Climbing Up to Reach the Bottom
Well, it all started when I hit a check box. Just a random single check mark. You see I had accidentally marked 19-567.382a, when what I needed to do was mark 19-567.328a. I don't need to tell you what that means… your blank faces are telling me I do.
I had accidentally marked an entire section of Zetharn-Karn for Genetic Inspection. All I had intended was to mark their new vehicle for inspection. I didn't realize my mistake until after I had already submitted.
So the first thing I did was reach out to my manager, let them know. I accidentally submitted the wrong form, I had marked it, so it would be easy to find and put on hold. They replied that I would need to submit form 11-161.121H to allow the form to go into the holding queue, to get one I would need to run to the next building and procure one from the analyst faction.
I ran out the building jumping down the stairs one flight at a time, I felt a bruise starting to form on my heel. I find myself limping to the next building walking in and the receptionist greets me with a very patient attitude that I had no time for “Drav srak-et”, her face covered by the required veil for Kaedrys-Kar workers.
“Listen, I really don't have time for Veruthik. I need form 11-161.121H as soon as possible.” She typed into her machine what seemed like an eternity. I began impatiently tapping on the counter and she stopped typing and looked at my hand. I continued tapping knowing that she was irritated. “If you want me out of here, I can be really quick, just tell me where I need to go.”
“Floor 47.” She spoke slowly, her voice a flat, synthetic monotone from behind the veil. She didn't look up again.
Floor 47. Damn.
I limped as fast as I could to the transport lifts, my heel screaming. The lobby was all polished black stone, reflecting the cold, white light of the Ascendancy sigil on the far wall. I slammed my hand onto the call panel. A lift chimed open.
Inside, the panel was smooth, no buttons, just a scanner for your data-slate and caste-sigil. I pressed my standard-issue Labor Caste slate to it. The panel chimed, a placid female voice speaking in Veruthik: "Floor access denied. This unit is restricted to Administrative Caste and above. Please present proper credentials."
I tried again. "Floor access denied."
I looked back at the Kaedrys-Kar receptionist. She was already busy with someone else, her veiled head bowed. No help there. I was wasting time. The Zetharn-Karn audit order was probably already moving through the system, flagged by the Genecode Tribunal itself.
I spun, my bad heel flaring, and looked for another way. Service corridor. It was unmarked, but the scuff marks on the floor from cleaning drones and cargo-lifters gave it away. I slipped through the door.
The pristine silence of the lobby was replaced by the low thrum of the building's guts. Pipes hissed, and the air smelled of ozone and lubricant. This was my world. I found what I was looking for: a bank of freight elevators, unadorned durasteel doors, smeared with grease.
A single operator, a grizzled old Labor Caste worker like me, sat on a stool, idly cleaning his fingernails with a data-chip.
"Hey, jiv," I said, defaulting to Basin Cant. "Need a lift. Topside."
He squinted at me, not even bothering to look up. "This lift's for cargo, not people. Got a work order?"
"Look," I leaned in, trying to sound desperate, which wasn't hard. "I'm in deep vekk. I just need to get to 47. My manager's got an 'ideological review' from the Thought Ministry and if I don't get this petition filed, he's taking me down with him."
The lie was a good one. A great one. The Thought Ministry. The one thing every caste, even the Untethered, fears more than the Censorium. The operator's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He knew what that meant. He also knew that if he was seen as obstructing an official (even a terrified one) on Thought Ministry business, he'd be in the review chamber right next to my "manager."
"47," he grunted, standing up. "That's an admin floor. You'll come out in the maintenance sub-level. Don't get seen. The Ascendant Censorium patrols up there don't ask questions."
"Won't be seen. Quick as a void-rat."
The lift clanked and groaned, pulling us up through the building's spine. It took forever, the metal screaming in protest. Finally, it shuddered to a halt. The operator pointed. "Through that vent. Follow the blue conduit. Good luck, jil. And pray to the Mandate they don't catch you."
I scrambled out, my heel on fire, and crawled through a dark, dusty maintenance shaft, following the glowing blue pipe. I emerged through a loose panel into a vast, cavernous hall.
Floor 47. It was... a nightmare.
It was a single room, so large I couldn't see the far wall. It was filled with thousands of identical grey desks, each with a Kaedrys-Kar clerk, their veiled faces staring at their terminals. The air was filled with the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of a billion keys. And in the center of the room was the line.
A single, coiling, serpentine queue of hundreds of other low-level workers, all clutching data-slates, all shuffling forward one agonizing inch at a time. This was the Central Procurement Office. My heart sank. This would take cycles.
I looked at the chrono on the wall. The Zetharn-Karn audit would be finalized and dispatched at the start of the next work-cycle. I had maybe a segment.
I couldn't wait. I limped past the line, ignoring the glares and muttered curses. I had to cheat. I went straight to the front desk, my mind racing.
"Get in line, vekk-head!" someone yelled.
I ignored him, slapping my slate on the counter of the nearest clerk. He was a pale, thin man, his veiled mask impossibly white. He didn't look up.
"Listen," I said, my voice cracking. "Emergency. Form 11-161.121H. I need it now. My manager sent me, it's... it's a Purity Edict error."
The clerk stopped typing. The two people next to me in line physically recoiled, taking a step away from me. "Purity Edict" was a loaded term. It meant the Genecode Tribunal. It meant Zetharn-Karn. It meant contamination.
The clerk slowly, slowly, turned his veiled head to me. He typed for what felt like an eternity.
"Form 11-161.121H," he said in perfect, cold Veruthik. "The 'Petition for Error Rectification.' Yes."
"Thank the Mandate. Give it to me."
He held up a single, pale finger. "To procure Form 11-161.121H, you must first file Form 77-637.14B, 'Request for Inter-Departmental Review.' This must be signed, in triplicate, by your assigned Spire Supervisor."
I stared at him. "Wait...but my manager sent me here. To get the form."
"He sent you to procure Form 11-161.121H. But he did not provide you with a processed Form 77-637.14B. Therefore, you cannot procure the petition form."
"But... that's back in my building! I’d have to go all the way back?"
"The Law Knows No Master," he intoned, the motto of his entire House. He turned back to his screen. "Next."
I walk near the back of the line to see if there is something that I might be able to use. I see a data slate registered for Kaedrys-Kar, it's by two auditors who are discussing the latest news. “Did you hear about the latest purge numbers? They're down from last year.” I see the data-slate and know I can use it to order the form–I’d already come this far. I grab the data slate and try to find a desk where I can sit.
I find an empty chair near the back corner and pull up the data slate from behind my back. I typed as quickly as I could, pulling up the 77-637.14B form, and then another alert went off. This time telling me that I would also require a 27-140.19N, ‘Hold Action Involving a Noble House’. I begin forging signatures as quickly as I can. Finally getting past this initial stage of forms, then I look at the clock, the segment has passed. I feel a shadow grow as my vision narrows, and I watch as the slate locks up and displays the message ‘Flagged for Suspicious Activity’ and I feel two enormous hands on my shoulders.
The voice of the Peacekeepers, hinted with a rage. “Forminul Torv, you are being charged with: Impersonating a Varkh Official, Theft of Varkh Property, Displaying Uncontrolled Emotions, Forgery of Official Varkh Forms, and Attempting to Defame a Kar. The punishment is exile to a mining colony.” They lifted me up with barely any effort and began pulling me out of the building until a clerk steps out and hands me a data slate.
“Peacekeepers, the prisoner is required to fill out the following forms to initiate the transfer to the prison moon.” She hands me a new data-slate and directs the officers to drag me into a windowless room, with a single table, a blinking light, and a broken chair with three legs. I pull out the slate and look at the forms I need to fill out. One for each of my crimes.
“And so fellas that's how I ended up on this ship with you!” I say to the group of untethered exiles with me on the transport to the same moon.
The largest of them looked at me and just said. “Wait, so your whole crime was the wrong form?”
“No, Zetharn was able to stop it before it got anywhere. Turns out, if I’d done nothing it would have been alright. So, technically I’m here because I rode in a service lift without a 62-457.21W Order to Move Personnel on a Service Lift… for 30 years.”
We all hear an announcement over the Vox-caster “Exile Processing Complete. All prisoners in Transport 7 are assigned to the mining colony Zarulon III.” As it ends a soldier from the Skarn-Trekh legions slams the door on the ship closed.
