Lorenzo Michelakos stood at the stern of his ship, perhaps the most unimposing captain in all of history. Middle-aged, balding, and with a pot belly to fit his short stature, the man had a horrible reputation as a con artist a completely valid concern, given his presence in the city. All of this was far outside of Lorenzos attention, though, as he stared up at the harbor skyline. Among the many buildings overlooking the shore, he picked out one in particular an apartment complex, with a massive top-floor penthouse projecting itself over the water. This was why he was one of the few merchants still willing to deal with Core; his underhanded tactics had guaranteed a seat of luxury at the end of the world. He just had one more shipment to make, the final load of fuel he would deposit along the Panamanian bay. A series of shouts broke Michelakos concentration, and he turned in time to feel a wave of heat wash over him, a brilliant inferno of light and sound. Later medical and forensic reconstructions would declare that the Greek felt nothing; his neck had snapped in the initial explosion. The smoldering ship would rapidly disappear beneath the waves, yet another sunken vessel awaiting a dredge call from the docks.
Past the first wall, police helicopters swung away from the tropical slums, leaving Shad Karim bizarrely alone. This neighborhood had recent been burned down; most likely an act of arson. With the area already looted for any valuables, it was temporarily abandoned, leaving the Core-born nineteen-year-old with a brief moment of solitude. Musing to himself, Shad drew a knife from his sweatshirt, before flicking the hood up. His parents had done better than most upon arrival being from Chicago, and Marrakech before that, they werent incapable of handling themselves but a wealthy family living in the slums was still going to suffer. His mother had died of illness while he was a child; his father caught in a shootout between gangs and police three months back. The orphan had come home to find a charred and raided shack, and Karim had lived on the streets ever since. Glancing up quickly at the wall, to ensure the guards were not watching, Shad returned to his feet, and ducked beneath the nearby overhang. There had to be a way into the main city, if only you knew where to look
The central hub of the city, much like the walls, is a circle, ringed by a variety of high-profile buildings. Within one of these, Gautier Michel sat, uncertain of whether he wanted to strangle the man across from him, or jump out the closest window. Arata Hamasaki, the man in question, was rather displeased with the reaction.
You do realize, Michel, that this is your job, Hamasaki asked, and that we no longer have time to wait?
Gautiers left eye made the slightest twitch in frustration. I am responsible for public announcements, Mr. Hamasaki. My job is to tell people what the council decided upon, not that an engineer has decided to kill them!
Arata leaned back, pressed his palms together, and sighed. The Tokyo-born doctor bowed his head to the Montréal-born politician, and began again.
We have been over this before. Core was designed for approximately one million people, and established resources to support up to three million by the end of the next decade. Our latest estimates place the population at an excess of fifteen million people, and we have already dipped into emergency resources set aside for the next century. We simply cannot continue to support these people. Our capabilities do not allow it.
Michel leaned forwards, and responded again. I will not condemn these people to death, Arata.
Then you will condemn all of humanity to death.
Gautier remained silent at this. Arata continued.
Whether you like or not, Mr. Michel, the matter is decided. You are to report the matter to the public.
As the man, one of the few who had designed the city, walked out the door, he turned again to Gautier.
Let us not forget who is in charge, Mr. Michel.
The Quebecois man bowed his head in defeat, and muttered.
I doubt you know who that is any more than I do.
Past the first wall, police helicopters swung away from the tropical slums, leaving Shad Karim bizarrely alone. This neighborhood had recent been burned down; most likely an act of arson. With the area already looted for any valuables, it was temporarily abandoned, leaving the Core-born nineteen-year-old with a brief moment of solitude. Musing to himself, Shad drew a knife from his sweatshirt, before flicking the hood up. His parents had done better than most upon arrival being from Chicago, and Marrakech before that, they werent incapable of handling themselves but a wealthy family living in the slums was still going to suffer. His mother had died of illness while he was a child; his father caught in a shootout between gangs and police three months back. The orphan had come home to find a charred and raided shack, and Karim had lived on the streets ever since. Glancing up quickly at the wall, to ensure the guards were not watching, Shad returned to his feet, and ducked beneath the nearby overhang. There had to be a way into the main city, if only you knew where to look
The central hub of the city, much like the walls, is a circle, ringed by a variety of high-profile buildings. Within one of these, Gautier Michel sat, uncertain of whether he wanted to strangle the man across from him, or jump out the closest window. Arata Hamasaki, the man in question, was rather displeased with the reaction.
You do realize, Michel, that this is your job, Hamasaki asked, and that we no longer have time to wait?
Gautiers left eye made the slightest twitch in frustration. I am responsible for public announcements, Mr. Hamasaki. My job is to tell people what the council decided upon, not that an engineer has decided to kill them!
Arata leaned back, pressed his palms together, and sighed. The Tokyo-born doctor bowed his head to the Montréal-born politician, and began again.
We have been over this before. Core was designed for approximately one million people, and established resources to support up to three million by the end of the next decade. Our latest estimates place the population at an excess of fifteen million people, and we have already dipped into emergency resources set aside for the next century. We simply cannot continue to support these people. Our capabilities do not allow it.
Michel leaned forwards, and responded again. I will not condemn these people to death, Arata.
Then you will condemn all of humanity to death.
Gautier remained silent at this. Arata continued.
Whether you like or not, Mr. Michel, the matter is decided. You are to report the matter to the public.
As the man, one of the few who had designed the city, walked out the door, he turned again to Gautier.
Let us not forget who is in charge, Mr. Michel.
The Quebecois man bowed his head in defeat, and muttered.
I doubt you know who that is any more than I do.
