Rathaniel Bright had a dream. In it, he roamed the streets of Nox in search of something that he felt was right around the corner but never quite managed to find. The rigorous grid work of his home was a maze of curved roads and abrupt dead ends. A sinister red glow blanketed the entire world. Non-Euclidean streets curled around buildings that sprouted from the ground like vegetables in an overcrowded garden. Over and over again, Rath raced through the corridors of his dreamscape. He searched, in vain, while fleeing from a dark, amorphous shape that hounded his steps through the city. After each dream he awoke, bathed in sweat and gasping for breath. Wide eyed and desperate, he fought back the sensation of suffocating beneath cloud of black dust.
Safe in the wane light of his room, the details of the dream slipped away from him like water through an open palm. Only the sound of the cloud as it approached remained long after he woke. It was a buzzing, vibrating sound, like the world’s largest mag-lift descending to ferry him into oblivion.
Rath decided to give up on sleep after the third time he jerked himself awake so violently that he almost spilled out of his hammock. Struggling for breath, Rathaniel’s eyes darted to each corner of the room in search of the vibrating cloud that would squeeze the life from him again. It was only after a second hurried inspection that he could admit he was alone in his spartan apartment. Still exhausted, he swung himself from the hammock and stumbled into the sonic shower to rid himself of the clammy sweat clinging to his bare skin.
After slipping into a clean uniform, Rathaniel checked the time on his ONI. It was earlier than he would usually leave to make the trek to the Sector C mines, but he was too restless to stay in his apartment. The tall laborer drug a comb through his short black hair, slid into his heavy boots, and stepped out into the hallway. Unlike most mornings, Rath was eager to leave his hammock behind.
The day cycle in Nox was as arbitrary as it was esoteric. As with everywhere in the Sunless Lands, there was no sun, stars, or sky to mark the passage from one day to the next. Instead, the thirty hour day consisted of two fifteen hour allotments that kept the city thriving at all times. The beginning and end of those half day allotments, called quindecim, were the busiest times in the city. That was when the shifts changed from one group of citizens to the next.
Rathaniel was in no hurry as he strolled down the street toward the tram terminal. The odd intuition that someone was watching tempted him to hasten his steps. He managed to disregard the paranoia as the manifestation of an overactive, and over stressed, mind. Instead, he kept to his unhurried pace and tried to use the time alone to quell the anxiety plaguing him.
Since Rath was on his way to the mines, he was among the first wave sleepy of citizens trudging along the street. Well on his way to the tram, he saw several of his fellow commuters slow their steps only to set off again at a brisk pace. Half a block later, Rath saw the reason why and came to a stop to study what he saw painted across the drab concrete.
Illuminated by the coldlight glow of a street lamp, Rath saw a bold graffiti sketch scrawled across an otherwise nondescript wall. He'd seen graffiti before. Even this particular tag. It was a small black circle superimposed on a larger yellow one. Only a sliver yellow remained, outlining the border of the black circle like a halo of light. Rathaniel had never seen a sun, or any moons, but he knew what the crude drawing represented. An eclipse. It was a ghost story told to children in the Dormitories. Malcontent and maladjusted, the worst of the city gathered around the mark of Eclipse like flies around a compost heap. It was all nonsense to Rath. He'd never met anyone who claimed to be some kind of radical revolutionary. It was unusual to see graffiti like this on a main avenue but that didn't make it any more significant than the sketches in the back alleys. He would bet good credits that the mastermind behind this drawing was some young laborer blowing off steam at a bad shuffle or the denial of a cohabitation license. It might seem scandalous, but, in the end, it was a harmless bit of anarchy.
Feeling eyes upon him again, Rath turned from the graffiti and picked up the pace toward the tram. He had quite a trip ahead of him, after all. Like the laborers bound for the aquifer, or the metal works, he would have one of the longest commutes of the day. The lucky ones who were working more centralized jobs, like the vertical farms or even the sewers, were still tucked away in their hammocks. A jagged pang of jealousy sliced through him, but the memories of his disturbing dreams immediately quashed that feeling. As he climbed the stairs to the well lit terminal, he admitted to himself that he was happy to have an excuse to leave the apartment early.
His early departure also gave him time to consider the next potential pitfall in his day. A beautiful, red haired pitfall with green eyes and a mischievous smile. Yesterday had been too eventful to dwell on Analyst Abigail Summers, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten the self-assured young woman. Far from it, he found himself agonizing over her invitation while he took his place in line among the other gray clad laborers. Rathaniel wanted to believe that Abigail’s interest was genuine. No one could spend much time around Mary and Marco without wishing they had the kind of relationship the power couple enjoyed. Unfortunately, every time Abigail crossed his mind a voice, that sounded alarmingly like Mary’s, chided him for his naivety. Abigail’s coincidental arrival and her questions about the Laborer shuffle made him skeptical of her sincerity. It felt like she had an ulterior motive, but Rath couldn’t put his finger on what it could be. In the end, as the tram slowed to a stop alongside the crowded terminal, Rath decided he couldn’t get involved with anyone right now. On any level. Who knew when his next conversation with a Peace Keeper might take place. Who knew how it would go, or who it would affect. Abigail deserved to be more than just another name on his list of known associates. No matter how low Mary’s opinion of her may be.
When the lights above the steel platform shifted from red to green, Rathaniel shook himself out of his introspection. Once again he felt eyes watching him, but the inexorable press of the crowd around forced him to shuffle toward the waiting tram. He tried to scan the terminal, but the jostling crowd made it impossible to tell if anyone was watching him with more than a casual interest. After the Peace Keeper followed him yesterday, it was growing more and more difficult to convince himself that his misgivings were a figment of his imagination. Rath could only hope that his paranoia was a holdover from his sleepless night.
The gleaming silver car he stepped into was far more crowded than the one he’d taken home from the shuffle. A quick glance showed that it was standing room only inside the tram. While not unheard of, was an unpleasant addition to what had already been an unpleasant trip. He tried to thread his way deeper into the crowd, but after a few scowls and one cranky woman drawing back her fist, he gave up getting any further away from the door. With an apologetic smile, he turned to offer a helpless shrug to the person behind him. The man shot Rathaniel a thunderous frown, but after a quick study of Rath’s broad shouldered and athletic frame, he decided to leg it toward a car further down the platform. Rath wished him the best as he turned his back toward the door.
Several awkward minutes passed then with Rathaniel standing less than two steps inside the threshold of the door. When the portal hissed shut, he found himself thanking the light for the first piece of good luck he’d had since arriving at his apartment last night. Rath dared to hope that his luck was making a turn for the better.
His positive outlook proved to be short-lived. The sound of the tram engaging reminded him of the death cloud that had stalked him through his dreams. The sound was so eerily similar that he felt a cold sweat across his shoulders. The moment passed once the tram lurched forward and the vibrating hum quieted to near silence. His lingering anxiety spiked again when the people beside him began to shift and press further up the aisle despite the agitated protests from those standing ahead. At that moment, a childish part of Rathaniel truly believed the black dust had followed him through the city to attack when he had nowhere to run. Unable to contain his curiosity, Rathaniel tuned his head, his face white as a recreation uniform. The tall laborer's pale hazel eyes settled on the smooth, reflective mask of a Peace Keeper moving to stand in the aisle behind him. Rath stifled a groan at the sight of a very different kind of monster than the one he'd been expecting.
Rathaniel despised the shocked expression he saw reflected by the Keeper’s mask. Despite everything he’d gone through yesterday, he’d let thoughts of pretty analysts and scary dreams distract him from actual danger. You didn't have to delve into the world of frightening dreams to find powerful enemies that could crush you. Those kinds of monsters walked the concrete streets of Nox in blue uniforms the color of a deep bruise. His heart thundered like a drop hammer echoing through a smokey foundry. How could he have missed the blue uniform? Now he knew why the people in the car had been so tense when he’d stepped inside.
“May I have your attention,” the Keeper said in their modulated voice. “By order of the City of Nox, I have come to interview person of interest about a recent crime. In the interest of containing any information that comes to light, I will be deploying an auditory suppression field. There is no need for alarm,” the law enforcer continued, “your hearing will return to normal. Any nausea you feel will fade with time. May the beacon guide you all.”
Most of the tram’s occupants were ignoring the Keeper and the poor laborer that was the target of their attention. Rathaniel could see the anger and resentment written upon the faces of the crowd around him. A wave of irritation radiated through the people like the ripple of a pond when a stone breaks its smooth surface. For a moment Rathaniel thought his frustration, along with some of the others, might boil over into aggressive action. He thought wrong.
Rathaniel was watching the Keeper when they tapped out a short sequence on their datapad. A wave of vertigo immediately rushed through him, causing him to sway on his feet. He wasn’t the only one struggling to maintain his balance. All across the car he could see laborers slumping in their seats, clawing at a rail, a seat, or each other, to keep themselves upright. The Keeper ignored the chaos they’d wrought and turned back to address Rathaniel. Their head bobbed, but if they spoke Rath heard not a word of it. Like the rest of the passengers on the tram, Rath didn’t hear anything at all. The nanites in his body had no choice but to follow a directive issued from someone with administrator privileges. In the blink of an eye, the very system that helped keep him alive had completely deprived him of his hearing.
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Still reeling from the nanite induced vertigo, Rath saw the Keeper tap out a series of keystrokes on his datapad again. Rath flinched when a wave of sound filled his world once more. He could now hear everything from angry mutters to soft sobs. A moment later the modulated voice of the Keeper joined the cacophony of misery.
“Rathaniel Bright. The Eternal Council believes that you have important information regarding the disappearance of Ovid Brakeman. Are you willing to discuss the details here or should I remand you into custody?”
“If I knew anything, I’d have told the administrators at the shuffle yesterday.” Rathaniel spat the words with more emotion than he’d intended. The rage he’d worked so hard to smother yesterday blossomed into a roaring inferno from the embers still smoldering in the pit of his stomach. The boiling heat stiffened his spine and twisted his lips into a feral snarl. Rath was aware that he was losing himself in the storm of emotion swirling through him. That same piece of his consciousness was also aware that he no longer cared about self control.
“There was a Keeper following me yesterday. If your caste thought I knew something, why didn’t he interrogate me?,” Rathaniel growled, gesturing curtly toward the miserable crowd around them. “At least then this injustice could have happened on an empty street instead of a packed tram.”
“Falsehoods about the actions of the Peace Keepers will not help you, Laborer Bright.” Though their mirrored mask made it impossible to discern any facial expressions, the way they tilted their head to one side while they studied Rathaniel spoke volumes. “I am the first law enforcement official to approach you since the shuffle.”
Rath’s pale hazel eyes closed in a slow blink, the tall man rocking back as if the Keeper’s words had physically struck him. He’d expected any number of responses, but disbelief hadn’t been on the list. If the law enforcer hadn’t followed Rath to the edges of the city to watch him then what had they been doing? It was all but guaranteed that a few of the laborers living in building four had shuffled into the law enforcement caste, at some point. More than likely, there were some secretly operating as Keepers right now. The catch was that those very same operatives would never be caught in uniform that close to the apartments they lived in. There were detention facilities throughout the inner city where caste members swapped in and out of the dark blue Keeper uniforms. The secrecy within that political police was such that even the Keepers themselves never knew the name or caste of their coworkers. The foundation of the law enforcement caste was the precept that any person in the city could be working to exert , and inform, the will of Nox. Someone breaking that protocol and intentionally leaking their identity would be tantamount to treason.
The thought of a Peace Keeper doing unsanctioned work was enough of a shock to quell some of his blistering anger. Who knew what sort of problems a rogue Keeper could cause? Rathaniel was trying to unravel that tangled knot of an idea when a scuffle in the crowd caught his attention. Before he could investigate that disturbance, the sound of the Keeper tapping at his datapad brought Rath's attention back to the figure in blue.
“I’m telling you, I was followed for the entire trip home. From the minute I set foot on the tram until I returned to my apartment.” Rath combed his fingers through his dark hair as he spoke in a clipped, aggressive tone. “By the depthless dark, check the security footage. That should be simple enough. I bet you can even have the feed relayed into your datapad right now.”
The Keeper remained focused on their datapad while they replied, “Your statement has been entered into the record, citizen.” The modulated monotone voice continued as their gloved fingers danced across the datapad’s interface. “The presence of a surveillance officer yesterday, if there actually was one, is irrelevant to the interview today. You will now answer this state inquiry to my satisfaction or I will take you into custody for nanite retrieval.”
“Jared Kline’s nanite review has proven that he witnessed Ovid Brakeman…,” The Keeper trailed off as they turned toward the growing commotion in the crowd. No sooner had they turned than a short, blonde man got expelled from the crowd. The familiar figure approached the Keeper with a harsh light of determination gleaming in his cold blue eyes. Dexter’s lurching steps came to a halt an arms length from where a slack jawed Rathaniel stood next to the law enforcer.
“You’re talking about Jared, right! And Ovid! Give my hearing back to me and I’ll tell you everything you want to know!,” Dexter screamed toward the mirrored mask of the Keeper, one hand rubbing his temple while the other curled its fingers into a death grip around the rail above.
“Dexter,” Rathaniel began, forgetting that the other man had been stricken deaf by the law enforcer. “You don’t want to be involved in this.” Rath reached out to put a steadying hand on Dexter’s shoulder only for the smaller man to shrug away from his touch.
“Don’t touch me, Rat boy. I knew you'd lead me straight to the Keepers if I followed you,” the blonde laborer sneered past lips twisted into a snarl. Dexter’s narrowed eyes swept over Rathaniel in an open threat before his attention returned to the Keeper. “I know more about Ovid than this piece of bat shit. I’m the one you want to talk to.”
The Keeper’s mirrored mask remained still for several moments while he regarded the two men. It wasn’t until he saw Rath’s jaw clench to match the curling of his fingers into a fist that the Keeper tapped in a new set of commands on his datapad. The effect on Dexter was instantaneous. One moment the man was glaring at Rathaniel from a queasy slouch. In the next, Dexter was rising to his full height with his glare replaced by a triumphant smirk.
“Now, Dexter Moss,” the law enforcer began, “tell me why your information is more valuable than Laborer Bright’s? For that matter, why shouldn’t I bring you both into custody?”
“Rat boy here doesn’t know anything.” Dexter’s voice dripped with confidence. He began to fastidiously straighten the gray coveralls he wore while he addressed the masked Keeper. “It's been several mensis since he’s even seen Ovid. Last night he admitted he didn’t know what Ovid had been doing. But I know exactly what that fungus for brains has been up to.”
“What are you doing, Dexter?,” Rath asked, a strained note entering his voice. It felt like he was seeing an accident happen from across the foundry floor when there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“I’m making a deal. They have a problem that I can help them with,” Dexter said, not bothering to turn back and face the taller laborer. The blonde man crossed his arms while he continued, his bicep flexing rhythmically while he spoke. “I figure if I help them with their trouble they can help me with mine."
“I am an agent of Nox. You have an obligation as a citizen to render whatever aid I require of you.” The Keeper’s droning voice held no anger, or amusement. It was the empty voice of imminent authority. “It is presumptuous of you to believe that I have any motivation to ‘help’ you with anything.”
“Sure. You could take me into custody and drag me to one of your safe houses. You could even take Rat boy too, for all the good it would do you.” Dexter said, gesturing over his shoulder with an extended thumb. “But that’s a ton of hassle. Instead, if you help me get one little thing you can have the cooperation of the guy who knows more than any other citizen in the city. The choice seems pretty simple to me, Keeper.”
Rathaniel was so focused on the conversation that he barely noticed the lights change inside the tram to indicate the approaching stop. There were so many conflicting emotions surging through him that he didn’t know how to feel about the tangent this encounter had taken. He hated the part of himself that felt relieved that the Keeper’s attention was focused on someone else. He also felt the simmering rage begin to bubble up inside him again while he listened to what Dexter had to say.
“Dexter, you don’t have to do this. Think about Krista. You don’t want to drag her into the middle of whatever this is.” Rath tried again, failing spectacularly in his attempt to restrain the irritation that lent a warning growl to his voice.
“Krista is exactly what I’m thinking about,” the other man hissed, whirling around to face Rathaniel as the tram came to a stop. “You don’t know me, Rat boy.” One of his arms rose, tapping against Rath’s broad chest to punctuate each word he spoke “Quit talking like you do or I’ll introduce you to a side of me that you do not want to meet.”
“Citizens, you are wasting the state’s time with your disagreement.” Rath could swear he heard a jagged note of disdain in the Keepers voice despite its modulated monotone. The datapad rose once again, sending a wave of palpable relief ricocheting through the car after the Keeper returned hearing and balance to everyone on the tram. “You may consider your interview suspended, Laborer Bright. If necessary, someone from my caste will contact you after Laborer Moss is debriefed. May the beacon guide you.”
The doors to the car slid open with a faint hiss as the Keeper dismissed Rathaniel. With his back to one set of the doors, Rath started to move out of the way until he realized no one was willing to get close enough to the Keeper to use that exit. Instead the group of woozy citizens surged as one toward the other doors. Like a school of gray fish cutting through still water, the crowd rushed toward the other portals. There was no way so many laborers would need to disembark in the Analyst block. They were fleeing the Keeper and the authority they wielded. Rath couldn’t blame them.
Rathaniel stood still, splitting his attention between the law enforcer’s mirrored mask and the tight-eyed glare Dexter was casting his way. There had to be some way to salvage this. If he couldn’t stop Dexter from talking to the Keeper, maybe he could, at least, find out what Dexter knew. Or what he wanted so much that he was willing to betray their friends.
Rath waited until the last of his fellow citizens stumbled out onto the waiting terminal before he spoke. “Look, this is all a misunderstanding. I don’t know what Ovid did, but…”
That was as far as Rathaniel made it before he felt a hard tug on the back of his coveralls. An embarrassing yelp leapt from his lips as his arms pinwheeled to try and maintain his balance when he stumbled backwards through the door. Despite his best efforts, Rath’s backside fell to the cold steel platform of the terminal, leaving him to land in a graceless sprawl. Wincing at the throb of pain in his hip, Rath had just enough time to lever himself onto an elbow before the tram door slid shut. With an electric hum, so similar to the black cloud in his dreams, the tram shot forward carrying Dexter, the Keeper, and their conversation away.
Still sprawled across the platform, he watched, in a daze, as the tram slid by for several heartbeats. Eventually, his pale hazel eyes took the time to look for what, or who, had pulled him off the tram. The sight of a certain red haired analyst striking her hands together as if she were knocking the dust from her slender fingers pulled a groan from his lips.
Abigail Summers looked down at him, closing one twinkling emerald eye in a playful wink.
“How was that for a rescue?,” She purred, offering him her hand with a smile that shone as bright as a Helios tower.