Clinic “LuxMed”, Thi district, ground, Radaar. 1:47am.

A screeching cart zoomed past. A quintet of doctors surrounding it charged towards the operating room, bellowing orders to the younger staff. How the kids were meant to catch any of those words over the hubbub in the hallways was beyond Shay. Nothing’s changed in thirty years. As the double doors swung closed behind the cart, the waning noise cut off.

Shay went back to drinking the overpriced concoction the makers had labelled coffee. He hadn’t put a paper saying, Buy real coffee, in the suggestion box that day like he had done every day for the last three months. People grew tired of things, after all, and management would eventually start tossing his suggestions in the bin at the sight of them. If they didn’t already. This pause gave them time to refresh their minds, and they might seriously consider his words next time.

They won’t, reason said. He wouldn’t either.

The board was too busy counting all the credits coming from their sponsors – all highborn and influential people from the ground – to care about the wants of a lowly doctor. Practicality to the void, if they had thought making the clinic into a pseudo-resort would net them more clients, they would have done it. It would have bled their wallets though. Coffee was much cheaper.

Compared to the seething hallways, the quiet clinging to the office of the Rapid Response department was absurd. The place might as well have been a doorway into a different world.

The gloom inside was a welcome respite to Shay’s tired eyes after the bright-lit hallway. All in his department agreed. The fluorescent tubes were almost permanently off. The frantic chaos outside blared to no avail, the members were immune and could sleep despite it, bathing in the coffee fragrance that always permeated the room. Shay had once believed the scent came from coffee stains that stubbornly clung to the walls and floor. Then his seniors had shown him the unfinished cups. Long cold and forgotten. Rising above the linoleum floor, the walls were drab white and so insipid that the stains added character. Texture came from the single strip of muted blue that flaked off a little more every couple of days. It was a place of overwork and desperation served under the guise of noble purpose and high pay. Ascendants forbid any client saw it, but that was why the rest of the clinic was spotless, and no client would ever come here.

There were only four people inside now, all members of Shay’s team – two slumped over their desks, and two sleeping. Shay had long since gotten used to the inhuman shifts, but the oldest of them had been working here just shy of fifteen years. Far from enough. The silver lining was that none of the younger ones had decided to quit yet. It’s been quiet so far. As long as the alarm doesn’t ring…

It rang.

He loosed a silent curse. It had barely been an hour since he and his team had returned from their last trip, and they had already been working for thirty hours straight. The kids will collapse soon at this rate. A second curse followed when he saw the origin of the signal: the undersurface.

He turned towards his team. Though exhausted, they sprang up from their seats. Determination brought clarity to their bleary eyes; and though they stumbled, with every step their stride became more certain, their faces more solemn. For the umpteenth time, Shay thanked the Ascendants for putting reliable people under him.

“S-sir?” Fenner said. “Aren’t we going to the launch pad straight away?” He slapped his cheeks to rid himself of the sleepiness.

Shay handed him the unfinished cup of coffee. “Drink.” Fenner raised his hands to decline, but the words died in his throat. His mouth snapped shut under Shay’s steady gaze that brooked no argument. “Drink.” The man reluctantly took the cup. “We have a couple of minutes.”

“But half the armed support should’ve already assembled,” Fenner said. He took a sip. “You always told us we don’t need to strictly follow protocol when lives are in danger.” Of course the youngest member had failed to check the destination.

“Less talking, more drinking, kid,” Shay said. “It’s the undersurface we’re going to. Ascendants know what we’ll find down there.”

“Can’t be anything too bad,” Connor said. “This is a highborn we’re talking about. Probably just nicked an arm while he fried the other guy. It’s our chief Tienic who needs to worry.” He winked at Shay. “You’ve heard the rumours, sir? Undersurface trips are bad luck for the leader of a team. Better look out.”

Shay rolled his eyes. Connor really should lay off gossiping and spreading superstition. He looked at his watch. “Let’s go.”

Down by the launch pad, the soldiers were doing their final equipment check. After spotting Shay’s team, they promptly boarded the shuttle, all armed to the teeth and wearing battle suits.

Excessive, but safety was paramount. Carelessness could get a person killed down there. The only issue Shay had was how crammed the shuttle was with a full squad. Barely any breathing room.

Having shuffled inside past them, he plopped down on his seat and braced for take-off.

The shuttle rose and flew towards the mouth of the West Island crevasse. Once it came there, it began its descent. Outside the narrow window, the view changed from high-rise buildings to a shadowed, earthen wall.

In a few months, it would have been eleven years since Shay had last been in the undersurface. Eleven years since he had handled that red-alarm incident – a critically wounded person. The vivid memory still flashed in his mind whenever he went on one of these missions.

It had been late at night. The distress call came just after his shift had started. By the time he and his team arrived at the scene, the fight had ended. The highborn was sitting on the ground, using the Gift to stop his blood from pouring out, while the attacker had been reduced to a charred pile of flesh.

It had been an eye-opener to Shay.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Attacks were rare because fear deterred them. If not of the Gift, then of the High Law which protected the highborn. Though it was still too much for the understaffed RRD. There weren’t enough desperate souls to join. Who else would?

With a thud and downward jerk, the shuttle landed. Unaffected, the soldiers dashed outside, rifles raised, eyes scanning the surroundings. Beyond the heavy, armoured door lay a corner of a small intersection, the street just wide enough for the shuttle to fit.

The dark interior of the shuttle had made it easy for Shay’s eyes to adjust to the dimly lit undersurface. Dark greys, browns, and greens painted the view outside, except where splashes of colour from neon lights breathed a sliver of life into the dreary back alleys.

Looking at the younger members of the team, Shay was about to say a few words of encouragement, when a sense of foreboding smothered the idea. He frowned. He’d not felt such pointless nervousness for over a decade. No amount of worry would change the patient’s state, so, with deep, slow breaths, he waited.

As soon as the soldiers gave the all-clear, the medical team rushed out. Partly illuminated in the silver-blue of a nearby neon sign lay the body of the victim, the emergency call device on his wrist flashing a deep red.

By the Emperor… Shay stopped a few metres from the injured man. Lying before him was Kentor Mannock, the imperial ambassador. If he dies here… Shay couldn’t even finish the thought.

He glanced down at his hands. They were shaking. He chuckled nervously, then took a deep breath. If he froze up here, what would his assistants think? The shaking stopped.

He scanned the patient’s body. Two shots. Left thorax and upper abdomen. Blood had already been pooling beneath the man for some time now. By all accounts, he should have died. He must have squeezed out whatever power he had just to keep himself alive.

Shay knelt beside the man, and once his team joined him, the procedure began. Usually, it was enough to do first aid and then transport the patient to the clinic, but moving him in this state would spell his end. Such cases were why the RR teams carried everything needed to perform surgery even in the field.

Tools flew from one hand to the next; orders were given through the briefest eye contact. Everything around Shay faded away; the lights; the noise – there was only the patient.

The team worked like a well-oiled machine, yet a sense of futility crouching in the back of Shay’s mind reared its head. He had ignored it, but it had been there since the moment he had laid eyes on the ambassador.

He moved his hand to grab the proffered gauze, then stopped when he noticed his assistant trembling. Fenner’s inexperience was finally showing.

“Switch,” Shay said.

The expression on Fenner’s face had told him everything. The man had given up, and the others weren’t too far behind him. They had judged the patient’s state accurately. There was no saving the ambassador, but Shay had to do it.

Minutes passed. Their efforts had only prolonged the inevitable. Despite that, he didn’t stop trying. A highborn’s death was never handled lightly, and the consequences would be severe. Especially if the highborn close to the ambassador decided to make it so.

Could I have saved him if I was an adept? He chased away the useless thought. Not even the director of the hospital had the funds to pay the exorbitant monthly fees for using the Gift.

Shay glanced at the ambassador’s wrist. The ECD was still flashing red. It had called them here, and the moment it stopped, the hospital would be informed the patient had passed away. Then their lives would be turned upside down. The promotion he’d been due would become just a distant thought, buried beneath a mountain of problems. Any chance of an easy life would disappear along with the ambassador’s life.

I can’t let him die. He racked his brain for any way to achieve it, from theory papers to all the similar cases he had worked on. Stuck in his thoughts, Shay belatedly noticed Connor’s stare.

The man shook his head and placed his arm softly on the assistant’s arm, who was attempting reanimation again.

Did they not understand what failing meant? Did they not understand their lives could be ruined? They would lose their jobs, and without the high pay they provided, they would be evicted from the ground and sent to the undersurface. All because of debt. In a burst of fury, Shay inhaled sharply, ready to yell – scream – at them to pick up their tools; to keep trying until the end.

He didn’t. Anger faded from his eyes as he stared at the patient. Nothing would change. They had come too late. He had simply refused to admit it.

With a wave of his hand, he called for the soldiers to return to the shuttle, and helped his team carry the ambassador inside. Whatever happened after they got back was out of their hands.

Somewhere along the flight, the ECD turned off – the moment whatever power the ambassador had used to keep his body alive flickered out.

Shay hadn’t noted the exact time. It’ll be in the system logs anyway. His mind brought him back to the crime scene. Small changes to his procedure, new ideas that came to him – all the different ways to save the ambassador’s life – they kept the loop he had trapped himself in alive, chaining him to those fleeting moments of a fading life. Yet, the result never changed.

They arrived a subdued group at the shuttle-bay, the necessary staff already waiting to take the patient to the mortuary. From this point, it was up to City Security to handle the autopsy and question everyone who had been at the scene.

So far, in previous investigations, Shay had only needed to answer a few questions for clarification. This time, the story would need to be repeated countless times; each version dissected, each piece scrutinized for anything that didn’t add up. His hands clenched into fists in frustration. All of us will be suspects too.

Shay’s gaze swept over his team. The four men plodded listlessly to the department office, whispering about who would be the one to inform the victim’s family.

Probably the greatest amount of blame would fall on that person – at least from the highborn side, but then, that was the only side that really mattered in these cases.

Out of all of them, Shay was the one they’d most likely spare. He was already near the end of his career. The kids? They’d be crushed like bugs; sent to the undersurface to the wolves.

He couldn’t let that happen to them. He had spent so many years with them, seen their silly antics, heard about their past, and found his own to be alike. People never joined the RRD because they wanted to. They did because there was no other choice. A struggle to remain on the ground. Seeing them, he saw a younger version of himself; maybe even the kids he’d never had.

Turning away from them, he strode to the communications centre. The hospital kept a list of all its patients’ emergency contacts and updated them frequently. The ambassador’s list would be among those.

The ire of a highborn was great, and House Mannock was especially infamous in that regard. Whoever that fury descended upon… Shay could only pray it wasn’t him. The staff looked at him worriedly, but he stoically walked past them. There was no changing what had happened, and being pitied would do nothing but crush his pride. If he had to lose everything else, he would at least keep that.

With the list he had been looking for in hand, he entered one of the private booths and took out his communicator. There was only one registered person – the ambassador’s daughter.

As the call connected, Shay looked at the image of the young woman before him. “This is Shay Tienic, senior medical officer and team leader in the RRD. Am I speaking to Lady Seyleen Mannock, heir to House Mannock?” The woman nodded, though there was obvious confusion on her face. He paused.

He would be telling a daughter that her father had been killed. As he stared at her face, the words in his mouth were dumbed to inarticulacy. It’d been too long since he had done this.

He cleared his head and took a deep breath. “I wish to express my deepest regret as I inform you…”