Let well enough alone. - part.1
The year is 4271 AD. The Federal Republic of Alusthogrun , known to most as the Aeropolis Alusthogrun. The continent once called Australia was now an Aeropolis, a flying city that drifted some 1,500 metres in the sky.
To attempt entry by sea was not merely difficult, but a fool’s errand; to attempt it by air, nigh on impossible. In due course, the Aeropolis Alusthogrun had earned its more common moniker: The Fortress in the Sky. It was whispered, in hushed tones both official and conspiratorial, that what kept this colossal monument to human ingenuity aloft—what defied gravity and supported its impossible weight—was a great, throbbing perpetual motion engine. Or so the story went, spoon-fed to the masses with the morning papers. They claimed this fantastical engine was a gift from the gods of science, made possible by the discovery of a new, divine energy.
This miraculous power source was a substance still wreathed in a veil of profound mystery: Abaddoselenium. Its very existence had only been verified in the past two or three decades, and its true nature remained a subject of feverish, academic debate. Was it matter, a photon, or something else entirely? A question for the ages, perhaps. And yet, this substance of unknowable origin now fuelled the whole of Alusthogrun. Abaddoselenium powered the turbines that spun with a whisper and a hum, it filled the engines of every car and aeroplane, and rumour had it, it could be fashioned into a weapon of such apocalyptic power it would make the most monstrous nuclear bomb seem a mere firecracker in comparison. Its true essence remained a puzzle, a conundrum of the highest order. It was a terrifying, arcane substance, to be sure, but it was also hailed as a magnificent marvel, a sorcerer’s stone that could turn any dream into reality. At least, that was the grand illusion sold to and believed by the vast majority of the residents of the Federal Republic of Alusthogrun.
Yet, the supposed boons of Abaddoselenium were a mere pittance when weighed against the perilous risks of its use. As the esteemed scholar Mr. Pellmond Varlozzi had once commented, it was “more trouble than the uranium used in nuclear power generation, or some such thing,” a sentiment that was summarily dismissed by the powers that be.
For indeed, a power station utilising Abaddoselenium had already been the epicentre of a truly catastrophic accident in another country. It was roughly thirty years ago, if memory served, when an unknown surge of Abaddoselenium had completely and utterly obliterated an entire state in the United States of North America, leaving nothing but a vast, smouldering scar on the landscape.
Be that as it may, that was in another country, and it was all in the past, wasn’t it? The average citizen of Alusthogrun clung to this belief like a life raft in a storm: Surely, technology must have advanced by now, rendering it perfectly safe. This was, of course, precisely the intended consequence of the government’s incessant propaganda machine. In the harsh light of truth, the situation had not changed one jot since that fateful day, and technology had made no tangible progress to speak of. The reason for that horrific accident in the United States of North America remained, to this very day, a complete and total mystery.
“Cynthia, are you alright?”
And so, the current state of the Federal Republic of Alusthogrun was one of total, all-encompassing reliance on Abaddoselenium for the very infrastructure that held its society together. While this dependency had led to a superficial improvement in the standard of living, the chasm between the gilded-class and the working-class had widened into a gaping maw. Social order, once so rigid and predictable, grew more precarious with each passing year. Rising crime rates amongst the dispossessed, kidnappings of the children of the wealthy—the immediate challenges were piling up, threatening to send the great city tumbling from the sky it so arrogantly inhabited.
Yet, there was one foolish man who turned a blind eye to the darkness of the Aeropolis Alusthogrun, remaining steadfastly loyal to its people and devoted to the law.
“Breakfast is ready… Do you feel up to eating?”
The man’s name was Neil Archer, a special agent working at the Sydney branch of the Alusthogrun Bureau of Investigation, the nation’s police agency. He had previously been assigned to the Major Crimes Division of the Criminal Investigative Command at the headquarters in the capital, Canberra, but was demoted after offending the sensibilities—or perhaps the petty pride—of his superiors. At the Sydney branch, he was met with further disdain and shunted into the newly created Special Missions Division. To top it all off, his partner was a troublesome woman whom no one knew how to handle…
Neil, whose nerves were frayed from his daily struggles, was currently engaged to a woman named Cynthia Cooper.
“Yes, I think so. …Could you help me up?”
Cynthia, cradling her large belly, slowly sat up in bed. Neil offered her his hand and helped her to her feet.
As she rose, her smooth black hair, still tousled from sleep, swayed as she leaned on Neil’s shoulder and shuffled unsteadily down the hallway. With her final month of pregnancy just two weeks away, she was once again suffering from a bout of morning sickness that they had thought had subsided.
“You must be so busy with work. I am so sorry…” Cynthia said, her expression apologetic. Guiding her into the living room, Neil grumbled about his job.
“Yes, I am incredibly busy. According to my plan, I should be using up all my saved leave to be with you right now. But I cannot even get the weekends off properly. It is a completely inconsiderate workplace.”
With that, Neil opened the door to the living room. He pulled out a chair from the side of the table and helped Cynthia sit down.
He then went back to the kitchen, arranged the breakfast he had prepared on plates, and carried them to the living room. As he quickly set the meal in front of Cynthia, he vented the complaints he could never voice at work.
“…At times like this, having a boss who is a complete workaholic is a real pain. Deputy Director Lilly Foster… she is a formidable opponent. And my partner, Caldwell, is a blunt sort with no interest in family life.”
“Oh? Did you not say your partner was an agent with two children?”
“That was my old partner, Clouseau. He was transferred two years ago. My current partner is a lunatic with a few screws loose. She is always itching to shoot someone. I am constantly having to stop her…”
On the glass-topped dining table was a spread of spinach sautéed with butter and cheese, a small omelette, plain yoghurt, and orange juice. It was a decent amount, considering it had been prepared in a short time.
Cynthia, who was of Chinese descent, picked up her chopsticks with practiced ease and began to eat. With impeccable grace, she lifted a piece of spinach to her mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, she pointed to the analogue clock on the wall.
Neil glanced at it with his brown eyes. It read 7:57 AM. His eyes widened in alarm.
“Right, Cynthia! I have put your lunch in the refrigerator. Just heat it in the microwave when you are ready to eat. A minute and a half at 500 watts, with the cling film on. And Mr Chen, the cook, is coming to make dinner as usual, is he not?”
Cynthia nodded in confirmation.
The truth was Cynthia had never cooked in her life. She was the daughter of a wealthy family that ran a corporate group. For her, meals were something prepared by a cook, not by her parents or herself. That was why Neil woke up early every morning to make breakfast for them both.
But he did not mind. Neil’s mother was a chef at a rather famous hotel, and he himself had been taught to cook by her from a young age. He loved being in the kitchen; he found it more rewarding than his job.
Nothing brought him more joy than seeing Cynthia happily eat the food he made.
“Right, I am off then. I plan to be back a little after seven this evening, but I am sorry if something urgent comes up. And call me if you need anything.”
Neil put on his suit jacket and slung a rucksack over his shoulder. He slipped on a pair of not-particularly-well-maintained leather shoes and dashed out to the car park.
“…Ugh, I am going to be late…!!”
