Compliancy.2
12:40 -894th
Solar Rotation. 'Tuesday'
Smog drifts like
oil over water. A swirling mass of poison that remains as inescapable as it is
oppressive. It was heavy this morning, as if it had mass, but at the same time
it felt dry, cloying. It tugged at a boys clothes, and pressed against his
face, searching for a way past a thin synthetic mask he wore to separate him
from the hateful wind.
A faint wavering
blue light pierced the thick, toxic air. It flickered in front of the young boy
as he carried his satchel, footsteps echoing down an empty, forgotten street
lined with stoic grey micro houses, each one reflecting the last down to the
minutest detail.
It was morning.
12:48 A.M. the start of the 24-hour 'Day-cycle' in a 48-hour long day on a
planet that could be considered long since dead.
It was 2nd cycle.
Or 'Tuesday' as the USCA Citizen Standard Primer would require one to say.
What was
'Tuesday?' he briefly wondered. To him, it was the second full planetary
revolution in a set of seven that marked the passage of a seven-day week.
Saying 2nd cycle always seemed clearer, more coherent you could say. No need to
name each unit in a repeating pattern.
Having an
individual cycle have it's own name never seemed logical to him, and because of
that, it annoyed him. He didn't want to be told to refer to a day that bore no
significant difference to any other.
The Boy did as he
always would do when frustrated, or tired. He would remember change. He would
dream, or at least an illusion of dreaming that his drug-sustained existence
would minutely allow. He would think of the rare and hidden night sky that the
haze occluded from the silent populace below.
D-81502706TR was
his designation. He had a name. Although it was unneeded, he was referred to,
as 'Daniel'.
The boy glanced
down at the palm of his four-fingered left 'hand', and a blue screen faded into
existence, the flickering screen showing his daily schedule.
He gave his
four-fingered metal prosthetic a shake and the screen vanished. He picked up
his pace. He was going to be late.
Like every other
'Alliance Citizen-Worker Daniel TR worked and studied. He had been working in
Odon's factories for years, and attending the Academy for even more.
The Boy: Daniel
TR was requisitioned in Southern Odon City Academy of Engineering. Enlisted in
Airframe development and construction in both practice and application. He
neither enjoyed it nor hated it.
It was just his
job, nothing more, though if he had to admit it was rather grueling, the work
portion mostly. The thermo resistant suits they had to wear in the forge-works
of the half academy half-factory were bulky and made movement awkward.
He also didn't
like the practice sessions of the day either. It had nothing to do with the
assignments or endless tasks required of them, but the students themselves.
They were silent automatons at the best of times, statues at the worst.
Interestingly
enough, he was to a certain degree, an outcast, yet it was not because of his
social status, there was no such thing as status among Citizen-Workers, for all
were one in the same. It was because he was fit, and unmarked by pollution or
genetic misconfiguration. It was strange being the freak when everyone around
you was more of a freak then you would ever dream of being.
Daniel was of
good health, he was mentally and physically well, he did not suffer from the
myriad diseases and birth defects that inhabit the populace of the Odon
factory-colonies. He was young, perhaps fourteen, but tall at 5'6 with a stocky
build. Unlike many people on Odon he had hair, dirty and sickly pale blond, but
untouched by the constant ash fall from forever-running incinerators and
malignant radiation from rad-plants in constant need of repair.
All of this
begged the question: Why was he not a glorious soldier of the near-holy
Military? Why was he not out in the vast heavens fighting- 'The Good Fight'
-Why was he not standing in line with those that remained unscarred at the
local Military Department of Personnel?
It was because he
was practically a heathen in the eyes of humanity. He was an anathema of
societal disposition. He didn't see the point of the war that had now been
raging for innumerable centuries, with a death toll that was inconceivable.
He had yet to
find a concrete reason why the war had even begun so many centuries ago. So in
turn, he saw no reason why he should participate in the mutilation of a galaxy
he still barely understood nor ever saw with his eyes.
He flicked up his
fake hand again and called up the maps stored within the small yet powerful
computer, unfortunately the screen flickered briefly before fading. He gave the
mechanical arm a swat with his organic right hand, cursing the aging and faulty
machinery. He would invest in a newer model, but he lacked the needed credits,
the best he could do would be to apply for a state sponsored replacement
because of his Forgeworks requisitioning.
At this rate
he'll never even manage to make it to his first practices; the academy must be
at least a half a mile away. He swore violently; a truancy infraction would
land him one hundred and twenty four hours of solid community labor. He
quickened his pace even more, starting off in a brisk jog, he dared not go
faster lest he stumble in the near-blinding smog and crack his sole protection
between him and the malignant poison air.
"Excuse me,
sir, may I speak with you?" A voice called to him from across the narrow
street. He was startled; he didn't know that anyone else walked anymore. The
privately owned Civil Buyers Union Sky-transit-arrow-trams had long since
become the preferred method of travel, but those were rarely seen in the
southern district, the towering monoliths of the northern economic district
played host to those and the vast clouds of automated sky-cars.
"Hello?"
The voice called again, this time nearer, waking him from his brief moment of
apathetic recollection. He picked up a synthetic tinge in the voice that hailed
him. A chord of fear was struck in the pit of his stomach, and he turned
apprehensively, and looked up towards the tall figure that approached him. He
was half expecting to be dragged off to the local detention center for holding
and later, 'questioning'.
A Civilian
Affairs Enforcement Officer stood before him, clad in the standard grey-blue
self-sealed uniform with standard issue carapace segmented armor. The Officer
held a compact rifle loosely in her hands. He was guessing her gender, as the
officer's face was obscured by an imposing enclosed helmet, rife with tubes
connecting to a miniature o2 scrubber attached to her back. A cluster of
cameras on the front focused on him, contracting and expanding, scanning every
inch of him, the beady lenses seemed sinister, as crass as the machines he
built and maintained. He absently wondered if he had some part in constructing
the machinations she now bore.
The officer continued
to look down upon him, standing a few feet taller. He wondered if this was what
it felt like for vermin to gaze upon the face of a predator. She spoke again,
growing impatient with his silence. "Excuse me, Sir." She spoke louder this time, thinking him deaf.
"Might I have a word with you?" It was an innocent enough question,
turned punitive by the way the speakers distorted her voice, as harsh and oppressive
as the uniform she wore.
He stuttered when
he spoke next. "Y-Yes ma'am? How may I help?" His eyes darted up to
meet hers, finding nothing. He saw only the obsidian black mask, and again the
beady lenses of the optics array.
"You are
D-81502706TR, Citizen Worker, correct?" Her voice was impartial but
accusing all the same, he nodded in acknowledgement of his designation.
"Citizen-worker,
the time is 12:52, day cycle, Tuesday, Procedural examinations of your presence
to your required tasks begin at 13:00. I also record that daily exit logins on
your place-of-residence record at a timely 12:30 Day Cycle. This allows you
adequate time to travel to your workplaces, my current estimates place you ten
to fifteen minutes late to mandatory academics." Monotonously, the officer
began to list off reasons for stopping him, seemingly bored with this duty,
which to Daniel was surprising.
"As this is
a contradiction of..." She paused for a moment; reading something only she
could see. "...Civilian Attendance Codes- 56, 58, and 109, Failure to abide
by these laws will result in personal confinement for first classes, and
deduction of five percent of all payment in the next attended workplace duty.
How do you plead for this transgression?"
He swallowed hard;
a ball of razors worming it's way down into his stomach. He'd heard of these
things before, they were called '10-10-20's' or 'Preemptive Felony Charges' If
an official in a Peace Keeping Role judged someone to be in subverting public
justice he-or-she had the authority to apprehend that person or persons.
Why such a law
was allowed to exist was simple in Daniels mind, it kept the populace
controlled, orderly. It kept them in line. But right now, this law was keeping
him from his job. The convictions behind whatever supposed hate he had for it
could wait until he was home; he had metal to press and chits to earn. That was
all that mattered to him.
A spark of anger flashed
through him; he wondered if he could fight this, challenge this ruling, ignore the
Government-Sponsored bullies and continue on his way. For a moment he felt like
kindling that same small spark of justice he kept hidden away, igniting it into
a fire.
His eyes
flickered to the rifle she clasped in her hands. The cold, gunmetal black thing
was maintained, but scars wore at its edges; the fixture for a rotary-knife was
well used, the butt of the stock seemed dented in places and the coating at the
muzzle of the gun was lighter in tint, proof of prolonged use.
Perhaps he could
be a Martyr. The thought echoed through his head. People would whisperer his
name in reverence throughout the colonies.
A lingering facet
of information he gleaned from his studies passed through his mind. A bullet
does not kill instantly. Shock sets in only after internal organs sustain
critical injury and cease function; center mass shots by USCA standard issue
KFPS slugs usually result in the destruction of the pulmonary systems. This
leads to asphyxiation long before shock sets in, thus, pain is experienced
continuously.
He pushed that
thought down, locked the other away, destroyed it. Instead, he spoke, words
formed on his lips, conditioned words, words she wanted to hear, words that
bore no emotion or guilt behind them, and she, in turn, spoke from her script,
both actors performing for an audience of ghosts.
He told her about
his broken Personal Data Device, how it was malfunctioning. She took his
defense into account, along with the fact that it was his first transgression
went in his favor. He was let off with a warning, and was given a ticket for a
free repair.
The Officer also
wrote him a cite of absence form and forwarded it to his first practice
session. It explained the reason for his lateness, and voided him of High
Clearance punishment. He was glad, he didn't want to receive disciplinary
measures over a busted PDD, but he was also fined ten chits for lack of proper
maintenance of government property. It was minor damage, so it was a small
fine. But all the same he would not be getting that climate emulation system he
wanted this week.
"Stay safe,
Citizen-Worker. Remember, we are here to help." He saluted his thanks, like
any loyal USCA loving citizen. The Officer turned and continued her patrol, her
stride broken only by the infrequent pauses to stretch or examine something off
in the distance. Sometimes he forgot there were people behind those masks and
armor.
He had been
granted a second chance. He was not going to waste it. He turned, and continued
on down the street, his legs carrying him in a brisk jog.
Daniel let his
mind spin stories to keep him entertained as he walked down the un-swept streets,
refuse and ashfall coating the landscape around him like a monotone picture
that was left exposed to the elements for to long.
---
that
paled in comparison to the cityscape structures of the northern district. The
economic district it was called; the central hub of the wealth and power of the
Odon Colonies. In the northern district important GCU and USCA officials of
this Sector in lounged about lavish parlors, feasting on actual solid foods,
rather then the vat grown pastes Daniel and his fellow students injected daily.
It was one of the very few, yet increasing spheres of influence the GCU
corporation had over the USCA. The place was corrupt, traitorous, and filled
with debauchery.
Daniel loved it.
Yes, he loved it.
What few chances he got to take time off; he used to think about what life he
would live if he could ever walk among those spires. The lights, the Neon
Holo-lit streets, the Alien Languages that floated upon street-vendor signs,
and the magnificent trails of Sky-cars ducking in-between and over buildings
above him was overwhelming, and glorious. It was a completely different realm
from the USCA standard housing and market blocks in the southern, western and
eastern districts. The southern factory district was cold and grey with
workshops and processing plants. The Power-generating western district was
gunmetal grey with fusion plants and power converting domes. The
Food-processing and greenhouse eastern district was the same. Dull -and of
course- grey and lined with acres of bio-domed crops and livestock that would
be cloned and mass-produced into tasteless, texture less, and -as the packaging
would have you believe: 'Yum-tastic!' ™ nutrino paste.
But the northern
district.
It place was a
realm of insanity surrounded by overwhelming saneness. It was expansive,
massive, second only to the southern districts sprawling industrial
infrastructure.
But it did not
sprawl outwards like the tangled metal roots of piping that snaked under the
streets of the Odon colonies. The northern district simply built up into the sky,
grav-locked buildings towering ever higher into the sky. Climbing past the smog
ceiling, grav chutes held them in place like floating monoliths covered in
lights from windows and neon signs. Sky hotels, sky restaurants, sky
apartments, sky lodges, brothels and bars, floating malls and such other
wonders persisted in that place, and Daniel gazed up at all of it from the
ground. Even now his gaze wandered to the north, up at the glowing ascension of
lights and distant sounds of the Economic district, forever out of his reach,
but never out of his eyes.
His revelry was
ended soon enough though. He had been absentmindedly jogging for the past
minutes, and now he had arrived slightly out of breath at the gates of the
great rolling expanse of buildings and pipes: the Odon City Southern District
Academy and factory.
He pushed open
the ancient gates and stepped into the courtyard, once again letting the cycle
continue. The reverent lights of the Northern district swallowed by smoke
billowing out from belching exhaust stacks.