"Attention citizens! It is now Six-twenty-five! You are warned to stand by for an important announcement at Six-thirty! This is news of the highest importance. Six-thirty!"
The old man groaned and rolled out of his bunk, his body stiff and aching with pain. He was long since convinced the administration purposely timed announcements to be as disruptive as possible. One could not simply sleep through them; it was commonly understood that everyone, drone and talent, should receive every PSA standing at full attention. After coughing up a particularly difficult clump of sticky phlegm, he squinted his eyes to get his bearings, hands fumbling habitually for the glasses he had neither worn nor seen in years. The poorly-lit tunnel was noticeably filthy, stained by rubbish, human waste and old-fashioned decay. Actual sleeping units would have constituted wasteful extravagance for members of his current work-grade, a veritable crime against industry! Instead, the Planning Department had wisely opted to line the corridors of his Sub-Sector with rows upon rows of sleeping bunks, an arrangement subsequently enhanced to perfection with a rotational sleeping shift schedule.
Looking around, he registered several gaunt shapes moving about in the tunnel. Most simply ignored him, a few stared back with open malevolence. The vast majority were Planetborn. As an Earther in his mid-sixties he was little more than a greying anomaly begging correction. Sometimes he feared one of the more hostile types would eventually subject him to some "work-related accident", either out of sheer malice or to claim his "goody spot" in assembly where the machinery would generate just the right amount of heat to allow him some precious respite from his rheumatism. Aside from Unity Gin, it was his last pitiful enjoyment in the wretched existence in Work-Hall 4, Sub-Sector 2, Sector A, Level 17 in the Human Hive.
"ATTENTION CITIZENS!" The harsh voice barked again, drones and low-teks instinctively shuffling into lines
. "Our beloved Marshal has called on Security to uphold the safeguarding of the vaults by achieving strengthened Unity-building among the armed forces! Loyalty to the Mission is "the soul and lifeblood" of Humanity, said our Great Leader, stressing that the primary task to enhance Unity-building is to ensure the absoluteness of loyalty in face of any obstacle. People, not technology, win wars and overcome difficulties, people, not equipment, are the true source of military might!"
The announcement carried on for several minutes in a similar vein, conveying precious little of actual substance. Glancing to his side, the old man noticed with a sinking feeling how Oleg, a bald and brutish drone from his Work-Hall, shed genuine tears of pride and devotion. "I never asked for this", he whispered under his breath, barely resisting the impulse to shake his head.
Back on Earth, he had entered cryo-sleep full of hope and excitement. Next thing he knew, Yang and his brutes were in charge and one long nightmare had followed. True, he had not always been down in the pits with these low-teks and unwashed drones. In the wake of Planetfall, he had enjoyed a certain measure of respect. That is, until he had thought it wise to try to "change things". Troubled by the entire concept of living underground, which in conjunction with inferior diet so obviously constituted serious health risks, he had naively voiced his concerns to his superiors. He had been both shocked and appalled by their attitude.
Doctor Shimoda, for example, had not simply considered a reduced life expectancy among workers to be an acceptable cost of industry; had found it to be a desirable goal in itself! "How would an elderly drone benefit humanity?" the doctor had mused, completely oblivious to the moral dimension. Soon after, his colleagues had all turned on him, frothing at the mouth and denouncing him for undermining the "Unity of the Mission". He had suffered a steady series of demotions ever since, going from one punishingly strenuous assignment to the next, each one spiraling him ever deeper into disgrace, ever deeper into the abyss of the Hive's tunnel network.
With the end of the announcement, the old man joined the steady stream of people flowing towards the communal feeding bay. As it opened before him, he could not help but glance at the posters adorning its walls, all of them depicting grotesquely obese golden babies feasting in abundance on food items that were never served. Suddenly, a strange sensation rippled through the crowd. The constant pushing and prodding that would normally have carried him towards the nutri-gruel dispensers dissipated and the workers in front of him frantically parted way, leaving him, for the first time in years, an actually decent amount of personal space. He did not have much time to relish it. As he gazed up at the approaching men in their polished boots and pitch black combat armour his confusion rapidly gave way to cold terror
.
SECURITY!
"You!" yelled the man in charge, pointing an electroshock truncheon in his direction. "Yes. You! Stand still, citizen!"
He stumbled feebly, desperately searching for the right words. "M-my work quotas, they're in order si-"
"SHUT UP, CITIZEN!" the officer spat with contempt and slammed his truncheon into the old man's gut, releasing a burst of electricity for good measure. The impact was considerable and he collapsed in a heap on the floor, unwittingly soiling himself. As he wheezed and struggled to regain his senses, two grunts were already fast upon him, pinning his arms behind his back and jamming some sort of needle device into his exposed flesh. Routine motions, he realized. They had probably done it a thousand times.
"DNA scan checks out, sir!" said the grunt on his right, prompting the officer to lean into his Hive-Tech wrist-pad.
"Subject in custody, we're bringing him in. Over!"
As they dragged him through unfamiliar tunnels and elevators, citizens of all work-grades naturally floated out of their way, always sure to avoid their gazes. The sole exception, a little boy around four or five, pointed at him and laughed out loud, gleefully managing to exclaim "CRIMINAL!" before his flustered mother could catch him and drag him aside for correction. He wondered if they were about to purge him. He was certainly old enough to be considered a liability, and he had heard talk of recycling the dead and infirm, extracting critical compounds and nutritious bio-mass for the good of the people. The citizen's final duty, Yang had called it, completely out in the open, the ultimate testament to Unity, de-linked from crippling old-world ethics. He shuddered at the thought.
Finally the tunnel narrowed into a set of stone stairs. The party descended and stopped before a heavy metal security door. The two grunts clicked their heels and took positions on either side while the officer touched his palm upon a bio-scanner. After a slight pause there was a quiet "click" and the door hissed open, the officer simply motioning for him to enter alone. Cold fear washed over him again and nearly paralyzed him, but he somehow managed to limp through, all while expecting the worst. The room that greeted him, however, was so unexpectedly different that he could barely process the contrast. Clean, well-lit and spacious, it was tastefully decorated. A central table dominated the view, chiseled out of solid rock and ornate with dragon engravings. The craftsmanship, he found, was exquisite; it must have taken years, if not decades of hard toil.
"Bruce!" A familiar voice called out towards him. "Robert Bruce Hoadley."
As he turned, he wondered if he had finally gone completely mad. The figure at his side stood as perfectly composed as in the vid-casts and holo-reels. His uniform was immaculate, and he did not look a day older than when he had last seen him. He, by contrast, was soiled and filthy, old and broken, and although his predicament was entirely the making of the man before him, he could not contain the burning shame of appearing before him in such a wretched state.
"I would have seen you sooner, but I have been quite preoccupied." Yang's voice was deceptively soft. His dark, round eyes anything but. The Chairman studied him intensely before continuing. "The truth is, the people have need of you. Need of your expertise. You do want to contribute to the Unity to the fullest of your abilities, do you not?"
He licked his lips nervously. In the past, he had fantasized over and over again of a moment just like this, being alone in a room with the demon! He had exacted vengeance upon the tyrant a hundred times, full of determination, wielding strength with righteous fury. Now, all he could do was to look down and stutter submissively.
"Of, of course, y-yes, yes Chairman!"
"Good man. Due to unexpected circumstances surrounding our landing, heavy industrialization has always taken precedence over conventional terraforming protocols." As Yang spoke, he activated a holographic display above the table detailing faction territory, transportation networks and agri-farms. There were a whole seven bases, he realized, as opposed to the five officially announced in the newscasts. There was also an unfamiliar monolith symbol, code perhaps for something classified.
"As you can see, our territory is still devoid of large-scale hybrid forestation. The other factions likely enjoy a serious advantage, possibly since Planetfall. I cannot tolerate further postponement. We do possess a number of Unity pods of intact Earth flora, but we have only a handful educated botanists. You were a Forestry Officer set to work under Deirdre Skye. You will use your abilities to forest Hexin Sector, both to supplement mining and bolster defense. Bottom line: perform well, and you will be rewarded. Upper-level quarters. Companionship. Hot showers", Yang added pointedly. "Perhaps, if you truly justify your existence, even longevity treatments. Ah. But there is one lingering matter. I believe you had some "ethical" concerns...?"
"N-no, no! Chairman, I... I have boundless trust in your leadership!"
Yang smiled slightly and simply nodded. "Then our business is concluded, for now."
"Vice-Marshal Kim!" he said into a seemingly invisible intercom. "Escort our good friend Doctor Hoadley to his new quarters."
The officer walked into the room and snapped to attention. "Yes Marshal."
"Oh, and Kim? A bit more gently this time."
"Yes Marshal! This way, Doctor."
As the pair left his sight, Yang was already planning his next moves.
