The Copper Tube
Part 1

In agriculture hall 563-2a-e, hundreds of men wearing plastic, full body suits lurked through rows of artificially grown crops. They appeared as 22nd century astronauts, the ones that appeared in those ancient videos, planting flags for various territories on now overpopulated planets, something unfamiliar to the general populace in the time and setting of this story. They moved delicately, for one stumble could crush three pods, and three families would go without food the next day. Too many of such mistakes would result in expulsion. The white-gray walls and floors seemed the most permanent entity in the universe. The crops grown and position of the hydroponic rows differed based on the time of year, but those walls were always there, unchanging. Together they fashioned the various halls, rooms, and corridors transitioning into each other throughout the complex, a seemingly infinite complex. No person had ever seen every hall. In addition, only a few managers had ever been to all six of the main sections, and it took years of accumulative travel. It was a simple world and a simple time, moderate isolation, specification, and longevity of life, the tenants of an ideal world.

Hall 563-2a-e was located in the fourth main section, the only one dedicated to complete specification. Everyone was agriculturists. More than three trillion citizens, the second lowest population and lowest population density, being as the agriculturalists need the most room to work and agricultural science had recently progressed to the point where not too many citizens were needed to supply the others with nutrition. They operated machinery, created nutrient products, and built and expanded the mechanical systems. Floyd was one of them.

At birth, Floyd’s genetic code proved him fit to join the agriculture society as a high distinction nutrient mixer, one of the most respectable occupations. In addition, it was the least likely to result in expulsion, being as a mistake in nutrient formula would not be realized until almost a month after production and thus could not be traced to its original handler without a complex forensic process. In some halls, there are laws such as pod assignments and machinery to measure nutrient percentages in order to intercept any mistakes. However, in 563-2a-e, the resources needed for nutrient security projects never came, and the managers of the region were always too preoccupied with more important matters and never inquired.

“Inert compounds, thirty seven point six percent… potash, twenty point five three percent... nitrogen, twelve point two percent”. Floyd was in the mixing room, five others with him. They spoke aloud and in unison as to make sure that their mixtures were uniform. It was hot that day; the environment manager had decided that the crops currently being grown required more heat from the photosynthetic light generator, its brutal beams illuminated the hall and spread a humid heat as it began to evaporate the water stores. The planters received orders to run additional water hoses from the emergence area into the liquid storage until cultivation. “Sulfur, two point eight seven percent…. Boron zero point five three percent…” A drop of sweat fell off Floyd’s face and hit his protective face covering; he could have easily ruined the formula without proper protection. He peered towards the engraving on the room’s far wall, 20 points worth of infractions will result in expulsion. Floyd had three. A fellow worker caught the direction of Floyd’s gaze. Embarrassed, he went back to his work.
It was common for one to acquire a good amount of points over a lifetime. Floyd was aware that the expectancy at the time of death was twelve. However, he was twenty and still had centuries left to live. Never did negligence or laziness ever cause a problem with the authorities. It was always accidents that resulted in his accumulation of points, and they were all one pointers too. Two counts of lacking to register in a population census and one for lacking to file for the oxygen distribution count. Nonetheless, it kept him awake at night knowing that he was one of only eleven people under thirty in his hall that had accumulated any points, and the only nutrient mixer.
As a nutrient mixer, Floyd worked from 4am to 5pm(common time) and then again from 8pm to 11pm(common time). This occupied the same middle break period as a planter class worker, and because of Floyd’s point troubles, he most often tended towards this more acceptant group than his own. On that most thermally hostile of day’s Floyd did in fact spend his free hours with the planters. The group talked of the day’s work and upcoming mandatory registrations and polls. Floyd did not talk, but instead listened to Alan and Gottfried, a pair of planters about his age. They were sitting in a crowded refectory at the same table as Floyd, moderately more isolated in situation than the majority of the room’s occupants.
“Have you all yet received word of the mandatory minor migration to hall 542-2b-a for the new reception of community medical papers?”
“I thought they moved it to hall 544-3a-c because they were expecting a greater influx of registrants?”
“From what source did you attain this information?”
“I heard it in the community announcement room this morning; it must have been during your extended hours.”
“I truly do hate missing community announcements but I really did have to take those extended hours. After all, I am less than seven feet tall, and I need the extra hours logged so I will be allowed to travel to hall 502-1f-v in order to take my mandatory supplemental nutrient knowledge exam for those labeled a reproductive concern.”
“Is that exam for growth concerns only, or are those with immunity concerns included as well?”
“The test is geared towards all human nutrient concerns but it is optional for everyone but the growth impaired.”
“I would go, just to get it out of the way, but all of this hose work is beginning to pile up. There is no way I would be able to get enough done even with an all-nighter.”
“Honestly, all of the travelling that I have had to do recently is starting to get to me.”
“I can sense that, but you have to admit that it is still much easier than hose work.”
“Yes, but it still has a tiring quality that hose work lacks.”
“I suppose you are correct”
“By the way, have you seen Julius recently?”

Floyd twitched a little in his seat after this prompt. He enjoyed any conversation on the topic of Julius. After all, he was the only resident in the hall with more than thirteen points and was only thirty-seven too. He was obviously a regular topic of conversation. Floyd remembered a time when he heard that Julius was caught using one of the three forbidden words and penalized three points instead of just one because he used it again in anger once he was brought into the manager of discipline’s room. Floyd did not know what any of the three words actually were or meant, but he knew they existed and were severely frowned upon, and that was enough for him to feel that rush that accompanied such allegations. Now that Alan and Gottfried were talking about something more engaging, Floyd began to contribute to the conversation. “I have not seen him at all today, but I rarely do.” Floyd added. The other two glanced at him awkwardly, unknowing that he had been listening to them the whole time. Floyd felt uncomfortable. “I have not seen him either”, returned Alan focusing his words primarily towards Gottfried. Gottfried began to whisper, “I do not think he came to work today. He claims he is diseased but I have a feeling it is not true”. Nobody had been diseased in that hall for almost seven years; medicine had progressed to the point where only a most clever strain of virus could get around the medicinal manager’s defenses. These were serious accusations; the unreasoned missing of work was a penalty of ten points. If this were to be proved true, Julius would be expelled.

That night while Floyd was mixing his second round of nutrients, the word began to quietly circulate, so as not to give any floor manager the idea that everyone was working with undivided attention, that a medical trial had been called to test if Julius was diseased. An uneasy feeling welled in Floyd. He returned to his work, it proved therapeutic. He repeated to himself: “Inert compounds, thirty seven point six percent… potash, twenty point five three percent... nitrogen, twelve point two percent”. He slept irregularly uncomfortable that night.

In a room hundreds of miles from Floyd’s occupied sleeping quarters, a class of teenage students were meeting for a night class in environmental management. The teacher, about 150 years of age was writing a diagram for the effects of irregular photosynthetic light generator patterns and its effects on vegetation, husbandry, and common respiration. The room was white, like all of the others, and this fact interested the students little. They had not yet been exposed to the theoretical concept of rooms of different color. Such concept were for entertainment purposes, in addition to only being discussed in certain circles of the most highly educated. A few of these children would reach that level one day, but for now, they were equals. They sat there silently as the teacher explained how carbon cycles must be constantly monitored in order to sustain a balance between organisms in an agricultural unit. He drew another diagram. Several feet beneath them was a pit of decaying timber covered in an inorganic nutrient coat. It was a fuel creation chamber where three people worked. Despite spending so much time within fifty feet of each other, the students and the fuel creationists had never seen or heard each other because the floors and walls were sound proof and they had both never left their respective rooms. They were the secluded ones. Students, too young to have received any reason to leave the compound of learning, themselves and their teacher occupying the same thirty by thirty foot room for eating, sleeping, basic exercise, and learning . On the nether side, those three men were born and immediately trained through computer stimulus in the place where they toiled at the time of this story. Not one person in the entire complex was at this time aware of the fuel creators’ existence. Out of the local birth center for almost eighty years, nobody had any memory of them. In addition, it was a closed off realm, deemed too destructive to the health of those fit to do more mentally engaging jobs like nutrient mixing, engineering, or the managing of some hall. Nutrients were still supplied to them through a mechanical system set in place at the time of their birth, and in return they sent fuel supplies to the local area storage system through a series of vacuum mega tubes. They worked the pit, ate, slept in attached rooms, and communicated with each other. They did not use language but instead a series of grunts and gestures through which they had gained the ability to convey basic thoughts. As Floyd lay awake in his bed, one of the men coughed, and above him, a diagram was being drawn on a board.

It was 2 o’clock common time and the photosynthetic light generator was hibernating to ensure general sleep quality. It was a generally restful period. A program set in place by the Bureau for Statistical Programming randomly generated a test that night, one performed thrice weekly, to find a percentage of the total sleeping populace in the fourth main section. Ninety-two percent, an unrealistically high number. Even Floyd had managed to force himself into an inconsistently restful sleep. The students slept on cots on their floor. The fuel men had each gone to their connected rooms and were all in a deep sleep, although one was periodically awakened by fits of hemoptysis, a common ailment in his field, although one not supported by common medical systems due to lack of transitional supply roots and connections with main nutrient loads. However, in a room just a few miles from Floyd, somebody was very awake and looking at something that nobody had seen in centuries. He was crying.


Part 2

Forty-three individuals were standing in a brightly lit room. At the front, sitting behind a podium, there was an elevated man in every form of the word. He was placed on a slab five feet higher than the other inhabitants. He was a giant for his time standing more than a foot above anybody else in the facility and weighing twice as much as well. In addition, he was also of a lofty position. It could be seen that the general proceedings of this meeting was focused around his decisions. He had short black hair and bags underneath his eyes and spoke with a tone of quiet superiority. He wore a white robe. He was the discipline manager. Seated directly in front of him was a man of regular stature and longer brown hair. He faced toward the manager. The man was looking down at his feet at the base of the stool he was sitting on. He was covered in sweat and was naked. He had been recently interrogated for scientific purposes. In the far corner of the room stood a nutrient mixer with tired eyes and weary movements, he looked upon the proceedings with intense focus. He leaned against the wall and was surrounded by the majority of the room’s occupants. “Floyd 24563” pronounced a woman next to the manager. The exhausted man lurked towards the women and engaged in an exchange of words before departing to his previous position with a piece of paper.

About six hours before Floyd heard a knock on his door. He was awoken immediately. He jumped to his door to figure the reason for disturbances at that hour. It was a woman dressed in blue, a court messenger. He knew instantly what was occurring. For means of decision accuracy, a discipline manager will enlist the assistance of a variety of occupations to ensure scientific and governmental precision while deciding ultimate outcomes of cases. The discipline manager could not possibly know everything about a suspect’s occupational surroundings. Floyd, amongst others, had been picked randomly from selective fields to monitor the case. However, they were only sources of information, and contrary to twenty-first century judicial beliefs, were not entitled to a judgment. That was an entitlement of discipline managers only. Floyd knew that knowledge of nutrient mixing would not be needed in this case and that in truth he was there only as a spectator. However, for some innate reason, he did not desire to be anywhere else, even if it would be more productive.

The paper was an occupational release form. It was very important, as it was the only way to ensure that one had lawfully missed work. Floyd tucked it in the chest pocket of his casual day-clothes and waited for the remainder of the onlookers to receive theirs before the actual trial began. The discipline manager and suspect sat eerily still and silent, like statues, while the release forms were dealt out. The manager stared intensely, yet reserved, towards the suspect; however, the suspect continued to keep his gaze at his feet in refusal of acknowledgement towards any other being in the room. His face was as white as the walls that surrounded him. Once the release forms were distributed, the room was silent and without movement for ten minutes. Then the silence was abruptly broken by a calm yet pervasive phrase “Julius 33761, you are being medically investigated as an inquiry into the accumulation of points.” It was the discipline manager. Within seconds, a series of men in green full body uniforms poured into the room through a large back door. In a few moments twenty men had seized Julius and retreated into the same door from which they entered, Julius made no noise but was clearly in extreme shock. “Once primary testing has been completed, we will begin the scientific observations and scrutiny based in the following environmental and medical areas” started the manager, “allergen presence and policy, cardiovascular health, muscular and connective tissue studies, and nutritional distribution in the agricultural sector. The remainder of assistants will remain in stand-by until needed.” A few people separated from the group and were lead through the same door through which Julius was escorted. Floyd and the others were lead through a connecting hallway. A women escort explained how the court proceedings would work, a probable time schedule, and case outcome probabilities that had recently been produced by a computational judicial simulation program; when the group arrived in a room at the end of the hallway, this simulation was being played in repetition on a large television screen. The escort explained that the discipline manager had requested silence in the entirety of the court facility to insure order and unbiased results. She then left. The uninvolved sat around a large table watching the case simulation on repeat.

Six hours is an unrealistic amount of time to sit silently in a room. Televised droning about a guilty suspect and the dead faces all around. Floyd had fallen asleep twice. The first time he was awoken by the sound of the escort entering the room; the manager wanted more of the specialists, but not Floyd. These occurrences happened four times, but the last one had taken place hours before. The second time Floyd had awoken it was to a distinctively loud noise from the television, a scene of medical examination that was resulting in screams of distress from the suspect; Floyd believed it to be a bone marrow test, he had heard of that procedure before. He did not know why they had to show simulations of medical procedures and it disturbed him. He could not go back to sleep again. He stared at the white wall. He felt his mind going. He felt like he had to do something; the volume on the television felt as if it was growing louder by the second and Floyd was beginning to feel claustrophobic. The majority of the room was asleep and Floyd began to glance at the few that were not. He wanted to force them into some kind of interaction to distract him from his surrounding scenario. They were unresponsive. Another horrible noise sounded from the television, Floyd felt the urge to vomit. Then, another noise, steps up to the television and then a crash. The television was destroyed, sparks shot from the cracked screen. Everyone was awake and looked towards the disturbance.

A man stood in front of the unneeded. A cane in his hand, he was elderly and appeared unmoved, although relatively embarrassed that he was the center of attention. He threw a small yellow ball on the ground, went to a seat in the corner, and drifted into a half sleep. Everyone was trying not to stare at him. His displaced ball became the center of attention; people gestured towards it, but did not want to speak. They did not want to draw attention as to alert the court officials to the situation. Floyd began to think.
‘Why would he do that? He is going to receive many points for this. At his age, he probably has a large quantity of mistakes built up against him. This could mean expulsion, or another court case, more unsavory words passed around the hall. Why did he have to do that, it did not fix anything’
The thoughts were becoming to exceed his control. He had to help somehow.

‘Perhaps I could remove the focus on the individual. I have to do it. I have to do something’
Floyd gathered his courage, walked towards the front of the room, grabbed the ball, and threw it into the crowd. Another man caught it, looked at it in his hand, and threw it again. The chain continued and the crowd began to whisper. A man with large green eyes threw the ball to a man with a physician’s hat, but a spore information professional intercepted it and redirected it towards a man next to Floyd. People started to talk louder. That man bounced it off the wall and two personal record examiners and a large woman in a blue coat jumped for it. One of the examiners clutched it in the air, and fell upon landing. The crowd became quiet and looked at the man with his stomach on the ground. He began to make a noise. He was laughing. Others started laughing with him, one by one until the whole room was erupting with laughter. The ruckus continued for more than an hour, but unfortunately, the escorts did return; Floyd could see the shock in their eyes. They looked afraid. The euphoria ended and Floyd remembered the old man that had started the affair, he looked over to where the man had sat before. He was gone. Floyd glanced around the room, but he did not see the old man. He must have left while everyone was distracted. Everyone was now sitting and silent. The escorts were in the hallway, just outside the room. Everyone heard thunderous steps in the distance. The door was closed and they could not see out. The steps grew louder until they came to an abrupt stop. Then a horrible noise ensued; one of the escorts outside burst into an agonizing weeping. Inside the room, everyone shuddered. Someone was saying something outside in an extremely masculine tone. However, the door stopped the noise from being decipherable as anything more than a murmur, but every person knew that there was a giant outside the door, and he was enraged.

Two hours later, the ball players and escorts all sat in a cell. They were taken there blindfolded by civil guards, and did not know where they were. It smelled terrible there. Every so often two men with white metal masks, with slots just for their eyes, would come and take somebody out of the cell and that person would not return; it had happened eleven times already. Nobody knew what was happening. One man curled himself into the corner of the cell, his eyes were wide, and he smelled of his urine. A woman, one of the court workers, screamed sporadically through the square openings in the cell grate.
“I was not involved! I was not there! I am just a messenger, not an escort! I was lost! I did not even mean to be there! I had nothing to do with it!”
About ten minutes later, one of the masked men came and took her. Nobody could tell if it was because they believed her outbursts or for the same reasons as everyone else. About a half hour and four people later, they came for Floyd. He could not clearly remember what happened next except for questioning and extreme pain. He awoke the next morning in his hall’s local medical facility. From whatever had happened, there were no signs. His body was unscathed and there were no faces familiar to the preceding scene around him. He felt tired. A nurse approached him and measured his blood pressure and pulse; they were normal. “Very good” she said. Floyd glanced around; there were many others around him. He could hear, but not see them, as curtains separated each individual treatment section. He heard a pull on the curtain in the direction opposite to where he was looking. He turned around and saw a facility messenger holding and envelope. “Good morning” the messenger said. “Good morning” Floyd replied. “This is for you”, she handed him the message and left. Floyd opened it.
Due to negative involvement in the judicial inquiry into the fundamental medical and civil proceedings in the agricultural sector, the Bureau for General Order penalizes Floyd 24563 10 points. For further information on the legality of acts and possible infractions, consult pages 1567-1673 of the general citizenship handbook.
Floyd started to feel faint; he stared at the curtain through which the woman had recently exited. About an hour later, he was asleep.

It is rare for any human to have as vivid a dream as Floyd had that day. It was about the old man and the ball. The mysterious man threw it up into the air and it hovered right in Floyd’s reach. He was going to reach for it when he heard a sound. It was the murmur he had heard through the door in the room the day before. He turned and saw the dark haired giant. The eyes of the manger met Floyd’s and he was struck with fear. He could not avert his eyes; he was trapped staring into the view of the menacing figure. The giant seemed to grow as Floyd looked at him, until his expanses had manifested the entire room. Floyd was surrounded. It felt like his heart was stalling with fear, but he could not wake up. Would he occupy this space in this psychological world forever? He did not know. Then he saw it. The ball still hovered in the air. Floyd ran for it and pulled it in towards his chest. The manager began to recede and was gone. In the corner of the room stood the old man with the cane, smiling. “Thank you” Floyd said. It was all he could think to say. Then the dream would end after the old man said something, but Floyd could not tell what it was, it sounded like nonsense, indecipherable gibberish. Floyd would have the same dream at least a dozen more times over the next three days he stayed in the medical facility and not once could he tell what it was the old man was trying to tell him. On the day that Floyd left, he noticed something about his message alerting him of his point penalty. It was written on a piece of scrap paper. This was not odd. The Bureau for General Order had been experiencing a paper shortage and had resorted to using discarded paper for most messaging. It was efficient to reuse supplies that were difficult to renew. However, what was odd was what was printed on the non-informant side of the scrap. Although the ink had faded, it could still be made out with close attention. It was a series of navigational directions to some location.

Part 3

It had been a little more than two weeks and Floyd had spent an unrealistic amount of it near the tube. It was an entirely unfamiliar tint, and the color was bizarre. He had done research in the local information referencium and had found no documentation that it had ever existed. He thought it could have been a retired nutrition dispensary, but its uses, disposal populations, or retirement date was not included in any regional documentation. He thought it could be some archaic messaging system used to transport solid written messages from place to place as a surrogate for a downed photon particle electro-message transporter before repair. However, he could find no record of any messaging impairment in that region. Never in the mass architectural studies of his basic schooling did he ever learn of a source or terminus for such a transport vessel, and mass architecture was a major aspect of a nutrient mixer’s education. He stared through its opening and felt a connection with whatever was on the other end. He knew it was important, though he did not know why. He sat there on the floor, looking at the tube that protruded from the wall. The room was obviously very old, being as the white of the walls was beginning to fade, which contrasted with Floyd’s modernly bright white clothes.

Floyd had recently noticed a word scratched into the wall near the tube. In all of his studies, he had never been acquainted with it before. He felt some hidden meaning in it. He associated with the tube and the mysteriousness of his situation. The inscription appeared recent because dust had not accumulated in its crevices. It stuck in his memory. It would be stuck in his memory for a long time.

This tube had become a major factor of Floyd’s life. He was no longer regularly sleeping. The time he did not spend working, he spent with the tube. It had engrossed him. Insomnia had driven him mad, and he became prone to hallucinations. He swore he witnessed water dripping from the tube opening, but water of some extraordinary purity. He told the planters, his acquaintances, of what he saw; they paid no attention. He was no longer part of his society. He had not been the same since he acquired the paper. He used all of the leave he had gained through years of work to follow its captivating directions.

The day he first decided to use the paper was a day similar to any other day for a person who had just received ten points. Depression tormented him to the point where he could barely function while working. He had stored the paper away in his sleeping facility and had forgotten it. He thought of expulsion, interrogation, and other horrifying things that came to people with large amounts of points.

It was two days after Floyd left the hospital that he had been watching a community television in a public career rest chamber. It was playing a summary of the Julius case. A few people, including Floyd, watched it intently; however, the majority of the room’s occupants paid no attention. They were napping or engrossed in some kind of government paperwork. A lone reporter was on the screen; he held papers, probably a case summary. He began to speak:
“A case on the effects of possible disease related career absence in an agricultural worker Julius was concluded today. It is the first recorded case of its kind in this region. It began four days ago and included a series of medical examinations.”
Floyd released a short gasp and shuddered. Those around him glanced at his bizarre outburst and nonchalantly returned to their previous activities. The reporter was continuing with the case statement.
“On the first day medical examinations began as planned. However, a problem arose in the accumulation of specialists. Unapproved behavior caused them to be removed from the case proceedings. They were penalized ten points and replaced the following day.”
Floyd glanced around the room as if somebody in his vicinity expected him of this ignominy. Nobody seemed even remotely moved by the television statement. The reporter continued.
“Just a few hours ago, the final examination was completed at which point the absence of any credible information proved the suspect guilty. He was penalized into a point maximum state and turned over to the expulsion committee. While in a holding chamber, the suspect removed his tongue, using his teeth, and drowned himself with his blood. He was found about an hour ago, suffocated, restrained in a seated position. Officials are currently considering passing laws to illegalize leaving convicts unattended.”
The reporter proceeded to another event. Floyd ran to the local lavatory and began to vomit. He spent an hour in the confines of the human waste disposal units and anti-bacterial hand cleansers. When he returned to work his skin was flushed, pale white. He was sweating and would have periodic nervous breakdowns for the remainder of his workday. Nobody paid enough attention to him to become aware of his unstable state. Later that afternoon, Floyd was lying in his bed staring at the ceiling when there was a knock at his door. A court message inquisitor appeared with questioning, intrusive eyes.

“Floyd?”

“Yes.”

“You have recently received a penalty paper, did you not?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Do you by chance still have it?”
Floyd remembered the graphic, the instructions on the paper. It seemed like common sense, more instinct then choice to simply hand over the paper, but for some internal reason Floyd did not want to. In reflex, he proclaimed “no”. He claimed he had taken it to the local incinerator with a few other papers. He had recently been there, and registered a scrap burning; however, the paper was not something he burned. It was a usable excuse. The inquisitor thanked him and left. Floyd ran to the dresser where he had stashed the paper. He clutched it in his hands. The interest of the paper distracted him from his previous dejection. He stared at the directions; they were vague, but after about a half an hour, he pinpointed a starting location. He left, exhausted, as soon as he deciphered the manuscript. He was at the commencement of the expedition the next day.

It had taken Floyd hours of travel on public transportations units, and he was at the position where the directions started. He was almost four-hundred miles from his house. He looked at the first instruction.
Proceed by means of individual-trans unit through Major Corridor 346759-4 until exit 267457-e then exit and proceed by foot for four standard transit units through hall 408-4u-b.
It took Floyd about three hours to complete this first stage, mostly because standard units were a scientific measurement and required a lengthy conversion process. He arrived at a four-way corridor intersection. He was in a hall that served as a dual medical facility and contagion checkpoint. Floyd noticed something aberrant. Floyd at 7’2” was not tall by any standards but stood at least six inches over anybody in the surrounding area. He knew it had to have been some gathering of growth concerns. One man, obviously suffering from a hormone deficiency could not have been taller than six feet. He peered into a large room where everyone seemed to be congregating. In it was a series of medical chairs. In them sat the growth concerns. They were receiving injections of some material. Floyd looked at a sign on the nearby wall; it was a steroid insertion clinic. It was a common practice, especially in agricultural facilities to require steroid injections for those less than seven feet tall. One could always tell who had been injected; they experienced liver failure and were prone to severe pains in their limbs.

Floyd refocused his attention on his paper so as not to become involved in the unfortunate affairs of others. He looked at the next direction.
Continue by sub-tunnel compression trans-unit until the fourth egression. Take the fifth terminal exit then proceed through Base Corridor 2267-67e-4 until a trans-accumulation of educational facilities on the sixth major intersection.
The second stage lasted for about an hour. Upon arrival, an official of public order stopped Floyd. Something was amiss in the educational facilities. Floyd took a quick distinction access exam and acquired admittance into his destination. He worked his way through a crowd that had accumulated in the area. Eventually he reached an opening. There was an excavation to some opening under an educational facility. People were staring at public workers, covered in thick protective coverings; they were handling something. Floyd moved closer and went up on his toes to see above the heads of the few people separating him. A body. It was almost entirely decomposed and removed from any clothing. It was dark black and severely bloated.

A young student was standing next to Floyd. He was probably in his teens. He appeared disturbed by the event.

“What happened?” Floyd asked the student.

“He’s dead”

“I can see that, but how did it happen.”
“We were learning of inhalants, and aerosols in relation to particle distribution, and then there appeared the acrid smell, like feces. It arose from underneath us. Its fumes engulfed our room, the teacher called for help on an emergency communication unit. We were afraid. I am so afraid.”
Floyd noticed that the student was very perplexed by his surroundings and sudden movements unnerved him. He was a higher-level student and had never left his initial learning facility. “And so close to graduation too” the boy whimpered, on the verge of tears. Floyd glanced once more at the body. Two old men stood next to it, they appeared uneasy about their surroundings, but were focused more so on the dead man. Their tears gave away that they were once the corpse’s closest friends. They lowered a cane onto the body before it was removed to a final chamber. Floyd thought the cane looked familiar. He returned his attention to his journey. He looked at the next instruction.

The remainder of the directions took a few more hours to complete. They leaded Floyd through a series of run-down back tunnels and dark, decrepit halls and corridors. Neighborhoods unfit for even the lowest of occupations, Floyd thought. Shadowy faces peered at him through small portholes and iron grated windows. Doors creaked as a variety of miserable looking men lurked in and out of various buildings. They were all on hold. There were no careers that they had the ability to perform; they were supported by their local regions in hopes that some scientist would create a project that would need some amount of manual labor, but that time rarely came. They did not have a purpose except to occupy this dark space. Floyd was out of place here and felt unsafe. Operatives of law would not even think to approach such a place. A man with one leg hobbled out of an alley on a pair of dilapidated crutches. In Floyd’s hall, occupational delimbing could be easily corrected through a quick regeneration process, but not in that neighborhood. Eventually Floyd’s surroundings began to transition into a more familiar setting. In fact, it was exceedingly familiar. ‘I have been here’ Floyd thought. It was within regular traveling distance of his house. Floyd frequented a chemical depository in that corridor. ‘Almost back where I started’ Floyd was thinking. ‘And to think that such a disturbing locality could exist within immediate vicinity of the confines of which I usually find myself.’ The directions ended there. A secret crevice, hidden to the uninformed passerby. In it was the tube, the center of Floyd’s attention for time to come. That small, dirty room would come to represent something amazing, yet dangerous to Floyd, and maybe one day for all people.

It happened that one day Floyd became so engrossed in the tube that he missed work. He erupted into a frenzy of uncontrollable worry when he finally remembered. He was in the presence of the tube at the time. He remembered Julius, and the investigation, the case, the torture, the manager, the suicide. He glanced at the tube. That was the height of his connection with the object. He felt as though he and the tube were one entity. And so it happened that Floyd stayed there with the tube, in that room, without eating or drinking for four days. The mysteriously pure water appeared from the mouth of the tube in magnificent quantities during that period. It seemed to evaporate as soon as it hit the white floor. Floyd would extend his hands into the liquid, but could not feel it, or collect it in his hands. He tried to consume it directly from the pipe, but it could not be consumed, and it provided no nourishment. He repeated to himself the indecipherable phrase of the old man.

Floyd was lying on the floor, half-dead, when the criminal detection society found him in the room of the tube. They had to be flash-transported in from their base in the second main section. Floyd’s disappearance became a national emergency. In fact, it came into question in which legal system his transgression should be investigated; penalties of such magnitudes were often sent to specialty law societies, which could be located thousands of miles away. However, ultimately, he was returned to his old acquaintance at the regional court at which he was so recently present.

He stood there opposite the discipline manager, just as Julius once did. Around him was a brand new set of occupational professionals, with weary, uninterested eyes. The manager was expecting an inquiry of sorts. He was expecting a fight from the subject; he accumulated a team of informants, just as the suspect had once been. Floyd looked up at the ceiling, his face was clear of expression. Occupational release forms were being distributed. Floyd knew that at any moment the manager would say his name, his crime, and that army of men would surge from the large door. He knew what torture lived on the other side. His face did not change. He spoke his thoughts in the most extreme brevity. “Sky”. A look of shock appeared on the face of the discipline manager and a few others in the room, the remainder glanced at the suspect realizing he had said something but did not understand. “What did you say?” the manager spoke as if his senses deceived him. “Sky” spoke Floyd; he remembered the word written on the wall. “To think that this word would be used twice in my presence.” Said the manager in complacent anger. Floyd interjected into the manager’s rant, “I’m guilty”. “What?” the manager said incredulously. He was fuming. “I’m guilty. I did not meet required career attendance.” The manager glared intensely at him. For a second their eyes met and Floyd once again focused his eyes at the ceiling.

Somewhere far away a group of graduate students sat in a room; their teacher stood in front of them. They were learning an advanced theory. The multiple room color theory, as devised by the Society of Scientific Interest about a decade prior. The students were astounded by such a revolutionary concept. The teacher spoke:
“I know that such abstract information may seem difficult to comprehend, but it is very real and arguably applicable. In time, with any luck, this concept will become simple common sense for yourselves, and hopefully one day, for all people. After all, a man who lives his whole life in the dark would have his view of the world drastically changed if he were to find a flashlight, a tool most commonplace in today’s society. One day this analogy will hold true to concepts such as the one you all just learned, and beyond.”

Floyd sat in the expulsion chamber. He was restrained to a seat with electro-automatic fetters. The world seemed like it was non-existent outside the pitch-black chamber that he had been recently transported into. He could feel the chamber being rapidly propelled through some space. Then it came to a sudden halt. His restraints lifted themselves from his body. The chamber door opened, revealing something very new. Floyd walked up to the door and stepped out.