by RF Hurteau
There was a tap on her shoulder, and she looked up to see a solemn-faced Engineer staring down at her. “Can I help you?” she asked, slightly flustered.
“Ahead of the celebrations, we have been asked to check all systems to ensure proper functionality.”
“A systems check? Are you serious?” She spread her hands, gesturing at her desk. “All I have is a standard access panel and a comm. What could you possibly be checking?”
“Sorry, ma’am, but we are required to check everything in the Sigil network. That includes your station.” Although his tone remained professional, she swore she saw one of his ears twitch, a clear indication that he found her lack of instant compliance a source of irritation.
“Alright, alright,” she said, raising her hands in defeat. “I’ll get out of your way, then.” She gathered up a pile of request forms, handing him her earpiece. Maybe she could do a little more work on the Tube. She glanced at the clock—if she hurried, she could still make the next train out of Sigil Station.
* * *
Sylvia reached the station with moments to spare and was still looking for an open seat as the train began to move. She stumbled a bit as it lurched forward, reaching up to grab one of the overhead handles. She wouldn’t be allowed to move between cars now that they were in motion, but she assumed that all the others would be just as full. So much for working on the Tube, she thought. It seemed unusually crowded today. Sylvia recognized many of the faces, even if she couldn’t put a name to them. Hundreds of workers streamed in and out of the Sigil lobby during her shift. It was likely that they’d all been let off of work early due to the systems checks.
Conversations floated around her, but she wasn’t really paying attention. Sylvia was lost in her own thoughts, thinking about the massive pile of work waiting back at her desk. If only the comms worked down here, she would have at least been able to make a few arrangements. She tried to force herself to relax, to breathe deeply and empty her mind. She couldn’t do her work here, so she might as well try to enjoy the ride.
A rumbling laugh, like the growl of a hungry bear, made her skin prickle. She looked around, spotting Denton Murphy a few seats away. Surrounded by some of his fellow Security workers, he seemed to be telling a riveting tale. They were hanging on his every word, staring at him with eyes full of admiration and envy.
“I warned him, didn’t I, Percy?” he was saying. A large, dull-looking man with placid blue eyes gave a fervent nod. “I said, ‘Mind yer own business, or it’ll be you next.’”
One of his cronies gave a low whistle. “And then what happened?”
Denton leaned back in his chair, a smug smile spreading across the shadow of stubble that covered his cheeks. “Well, he didn’t listen. And so—” Denton made a sudden motion, punching his fist into an open palm, grinning. The others erupted in wails of raucous laughter and shouts of “You showed him, Denton!” and “Bet he won’t try that again!”
Sylvia rolled her eyes. Sigil’s Security personnel weren’t all bad. She was friends with a few of them and tolerated many more. But thugs like Denton were rampant. They built up little rings of sycophants and did whatever they liked. Sigil did little to stop them, though, since many of their victims were too scared to come forward and file a complaint with Security about Security. Compounding the problem, most of their offenses were against Halfsies, and the Council seemed almost too willing to turn a blind eye. As long as the Humans on the Security team didn’t hassle Elves, they were given a free pass to exercise their authority however they saw fit.
Just then, a red light at the front of the car began to blink, and a rather frazzled-looking Tube Official appeared in the doorway, making his way along the crowded aisle to the back door. “Excuse me, excuse me,” he muttered as he squeezed past Denton’s crew. “Please be aware,” came a woman’s voice from the loudspeaker. “There is smoke in car three. Remain calm. A Tube Official has been dispatched.” Sylvia scanned the other passengers, wondering if she should be concerned. Several passengers expressed curiosity at the announcement, but most simply appeared agitated. One man, sallow-faced and looking as if he hadn’t slept in days, seemed on the verge of crying. She could relate.
Several minutes later, the train drew slowly to a stop. “Please remain in your car,” came the loudspeaker voice again. “We apologize for the slight delay. We will be underway again shortly.”
The voice was true to its word. It wasn’t long before the train gave another little lurch as it began to move again, slowly picking up speed. Soon they were pulling into the D5 Market Station, and Sylvia was grateful to get out of the crowded train car and into the open.
She walked the street slowly, looking around at the shops. The markets in each dome were located at the center, where the high peak of the dome gave everything a wide open, airy feeling. The condensers rose up and out of sight from behind the Tube station, which was surrounded by shops in all direction. Brightly decorated booths were vying for customers with boisterous shouts and lofty claims. Outside the rings of merchants, the housing began. Twelve striking stone houses of black andesite spaced far apart in a circle that wasted, in Sylvia’s opinion, a large amount of perfectly useful space. The volcanic rock had been excavated during Sanctuary’s construction, and provided a pleasant contrast to the otherwise grey sea of metal and concrete that made up everything else.
Outside of this ring, the common housing began, tall apartment complexes that housed most of the families of Sanctuary. Further out, beyond rows and rows of these large, austere concrete buildings, were smaller apartment buildings. Once coveted for their more generously sized apartments, these large units had been converted into smaller apartments as the population soared. Many of them no longer even had their own bathroom, so great was the need for space.
It was with a twinge of envy that Sylvia gazed out on the stone homes beyond the market. No one had dared to suggest that the rich merchants who inhabited those should be made to share their space with other families in need. She had heard, at least, that D4 had had the decency to set several of these aside for other purposes. She couldn’t be certain if this were true—not once in her twenty-four years had Sylvia ventured into D4.
It wasn’t often that she got out of work while the shops were still open, and it was nice to see the bustling crowds. Spotting the trailing red streamers that adorned her father’s booth, she saw him speaking animatedly with several customers. She caught his eye and waved, and he motioned for her to come over.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said, as the last customer walked away. “I can’t stay, I have a lot of work to do.”
Her father made a pouting face. “Well if you’ve work to do, why aren’t you at work?”
“They kicked me out!” she said, with an innocent shrug.
“Well then, I should think that means you’re done for the day,” he reasoned.
She smiled at him and offered him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon!” she said, and made her way toward home.
A pleasant smell of vegetables and herbs wafted through the door as she opened it. Her mother, Martha, was in the kitchen, chopping carrots to add to a bubbling pot on the tiny stove. She looked up when Sylvia entered and gave her daughter a surprised expression, glancing at the clock. “I wasn’t expecting you for hours!” Martha declared, not unkindly.
“I know! I’m sorry I won’t be much help, though. I’ve had to bring a lot of work home with me.” She showed her mother the great stack of paperwork before she dropped it on the table and began spreading it out. “Hello, Nana,” she called down the short hallway to where an old woman sat, immersed in a pile of mending. Her grandmother looked up and gave a little wave in response.
“I can do my work in here, if that's all right,” Sylvia offered. “Keep you company?” Her mother nodded, and Sylvia folded down the dining table. Their apartment was comprised of four small rooms. The kitchen was also the dining area, with a table that folded out from the wall for eating and was put back t
o conserve space when not in use. Six folding chairs leaned neatly along the beige wall beneath the table, and a sink, stove and refrigerator lined the opposite side of the room. There was a small prep area between the sink and the stove, above and below which were cabinets that housed all of their cookware. A narrow hall with a door on each side leading to a bedroom separated the kitchen from the bathroom and den. Her Nana slept in there at night, on a narrow, rigid sofa that had long ago stopped pretending to be comfortable. Although Sylvia had tried to convince her to take one of the bunks countless times before, Nana had always replied that the firm surface was good for her back.
Sylvia laughed each time she heard this, because the beds, though replaced once per decade, were not much softer than the sofa. The mattresses were thin and sat on a wire frame that always sagged too much in the middle.
Still smiling at the memory, Sylvia relaxed a little, enjoying the sounds and smells of her mother’s cooking as she sifted through the papers, trying to decide where to start.
Application for temporary sales stall. Sylvia gave a small sigh. That was an easy enough one. In small, neat letters she wrote “Denied” across the top of the page and set it aside. She didn’t need to consult the proposed map of D1’s square to know that all available vendor spaces had been filled months ago. She’d wanted to get her father a space, but he’d declined, saying it would appear to be favoritism. “It is favoritism,” she’d countered. “My job doesn’t have many perks, so why not take advantage of them when they come up?” But she’d dropped the subject eventually, giving the stall to another in a long line of hopefuls. There were several more of these in the stack, and Sylvia dutifully, and somewhat regretfully, denied each as she came to it. She was also able to square away several Material Requisition forms from various decorating committees, and one very strange request for the temporary enlargement of a North Wing doorway.
Requisition for additional workforce personnel. That was odd. She skimmed the page, wondering who could possibly be looking for more personnel during the celebrations. Most departments were paring down their staff as much as possible to allow their workers to attend the festivities. Sylvia found the information she was looking for—Tube Maintenance. That made sense, she reasoned. It was likely that the Tube would need some extra hands to keep things running smoothly during such a high traffic event. She read further and found, under special requests, the words “Theran only.”
Now that was particularly intriguing. Elves held most of the highest positions in Sigil. They formed the entirety of the Engineering Corps and the Elder Council. But very rarely were Humans denied work in jobs as undesirable as “Tube Maintenance.”
She was unable to ponder it further. At that moment, the door opened, and her younger brother entered the apartment, tossing his jacket toward the back of her chair. He missed, and it slid to the floor.
“Pick it up!” Martha said shrilly, and he quickly obliged. His fiery red hair, comforting and familiar to Sylvia, was dramatically different than the nut brown locks the rest of the family shared. Her family had adopted Ben as a baby. Both of his parents had died in a freak accident in the Agricultural dome. She had been six at the time, and he had filled a hole in her life that she hadn’t realized was there before. Sylvia had thought of him as her brother ever since. Understandably, she’d always sensed a bit of jealousy from the other kids growing up; in a society where a one-child policy was strictly adhered to, the idea of a sibling was a concept that was generally unheard of. Sylvia recalled with a smile the time that another girl had pointed out that Ben wasn’t her real brother. Sylvia had promptly punched her in the nose, and no one had dared to bring it up again.
“Hey, Syl!” He grinned at her, pulling out a chair to join her.
“Hey Ben,” Sylvia replied. “How was your day?”
Ben shrugged. “It was okay, I guess. Things have really slowed down, they aren’t cranking out pods like they used to. In fact, we’ve been decommissioning a whole bunch of older models for recycling.”
Sylvia groaned. “I wish things were slowing down for me, too,” she said, staring at the pile of yet unfinished applications. “I could do with being a bit bored for a while. I mean, the Anniversary happens every year. Why does everybody wait until the very last minute before requesting stuff?”
Ben moved behind her and offered a comforting pat on the shoulder as he scooped up the pile of papers. He walked away with them, despite her feeble sound of protest. “The celebration will be over and done before you know it!” he said cheerfully. “Just a few more of these stressful, overworked days and it’ll all be behind you. But for now, let’s eat!”
Sylvia hadn’t realized how late it was. Martha was grumbling to herself as she carried bowls to the table. “Late again, no respect, I slave over a hot stove and he can’t even be bothered to come home while it’s hot. Chatting, I suspect. Always a talker, that man…” she was still mumbling as she walked back to the kitchen for another bowl, which she brought down the hall to her mother-in-law.
Stirring the steaming liquid thoughtfully, Sylvia turned to her brother. “Ben, did you get a chance to meet Felix before he transferred departments?”
Ben nodded. “The Halfsie, right? Sure, he was great. Really funny. Could do with a little of his humor these days.”
“Do you think I should have him speak at the ceremonies?”
Her brother looked startled. “About pod manufacturing? Who the heck wants to hear about pod manufacturing?”
She shook her head. “No, about being the Observatory Attendant.”
“Oh, that.” He stopped talking to take a bite, but found it was still too hot and put his spoon back down again. “Uh, I guess?” he said, after a while.
“Not exactly a vote of confidence,” she said.
“Well, it’s not that, I mean, I already told you. He's a funny guy. But, you know—he is a Halfsie.”
“So?”
“So how often does the Elder Council go parading Halfsies around at parties? I’m just saying, I don’t think it would reflect well on you. Might look a little, well…rebellious.”
Sylvia hadn’t thought about it that way at all. She’d been more concerned over whether anyone would even care about the Observatory and what it was for. The fact that a Halfsie might be an unwelcome addition to the festivities hadn’t even crossed her mind. “Oh,” she said, “I suppose you’re right.”
Not long after they had finished, Sylvia’s father arrived. He entered rather meekly, peeking in, as if to see how much trouble he was in for. Sylvia shot him a sympathetic glance from where she stood near the sink, washing the dishes. His eyes stopped to rest on the bowl of soup that sat alone on the table, and he grimaced.
“Late again!” Martha said sternly, and as their father started offering excuses, sputtering about rusty shutters and fuel cells, Ben and Sylvia made their way quietly out of the room.
“So, tell me about these speakers for the Anniversary. That’s new.”
Sylvia nodded. “Edwin just told me about it this morning. He gave me a list to look over.” She flipped through her paperwork. “I think he left me a copy…yep! Here it is!” She handed Ben the list and he looked it over.
“Hey! Nelson! He’ll love that,” Ben said happily. “You’re going to approve him, right?”
“Sure,” said Sylvia. “He seems like a pretty nice kid. I was looking at his file, though, and he hasn’t been there very long. You think he has enough experience to talk about Core Operations after just a few months?”
Ben shrugged, handing the paper back to her. “I bet he’ll do fine. I mean, I knew everything I needed to know about Pods after the first five minutes. How hard could it be?”
“Well, manufacturing pods isn’t quite as complex as operating vital systems for all of Sanctuary.”
Ben gave a huff of indignation. “Well if it isn’t that important, then why do they have so much security?”
“Huh?” asked Sylvia, genuinely surprised. “What do you me
an?”
Ben flopped onto his small cot, the coils squeaking in resentment at the sudden weight. “Well, you know. There’s just a lot of security down there. They’ve practically got a guard overseeing every station! There are a bunch of Theran scientists always coming in and out, making changes and requests and stuff. It’s a bit annoying, really. Trying to do programming with a big hairy guy breathing down your neck and people constantly asking you to change your work to do this or that.”
“What kind of changes?” she asked. Ben had piqued her curiosity. Sylvia knew very little about Pod Manufacturing, as they rarely required her services, and during her tenure in Public Relations, no one had ever inquired about it. She might not have even known the department existed if Ben had not been assigned to it after his graduation.
“Well, it’s a little hard to explain,” he began, sounding rather proud of himself. “But essentially, there are all these pods, and each one is a completely self-contained unit. They have their own generators and their own programming, and they’re all a little different. They aren’t hooked up to any network, so whenever someone needs something changed, it has to be done one at a time.”
“So, there’s a lot of them?”
Ben nodded. “Oh, loads. I’ve tried counting, but they move them in and out of the department so often, I’ve lost track. At least a hundred.”
