Chapter 3

Raelin and Kiri huddled together on an upside-down crate, now a bench, in the cramped, shadowy recess of the Stockpile. Again, Raelin pressed his hand against his OmniLink’s implant site, although this time in hopeful anticipation rather than dread. The flickering, azure glow from the small screen teased them as they awaited the day’s tally. Kiri nestled up close to her brother, who responded by wrapping his arms around her, though his eyes stayed fixed on the screen.

“Does it always take this long?” Kiri whispered, a sliver of doubt coating her words.

“Yeah, but usually we aren’t too keen on knowing the result.” Raelin grimaced, his hand clenched over the implant which updated their ledger scores.

KIRI KESTREL - 407/10000 points

RAELIN KESTREL - 940/10000 points

The display revealed the direness of their situation, like the grains of sand in an hourglass slowly draining towards disaster. If Kiri dropped below 0 points, she would become Pointless. In her current condition, it seemed almost inevitable. For citizens in the Nexus, the average worker started with 5000 points, receiving every basic need and occasional luxuries. A normal workday would neither increase nor decrease their point standing. Only exceptional work increased it, while substandard, missing, or slow work decreased it. Most people in the Substructure hovered around their starting points until an accident, sickness, or old age decreased their performance, leading to a steady loss of points until they died or became pointless, an outcome not far from death.

Those fortunate or capable enough to rise to the top of the score ladder received additional luxuries and less strenuous requirements. Those who maxed out their score at 10000 could move upstairs, becoming residents of the Habitation Blocks. Each tier of the city functioned in the same manner, although the higher tiers provided more and more benefits for the same number of points. What the Oracle considered the basic needs of a denizen of the Skyline Residences would be considered the utmost luxury of dweller from the Substructure.

Finally, their OmniLinks played a short jingle, a familiar tune signalling a ledger update. They watched with bated breath as the screens flickered with today’s judgement. A list of minor score adjustments appeared, but the only relevant one stood out to Raelin like a shining beacon in the dark.

SCAVENGED TECH OF EXCEPTIONAL QUALITY (3x power cores), +450 points

“Ki…” he squeezed his sister carefully.

“We did it!” she squealed quietly, trying not to broadcast her emotions to the people walking in and out of the Stockpiles.

Inside, Raelin’s head spun with relief, nearly breaking the carefully schooled features he displayed to the outside world. It was a well-practised trick by now. Showing any change in behaviour could alert the other looters, making them targets for theft or worse.

They exchanged a brief, controlled smile before Raelin dismissed the OmniLink display with a tap against his skin. As they stood to leave, Raelin noticed two men lounging near the Stockpile entrance, their eyes tracking everyone who exited. One had Kozar’s mark tattooed on his neck. Three interlocking circles, like a chain. They weren’t hiding their interest, taking mental notes of who left with points.

The siblings blended into the throng of people bustling through the Stockpile and started their trek home.

They navigated the bustling streets of the centre of Undertown. The Substructure was filled with massive pillars stretching up to hold the concrete sky above. Carved into the pillars were homes and shops, with makeshift huts and stalls spreading out like ripples from the base of the pillar. As the pillars were not evenly spaced, the streets formed between circular patches of housing, winding back and forth like a river.

Adults haggled over prices at makeshift stalls, bartering for scavenged tech, food rations and clothing by trading for points or other essentials. Everywhere, there was movement and sound; the clatter of goods being arranged, the murmur of subdued conversations, and the occasional bark of a deal being struck. Children played with improvised toys, useless scraps made useful again, their imaginations transforming broken gadgets into futuristic spaceships and discarded pieces of fabric into magical cloaks.

While the children’s play was fierce, and the adult’s haggling fiercer, no vigilant eyes were needed to watch over the children or guard the goods. The Oracle’s omnipresent influence ensured that while the Substructure was impoverished, it was also orderly. There was no crime, no fighting, no danger lurking in the shadows, just the relentless grind of existence. The citizens were safely trapped in a slow decay, their lives wasting away in an unchanging, unrelenting drudgery.

Kiri tugged at his arm as they wandered past a small stall that jutted a little too far into the street. The rich aroma of caramelized root chips wafted over them, tempting their senses with its sweet allure. The vendor, a wiry man with a rough beard, noticed Kiri’s interest and winked at her. “Care for a taste, little miss?” he asked, holding out a small piece: a treat made from thinly sliced roots, fried and coated in caramel glaze. Raelin’s heart ached at the sight of Kiri’s eager nod. He wanted nothing more than to see her smile, to forget their struggles for even a moment and just be a kid, just this once. But he also knew it was a luxury they could not afford. They balanced carefully on the precipice of a point hole they would never be able to dig themselves out of if they fell down. The Oracle’s system didn’t account for the nuances of human emotion, the small moments that made life bearable.

“Maybe next time,” he murmured, pulling Kiri gently away. After just a moment’s resistance, she followed him, shoulders slumped. She said nothing, but Raelin could feel her disappointment radiating like a dull ache in his chest. They walked in silence for a while, minds wandering as they often did to imagine a future where every point didn’t have to be counted like a precious gemstone. New clothes, full stomachs and, most importantly, feeling secure in the safety of tomorrow.

“Hey, Raelin,” Kiri said softly, breaking the silence. “It’s okay. I know we have to be careful. Maybe one day, when we have more points…”

“Yeah,” Raelin replied, forcing a smile. “One day.”

The bustling market areas gave way to wider, heavy-duty roads as they approached Cargo Elevator One, commonly referred to by the locals as “The Shaft”. Raelin wasn’t sure if the architect who designed the elevator was clueless, had a twisted sense of humor, or just wanted to make a statement about the people living below, but the three domes from which the pillar rose, when viewed from ground level, definitely invoked phallic imagery.

The Shaft served as one of the few pathways between the Substructure and the levels above. Its primary function was to move cargo: crates of food, medical supplies, and technological components, up and down the city’s tiers. However, it was sometimes used to transport personnel as well, either technicians coming from above with tools and expertise unavailable in the Substructure, or workers being sent up to perform menial tasks at the higher levels. Occasionally, a desperate denizen of Undertown would sneak their way onto The Shaft, seeking a glimpse of a better life above. Raelin had never heard of a successful attempt, but then again he suspected that anyone who got away wouldn’t risk going back to tell the story.

Whether by coincidence or design, there were a few areas where the Oracle had blind spots, commonly known as Shadows. Hiding in the Shadows was generally frowned upon, as upstanding citizens wanted no part of illicit activity; after all, what else would people be doing in the lawless zones? One of the Shadows was behind one of The Shaft’s warehouses, and Raelin and Kiri steered clear of it as they made their way through the industrialized area. Just past the complex, farthest from the markets and utilities, and near the slag and pollution of the factories and traffic, lay the poorest district of Undertown.

“Just a few minutes left, Ki!” Raelin announced as they stepped into the Grime Pit. The air was thick with soot and smut, clinging to every surface and leaving a perpetual layer of filth. Makeshift shelters cobbled together from scrap metal and discarded materials, lined the narrow, winding alleys. The residents here were the ones on the underside of the bottom rung of society, struggling to survive on the meagre points they could scrounge up, if they earned any at all.

Older workers with hollow eyes and dirty faces peered out from dark corners as they passed, some eyeing them with suspicion or curiosity, but most with resigned indifference. Some huddled around small fires, trying to find warmth in the perpetual chill that pervaded the Grime Pit. Pale complexions, slumped shoulders, and dull acceptance characterised this downcast part of the population, in a place where hope had long since died.

Even here they were not free from the Oracle’s gaze, but its watchful eye was not always sufficient deterrent to those whose minds were altered by whatever substances were circulating at the moment. They passed a group of people slumped against a wall, eyes glazed over and vacant. The latest drug to hit the Substructure, known as Dreamdust, promise a brief escape from reality, while keeping the body’s metabolism slowed down so the user didn’t need to spend as much of their hard-earned points on nourishment. It had taken a firm hold here, but Raelin preferred them to use a sleep-inducing drug rather than stimulants or psychotics. He winced internally as he thought back on the period where a drug, simply named Red, had swept through the Grime Pit. Luckily it had only lasted a short while, as most of the users had beat each other to death. It had taken a toll on their points to find a more protected shelter closer to core Undertown until they felt safe enough to move back here.

“I know I say this every time we walk home, Ki” Raelin began, but his sister finished his sentence for him.

“You really hate living here,” she announced. “And one day we will get out of here and move into a mansion on the sections above, rolling in riches?” she sniggered.

“Hey, that last part was yours!” Raelin accused, “I’d be happy just to move somewhere the paint is actual paint instead of grime…”

Ki opened her mouth to respond, mischief in her eyes and slight curve on one side of her lip she always got when a snide remark was traveling towards the tip of her tongue, but their moment of joy was abruptly shattered. Her breath hitched, stride faltered and her body crumbled like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“Ki!” Raelin yelled, recognizing the symptoms of the PepUp having run its course. He dashed forwards to catch her in his arms with the reflexes of an older brother protecting his younger sister. She didn’t respond, merely slumped in his arms.

“Kiri, are you ok?” Raelin insisted, worry creeping into his voice. He moved her face so he could look into her eyes. She focused on him for just a moment, then her gaze lazily drifted off into space. Raelin breathed a sigh of relief. A moment of focus from her was all he needed to know she would recover. Long-term use of Pep-up would eventually manifest a physical addiction so strong the user would not be responsive without it. This led to a vicious cycle of stronger doses until the victim either overdosed or crashed so hard their body stopped functioning, usually leading to death.

“Sleepy…” Kiri whimpered. “Sorry…”

“Let’s get you home,” Raelin promised, maneuvering her onto his back and pressed on. He glanced around to see a couple looking in their direction, but with seeming disinterest. In any other place, Kiri’s collapse may have aroused suspicion, but in the Grime Pit, falling over from exhaustion, hunger or drug use was commonplace. Even if someone sought to take advantage of the situation, any criminal behaviour would be punished by the Oracle, and no one who lived here had much of value anyway.

When Kiri started getting sick a few years ago, Raelin had struggled under her weight the few times he had needed to bring her home when she was too tired or weak to walk by herself. Now, she was little more than skin and bones, a feather compared to the weight of worry over her sickness.

Finally, the ramshackle alleys opened up to reveal the Old Freight District, a remnant of a once-thriving transportation houses. Dilapidated warehouses, a network of loading bays and crumbling stations hinted at a time when goods flowed through the massive tunnel nearby, now silent and abandoned. The towering infrastructure, built to last under the constant movement of freight, now stood eerily still, its purpose lost to a forgotten past.

Hidden among these industrial relics, smaller buildings and shacks had been converted into homes. Raelin and Kiri, once they were old enough to no longer be granted the free shelter, sustenance and security which the Oracle provided to all children until they became of age, had been forced to establish a makeshift home here, a small, cramped shanty fortified with scavenged materials.

Raelin brought Kiri inside, brushing aside the curtain door with a practiced motion. The interior of their home was a single room, a small table, a few chairs and a single bed taking up most of the space. The walls were lined with shelves filled with trinkets and gadgets, some broken, some working. The only source of light was a small, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling. Raelin laid Kiri down on the bed and covered her with a blanket, tucking her in gently. She was already asleep, her breathing slow and even. The uneven, dim light only accentuated her pallor, making her look even more fragile. He watched her for a moment, allowing himself a moment of silent worry before turning away.

He looked over the room, taking in the familiar sights. Despite their meagre surroundings and lack of proper furnishings, the room was clean and organized. Raelin had always been meticulous about keeping their home in order, a trait he had inherited from their father. He had been a mechanic, a tinkerer and a scavenger who had taught Raelin everything he knew about fixing things, about finding value in the discarded and broken. Without the skills and tools he had passed on, Raelin knew they would have been lost long ago. There were fewer and fewer ways to earn points, and scavenging was one of the few ways left to them.

Raelin had heard that in the past, the Oracle had provided jobs and opportunities for everyone, but as the population had grown, the number of official jobs had not increased. With a job came housing, food and security, but without one, the only way to earn points was through non-standard methods, like scavenging, begging, trading or selling drugs. Once they came of age, they had been left to fend for themselves.

He sat down at the table, putting out a small toolkit from a drawer and set to cleaning and maintaining their tools. The toolbox felt oddly weighted, heavier on one side than the tools inside should make it, but Raelin had never found any hidden compartments despite checking. They were all he had left over from his father, along with the knowledge of how to use them and strict instructions to keep them in flawless condition. As Raelin worked, his hands moved with practiced precision over each tool. The nano-torx driver caught the flickering light as he cleaned its precision tip. The initials of his father, Aita Kestrel, were worn smooth by years of use. He remembered watching his dad working late into the night, the same focused expression Raelin now wore as he maintained the delicate instruments which kept them alive.

One by one, he went over each piece: A molecular scanner which could detect valuable alloys through layers of rust; the plasma cutter no bigger than his thumb; an gravity auto-wrench which could apply torque from any position and worked in zero-g environments. All relics from a time where such tools were commonplace rather than treasures. Aita Kestrel had been a scavenger like his son, but unlike most, he’d taught himself to read the old technical manuals, to understand the bones of the city which housed them all.

“The tools are only as good as the knowledge behind them,” his father used to say, and that knowledge lived on in the second treasure he had left behind.

Raelin finished with the tools and moved to the corner where his father’s makeshift library waited. Dozens of journals, technical manuals, and hand-drawn schematics filled a reinforced crate. Most were salvaged documentation from forgotten maintenance archives, but others were Aita’s own careful observations about the Substructure’s hidden passages, maintenance shafts, and forgotten systems.

He pulled out a familiar leather-bound journal, its pages yellowed with age. His father’s handwriting filled every margin, detailing not just the technical specifications of Nexus’s infrastructure, but quieter observations about the patterns he’d noticed. Raelin had read these pages countless times, but tonight something caught his eye, a passage he’d somehow never properly paid attention to before.

“Interesting scale to these maintenance levels,” his father had written in precise letters. “Storage capacity for 50,000 units in Bay Seven alone, according to the specs. Engineering crew was maybe 200 people, total. Infrastructure’s built big down here.”

Raelin’s finger traced the familiar handwriting as he continued reading.

“Tracked seventeen families through Oracle assignments over the past year. High aptitude scores across the board, but all placed in Substructure roles. Meanwhile, saw at least three medium-aptitude individuals moved up to Habitation level. Pattern might be coincidence. Population balance, maybe.”

The next entry was dated several years later, his father’s writing more hurried.

“Met an old maintenance worker today, must be eighty if he’s a day. Says he remembers when there were people above Oracle. Administrators, he called them. Could change how Oracle worked, apparently. All gone now, he said. Since the War. Oracle just keeps running the same programs.”

But it was a later entry, tucked between maintenance shaft diagrams, which made Raelin pause. Written in the margin in his father’s cramped handwriting: “The Oracle sees all but understands nothing.”

Raelin frowned at the cryptic note. His father rarely wrote philosophical observations. What had he meant? The Oracle’s surveillance was absolute, its judgments final. What was there to understand beyond the cold calculation of points?

He rubbed his eyes and almost closed the journal, but a later entry caught his eye.

“Found something interesting in the deep archives today. References to ‘continuity protocols’ and ‘emergency administrative succession.’ Seems Oracle was designed with failsafes in case the oversight structure was compromised. The documentation is fragmented, but there are mentions of access points in the original Control Nexus. Apex level, naturally. Probably just theoretical, even if we could get up there.”

The entry trailed off into technical notes about ventilation systems, but Raelin found himself reading it again. His father’s tone was casual, almost dismissive, but he’d copied down specific phrases, drawn little arrows and question marks in the margins. The kind of notation Raelin had learned that his father made when something had captured his genuine interest. Raelin flipped through more pages, finding scattered references to maintenance shafts that connected levels “in ways not shown on standard maps,” and old service tunnels that “bypass normal security checkpoints.” Never stated directly, never laid out as a plan, but the pieces were there now that he knew how to look for them.

Raelin closed the journal carefully, his mind turning over the fragments his father had left behind. Emergency protocols. Continuity measures. Access points. He carefully returned the journal to its place among the others, then rubbed his tired eyes again. It was easy to get lost in theoretical possibilities when the reality was much simpler: Kiri needed help, and now they finally had enough points to get it. Tomorrow, he would take her to see Dr. Voss in the medical district. A real examination, proper diagnostics, maybe even treatment that went beyond masking symptoms with stimulants.

Dreams of the future would have to wait. For now, it was enough to hope that a doctor’s visit might buy them more time. In the Substructure, you lived one day at a time, one step at a time, hoping a single misstep wouldn’t be your last.