The putrid scent of methanethiol filled the air as I got closer to my next job site. A sewage pipe in Sector 7 that led to Wastewater Plant C was leaking for the third time this month. February seemed to be an especially bad month for pipe-leakings, probably due to the fact that the surface was cold, at least in the Northern Hemisphere...I think. I've never been up there, I spent my whole life in the Sub-Complex. As I trudged through the rusty maintenance tunnel, the only thing I could hear was the occasional shaaaa from my gas mask. I had to rely on my other senses to find my way, and if I didn't and my supervisor found out, l'd be coming back to the barracks tonight with a fresh new jet-black bruise.
Eventually, after peeking into in a rarely-traveled clean-looking public corridor that was a shoot-off from the tunnel, I found the leak. Brown liquid was dripping from a white ceiling pipe. I found it strange that this hallway was so empty. Sector 7 is usually full of people due to its many resource stations. However, once I started to smell the faint smell of bitter almonds, I realized why this corridor was so desolate. It led to Sector 7's gas chambers.
In those "cells of death," as our commander called them, anyone who was seen as "useless" was exterminated. Mostly people who had disabilities and illnesses that had no cure and would not get better with time. Even babies who were born with special needs came out of the womb and would immedietly get thrown into yet another world of darkness. As I thought about this, I heard footsteps coming in my direction.
I looked up from my spiral and saw a person in a white lab coat an N-95 mask walking briskly in my direction. A doctor. As he got closer, I saw that he was holding a small blue bundle. Oh holy hell, it was a newborn. I moved out of their way as the doctor walked down the hall to the chamber, standing up straight and turned up my gas mask, holding it on my head as I saluted respectfully, my expression staying completely deadpan.
When he walked past, I caught a glance of the baby's face. Or I should say, its faces. It was conjoined twins.
One body, two necks and heads. Both set of them were shrieking, and the doctor was trying to shut them up by suffocating them with the blue blanket. After they passed, they went through an off-white metal door far down the corridor with a lot of yellow warning signs on it, and I finally let my guard down.
I took a few deep breaths to calm myself down. I wasn't permitted to concern myself with sights such as that. So, to get my mind off the horrible sight I just saw, I held the leaking pipes together with one hand and took my large wrench from my tool belt, tightening the megabolt. I then grabbed some clear duct tape and taped the two pipes, like a bridge from one to the other.
After I was done, I asked my SAIVA, "SAIVA, tell me the time." She beeped. "1900." She replied in her slightly off-putting artificially-generated voice. SAIVA stood for Smart Artificial-Intelligence Voice Assistant, and every single registered resident of the Sub-Complex who was capable enough to hold a job had one. She was a little chip that you wore around your neck, along with your identification card.
The IDs only told what our number was, what Sector we were from, our DOB and whatnot, but the barcode that was tattooed on our necks when we were babies told so much more. If you scanned one, you’d get the person’s blood type, sex, and other personal details.
Some things that might clear up some confusion about the Perishable Goods preview:
-Everyone who lives in the Sub-Complex has a number. It’s arranged with their home Sector number first, then a dash, then their serial number.
-However, almost no one calls each other by their numbers. Most people have a given name, usually a noun or concept like “flower” or “courage”. The names tend to reflect peace and life on the Surface, as passing down that hope to one day return there is important to a lot of people.
-There are 10 sectors in the Sub-Complex, each of which holds about 10,000 people, and that means a very rough estimate of the population of the Sub-Complex is about 100,000 people.
Feel free to shoot me asks about it! The more hype I get surrounding it, the more motivated I’ll be to keep writing :)
Robinson Fresh has opened a new $33 million, state-of-the-art cold-chain hub in Pharr, Texas, to manage booming Mexican and South American produce imports.
