Condemnation

by Kell Inkston

  She gains a brief, nostalgic grin when she remembers the time her dad demanded to know why she left her auto and its parts in the downstairs bathroom.

  "It's not like we get visitors, dear," Clare repeats to herself, quoting her mother.

  She reaches her street and steps up to her home's front porch, pausing by the door a moment to sniff. Her dad's already back— and the cooking food only barely masks the scent of the horrible, weird underground of his workplace.

  With a gentle knock, Clare is given prompt entry by the servant automaton, who bows its head in greeting. Her father only allows it to open the door. He wouldn't trust it with anything else after the accident with her mother. No matter how complex, how sophisticated the automatons become, there are some images that he can never remove from his mind.

  “Greetings, Clare,” it says, emphasizing the saved term from its active memory: her name.

  “Thanks, Mark,” she answers with a bow of the head.

  Clare steps in carrying everything she brought with her as her father's voice rings through the home of wood, metal and steam.

  His name is Zach; he is a sad man.

  "Hey," he greets, "short day?"

  She steps up to embrace her dad, who emerges from the bright kitchen. "Same could be said for you. How are you doing?"

  They hug, his silver-white bristles brushing over her rich blonde hair.

  "Good, good I suppose," he says, drawing back to show the familiar gentle smile amidst that crushed, worldly face.

  "Suppose?" They both enter the kitchen, the earthy notes of the tiles giving the room a comfortable warmth on top of the actual temperature coming from the pot at the side of the room, its contents bubbling away with a promise of good things soon to come.

  Turning for the pot, he tosses his hand out dismissively. "Naw, it was good— normal day, just tired."

  She pours herself a glass of milk from the refrigerator and takes a seat. "Anything happen?"

  "The usual. One of the autos got stuck walking between two nodes. Some genius decided to go down and switch 'em around."

  She takes a sip. "Wow, people do that?"

  He shuffles the pot by the handle, the simmering stew whining against the hot edges. "Not often. It's a no-man zone, after all. Life imprisonment if they catch you."

  "Rightfully so," she says, “it would kinda suck if some hoodlums caused an auto to tear something up down there- whole city would be out of power.”

  "That, and..." he sighs. "The autos are real simple down there."

  Clare knows to lay off. "I'm... I'm sorry, dad."

  He shakes his head. "It's not safe for people without a personnel node on. The autos down there will tear you right in half thinking you're some sewer refuse too stupid to know the fucking difference between a living human being and just some stupid tr-"

  "Dad, please."

  "I just..." He sighs and increases the heat before turning back to his chair. Only now does she notice the open beer next to the pepper shaker. He takes a quick swig. "People make me sick sometimes. They don't have a goddamn clue, acting like there's something worth hiding down there. Even if you didn't get killed, it's still illegal. If Everhold's power infrastructure were to take a hit, it'd put a quarter of the city down for a month, n' that wouldn't be pretty; folks aren’t ready."

  Despite her conscious mind's best efforts, her eye gains a spark when he passes the word ‘infrastructure’. "So... why do they sneak down there?"

  He takes a sip while he gives her a dissatisfied, concerned shrug. "Curious, I bet. Met a kid down there once, decided to hide out during work hours."

  Clare looks to her glass. "That's pretty bad."

  "He said he wanted to know the truth. He thought there was some way out from below."

  "Out to the ocean?"

  There's an expression on her father that Clare, as a growing lady, can just barely take note of here. She is certain that he has a brief look of disgusted, tired, hateful misery— as though her question had a physical, intensely bitter flavor to it.

  "Yeah, out to the ocean," he responds simply, staring into his ale with a mindless, soulless stare.

  Clare smiles. "I'd like to see it sometime, you know."

  "The ocean?"

  "Yeah. I hear Class Fives can go up to Victor's observatory and see over the walls, even get up on the wall with the secret guard and see it up close."

  He shrugs. "That’s not true, everyone gets the porthole unless you’re in the wall guard. I s'pose it'd be nice to see over the walls, if even once, though. They’re really taking that ‘possession’ thing seriously."

  She nods, feeling like she's gotten her hand back in the discussion and off the indirect topic of her mom.

  "By the way," he slowly brightens up, his tired eyes gleaming with a little positivity. "How'd the exam go?"

  "I'm pretty sure I got top marks, but..." she scoffs awkwardly, not sure how to break it to him. "I have a project thing... that I wasn't really thinking about. It kind of caught me off-guard."

  He raises a brow, holding the bottle high to his lips.

  "I... it's my thesis."

  Zach blinks a few times in surprise, bringing his drink down. "You... oh, darling... I'm sorry," he says with a genuine look of concern for her.

  "Thanks, I..." She shrugs like he would. "I don't know what to do. I told Professor Elwood it would be on infrastructure. Do you have any ideas?"

  As sorry as he feels for her, he immediately clams up— knowing exactly where this chat would lead if he let her have her way. "There's a lot you can do with a topic like that. You don't need my expertise for anything. After all, it's your thesis, darling."

  "Yes, but I just need some inspiration. I want to know how your job could be improved through engineering. You said that... that the substation autos could be improved. Don't you think you could get a magi-tech on it and make sure that they're as safe as the servi-"

  "No. That's a stupid idea, Clare. I'm..." He turns away, leaning back and avoiding her gaze, which really is too much like her mother’s. "I'm sorry, but that's not going to work out. I don't want you coming anywhere near those things. Their plates are too old, the managraphics are smeared. There's no telling what they'd do if they saw two personnel nodes walking around— that, and I only have one of them. I’d have to formally request an new one from the Institute of Engineering, and that request would have to be requested by the Royal Quarter head.

  Clare flinches at the thought. “The head of the Royal Quarter?! So like… King Victor would have to approve it?!”

  He nods. “So that's no twice. I have to be careful just as myself... those autos walk to me sometimes, thinking I'm a goddamn latch needing opening or something."

  "I could tell you what they'd do, I’ve been studying."

  He looks up at her like she's finally crossed the line. "That so? More than Momma, huh?"

  Clare's hair stands on end, staring back at her father's frost-blue eyes. "...Dad I... You said it was... you said it was an industrial a-... oh."

  "Yeah, it sure as hell was. I didn't tell you about it because you were too young... but I guess you're old enough now."

  At once, Clare's worries go from her thesis, to her mother's fate. She draws in, tightening her grip around the glass of milk to the point of nearly shattering. "Okay, tell me." She leans into a tilt, causing the little green-gem earring on her right ear to swing about with equal interest.

  His eyes glaze over with aged, damaged carelessness. "...She was the best magi-tech in Everhold, your mom. She was Victor's personal adviser during the year three hundred redesign for the agricultural quarter's auto stable, but everyone knows that; everyone would tell you... She held the position for a few years."

  "We were about to move into a new house, right?"

  "I mean, what else would you do with that many pieces?" He sighs, shakes his head again, and continues. "She started getting... nervous."

  "Nervous?"

  "Yeah…" he takes a pause
and gives a long sigh. “Insane is probably the best term. I’m sorry you had to hear this, but I guess I’m the one that should drop it for you.”

  - Chapter 5 -

  The years track back just over a decade in Clare’s mind as she hears the story:

  Ignoring the calls from the pursuing guards, a bemasked Mary Airineth slams her boot into the rusted grate down in the agricultural quarter. The iron oxide surface snaps crustily inward with a crash, opening the way to the sewers— but most importantly, the magi-electric substation system. In an indignant, wild rush, she pushes her way through. "I know it's here," she spits under her breath. With a flick, she taps on her collar-bound light, shining out in a far reaching, if dim, bluish light. Mary dashes down the refuse-ridden etched stone spillways, taking what seems like a dozen sharp turns in the dark. She's memorized the path, and she knows she doesn't have much time before Zach catches wind— but by this point, she's willing to meet any challenge to find the truth. It just doesn't make sense.

  There's another sudden turn in the dark system; this one wasn't expected. She stops in place, her short, heavy breaths betraying her horror.

  "It's the wrong way," she mutters to herself, her voice muffled through her gas mask's filters.

  With a clumsy, frantic speed Mary unfolds the two maps of the interlaced sewage and substation systems. She layers one above the other, joining their ink into a single faded image, and shines her light through from below. It appears simple enough— she just made one wrong turn. Her ears, however, tell a much darker tale.

  From the edge of her hearing, she detects it— the eerily-paced, promptly-measured steps of an automaton. She looks up from the maps while stuffing them messily into her pocket.

  Posing as if on a leisured stroll, but carrying itself at a pace just under a jog, a janitorial auto appears— its managraphic sight-sigil visible on its head like an icon of burning, murderous efficiency. She doesn't back up when it looks her way, having caught her in its field of vision. Of course, the auto doesn't take her for a person; these ones aren't intelligent enough to have that sort of sophisticated artificial intelligence. Mary understands that the auto sees her as a confused pile of disposed organic matter, at five foot six in height and at one hundred and fifteen pounds in weight— just something to be separated and moved out to prevent a clog.

  Without ceremony, it starts straight for her, making no sound save for its footsteps.

  "Administrator argument," she says coolly.

  Reaching for her neck, it stops cold, its rock-like alloy fingers but a meter from her head.

  Its managraph symbol pings white, signifying that it's now waiting for a command input.

  Mary inputs nothing, rather passes calmly by. She'll let Zach, the only man in Everhold to bear such an immense responsibility as maintaining the sewers and substations, clean up after her. The auto is still as she leaves, to remain stationary until given its next directive which won’t be for nearly a week from now.

  She retraces her steps, rechecks her maps, and then heads down another route. This one is right.

  In only a minute’s time, she finds herself in the well-lit substation system area. She looks to the wall, observing the spray-painted relief.

  "SUBSTATION 4" it says, with small arrows pointing left and right— leading to either Substation 3, or 5.

  With a bated, strained breath, she starts down the great circular way to Substation 5. It's a long run, and takes a toll from 4 to 5, and then 5 to 6— occasionally meeting autos along the way and initializing each with her voice commands just as quickly as she encounters them. As she reaches Substation 6, she focuses her sights on the next section of tunnel, which curves away enticingly. There's no light down that way, but there is a way none the less. There's something there. With a few choice glances, she looks over the half-dozen warning signs present along the walls as she passes them by:

  "NO ACCESS"

  "AREA UNDER MAINTENANCE"

  "DANGER: CONSTRUCTION IN PROGRESS"

  "DANGER: NON-SOCIAL AUTOMATONS IN SERVICE. SEVERE INJURY OR DEATH COULD..."

  "PROCESSION INTO CORDONED AREA IS IN VIOLATION WITH PRINCIPLE 1-23..."

  The standard advisories fail to hold her attention—but the last one catches her eye. "YOUR CURIOSITY IS NOT WORTH YOUR LIFE. THE CONSPIRACIES ARE ALL LIES. TURN AROUND NOW. NOTHING PAST THIS SIGN IS WORTH DYING FOR," it reads.

  She gazes down the path; just a bit more, and she’ll have arrived where the last substation is supposed to be— the one it all hinges on. She steps forward— and that’s when she hears his voice.

  "Mary!"

  She turns around, spotting Zach, fully kitted out and staring her down from Substation 6's entry tunnel. He can see her clearly. Her usually slicked down, conservative style of hair is a frazzled mess with strands reaching every which way— the mask's straps pushing them out of place comically. Her eyes under the lenses are wide, bestial, and impatient. Her demeanor is sunken, ready for movement— desperate.

  "...Don't stop me," she says, her voice an empty husk of what it was only a week ago.

  "Baby, if you were going to take my mask why didn't you take my node, too? You know how danger-"

  "Because you would've come down here with or without it. I wasn't going to risk you for my sake. Now please, turn around."

  "No, Mary. I'm owed an explanation. Just what the hell's going on with you?"

  "You don't know. Nobody knows."

  "What?"

  "It's wrong, Zach. The whole thing's fucked up from the start."

  He takes a deep breath. "Doctor Petrassus doesn't matter. Nobody cares what he said about you, honey. Just go to the secondary review and they'll cl-"

  "This isn't about what he said; he’s clueless. This is about the truth. I can't stand idly by while we slowly die out."

  "I-is this about the granary? Everything's fine, honey! We have more food than we’ve ever had! Everhold's better than ever! You of all people know tha-"

  "No. It's not sustainable. It doesn't work. I did the math, I can't believe I didn't see it sooner."

  "What?"

  "I sat down and I figured it out, Zach. There's more to this than just the ocean... it's not even there."

  There's a nervous pause between them.

  "O-of course the ocean's outside the walls, honey! We have people posted every day watching it!"

  "Have you ever met one of these people?"

  He scoffs. "You know they can't give away their identities. Their line of work is still top secret! It’s a holy duty!"

  She scoffs in return. "And do you even know what the ocean would look like?"

  "We have pictures! The viewing port—"

  "We have sketches, assumptions— generations of misinformation built upon a set of choice lies. We are trapped in here. No one asked, no one questioned. We just kept working. In our incessant reach for food, for the working day, we forgot where we came from."

  "Honey."

  She squints in the dim lights. "..."

  "Don't do this. Clare’s asleep, at home. She has no idea what's going on, and I don't want to explain to her in the morning that you went running and screaming off into the sewers to get killed by an auto. Don't do this to her."

  "Zach, I need to kn-"

  "Don't do this to me. Don't be selfish; you’re just going to get yourself kill-"

  "And if I don't, we will all kill ourselves! Whatever our ancestors did those years ago, it wasn't reasonable. I can't blame them— they probably expected to be behind these walls for no more than a few decades… but we've been here for three hundred years, Zach— histories and generations!"

  "But King Victor knows, honey! He was there!"

  "King Victor doesn't matter! I don't care if he's immortal. I don't care if he's a god! He's going to get us killed! He's senile! We have to find a way out!"

  Zach peers behind her shoulder, to the construction zone between numbers 6 and 1. "...Mary. There is no way out. The ocean would have come in throug
h a passage, the place would have flooded. The autos there— I saw them. They don't have social programming, at all. They would kill you no matter what you said, no matter what you had on you. If you go down that way, you will die."

  She doesn't miss a beat. "That's a chance I'm willing to take for our little girl."

  "She's too fucking young to lose her mother! Think about her! Don't you want her to have a good life?"

  "There's no good life here, Zach; she wouldn't want her children to starve to death, and I don’t want her to have to face that."

  "We're fine here, Mary! What the fuck have you been reading to make you think otherwise?!"

  "In about a decade from now, we're going to start losing it. Harvests won't have enough nutrition in the soil. The rotations won't work as well. We're at the crest before the downward spiral— it's only going to get worse from here."

  "It'll get worse if you give up! Don't you dare quit on me, quit on everyone!"

  "I'm not quitting. I'm trying to save you."

  "By killing yourself?!"

  "There's something down there, Zach," she nods behind her into the darkness. "It's not labeled on the maps. I th-"

  "That's because the city doesn't need more than six substations! Hell, it doesn’t need more than two! We've never had a power outage, anywhere!"

  "But it's still there. They wouldn't have it for no reason, Zach. There's something there, and even if no one else cares about what's there, it's the only way. I've spent hours and hours going over the blueprints for the city. That is the only place the entrance could be."

  "Hun, I saw the maps too. Nothing's there."

  "You only say that because you haven't checked for yourself. Just because it's not marked doesn't mean it's not there. I'm going to find out... I love you."

  Zach takes a scarce, hard breath. "Baby, don't do this."

  She starts off down the hall. "Goodbye, Zach."

  "Stop!" He sprints forward. "Fuck's sake, Mary—please!"

  His cries fall on deaf ears. Mary doesn't stop. Her lithe frame navigates through the complex at a speed he never expected she was capable of. With all his gear, it's all he can do to just fall behind a little bit with each step. He sheds his pack. It's still not enough. He drops his tools; she's still faster. He finally drops his personnel node— that heavy, managraphed block ensuring safety from semi-social autos— onto the floor as he leans into a desperate sprint.