Gyaros Book One: The Mice Eat Iron (YA 17+ Sci Fi Adventure)

by Rohan Healy

  “*beep*. Do you understand? *beep*.”

  Miles swallowed and spoke softly, “y-yes, I understand.”

  The elevator doors closed suddenly and the three of them sped down the side of The Security Department building.

  Miles was then escorted out the front door via the lobby, where another Enforcer handed him his briefcase - which felt entirely empty - and was bungled into the back seat of a sleek black Enforcement Patrol Vehicle. The door locked electronically behind him as he sat up and made himself as comfortable as he could given his situation. This was the first time Miles had seen the inside of an Enforcement Vehicle other than in the movies. This was also the first time he’d ridden in private, human controlled transport by virtue of the fact that all private vehicles were outlawed in The Public Conveyances in Relation to the Environment act of 19. Only Enforcers were sanctioned to pilot their own vehicles, and only then in official enforcement duties. No one else had owned or piloted a personal conveyance for over twenty years before Miles was even born! And so, despite the devastating circumstances, in the surreal otherworldliness of the scenario Miles found himself in, he quite enjoyed the ride, somewhat like a child. The comfortable seating, the steady rumble of the engine, combined with the hum of the optical MagLev system, left Miles feeling somewhat relaxed for the first time in the past twelve hours.

  The vehicle sped through the city streets and made its way toward the entrance to the Yellow Districts which were located below The Hesperides’ Garden. As they approached The Garden, The Enforcer who was driving took a sharp left. Usually one would go straight on to enjoy a day in the beautiful greenery of The Gardens. But not today. Today Miles was being taken to somewhere he’d never been before, the Yellow Districts. The road dipped down suddenly as the vehicle swept under the large concrete layer that made up the floor of The Gardens, and the ceiling of the Yellow Districts. Miles was now speeding down an empty tunnel, the yellow lights overhead creating a pulsating pattern as their glow penetrated through the tinted windows. All was quiet inside the vehicle, The Enforcers did not speak, and the only sound other than the vehicle itself was the intermittent crackle of dispatch over The Enforcer’s shoulder mounted radios.

  And then the vehicle slowed, they were approaching a checkpoint. The whole thing appeared to be automated as there was no one else in sight. As they slowly drove through the checkpoint the vehicle and its passengers were scanned by a large red beam that slowly swept over them once and then a second time, reading their biometrics. After a moment the beam changed in colour to bright green and The Enforcer piloting once again picked up speed.

  Several minutes passed in the tunnel when the pulsating yellow lights gave way to open streets and heavy rain. They had entered the Yellow Districts. Miles pressed his face to the glass and peered out the window in trepidation. Anxiously he studied his new and unfamiliar surroundings. He had read about the Yellow Districts, and of course had been filing Energy Consumption Reports on them for years, but he’d never actually seen them before. He’d heard about the never ending rain, the artificial light, the crime and the violence, and he was rightly terrified.

  ‘Candice said if I take my time and work my way back I can make it to the Green Districts again. This is not where I belong, and I’ll be doing everything in my God damn power to get the hell out of here as soon as I can,’ Miles thought to himself, gritting his teeth. ‘A man treats me like shit, steals my wife and family, loses me my job and I’m the one who gets sent to this shit hole?! This isn’t right, I won’t stand for it.’

  Miles watched as hundreds of people wandered the shimmering, soaking wet streets of the South West Yellow District. One would never witness such congestion and chaos on the high street of the Green Shopping District. An old man bent with age with slanted eyes and a wispy white beard held a paper parasol above his head and carried what looked like a sack of rice over his shoulder, street children ran off with a stolen loaf of bread and were chased impotently by a limping man, speaking some foreign language. Miles’ mind boggled as scantily clad attractive ladies simply stood there in the rain, umbrellas in hand, as though waiting for something. A man walked up and greeted one of the ladies, Miles watched as the beautiful woman placed her arm in his and walked away with him. ‘Waiting for a date, I guess,’ Miles mused naively.

  He looked as far up to the ceiling as the window would allow and thought, ‘I’m going to need an umbrella.’ The Yellow Districts, being located directly below The Hesperides’ Garden were subject to the significant runoff of water required to keep The Gardens lush and verdant, thus the never ending downpour experienced by the residents of the Yellow Districts. There was no weather to speak of here, only the constant rain, and the artificial day and night cycles provided by the high powered lighting system attached to the ceiling, five hundred metres above the ground. The lights provided the basic human requirement of vitamin D via the inclusion of an ultra violet light radiation module, yet the people of the Yellow Districts remained under nourished in most regards due to a lack of fresh food, vegetation and true weather conditions. Everything in the Yellow Districts, from the oxygen, to the food, water, building supplies and technology was either recycled waste or a by-product not needed by the Green Districts. Life was hard down here, especially at night when the artificial lights were in the night phase and a low, red hue spread over everything like a crimson silk sheet.

  The Enforcement Patrol Vehicle came to a stop. Miles looked out the front window to see a large neon sign spelling the word, “Ho_el”, presumably it was meant to read Hotel, but it looked like it had seen better days, both the sign and the establishment itself.

  “*beep*. This is where you get off, *beep*,” the taller Enforcer said turning to face Miles through the cage that separated the front and back.

  “*beep*. I’m Agent Stiles and this is Agent Baker, *beep*,” he said pointing to The Enforcer sitting in the driver’s seat, “we’ll be here all night so go rest, you’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow boy, it’s gonna be like your first day at school, *beep*,” the two Enforcers laughed cruelly as Miles clenched his fists in frustration. A click was heard meaning Miles’ door was now unlocked, he went to open it when the taller Enforcer stopped him.

  “*beep*. Hey, one more thing. They thought you might try to contact your kid through his school, well I was told to tell you that your wife put the kid in another school. Even if you wanted to see him you’ll never find him, so don’t bother, *beep*,” Miles scrunched his face up, he knew that without access to the public data network he’d never be able to find out which school Chet had been transferred to, let alone make a call.

  “*beep*. So why don’t you get a good night’s sleep and take it easy. Be a good boy, get used to your new life and don’t cause any trouble for us. Sweet dreams, *beep*,” The Enforcers laughed again, but by this time Miles had been insulted enough, he swung the door open, stood up into the pouring rain and began making his way to the hotel entrance.

  “*beep*. Hey, you’re room number sixty three, sixth floor! *beep*,” shouted Baker, the shorter of the two Enforcers, from the car. Miles looked back with begrudging acknowledgment and made his way to the front door, where he stood impatiently.

  “*beep*. You’ve got to push it! *beep*,” yelled Stiles, both of The Enforcers audibly laughing now. Miles reached out his right hand and pushed the door. It opened. Miles had never pushed a door open in his life, this was a new, and humiliating experience.

  He stumbled into the reception area dripping wet, and was greeted by the manager, an older dark skinned man with curly white hair.

  “Head on up, I know who you are and why you’re here. We don’t want any trouble. There’s a hot shower, a bed and a clean set of clothes for you in your room. Have a pleasant stay Mr Stanton,” said the manager in his deep, gruff voice. Miles nodded in acknowledgment and made his way to room 63.

  After a short elevator ride, Miles was standing in front of his door, he placed his right hand on the panel
on the door, it beeped, the lock clicked, and for the second time that day, he pushed open a door. The room was small but tidy, not what Miles was used to, but not nearly as bad as the stories he’d heard about the Yellow Districts. After closing the door and activating the lights, Miles immediately began to undress and run the shower. He stepped into the hot stream of running water and once again felt the pain of his injuries, and the stiffness in his muscles. A whirlpool of brown red water spiralled down the drain as Miles finally washed Tyler’s coagulated blood from his hands and face. What a difference twenty four hours makes. He looked up at the digital clock that hung from the bathroom wall. Last night at 21:06 he kissed Chet goodnight and slipped into bed with his already sleeping wife, looking forward to another week’s work. Tonight he washed another man’s blood from his hands in a dingy hotel in the Yellow Districts, while Enforcers stood guard outside. No wife, no son, no job, no hope.

  Having cleaned himself thoroughly, Miles grabbed a soft towel off the rack and dried himself. Rummaging through the dresser drawers he found a clean set of underwear which he clothed himself with before crawling, exhausted, into bed. As he lay there he looked up at the big red lines that streaked across the roof as the artificial night time lights broke through the steel venetian style shutters. He closed his eyes and heard the sound of an active city alive with people, ‘how does anyone get any sleep with that kind of noise?’ But before he could elaborate on the thought, Miles drifted off into a deep slumber.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter 3

  Bang, bang, bang! Miles sat up suddenly, startled by the loud noise. He squinted and lifted his left hand to his eyes, shielding them from the bright artificial morning light that streamed through the window. Bang, bang, bang! Miles jumped again and quickly turned his head to the right to face the door of his room, where the sound was coming from.

  “Who is it?” Miles called out weakly, pricking his ears as he waited for the reply.

  “*beep*. You’ve got a date with The Earning & Learning Centre, *beep*,” said the unmistakeably distorted, and somewhat muffled voice from the other side of the door. Miles had completely forgotten that he was required to attend a meeting with a Department of Productivity Facilitator today in order to attain placement with a new employer.

  “*beep*. Rise and shine Mr Stanton, *beep*,” the voice continued emotionlessly, “*beep*, we leave in eight minutes, *beep*.”

  “Okay, just give me a sec to get ready,” replied Miles rubbing his eyes furiously in an attempt to adjust to being awake. He hopped out of bed, but stopped and winced when his injuries from yesterday once again reminded him of the events of the past 24 hours. ‘Everything is fine Miles,’ he told himself, ‘let’s just play by the rules, do whatever they say and we’ll be back where we belong in no time. Even Hellen is going to see sense when we get a chance to really talk things through. This is a setback but it’s nothing that can’t be overcome.’ Miles had, by this time dressed himself in a pair of simple black trousers, a white long sleeved shirt and a red tie that he found in the closet. He then rushed to the small bar fridge which he was relieved to find was fully stocked with food. As fast as he could, Miles prepared a simple ham sandwich, wrapped it using part of the paper bag that the bread came in, and plucked a packet of potato chips from the large glass bowl that sat atop the fridge, and contained an assortment of savoury snacks.

  He threw the supplies into the empty briefcase and grabbed a banana from the bowl of fruit that was on the single square table in the room by the window. Miles turned to leave when something caught his eye. A small card with some printed writing on it was sitting against the fruit bowl, he picked it up and read it.

  “Miles. I did what I could to make things comfortable for you as you start life in the Yellow Districts. Stay positive, work hard, the Green Districts await your return. Good luck. Candice.”

  Miles smiled to himself, all was not lost, all he had to do was stay positive and work hard and everything would sort itself out. Or so he thought. Overcome with a renewed sense of determination he met the two Enforcers at the door of his room, who escorted him down to their vehicle. Exiting the building Miles used his briefcase as a makeshift umbrella until he was safely inside The Enforcer Patroller.

  As they made their way through town Miles got to experience day time in the South West Yellow District. Although he couldn’t believe it possible, the city looked even worse in the day light. Darkness has a way of euphemising and romanticising even the ugliest of people and places, but no matter how grim and dirty the Yellow District looked the night before, under the harsh morning brightness it was as though the lights had been turned back on at closing time at a club. Decrepit human’s littered the streets, and were almost as prevalent as the actual litter itself, of which there was an impressive amount. All the enthusiasm and motivation that Miles had managed to muster in his hotel room slipped away in an instant as the full magnitude of his situation once again dawned on him. If, and it was a big if, Miles was able to hold down a job and adapt to and survive the Yellow District there was no way that he’d be even allowed to apply for work in the Green Districts again for at least six months, and even then there is the processing time for an application which can take another eight weeks. Miles heart sunk as they approached The Earning and Learning Office, he looked up at its garish logo which featured the cartoon figure of a smiling man with a book in one hand and a wad of cash in the other, a misleading representation of money as physical currency had not been in existence for almost thirty six years. Still it worked as a symbol of wealth that was recognisable to anyone.

  “*beep*. This is your stop, and this is where we say goodbye,*beep*,” said Agent Stiles turning to face Miles in the back seat, “*beep*. If you don’t wanna see us again I suggest you be good now and stay out of trouble, *beep*.”

  Without saying a word Miles exited the vehicle and again raised his brief case over his head shielding himself from the pouring rain. The Enforcers sped off and Miles made his way to the entrance of the office. He pushed the door open, entered the building and surveyed the entirely alien scene before him. Having never been out of work before, Miles had never experienced life as a non-earner. Every person living on Carthage had a finite number of non-earning days allotted to them at birth. This number was 100. If a person should find themselves out of work or Department Sanctioned Training Program for a total of 100 days during their lifetime before retirement, they were immediately classed as an Under-Productive and shuttled to Gyaros without trial. And it had been this way since it was written into law by the Areopagus in the year 28. Public lotteries and visor vision competitions were held in which extra days could be won and it was said there were technicians who could hack and manipulate an individual’s biometrics in order to add days, though this may merely be legend, and would surely cost an absolute fortune if true. Miles still had all 100 of his days, a fact that he was extremely proud of, and that would remain the case should he find immediate placement with a new employer today at the office.

  Upon entering the office a robotic voice spoke to him from his right side.

  “Please place your hand on the screen to secure a place in the queue.” Miles turned to see a monitor encased in white plastic with a touch pad below. He dutifully obeyed the voice, placing his palm on the black screen where the green hand outline indicated.

  “Thank you…Miles Stanton…please take a seat.”

  Miles made his way to the rows of white plastic seats and sat two chairs away from a large, bald, surly looking man. The room comprised of a number of hatches lettered A through K. Miles observed that as peoples’ names were called they would walk toward and enter the allocated hatch and the automated hatch door would close behind them. On the other side of the room were rows of monitors encased in plastic like the one at the entrance. People stood before them presumably browsing available positions and training opportunities, ‘This is God damn humiliating.’

  “Miles Stanton to hatch B, Mil
es Stanton to hatch B,” hearing his name called over the public address system, Miles jumped to his feet and walked briskly to the open hatch B. As he entered the enclosed space the door shut swiftly behind him, he sat down in the seat provided and looked across at the lady on the other side of the thick, clear plastic barrier that separated them. Her name tag read Paula, she was a woman in her late thirties, had wild frizzy red hair, freckles, a tan that did not come as a result of UV exposure and to say she was sporting a little too much makeup would be putting it very lightly.

  “Hello Miles, my name is Paula. I’ll be your facilitator today,” she said in a piercing nasal tone, while simultaneously pointing to her name badge. ‘Does she think I’m a moron?’ Miles wondered to himself.

  “I’m just looking at your file, yes hmm, I see. Due to the circumstances surrounding your dismissal from your previous place of employment you have been placed under a period of non-earning probation.” Miles knew all too well what this meant and he stood up angrily, slamming his hands on the shiny metal surface in front of him.

  “This can’t be, please, you don’t understand I can…,” but he was cut off by Paula’s shrieking voice.

  “Mr Stanton please be quiet and take your seat!” Miles, frightened by the sudden change in volume, slowly sat back down and kept quiet. Paula cleared her throat and continued calmly.