“Switch it off, switch it off!”
The words echoed through the windowless chamber, bouncing off its featureless walls as the whir of machinery reduced into an unsatisfying hum. Standing at the sprawling computer terminals on the observation deck, the four junior researchers knew better than to speak following a test failure. They busied themselves with pretending to input data as the massive mechanism in the center of the lab spun down and they anxiously awaited Arialis’ impending scolding.
“Shit!”
Her scream was accompanied by the sounds of her peripherals being thrown to the floor and her boots stomping towards them. As she passed around the center of the lab, she banged her fist against the thick wall of ballistic-grade glass. Behind it, a story-tall contraption of her own design shuddered in its death throes. Several robotic appendages bearing various reactive materials were slowing their rotation around a cylindrical chamber. Deep inside it was a containment unit that could fit in the palm of her hand, and within that was a thin film of substance that was worth more credits than she could ever hope to amass. It was also the source of the stream of obscenities that flowed out of her as she walked up the stairs to the observation deck.
“They expect me to work with scraps!” she fumed. “Assistants fresh from the Academy and the most impure sliver of Koralite I’ve ever been thrown!”
When she reached the top of the observation deck, she pushed past the meekest of the researchers – a scrawny recruit named Ander practically swimming in his Academy lab coat, not that she ever bothered to ask his name – and furiously typed on his terminal.
“Did we get anything?” Her last word was sharp, pointed more at the futility of the experiment than the people around her.
“Nothing, Blastmaster. Not even a blip of a reaction.” It was the senior among them who spoke – the only one who ever did. Junior Researcher Jalcin was roughly the same age as her superior but had just barely cleared level 3 of the Consortium’s placements in all this time. She was smart, Arialis had to admit, but she completely lacked any drive or focus. Competent help was rare but not irreplaceable.
“Just as the simulations predicted,” Jalcin scoffed. Arialis slammed on the input panel and looked up to glare at her. If she had spent her free time on her studies instead of her looks, she probably would have at least cleared level 5 by now. Underneath the sleek black Academy lab coat she was a dark den girl through-and-through: a ridiculous sheet of thickly-lined makeup, piercings at seemingly random placements, vibrant electric-green streaks in her hair, and a painfully uninterested expression.
“Then do it again,” Arialis growled. “Tweak the models and run it back.”
“With all due respect,” Jalcin said sarcastically, “Blastmaster, our shift’s been over. We’re not getting paid to stay here looking at zeroes.”
“You’re getting paid for results, of which there are none!” Arialis turned back to the terminal, desperately scrolling through screen after screen. “You stand here at the precipice of science, and all you can think about is frying your little brain out at some seedy dark den. Get out of my sight, all of you!”
She did not bother to look up from the terminal as her assistants shuffled away, Jalcin making a point to audibly drag her boots across the floor of the observation deck. After the sound of the main door’s hefty lock faded away, only the soft tapping of her gloves on the terminal broke the empty silence of the lab. Hours crawled by as she frantically prodded at her simulations, hoping against her better judgment that one of them would yield even the tiniest spark of promise. Below, the object of her frustration sat cold and lifeless, almost taunting her in its stillness. The machine was a marvel of modern engineering; she had single-handedly designed the most highly-calibrated Koralite reactor to date. It was capable of detecting essential fluctuations hundreds of times more accurately than prior models, which now only served to amplify her failure.
At the end of her already strained patience, Arialis logged out of the terminal and shut it down. In the cold, sterile light of the lab she could see her reflection on the darkened screen. She chuckled to herself; completely unlike Jalcin, the abundance of her genius did not leave room for even a shred of vanity. When was the last time she had even looked in a mirror? Dark circles hung underneath her tired eyes, telltale signs of sleepless cycles dedicated to her craft. Lifting a finger to her face, she traced along one of the many burn scars on her skin. She could not remember whether this one was from her more ambitious experiments at the Academy or from the improvised explosives she cobbled together in her childhood apartment out in zone 8. They all blended together; ugly imperfections to the rest of the world, but trophies of progress to her.
Snapping out of her thoughts, she refocused on her immediate objectives. Sleep and sustenance were unfortunate limitations that she could no longer afford to put off. It would take roughly 48 minutes to reach her apartment at the other end of the Spire – and several substrata down – but at least she would not have to go outside and bother with the general populace. The rent took up a sizable chunk of her grants even with the discount afforded by her position, but the efficiency was well worth it. Seven hours to handle those annoyances and then she could be back in the lab with time to spare before the assistants showed up.
She had only taken the first step down from the observation deck when a loud knock sounded from the door. Her lab was distantly removed from any public levels of the Spire and Consortium management had been content to give her free reign as long as she submitted her reports on time. An unannounced visitor could only mean one thing, especially at this hour.
Arialis flew down the stairs and raced to scan her hand against the door’s security panel. She waited anxiously as its layers of locks and reinforced plates disengaged before slowly swinging open. Standing against the blank white of the hallway was a single man – not wearing an Academy lab coat, but a sharp, pristine suit.
“A-administrator!” Arialis stammered. “What a surprise, I was not expecting you. Our last unscheduled inspection was only 136 cycles ago, wasn’t it?”
“Blastmaster.” He spoke in the only tone she had ever heard from him – dismissive and condescending – as he walked past her into the lab. “I trust that you are perceptive enough to warrant your position. I should not need to spell it out for you.”
For as long as she had reported to him, Arialis had not once felt remotely comfortable around her Administrator. Of course that was by design, but he played his part in the system a little too well. The slicked-back hair, the perpetual frown, the set of high-end Consortium peripherals that obscured his eyes: all calculated to ooze authority wherever he stepped foot. He walked up to the machine in the center of the lab, observing it with only the smallest fraction of interest.
“Not that I can truly understand the gravity of your achievement,” he commented, “but I must admit that it looks impressive in person. Still, you cannot ride this forever. I have taken personal interest in the reports you have submitted of late, and the results are far below quota. Even more troubling, I have been made aware that your documentation is sorely lacking in thoroughness. An Academy panel has deemed it insufficient for knowledge transfer.”
“KNOWLEDGE TRAN-” Arialis cut off her outburst and took a deep breath to settle back into her cordial tone. “Administrator, that is hardly necessary. My time is better spent making actual progress than dumbing down concepts for those paper-pushers. This would be a nonissue if I were to receive a proper allocation of materials for my experiments. The quantity and quality of Koralite drops with each passing cycle.”
The Administrator paused, calculating his next words as he presumably flitted through windows on his peripherals. “You have yet to default on your taxes,” he stated, “but only by thin margins, it would seem. Your upcoming grant will be substantially less generous due to results; lack of materials is no excuse. Ballistics is not the only department in the Spire undergoing budget adjustments. Resources are limited due to the acceleration of the Proto Project, and it is my job to ensure they are allocated according to practicality. You should be thankful of the opportunity afforded to you by your predecessors.”
“I stand on the shoulders of intellectual infants!” Arialis shouted. The meager cache of patience she allocated for the Consortium’s bureaucracy had thoroughly expired. “So small-minded, so uninspired! Reading their notes is like sitting through an introductory level lecture. I saw the reports, the last 3 Blastmasters barely made a dent in the crust. In half the time I have made more than double the progress, what could I have to be thankful for?”
A corner of the Administrator’s lip twitched into a temporary smirk, the first sign of emotion she had ever witnessed from him. “And here I believed that you reserved that fire for your subordinates. While your initial results were indeed impressive, the Consortium is shifting its priorities and alternative energy projects are being prioritized. You are the brightest star of a dying art, Arialis. Collections comes for us all; no one is above the process. Effective immediately, you are to allocate 50 percent of your working hours to documentation.”
Arialis choked on her words as her heart plummeted. All of her desire, all of her energy had been dedicated to this singular pursuit that was being tossed out like rubbish. Her chest burned and lightning surged through her limbs. Her life’s work could not end in a quiet whimper.
“I refuse.” She stated it unwaveringly as she marched up to the Administrator. With the culmination of her labor behind her, she stared up at the mouthpiece of the system that threatened to limit her genius. “I clawed my way out of zone 8 to get here. You could not possibly understand, I doubt you’ve even stepped foot out of the Spire. I have endured more sweat and tears than you could fathom. The last thing I would do is water down my work so some dimwit can pretend to understand it. I’m not quitting until I can see it for myself. I want to go on-site. The A-6 crater, specifically.”
“Oh?” The Administrator’s tone lightened out of genuine curiosity. “If I recall correctly, that site was fully automated long ago due to the essential radiation index exceeding safety thresholds. There are insufficient resources or security for live staff, and even then there are the egress protocols to consider.”
“Don’t think to lecture me, Administrator.” Arialis tore her eyes away from the man to look upon her machine. The Koralite reactor was more than enough to be proud of, but it was ultimately a means to an end. The true beauty existed far outside of city limits, only captured by outdated cameras addled by essential radiation. Neither grainy footage from the field nor generated simulations had ever satisfied her; she needed to witness the raw power of her creations for herself.
“Who cares about the damn ERI? That’s my problem, not yours. And I know what it means to leave the city, not like I have anything to come back for anyways. I get to work in peace away from these sniveling assistants, you get me out of your hair. You can ship supplies out with experiment materials, and when my grants run out you send an agent with an extractor instead. At least I would save on this ridiculous Spire rent. I know you have a line to management open right now. Ask them.”
Silence returned to the lab as they waited for a response. Arialis locked every muscle in her body in an effort to not diminish herself. Ultimatums were not taken lightly within the Consortium.
“You have conditional approval,” the Administrator commented. “Expect an egress form within 5 cycles. Overseeing your work has been interesting if nothing else, Blastmaster.”
Foregoing any heartfelt goodbyes, the Administrator turned around and promptly left the lab. Eyeing the locking mechanisms, Arialis held her breath until the door was firmly shut. Then she screamed.
*******************************************************************************
Arialis fidgeted with her peripherals. The industrial models were clunkier and far less comfortable than what she had back at the Spire, especially given that this set was several series out of date. After taking stock of supplies on her first day at A-6, new peripherals were added to the long list of requests she submitted on the secure channel back to the city. 238 cycles later, and only the bare essentials had been included in the shipments (not that the ration units really met the qualification of “food”). Even though she hated the outdated interface and limited controls, only the reinforced material shielding her eyes mattered now. She needed to witness the test in its full glory, and keeping her vision after the fact was preferable.
Like the peripherals, the entirety of the A-6 site was technically functional but barely so. Behind her was the run-down main facility of the site where she begrudgingly spent her time. Constructed during the early days of New Agamakar’s expansion, its design was primitive and utilitarian. It was barely more than a two-story concrete block; its interior was closer to a storehouse since the living quarters were converted following the exodus of its staff. Dilapidated drones skittered between rows of abandoned research materials, slowly attending to their preprogrammed maintenance tasks in preparation of the upcoming test. The ones that regularly went outside of the facility tended to bump into walls or each other, a side effect of the ambient essential radiation degrading their essence-sensitive components over time. After one had nearly plowed through her, Arialis was forced to dredge up memories of her intermediate circuitry courses to perform some slapdash repairs. She could only do so much with such limited materials, but at the very least the bones in her feet were still intact.
Taking the first step out of the facility, she had to consciously adjust her balance. Even after venturing outside once every handful of cycles, the give of shifting sand underneath her still felt alien after a lifetime of pavement. She trudged carefully toward her objective as she anxiously checked the time on her peripherals. One hour until launch, just enough time to get a front-row seat. The blinding lights of the site’s dome bore down on her; they were harsh compared to the pleasant day cycles back in the city. The dome itself was in a sad state of disrepair, hastily erected following the incident that made this site necessary. Even with the construction of a siphon tunnel, there was enough concentrated essence in the atmosphere to warrant a dome for collection. Arialis clenched her teeth as she thought about the growing tingling sensation at the top of her spine. The effects of the ERI this close to the crater would be extremely unpleasant, but this moment would be worth any discomfort.
She reached her vantage point at ten minutes until launch. The tall dune stood just beyond the lethal radius she had painstakingly calculated. Kicking the sand at her feet, she watched as the grains scattered and disappeared into the crater. It was all she could do to maintain her concentration as the pain flared throughout her body. Her peripherals chirped as the built-in ERI detector exceeded its predefined thresholds, but she tuned out its complaints. The vastness of the crater consumed her thoughts; it stretched beyond the horizon and deeper than the dome’s lights could hope to reach. This was the legacy of her distant predecessor, the only other Blastmaster to have contributed something of value. It would also be the stage of her greatest triumph.
At two minutes until launch, she heard the distant buzzing of an airborne drone. One of the few unused units left in stock at the site, it was imperative that its shielding withstood the radiation until it reached the drop point. She barely spotted it overhead against the lights – it was barely bigger than her. In its clutches was her pride and joy: a metallic sphere she could have probably lifted if she had not spent most of her life at a terminal. She had spent every cycle since her arrival poking and prodding at the device until it met her precise specifications. The solid core of pure refined Koralite had only arrived and been installed the previous cycle, but there was no time to waste.
The drone flew overhead, racing towards the center of the crater. It was only a speck in the distance when she started counting down the final seconds. The payload had already been released and was plummeting down the dark depths toward the crust.
5
4
3
2
1
A rumbling echoed from the crater as her hairs stood on end. She peered into the abyss, waiting and hoping as an ember formed among the absolute darkness. It rapidly grew – well within the bounds she predicted, of course – and the rumbling became a roar. She took a step back out of reflex but steadied herself. The wave of heat hit her first; not unbearable, but strong enough to take her mind off of the radiation pains. Then the sound grew to become deafening, rattling away any of her remaining thoughts. And then, finally, the crescendo. A plume of the purest white light erupted from the crater, rising high enough to crash against the dome overhead. The structure groaned as it struggled to hold up, but not a trace of fear entered her mind. Her peripherals chipped and cracked from the residual force that reached her, but the displays had already been blurred by the tears streaming from her eyes. It was the most beautiful sight she had ever witnessed.