A suffocating gloom was ever present in the city of Nox. Since its founding, the city had been bereft of sun, stars, or even sky. The only beacons keeping the darkness at bay were the meticulously arranged lamps laid out alongside the grid work of the city streets. Cold concrete roads stretched into the void in every direction, fencing in the looming towers that leaked wane light from the windows of occupied apartments. Higher and higher those lonely glimpses of light rose until they disappeared into the inky infinity above.
Among the eighteen million souls that called Nox home were two young members of the laborer caste named Rathaniel Bright and Jared Kiline. The former was a tall, athletic man with close cropped dark hair and pale hazel eyes. The latter was a shorter man with a heavily muscled physique, brown eyes, and not a single hair on his shaved head. Neither man had ever set foot outside of Nox, having spent every moment of their lives swaddled in the suffocating embrace of their beloved city.
Likewise, the other laborer milling about in the quiet street had never been outside the city walls. Men and women alike, dressed in thin gray shirts and rugged gray coveralls, waited to hear the next task their fair city had laid out for them. A palpable air of anxiety covered the crowd like an acrid fog while the laborers huddled together in the pale pools of light cast by the coldlamps lining the street.
"I don't see Ovid anywhere," Jared remarked in a conspiratorial rumble that drew the attention of half the people milling about on the street. "It'll be the second shuffle he's missed. The analysts say our ONI should run out of juice after a single deka. If it's drained after 10 days, there's no way it could still be running after more than thirty." The agitation in Jared's baritone growl grew with each word.. "He could die, Rath. That dimwit could be starving to death. Right flickering now"
After listening to Jared's dire pronouncement, Rathaniel gave up his study of the administration building to shift his hazel eyes toward his friend. His calloused hand clapped Jared on the shoulder while he offered , what he hoped, was a reassuring look.
"Put a shade on it before someone important notices you, Jerry, " Rath admonished, though it was already too late to worry about people listening in. "I'm sure Ovie is fine. He could have gotten some sort of exemption. Or he could have gotten shuffled into the Peace Keepers. We would be the last ones to know if that happened."
Rathaniel's voice trailed off when he caught sight of movement at the top of the concrete stairs. A ripple went through the gathered crowd as the large double doors swung open on silent, well oiled, hinges. Craning his neck, Rath caught a glimpse of rust colored robes emerging from the entrance.
"Don't turn a light on and tell me it's sunny," grumbled Jared, as he and Rath moved with the rest of the crowd to form a line. "Even if he shuffled into a Peace Keeper assignment we would still see him out of uniform. He wouldn't completely disappear, Rathaniel. That's not how it works and you know it."
"Jer," Rath began, trying to divide his attention between the agitated man behind him and the Admins at the top of the stairs. "I know you're worried. I am too. But right now I'm more concerned about the shuffle splitting us up again. Or sending me off to the sewers. Or both." As he spoke, the first laborer's heavy boots hit the stairs in a series of rhythmic thumps. Moments later, while Rath's hazel eyes looked on in rapt attention, the young woman presented her ONI bracer to one of the waiting administrators.
The hum of conversation around the duo had increased to an anxious drone once the shuffle officially began. A steady stream of individuals mounted the stairs to address the administrators. Though the length of the interview varied from one person to the next, the outcome, so far, was always the same. Every interview ended with a new assignment and a recharged ONI. That outcome wasn't always guaranteed. Though Rath had never seen it, the administration caste had the authority to levy punitive reprimands or even outright remand someone into custody.
As, one by one, his fellow laborers finished their interviews and descended the steps to disappear into the greedy embrace of Sector E, Rath found himself idly dragging his left thumb over the smooth metal encircling his right wrist. What would happen if he didn't recharge his ONI? No sooner did the question cross his mind than he dislodged it with a shake of his head. Jared was right. Anyone without a functioning ONI would face a death that would be neither quick, nor clean.
"When was the last time you saw Ovie?," Rath asked, trying to keep his tone casual despite the stab of guilt he felt for being dismissive earlier. He was worried. Or, at least, mildly concerned. He wasn't trying to be self absorbed. He was just finding it difficult to focus beyond the billowing red robes and reflective masks of the administrators. The sight sent a familiar stab of resentment slashing through his chest like jagged icicle sinking into his heart. Why did they get to stand at the top?
Every member of the admin caste, from the lowest cleric all the way up to section chiefs, wore the same loose fitting polysynth robes. Red as freshly drawn blood, with a texture so fine that they looked wet, the robes covered every inch of an administrator's body. Black gloves covered their hands and their faces were obscured by a smooth, reflective mask that completed the caste uniform. Rath had no way of knowing if these two had been in charge of his last shuffle or if he’d never seen them before. Anonymity was the objective. It was a precept the admins shared with the political police. The Peace Keepers wore the same masks, but their uniforms eschewed robes in favor of a snuggly fitting ballistic fiber uniform colored in the blue hue of a deep bruise.
Lost in thought, Rath almost missed Jared's slow blink as his friend abandoned his meticulous inspection of the gray jumpsuit he wore. Clearly Jared had been distracted as well. The shorter man went so far as to physically gather his thoughts by scrubbing his shaved head with an open palm. "Uhm, Service Day before the last shuffle. He and I were both on street detail. I didn't think anything about it at the time, but he seemed distracted." Jer's lips pursed in consideration, matching the furrow of his dark eyebrows. The stocky laborer took his time choosing his words. The moment steeped in silence until he took a step forward to keep pace with the crowd. "Distracted isn't quite right. Subdued is better. Yeah. Subdued. You know Ovie. He'd dance with a shadow and then brag to you about it. But there was none of that. He was quiet."
"Ovie was quiet? ," Rath murmured, half to himself as he trudged forward to match the inexorable flow of the crowd. ‘Quiet’ was not the adjective he would use to describe his friend. Depending on his mood, and the company he was in, Rath’s opinion would range from ‘rambunctious’ to ‘pain in the ass.’ Over the years Ovid’s personality had worn on him, but Jared always seemed to shrug off Ovie’s behavior in the name of friendship. Perhaps there was a deep life lesson buried in that thought, like an uncut gem locked inside a vein of limestone, but Rath had more important things to consider than his fading loyalty. "Its been at least three shuffles since I worked with him. We were in the mines together. Toward the end, he was snappish with the rest of the crew, but you know Ovid. He's always had a mouth like a black toad."
"I remember," Rath continued, a distant look in his pale hazel eyes as he looked up into the infinite darkness above, "he traded every assignment away for digger duty. It was bizarre. Even when he drew a sorting job or a shift as a trax driver, he swapped out of it to go back into the caves with a helmet and a pick. The man is not shiny.”
"No one has ever accused you of being bright as a Helios tower either, Rath," Jared said, a withering scowl scrawled across his lips. "Ovid and Mary have been with us since the Dorms. I guess Marco's alright, and Krista, but we need to look out for each other. Nobody else is going to."
While they spoke, the steady march forward was coming to a close for the two friends. By now, there were only three people standing between Rath and the administrators. He could hear the admins' distorted voices and the buzz of their quantum charger as it renewed the workers’ ONI system. It was the same routine he’d gone through countless times since he’d graduated from the Dormitory. Yet no matter how many times he experienced it, he couldn’t help the tingle of unease that crept into his mind when he stepped up in front of the red robed figure. Like an ice cube slithering down his spine, Rathaniel’s anxiety was a visceral thing. The creeping dread he felt blossomed into a shiver when he looked into the admins mask only to see his own face reflected back at him. Despite being significantly taller, and bulkier, than the robed pair, some part of him ached to flee from their attention. Another part yearned to release the feral snarl buried in his throat and lash out like a caged animal. Ignoring both his base impulses, Rath took a steadying breath and held out his right arm to offer them his gleaming ONI bracer for diagnosis.
Without a word, the robed figure at Rathaniel’s right lifted a square datapad. In a well-practiced gesture the admin waved it over the offered bracer until it rang with a high-pitched chime. A heartbeat later, lights bloomed to life across the length of his bracer. Rath lacked the technical expertise to interpret the display of red, green, and yellow lights now dotting the silvery metal in an esoteric pattern. He did, however, take solace in the familiar glow of an arrangement that matched those he recognized from previous shuffles.
“Rathaniel Bright. Citizen 27-4C058F-03.” The admin’s voice had a monotone echo that lacked both inflection and emotion. The eerie voice would be less disturbing if he could see the speaker’s face instead of staring into the reflection of his own hazel eyes.
“Do you have any anomalies to report concerning the work, relations, or morale of your fellow citizens during the last shuffle?,” the droning voice continued, its ethereal quality lending weight to the rumors that the admins, dubbed ‘Blankets’ by the lower castes, were actually automatons pretending to be human. “It is my duty as a representative of Nox to remind you that the nanites of your ONI have recorded every part of your life since your last shuffle. Failure to disclose information regarding threats to our homeland could lead to nanite review and potential reprimand.”
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“I haven’t seen anything unusual,” Rathaniel said, forcing his thin, parched, lips into a disarming smile. Or, rather, his attempt at disarming. The oppressive silence that fell over the trio at the top of the stairs led Rath to believe that the gesture had failed spectacularly. No surprise considering subterfuge was not his strong suit. The resentment and anxiety churning through his mind likely made him even less convincing than usual.
For a moment the anger he felt boiled away his sense of trepidation. Heat flashed through him like the sudden, bright ignition of white phosphorus. Rath loathed the fact that every member of the lower castes lived in fear. What adult his age wouldn’t be terrified of the administrators? Or the Peace Keepers? He’d only known a handful of people that had been reported for rules infractions. Of those, all of them had been guilty of unlicensed fraternization, except one man who had been trading ration cubes for craft supplies. In the end, the crime itself didn’t seem to matter. Every single one of those citizens had disappeared into Nox's endless night.
Unaware, or uncaring, of Rath’s emotional instability, the administrator continued the interrogation after studying their datapad. “In the last deka have you neglected your work detail due to absence, inattention, ignorance, or malice?”
Rathaniel found it harder and harder to stare at his own reflection. “No,” he said, letting his eyes drift away from the admin’s mask to study the heavy double doors a few meters away. Like the rest of the building, there were no embellishments or decorations. Simple, brutal efficiency was the only architectural style in Nox. It made the already imposing portal appear more like the gates of a military fortress than the threshold of a bureaucratic office.
“In the last deka, have you imbibed more than your allotted rations and/or given any of your rations to another citizen for any reason?” The droning echo of his voice falling into the precise rhythm of a well practiced speech.
“No.”
“In the last deka, have you printed any messages not licensed and recognized as legitimate by the state?”
“No,” Rath said, his smile now showing too many teeth to be genuine.
“Have you caused a citizen physical harm through an act of violence or incompetence that was not reported to a Peace Keeper for adjudication?”
“No.”
“In the last deka, have you participated in sexual contact without administrative approval?”
“No,” Rath said, doing his best to ignore Jared's sudden bark of laughter. Somehow the bald man made it worse by trying to cover his amusement with a series of dry coughs.
Ignoring the byplay, the admin's modulated voice continued, “At any point in the last deka, including this interview, have you lied to an administrator or Peace Keeper through intention or omission?”
“No.”
With each question it became more and more difficult for Rath to keep the mental strain from his voice. Fortunately, the routine interview seemed to draw to a close before he lost his composure. With their head tilted, the administrator seemed to study Rathaniel’s bracer for a handful of hammering heartbeats before acknowledging his partner with a satisfied nod. Only then did the red robed figure to Rath’s left lift the seamless cylinder baton in their hand. This time a trio of baritone chimes trilled through the air and all the lights on his ONI winked out. The response of his bracer sent a tingling shiver that rushing down his arm before cascading through his entire body. A tidal wave of discomfort and euphoria crashed through him, drowning out every other thought and sensation he felt. It only lasted a split second, but the crush of tainted bliss from the organic nanites within him always left Rath struggling for breath in the wake of a recharge.
After a moment spent studying Rathaniel's reaction, the admin holding the charger said, “Your next assignment is in mining sector C, shaft 48. You will report for duties tomorrow, no later than the first work period.” When the second administrator began to speak Rath shoved aside the lingering vertigo of charge sickness. Their voice was the exact same modulated tone of their partner and had Rathaniel not seen the tilt of their head as they spoke, he’d have been unaware of which one was addressing him.
“May the beacon guide you, citizens,” Rath said, already feeling a measure of relief warm his clammy skin. With no reason to linger he pivoted on one heel to descend the stairs and make room for Jared.
“When was the last time you had contact with Citizen 24-4C188H-19?, Ovid Brakeman?,” the second admin said, seemingly as an afterthought, before Rathaniel could turn away.
While their voice held the same mechanized monotone as every other word from the admins, Rath was certain he detected an edge to the tone that had been absent till now. A different kind of vertigo swept through him as his escape halted before it’d even begun. Struggling to grasp the implications of that question, his mind spun from one thought to the other like the needle of a compass placed too close to a magnet. Did Ovie end up in state custody? Did someone else report seeing him in Ovid’s company in the past? Why would the state care about investigating his flickering idiot friend anyway?
“More than three shuffles ago, administrators,” Rath spoke with a casual confidence that he didn’t feel. It took all his restraint to avoid casting a glance over his shoulder to see what Jared’s reaction was to this line of questioning. Thankfully, his friend hadn’t broken rank and ran to the nearest alley. Not yet, at least.
“Do you know where Laborer Brakeman is now? Or do you know anyone who does? I am required to remind you that suspicion of falsehood is grounds for nanite decompiling.” Their body language was relaxed while they spoke, but Rath had no doubt their attention was entirely focused on him.
“I do not know where Laborer Brakeman is, administrators.” After a split second of consideration, his instinct told him to keep his answer as simple and concise as possible. He didn’t have anything to hide. Trying to elaborate seemed like a gateway to an even longer conversation that he would much prefer to avoid..
“Very well, Rathaniel Bright. The city state of Nox has issued a yellow alert for Ovid Brakeman. If you obtain information of his whereabouts you are required, by law, to report that information to the nearest Administration office. You may go, citizen.”
The pronouncement sent a knot of icy dread to twisting through the pit of his stomach. Rath was so stunned that he began to speak up in his friend’s defense before his better judgment snapped his rebellious mouth shut. He couldn’t help anyone if he ended the day in the custody of the political police.
As abruptly as he’d garnered their attention, the mirrored masks disregarded him as inconsequential. The sudden release left Rath reeling like a graduate, after throwing back their first mug of mushtein.
“May the beacon guide you, “ he managed to murmur before turning, for a second time, to descend the concrete stairs.
Once his back was to the robed duo, Rathaniel’s hazel eyes desperately sought to catch Jared’s gaze. But his friend had eyes only for the two administrators at the top of the stairs. The sight brought an inaudible curse to Rath’s lips as the distance between them grew by one step, after another, after another. What could he do? One scenario after another played itself out in his mind, each one discarded almost as quickly as it had been imagined. A better question was whether or not he actually needed to do anything at all? Jer hadn’t told him anything incriminating and he didn’t know where Ovie was. Assuming he was honest, that should keep him out of custody. Jared would be fine.
Try as he might, Rath couldn’t convince himself that it would be that simple. There was something about the resigned look on his friend’s face as they passed one another on the steps that caused him to grit his teeth in frustration. It had to be a mistake. Some sort of misunderstanding. Jared was a good man and a model citizen. He’d never had a single minor reprimand and was always the first to arrive for Service Day and the last to leave. The state wouldn’t punish an upstanding worker with a flimsy justification like guilt by association.
His mind churning, Rathaniel nearly stumbled when he reached the bottom of the stairs. Expecting another step, his heavy boot hit the street instead, causing him to lurch forward to avoid ending up in a sprawl across the pavement. It was then, after recovering from his clumsiness, that he noticed that a brittle silence had replaced the low murmur of conversation. A glance at the remaining line of laborers sent his hazel eyes flickering over a crowd who’s every face looked toward the top of the stairs. With a myriad of expressions, ranging from rapt interest to abject horror, the men and women wearing grey coveralls watched the drama unfold.
Rathaniel stopped, his eyes drifting from the crowd to the street in front of him that stretched onward as far as he could see. All he had to do was keep walking. One step at a time and he could disappear into the welcoming embrace of the darkness cloaking his city. In six short blocks he could catch a tram and return to his apartment in less time than he’d spent attending the shuffle. He could spend the rest of the evening tinkering with solder and circuitry, retire to his hammock, and report to shaft 48 in the morning like a proper citizen of Nox. Life, as he’d always known it, would go on. All that future would cost him was a few steps to walk away and the knowledge that he’d abandoned one of the only friends he’d ever known.
He couldn’t do it. Curiosity made him stop. Loyalty forced him to turn toward his friend. And his own seething anger at the unfairness of the world made him watch. There was a rage beginning to bloom in his heart like the first sparks of a forge being ignited. Rath's hazel eyes sough a target for that blistering heat. What he saw made his calloused hands clench into fists of unbridled rage. Quivering like a roughly plucked guitar string, he made no move to ascend the steps, but neither did he run away. Standing stock still, his hazel eyes watched the proceedings with an intensity that would etch the moment in his memory forever. His friend deserved as much.
The doors at the top of the stairs were already yawning open by the time Rath had turned. Two masked figures, dressed in the midnight blue uniforms of the Peace Keepers emerged, briskly moving to flank Jared. The laborer made no attempt to resist when the political police took hold of his arms and began leading him past the robed administrators. There was no stirring speech, no angry shouts, no rioting crowd. From the base of the steps where Rathaniel stood all the way to the doorway his friend vanished into, nary a word disturbed the shroud of silence that had been cast over the crowd. It was only after the doors closed with an audible thud that one of the administrator motioned to the next laborer in line. With the eagerness of a mouse offered a reprieve from a looming snake, the older man waiting in line moved forward and presented his ONI. In the blink of an eye, the world moved on.
Rathaniel stared at the doors where his friend had vanished for several long, uncomfortable moments. His hands clenched so hard that he could feel his fingernails biting into his palms. Rath's ears rang with the staccato rhythm of his heartbeat and the ragged sound of his breathing. His boiling rage was so incandescent that he imagined his ONI actually growing hot against his skin, like metal during a smelting.
It wasn’t until one of the admins tipped their head down to cast their mirrored gaze toward Rath that he finally turned away to stalk down the empty street. He was, after all, no more than a member of the labor caste. He had as much chance of changing his city as a pebble did of altering the course of a raging river. That indisputable fact did nothing to sate the seething flames scorching his psyche. Instead, he began to fixate on one idea, one goal that served as a balm to his singed soul.
If he couldn't change the system, the next best thing would be to burn it all down.