Chapter 15

Raelin woke curled on a mat that smelled of disinfectant. Its thin padding did little to soften the floor beneath his hip and shoulder. His side burned where the shockstick had been held against him, and when he tried to uncurl, his back and legs cramped. He waited for them to loosen, then tried to roll onto his back. His elbow struck smooth composite before he could turn. Dim light from a utility strip showed a bare shelf above him and a closed door beyond his feet. The mat filled the space between the walls.

He braced himself against one panel and pulled one knee beneath him. His arms shook as he pushed. Something taped against his side tugged when he moved, and he groaned before he reached his feet. He leaned against the wall until his legs steadied. His clothes had dried stiff against his skin. A square of fabric had been cut from his shirt, exposing a clean dressing over his ribs, and the sodden wrapping around his hand had been replaced with a fresh bandage. He checked the shelf, then lifted the mat and ran a hand over the bare floor beneath it. His pack was gone.

The door had no handle. Raelin stepped closer. A shallow pressure plate sat beneath the stamped number 1847. He pressed it with his palm, but it did not light up and the door stayed shut. He turned his wrist and touched the OmniLink to wake the display and send Kiri a message. No azure glow surfaced beneath his skin. He tapped where the message control should have appeared, but no keyboard resolved beneath his thumb.

Raelin ran his fingers along the sealed joints beside the door, then around the shelf and utility strip. He found no second plate, latch, or access panel. The mat ran from the back wall to within a single step of the threshold. He stretched both arms. His fingertips reached the side walls before his elbows straightened. When he stood fully upright, less than a hand’s width remained between his head and the ceiling.

A soft tone sounded from the utility strip. “Rest cycle complete,” a smooth synthetic voice announced. “Collect cleaning materials. Report to the central concourse within ten minutes. Complete module upkeep before selecting a work assignment. Failure to report within ten minutes will increase your civic debt.” The same plate lit up teal. Raelin stared at it.

He held his hand above the teal light for a moment, then pressed the plate. A motor hummed, drawing the door sideways out of sight. He leaned his head through the opening. The corridor ran in both directions, lined with numbered modules identical to his. People shambled from them in worn clothes that hung loose at the shoulders and hips. Most kept their heads lowered, though a few exchanged quiet words at neighboring doors. At recessed dispensers, some residents collected folded gray cloths and small tubes before returning to their modules. Others emerged with damp cloths and squeezed-flat tubes, fed them into a return slot, and joined the line moving to Raelin’s right. Every OmniLink he could see remained dark.

Raelin waited for a gap between the residents, then stepped into the corridor. The door slid shut behind him, leaving the pressure plate beneath 1847 glowing teal. At the nearest dispenser, he copied what he had seen and took a cloth and a small tube. He looked back at 1847. Nothing inside had looked dirty. He followed the others, one palm sliding along the corridor wall. The dressing tightened over his ribs with each step. Ahead, black lettering stamped above an open doorway read: CENTRAL CONCOURSE.

The line carried him into the central concourse. Numbered corridors opened along both sides, adding more people to the narrow lanes painted across the floor. Ahead, the lanes divided beneath black labels: RATIONS to the left, SANITATION to the right, RECOVERY ASSIGNMENTS straight on. The sour smell of nutrient paste drifted from a row of machines beneath RATIONS. Raelin’s stomach growled. He turned left. Each machine had a narrow delivery slot, a metal water spout over a drain, and a single round button. A stack of shallow trays stood beside the first machine. Raelin took one and approached the nearest dispenser.

Raelin set the tray beneath the slot and pressed the button. The machine shuddered and squeezed a damp gray ration bar through the slot. It sagged onto the tray, no longer than his palm. Water from the spout filled a small metal cup fitted into a recess at one corner. His hands trembled when he lifted the tray, sloshing water over the cup’s rim. He tightened his grip until the tray steadied, then followed the others through an opening beside the dispensers. Beyond it, long composite tables and fixed benches filled a low-ceilinged mess hall lit by rows of utility lights. Raelin found an open place at the end of one bench and eased himself down.

The ration smeared across his fingertips when he pinched off one end. It tasted of mineral powder and stale grease, and its thick paste clung to the roof of his mouth. He almost spat it onto the tray. Instead, he forced it down with a mouthful of water. He pinched the rest into small pieces and swallowed them with as little chewing as he could manage. After finishing the last bite, he scraped the remaining gray smears from his fingertips with his teeth and looked along the crowded tables.

Conversation moved through the mess hall in low, overlapping currents. Across the aisle, an elderly man’s hands shook hard enough to spill water across his tray. The woman beside him caught his cup in her right hand before it tipped; her left arm ended above the elbow, and the empty sleeve had been folded up and pinned. “Take sorting if it comes up,” she told him. “They’ll let you sit for that.” At the next table, a young man with a wet cough held up the remains of his ration. “They put sand in the dispensers instead of ration powder again,” he said. A few low laughs answered him. People called greetings across the rows and compared labor assignments.

The woman with the pinned sleeve caught him watching. Her gaze moved from his fresh bandages to the dark OmniLink beneath his skin. “New?” she asked.

“Yeah. I woke up here a little while ago,” he said. “I’m Raelin.”

“Mara,” the woman said. She nodded toward the old man beside her. “And this is…”

Harl raised a finger to stop her, still chewing. He tried to speak, but the ration paste stuck his teeth together. His jaw worked twice. “Hahl,” he managed.

Mara nodded. “Harl, who, as you can see, is perfectly capable of introducing himself.”

Harl swallowed a mouthful of water, then looked at Raelin. “Harl,” he said clearly.

Raelin laughed, then winced as the movement pulled at his bandaged side. He pressed a palm over it until the pain eased. With his other hand, he rubbed a thumb across the OmniLink’s blank display. “Is there any way to send a message from here? My sister doesn’t know where I am.”

“Your OmniLink won’t send anything while it’s dark,” Mara said. “But you can tell her yourself.”

“They’ll let me leave?”

“They don’t call this a prison. The gates open at set times. You can come and go while they’re open, as long as you finish your assignment and return before curfew. Fail to complete your assignment or return after curfew, and the Oracle adds to your debt. Do it often enough, and the gates stop opening.”

“Do people go back to Undertown?”

“Some visit family. Plenty have nobody left. After the work is done, most of us won’t spend what strength we have left walking past doors that won’t open, stalls that won’t sell to us, and people who stop talking when they see a dark OmniLink.”

“Thank you. Both of you.” Raelin eased himself upright and followed residents carrying empty trays to a return rack beside the opening. After sliding his tray into an open slot, he stepped back into the central concourse and hurried toward RECOVERY ASSIGNMENTS.

Beneath the lettering, six black panels lined the wall, each with a number pad and three mechanical selection buttons. Residents entered their module numbers, and each screen displayed three work options in white. Raelin moved along the row behind them. One man chose FILTER SORTING over DRAIN CLEARING and REFUSE HAULING. At the next panel, all three options were different.

When his turn came, Raelin entered 1847. No work options appeared. An amber notice filled the screen: MODULE UPKEEP INCOMPLETE. White instructions followed: CLEAN MAT, SHELF, AND WALL PANELS. COMPLETE UPKEEP TO RECEIVE WORK OPTIONS. Raelin thought of the bare shelf and the disinfectant on the mat. He turned back toward the numbered corridors.

Raelin pressed his module plate. The door opened, and he stepped back inside. He squeezed a line of clear gel from the tube onto the cloth, releasing a sharp chemical smell. The bare shelf and wall panels showed no dirt, but he wiped them in quick strokes anyway. He bent too fast toward the lower panels, sending pain flaring beneath his dressing. Raelin caught himself against the wall and lowered onto one knee until the spasm eased, then continued from the floor as quickly as his trembling hand allowed.

The mat remained. Raelin dragged the cloth across its surface in broad passes. It came away streaked gray where his dried clothes had rested, the first dirt he had found. He kept wiping until it no longer darkened. A soft tone sounded from the utility strip. Raelin looked up. Beside the light, a black lens no larger than his fingertip angled down toward the mat. “Module upkeep verified,” the synthetic voice announced. “Return cleaning materials. Select a work assignment.”

Raelin fed the damp cloth and flattened tube into the return slot, then made his way back to the work assignment panels. When he entered 1847, the amber warning had vanished. A line of white text above his three work options showed his new total: -1014/10000 points. Raelin stared at the minus sign. He had left home with 1086 points. Every one was gone, and he now owed almost as many again.

The screen offered FILTER SORTING for +3 points, MESS HALL SANITATION for +4, and REFUSE HAULING for +5. Raelin read the last number again. Even if he received a five-point task every day and completed it without another penalty, it would take more than two hundred days to reach zero. Until then, not one point he earned could pay for Kiri’s medicine.

Raelin pressed the selection button beneath FILTER SORTING. It offered the fewest points, but Mara had said the work could be done sitting, and he could not risk choosing a task his injuries might prevent him from finishing. The three options disappeared. In their place, the screen displayed: ASSIGNMENT ACCEPTED. SORTING ROOM 3. COMPLETE BY 18:00. The corner clock read 08:17. Raelin stepped away from the panel immediately and crossed the concourse toward the exit.

The exit passage widened into a small processing area with several access gates ahead. Locker doors covered one wall beneath black lettering: PROPERTY RETURN. Residents entered module numbers at built-in keypads, collected small bundles and worn coats, then passed through the gates. Raelin stepped to the first available keypad and entered 1847. No locker opened. The display above the keys changed from white to amber.

The amber display read: PERSONAL PROPERTY RETAINED AS EVIDENCE PENDING FURTHER INVESTIGATION. Raelin entered 1847 again, slower this time. The same notice returned. He stood before the wall of closed lockers for another moment, then turned toward the gates.

Five narrow lanes ended at metal grilles that reached from floor to ceiling. A small dark sensor was inset above each one. As Raelin watched, one grille opened for a woman carrying a folded coat, closed behind her, then opened again for a man entering from the road. Compared with the crowds in the concourse, the traffic here was sparse, but residents still passed through in a steady trickle. Raelin followed an empty lane to its gate. The sensor clicked, and the grille retracted.

Raelin crossed the threshold. The grille rattled shut at his back. He looked over his shoulder at the compound. Long, low housing blocks stood in identical rows behind metal barriers. The flow of pedestrians and loaded handcarts bent around it in a broad arc, crowding the road’s far edge until they were beyond the last block. Only people passing through the gates crossed the open ground around it. Raelin turned toward Undertown and joined the flow, forcing himself to match its pace.