Sealed away

Kor knew it was coming. He always did. Once the training finished, you were no longer useful, at least not for decades to come. So they shut you in a freezing tube until you became useful.

He had never questioned the Silver Spire, who would? They provided for the entire city. Iuk, peaceful and green, with tall, sleek buildings piercing the skies. One could get lost staring at it’s majesty.

From the very start, he had felt a sense of importance, purpose, and gave his all. It had payed off, but the cost was to leave behind everyone that made his life great. Piq and Tynt, his training accomplices. Yth, their mentor. His parents.

Every month they would video call each other. Usually it had annoyed him, keeping him from his studies. Yet now he stood before his terminal, a lump forming in his throat as he knew he was leaving it all behind.

Hesitantly, Kor inserted his ID card into the slot, finalizing the process. ‘Facility 199’ the screen read. A railpod would arrive shortly. Stepping out onto his balcony, he saw it approaching, a black ball zipping along one of the many rails strung across the cityscape.

Hundreds zoomed to and fro, but he knew that one was his. It decelerated, stopping only feet away, and the door folded open. With one last gaze, Kor took in the maintenance crew fixing railings, hundreds of residential buildings towering meters into the sky, each apartment hanging like a white grape, clustered between others, spiraling along a central support.

The seat sagged comfortably beneath him as the pod closed and smoothly zoomed away. His apartment was no longer occupied. Staring at the lining of the pod, he wished for a window.

Such a luxury was not present, so employees didn’t get distracted from their tasks when riding. It made sense, everything by the Silver Spire did. Maybe it was their ruthless efficiency that caused so many to rebel against the Silver Cities, instead forming their own settlements.

Foul places he was told, disease ridden and without proper sanitation. Crude buildings and hard floors to sleep on. Starvation always just around the corner. Why would anyone choose that life?

The security of the Silver Cities was a fantastic price to pay for what some claimed a sense of freedom. Here he was anyway, wishing that he didn’t have to leave it all behind.

The pod slowed, and he stopped outside the walkway leading to the titan stasis facilities. He stepped out and walked across the wide walkway, passing several people in uniform, crisp and upright.

Looking closer, it became clear that there was none of the union and delight that came when speaking to his parents after an exciting day. People speed-walked, in a hurry to reach their destination. No lighthearted conversations, and the few groups he passed only spoke in serious tones.

When he reached the entrance, he swiped his card in the slot on the doorway. Once inside, he couldn’t help but stare upwards. There were massive rows upon rows stretching all the way to the ceiling, meters above. Each row contained thousands of pods, reminiscent of a beehive.

He checked his arm, where the device strapped around it indicated his location; row sixty-two. He set off at a jog, counting the rows as they passed by. Here and there he saw groups of people clustered together. Others like him.

Rounding the corner, he stepped into row sixty-two. Two staff members stood waiting, and behind them, his parents?

Yes, it was them. He had never seen them in person. His father turned and pointed, and they both smiled, walking up and embracing him. It felt so good, and that only made him hurt on the inside more.

They broke off and his mother spoke with the staff members. Kor turned towards the pod that was protruding from the wall.

The stasis pod glowed softly, dispelling shadows that tried to fold across it. It seemed like a model, fake and flat, yet when Kor touched it, the cold metal was definitely tangible.

He hated the idea of being locked inside a small space, no room to move, and sealed away for sixty-three years. If it broke he would have no way out, no way to call for help, slowly dying of suffocation.

Kor’s father laid a hand on his shoulder, showing a comforting smile.

“It will be all right Kor. Years of research and testing have gone into these. There is absolutely no need to worry.”

Shockingly, his father read Kor’s paranoia easily. As opposed to Kor, his father gave an air of disciplined confidence.

Of course, Kor couldn’t refuse. Listed for a job years into the future, trained until he was ready by mentors in the craft, growing older only wasted time.

Given, being a Bionurisher did not require a lot of physical strain, but even if he was only growing crops, peak physical performance was the pride of an Iuk citizen. And the law required it.

His mother walked over, sadness in her figure, she wouldn’t meet his eyes. The staff trailed behind, shuffling impatiently.

Sweat stuck his thin garment causing it to stick to his skin, making it uncomfortably tight.

“Goodbye mother, goodbye father. It’s- I-” Kor choked up, sobbing uncontrollably, and they once again embraced. Mournfully they stood, close together, for this was likely the only time they were ever going to see one another in person.

Kor stepped back, wiping his face, and nodded to the staff. Breathing in deeply, he hesitantly climbed into the pod, sinking slightly into the spongy material that lined it. He released the breath, audibly hearing his thundering heartbeat.

First came the mask, then the pipes, plugging into the valves implanted in his body, and finally came the sedative. Propping himself up, he took one last look at his parents, tears painting their cheeks, feeling a pang in his chest.

The lid closed with a hiss, and as he faded from consciousness, he watched the steel-plated floor and rows of pods lining the walls zip by as he joined them. Archived for sixty-three years, like a book in a library, he finally accepted his fate.