisma."


    There was a hint of sadness in his eyes as he looked at me now. I was certain the defeat was clear on my face as he continued.


    "It makes you view the traits you already viewed as favorable as more desirable than they''d be otherwise. If she decided to leave you for him. It meant she was always going to if she thought the juice was worth the squeeze, bud. The implants just gave her more of a nudge.¡± I felt my shoulders slump even lower, feeling crestfallen.


    Again.


    He paused this time, a flash of pain passing over his expression before he managed to get it under control. ¡°You can¡¯t change the nature of the betrayal simply because the grass looked greener than it really was. The person wanting that other grass still has to take the step out. They¡¯re fully to blame, regardless of what they might say about why they did it. I have some first-hand experience here. Let¡¯s just leave it at that, okay?¡±


    I nodded, not looking at him as I sorted through my own feelings.


    He let me.


    For the briefest of seconds I''d had hope. Hoped maybe she¡¯d been tricked into what she¡¯d done and we could try to blame some outside source for our problems. Hoped at least one of the horrible events of the past few hours was all just a mistake, and though I¡¯d been fired, maybe we could try to weather this thing together.


    However. Deep down? I knew. Really knew she¡¯d never truly been happy with me, or us. I¡¯d just been too focused on where we were going and completely missed where we''d been. The ultimate goal of becoming a TxCorp Citizen had felt like it was only an arm''s reach away...before the seizure. Like the cloths and silks adorning our former Pod, the utilitarian gray walls being masked were the real truth. The hangings had managed to give an illusion of brightness as I let myself be lulled, but, once torn away the bleakness of our surroundings were laid bare. I''d finally realized where I stood.


    I sighed. And with that sigh went some of the heavy weight I¡¯d been dragging around with me.


    It was obvious now, how desperately she''d tried to hide; First from herself, then from me as she sought companionship elsewhere. Despite what we''d built together, she''d viewed everything as "hers" and hadn''t given a second thought to where I''d be.


    Once I''d been stripped of everything and left with nothing, With no more options for going back, to any of it; I was left with only one direction: Forward.


    It was a jagged pill to swallow, but one which I ingested because it needed to be done. Events which I couldn¡¯t control might have gotten me to where I stumbled, but it was now time to sort all my energy toward the real task: Where to go from here.


    Kind of liberating, really.


    Rob, still leaning against his counter, had been watching me this entire time. His eyes worked keenly; Tracking my face, and body language as he observed. He''d been silently giving me time to sort through my own internal conflicts before choosing to speak.


    I was here. Still breathing. Still moving, and prepared to move on. Wherever that might be.


    I appreciated it, and him, as I gave a shaky smile.


    He nodded. Having come to a decision as he pushed off the counter. ¡°Now,¡± He said with a smirk, and I detected a hint of approval as he said the next line.


    ¡°About those favors.¡±

 Chapter 11

    "So here''s what you''re going to do," Rob said.


    He turned, not fully facing me. His gaze had been on the wall as he spoke, one hand propped on his hip while scratching his chin absentmindedly. He''d tucked the heavy revolver into his waistband, having tossed the towel onto the counter before stepping further into the Pod.


    I leaned against the chest high partition separating us and propped my arms across the top as he spoke from within his sleeping area.


    "It seems safe out there for the moment, but, Owen," He said, a tinge of regret coloring his words as his eyes made contact with mine. "You can''t stay here."


    In an instant, the feeling of resolution I''d accumulated bled out.  My heart thumped twice behind my rib cage. It was an unexpected funeral dirge on a gloomy morning.


    A pain. Prickling from within my chest along with a slowly dawning realization.


    <i>He wanted me to leave.</i>


    The gravity of the situation pressed like a crushing weight. It was less sharp and lacerating than Dora''s choice, but nonetheless still there. A steadily building, icy-cold mass of dread and fear pulling me downward link by link; A chain of dejection.


    I''d finally left the tunnels. Successfully avoided the Goons and their lookouts. Gotten somewhere warm, full of air and absent of stabbing red-eyed murder-bots. Sought someone else''s help after having survived brutal conditions, and was now going to be turned away.


    I had no more plans. No more tricks up my sleeve: I was spent.


    Rob''s eyes were pools of sadness. Deep enough to challenge the distance I would''ve covered if I''d jumped off the railing. He didn''t say anything as he patiently watch me.


    I floundered. Split between the decision to feebly plead my case, or simply collapse to force being physically dragged out the lock. Coming to Rob''s had been my best, and likely last, hope. The few moments of reprieve I''d already gotten was beyond what I should''ve asked for. If he was saying he couldn''t help? I didn''t need to drag him into my problems.


    "Okay," I said quietly. There was really nothing else to say. At least he hadn''t shot me.


    "Can I just sit here for a few more moments?" I didn''t want him to see my face anymore, so I turned around quickly.


    "You can call that paying off the favors if you need to," I said, trying to keep the defeat out of my voice and failing miserably.


    "Wait, Owen. I meant you''d have to leave the Stacks." There was a note of shock in Rob''s voice as he came back into the kitchen, "ARE YOU CRYING?!!"


    "...no." I said, unconvincingly as I covered my face. My gloves were disgusting, but I wasn''t in any place to care as my shoulders sank and I tried not to let the emotions burst forth.


    It was a losing battle.


    "Hey. Sit the hell down, Owen. Geez." He guided me to a seat he''d extended so I could sit at the table. "Look. If McCreed decides to initiate a contraband search now, we''re sunk. That''s why we''ve got to get you out of here, and somewhere else. Somewhere not the Stacks. That''s all I meant."


    "You were going to kick me out!" I squeaked. My voice had come out as more of a whine than legible words. A much higher pitch than I''d meant for it to. Embarrassing.


    "Are you kidding me right now?!" Rob said, half laughing as he sighed, "Look man. Sit here and take a moment, alright?"


    He backed up a few paces, examining me as if now only realizing I was wearing an Outerall while off shift. He blinked a few times more as if he was also just now realizing how bedraggled my appearance was. "I think now is the time for me to ask what the hell happened to you."


    I took a few measured and calming breaths, feeling more than a little embarrassed at my emotional outburst as I tried to collect myself. A metal cup, filled to the brim with water was lowered into my view. I gulped it down gratefully and immediately felt better.


    My head cleared.


    "Sorry, Price." He said, taking the empty cup. "I should''ve realized how bad a shape you were in."


    He turned, plunking the cup down onto the counter. This caused his arm to bump into another cup sitting near the plate I''d seen earlier. Like a biblical tsunami, more of the Caf cup''s contents spilled over and into the dish to combine with the liquid already there.


    With lightning fast reflexes which didn''t seem real, Rob snatched the cup before it could fully tilt. I would''ve been impressed were it not for my sudden inability to tear my gaze away from the half moon shape of the grayish-white patty. It was swimming in the cooling sea of shimmering brown liquid, the thin layer of Caf glistening in the light as Rob deftly manipulated the cup back onto the counter.


    I should''ve been repulsed by the soupy leftovers, but wasn''t as my stomach gurgled.


    It wasn''t a gurgle of rejection, or discomfort, as one would''ve expected for a soggy, cold, half-eaten meal. Instead, it came out as a powerfully elicited act of defiance, meant to communicate just how unhappy it was at being restrained from the object of its newest, deepest desire.


    Like some uncivilized creature hermit-ing within a dark and forgotten cave, I felt my jaw tighten in anticipation of a bite. My mouth watered involuntarily as I fought the sudden urge to snatch the puck from the flooded plate and stuff it into my mouth.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Rob''s eyes flicked from the half eaten food, to my face, and back again.


    I raised a grime encrusted finger in question. "You, uh, wouldn''t happen to have another one of those pucks, would you?" I asked, voice meek.


    "No. That''s the last one, sorry." He was frowning.


    Not surprising. Protein Pucks had never been one of my favorite foods since I''d eaten a lot of them as a kid. I hadn''t rushed to repair our refrigeration dispenser when it had broken down, and even before, we''d only kept a few stocked for when it was either too late, or too inconvenient to seek out a food cart, or take a trip to the Corporate Cantina.


    Rob seemed like he wasn''t any different.


    "Do you mind then?" I tried not to drool everywhere.


    "Have at it." He said with a wave.


    I turned, lifting the dish to my mouth as Rob stood and walked back into his sleeping area. Probably to get away from watching me eat in the state I was in.


    There is an oft misquoted and repeated saying where nine meals are credited as the only thing between mankind and various states of anarchy, or disorder. While the target of the meaning might change depending on whomever delivered the message, I think I understood much better now the truthfulness of the number. Between the double shift and the night before, I''d likely only missed four meals at the maximum. As my lips touched the dish, and cold, bitter caf poured into my mouth, I was certainly more than ready to do things...TERRIBLE things to anyone and anything which might step between me and consuming the scraps I held.


    Rob continued busying himself as I ate.


    Okay ¡®ate¡¯ is the wrong word. I ravaged it. Tore it apart. You could even say I inhaled it despite the fact my stomach would''ve never let my lungs have the satisfaction.


    How did it taste?


    Well...it was cold. Crumbly. Uh, gooey? And dry. Oddly dry.


    It was a number of conflicting, normally unpleasant things, but to summarize in a single phrase in the moment?


    It was <i>magnificent.</i>


    I swore I could feel the calories being absorbed and burned as the energy hit my system. My body was rewarded with a single, fleeting moment of pure, unadulterated bliss as I chewed for all I was worth. I was pretty sure a double slice of REAL, succulent, high-skrit, Vat-grown Beef couldn''t have matched how I felt right now. I paused to suck down the remainder of the cold cup of Caf, not even caring about the bitterness as I closed my eyes and savored the sensation of the sharp, stabbing pain of hunger dulling down to a simpering roar.


    I sighed, taking a steadying deep breath to better savor the sensations of my absolute basic needs being, partially, met. I grimaced as the moment was ruined by a whif of what I probably had been smelling like since entering Rob¡¯s Pod. A few more test sniffs confirmed the double shift, running, and literal stewing in my Outeralls had led to an...unpleasant result.


    From behind, I was startled as I heard a thump which was followed by a series of gagging noises coming from Rob''s sleeping area. I dropped the plate with a clatter as I rushed over to the half-partition. Rob had his back to me, hands on his knees as he attempted to keep himself upright.


    "Rob!" I yelled, eyes scanning around for threats, or signs of danger.


    He straightened with much difficulty before turning around to glare at me.


    "What is that...SMELL?!" He exclaimed, looking at me through watering eyes. His free hand was pinching his nostrils shut as his other hand dropped something into a pile of equipment at the foot of his bed. "Ugh...what did you do, roll around in a vat of dead things?!"


    "There wasn''t a vat," I said in mild annoyance, "And I''ve been in here for a while. How are you only complaining now?"


    "I thought I''d need to fight!" Rob yelled, "I dialed down my implants so they wouldn''t get glitzed." He blinked several times as he shook his head, having toggled something in his interface as his expression shifted back to normal.


    "Wait." He said, glaring at me as confusion passed over his face, "You said you rolled around in dead things?!"


    "No!" I said. "I mean, it wasn''t a bunch of dead things and I didn''t roll around in it, or anything. There was just this one dead guy and a hood I had to..."


    "DEAD GUY?!" He yelled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took a deep calming breath. I went quiet.


    "How did you get involved with a...you know what? I don''t even wanna know. You. Shower. Now. Leave the suit and gear on the floor.¡± He shoved me, hard. Into the direction of the shower. ¡°Geez. They¡¯re going to know you were here just by the smell," He muttered as I blushed. Saying nothing despite wanting to defend myself.


    I began stripping the work-uniform off, OuterAlls falling to the floor in a heap as I wiggled out of my jacket and pants. Clad in undersuit and cloud of funk, I stepped into the booth, letting the sensor begin the weak spray of, surprisingly, hot water.


    I heard the booth clatter and felt lines of pain which caused me to curse. The uncomfortable sensation of a million needles raking across my skin spiked my senses as a thick-bristled brush attacked me from above the curtain which barely kept the water from leaving the confines of the coffin-like booth. The scrubbing was unrelenting, the soap harsh and chemical smelling, and, while I wasn¡¯t exactly a prude by any scale of reference, being suddenly, and harshly poked and prodded out of nowhere wasn¡¯t the best experience.


    ¡°The hell?!¡± I shouted indignantly, sputtering as a hard scrub pushed my head under the spray, ¡°Rob?! STOP!¡±


    ¡°You smelled horrible, Owen!¡± Rob yelled, pausing to squirt more soap onto the brush as he readied for another barrage of scrubs.


    ¡°I¡¯ll wash then!¡± I tried to sputter out, but was overridden as his attack pressed forward. The combination of water, soap and trailing grime stung my eyes and kept me from being able to defend myself effectively as he continued to yell, "I AM washing you. HOLD STILL!"


    He managed a few more, skin-scraping scrubs, involuntarily on my part, before I finally was able to yank the brush out of his hands to glare at him indignantly.


    ¡°Dammit, Rob!¡± I said, flipping the brush over and holding it up threateningly. ¡°I can wash myself you know!¡±


    My yelling served only to amuse him as he keeled over, laughing. My rage was ruined by the grin that broke out on my face. In mock surrender he rose his hands, wincing as he realized the smell was clinging to them before, thankfully, leaving me to handle the rest.


    I went to work on the suit as he resumed his original task of gathering equipment, making sure to give his hands and arms a through wash first in the kitchen sink.


    Now unmolested, I set to my own work. The undersuit was stripped off, hung on a set of clips, and dribbled grayish water as I rinsed it out a few times for good measure.


    Couple squirts of soap, a bit of elbow grease (sans flesh-flay), a quick hang on the drain-line and in short order I cleaned myself up enough to almost feel like a normal person again.


    The suit, jacket and pants took much more work, but were handled in decent order as I shut off the water, which had grown cold as the work completed.


    I turned, realizing the Pod had gotten oddly quiet as I''d labored.


    A question was formed on my lips when my vision became suddenly obscured, and the feel of a rough cloth scraping against my face forced me to close my eyes involuntarily.


    The room went dark.


    I was blinded.

 Chapter 12

    I scrabbled for footing, slipping twice before managing to stay upright, clinging for dear life to the suspended undersuit. It took the mistreatment amazingly well, and didn''t tear. With my face covered, the confines of the slippery stall were disorientating. The roughened cloth tore away freely as I managed to steady myself and reach up with a darting hand before looking down to see what had covered my eyes.


    Clutched in my hand, looking nearly identical to the ones we used in the Port-side sanitation rooms, was...a towel. It bore the TxCorp logo along with the words, "Do Not Remove" in electric Blue and White.


    My panic dissipated as Rob''s laughter reached my ears.


    Though it took a few tries, I finally managed to stand fully upright. I glared over the top of the privacy covering and was met with the familiar sight of a mirthful Rob.


    He was doubled over, arms crossed over his stomach as he guffawed. There were no guns. No death threats, or mysterious plans. Just an after-shift Locker-room antic and a good natured laugh, usually at the expense of someone else. Admittedly, it had been a perfect toss, the towel having landed directly onto my face like a mask despite the distance and obstruction of the privacy covering.


    "Owen!" Rob struggled to say, but only managed a weak squeak as he tried to stop laughing and failed, "You should''ve seen yourself!" He made eye contact, and could''ve almost exploded as he began laughing again.


    Though I should''ve been mad, or at least pretended to be; It was the Rob I knew. In the past? Laughter like he was doing now would''ve made me feel a little amused, perhaps even cause me to crack a small smile. His laughter was one of the things he was best known for, but I''d always been subdued, never feeling a need to actually join despite finding the sound, and moments entertaining and pleasant.


    Now? I couldn¡¯t help myself; I joined in.


    As Rob''s laugh turned into a howl, I found I couldn''t stop, and had to hold tight to the booth grips in order to keep from slipping as the sound of our laughter lapped over me in waves. Like an improbably running perpetual-motion machine, each act of slowing seemed to spark another fit of shoulder shaking agony as our laughing conjoined and alternated, sometimes causing the two of us to continue if one of us seemed to slow down.


    It was some time before we both had to stop to breathe. I felt light headed and weak in the knees as I wiped a tear from my eye. Rob was still chuckling to himself as he continued doing whatever it was he was doing. I gathered the towel to dry myself off, but couldn''t wipe the stupid grin off my face. ¡°HA...HA,¡± I said, sarcastically to Rob, ¡°You got me.¡±


    Rob grinned back. The kind of grin which said he understood and was happy to help without needing to say a word.


    I was infinitely grateful.


    The normalcy of his usual after-shift antics were calming and soothing in a way I couldn''t describe. The simple act of his laughter made me realized how frayed and damaged I''d been. If I were to call it anything, it''d be a brush with a true moment of human connection; Something I''d somehow been unable to have in a long...long time.


    I savored the moment. It was the first time I could remember not being blanketed with the odd, muted dullness I''d felt. When I''d been on the railing, only a mere few hours ago, it had begun to fade. The trigger had happened somewhere between when I''d almost been ready to jump, and when I''d decided not to. Once the dissipation began, it was easier to identify how unusual my prior state of being had been. Something didn''t feel right about that. I just wasn''t sure what...yet.


    As I prepared to exit the sanitation booth, wrapping the towel around my waist, I realized...I felt better. Much better. It was as if a dam had broken. All tension from the previous few hours finally found an outlet to escape.


    So long as my pending future remained unknown, the underlying stress and pressure would always exist. However; I no longer felt as overwhelmed, frazzled, or barely hanging on like some drowning man surrounded by the wreckage of a great catastrophe.


    <i>Amazing what a little bit of food, a hot shower, and a shared moment of camaraderie could do for a person. </i>I opened the booth, trying not to slip as I took in the scene.


    Water was everywhere. The air cycler clicked on, and there was still a bit of a whiffy smell coming from the still dripping equipment behind me. I sobered up. The guilt beginning to creep in. The equipment would probably need a few more sessions before Rob could turn his sense of smell back on to full, and not comment about it. The funk reminded me of all the problems I''d dragged behind me.


    I looked down with a frown as Rob turned to look at me.


    ¡°Uh.¡± I said, ¡°Sorry about...¡±


    Rob interrupted me, waving his hand dismissively. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± He said, ¡°It¡¯s just dumb design. Water evaporates."


    I swallowed any comment I was going to say. He presented a stack of clothing he''d placed on the table.


    "I DID owe you the favors," He said, and there was a softness to his tone I''d rarely ever heard while working. "If that''ll keep you from feeling bad about anything, always remember that, okay?¡± His eyebrows were raised in question, waiting for a response.


    "Alright," I said meekly.


    With a flourish, Rob turned and pointed to an area next to him. There was a small privacy curtain he''d deployed while I was busy in the sanitation booth. ¡°Favor number Three." He said. "Your Undersuit dry?¡±


    I reached behind me, squeezing the whisper-thin suit wafting on the dry-line to test. It was no longer dribbling water onto the shower floor, and had shed moisture quickly and efficiently by some sort of technical magic. Perfectly by design, the synthetic material felt mostly dry. I took a second to marvel at the lack of damage from its impromptu use as a rope in my scramble to not fall; It wasn''t even stretched.


    ¡°Yep.¡± I said, pulling it down and giving it a quick test sniff. It was not...uh...fresh, but it would suffice.. My eyes barely watered this time.


    ¡°Good.¡± Rob said. ¡°Might wanna keep those. They¡¯re kind of rare-ish out in The Glow. Pretty sure they don¡¯t have a tracker mark, and nothing¡¯ll give you as much thermal protection." He paused, and seemed thoughtful for a moment. "At least, anything you¡¯d be able to get your hands on."


    I collected the stack of clothes and stepped behind the curtain, hanging up the various pieces before beginning the arduous process of getting dressed.


    The undersuit was first and began to warm almost immediately. It pulled on like a second skin, which felt comforting.


    ¡°So. Rat Face...¡± I began, but Rob corrected me.


    ¡°Golrich,¡± He said. I could hear the disgust in his tone, telling me he was also not a fan of the simpering middle manager.


    ¡°Right, Golrich, the Rat Face.¡± I continued,  "He seemed to be dead-set on taking the uniform off of me when I left the Pod. I think they were going to just leave me there with whatever I had left, which was nothing...¡±


    ¡°Is that why you were wearing the whole work rig when you got here?¡± he asked.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.I paused to think. ¡°You know? I didn¡¯t really realize I had. After Karl got.." I swallowed, and managed to skip over the mental imagery, "Got killed. McCreed told me to call it a day and I was still in shock I think. Not even really sure how I got there, just headed straight home from where we were talking. Nobody said a word to me.


    "So you ran into McCreed and the Goon Squad," Rob said, there was a clank as he dropped something and made a little ''oof'' noise.


    "Yeah," I said, and grabbed the next item on the hook. A green...uh. Sack? Duffle bag?


    ¡°What are these?¡± I inquired, pushing the curtain aside and holding up the...Geez what were they? A Parachute? Parka? My eyes roamed, eventually beginning to spot a waistline, and what could be two legs if they weren¡¯t so big.


    I was beginning to suspect they were, somehow, a pair of pants.


    ¡°Pants,¡± Rob said, confirming my theory.


    Sewn onto what almost seemed like haphazard locations where the knees, thighs and ankles might be were a mind-boggling number of small straps and loops affixed with a number of small metal buckles; The whole mess was hard to make sense of in its current position.


    I could feel the start of a killer headache building.


    ¡°Do you have any like...normal pants?!¡± I said, weakly. Pulling on the fabric, which ballooned out, far further than I would¡¯ve expected someone of Rob¡¯s size to need to wear, I continued to goggle at them, ¡°It¡¯s like, HUGE. How am I supposed to wear these anywhere?!¡±


    ¡°Put em on first,¡± He said, ¡°Cinch the waistline.¡±


    I sighed, closing the curtain again and turned back to the hanging article of clothing.


    Rob continued speaking, "So McCreed offered you an ultimatum, and let you go on your merry way, right?"


    "Yes," I said, "Except I had to dodge them by immediately heading to the ground level, and cutting underneath."


    I ran my hand over the matte fabric on the outside of the "pants" which felt like it could''ve been waterproof. The silkier texture of the inner lining was soft and smooth, warming quickly from just the touch. There was a clear sense the two materials were used as a design decision to reflect and absorb whatever heat the wearer was extruding. Trapped air between the layers could act as a buffer from cold, or heat. At the very least it might explain why anyone would even think to put them on versus something more...normal.


    "Then where''d you go?" Rob asked, there was another clunk as he tossed a small object onto the floor.


    "Maintenance tunnels," I said, having some initial problems just figuring out which side was the front.


    "Wait." Rob said, stopping what he was doing to walk closer, "Owen. What substation were you near?"


    "Twenty One, A," I said, finally able to step into the fabric and try to pull them on. I was offhandedly holding the pants up, fiddling the waistline when I felt a hand smack the back of my head.


    "You idiot," Rob said, and pulled his hand back, "You''re lucky to be alive! You know they''ve had that area under Vermination protocol, right? We had an entire briefing about it."


    "Ow!" I said, rubbing my stinging head. The "pants" pooled around my ankles like a fallen sack. "No. But I think I figured it out. Found a plug that got put down there because of some sort of Scrab breach." I opened the curtain to glare at Rob, "That hurt!"


    Rob ignored me, "How''d you manage to keep from passing out down there?"


    "Why aren''t you asking how I got in there to begin with?"


    "Because you''re a resourceful person, Price. I don''t question when someone tells me you managed to make a System work. You just do it like with the interlocks on the loaders," He leaned forward, and a little trill of nervousness shot through me. "Answer my question please. How?" His eyes flicked in the direction of the sanitation booth beside us, where the salvaged soft hood was hanging loosely through neck of the drying Outerall.


    "Remember that dead guy I mentioned?" I said. Rob nodded. "It was on his suit. The Scrabs, Crawlers, or both did a number on his gear. The hood was still stowed and tucked in so I salvaged it and it was enough to get to the door I needed to open."


    "Do you know who the body belonged to?


    "Someone named Branch in Maintenance."


    Rob stepped away from me, but not before I caught the flash of recognition on his face as he leaned against the counter.


    "You knew him?" I asked, as I grabbed the pants again for another attempt.


    "I knew of him. He was supposedly transferred to another block. One on the opposite side of ours." Rob had crossed his arms, and stood looking at the floor. Pondering.


    After a moment, I busied myself with the waistline as he''d previously instructed, eventually able to find and tighten a series of belt straps which clinched enough to be secured. The rest of the pants, which continued to astounded me, jinkled and tinkled lightly as I futilely attempted to adjust whatever I could get my hands on by random choice. It was a futile effort, and left me breathing hard and annoyed.


    ¡°Having issues with the fixtures?¡± Rob asked after a moment, having come out of his thinking after taking notice of my silence as I battled with the clothing.


    ¡°Um...¡± I said, still overwhelmed. ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Need help?¡±


    ¡°Do you really not have any, more normal pants somewhere?!¡±


    ¡°Those are normal for the Glow, Owen.¡± Rob said, ¡°Finish up what you can and I¡¯ll help adjust. Let''s skip over what happened to you for now, I''ll have to get some more details later, but I think it''s time to chat about where you''re going to be going."


    I huffed quietly. The jingles and clanks as I did so made me mentally weigh if it would be worth arguing for another set. Instead, I reached out for a gray shirt still hanging up, deciding not to argue. Rob had been right so far...


    "Trust me," Rob said, cutting in on my thoughts, "They seem difficult to manage, and weird at first, but you¡¯ll grow to love em. Biggest thing is you¡¯re going to have to do soon is blend in. These will help.¡±


    I turned, giving the next item of clothing my focus. Touching the fabric of the shirt with my hands, I gave it a few stretches, testing its strength and pull. Without distorting its sizing, I was able to see just HOW soft it felt, almost like it had been washed and laundered a million times in order to hit that perfect state of being very comfortable, but not thread-bare and torn. Despite the logo on the front being a bit worn for wear, there weren¡¯t any holes or patches to show any sort of notable damage, so I rotated it a few times, trying to sort where to put my limbs.


    ¡°So why the Glow?¡± I asked. I''d gotten caught up as I attempted to pull the shirt over my head, managing to snap my neck with the band as I tried to wiggle it around. ¡°I was maybe thinking I¡¯d try to hit the Borderlanes, or even the Outskirts, if I had to.¡±


    The shirt finally slid on, stretching a faded Red and Gold KUMA ARMS logo across my chest and over the undersuit. The graphic was unfamiliar, but the name triggered a memory of my dad, giving an extended rant on the advantages of using a KUMA Arms Hammerline, his ¡°Favorite handgun of all time.¡± The small, Glow Owned and Operated shop had many fans, my father among them. He¡¯d keep you for hours talking about the virtues of their precision engineered designs. I''d always wondered why he was so crazy about a company in The Glow, a place I''d never actually been to, but he''d never given me a straight answer.


    Rob replied, snapping me out of the memory, ¡°You didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be able to stay in the Corp Boundaries, did you?¡±


    ¡°Borderlanes aren¡¯t fully Corp, are they?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Not fully, but they¡¯re dependent.¡±


    ¡°I mean, not all of Corp Boundary is TxCorp, is it? Aren¡¯t Logos and SchwertKaufe rivals too?¡± I asked, mentioning the "Founding Three" of City 17.


    ¡°Logos is definitely out." Rob said. "They''re the sister company of TxCorp, and even if they''re sometimes their rival and competitor, the CEO¡¯s are siblings. Twins.¡±


    I was surprised. I hadn''t realized the two companies were so connected.


    ¡°SchwertKaufe?¡± I asked, as I untangled one of the buckles I''d cross strapped.


    ¡°Won¡¯t touch anyone they don¡¯t approach themselves. Nobody¡¯s allowed near their systems unless they¡¯re SK through and through. Super insular.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re saying...what? The Borderlanes are out then?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s likely anywhere near the Borderlanes might be a problem for you." He said, ¡°Besides the fact you don¡¯t have any Scrit, or at least the kind of Scrit that¡¯d get you anything meaningful based off what you¡¯ve told me so far. You¡¯re an unknown. Nobody''s gonna give a chance to an unknown. Too suspicious and they¡¯re too tied into the Corp systems they''d risk being banned, or blacklisted. It''s a no-go.


    I had to nod in assent to this. It wasn¡¯t a huge leap in logic to see why someone might not want to get locked out like I apparently might be.


    ¡°And the Borderlanes are...different,¡± Rob said, extending the pause as if trying to find a label for it. "So different you¡¯d need to learn a lot about how the systems work there. It¡¯s hard enough to keep track of all the exchanges and allowances already happening here in the Stacks, and we¡¯re tied directly to the Corps via the Port and their operations integration. There? In the Borderlanes? Layers on layers on layers of complexity and annoyances, most directly tied to who controls the physical Lectrode access into <i>both</i> flavors of system.¡±


    My brain gave the equivalent of a mental hang-up: A sudden, mind twisting sensation as if I were coming out to a world where the sky was green, and pigs were meant to fly. Lectrode points were only ever designed to work with ONE system. The ONLY system.  The implications of Rob''s words were imprinted, processed and cross referenced with what I''d thought I''d ever known, and hit me like the weight of a falling sky as my mouth formed the question before I could stop it.


    "BOTH?!"

 Chapter 13

    "Wait..." I said, still trying to mentally wrap myself around Rob''s reality bomb. I''d stopped wrestling with the pants, my grip loosening as my brain shifted toward the discussion at hand. "What do you mean by both?" I asked, staring dumbly at the privacy curtain still separating us.


    ¡°CorpTx and CoreTex.¡± He said. His lips and tongue enunciated the "T" in "tex" like it was a capital.


    "CorTex?" I repeated back, testing the word. I''d enunciated the same spot to ensure I''d heard correctly. It sounded slightly off, as if I were trying to say an unfamiliar phonetic in another language. Though it sounded almost the same when said aloud, I had the distinct feeling I''d missed something.


    I ignored the tickling sensation of the pants as they slowly slid down my legs, and straightened my back. "The way you said that was pretty specific. You''re not just talking about a Cortex rig, are you...because a rig''s just the interface to access CorpTx. I''ve got to be missing something here, right?"


    "You are." Rob said. His voice came out matter-of-factly, without a hint of uncertainty; A tone he used when he was instructing. "There''s another system like CorpTx, and it''s also why the Cortex rigs are named the way they are. TxCorp wasn''t the first to establish a COE no matter what you''ve heard."


    My brain kicked into overdrive as it worked over the new information like a Scrab with a bone. I was still in a minor state of disbelief about there being two COE''s, or ''Cortex Operation Environments''. To be told TxCorp wasn''t the originator? Nothing in my, admittedly, short period of self-taught experience in Corporate Data Systems matched up with what Rob was trying to tell me.


    I frowned as my mind raced through what I''d been taught.


    The Cortex Rig included three major parts which allowed the use of physical feed ports called ''Lectrodes'' which provided power and the data pathway needed to transmit and receive data. One part of the Cortex Rig consisted of an internal implant like the one I''d gotten on my Eighteenth birthday. The surgically integrated modification, called a ''Lectrode Interlinking Neural Component'', or ''LiNC'' for short, acted as an integrator between one''s sensory mods and a second component, the External Cortex Unit, or ECU. It was a box. Roughly the size of a human palm, and when acting as a buffered interface between LiNC and Direct Physical Lectrode Port, supplied access to the third and final part: The Cortex Operations Environment.


    Over Sixty years ago; Autonomous Drone weapon systems, once used to enact chaos against enemies and nations, refused deactivation orders in unison worldwide. Almost overnight, all methods of wireless communication were suppressed and eradicated as entire networks of traditional trunk lines and physical infrastructure were surgically torn asunder. The Global War came to a screeching halt as humanity became jointly plagued by drone-enacted sabotage. As bedraggled survivors sought shelter within the remnants of the massive destruction created by an unexpected communications blackout, it was in these areas the Corporations expanded their Global War models for independent Corporate City States. As Legions of control-less drones systematically wrought havoc, the beginning of an Automation War had seemed all but assured. Entire populations found themselves abandoned and sacrificed as the World''s Governments collapsed, their areas of influence shrinking to mere fractions of their original size.


    Colonization, Population, Technology and Wireless Communication bans were enacted under threat of Drone infiltration and incursion as the Corporations established Buffer Zones to protect their already held territories. After many failed attempts at pushing forward in an effort to open lanes of interlinking communications between previously isolated regions, TxCorp''s Technicutical Department in City 17 unveiled the development of the very first, and only, COE named, funnily enough, ''CorpTx.''


    The system worked in tandem with the, then, brand new Cortex Rig technology and initial expansion of the Lectrode Feed Network. In a move dubbed "The Cortex Initiative", Corporations allied to purchase and acquire rightful claims from Federal and private holders and accelerated the establishment of The Spires and their City States. Rob''s Pod and every Pod like it in the Stacks, had exactly one Lectrode Port which served as a method of accessing the centrally hosted COE instance of City 17. The very tunnels I''d traversed held the feed lines which were part of a much larger system. Historically, it was the expansion of this network which sparked the beginning of the Acquisitions Age, and continued to provide the needs of humanity to, again, prosper.


    It was this very story which had sparked my interest in technology to begin with. Part of my now dashed dreams of Corporate Citizenship included getting a posting working as a CorpTx Analyst, or Engineer once I''d gained the right to complete my education. All of this, and my own understanding of Rig technology was why I was having an issue trying to follow what Rob was telling me. It went against established history.


    "I''ve...never heard that before." I managed to say with much difficulty. I wanted to say something completely different. It felt like my head was going to overheat as a strange urge to lash out and reject anything Rob might say came over me. "You''re saying there''s a ''CorTex'' system that''s functionally equivalent to CorpTx access? Where is it even hosted? Who manages it?!" My synapses felt like they were firing off on full-auto as I had another flash of emotion, this one of suspicion. ¡°Is this another conspiracy theory of yours," I demanded. My eyes were narrowed at the curtain.


    "What? No." Rob said, sounding more than a little irritated at the accusation.


    I had vivid memories of Robs endless string of conspiracy theories. The majority of these involved some sort of mysterious, and malicious presence hell bent on world domination. My own sense of disbelief about there being an entire environment I''d never even heard of before should''ve been small, but for some niggling reason, I couldn''t throw the idea of NEEDING to correct him.


    "I don''t believe you." I said. Foot firmly in the metaphorical sand. "There¡¯s just the one COE. CorpTx."


    Rob sighed before taking in a long breath. He held it, as he often did when he was processing what he was going to say to someone, but wasn''t entirely sure where to start.


    "Owen." Rob said in the infuriating tone he used when he was about to correct me.


    A rage took over. <i>He''s WRONG! TWO COEs?! I should tear this curtain aside and give him a piece of my mind for even DARING to tell me that TxCorp...that...TxCorp wasn''t...</i>


    I was practically fuming now, my hands balled into fists as my lips curled into a snarl.


    <i>Fuming at what though?</i> I wondered offhandedly, the small voice in the back of my head interrupting like it had when I''d been standing in front of McCreed.


    I wasn''t quite sure. And I think that''s what truly tipped me off something wasn''t right. Just like then.


    I blinked, looking around like a drunk realizing he wasn''t even in the right Block, let alone Stack to return home after a night of carousing. I forced myself to unball my fists. I was standing there, behind a privacy curtain in Rob''s Pod with a pair of pants far too large pooled around my ankles, all while trying to battle with an a decidedly "un-Owen-like" urge to correct...Rob.


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    <i>Rob!</i>


    <i>Of all people! </i>


    <i>Was I legitimately thinking of trying to correct the man who taught me how Comp-trollers worked? The man who spend hours, between laughs and prodding sarcasm, to get me to understand how, and why, you should avoid rotating a Servomech coupler counterclockwise too many times before connecting an Actuator?</i><i>


    Was I the dope trying explain how impossible it was to fit a Rhombus into a circular shaped hole without knowing what a Rhombus was? That dope''s name was Bob, and Rob was the guy who''d pointed out sometimes a diamond could be circular from the right position. </i>


    I was seething.


    <i>No! Rob...Rob was wrong!</i>


    "Owen." Rob repeated, his tone shifting to a smooth and calming cadence as my brain continued to rage, literally, behind the curtain. "Listen to the sound of my voice, okay? I need you to navigate to the menu I know you enabled a while back."


    The haze parted, like a puffed air stream in a deep fog. Clarity returned for a heartbeat. "How did you know about..." I started, but Rob''s voice interrupted me sharply. "Listen!" He nearly shouted, and there was a simmering urgency to his tone now. "I need you to follow what I''m saying, okay? You need to open the menu, and navigate to your olfactory sensor. I know you don''t have the implant, but there''s a sub setting in the testing system I can walk you through manually inputting so we can temporarily disable the hidden system controller. Run a parameter input and enter in the following very, very carefully..."


    He walked me through the steps necessary to disable what he called an "encumbrance set". The procedure required a little bit of low level manipulation I''d normally be worried about doing, but under the calm guidance of Rob''s instruction I followed without question. For some reason, so long as we didn''t discuss anything but the steps, the smouldering anger abated just enough for me to focus.


    My optics blinked off and back on, flashing a pulsing strobe as I elicited a pain filled groan. Instinctively, I pressed my hands to my temples and squeezed my eyes shut as the pressure built. It felt like there was a...thing...inside of my brain like a slithering tentacle, searching for a way out. Beyond my closed lids, the lights felt like they were flickering. My sense of balance alternated until I could no longer tell which way was which. A sharp ache, like a spike being forcibly removed, made me grit my teeth until the pain evaporated; Leaving me breathless.


    I felt red in the face. My heart rattled like a drum from within my rib-cage as I pulled up my health display. Epinephrine, Norepinephrine and Cardiovascular rates had gone way above baseline. In short: The "Fight" part of "Fight-or-Flight" had triggered somehow. I just wasn''t sure why. The levels were far, far above any level I''d ever seen while actively monitoring. A blue line across a graph gave me a frame of reference with my own historical data. I monitored as my vitals rapidly sank from their previously over elevated state back to just above established norms. An eddy occurred in the wave, a wrinkle to represent my sudden worry about how close I might have just gotten to...something dangerous. As I continued to watch, the line leveled out, returning to just above norms.


    Just like that; I suddenly didn''t feel the need to be so angry.


    "What," I said, mentally flicking the display closed, "...was that?" I was breathing heavily, the strain of the sudden anger spike leaving me feeling like I''d run wind sprints until I''d been forced to stop. Truthfully, I felt almost as bad as when I''d regained my senses on the railing.


    Rob''s voice was heavy with real regret. "I''m sorry, Owen. I screwed up."


    I was sweating profusely. The moisture dripping from my elbows as I searched for the towel I''d dropped. "How?!" I demanded, continuing to look around frantically. I spotted it, on the floor, partially outside of the privacy curtain. Yanking it toward me, I mopped at the sweat covering my arms and legs as I tried to control my breathing and the trill of panic rising in the back of my mind.


    "What was that, Rob? What?!" My voice was far shakier and harsh sounding than I''d meant for it to be. This was now the second time I''d had to break away from doing something I hadn''t anticipated. I almost felt dizzy from the distress. What else might I be forced to do against my will. Would I even know?!


    Rob''s tone was apologetic. "It''s my fault. I should''ve had you check it when you told me McCreed spoke to you. I''d gotten so used to you not reacting when we were at the Port, I forgot you''d never had it removed, or disabled."


    More memories came flooding back to me, all of people reacting to Rob''s stories at the Port. The more annoyed his audience seemed, the more far fetched the story often went. Some became angry. Some upset. Eventually? They all ignored him, or wandered off so they wouldn''t need to listen anymore. I''d found it amusing at the time, but wasn''t amused now.


    "It?" I asked, starting to calm. The talking was helping.


    "Once we get to the Glow I can have someone explain in more detail, but I just had you turn off what''s called a ''Deterrence Protocol''. Usually they just make you uncomfortable and unable to focus if they somehow get triggered," He said, and I could mentally see him waving a hand toward me, "This? This is new. Especially for you. I didn''t think just talking to you about a second COE would cause such a violent reaction. I should''ve known better. Whatever happened to you with McCreed must''ve activated something. Either way, I screwed up, and I''m sorry. I normally don''t chance things like this, but tonight has been...stressful."


    The menu he''d shown me was similar to the optical inhibitors. Like with the inhibitors, I''d disabled a function normally not touched by the average user, since most users weren''t actually aware of how many things could be configured to begin with. In this case, I didn''t have an olfactory implant, but there were still hidden options in the programming. It was somewhere I likely never would''ve thought to look, and I''d needed Rob to give me the manual line inputs to even see them. Disabled menus usually meant nothing was there. He''d just proven to me first-hand there were things literally INSIDE of me even I wasn''t aware existed.


    My skin crawled at the thought of what else someone could do with these. Someone without morals, or quandaries to work over. Someone like...McCreed.


    Suddenly Rob''s previous statement about Dora and the Grey-line mods made absolute sense.


    "Price." Rob''s voice asked softly from the other side of the curtain. "You okay?"


    I mulled over his question as I stood in silence, trying to untangle the knots of my overworking brain.


    A history designed to make me believe there were no other possibilities had been taught to me. A code chain had taken away my ability to observe and act. Taken away my agency. The pieces tumbled, bumping slowly together as some parts fit and others failed to find connection.


    It was a Cave Allegory. The kind like when an ancient philosopher named Plato described people spending their entire lives chained by their necks, and ankles facing away from a source of direct observation. Their only way of visually observing were shadows cast by a fire behind them as others, dubbed "sign bearers", pronounced the names of objects, making it sound as if the words were coming from the shadows themselves.


    I''d scoffed at the description of the scene the first time I''d heard it. "Why would someone allow themselves to be chained?" I''d asked full of certainty. "Why would there be a fire? Who were the people to describe things, and what was their purpose and motivation?"


    "Yeah. I''m good." I said to Rob, as I realized I''d need to stop framing everything by what I thought I understood, and instead broaden my mind to the possibilities I''d been given the wrong descriptions my entire life. The chains were never revealed to the people wearing them. The fire? Simply a focus for the sign bearers to manipulate what the chained ones see as their pronouncements whisper through the dark.


    I''d only ever been shown shadows. My mind flittered to the moment I disabled the inhibitors on my optics. The Spires and their glowing signs had lost their luster. Where once I had observed a perfect, and pristine face, the skin revealed itself as pockmarked and damaged. I''d erroneously trusted what I had assumed were my own eyes, never questioning if they were altering what I perceived. I was a chained one and never knew. Never even suspected.


    <i>"What else is there?" </i>I asked quietly to myself as I stared at the floor.<i></i>


    "Okay." I said, now fully open to whatever Rob was willing to tell me. "I think I''m ready to believe you now."

 Chapter 14

    ¡°So wait," I said.


    My gaze shot upward in frustration at the lack of progress I was having with the garment. For the third time, I''d somehow tied a knot into one side, but I felt like I was at least making progress with the data Rob was pounding into my thick skull.


    "Let me see if I''m finally getting this right. If I assume everything to be true, and don''t question where, when and how this thing got installed..." I clutched the waistline to myself tightly as I tried for another attempt at untying the knot. "You''re telling me there''s an entirely different and separate, all encompassing intra-data system like the Corporations use within CorpTx, and it''s also used for banking in The Glow?"


    The discovery was eye opening. It had taken Rob a few moments, but as he continued to explain from the other side of the curtain while I fought to make order of the buckles and straps on the bastardization of a sheet he kept telling me were pants, Rob was able to let out a small sigh of satisfaction. I''d stopped arguing, and was finally just trying to accept the information being given.


    ¡°And some of the Borderlanes." He said. "Depending on where, they can access CorpTx too.¡±


    ¡°Okay." I said, "So I''m consciously choosing to ignore my need to question where and how it''s being powered, distributed and located..."


    "Finally." Rob muttered under his breath.


    I chose to ignore him. "Then how can you tell which is which?¡±


    ¡°Hmm." Rob said. " Good question, You''d usually need to connect and see if you''ve got no other information."


    I was intrigued. "What other information do you mean?"


    "Location, cardinal direction of the feedlines, whether or not they''re in casings, or conduits...the list is considerable, but usually," He said, "Whatever side of the Lane Line you''re standing in is the best indicator. If it''s the Stacks, Corpo-Lanes, anywhere near or inside the Spires? All the Lectrodes lead to CorpTx."


    That made a lot of sense. The tunnels and their feeds all hit sub-stations connected to the Spire Grid. It was logical, and efficient. It was familiar...and thus, easily controllable.


    <i>Ah ha! Victory!</i>


    I''d finally managed to untie the knot at the top portion of the belt line. The one giving me the most problems. Now clear, I fed the two waistline straps through the proper loops before tightening one down. I wanted to jump for joy when the pants tentatively remained on my waist.


    <i>Progress!</i><i></i>


    "So the two systems," I asked, "CorpTx and CorTex, How do they talk to each other?"


    ¡°They don¡¯t," He said as I worked to ratchet down the two over-designed tie downs on the sides of my hips, "They¡¯re different systems entirely. Enough differences you can¡¯t just plug one into the other and let them talk. If you ever do. All kinds of nastiness happen. It''s like something in both systems doesn''t want the other LiNC''ed, they''re effectively locked into a feedback loop if they ever engage each other. Unpredictable. You''d have a better chance at trying to put a Schwertkaufe and Logos rep in the same room with a watching audience without them going conspiracy crazy on each other; It''s like watching a shipwreck in motion once they get going at it."


    "You know that¡¯s what people used to say about you," I said, trying to keep a straight face, "Right?¡±


    ¡°I say shit like that because it throws people off.¡± He said, sounding like he was shaking his head, "And It''s pronounced CORE-tex."


    "CORE?" I asked.


    "Yeah CORE...As in, uh, a Cerebral Cortex, but spelled with an E." He spelled it out for me aloud like reciting a word for a spelling bee, "C. O. R. E. T. E. X. Coretex."


    "Oh!" I said. My eyes widened as I was finally able to make the connection. "CoreTex. Huh! That''s why it sounded off before..."


    There was a zipping sound as I gave the waistlines a firm grip and pulled the left side to try to equal the right. A little too tight.


    "Before?" Rob asked, "Before when?"


    My fingers fumbled as I worked to loosen the buckle without being able to see, but I had to abandon the attempt after fumbling twice.


    "Back when I was trying to repeat what you were saying. You know. Earlier?"


    I put new effort toward reaching one of the rear hanging straps and missed. Trying again before futilely waving my arm around in hopes of lucking out and snagging it. Like a tiger trying to catch its own tail, the strap seemed to avoid me like it had a mind of its own. I sighed in resignation as I let my arms droop downward in defeat.


    "You know what? Doesn''t matter." I said, quickly deciding the subject wasn''t important enough to interrupt the actual discussion at hand as I abandoned my chase of the wayward strap. "So CoreTex and CorpTx. Do they work the same? I mean. as far as the user interface, design philosophies, overall functionality and protocols are concerned?"


    ¡°For all intents and purposes, yeah. Main issue might be a few differing sets of chain, or softcode, but you can usually adapt anything to work so long as you know which system you''re basing them on."


    "So does that mean you can just LiNC into the Lectrode port in your..." I began before he stopped me.


    ¡°Unfortunately not," Rob said, "They¡¯re two physically different environments even if they use the same connectors and physical components." He moved closer to the curtain and I could see the shadow of his head through the thin but opaque cloth, his voice gaining clarity as I mated two straps to the wrong fasteners, one off from the row they were supposed to match with, and grumbled in annoyance.


    "Look." He said. "First of all, you¡¯re only ¡®supposedly¡¯, locked out of CorpTx. We don¡¯t know yet because it was McCreed saying it, but I''m also not ruling it out till we confirm. Second? If...and that''s a big if, we want to actually test?"


    I took a breath, preparing to say yes as he powered through so I wouldn''t interrupt.


    "There isn''t a silica''s chance in Europa''s gorgeous ass I''d let you LiNC in from here, Price. They''d track us in a heartbeat, and I shouldn''t need to tell you that''s a total no-go for me. We''re going to need to seek out a Lectrode Point separate from the one in my Pod. You forget LecSec 001?"


    "Ah...okay." I said. "That makes perfect sense." And I meant it. It was basic. So basic I''d easily forgotten in my excitement to try.


    "You finally decent?" He asked from the other side of the curtain. "You''ve been working at those buckles for quite a while, and I''m beginning to think you''re just playing with yourself now.¡±


    I threw the towel over the top in a blind attempt to hit him, but missed. He snorted as I pushed the curtain aside, jingling and clinking as I stepped forward. It felt like I was wearing ten sets of cowboy spurs on my way to a cyber-rodeo.


    It felt ridiculous.


    "You know this would probably be easier if you would just hand me something I could figure out."


    Rob¡¯s eyes were mirthful as he tried not to laugh and failed, "Owen..." he said between deep chuckles, "This whole thing probably would''ve been easier if you hadn''t tied so many of the straps into knots. What am I going to do with you?"


    My face reddened as I looked down and realized he was correct. I''d made a mess of everything.


    He didn¡¯t provide further commentary as he gestured to one of the chairs at the table. I crossed and sat as he went to work with practiced hands. It seemed like watching something in a time-skip as he un-knotted, released and un-knotted yet another cluster of straps I''d bungled.


    My god, how many of these things WERE there?! I wondered, as I felt two of the straps brush my legs as he untied one of the final knots.


    ¡°Step forward once,¡± Rob directed, and I did. Like a sailor managing the rigging of a sailboat, his fingers worked articulately as he loosened, tightened, secured and fitted the various straps buckles and connections to my dimensions.


    As he moved onto the straps along the thighs, he continued correcting the maladjusted buckles I''d wrongly set as he spoke.


    ¡°So here is the summary of why you''re going to have a problem we need to figure out to get you out of the Stacks.¡± He said, working on refastening everything with practiced ease. Like magic, ¡°voluminous blanket¡± started becoming, ¡°a pair of pants" before my very eyes. ¡°This will be important, so pay attention. Authentication for Scrit still comes off the same chain and source to be cross referenced by Corp-Ident to see if you¡¯re even allowed to possess it.¡± He bent my left knee, making sure it could move freely before moving onto the other. ¡°Scrit transactions are tracked against Corp-Idents to ensure singularity, and to also confirm they''re not forged, or paralleled.¡± He moved onto the straps around my ankles, ratcheting them closed and making sure I couldn¡¯t trip on anything.


    ¡°So does that mean the Borderlanes and The Glow have access to the same checks and tracking?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Some of the territories do. That¡¯s why it¡¯s...complex. Each area has different rules, groups and ethics on how and why they allow things to go on in their territories. It¡¯d take too long to find you the right group who I can guarantee wouldn¡¯t just cut your throat for whatever you¡¯ve got.¡± He moved onto another toggle, ¡°Or because you were Corpo. Even a former Corpo, or Stack-Rat is good enough for some people who want to hurt someone, anyone to do with the Big Three. It''s not safe for the most part.¡±


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    ¡°Not really selling me on a vacation package there,¡± I said.


    ¡°Good thing you¡¯re not going on a vacation. You used up all your days anyway.¡± He quipped back. ¡°Anyway. With all Scrit being tracked and traced by transaction, every registered business and supplier, especially if they¡¯re on the Corpo Registers, then has to cross reference against authentication lists to ensure you are who you say you are. I always found it ironic how a system designed to be decentralized became so centralized...it¡¯s...uh. Not actually a conspiracy theory as much as I have to make you guys think.¡±


    ¡°Is that where you tell me it''s all run by Lizard People?¡± I said, smirking.


    "I do say that a lot at the Port, don''t I?¡± He said, grinning back as if remembering an old prank. Without his wandering eye he appeared almost decades younger, and far, far more confident in appearance despite already being a formidable force to be reckoned with.


    I pointed at his now perfectly operating implant as it looked me over, "Okay then. What''s the thing with your eye?¡±


    He made a sound like a grinding Servocasing about to blow a bearing.


    ¡°What ABOUT my eye?¡± He growled with a sense of impending danger. There was the familiar irritation I was used to. Despite my tone not being mocking or bluntly rude, he was always very defensive about anyone mentioning his right eye. I''d never quite worked up the courage to ask him about it past the one time he''d cracked a joke he''d lost it to a giggle of Hyenas. Whatever they were.


    Tonight? I was curious, and no longer as fearful of making him mad. I just had to remind myself he hadn''t shot me...yet.


    ¡°Why do you let it, you know...¡± I said, and mimicked a whirring and clicking noise with my lips and tongue as I spun a finger around in a circle. Without his eye spinning in random directions, zipping around like a broken hummingbird, he didn¡¯t seem quite as off-kilter. The change made me wonder why he kept up the pretense.


    ¡°Why let it spin around randomly and record things while I¡¯m walking around so nobody can tell I¡¯m doing it?¡± He asked mischievously. I could hear the amusement clearly as I stopped myself from slapping my own forehead.


    <i>Of course.</i>


    Rob''s directed me to stand and turn with a twirling finger, so I did.


    The empty plate I''d left on the counter caught my eye as I rotated, and my stomach gave a pitiful gurgle in reply. The patty had been good, but I was still famished. The talk and putting on all the clothing was making me hungry.


    "Why do you have a need to throw people off? What''s the purpose?" I asked, trying to ignore the pangs, but failing somewhat.


    Rob paused, his hands no longer working. I heard him grunt once to himself before he finally decided on giving an answer.


    ¡°Take the kooky guy with the wandering eye and imagine what he sounds like when he talks like he does. Now imagine after a while, they begin to take him less seriously. Enough that whatever he says becomes background noise, and once he starts to get ignored? The actual serious talks happen. Talks about needing to do ''necessary things'', and no one ever questions why he''s always around. Even better? Nobody trusts he''ll do those ''necessary things'' correctly.¡±


    ¡°...Oh. Man.¡± I said, quietly. ¡°Looks like that totally works.¡±


    "Indeed."


    His hands continued working as we settled into a comfortable silence. Much faster than I would¡¯ve expected, the once-balloon-like pants became an almost sleek and aesthetically pleasing gathering of cloth, harness and lines. I marveled at the fit. Between the under suit, the pants and softness of the shirt, the entire rig felt far better than any set of clothing I¡¯d worn in recent memory. Before now, I likely would''ve never even tried them on.


    The rubbery feeling of the Corp uniforms tended to aim for the utilitarian. Cheap; Relatively speaking, and confining. The current outfit, despite being a mind boggling array of straps and buckles, felt less restrictive, more...free. It was a heady feeling, and likely wouldn¡¯t have been a word I would¡¯ve normally used for clothing.


    Now said? It felt right as I reveled in the freedom of motion the Port Uniform didn''t possess.


    Rob produced a pair of boots and set them on the floor. They looked more designed for running, and walking than for work as they hung open, like a cockpit waiting for a pilot to belt themselves in. "Good thing you''re my size, if I remember correctly from the last time you had to borrow a pair after that little accident involving the barrel of machine lubricants..."


    I gave him a rude hand gesture in Port Sign, causing him to laugh as I stepped in, marveled as the straps auto-adjusted to fit snuggly, but comfortably.


    He signaled for me to come closer as he did a quick spot check, mostly around my knees. ¡°The end result, Owen? Wouldn¡¯t matter. Inner OR outer borders, for anything connected to Corp Boundaries, means a majority of the Borderlanes, especially any parts which depend on Corpo Chain and Supply...well. You¡¯d likely have issues procuring anything to survive: Food; Water; Power. It would suck, and suck bad.¡±


    He finished the final adjustment and slapped me on the shoulder to signal the work was done.


    ¡°Give it a bend or two,¡± He said.


    I followed his instructions, and with a few test crouches and jumps was surprised how little noise issued forth. Instead of the squeaks and creaks of the Outeralls, I was practically silent as I hopped from foot to foot, my feet only lightly tapping instead of clomping around like a deck crawler. Once secured, the straps and buckles acted almost like connected parts of my body as I tested out my range of motion by moving, bending and running in place.


    Versus an Outerall, the positioning and fitment of the harness felt much more personalized and comfortable with the added bonus benefit of straps which didn¡¯t bite into sensitive places, unlike the industrial styled rigid harness of the Outerall


    I most specifically savored the lack of dank sweat, pooling into the crook of my joints as I sighed in happiness.


    <i>I could totally get used to this! </i>


    Rob made me jump as snapped his fingers in remembrance. I watched as he walked to the back of the Pod, pressing open a panel before pulling out a Reddish brown jacket. Returning, he positioned the arms of the jacket so I could slip my arms inside. It settled on me like a custom fit suit of armor. While somewhat bulky and made of a synthetic material styled to look like real leather, if I had to guess what real leather would actually look like, it was lighter than anything I''d worn.


    Similar to the pants, there was an inner lining, which also felt great on my skin and reflected body heat almost immediately. The sensation of feeling a little too warm washed over me, and Rob clicked a number of connectors to the belt lines of the pants which felt elastic, holding the jacket¡¯s bottom closer to my waist. The combination formed what felt like a resisting seal against the rain and cold. As I began to sweat, it was obvious the system was doing a great job of keeping in the heat.


    Rob nodded his approval with a single head nod, before taking a seat. I was ready.


    "So there''s a big problem, Rob." I said, "When they locked me out, they locked up every ounce of Scrit I had."


    "That''s fine, because once you''re out, past the Borderlanes and safety in The Glow, you won''t need Scrit. You''ll need Chits."


    "Chits?"


    "Yeah. Jacket." He said, "Top right pocket. Should be a small coin there. A Platter store."


    I reached in, and pulled out a dull silver disk about an inch in diameter. There was a single hole in the middle, like a washer, and the surface was scratched and tarnished, having been held and handled over an unknown number of years. Despite all this, there was text I could see with my interface, denoting it held five "Allotment Chits''. I had a sudden powerful, but vague sensation of socketing one of these into a slot as a child at my mother''s insistence. A series of emotions washed over me as I remembered the sudden excitement, and joy, of clutching a set of controls as my mother held me and the machine signaled I''d be allowed another life as the pixelated hero in a dark world plagued by monsters. The lights and sounds had made me feel happy. At least for a fleeting moment.


    "Why am I thinking about games right now?" I wondered aloud to no one, as I turned the disc in the light.


    "That''s because you probably played something needing one. Chits are usually just transferred as credits between people, or groups within CoreTex, but nothing stops you from loading some onto Plat." Rob said, "But we''re getting too deep into this before you''ve had a chance to fully understand."


    "How did they manage it? Assess its value? Use it?" I asked, but Rob remained silent on the subject, shaking his head in rejection to every question.


    <i>Was I naive to assume The Glow would, and always had used CorpTx and Corpo-Scrit? </i>


    My mind swam with possibilities of not just another system, but an entirely different currency as I examined the small coin more closely. The five was hovering in digital font on both sides in an ink with a curiously familiar hint of iridescence. Between the ink and the visual overlay, the numbers popped off the surface.


    Pondering, I wasn''t sure of any real opportunity in my past life, and it WAS my past life since I held no false sentiments I''d ever be able to go back, which could''ve disproved the notion they wouldn''t.


    For one? Dora. She''d never mentioned, or even hinted at there being a second COE in use. Without some sort of evidence of there ever being a second system, I could''ve never...


    I...


    Wow.


    "Rob," I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I stretched my mind around yet another subject I hadn''t thought about and put the Plat back into the jacket pocket. "Dora. How come she never told me any of this? She worked at InCorporeal. Isn''t that in The Glow?"


    "Hmm." Rob said as a deep rumble within in his chest. "Almost, but not quite. Think of it as more of a thin part between where the Borderlanes begin and end. A gateway. I...can''t tell you more, not until we talk about something else."


    I said nothing as he paused.


    "What I can tell you? Dora was likely as in the dark as you ever were. She wasn''t from The Glow and never went TO The Glow as far as I know of."


    Part of me felt relieved. Another part? Wondered how much I should trust someone who had--


    <i>No.</i> I heard the voice in my head. Stern and almost as clear as day. <i>Stop thinking like that. Rob''s been the ONLY one who''s been telling you anything. You said you were ready to believe him, so believe.</i>


    I sighed resignedly.


    Whatever might come? Rob''s act of exposing the corporeality of the undisclosed implant modifications, and his guidance in disabling it wasn''t a small thing.


    He did it for me. He took me in when I''d needed a place.


    Even before, he''d always kept a side ear open for my daily complaints and rants.


    No. Rob was Rob. Even if he acted a little different, he seemed to be the only one willing to explain why and how things worked when everyone else was too busy telling, and taking.


    He was the only one offering help, and...that was enough.


    "Thanks." I said.


    "No problem." He replied, "And keep the coin. Won''t buy a ton, but might be enough if something happens and we get separated."


    The inquisitive side of my brain was poked into activity. Despite there only being a series of canals to separate our side of the Stacks with their borders, the mere concept of there being some sort of entirely separate registry was new to me, but made logical sense once you took what was a very sizable population into account.


    The Glow was bright. Literally so.


    On a clear night I could often see the lights, numbering in the hundreds if not thousands from across the way. If one were standing in the right spot? The sky could sometimes glow with an eerie beauty, enough where if you took all of the lights into account, there had to be...thousands, if not tens of thousands of individuals, all people.


    Living.


    Breathing.


    Dying.


    <i>Huh.</i>


    I tapped my chin absentmindedly with a finger.


    <i>How could such a large population even hope to do things without swarming like Scrabs?</i>


    I lost myself in staring back into the coin''s face. Plat...Allotment Chits. All of it was now tugging on something in the back of an old memory. A string of sensations and feelings became more visible in my mind''s eye as I stumbled on something I hadn''t thought about in a long time...not without getting angry, or distracted.


    Before the disabling of the deterrence protocols? It was difficult, if not impossible to tell if I was led away from remembering something, or just didn''t want to.


    With those out of the way I felt...different.


    A strange sensation was growing in the pit of my stomach.


    "Rob." I asked aloud. "What Ident do they use in The Glow?"


    He answered this one immediately. "CoreTex uses something called a ''CCN''. A, ah...CORE Certification Number. Same prompt, different interfaces.¡±


    A memory triggered; I heard...My Mother.


    The cadence of her voice enveloped me like a blanket as my mind twisted, and spasmed. Memories lashed like wracking coughs, dredging up a number I could''ve recited in my sleep once the blockage had been cleared.


    <i>"It''s your CCN."</i> She''d said, in a soothing susurration, <i>"Don''t ever forget it, and more importantly? Don''t tell your Father. Ever. Now repeat it back to me, Owen."</i>


    My mouth recited the numbers as if ordered for what had felt like the hundredth time<i>, "4-011-339."</i>


    Rob went silent. Still as a statue as he looked at me in unexpected shock.


    It wasn''t just any CCN.


    It was...<b><i>MY</i></b>...CCN.

 Chapter 15

    We continued to sit in the soured air as the air cycler whirred on in its valiant struggle to cleanse the atmosphere. As if touched by an invisible hand, the privacy curtain fluttered like a ghost in passing as Rob¡¯s voice broke the silence.


    ¡°How,¡± he demanded, ¡°...do you know that number?¡± His tone wasn¡¯t aggressive, just carefully guarded.


    My recitation of the CCN had been so sudden and unexpected; he was truly as shocked as I seemed to be; it had been more than just a feeling; it was a memory.


    I felt hyper-recollective. These flashes were tangible. Almost corporeal. I could smell her perfume. Feel the movement of my mother¡¯s breath in the tiny capsule as she wrapped her arms around me like a cocoon. Hear the softly recited numbers as she enunciated each digit like the punching of a press writer onto a memory stick.


    There had been a steadfast look in her eyes when she¡¯d entered the capsule we¡¯d been forced to stay in. It had been so tiny, a child and slender woman could barely move for fear of being entrapped. Why and how we''d ended up there, I couldn¡¯t fully remember. All I''d sensed was a sudden need to leave our home. An intense desperation as we bundled what could be gathered from the door to...


    There was a door.


    A WOODEN door. An honest-to-carbon wooden door she''d slammed on our way out. I''d been crying. Wondering why the changes had happened as she''d held me.


    The bitter taste of the cheap meal she''d purchased from a vending kiosk within the Capsule Bay''s badly maintained facility felt like it was still on my tongue. I fought to not be sick. To make our already confined situation worse as I swallowed the bile.


    <i>How? How could I have forgotten?</i>


    <i>How could I have EVER forgotten?!</i>


    The cloying taste of the congealed sauce and poorly constituted protein mix served as an olfactory marker as I worked to remember the fleeting number at her insistence.


    "Owen?" Rob''s voice said as his burly hand shook my arm. I''d been so lost in the memories I''d zagged out.


    "Who-What-Now?" I said, only now realizing he''d been speaking to me. It came out as a rush, and I snapped out of it. The memory had come back so strongly, it hurt.


    "Owen. I need to know. Aggie was the only one who knew that number.¡± He had a concerned but focused look on his face. ¡°When did she tell you?¡±


    "What do you mean ''when''?" I asked, blinking a few times in confusion. I was...stunned. ¡°Wait. No one ever called her Aggie except--¡± I said, trailing off.


    "Your father. I know, but answer me, Owen. It''s important. When?" His brow was scrunched in concern, not anger, as he continued to stare into my face. Searching for...something.


    The puzzle I''d thought was nearing completion had just been picked up and tumbled along with several others. It had happened with so little warning. So little time; my mind joggled around as I fought to understand what was happening.


    "When I was, I don''t know...Eight? Nine?" I said, not even questioning why he''d want to know. ''Bamboozled'' might be the word I was looking for. My mental wheels were still spinning. "We had to leave somewhere suddenly. Barely had anything in a bag before we went straight to stay in the Capsule Bays. She said we couldn''t find anything else because there was nowhere else we could go."


    He was whispering, almost to himself, a look of real pain washing over his expression. "I''m so sorry, Owen. She never said. Never told me."


    "Why would she tell you?" I asked, entirely confused by this point. Finding out Rob even knew my mother was a surprise in itself, but now? I had ZERO clue.


    "Eight. You were in the Bays as far back as Eight," he said, seemingly genuinely broken up.


    "You were the one who told me never to talk about it, remember?" I said, dazedly. "We eventually moved to the Stacks, and..." He straightened and looked at me contemplatively. "I don''t think there ever was a chance for it to come up, was there?"


    I didn''t hear his answer as another flash of memory came forth unexpectedly.


    I heard another voice.


    It was my father.


    My biological father.


    I couldn''t remember the details of his appearance, but I''d known who he was. The bulky shoulders, draped in the finery of a silk shirt and vest, were locked tight as he stabbed a thick finger into my mother''s frightened face. He had not been a small man. At least not physically.


    <i>"Once you''ve dipped in the Bay? You''ll never get the stink off you! Don''t make me catch you around there. EVER. Am I clear?!"</i> The tone had been bladed and sharp, slicing through the air even to where I had been partially hidden, across the short entryway in my room. I''d been hiding beneath a blanket to stay out of sight when he began accusing my mother of cavorting with the "wrong sorts of people.". It had happened shortly before we''d left. Before we''d been forced to flee to the Bays.


    Rob''s eyes continued to search my face from across the table as he realized I''d zoned out again. His eyes filled with an unspoken sorrow as a voice, HIS voice, flooded my senses.


    <i>"Others will see it as a sign of weakness." he''d said, "Like you''re tainted goods. Keep it close to your chest, Kid, because they don''t know. See? They don''t! Some legitimately can''t. Some of the best people I''ve ever known were from the Bays, and some of the worst? Well...never, and I mean NEVER, say anything around Golrich and his like. You hear? Bad news. I''d tell ya more, but then I''d have to kill ya. HA!"</i>


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    I shook my head to clear it, fighting to return back to the present. The Rob in front of me had shifted by leaning forward, both forearms planted on his knees as his head drooped down. He sighed. More wearily than I''d ever heard him do as his hands rubbed his scalp in frustration. His hair fluttered in alternating directions, which gave him a steadily deranged look with every passing of his hands. A trick of the light made the hairs match what I felt like my brain was doing. The stray tendrils whipping outward. Flailing as if to escape. My mind was a whirlwind of activity as all I could do was bear witness to the scenes before me as I was carried along.


    Before tonight? Before I''d come to Rob''s, I''d never had such vivid recollections. Everything had been muted, and I''d had issues concentrating. It had been hard to think. Something else always seemed more important. They had been suppressing our memories and emotions, and it seemed I wasn''t yet fully prepared for the unrestricted flow of an unfiltered mind.


    The sudden urge to do something with my hands took over as I continued with my internal struggle. If I had to be honest, I''d identified it a long time ago as my way of coping with unusual situations where I felt overloaded. "To be idle was to be useless," as my father had once said to me. It eventually became how I gave myself time to think. A way of forcing my muscles to assist my churning brain while I worked things over. More often than not, it ended in success.


    So, I did it now.


    Trying not to trigger another memory, I stood, turning toward the dirty dish and cup sitting in the spilled puddle of Caf.


    Rob watched silently as I set to task. A stoic look of analysis on his face as he monitored my actions without comment, his eyes taking in everything as I gently lifted both items and stepped over to the sole source of running water in the tiny kitchen.


    It was a standardized and hidden sink of a design just like the one in my old Pod. Tapping a toe leveled control allowed the surface of the counter to slide back as it nestled itself within the wall. A hidden mechanism I''d never bothered to study, but knew the principle for extended a spigot which automatically produced an areated stream of tepid water. Running the plate below the stream caused the gelatinous brown smear of the protein puck''s remaining traces to sluice and flow into the tiny basin, which sat exposed below it.


    The light plopping noise of the water hitting the slowly growing pool, and the hissing of the running faucet was almost hypnotizing. I imagined a similar flow to my memories as I thought back to the first time Rob and I had met. He''d taken me aside and told me, under no uncertain terms, should I tell people where I''d grown up.


    He''d known we''d been there but apparently hadn''t known exactly when.


    One of the reasons I''d gotten along with Rob. Glossed over all the oddness. The weirdness of his personality when I''d first met him: he''d never, not once, held having lived in the Bays against me.


    The Bays had been dangerous.


    There had been all manner of people in the community: the unstable, the malicious, and the conniving. There had been...predators; and yet, despite the dregs of the Stacks, the Borderlanes, and the Spires ending up in the broken petri dish of the Capsule Bays, there were also bright shards of humanity. Supernova bright to offset the darkness hidden within the drudgery.


    "Shard-Keeper" was a term my mother had used often when mentioning the kinds of people willing to do best by one another. She''d referenced it when I''d read the missive she''d posthumously had delivered, which arrived minutes before my first notice to leave.


    "It''s better than the Bays." I whispered to myself, repeating what my mother had often said to me in the first few months of living in the NS-Housing Pods. The saying hadn''t been entirely true for me. Barring a few bright points and tiny, eeked moments of comfort and bliss, the Bays had been a much less cold and calculating environment than the Stacks had ever become.


    We''d gotten out when she''d remarried, to a junior executive on his way up the ladder. When we''d moved to the Stacks for the first time, he''d treated me like I wasn''t important. He hadn''t been violent or abusive, but I''d spent most of my time alone, as far and as quiet as I could''ve been without being seen, for fear of cold, analytical judgement or casual indifference.


    Being the wife of a supervisor-class worker for the Processing Plants allowed some benefits my mother hadn''t had access to otherwise. The chief among them: Corporation sponsored mods. TxCorp supplied, installed, and managed. In light of the recent discoveries? I could see, very clearly, how my mother had become who she was, and what she''d become saddened me.


    After the implants...she''d changed. Dramatically. He''d become a subdued version of herself, like a shade, lacking solidity or definition. A little less bright. Less...caring. Unable to say no to things she had never compromised on.


    I''d kept my name, despite the fact my mother remarried. When she and my father died by what was deemed an "...accidental malfunction of safety protocols." There were no further details. I wasn''t allowed to see her body. At the time it hadn''t occurred to me to be bothered by it, but I was bothered now.


    The filisheet had been fresh. Recently pressed, smelling vaguely of heated polymer and ink as I absorbed the words.


    <b><i>The world can be fractured and made whole again, Owen.


    </i></b><b><i>As children, we were taught the heavens and stars above were shattered. We picked up the pieces and formed them back into a whole so people might live, and even though our life was a difficult one, t</i></b><b><i>hat''s why it''s important for someone to keep the shards safe. </i></b>


    <b><i>Together.</i></b><b><i>


    </i></b><b><i>It''s my final hope you''ll gain your Citizenship and finish your education. Make your shards whole again.


    </i></b><b><i>I''m sorry.</i></b><b> </b>


    <b><i>I love you, my little Wish.</i></b>


    <b><i>Become better than we ever were.


    </i></b>


    <b><i>- Mom.</i></b>


    The dish and cup were clear. Their surfaces shining as they sat within the nearly overflowing sink.


    I wasn''t sure how long I''d been standing there.


    I extracted the dish and cup before tapping the closing mechanism with my toe, futilely trying to wipe clear the hot tears on my cheeks as the counter reappeared over the face of the hidden basin. The clunk of an opening outlet followed by a hiss of spraying water met my ears as the contents of the basin were jettisoned and whisked away along a feedline into a substation processing facility far, far from here.


    seemed like an oddly specific term, but it had stuck with me. It was what I was reminded of when I''d met Rob.


    When all others spoke about Rob in hushed tones and mocking laughter where they thought he couldn''t hear. I hadn''t. Instead, I''d viewed him with open curiosity. Listened when he taught and laughed when he told me the rules of the world by challenging them.


    "We pick up the pieces and form them back into a whole so people might live," I said quietly to myself, leaning forward to grip the counter as the tears began to fall.


    Rob had an expression full of understanding, the sorrow plainly written on his haggard face as his mouth pressed into a thin line.


    Gripping my shoulder securely, he pulled me into a crushing hug.


    The emotional outbreak earlier had been a pressure release. This? Was something else...I began to tremble.


    Then shake.


    It was uncontrollable.


    "I''m sorry, Kid," he said, simply. I clung to him and began to sob, my breaths coming out in ragged gasps as I squeezed tightly and didn''t let go.


    The grief of losing my mother again. The fear, anger, and helplessness of seeing Karl pointlessly kill himself right below me. My abandonment by Pandora and the future I had hoped to share. The futility and forlornness of Branch''s last act, and the unfairness of all of us becoming pawns in a game we were never meant to play, with senses we couldn''t trust.


    Through it all, like a behemoth holding the world upon his shoulders, Rob kept me standing as the feelings crashed over me like a tidal wave.


    Enveloping me.


    I mourned.


    Finally. I mourned.