-)&(-
Unbeknownst to us at the time, there was a second disaster headed for Canada on a delay. It was later discovered that when the Baishan rift opened, a swelling wave of enormous ugly extradimensional life forms had surged through the first rift at the Horizon Window site.
Those monsters had pushed out the ones who’d been there first. The displaced uglies then forced out the ones living in the wilds they fled to. This caused a cascading chain reaction, as the invading life forms crossed the Nares Strait and began to spread south.
Census data suggested that just over 40,000 people had lived in the territories of Nunuvat prior to the second rift. By March, the government estimate was that fewer than 1,000 people had survived the onslaught. In the Northwestern Territories, the reported death toll was over 10,000 and growing daily.
In response to the terror and panic following the invasion, the Canadian Cabinet moved several ministers and federal agents to a new government department, one with absolute military, environmental, and social jurisdiction. This was the birth of the Canadian Rift Authority.
The CRA’s first move was to declare martial law throughout the entire country, and mandate that all citizens, for their safety, would be required to move their residence to urban centers; living off-grid had become a death sentence.
In order to handle the influx of people moving into city centers, the CRA began to forfeit private properties that used city land “inefficiently”, always paying the owners compensation. These private properties would be leveled to allow for the construction of the Blocks, giga-complexes of state-funded housing for not just the refugees, but for every resident of Canada.
This was around the time they relocated our family to Ozerna. Our housing complex was efficient enough to be left standing, but the CRA’s equity commission had determined that others needed the space more. People who had children of their own.
~}§{~
I fought to keep my frustration from showing, and spoke as deadpanned as I could manage. “No, sir. There is nothing I could share with you that I have not already reported to my designated liaison at Province 5 Intel.”
The woman behind me scoffed in obvious disbelief at this, but the big man behind the desk nodded happily. “That is a good answer, Mr. Norstrand. We’ll have another chat next year, to make sure you still feel the same way. In the meantime, I’m sorry to inform you that you have not been selected as a rift worker.”
Defeat sank into me, weighing down on an anger that was still very much burning. Whatever he might’ve said, this man didn’t seem very sorry. I tried not to choke on my words. “When will my packet be eligible to resubmit? Sir?”
The smile that came over the big man’s face made my blood run cold. Uh oh. “Mr. Norstrand, take a look at the coffee table in front of you.”
I glanced at the squat little table that sat between my chair and his desk. I’d hardly noticed it the whole time I’d been in the room. Three ugly little desk ornaments, like tiny modern art, sat in a row on its surface.
Now the big man stood at his desk, and his bulk had not prepared me for how tall he was. “Each of those knickknacks is hiding a sample of dimensional material inside: an ino sample, or inorganic, a flora sample, and a core sample. Sadly, your stigma has not reacted in a meaningful way to any one of these the entire time you’ve been here. This means that your stigma type is null.”
No. It couldn’t be possible. It wasn’t fair. “Wait, there’s got to be-”
“Our data shows this is common for Stigmas with the identifier ‘Dust,’ such as yours. As much as I’d like to help you, a type null is ineligible to work as even a porter for wild teams, let alone as a trapper or tracker.”
“Please, whatever I have to do, I’ll-”
He shut me up with a stapled packet of printed documents, which he shoved right under my nose. “As it so happens, I have your occupational mandate right here. I think we’ve found the perfect fit for you. Ms. MacKinnon will see you out…”
My hand trembled as I took the papers from him. The top page was very specific.
NORSTRAND, Castor
Occupational Mandate
AUXILIARY 7-2521
Blue Collar Team 84
STREET SWEEPER
-)&(-
As the urban population exploded with the influx of people fleeing the warp, the CRA began dealing with the challenges of managing the claustrophobic populace.
Fearing dimensional intrusion and a threat to their national security, the USA had closed down their northern border. This meant that draft dodging to America was nearly impossible when compulsory rift-fighting service was announced.
The CRA’s next move was genius. A week after announcing the draft, it was determined that those working in “essential” industries would not be required to register, and that their service could be waived for as long as they remained “essential” workers.
The first designated essential industry? Construction, to ensure the enormously ambitious Block housing project was a success.
Faced with the choice of a construction job or fighting alien nightmares in a losing war in the hellish tundra? Canadians flocked to construction in droves, at every single urban center. Low pay? Back-breaking work? Who cared? Beat being eaten alive. The CRA was forced to take over management of every private construction firm in Canada, just to manage the enormous intake.
At the same time, it became obvious that an economic collapse at the height of this crisis would be devastating to Canadians. The CRA had little choice but to directly oversee the management of every bank and financial institution in the country. Those international organizations who refused the oversight would no longer do business.
The Canadian Armed Forces had engaged the warp all along the northern front, with the heaviest fighting in the east over Quebec Province. For every ten soldiers who died horribly, one would manage to activate his stigma, giving the CRA a lead on how to replicate the success seen on the Korean front.
Compared to the Korean Republic or the United States, they were late to the party, but by the end of 2065 the Canadian Rift Authority was manufacturing dimensional enhancements capable of augmenting their soldiers’ stigmata. The war for survival stopped going so poorly.
It was also by this time that the CRA had definitely absorbed every other ministry and department of the Canadian government. The timeline on this was never clearly defined. It had happened quietly.
~}§{~
I sat there like a total loser, in my hands holding the documents that would consign me to sweeping rubbish off the street for the rest of my life. These pages weren’t even warm from the printer. This mandate had probably been prepared hours ago, if not longer.
What the hell had all of this preparation been for? Why had I slaved over 30+ pages of applications and forms, listed achievements and test scores, busted my ass in high school and in community youth volunteer groups to prove my loyalty and skill, if all of this had been decided before my interview?
Interview?
The pages crumpled in my fists as I felt the blood pound in my ears. This wasn’t any kind of interview, this was a farce. All of this had been an intimidation tactic, and I had jumped through hoops and come running at their call just to prove to myself that they could make me do anything.
That I was nothing.
He had already sat back down, had moved on to his next task for the day. I didn’t exist anymore. He’d had his fun. He’d mocked my aunt and derided my family. And now it was business as usual.
The blood rushing in my ears became absolutely still. The noise in my head went silent.
I was going to kill him.
-)&(-
The most loyal and trusted of the police force and military personnel began to be put through extensive training programs and regiments of enhancement. Once complete, these superior soldiers would be released to patrol Canada’s streets, to enforce the law and ensure safety from dimensional threats… and civil ones.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
This was the birth of the Security Specialists, and their formation caused a public outcry, with residents citing concerns about their seemingly unchecked power. The CRA took these concerns very seriously.
Cameras were not just installed on all specialist helmets, but urban centers were covered in a complex network of powerful cameras and sensors, the cam stations, to ensure no incident of unlawful force went undocumented.
Immediately, footage from these cameras began to be used to prosecute anyone filmed breaking the law. This process was seamless, as the CRA controlled the court system. The CRA was beginning to control everything.
All private industry was now under the crisis management of the CRA, which meant centralized hiring. The Occupational Office would issue a mandate to all residents who finished their required schooling, determining your career path working for the CRA.
The packet you turned in ahead of receiving that mandate was your best chance, as a resident, to be assigned to the industry you felt you were a good fit for.
Your best to not end up auxiliary.
To not end up a blue.
~}§{~
I thought of Helen and Sanguk.
My fists unclenched around the mandate in my hands.
Stupid outbursts would only come back to hurt them. For a moment, I’d been sure that I not only could take that man’s life, but that it was going to happen. Reason was returning to me, and I stood to leave.
As the office door opened, I heard the big man’s voice call out to me. “Oh, Mr. Norstrand?”
I turned back.
I never saw him get up out of his chair, or move around his desk, or even rush to me. He was too fast. For a moment, his wispy blonde hair and bald spot blurred past my vision, and then there was an impact in my chest.
If you’ve ever been crossing the street and suddenly had a compact car swerve around the corner and collide with you, then you know exactly what it felt like. My feet left the ground as I fairly flew down the hallway I’d come by.
It was barely a second before I crashed through the door at the end of the hall, colliding with several folding chairs and a few bystanders in the lobby. High school graduates, standing patiently with their tickets, waiting to hear their name and number, screamed and ran as I lay in a painful mess, unable to breathe. He’d knocked the wind right out of me, and it wasn’t coming back.
He took his time, meandering his bulk down the hall after me. Every second felt like a minute without air as I suffocated, hopelessly trying to remember how to suck air into my lungs. I wanted to scream from the horrid pain in my chest, but I had no breath to scream with.
Finally he came to loom over me, a bemused smile on his face as my eyes bugged out of my skull. “Please do remember, Mr. Norstrand: a duly employed representative of the Canadian Rift Authority is within his or her rights to defend himself or herself against any perceived or potential aggression.”
He hadn’t asked a question, but I knew he was waiting for a response. I could only writhe in panic, desperate for air.
“I believe we have an understanding. Ms. MacKinnon, administer a little stimulant, let’s mend those cracked bones before we send him off.”
She peered down at me, clearly thinking it a waste of stimulant. “Shall I file the report sir, or leave it to you?”
The big man got a look on his face at that. The smile wasn’t mocking or cruel like before. He seemed to find something genuinely funny, and for a moment I think I saw the man he showed to his family and friends.
“No, we won’t file a report on this. Imagine it: ‘threatening a public servant’ on the record of a street sweeper?” He shook his head and turned to leave. “Let’s give the poor kid a break.”
-)&(-
In order to determine fair compensation for all residents employed by the CRA, occupations were classified in three types. The Essential type had existed since the early construction boom, but construction jobs did not stay ‘Essential’ for long once the Blocks were completed in each urban center.
Essential jobs paid the most lucrative wages, and included jobs like CRA administration and management, since the entire country would collapse without leadership. Security Specialists made essential pay, since enforcement guaranteed safety.
Rift workers were also included. Since the development of enhancements, rift work was no longer forced using a military-style draft. It had become considerably less of a death sentence, less like fighting a war and more like an actual job. The risk to life was still very real, but superhuman powers meant people were less afraid than before, and rift work became a sought-after career path. An activated stigma, social access and high pay? Who wouldn't at least consider it?
Eventually the trackers, trappers, and hunters who captured and killed dimensional beasts began to protest. Porters, who mostly mined ore, collected plant samples, or hauled carcasses weren’t taking on the same risks, they insisted. They didn’t deserve the pay or social standing of essential workers.
The CRA evidently agreed, because in early 2067 they downgraded all porters to the highest tier of the supplementary classification.
Supplementary was the second occupational class, which included CRA service and office workers, as well as equity auditors and monitors. The pay wasn’t great, but it was much better than being an auxiliary.
Auxiliary workers made the least through their compensation package. This was the food industry, transportation, production, and manufacturing. The ones who did manual labor, at the bottom of the auxiliary class, included the once-celebrated construction worker. It included everyone who worked what the CRA termed “a blue collar job”.
I’d been desperate to make it into the ranks of the rift workers, to use essential level pay to finally help out Helen and Sanguk when they needed it most, the way they’d helped me.
But the decision had been made before I’d stepped foot in the building. I’d failed.
I was a blue.
~}§{~
Seven flights of molded aluminum might as well have been a mountain to climb. I trudged slowly, aching all over. The stimulant had done the bare minimum, patching up the fractures in my bones so I could walk home under my own power. The pain was still intense.
Worse than the pain was the shame. I’d left so optimistic. They’d believed in me. They would go on believing in me, right up until the moment I opened the front door and told them I was a street sweeper. I’d be cleaning the gutters for possibly the rest of my life.
As if to rub salt in the wound, a crew of workers was slowly filtering down the stairs past me as I climbed, carrying furniture. They wore their trademark blue coveralls, and it was like looking into a crystal ball.
Uncle Sanguk sometimes said that, before the rifts, blue collar and trade jobs had been a fine and proud profession, one that paid good money, sometimes more than what college graduates made. Sure they hadn’t been filthy rich or bankers for the most part, and some assholes had treated them worse for the work they did, but being blue collar had been nothing to be ashamed of.
That might have been the case back then, but according to the CRA, nothing was more valuable or impressive than a degree from a university. Blues might have been admirable in decades long past, but that seemed small consolation to all the people who lived with the CRA’s boot on their neck.
I ducked a little to keep one of them from knocking me in the head with an armchair. It felt like there were snakes in my stomach. Helen would try her best to stay positive and Sanguk would fight to be neutral, out of pride and love for me. I knew them too well. That wasn’t going to make breaking it to them hurt any less.
Moving way off to the side, I let two guys carrying a couch get past me. Well, at least Mr. Meighen would be happy. I didn’t want to think about the crazy old man right then, but he had said he hoped I ended up a blue. Then again, he had always had a screw… loose…
Wait a second.
I knew that armchair. Rough pieces of log for armrests.
And the couch with the ducks carved into the back.
I sprinted up the stairs as fast as my battered body would allow, shouldering past movers and haulers like a man possessed.
Meighen.
I made it to the 7th floor porch, had to squeeze through a crowd of my neighbors who’d gathered outside. They were making things very tricky for both the movers and me. Why were they moving his things? What was going-
A steel grip caught me by the elbow, and pulled me into someone soft and warm. Sanguk. Helen. They stood in their doorway, hands on my shoulders, looking at me with nervous eyes. I’d just about barreled right past them to get to Mr. Meighen’s place. Questions were forming, but Uncle Sanguk gave me a warning glare. Not yet.
“Attention residents! The following is a public safety announcement.”
The crowd on the porch quieted and dispersed to their doors immediately. I could see the speaker and his megaphone. He was wearing a yellow safety vest and was flanked by two security specialists. An equity auditor.
“The previous resident of unit DL-03-7.39 has been found guilty of the following: destruction of surveillance equipment, possession of contrabanded items, possession of symbols of insurrection. Any future attempt at association with the guilty party may be taken as a sign of fraternization, punishable by the following penal codes…”
As the auditor went on listing bylaws, I saw two blues carrying out Mr. Meighen’s symbol of insurrection. I’d been to his apartment over a hundred times since we’d moved to Delwood. I’d never once seen it. He must have kept it hidden away somewhere.
It was a familiar flag, red on both ends and white in the middle, where a red maple leave was emblazoned, bright and fiery.
Helen held my hand and squeezed it as the flag was shoved into a black tote box and carried away. My neighbor was gone.
-)&(-
At some point during the rise of the CRA to power (and again, the timeline was unclear,) a group of Canadians had begun to call for public resistance to the new administration. They argued that the confiscation of property to build the Blocks had been a violation of personal rights, and claimed some owners had never received fair market value for their property. They opposed the security specialists and the cam stations, arguing that constant surveillance wouldn’t stop violent enforcement if all federal agents were immune to consequences.
I think the real flashpoint for the whole thing was the motor vehicle policy. The CRA wasn’t taking away everyone’s cars, exactly. What they were doing instead was offering to buy every resident’s car for good money, no questions asked, regardless of condition. Meanwhile, they also implemented a huge number of new fines, regulations, testing requirements, licencsing standards, and mandatory inspections for any private resident owning a motor vehicle.
This in effect made owning your own car, or ever a moped for that matter, an expensive, time-consuming and complicated hell of paperwork. When the alternative was a nice check from the CRA, most took the safe option.
The CRA argued that with the entire population living in city centers, and the wilds too dangerous for residents, cars were just an unnecessary safety hazard. Concerned Canadians said it wasn’t about what was necessary, it was about freedom vs control.
In November of 2066, a van with a Canadian flag flying from the back of it drove into a crowd of people, killing 6 and injuring 8. The CRA began its crackdowns on the dissidents immediately in response. There were over 300 arrests made across Canada.
The so-called “activists and patriots” were possessed of a dangerous nationalistic pride and had to be incarcerated and reeducated. The CRA claimed they found plans for more terror attacks involving vehicular violence and stabbing sprees, which led to the ban on household sharp implements.
Given that the radicals had begun to rally around the Canadian flag, it was clear that it was no longer an appropriate symbol of the administration and the country’s identity. The new approved banner kept the same colors. Red flag. White letters. C-R-A.
After the destruction of the terrorist cells, resistance against the CRA reached an all time low. Though crime would continue to fester in the back alleys and in the Blocks, organized efforts to undermine the CRA seemingly did not exist for years.
That was until I grew a pair, and decided to do something about it.