Michael stood at the corner of an old brick building, staring into a hole that had crudely been cut into the wall decades before. Above the hole was a small green sign: “Delivery Stop 25-379-0-8” - one of thousands of such locations in the city. Fifty feet above him ran the city’s spiderweb of conveyor belts. Running from building to building, over streets, in to and out of sorting hubs that would read an RFID tag on each of the millions of plastic trays that passed through each day. In one of those trays, was his lunch.
The seawall loomed behind him, 30 feet tall, it wrapped around the island. Where he stood was once a beach-front restaurant, though there was no longer a beach. The concrete foundation of the seawall long ago replaced the sand. He couldn’t see the water from his part of the city, though over the constant din, he could faintly hear the waves crash into the wall. The bland grey edifice that protected the city from rising sea levels.
He glanced up at the “foundation” above his head. The massive grid of steel beams built on top of the seawall, upon which the city had been rebuilt. Countless piles and steel columns penetrated the lower city, his part of the city, to support the growth above. Looking through the steel grating that made up the “ground” of the foundation above to watch the conveyor belts, he hoped quietly that his lunch would arrive before it was too cold.
He leaned against one of the steel columns, in the middle of the sidewalk, as he waited. These supporting columns, bearing the weight of the growing city high above, had been placed without regard for the lower city or its residents. They were everywhere. Streets were blocked with them. Seeing an I-beam in the middle of a living room or bedroom, piercing roof and floor alike, was common. The trees in the lower city were long since gone, replaced by an ever-growing forest of steel.
A small shaft of light penetrated the permanent shadow of the lower city, landing directly in his eyes; a rare event this far down in the city. It was gone before he could see the sky clearly.
Building the first foundation had been a pragmatic move to raise the city above the rising water, changing Isle Civitas in ways that few expected. As the decades went on, and the amount of room for growth became more limited, new layers were added, more foundations were built above the older ones. Nicer buildings on top, lower layers were rebuilt into factories and warehouses.
The lower city, the original city, was largely housing, and largely housing for the poorer residents. The poorest lived in shacks built in the alleys of the city or along the now unused roads – the piles blocked the roads to the point that it wasn’t possible to drive anymore.
Each new foundation added above the existing city enabled yet more growth, and with each, the lower levels became ever more crowded with the piles that bore the weight of those above. Eventually, the average lower city house had a dozen or more steel beams penetrating it. Clusters of steel columns were stretching up, layer after layer, to support tall buildings on the uppermost layers.
After the third foundation was built, and the streets of the lower and more industrial levels had become too crowded for trucks to drive around the island, the city built the great conveyor system. A system of belts that linked every part of the city together, allowing packages large and small to be moved from and to anywhere on the island within a matter of minutes.
The belts, at the 50-foot level, connected every block and every commercial building, either through direct connections or delivery stops, like the one Michael waited at, allowing goods to move easily. A vast number of cargo elevators were connected to the system, to bring packages to the correct level. Great block-sized sorting centres would scan trays, and send them along their way, moving them based on priority and congestion, all controlled by a central computer system that managed the network.
The system eliminated all trucks from the island, everything was now moved through this massive interconnected belt system. Every factory, every warehouse, every shopping centre, every restaurant, all goods ended up in this sprawling web of belts.
Michael looked at the number on the delivery stop sign. District 25, block 379, level 0, stop 8. This number was more important than his actual address. Everything he purchased would come to this hole in the wall, down a small cargo elevator from an automated sorter far above him.
He was a factory worker, working 12-hour shifts, six days a week. His home was a shack, or to be more specific, a shed in what had been the backyard of a rather nice house. Now, that yard was the site of over a dozen small shacks. This made his home of the nice units available – at least it was a real structure, not a collection of scraps. The house itself was now an apartment building, with at least 50 tenants.
The lower city was dark, dirty, and dangerous. The steel mesh that served as the ground in the upper levels allowed a steady stream of dirt, debris, and various liquids to fall, level by level, to the lower city. The dominant colour was that of rust and broken brick. The lower city, with little airflow, had a unique and deeply unpleasant scent: grease, garbage, and waste – of both the industrial and human varieties.
When Michael ordered food near his job, it would only take about 10 minutes for it to be delivered, as he worked on the 3rd foundation, and higher foundations had higher priority in the system. Deliveries for the highest level used special high speed belts, and would be routed around any congestion, but he wasn’t wealthy, so he wasn’t even allowed to go that high up in the city.
Down in the lower city, it would take at least 30 minutes, as anything going to level 0 was treated as the lowest priority. Even on a slow day with little congestion on the belts, he knew the food would be cold.
Homes like the one Michael lived in were becoming less common — stand-alone structures from before the first foundation was built. As the lower city became more crowded, land was being cleared and multi-story tenements were being built, that integrated with the steel columns that permeated the ground level, allowing them to build up to the first foundation. This replaced a single level of shacks with 3 floors of what was little more than shacks.
The newer tenements were still made of industrial scraps, with no thought at all given to comfort, privacy, or safety. Simply collections of sheet metal as a place to store humans, instead of homes for people to live. Units were small, 10 foot squares were most common.
A welder, Michael had a skilled job, and made a fair living for himself, though it mattered little. Decades ago, in an effort to make housing more affordable, all rental properties were made income-based by law. While this would seem to benefit people, it was twisted to ensure that the poor would stay poor. Michael paid 40% of his salary for rent. It didn’t matter how much he earned, it would always be 40%.
Land owners had no standards that they needed to meet to rent units, each needed only a door and a roof. It had been expected that owners would compete, offering better units and that conditions would improve. Though that’s not what happened. Instead, they coordinated and ensured that they would all offer only the minimum required, so that none would need to invest in anything other than creating as many units as possible. The rich became richer. The poor had little means to improve.
While being born in the lower city was a trap for most, some did work their way up. Either by intelligence, attractiveness, or simply strength of will, finding a new life among the elite was possible. Michael’s sister was one of these rare individuals. She was beautiful, devastatingly intelligent, and utterly ruthless at need. If asked to describe her, he’d simply say “Jessica is a force of nature.” Others would often describe her in more direct terms; a common refrain was “a kind face that will destroy you for a promotion.”
Jessica was born when Michael was a year old. Their parents met and worked in a factory. Like most in the lower city, they spent most of their time working, and the siblings had to fend for themselves at an early age. Michael was the fiercely protective older brother, Jessica was the little sister who didn’t want protection. Just before Jessica’s 12th birthday, a fire started in a factory, and their parents would never come home again.
She had started her career young, working in a restaurant at 14, in management by 18. Granted a scholarship to attend university, she graduated at 21, quickly followed by gaining a master’s degree only a year later. At 30, she was the Vice President at one of the largest manufacturing companies in the city, living in a luxury apartment on the topmost level of the city.
Her origin in the lower city wasn’t something that she was proud of, there was a stigma against those who had come up the way she did. They were looked down upon, as if they were imposters. She had spent her life trying to fit in with the elite, being one of them. Often beating them at their own elitist games.
Tensions in the city were high, as they had been for decades. Like everyone, a metal bracelet was riveted around Michael’s wrist, it listed his name, description, and a barcode. That barcode was used at the escalators that went between the different levels in the city. As he worked at a factory on the 3rd level, it allowed him access to the lower city and the 3rd foundation, but no other parts of the city.
To protect the business and people that lived on the upper levels, those that lived on the lower levels weren’t allowed to go beyond the foundation that they worked on. This ensured that the riots, which happened every few months, would be contained. The wealthy wouldn’t be exposed to the chaos going on below their feet.
Heavily armed police guarded the upper levels, private security teams protected the factories and businesses in the middle levels, and the lower city was largely abandoned by law enforcement. Police protected the escalators that led up and out of the lower city, scanning bracelets and ensuring nobody could sneak out, but otherwise they did nothing.
Police and security guards dispensed a quick and violent form of justice, with few questions asked and little interest in who’s the perpetrator or victim. Their job was to enforce peace and protect property. Anyone that disturbed the peace, even if a victim, was at risk of finding themselves on the receiving end a gun. The message had long been clear, everyone was expected to keep their mouth shut and do their job, no matter what happens.
Vigilante groups patrolled the lower city, collecting protection fees from those in their district, providing the only form of justice that existed this far down. In some districts, the vigilantes were worse than the criminals, though not all. Michael was a member of the vigilantes for district 25, picking up patrol shifts for extra money.
While sometimes violent, his group was generally fair, complete with their own courts to try people accused of crimes, complete with juries. While the city had lost interest in justice for those in the lower city, the people hadn’t.
Without jails, the punishments dealt by the vigilantes were often severe, and while a first offence may result in an unpleasant outcome, a second offence would result in a punishment meant to ensure there wouldn’t be a 3rd offence. This was often achieved by the removal of body parts.
Justice in the lower city wasn’t something anyone wanted to encounter.
While Jessica had left that old life behind, she hadn’t forgotten about her brother. Despite her efforts and job offers, Michael opted to stay in the lower city. With a single call he could leave and never need to return, yet it was his home — he had no desire to leave.
This was something that she simply could not understand; she had dedicated her life to escaping that past, to rising above that origin, to gaining promotions, power, money. Yet, he had no desire to be part of that world.
Most in the lower city would do anything to escape, many would quite literately kill. Michael was one of the few that had a choice, and yet he opted to stay. He worked hard, but had a simple and comfortable enough life. He saw the stress, the drama, the backstabbing, the politics involved in achieving her level of success, and instead chose something else: the peace of simplicity.
Life wasn’t easy, but it was simple.
For the third time in a year, a riot was brewing, and everyone in the lower city knew it. After a particularly violent response to a group of people that had demanded a move to a 5-day work week, tempers and nerves were frayed. Violent reactions to demands for better living conditions or fewer working hours triggered riots every few months, it had simply become part of life.
For those on the upper levels, these were little more than unscheduled vacations. With factories and many businesses would close during the riot – as the workers weren’t available, most of the these “uppers” saw it as a chance to take a break and relax. Some even looked forward to them.
These riots played out in the same way: the gates in the lower city were attacked, police would open fire with rubber bullets and tear gas, violence would spread, fires would be set, stores would be looted. Police would limit lethal force to only those that posed the greatest risk to their own safety. Once the riot was over, they needed the “lowers” back at their jobs.
As shifts ended on the factory and upper levels, workers from the lower city would be rounded up and forced down the escalators, back to their level. The police and private security would ensure that the violence didn’t spread up the city, and the workers, focused on their jobs and with no means of communication—as phones weren’t allowed in the factories, would rarely even be aware that a riot had started until they were being forced down to the lower city.
These riots lasted a few days, rarely more than a week. Thousands would be injured, dozens would die.
While Michael worked as a welder, that wasn’t his only skill. From an early age, he had loved computers, and taught himself programming. This skill opened the door to developing a more lucrative skill: hacking, and specifically, hacking the software and servers that controlled the city’s network of conveyor belts. Rerouting packages on the belts turned out to be a great way to make money.
The sorting hubs used various devices to check for prohibited items of various types, redirecting them to police for manual inspection. There was, quite obviously, a market for those that could route packages in a way that ensured that they were delivered without ever being checked. Michael had learned to bend the system to his will.
He was interested in the routing systems, systems that were called each time a package’s RFID tag was scanned. These scans would happen thousands of times as a package traversed the network of belts, sorters, hubs, and elevators, and with each scan, there was an opportunity to alter the path the package would take.
He worked in a factory that made parts for the conveyor network, giving Michael access to components that few would see. One evening, near the end of a shift, he slipped a USB device in his pocket, a thumb drive used to program the RFID scanners he was building enclosures for. That night, he copied the data to his computer to study later.
He spent his evenings for weeks studying the software, configuration, and system design. A hard-coded SSH key gave him access to the scanner network. Searching that network, he found an administrator’s account with an easily guessed password. With access to that account, he was able to access servers, add a backdoor account, get the code for the different routing services, and their configurations.
He quickly created his own routing service, and then changed the configuration of the main scanning system to use his first. The packages he cared about would then take any path he wanted, including never going through any of the x-ray or chemical testing machines in the network.
Drugs, weapons, technology, and countless forms of illegal paraphernalia were in demand throughout the city. From the most elite uppers to small businesses that wanted to make some extra money, there was no shortage of demand for packages that weren’t exactly legal. Where demand exists, supply will follow.
Michael had no objection to leveraging his skills and knowledge to make a little extra money. For a small fee, he’d assure same delivery. To avoid the drama of dealing with questionable people, he had setup an app that sellers could access from their phone to enter the ID number from an RFID tag and send their payment. Michael’s software would automatically handle the routing from there. The package would be carefully routed around the security devices, and be delivered, without any interference.
On an average day, about 100 packages would be re-routed by his service.
Very few knew that he was behind the service, and worked hard to keep it that way.
Jessica sits at her desk, in a tower on the uppermost foundation, high above the city. Behind her is a grand view, a floor to ceiling window, looking out at the azure sea that wraps around the island. A tropical paradise, far separated from the turmoil that is the lower city. On the desk sits her lunch, a salad topped with seared tuna. She reaches for her fork, but before she can take the first bite, her phone displays a new text message.
Michael: Sis, you need to go home! NOW!
Michael: Make some excuse. Go home. Stay there.
Michael: You’ve got to get out of there. NOW.
Jessica: What’s going on? What are you talking about?
Michael: JUST GET OUT OF THERE!
Jessica: You need to tell me what the hell you are talking about.
Michael: You remember that package routing thing I told you about? Well, someone is using it to send hundreds of package all over the city.
Jessica: People are sending packages all the time. What makes that so unusual?
Michael: There’s been another riot brewing, but this one is different. People are more angry than I’ve seen before. Sending packages around security major businesses and some of the most powerful people, all at once. This hasn’t happened before.
Jessica: What, you think they are sending bombs or something?
Michael: That’s exactly what I think.
Michael: I didn’t notice what was happening until the packages were being delivered. I just got off work.
Michael: One of the packages was sent to your office tower. It was already delivered. You need to leave. NOW!
She slips her heels back on, grabs her purse and phone, and stands to leave. She is already thinking about the best way back to her apartment, and how to avoid crowded areas. But, it’s too late.
The sound is deafening. The building shakes. She can’t tell the difference between what she’s hearing and what she’s feeling. The lights go out. Alarms blare. It’s a sensory overload that makes it hard to think.
In that moment, on the first floor of the building, the mail-room had just been reduced to shrapnel and wood shards.
She stands, stunned, as she hears a series of dull thuds emanating from nearby buildings. Smoke starts billowing from the middle of the building next to hers. She watches, still frozen, as the black smoke gives way to deep red flames.
Jessica: Too late. Bomb went off downstairs. Building across the street is on fire. I heard dozens of explosions.
Michael: It’s chaos out down here. There was an explosion at the escalator near my unit. They blew up the gate. The cops are gone. People are flooding up. Hide.
The alarms stop, and a voice comes over the alarm system.
“There has been an attack and law enforcement will arrive soon. The building is now on lock-down. Remain where you are, and lock all doors. Do not leave your floor. All security doors are now locked.”
The city was transformed from a well-ordered machine to utter chaos. The streets filled with panicked people, running in sheer terror, aimlessly. Fires were reported across all levels of the city. Dozens of major businesses and factories had seen explosions. Politicians and business leaders had their homes destroyed. Police stations burned across the city.
Deep in the city was the main power plant, the electrical lifeblood of the city, was engulfed in flames. As it burned, the flames pushed into the buildings on the foundations above, spreading the fires ever faster, to more and more structures.
The city went dark. No electricity. Black smoke. Red flames.
A rain began falling in the lower city; a mist of water from fire fighting and molten aluminium from the worsening fires.
The finely tuned machine that was a city, was now a vision of hell.
The rioters focused on the city’s political class first and foremost. The mayor. The city council. The chief of police. None would see the end of the first day of the riot. Business leaders that were lucky enough to be locked inside of secure towers fared little better.
The first day of the riot was a righteous revenge, an outpouring of hate, a carnival of violence. Rioters, police, workers, fire fighters, doctors & nurses — all paid the price. All suffered.
Hours turned to days, the riot faded and was replaced with a fight for survival; as the city burned, little else mattered than surviving until the next day. The riot didn’t so much as end, as it instead was simply forgotten. Survival was the priority for everyone.
Emergency forces eventually emerged from the initial chaos, steadily restoring order. Slowly, the fires were brought under control. Day after day, hell faded, and a city—broken and burnt—began to come back into view. The smoke cleared. The sun eventually broke through.
It took 3 days before the police found it to be safe enough for those still locked in their towers on the uppermost level to step outside, only then could Jessica leave. It would be 5 days before her apartment tower was cleared for residents to return.
Life was forever changed after the riot, though in ways that none could have foreseen.
With most of the city’s leadership gone, the first step of rebuilding was to select a new mayor and council. Due to the state of emergency, the decision was made to appoint a new mayor, and allow them to appoint the new council. In a meeting of business leaders, the president of the city’s largest manufacturer — Jessica’s boss — was selected as the new mayor.
He would resign from his job to focus on the city, and the board of directors selected Jessica as the company’s next leader. A promotion that she could have only dreamt of as a little girl, growing up in the lower city. He packed the city council with his former executive team and leaders from other major companies in the city. Jessica found herself with another new title, Councilwoman.
The first thing the council did was pass a sweeping reform package.
The headlines over the coming days made clear the new direction the city would take. City to prioritise building new prison. Minimum 10 year prison sentence for rioters. New police stations to open in lower city. Police force to double in size over next 12 months. City to standardise 7-day workweek for factories. Special prosecutor appointed for riot-related crimes. Building safety standards suspended for quick rebuilding.
The rioters wanted change. The city had changed, but only in that it had hardened. The tolerance was gone.
Jessica walks into the boardroom, her suit is black, her nails and lips are a striking red. As always, her outfit, makeup, and jewellery are chosen to control focus, attention, and perception.
Without wasting a moment, she begins her speech. She’s laying out her plan for the future.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the board, first, thank you for placing your trust and faith in me. As President, I shall again redouble my efforts for this company. We have braved an unprecedented challenge to both our company and our city. As we rebuild, we also face an unprecedented opportunity. Real estate is now available for pennies on the dollar. Our competitors that didn’t have the foresight to build a war chest are facing bankruptcy. Now is the time to invest. Now is the time to expand. This isn’t the time for fear. This isn’t the time for caution. We need to be aggressive.”
“As part of my new role on the city council, I have worked diligently to ensure the business interests have been represented, and to ensure that businesses that were prepared can do more than simply recover. I introduced the new bills that expanded prison terms for rioters. This makes it safer for us, and everyone else, to invest and rebuild. I wrote the bill that updated the city’s labor laws to make 7-day workweeks standard, allowing us to grow our business and expand at unprecedented speed. I sponsored the bill that temporarily suspended outdated safety rules, providing waivers for regulations that would slow down rebuilding, allowing us to deploy our capital reserves quickly and effectively. We can take advantage of this opportunity to not just rebuild, but to expand, to build more factories, to acquire and integrate our competitors.”
“Never before in this company’s history have we had such an incredible opportunity. I ask you today to vote for my expansion plan, and to release all available funds. While others fall, we will rise to new heights.”
The CFO smiles, she’s already done the math on Jessica’s plan and the profit that they’ll make. The chairman looks at the folio in front of him, explaining the new spending in detail — and listing the companies that she will target for acquisition. His smile grows as he reads the list. The two largest shareholders exchange looks and nod.
Jessica stands before the board and breathes in deeply. She knows her future depends on this meeting. She is in awe that, after years of relentless effort, she has exceeded her wildest dreams. She feels like the ultimate imposter, a girl from the lower city, standing in the halls of power. She exhales, revealing none of this.
By the end of the day, not only had the board approved Jessica’s expansive plan, her spending spree had already begun.
Power was restored. Debris was cleaned up. Undamaged businesses and factories reopened. Damaged building demolished. New construction started.
As the weeks went by, the city settled into the new normal. Police were now seldom seen on the upper levels, they now focused most of their time in the lower city. New shack-like factories were opening, and products were flowing again. The “lowers” that were involved in the riot were being arrested by the dozens. The city’s vast array of security cameras were used as evidence, allowing those that were involved to be easily identified, and quickly tried, convicted, and then severely punished for their role in the riot.
Those that built the bombs were found. None of them survived being arrested. Something that had quickly become common for those accused of the most serious crimes. Justice had become swift and brutal.
The search for those involved in the riot was relentless.
Jessica sits on the witness stand in a courtroom, the special prosecutor stands before the judge. She picked a bold blue skirt-suit for her testimony, her long brown hair is up in a neat bun. Around her neck and wrist are a collection of fine diamonds on white-gold chains. She selected this outfit to ensure that it made her status clear.
“Councilwoman, thank you for attending this hearing today. The court knows that you are very busy, and appreciates your time.”
“Of course, your honor. It’s my duty to be here in service of the city and its citizens.”
“The prosecution may question the witness.”
“Thank you your honor. Councilwoman, for the record, can you state your relationship to the defendant?”
“We share the same parents.”
“So he’s your brother, Councilwoman?”
“Not the term I’d use. He contacted me the day of the riot, told me to go downstairs when he knew there was an explosive in the lobby. If I had listened to him, I could have died. I would have been in the lobby when it detonated.”
Michael’s jaw drops as he processes his sister’s words. He looks at her, a picture of power and grace, an ideal member of the elite. Rising from the lower city, she is now one of the most powerful people in the city. She can afford no weaknesses that others could exploit. In that moment, he understands. He accepts his fate. As always, this is about her.
“Councilwoman, why do you think he knew about the explosive devices?”
“He told me about them. He hacked into the conveyor network to use it for smuggling. The day of the riot he texted me, and told me that his routing software was sending the packages around the security checks, so that they would be delivered without being detected.”
“No further questions.”
