At the end of the hall, around a gaping chasm in the floor, he stopped at room number eight and carefully pushed open the little door. He stopped and listened. The familiar drip, drip, drip of the faucet echoed from the sink in the corner. He touched a switch, and a single, dim bulb feebly glowed, illuminating an old armchair and a cracked shelf full of books. A sense of well-being suffused him – their tiny oasis lay untouched. In the corner sat a ratty mattress that he hopped upon, crossing his arms behind him. He didn’t know what fortune had led Clara here – she had found it abandoned shortly after rescuing him. But to this day, it possessed both power and water – precious gifts in the slums. Fusion had made the Corporations lax; the energy required was abundant. It was the maintenance of the pipes and generators that was hard now. Carefully barring the door, Clara plopped down in the chair, watching Janus.
He propped himself up on his elbows, “You’ll be going to work in the morning?”
“Yes, Miss Middleton wants me all day tomorrow to prepare for her party.”
“Then we should get some sleep, I’ll bring you to the station tomorrow.”
“I…” She raised a finger to protest, thought better of it, and instead angrily snatched the blanket beside her armchair.
Janus merely shrugged. Even now, she still didn’t like him exploring the slums alone. He curled up on the mattress so that his legs no longer hung over it.
He closed his eyes, beckoned into sleep by exhaustion and the drip, drip, drip of the faucet.
He awoke to a dim room, a small amount of light filtering through the many cracks and holes in the walls. Another day...
It took a few minutes, but Clara finally stirred. Removing herself slowly from the comfort of her armchair, he watched her with some amusement as she mentally prepped herself for the long trek to the station. It never changed – she was comfortingly predictable. After a few moments, she stood up and moved easily through the dark to the light switch. He heard the flick of the switch, but the room remained dark.
Her muttered curse was unintelligible.
“Light out?”
“Yes.”
Janus bit back his tongue. It would be tough to find a new bulb.
“Take your vitamin supplement,” Clara instructed him.
“If you insist.” Janus hated that she used a large portion of her meager earnings each month to pay for a supplement to replace his lack of nutrition. The slums were a notoriously poor place to try and raise a healthy child. There had been a brief period when Janus had resisted the supplement – he didn’t think he needed it, nor did he want her wasting the money. But when Clara had continued to purchase the supplement, letting it rot rather than bend to Janus’ pride, Janus had discovered that his biological parents were probably not the only ones who had put a stubborn streak in him.
“Are you ready?” Clara spoke from the darkness near the door.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Janus asked matter-of-factly.
“I was just trying to be nice.”
“Sorry…”
“No, you’re not,” Clara said smiling.
He smirked in the dim light, “Let’s go.”
They made their way through the silent slums, focusing on navigating the obstacles that lay ahead of them.
Clara gritted her teeth, “They’ve dumped even more trash here since last time. Pretty soon we’ll have to find a new route to the station.”
Janus nodded, “We can look for one in a couple of days.”
Trash had become a real problem for the slums. Clara had explained to him that the real problem began soon after the invention of fusion power. Although recycling was very popular in the days before fusion, it had now become much more “efficient” to produce new products than spend the time sorting the various wastes. Fusion was both a blessing and a curse, costing them the few precious recycling jobs that were available, but providing the electricity they needed so survive.
Clara turned to stare at Janus through the haze. “Why a couple of days? Why not tomorrow? We’ll need a new path as soon as possible.”
“Middleton will want you to clean up after her party, won’t she?”
“I completely forgot about that,” Clara slapped her forehead.
“Of course, if both of us are busy searching for a new path, we won’t have much time to look for things to sell…”
Clara growled as she realized what he was doing. “Janus, you may be clever, but I’m not stupid! I told you that I don’t want you exploring the slums on your own. I don’t want you out searching while I’m working.”
“I’m not a child. And I’m better than you at hiding from patrols.”
“Yes, but—”
“And I've been making my way back and forth from the station for some time now.”
“And you know I hate that—”
“You were on the streets alone for years.”
“But—” she knew she was defeated. Clara had been avoiding it for as long as she could. Janus was no longer the baby she had found helpless so many years ago. She sighed.
“Fine, you can go. But please be careful.” She smiled weakly at him.
“Thank you, mother.” This time it was genuine.
Not another word was said between them as they passed through the slums towards the station, finally arriving as the hour approached six.
Clara paused, “Let me change.” Janus nodded as Clara pulled a carefully folded servant’s uniform from her knapsack. Slummers weren’t technically allowed on the upper levels, and the punishment could be severe if caught. Clara had devised a careful routine to ensure that she at least appeared clean, even if she still needed a shower. As she went into a dark corner to change, Janus turned to look at their destination.
The station had a deep black shine and smooth edges that made it appear as if a giant piece of polished obsidian had been dropped in the middle of the city. Bright lights illuminated the outside, giving the station a strange, otherworldly glow. The light pulsed, giving Janus the sensation that he had stumbled upon the jagged, black heart of some giant creature.
And indeed, lift stations were the hearts of the city. If the people were the blood, the stations kept them flowing. All eleven levels of the city were connected through the central stations. There were seven, scattered across Cerberus. Hardened and protected, the lift stations had been built into the city’s design as a defense mechanism. Without control of the lifts, it would be impossible for any ground assault to succeed.
Level Nine, the lowest of all the levels, consisted only of the slums. Long forgotten and unused, the slums were the bowels of Cerberus, the foundation of the great superscrapers that surrounded Janus. It was utterly ignored by the upper castes but for a few exceptions.
Levels Eight, Seven, and Six comprised the factory levels. Sometimes, when the sun was high overhead, and the fog wasn’t too thick, Janus could see the crisscrossing bridge-ways of the factories and hear the roaring machinery from the top of a large trash pile. The factory levels produced vast quantities of goods, materials, and even food for the populace of the city. Interspersed between the great factories were quarters devoted to the men and women who kept them running. Worked by millions, they were little better than the slums, but at least provided some element of stability and safety. Whole generations lived and died working the same factories, in what amounted to small cities nestled amongst great furnaces and massive gears.
Levels Five, Four, and Three were dedicated to the Corporate Security Forces, with easy access to most of the rest of the city. The Corporate Security Forces were the largest employer of all. Corporate Security was the fist of the Executors, maintaining order and stability throughout the Corporation and its outlying territory.
Level Two provided the power and water for the city, supplying the people through its maze of pipes, pumps, and conduits.
And Level One was devoted to research and administration. It was said that little research, but much administration occurred there these days. That the Ex
ecutors had to focus on maintaining the Corporation, rather than expanding or improving it.
The two uppermost levels of the city were lettered, not numbered. Level E was the primary residence of the skilled workforce, and the place where most of the city’s commerce occurred. It was the lifeblood of the Corporation in many ways, and played host to millions upon millions, housing those who worked on all of the primary systems of the Corporations – from factory foremen and engineers, to merchants and tradesmen. It was crowded, and rough. But as long as the predominant rule of law and order survived, the Security Forces turned a blind eye. Control and wealth were the concerns of the Executors; the petty indulgences of the masses could be ignored.
And finally, there was Level H; the home of the Executors and their servants, the Overlords, upper castes, and ranking military. It was from there that the Executors ruled. It was also the only part of the city that was actually subject to direct sunlight.
Years ago, Janus had asked about the nature of the numbering convention. No one seemed to know, but it was rumored that it was all some sick joke by the Executors.
Emerging from the shadows in her simple white uniform, Clara took the knapsack and her collection of rags and hid them carefully in a loose drainage grate. Motioning she was ready, the pair moved on.
As Clara and Janus crossed the circular clearing that surrounded the glowing lift station, two guards signaled for them to approach. They were Cerberus Security, and truly imposing. Their armor, a terrifying mass of plates and muscle-like ripples, easily added a half-meter to even the most ordinary soldier. Composed of a metallo-ceramic called ceramium, the tough, thick, purple and black armor was well protected against almost any threat – except to the fearsome rifle every S.T. carried: the Zeus.
The Zeus was an electromagnetic rail gun. Firing small, nearly weightless rounds called bolts at thousands of kilometers per hour, few things could stop a Zeus.
And set within the heavy helmet was a wide, opaque, Pellucidum visor that allowed the soldiers excellent sight, but gave no glimpse of the man inside – if there even was one.
Janus had heard the tales from other slummers, when they crossed paths or traded, about the inhuman characteristics of the S.T.s. He did not believe them, but he understood why Corporate Security did nothing to dissuade the rumors. Besides, pretending that there was no man inside made it that much easier for Janus to despise them.
S.T.s are all the same, anyway, Janus thought.
“ID?” One of the two guards demanded on their approach, snapping Janus from his reverie.
Clara pulled out her unique Cerberus ID that allowed her access to the upper levels, a rarity in the slums. It was quite possibly the most valuable thing she owned. A simple, partially translucent square, the ID displayed her picture as she handed it over to the guards, glowing green to confirm her vein structure and identity with a simple touch.
The guard hardly glanced at the scanner before lazily motioning for her to pass through the gate to the station.
The second guard motioned roughly at Janus with his rifle, “Ya?”
“Was just leaving,” Janus stated blandly, ignoring the attempt to intimidate him.
The guard who had inspected Clara’s ID turned to face Janus, “You shoul’ show some respect.”
Janus gave him a pitying look and then turned with a smile to Clara. “Have a good day,” he waved cheerily.
“You not hear me, mudfish?” The first guard grunted at Janus.
Clara froze in the doorway when she had heard Janus’ reply. She did not wave back, but instead gave him an angry gaze and mouthed NO. As the two guards advanced on him, her look became desperate.
Janus sighed, and glanced at the first guard, who was in the process of clumsily trying to shove him. The blow from the armored soldier surely would have sent him flying, but the guard was simply moving too slowly. They always moved too slowly. Janus took a step back, easily dodging the simple attack.
“You little—” the guard spluttered as he stumbled forward. Janus smirked as the guard flung a loose fist towards him, and danced away. The first guard howled with rage, but the other two laughed, “Gettin’ beat by some kid, Hammer?”
Clara rushed towards the fight, but was grabbed by a third trooper, “Janus!”
Janus bit his lip guiltily. As Hammer turned to face him, and Janus raised his hands in truce, “Listen – we both know you could take my head off with a punch, so why don’t we call it quits for today?”
“Yeah, Hammer, quit while you’re only slightly behind,” one of the other guards called.
“Shut it, McKnight,” Hammer replied. “You think I’m going to let this kid make a fool of me?” Hammer grabbed his rifle, “Let’s see how well you run from a bolt.”
Janus felt his whole body tense as the barrel of the Zeus swung towards him.
McKnight grabbed the barrel, “Might not want to do that.”
“Don’t tell me you’re soft on this mudfish.”
“No, but one of the Overlords might be. There’s a request for him,” he motioned his helmet to the console behind him.
“What?” Clara exclaimed.
“Supposed to send him up with the woman. Come here, kid.” McKnight gestured with his free hand to Janus, who eyed him suspiciously. Clara held her breath.
McKnight laughed, “I was rootin’ for ya’, remember? Besides, orders is orders. We can’t let you outta sight now.” Janus didn’t move.
McKnight grabbed Clara roughly. She gasped in pain. “I mean it, kid.”
Janus scowled, but walked confidently towards the guard. “That’s it. Go on. Straight up to Overlord Middleton.” McKnight nodded at Clara, “I presume you know to head there straightaway.”
Clara nodded numbly.
“Good. Let them through.”
The other guards stepped aside. Janus could feel Hammer’s burning eyes through the opaque visor, and he smiled at the angry guard as he passed.
Chapter 2: The Silver-Haired Man
After an interminably tense few moments, the pair passed the checkpoint and entered the obsidian structure. Janus could feel Clara’s anxiety as her eyes jumped back to him every few moments.
Janus let his eyes wander over the station. The interior reflected the twisted outside, except the walls gave off a darker, redder glow. A Security Officer, in a standard black and purple Cerberus uniform, worked the control room in the center of the station, overseeing his task through a heavy red window. The sigil of the Three-Headed Dog of Cerberus was engraved into the walls. Ten heavily armored doors in the roof designated where each of the individual lifts would descend, riding magnetic tracks along the walls of the station.
Only two of the seven lift stations across Cerberus served the slums, and only one lift within each of those stations ever came down this far. There wasn’t much need for more. Most of the traffic hovered between the factory and security levels, transporting vehicles, equipment, and supplies. Two lift platforms were devoted specifically to the Security forces; another two to the constant supply of workers to and from the factories. A smaller, enclosed lift that was devoted to the upper castes hardly ever moved anywhere.
Janus watched as a flat, heavy platform with no rails or sides, and wide enough for a hundred slummers, descended gently to the ground through the roof in the station. At Clara’s urging, he stepped aboard. It was intended for transport of vehicles, not people.
A few troopers manned each of the gates, lazily watching for activity, but mostly looking as though they wondered why they had been relegated to such a position.
“Good morning, Clara.”
Clara startled out of her reverie and Janus whirled around to find a kindly-looking old man perched over a gnarled wooden walking stick next to her. His face bore tired lines and his spotted hands spoke to his age, but his bright blue eyes peeking out from under bushy white brows suggested a spark of energy deep within him. Straight silver hair was cropped upon his head and a brown, sharply pressed servant
’s uniform with two rows of pockets gave him a distinguished air.
“Oh hello, Norm, I didn’t see you there.”
Norm chuckled, “How could you not see me? I am the only other person here!”
“Sorry, I was just a little distracted.”
Norm smiled, “I see. And you must be the young Janus.”
Janus nodded. He had heard of Norm before, but he had never met him. He and Clara had been friends for many years, and he was the only other person in the slums Janus knew to possess an ID card.
Norm’s face became serious, and he turned to Clara, “Trouble?”
Clara swung her head towards Janus, “He’s being requested on the upper level.”
Norm’s face grew serious, “By whom?”
“Middleton,” Janus interjected.
Janus was surprised by the flash of panic that appeared in Norm’s eyes, but in an instant, it was gone. Norm rubbed his chin thoughfully, “Did she know you had a son?”
Clara was flabbergasted, “She’s never asked.” Her eyes searched the floor, “But I suppose she might have heard something from one of the other maids or Albert?”
“Hmmm, perhaps she is looking for a new servant, since you are so trustworthy?”
Clara was still troubled, but was relieved by the idea, “Maybe.”
“Do not let it trouble you Clara. I suspect there is nothing to fear,” Norm smiled kindly.
Janus wasn’t so sure.
As the lift hummed to life beneath them, Clara and Norm shifted topics, their discussion ranging from where the best trash piles seemed to be falling to gossip that they had “overheard” during their shifts.
The Phoenix Fallacy Book I: Janus Page 2