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Chasing Dust

By Kandrel

"Your tail is mine, pretty kitty! Bet you're looking forward to being public property for the next week."

Tor gazed into my eyes from mere inches away. It was always slightly unsettling staring back. Something about the goat's oddly rectangular pupils made me want to look away. There was a reason he was abnormally good at staring contests.

"Gotta win it first, hoofer. I'm looking forward to awarding you second place!" I shot back, smiling wide at him. We all have our unsettling features, and I saw Tor's eyes drop momentarily to my teeth. That's right, drink them in. Predator teeth. Meat-eater teeth. Even though we were long past the days of kill-and-consume, there was something buried deep in the psyche that made him pause.

"See you at the top, Damien." He whispered to me. Then his lips pressed to mine. Eyes closed, and heart flutter. We lost ourselves in the moment. But the loving reverie could only last so long, as the cat-calls and cheers of our crowd crashed over us. I stroked Tor's cheek softly, then turned to face destiny. The other three contestants had arrived, and the game was on.

Behind us was District 659. Neat, orderly, beautiful, and half the size it should have been. Ahead of us was the wreckage known locally as 792. It was a little joke, see? Above us, the supports of the old district 133 had collapsed, and half of the old disused district had fallen into ours, leaving the jagged wreckage that towered above us. 659 plus 133, see? Maybe it was a bad joke, but it was our district and we're laughing anyway.

Here was the crumbled ruins of our old habitation complex, only visible in a skeletal structure with the machinery of what must have been a factory toppled through it. There was an entertainment center, with a spire a hundred feet high as its only remaining recognizable feature. The further into 'ninety two' you went, the steeper and higher the wreckage climbed, until you were a mile high and staring down into our district and the buildings looked like toys. And there, at the peak of that rubble, our crowns laid.

Five of them, one each for us chasers. One of them was wrought of gold, heavy and satisfying for the winner. A week of pleasure and fame to the victor, first to reach the peak. Next to that, four circlets of silver, worn around the neck like a collar. Shame and humiliation to the four losers, who were the public playthings of the district for the next week. When you're feeling down and frustrated and pent up, just find a silver collar and give it a tug, and you've got someone to help you forget your Duty for at least a few hours, until someone else equally needy takes them away.

There was a certain joy to be found in wearing the silver. With only one winner and four losers, I'd spent my own share of weeks helping the district find its comfort and release. But better still was the gold. Wearing the gold is what fantasies are made of.

"Line up." Doc passed down the line of competitors for our pre-chase check-up. Gotta make sure it's fair. The skinny little marmoset stopped first in front of Hal, our horse contestant. He was fast on the straight-aways, but crap at the climb. Doc's tool pressed to Hal's wrist. A second later, beep! Green. Drug test passed, and Hal was ready to chase.

Then came Svetlana and Dory, a clever fox and a rat, respectively. Green and green. I held out my wrist for Doc. Its rounded tip pressed warmly against my fur. Beep-beep-beep. Red. Uh oh.

"You're low, Damien. You get a bad batch or something? Hold on, I got some on me." Doc dug into his pocket, then held a thin applicator up to me. I bent and bared my shoulder, where my orange pelt parted around a circular bald patch. Doc slapped the business end down on my skin, and second later I felt the Brawl sinking into my veins.

Brawl, our poison of choice. I'd topped up only an hour ago, but something must have been bad about the batch I had if I'd failed Doc's drug test. Comforting warmth filled me. I could feel the rippling under my fur as my muscles prepared. They didn't know what they were preparing for, but whatever it was, they'd be ready. Given its name, I could imagine what Brawl used to be known for, but we hadn't been like that for a long time. Sure, you could punch someone with your newly enhanced upper-body strength. But why would you want to do that, when you could literally lift yourself off the ground with just two fingers and a hand-hold barely large enough to fit your fingertips into. I'd been in fights, and the rush was never quite as nice as standing at the top of the world and gazing down into the district and feeling the breeze through your pelt.

I closed my eyes and just enjoyed the sensation as the Brawl took over. I felt fuzzy-headed for a second, but that dullness was a close personal friend. I knew it was temporary, and it was the start of something good. Moments later, my body joined my head in feeling light. That's because compared to the energy I was feeling, my body--all hundred kilos of it--weighed as a feather. I could lift. I could run. I could jump small buildings. Gravity devolved from a law to a mere suggestion. I was ready to chase.

Doc tapped my wrist again, and this time, beep! Green. While Doc continued down the line to Tor, the contestants upstream of me had already started to disrobe. This part wasn't specifically required, but the crowd loved it--and who was this for if not the crowd? Another round of cat-calls shrilled through my ears as Hal finished pulling his pants off. Just above the noise of the crowd I could hear the dull whine of camera drones. One of the intrusive little eye-bots hovered in front of the now-nude horse, and I could see its lens rotating to get a good shot before Hal good-naturedly swatted it away.

Someone touched my back, and I braced as a heavy bit of equipment snapped into place, connecting to surgically-implanted anchor-points in my shoulder-blades and spine. That'd be my wings--though they weren't actually wings. It was just broad membranes I could use to glide home from the peak, once a winner had been chosen.

A minute passed while everyone prepared. Five of us with muscles twitching with Brawl and ready for anything. Wings on our back, with colorful streamers to make us pretty in the sky as we drifted home, either in exultant glory or in rueful defeat. Svetlana reached across and caressed my arm. I smiled dumbly at her as the anxious nerves of the impending race made my head feel light and body jittery. She smiled back, with kind eyes and a caring smirk on her face, then, delicate and ladylike, she winked and lifted her middle finger towards me. Well, fuck you too, foxy. We'll see how you enjoy the next week with that silver around your neck.

Somewhere nearby the adjudicator lit the fuse on the starting detonation. An echoing explosion passed over the crowd in a pressure wave that thumped the chest and knocked the air out of my lungs. Instincts and muscle memory drove me forward. Chase!

I'd run a thousand times. Mostly in practice, learning the routes through the ruins. Finding secret pathways and vantage points. The first portion was easy--a horizontal foot-race through treacherous wrecks of old buildings. Tor preferred the plains: the old thoroughfare where little damage had been done and where the hoofers could run at speed. It wasn't a direct shot, though, and I preferred the forest. My path was more direct, but it wound through old houses and the wreck of the now-dead factory. The way was treacherous, but cat reflexes boosted by Brawl meant I loped almost as fast as I could run.

Nearby I caught a flash of red. That'd be Svetlana. The vixen was as agile as I was, and we traded lead back and forth as we slithered through the skeletal remains of our district's past. I could see her in front of me in little flashes of tail. She looked good. If--no, when--I claimed the golden crown, maybe I'd tug her collar for a night. I pulled ahead, and she let out a cackle. I knew what she was feeling. Even though all of us were chasing a win, just the act of chasing itself was a reward. It felt good to vault from collapsed floor to dilapidated balcony to the next rooftop. We ran so fast I could feel the wind in my whiskers.

Far ahead and above, the spire of '92 gleamed in the red glow of pre-sunset. Reflections painted the metallic mountain gold, even though I knew it was dull, corroded chrome. I vaguely remembered what it looked like before, years ago before the district above fell in. A lot of crashes--our impromptu and temporary homes--had been built up against the district support, climbing up into the air. There'd been life and laughter there, filled with all the new faces of freshes not long from the worker production vats where they'd been hatched. When we were first dropped out into the district, naked and naive, we'd be shown to our first crash. There we'd stay, eager for the day when someone with a room closer to the district center was dusted and room opened for us. Or, alternatively, when someone older took a liking to us and instead of moving into a room we moved into a bed.

I did the latter, though I can't for the life of me remember who it'd been. They were dust, and minds shouldn't hold onto the past. Were they a big cat like me? Tiger stripes to match my own? Or maybe they'd been a dog, loyal and willing and eternally excited. It doesn't matter now, so I'd forgotten. Minds work so much better in the present. In the now, and now the routes were converging. Svetlana had pulled ahead while I was daydreaming, but her tail was no more than an arm's reach in front of me. Tor and Hal were closing in from the left, their superior speed having caught them up from their longer route. Next came the stairway.

We call it a stairway, but it wasn't meant for any of our feet to climb. Here, the rooftops of crash sloped up to the next crash, forming steps meant for a giant. Here, the Brawl started to show its use. Grab a ledge with one arm and propel yourself upwards far enough to catch the next. Dory joined the four of us here, balancing on his rail. He'd trusted in his balance, following an old sled-track no wider than his foot and half a mile long. Flatter than my trail, and more direct than Tor's, if you've got the balance to run it. The five of us leapt from rooftop to wreckage to roof. Dory was taunting us from ahead. Stupid rat. He wasted his breath on shouting. That cost him the lead. Svetlana held it for a few seconds, before my superior reach let me skip a step, and I pulled to the front.

This far up from the district floor the wind had begun to pick up. Clouds of rust and dust blotted out our destination. Hah. Some of the freshers thought that's what we meant by chasing dust. They'll learn. The first time their best friend takes a bad step and--poof. They're dust. We're all just dust. Living, walking, talking, eating, pissing, fucking dust. It's amazing how much we don't look it, with all our fur and bright eyes and eager faces. But at the end when our luck runs out, back to dust we go. The body devours itself in a few seconds of terrible cannibalism, and then we're just an indistinct cloud, headed for the closest recycling vent. And then in the minds of all our previous friends and lovers, dust. We crumple up and blow away, like we were never there. That's what we're chasing. A hundred--no, a thousand--old friends and enemies and lovers whose crashes were downwind of the district center, all in one unlucky evening. Metal folded with a sound so torturous that my ears had never been the same since, and in a minute of chaos, half of us were dust. None of us could remember it clearly. Forgetting that many friends in one night took something else with it, and it took a long time for any of us to be alright.

So that's what we were chasing. We were chasing the dust of all our old friends, whoever they'd been. We were chasing the memories that had fled our grasp years ago, leaving only a vague memory that we'd been cherished--that we'd been loved. We were chasing the dust of who we'd used to be.

Damn all those memories, they'd lost me the lead. Tor was ahead of me. I could see the split of his hooves with each of his titanic leaps from rooftop to the next. He laughed as he leapt, and Hal pulled up close. All of us were jumping in tandem, even if the two of them were a whole leap ahead of the rest of us. I caught the glimmer of one of the drones, circling around us as we chased the dream of a gold crown. Hope they were getting a good view from down there. I looked up and saw Tor from his best side as he pulled himself up for another leap. No matter how good a view they were getting down there, the view from up here was better.

Temperature dropped as we ascended, but the warmth of Brawl made it little more than the buzzing of gnats at my ears. I was distantly aware that my fingers were a bit chilly, but it disappeared into the burn of exertion as we approached the last part of the chase: the climb.

The climb, where the casual stopped and the professionals rose. Up to now, anyone with a good few hours and a will to see the district from a different angle could have easily joined us. Ahead, though, nothing but the right gear would allow you past. The right gear, or veins full of Brawl. The five of us were so close that as we approached the climb, we all stopped for a moment.

"Think you're feeling the gold on your head already, wiggle-tail?" Hal taunted me. He'd given me that nickname when I'd been wearing the silver collar one unlucky week. I didn't think my tail wiggled, but I hadn't been all there by that point, and given his position at the time he would be the expert.

"You know it. Why, hoping I'll tug your collar this week?" I responded. Next to me, Svetlana let out one of her breezy laughs.

"Proud cat! You haven't won yet." Hal smirked, but he knew the score. Both of us knew I had the advantage, at least, and even if it wasn't me, it wasn't going to be Hal. It was far from over, though. One wrong grab from me, or a spectacular showing from any of the rest of them, and I'd be in silver. It'd happened before.

Tor had been the last to catch up. It was a race, of course, but we'd been so close that it'd be a shame not to give the crowd below a moment to update their bets. I turned to waggle my tongue at him. It was all for the crowd's pleasure, but far from ignoring the jibe, the goat's hand caught mine and pulled me into another kiss. I admit, I melted a little. He was such a good kisser, and if we hadn't been on a chase... Well...

"What was that for?" I asked as I caught my breath.

Tor winked. "Distraction."

Then he was on the wall, along with the other three chasers, all using the opportunity to get a lead on me.

"Bastard!" I swore, then leapt up to the first handhold of the climb. It was fair, though. Hal was sunk--he was never quite as good at the climb as the rest of us were. Svetlana would be second last--she had assets that would get in the way. Tor and Dory would fight over second. Both of them were excellent climbers. But I was the best. Even with a five second delay from 'distraction' I had the upper hand. They could climb, but only Hal had the sheer power that I did, and he was clumsy. I caught a handhold, and the Brawl in my muscles propelled me upwards. I flew.

At the base of the climb, we were doused in twilight. The sun had sunk below the artificial horizon of what we called the Wall. Here and there, the golden light shone through holes in the wreckage, creating beams of rusty sunset in the dust. Here and there above me I caught Svetlana's russet fur momentarily illuminated in a wayward strobe, and Tor's normal gray turned a syrupy yellow by the light. We bounded towards the top, a few meters higher with each pull of the arm.

I passed Hal first, as I'd expected. Even though he was giving it his all, he'd already accepted his defeat. The weeks where he couldn't pull ahead on the straight away would never been his victory. Dory was next--the clever rat's scampering just couldn't propel him fast enough even with Brawl's super-heroic speed. Svetlana was second--and soon third. Her tail bobbed in the rusty sunlight as she bounced, only her body's shape and thick first adding drag to her ascent.

Far ahead of the pack was Tor. The goat was on a tear today. He'd only just barely fit fingers to a twisted beam peeking from the rubble before a sharp tug propelled him further up. As fast as I was climbing to catch him, he was rising out of my reach. I drank in the sight of him bounding through the air. He was graceful in motion, arms and legs pedaling for balance as he reached for the next, and then the next.

The two of us had been together even before the district had fallen. We'd seen each other through that horrible night, and so many nights since. And yet, even after years of familiarity with the old goat, the way he moved could still take my breath away. He was gorgeous. He was a work of art.

As we approached the pinnacle of the chase, the sun finally rose back above the Wall, and momentarily Tor was illuminated in a brilliant glare. He clung to a dilapidated wall, muscles bunching for his next leap. And in that moment, the wall failed. An unseen crack in the railing that secured the piece of wreckage together split soundlessly. The bunched muscles of Tor's arms yanked, and with the supernatural power of a Brawl-soaked chaser, the whole second of wall fell away. Rather than pulling him upwards, the motion sent him upwards and outwards, propelling him away from the wall at an awkward angle.

I heard little more than a startled 'baa' from Tor as he shot past me. I reached out for him, and as he tumbled head over heel, we barely brushed fingers. And then he was past. Below, our fellow chasers paused in their ascent, too, to reach. Even though they were meters away, far past where they could grab hold, they made the effort.

A second later, Tor's membranous 'wings' shot out, covering the space between his arms and legs. With the way his body spun, it did little to arrest his fall. Even if he could have stabilized his fall, the wings take a good ten or fifteen seconds to slow your descent, and he was only three seconds away from the base of the climb. I saw him impact. His body crumpled in the depths of what had once been a luxurious crash. He convulsed once. Then his body fell in on itself, withering and twisting away until nothing was left. Nothing but dust.

Below me, I saw the rest of the chasers clutch themselves to the Wall. What came next was always a bit uncomfortable. I knew it was coming. I braced for it. But no amount of preparation is ever enough. It was my own dust--the microscopic little robots that built us and maintained us and organized our life--erasing Tor from my brain. I could feel it start as a fizzling at the back of my head. Tor was gone. Tor was dust. He'd been everything to me for as long as I could remember, and I didn't want to let him go.

Memory is a fickle beast. I grasped at it, but it fell through my fingers like sand. Tor's smile faded. His bright eyes--creepy and rectangular as they were--melted into a gentle reminder that there'd been someone there, once. The specifics burned away, leaving only the sensation that I'd been loved.

But he was dust now, and I was still alive. Still alive and clutching to the Wall. They were gone, and I'd be happier if I wasn't always thinking about them. Wouldn't it be easier to let them go?

Were these even my own thoughts?

I clutched myself to the wall. No matter what had happened, I was still a chaser. I was still mid-chase, and I had a gold crown to win. The back of my head was still fluttering away, as if I'd just recovered from a long headache. I'd had worse. Even the feel of Brawl in my blood was urging me onward, and I was ready to climb. Hand-over-hand, I shot skyward. Below me, Svetlana was closing, but no. Sorry, vixen. Not today!

I crested the peak, and there on our makeshift throne was the golden crown. Drones buzzed around me, and I struck a pose for the crowd. There'd be a party tonight--just look for my place! Damien, your king of the chase! I grabbed the crown and stuck it over my ears at a jaunty angle. Click-click-click, went the drones! That's right, get your eye-full right here!

When Svetlana pulled herself over the lip, her eyes were sad. For a moment, it threw me off my game.

"Don't look so down, vixen! There's still a silver collar here for you!" I taunted. Wordlessly, she approached, and without complaint she donned one of the silver collars. What was I missing? What had happened? She laid a hand on my shoulder.

Dory and Hal crested the peak. Hal took his collar with dignity, but Dory was downcast, just like the fox. Then I realized there was a fourth silver collar, and no one here to claim it. Ah, that'd explain the long faces. Everyone in the districts handled it differently. Had they meant something? It was just a blur, now. I knew I was fast to forget--faster than most. That was fine with me--who wants all that old baggage hanging around anyway?

Whoever they were, whatever they'd been, I hoped they'd been loved. I posed once more for the cameras and extended my 'wings'. In brilliant sunset, the four of us launched ourselves into the sky. Adorned with the crown--my rightful reward--I turned my back on the climb and left the chase behind.