Chapter 3

It’s late afternoon and I’m outside. There are free sections during each day and I take advantage of them all. I think briefly about going back to building 736, to the dead woman’s apartment, but I have a different destination in mind for today. It’s longer than I can walk in my allotted time so I ride the monorail to its furthest point and slip past the security cameras trained on the street. It’s not illegal to be outside but my habit of evasion is so ingrained I do it without thinking.

It’s quiet in this part of the city and the lights are dimmer. Pedestrians thin out and then disappear. I’m close to the wall and I feel a pressure inside my chest, as if the air from outside is pushing against me. There’s something eerie about this section of the city.

There’s no hum of electrical wires, no blaring of horns or shouting from trinket sellers. The Conservationists evacuated this section in 106 when a building block crashed to the ground. No one was killed, the tenants were all at their allotments, but they abandoned it any way. The ground isn’t stable. The rubble from the collision is shifting, and the stabilizer layer is failing. It seems like it would be easy enough to fix but the construction crews left years ago. They’d rather leave the sections by the wall untenanted. As if it’s easier to forget the outside world when the dividing wall isn’t there to remind us of our tenuous link to survival.

Thinking about the outside stirs something inside me and I turn off my intended path for a quick detour. I’m cutting into my time before line up, but I know I can make it back if I hurry. As I round the final building, the wall rises up in a grey expanse. The closer I get the larger it looms. I run my hands across the cool, slick surface and let my fingers trace the seams and divot points. It looks dead and implacable, but I can feel the current of energy running through its surface. A subtle shift of molecules as the fusion reactors feed it. It’s an ingenious design really, building a wall and perimeter to encapsulate the entire world’s surviving population.

With my hands still pressed against the metal, I gaze up at the sky. The solid wall finishes a hundred feet above me and the gauzy perimeter takes over. It cups the city like a snow globe. The membrane billows slightly at the edge and I think I can see a tint of blue from the other side. But I know that’s just wishful thinking. The atmosphere outside is so corrupted it’s a swirling mass of fog. The rest of the planet is dead.

I shake my head and pull away from the wall. Thinking about the other side is like teasing a loose tooth, it hurts but it’s hard not to. I think about the outside a lot, what it was like, who lived there and what they did everyday. I wonder if my parents ever thought about it. I fantasize that they were explorers and left the city on an expedition to find a new habitable section of the world. Maybe they’re still out there looking.

I retrace my steps a few blocks south and approach a large stone building with windows. I study the number embossed on the stonework, 949. All the buildings in this section are locked but I’ve never had much trouble getting inside. I flip open the access panel next to the service entrance and press in a sequence of numbers. I hold my index finger to the pad and wait. The door remains still for a moment and then it slides open.

I step into a dark hallway and pull a small cylinder from the utility belt I keep under my shirt. I press the side and a thin stream of light circles out in front of me. I follow the dusty footprints along the corridor and up a flight of stairs. I’ve explored a lot of this building. It’s immense, a sprawling cavern of intertwining rooms and hallways. I turn a corner and enter my favorite room, a high ceilinged space, set with a series of low tables and rows of shelves at the other end. I’m pretty sure it’s what they used to call a library. The shelves are stacked with thousands of books, dusty and cracked from years of neglect. It’s clearly a relic from before and I’m not sure why they preserved it in the first place. Osiris’ knowledge is kept in the universal network and accessed via the mod feed. It’s an efficient way to find what you need, typing or speaking a search command and having it delivered a millisecond later. There’s no indexing feature in here. It’s a massive stack of unordered, uncategorized information trapped between the covers of stiff leather and cardboard. I love it. Finding answers Osiris style is easy. In here, the process is a challenge, an experiential discovery of knowledge. Browsing the volumes here makes me feel like I have a place and a purpose in Osiris. To absorb as much of this lost knowledge as I can.

I discovered this room six years ago and I’ve visited it almost every day since. I’ve worked my way through four sets of shelves, scanning mostly, but reading full volumes if the topic interests me. I’ve read about agriculture in East Yemen, the history of Stalin’s Russia, the politics of Japan and self-driving cars. I’ve devoured tomes on aerodynamics, auto mechanics and MRI equipment. I’ve studied the human body and explored veterinarian science. I even read a book on dream interpretation. But the section I love the most is an aisle marked computer programming. The books are thick with code-based language, algorithms and formulas. I’ve learnt C#, Ruby and Python – none of which are all that useful without access to a database or coding environment. That’s what I’m working on now. All I need is access to the city’s power source and I can hack my way into the network.

I glance around the room a final time, tempted to stay for a while, browsing the books, but I know I’m running late. I make my way out and follow the winding hallways to the back of the building. I find another staircase, this one narrow and cramped, clearly a service area and not meant for public use. It leads to the basement level and a room lined with metal lockers and low benches. At the far end, tucked away from view, I stop and look over my shoulder. I know I’m the only one with access to the building but I can’t suppress the sense I’m being watched. I shrug away the feeling of unease, pop the illuminator between my teeth and fish a small key from my belt. The lock is old and rusted from lack of use. I jiggle it a few times before it pops open and I pry the door open. Inside is an assortment of items I’ve discovered from across the city, my collection of old technology and gadgets. Wire cutters and copper coil are nestled on top of rolled tape and mod screen fabric. I have an entire shelf devoted to dark screened devices. They range in size from matchbox to small dinner tray. I pull the dead woman’s device from the jumble and tuck it under my arm. I’ve been examining it for three days now, comparing it to others in my collection. It’s old world tech and the power port doesn’t match any of the outlets in the city. When I revisited building 736 – the woman’s apartment - to check for a charging cord the apartment had already been swept clean for it’s new inhabitants. I’d cursed myself for stupid, not thinking to look for it while I’d had the chance. As a last ditch effort I’ve decided on a different approach.

I take the device to one of the benches and clip my illuminator to a jerry rigged stand. The small circle of light illuminates the dark rectangle in my hand. I pull pliers and a screwdriver from their hooks on the wall and start prying the case apart. I leave ugly gouge marks in the device but it’s open and I can see the battery pack nestled against the other components. I sigh. I’d been hoping for something similar to Osiris tech but I know there’s no hope of me jamming any of my pilfered battery packs in that tiny space.

It’s time for plan B.

I clean up my workspace, fastidious about leaving incriminating evidence of my presence and head toward the power supply room. My destination is the transformer, a metal box the size of a small child. It’s part of the fusion reactor grid that powers Osiris, with its renewable energy. The Conservationists claim it’s one of the few useful technologies worth using from before the collision. Everything in Osiris is carefully considered and balanced to maintain the survival of its inhabitants. One minor glitch and the entire system could fail. Oxygen, water and food are perfectly maintained for the current population of Osiris, an even one million. The Conservationists claim that even one person over the optimum count would be disastrous. I’ve heard competing theories from the Originals, but it’s always said quietly, as if they’re afraid they might be overheard and exiled.

I kneel beside the blocky unit and rest the dismantled device next to me. It’s insides glint in the blue light of my illuminator as I examine the charging nodes. It’s time for my experiment.
I pop the illuminator between my teeth and pull a pilfered inductor from my belt. It wasn’t easy finding one I could steal without being noticed, but Osiris workers aren’t always attentive when they’re on duty. The device is a palm shaped piece of plastic, embedded with electricity conducting filaments, attached to a cord that’s compatible with standard charging outlets. I’ve tried powering my collection of devices from a wall socket but it’s never worked. Something to do with voltage and proximity to the battery, I suspect. I know it’s a long shot, accessing the electrical current of the transformer - there’s a distinct possibility I’ll fry the old world tech and myself in the process - but it’s the only place I can find think to suitable voltage.
I uncoil the wire cord at the inductors base and tug on the alligator clips I’ve secured to the end. I unscrew a panel near the back of the fusion reactor, find the wire I’m looking for and separate it from the others. I connect the alligator clips I’ve rigged to the end of the inductor cord and mash the teeth together until they penetrate the plastic casing. I feel the light crackle of electricity in the air but there’s no smoke or sparks. I’m officially siphoning power from the transformer and I’m still alive! I let out a breath.

I maneuver the nickel-plated end of the inductor against the tablet’s battery pack and wait for something to happen. When the battery is warm, I hold the dismantled pieces together. I push the buttons one at a time until the device pings softly and the screen lights up. I want to dance around the room, but I stay crouched on the floor, waiting for the device to power on. It glows a pale blue and the words HELLO blink onto the screen.

“Hello,” I say and press my fingertips to the glass.

Next Chapter: Chapter 4