{"sf1_id":689564,"sf2_id":null,"title":"Compliancy.2","author":"MagnumGit","words":2595,"posted_at":"2014-04-06T19:45:00.000Z","tags":["Dystopian","Future","Sci-Fi","police","story"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/689564-compliancy-2","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/view/689564","image_url":"https://www.sofurryfiles.com/std/thumb?page=689564\u0026ext=.jpg","description":"","content":"\n \n12:40 -894th\nSolar Rotation. 'Tuesday'\nSmog drifts like\noil over water. A swirling mass of poison that remains as inescapable as it is\noppressive. It was heavy this morning, as if it had mass, but at the same time\nit felt dry, cloying. It tugged at a boys clothes, and pressed against his\nface, searching for a way past a thin synthetic mask he wore to separate him\nfrom the hateful wind. \nA faint wavering\nblue light pierced the thick, toxic air. It flickered in front of the young boy\nas he carried his satchel, footsteps echoing down an empty, forgotten street\nlined with stoic grey micro houses, each one reflecting the last down to the\nminutest detail. \nIt was morning.\n12:48 A.M. the start of the 24-hour 'Day-cycle' in a 48-hour long day on a\nplanet that could be considered long since dead.\nIt was 2nd cycle.\nOr 'Tuesday' as the USCA Citizen Standard Primer would require one to say. \nWhat was\n'Tuesday?' he briefly wondered. To him, it was the second full planetary\nrevolution in a set of seven that marked the passage of a seven-day week.\nSaying 2nd cycle always seemed clearer, more coherent you could say. No need to\nname each unit in a repeating pattern. \nHaving an\nindividual cycle have it's own name never seemed logical to him, and because of\nthat, it annoyed him. He didn't want to be told to refer to a day that bore no\nsignificant difference to any other. \nThe Boy did as he\nalways would do when frustrated, or tired. He would remember change. He would\ndream, or at least an illusion of dreaming that his drug-sustained existence\nwould minutely allow. He would think of the rare and hidden night sky that the\nhaze occluded from the silent populace below. \nD-81502706TR was\nhis designation. He had a name. Although it was unneeded, he was referred to,\nas 'Daniel'.\nThe boy glanced\ndown at the palm of his four-fingered left 'hand', and a blue screen faded into\nexistence, the flickering screen showing his daily schedule. \nHe gave his\nfour-fingered metal prosthetic a shake and the screen vanished. He picked up\nhis pace. He was going to be late. \nLike every other\n'Alliance Citizen-Worker Daniel TR worked and studied. He had been working in\nOdon's factories for years, and attending the Academy for even more. \nThe Boy: Daniel\nTR was requisitioned in Southern Odon City Academy of Engineering. Enlisted in\nAirframe development and construction in both practice and application. He\nneither enjoyed it nor hated it. \nIt was just his\njob, nothing more, though if he had to admit it was rather grueling, the work\nportion mostly. The thermo resistant suits they had to wear in the forge-works\nof the half academy half-factory were bulky and made movement awkward.\nHe also didn't\nlike the practice sessions of the day either. It had nothing to do with the\nassignments or endless tasks required of them, but the students themselves.\nThey were silent automatons at the best of times, statues at the worst.\nInterestingly\nenough, he was to a certain degree, an outcast, yet it was not because of his\nsocial status, there was no such thing as status among Citizen-Workers, for all\nwere one in the same. It was because he was fit, and unmarked by pollution or\ngenetic misconfiguration. It was strange being the freak when everyone around\nyou was more of a freak then you would ever dream of being. \nDaniel was of\ngood health, he was mentally and physically well, he did not suffer from the\nmyriad diseases and birth defects that inhabit the populace of the Odon\nfactory-colonies. He was young, perhaps fourteen, but tall at 5'6 with a stocky\nbuild. Unlike many people on Odon he had hair, dirty and sickly pale blond, but\nuntouched by the constant ash fall from forever-running incinerators and\nmalignant radiation from rad-plants in constant need of repair.\nAll of this\nbegged the question: Why was he not a glorious soldier of the near-holy\nMilitary? Why was he not out in the vast heavens fighting- 'The Good Fight'\n-Why was he not standing in line with those that remained unscarred at the\nlocal Military Department of Personnel? \nIt was because he\nwas practically a heathen in the eyes of humanity. He was an anathema of\nsocietal disposition. He didn't see the point of the war that had now been\nraging for innumerable centuries, with a death toll that was inconceivable. \nHe had yet to\nfind a concrete reason why the war had even begun so many centuries ago. So in\nturn, he saw no reason why he should participate in the mutilation of a galaxy\nhe still barely understood nor ever saw with his eyes. \nHe flicked up his\nfake hand again and called up the maps stored within the small yet powerful\ncomputer, unfortunately the screen flickered briefly before fading. He gave the\nmechanical arm a swat with his organic right hand, cursing the aging and faulty\nmachinery. He would invest in a newer model, but he lacked the needed credits,\nthe best he could do would be to apply for a state sponsored replacement\nbecause of his Forgeworks requisitioning.\nAt this rate\nhe'll never even manage to make it to his first practices; the academy must be\nat least a half a mile away. He swore violently; a truancy infraction would\nland him one hundred and twenty four hours of solid community labor. He\nquickened his pace even more, starting off in a brisk jog, he dared not go\nfaster lest he stumble in the near-blinding smog and crack his sole protection\nbetween him and the malignant poison air. \n\"Excuse me,\nsir, may I speak with you?\" A voice called to him from across the narrow\nstreet. He was startled; he didn't know that anyone else walked anymore. The\nprivately owned Civil Buyers Union Sky-transit-arrow-trams had long since\nbecome the preferred method of travel, but those were rarely seen in the\nsouthern district, the towering monoliths of the northern economic district\nplayed host to those and the vast clouds of automated sky-cars. \n\"Hello?\"\nThe voice called again, this time nearer, waking him from his brief moment of\napathetic recollection. He picked up a synthetic tinge in the voice that hailed\nhim. A chord of fear was struck in the pit of his stomach, and he turned\napprehensively, and looked up towards the tall figure that approached him. He\nwas half expecting to be dragged off to the local detention center for holding\nand later, 'questioning'. \nA Civilian\nAffairs Enforcement Officer stood before him, clad in the standard grey-blue\nself-sealed uniform with standard issue carapace segmented armor. The Officer\nheld a compact rifle loosely in her hands. He was guessing her gender, as the\nofficer's face was obscured by an imposing enclosed helmet, rife with tubes\nconnecting to a miniature o2 scrubber attached to her back. A cluster of\ncameras on the front focused on him, contracting and expanding, scanning every\ninch of him, the beady lenses seemed sinister, as crass as the machines he\nbuilt and maintained. He absently wondered if he had some part in constructing\nthe machinations she now bore. \nThe officer continued\nto look down upon him, standing a few feet taller. He wondered if this was what\nit felt like for vermin to gaze upon the face of a predator. She spoke again,\ngrowing impatient with his silence. \"Excuse me, Sir.\" She spoke louder this time, thinking him deaf.\n\"Might I have a word with you?\" It was an innocent enough question,\nturned punitive by the way the speakers distorted her voice, as harsh and oppressive\nas the uniform she wore.\nHe stuttered when\nhe spoke next. \"Y-Yes ma'am? How may I help?\" His eyes darted up to\nmeet hers, finding nothing. He saw only the obsidian black mask, and again the\nbeady lenses of the optics array. \n\"You are\nD-81502706TR, Citizen Worker, correct?\" Her voice was impartial but\naccusing all the same, he nodded in acknowledgement of his designation.\n\"Citizen-worker,\nthe time is 12:52, day cycle, Tuesday, Procedural examinations of your presence\nto your required tasks begin at 13:00. I also record that daily exit logins on\nyour place-of-residence record at a timely 12:30 Day Cycle. This allows you\nadequate time to travel to your workplaces, my current estimates place you ten\nto fifteen minutes late to mandatory academics.\" Monotonously, the officer\nbegan to list off reasons for stopping him, seemingly bored with this duty,\nwhich to Daniel was surprising.\n\"As this is\na contradiction of...\" She paused for a moment; reading something only she\ncould see. \"...Civilian Attendance Codes- 56, 58, and 109, Failure to abide\nby these laws will result in personal confinement for first classes, and\ndeduction of five percent of all payment in the next attended workplace duty.\nHow do you plead for this transgression?\" \nHe swallowed hard;\na ball of razors worming it's way down into his stomach. He'd heard of these\nthings before, they were called '10-10-20's' or 'Preemptive Felony Charges' If\nan official in a Peace Keeping Role judged someone to be in subverting public\njustice he-or-she had the authority to apprehend that person or persons. \nWhy such a law\nwas allowed to exist was simple in Daniels mind, it kept the populace\ncontrolled, orderly. It kept them in line. But right now, this law was keeping\nhim from his job. The convictions behind whatever supposed hate he had for it\ncould wait until he was home; he had metal to press and chits to earn. That was\nall that mattered to him. \nA spark of anger flashed\nthrough him; he wondered if he could fight this, challenge this ruling, ignore the\nGovernment-Sponsored bullies and continue on his way. For a moment he felt like\nkindling that same small spark of justice he kept hidden away, igniting it into\na fire. \nHis eyes\nflickered to the rifle she clasped in her hands. The cold, gunmetal black thing\nwas maintained, but scars wore at its edges; the fixture for a rotary-knife was\nwell used, the butt of the stock seemed dented in places and the coating at the\nmuzzle of the gun was lighter in tint, proof of prolonged use. \nPerhaps he could\nbe a Martyr. The thought echoed through his head. People would whisperer his\nname in reverence throughout the colonies.\nA lingering facet\nof information he gleaned from his studies passed through his mind. A bullet\ndoes not kill instantly. Shock sets in only after internal organs sustain\ncritical injury and cease function; center mass shots by USCA standard issue\nKFPS slugs usually result in the destruction of the pulmonary systems. This\nleads to asphyxiation long before shock sets in, thus, pain is experienced\ncontinuously. \nHe pushed that\nthought down, locked the other away, destroyed it. Instead, he spoke, words\nformed on his lips, conditioned words, words she wanted to hear, words that\nbore no emotion or guilt behind them, and she, in turn, spoke from her script,\nboth actors performing for an audience of ghosts. \nHe told her about\nhis broken Personal Data Device, how it was malfunctioning. She took his\ndefense into account, along with the fact that it was his first transgression\nwent in his favor. He was let off with a warning, and was given a ticket for a\nfree repair. \nThe Officer also\nwrote him a cite of absence form and forwarded it to his first practice\nsession. It explained the reason for his lateness, and voided him of High\nClearance punishment. He was glad, he didn't want to receive disciplinary\nmeasures over a busted PDD, but he was also fined ten chits for lack of proper\nmaintenance of government property. It was minor damage, so it was a small\nfine. But all the same he would not be getting that climate emulation system he\nwanted this week. \n\"Stay safe,\nCitizen-Worker. Remember, we are here to help.\" He saluted his thanks, like\nany loyal USCA loving citizen. The Officer turned and continued her patrol, her\nstride broken only by the infrequent pauses to stretch or examine something off\nin the distance. Sometimes he forgot there were people behind those masks and\narmor.\nHe had been\ngranted a second chance. He was not going to waste it. He turned, and continued\non down the street, his legs carrying him in a brisk jog.\nDaniel let his\nmind spin stories to keep him entertained as he walked down the un-swept streets,\nrefuse and ashfall coating the landscape around him like a monotone picture\nthat was left exposed to the elements for to long. \n---  \nthat\npaled in comparison to the cityscape structures of the northern district. The\neconomic district it was called; the central hub of the wealth and power of the\nOdon Colonies. In the northern district important GCU and USCA officials of\nthis Sector in lounged about lavish parlors, feasting on actual solid foods,\nrather then the vat grown pastes Daniel and his fellow students injected daily.\nIt was one of the very few, yet increasing spheres of influence the GCU\ncorporation had over the USCA. The place was corrupt, traitorous, and filled\nwith debauchery.\nDaniel loved it. \nYes, he loved it.\nWhat few chances he got to take time off; he used to think about what life he\nwould live if he could ever walk among those spires. The lights, the Neon\nHolo-lit streets, the Alien Languages that floated upon street-vendor signs,\nand the magnificent trails of Sky-cars ducking in-between and over buildings\nabove him was overwhelming, and glorious. It was a completely different realm\nfrom the USCA standard housing and market blocks in the southern, western and\neastern districts. The southern factory district was cold and grey with\nworkshops and processing plants. The Power-generating western district was\ngunmetal grey with fusion plants and power converting domes. The\nFood-processing and greenhouse eastern district was the same. Dull -and of\ncourse- grey and lined with acres of bio-domed crops and livestock that would\nbe cloned and mass-produced into tasteless, texture less, and -as the packaging\nwould have you believe: 'Yum-tastic!' ™ nutrino paste. \nBut the northern\ndistrict. \nIt place was a\nrealm of insanity surrounded by overwhelming saneness. It was expansive,\nmassive, second only to the southern districts sprawling industrial\ninfrastructure. \nBut it did not\nsprawl outwards like the tangled metal roots of piping that snaked under the\nstreets of the Odon colonies. The northern district simply built up into the sky,\ngrav-locked buildings towering ever higher into the sky. Climbing past the smog\nceiling, grav chutes held them in place like floating monoliths covered in\nlights from windows and neon signs. Sky hotels, sky restaurants, sky\napartments, sky lodges, brothels and bars, floating malls and such other\nwonders persisted in that place, and Daniel gazed up at all of it from the\nground. Even now his gaze wandered to the north, up at the glowing ascension of\nlights and distant sounds of the Economic district, forever out of his reach,\nbut never out of his eyes.\nHis revelry was\nended soon enough though. He had been absentmindedly jogging for the past\nminutes, and now he had arrived slightly out of breath at the gates of the\ngreat rolling expanse of buildings and pipes: the Odon City Southern District\nAcademy and factory. \nHe pushed open\nthe ancient gates and stepped into the courtyard, once again letting the cycle\ncontinue. The reverent lights of the Northern district swallowed by smoke\nbillowing out from belching exhaust stacks. \n"}