by R F Hurteau
“And just how do you suppose,” she tried to explain once again, resting her head in her palm and massaging her temples, “we’re going to show the people their government in action when most of Sigil’s employees will be at the celebrations? Not to mention that the remainder will be scrambling to keep the whole place up and running! How are they going to do their jobs with a bunch of curious citizens in here poking around and asking questions? If you’re interested in organizing a tour of Sigil’s facilities on a different day, I would be more than happy to assist in coordinating it.”
A small but growing headache had taken root behind her eyes, made worse by the uncooperative nature of the man on the comm. Not for the first time, Sylvia found herself wishing that the whole Advisory department would just be dissolved. They only had one job, and none of them seemed to be much good at it.
This wasn’t going to work. The man kept on talking, refusing to listen to reason.
“You know what?” she cut in at last, eager to be done with this conversation, “I’m going to transfer you to Security. You can give them the details. I’m sure they’ll be able to come up with a satisfying compromise” Unsure of any such thing, she pressed a button and leaned back in her chair as the line went blissfully silent.
Sylvia knew she might regret that decision later, but if she could just keep him occupied until the Anniversary was over, she’d have a whole year before she had to deal with him or his kind again.
As Director of Sigil’s Public Relations department, Sylvia had been in charge of coordinating the government’s role in the Anniversary celebrations for the last three years. Never before had it been anywhere near as stressful as these last few weeks. Sanctuary would be celebrating its one hundred twenty-fifth birthday in just a few days, and everyone thought that it should be a much bigger deal than in prior years.
She shuddered to think what it would have been like to organize the event for the centennial celebrations and offered up a silent salute to whatever poor soul had been in charge back then. The fact that her predecessor’s name had not gone down in history as an abject failure was a small, but welcome, consolation. If they had managed it, then so could she.
Sylvia had begun her planning right after the last Anniversary and yet here she was, days away from the celebration and drowning under piles of requests and outright demands from all of the departments who had failed to prepare until the last possible moment. What good was being on top of things if she had to deal with such an enormous train wreck anyway?
The main problem, as far as Sylvia was concerned, was that she had been given the authority to make executive decisions but lacked the manpower to follow through. She was the only one who could grant or deny requests, and as such, she was the one that was sought out when people wanted to know why their requests had been denied. It didn’t help that she’d chosen the Information desk as her station. Front and center in the lobby, she wasn’t exactly hard to find.
And it wasn’t as if doing the extra work would reflect well on her, anyway. Sylvia knew from experience that any success would be attributed to Sigil as a whole...only the failures would land squarely on her shoulders. A forceful sigh escaped her lips as she let her head fall back, clapping her hands over her face to shut out the rest of the world, if only for a moment.
“Come now, Sylvia. It can’t be as bad as all that.”
She raised her head and peered through splayed fingers at the friendly face of Edwin Smalls, Human Liaison to the Elder Council. He was standing across the counter from her, his prominent jaw accentuated by a wide smile that was reflected in the squint of his steely grey eyes.
“Maybe you’d like to have a go at planning the biggest disaster Sanctuary has ever seen?” Her tone was light but her eyes were pleading.
“Sorry,” he replied, “a bit busy at the moment.”
She nodded dejectedly. “Yeah, funny. That’s what everyone keeps saying when I ask.”
Edwin laughed, smoothing the front of his bright blue shirt with one hand as he pushed a piece of paper across the desk with the other. The singular nature of his position in the hierarchy meant that he was not subjected to the drab uniforms of most Sigil personel. While Sylvia wanted nothing more to blend in, Edwin’s immaculate but gaudy attire seemed chosen precisely for its ability to stand out. Each day he wore something bright and cheerful, his wardrobe apparently quite remarkable in scope compared to the average citizen. “Here you are. I know it’s last minute...the Council has thrown us for a loop with this one. A list of speakers for your approval.”
She felt her eyebrows rise in surprise. “I’ve never had to approve the speakers before. The Council always decides who will speak and about what. That’s well above my paygrade.”
She glanced down at the list, scanning the names as her confusion grew. “Wait, these aren’t even Council members.”
Edwin nodded, his expression more serious than before. “No. You’re right, we have no say in the Council’s decisions. But they asked me to compile the names of potential department members who could talk a little about what they do. Hoping it might inspire confidence, I guess? I thought these were pretty safe options.”
She scanned the page. “Nelson Boggs, Core Operations. Nathaniel Saugus, Reclamation... Oh, wait, Felix. Hmm.”
She peered around Edwin, looking toward the door. “I think I just saw him leaving. Anyway,” she went back to the list and finished looking over the rest of the names. “This looks fine, I guess. I think I’d take Felix off. I mean, what does the Observatory Attendant even do?”
Edwin shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I thought it might be interesting to find out.”
“Well, you find out on your own time. Speeches during the celebrations aren’t supposed to be about new, interesting tidbits. They’re supposed to be about dull, comforting facts. Maybe get someone from Agriculture and Livestock to talk about the food supply. Hmm...Denton Murphy, Security,” she read, biting her lip. “I’m not sure about him, either. He seems a bit...um...intense.”
“That’s a very diplomatic word for it,” Edwin replied, his mouth curving into a reassuring smile. “But if you think it’s a bad idea, I defer to your judgment. I thought people might like to know a bit more about how we work to keep them safe.”
Sylvia considered this for a moment. “I think you should have someone from Security. But maybe someone a little less, ah...” she searched for another diplomatic word, “biased? Better pick someone fast though, they aren’t going to have a lot of time for speech writing with just one more day before the celebration.” She groaned as she heard the words spoken aloud. “Ugh, just one more day! I have to get back to work!”
“Yes ma’am.” Edwin offered a little salute. “Leave it to me.” He turned away.
“Where are you off to?” she called after his receding form. Despite her insistence that she needed to work, she had still enjoyed the brief respite from reality that his visit had provided. He did not pause as he continued across the gleaming white floor of the large, opulent lobby.
He didn’t even look back, just called over his shoulder. “There was another closed-door Elder Council meeting last night. I’m supposed to be briefed on the details in five minutes, and you know how those Elves value punctuality. Gotta run!”
And with that, he was gone.
She envied Edwin from time to time. He was the highest-ranking Human in Sigil, and yet he always seemed so together, so on top of things. He always had a smile on his face when they spoke, and somehow managed to avoid the constant stress that Sylvia’s own job heaped on her in spades. Was it her? Was she making things more difficult than they needed to be?
No, she decided. Rank doesn’t necessarily equal responsibility. Edwin’s job was to be the Human face of the Theran Elder Council, the ruling authority. He had to stand around and look pretty and regurgitate their sessions as something more digestible for the people who worked under t
hem. Sylvia, on the other hand, had to be the Human face of Sigil itself, offering assurances to ten thousand Sanctuary citizens that all was well. As such, she needed to be familiar with the inner workings of Sigil, and comfortable enough to be able to speak about them without preparation as required.
There were one hundred twelve departments in Sigil, twelve of which comprised the schooling facilities. Then there were the obviously important ones, such as Core Operations, the Geothermal Plant, and Reclamation, without which the city would fall. But there were dozens of lesser-known departments that kept things running. Food Services, for instance, or Accounting. No one ever asked to hear about Accounting, of course, and she certainly didn’t blame them. But a self-sustaining city was still a city, and people still worked on a monetary payment system. Sylvia had no idea what the value of credits was based on, or how many were circulating back and forth between Sanctuary’s citizens. She guessed that was why she wasn’t an Accountant. She was the head of Public Relations, the cheery face that made Sigil accessible to the common man. Absentmindedly, she tried to force her face into a smile.
She failed.
There was a tap on her shoulder, and she looked up to see first the gold-trimmed grey midsection of an Engineering uniform, and as her gaze moved upward, the solemn-faced wearer staring down at her.
“Can I help you?” she asked, flustered by the interruption.
“Ahead of the celebrations, we have been instructed 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, my paperwork?”
A wild vision of the Elf sifting through her appropriations forms and replacing them all out of order flashed before her mind’s eye, causing her to swallow hard.
“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 those pointed ears twitch, a clear indication that he found her resistance irritating.
“Alright, alright.” Sylvia raised 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 Tube with just moments to spare and was still looking for an open seat as the train began to accelerate. She stumbled a bit as it lurched forward, instinctively reaching up to grab at one of the overhead handles. She wouldn’t be allowed to move between compartments 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. It seemed more crowded than usual 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. They must have all been let off of work early due to the systems checks. Judging by their faces, it seemed that most of them did not share her disdain at the idea of an afternoon off.
Conversations floated around her, but she paid them little attention. Sylvia was lost in her own thoughts, fixated on the massive pile of tasks awaiting her attention. If only the comms worked on the Tube, she would have at least been able to make a few arrangements. She tried to force herself to relax, to breathe deep and empty her mind of the cluttered thoughts that towered higher than her workload. She couldn’t do anything about it right now, 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 officers, 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 told him, ‘Mind yer own business, or it’ll be you next.’”
One of his cronies let out 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—”
It was then that Denton glanced up and caught Sylvia staring. His eyes narrowed and she looked away.
“Hey, you.”
She did not want to engage. Sigil’s Security personnel weren’t all bad. She was friends with a few of them and tolerated many more. But Denton was a thug. She wasn’t looking for trouble, she just wanted to get home and get back to her work. Just ignore him.
“Hey! I’m talkin’ to you.”
With a sick feeling of resignation, she looked up again, preparing to give Denton a piece of her mind. But as her mouth opened, she realized that Denton and the others weren’t talking to her. They were addressing a young man sitting just in front of her.
“You’ve got some nerve.” Denton tilted his chin upward, nostrils flaring. “Sittin’ there while this nice lady is forced to stand, carrying all her heavy stuff.”
“It’s really quite alright—” Sylvia began. The young man raised his head, perhaps just now realizing that Denton was talking to him, or perhaps, like her, he had been hoping to ignore his aggressor. She was startled as his face turned toward her, his iridescent eyes grieved by the unwanted attention. “Sorry,” he mumbled, standing. His shoulders were slumped in tired defeat.
“No,” Sylvia said, “please, sit. You were here first.”
“Don’t matter if he were here first,” Denton’s voice was a low growl and he rose to his feet. “He should just be thankful he gets to be here at all.”
“I am,” the young man agreed in an unconvincing monotone. “Very grateful.”
“Mr. Murphy.” Sylvia rounded on the tyrant and found him much closer than before, his friends at his back, taking up the whole aisle as those who’d been standing there attempted to squeeze themselves out of the way, none of them wanting to have any part in the confrontation. That was the real problem. No one wanted to get involved. So long as the Security team kept their offenses directed against Halfsies and refrained from hassling Elves, the Elder Council seemed all too willing to turn a blind eye. “Leave this man alone. He’s done nothing to warrant your uncouth behavior, and I am more than capable of standing, thank you very much.”
She gave him a warning look that she hoped did not reflect the nervous dance her insides were performing. She didn’t think they’d harm her, at the very least not in front of all these witnesses, but then again...
Just then, a red light at the head of the compartment began to blink, and a rather frazzled-looking Tube Official appeared in the doorway, making his way to the back door. “Excuse me, excuse me,” he muttered as he forced his way past Denton’s crew.
“Please be aware,” came a voice from the loudspeaker. “There is smoke in car three. Remain calm. A Tube Official has been dispatched.”
Sylvia scanned the other passengers, thankful for the distraction. Several people expressed mild curiosity at the announcement, necks craning to follow the progress of the Tube Official, but most simply appeared agitated by the delay. One man in particular, sallow-faced and looking as if he hadn’t slept in days, seemed on the verge of crying. She could relate.
Several moments later the train slowed, then drew to a stop. “Please remain in your car,” came the loudspeaker voice once more. “We apologize for the delay. We will be underway again shortly.”
The disembodied voice was true to its word. It wasn’t long before the car gave another little lurch and they began to move again, picking up speed. Soon enough they were pulling into the D5 Market Station.
Sylvia was grateful to get out of the crowd and into the open. She walked the str
eet slowly, looking around at the vendors. The enormous geothermal condensers rose up and out of sight from behind the Tube station, which was surrounded by shops in all directions. The markets in the residential areas were located at the center, where the high peak of the dome gave everything a wide open, airy feeling. Vivid banners in bright colors decorated booths whose owners vied for customers’ attention with boisterous shouts and lofty claims.
Spotting the trailing red streamers that adorned her father’s booth, she found him gesturing animatedly to several patrons. Sylvia caught his eye and waved, and he motioned for her to come over.
Sylvia waited until the last customer had walked away. “Hi, Daddy! I can’t stay, I have a lot of work to do.”
Her father stuck his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. “Well if you’ve work to do, why aren’t you at work?”
“They kicked me out,” she told him with an innocent shrug.
“Well then, I should think that means you’re done for the day,” he reasoned with a mischievous grin.
She smiled and replied with a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon!” Then she headed off toward home.
Outside the rings of merchants was where the housing began. First came 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.
Next was the common housing, tall apartment complexes that most of the families of Sanctuary called home. She glanced up as her complex came into view, spotting the glass slider that led from their modest kitchen to their modest balcony, six stories up. It would have been a carbon copy of all the others if not for the colorful crocheted decorations her Nana had lovingly woven around the railing posts.
The weight of her work became a physical burden as she trekked up the stairs. The lift here hadn’t functioned in over a decade, and Sigil did nothing about it. Once under the stewardship of a Civil Engineering division, housing maintenance had become a civilian’s responsibility soon after the Edge had started to make a name for itself as a growing problem. The large apartments that kissed the edges of the domes had once been coveted for their generous living quarters. As the population soared, they’d been subdivided so many times that many no longer had individual restrooms or kitchens. The poor had been forced into the shared housing, tempted out of their small, but private, apartments for offers of credits and rations.