Motion

The week crawls by. Each passing day, Discourse's machinations near completion. Four days ago, Bellow returned from Wing Five with a cart full of metal plates, bartered gears, and Workers. Two days after that, Mutter announced that the drill was ready. I looked at it myself. With the new parts, he somehow was able to transform it from a cylindrical mess of iron into a formidable drill.

The newly forged metal glints dangerously. He throws sand on it, then conceals it beneath cloth. Discourse called on all of us back to his long room. I enter with Bellow and Mutter, taking our places around the table. A few unrecognizable faces stand across me. They must be Voices from the other Wings. Whisper is already there, beside him is a taskmaster of the mining Sections. Quarry, if I remember right.

Discourse surveys the room with his blank stare. He puts both hands on the table, hunching forward at a sedated pace. He is calm, the excitement seeming to have vanished from the past days.

“Tomorrow is the day, I hope everyone is prepared,” a short collective of nods around the room. Muttered hums and groans prompt him onward. “Rest, eat, take a page.” He gestures to a small stack of blank pages on the table. It is a dramatic motion. Defiants often write last memoirs before attempting their plans.

There is no hesitation. Workers, both known and unknown reach for the paper, passing it out to one another. I look over to Whisper who remains unmoving. Someone offers her a page, and she takes it silently, sliding it in a pocket.

Bellow bumps his shoulder against mine, slapping a page over my chest. “Don't be shy, now. I'd want to read what you'll come up with.”

Laughing awkwardly, I take the page, staring at the blank, faint yellow. Their unflinching demeanor leaves me baffled. There is a strong possibility that a lot of us may not come back alive. Yet, I look around. Excited faces, fiery eyes. Are they that confident in their plan, or has madness taken them?

A cough brings the room to a silence. Discourse stands straight, scanning the room he can’t see. Or, he might be able to, but not through his eyes. I learned that it's impossible to sneak up on him. The tiniest noise rouses his attention. Though, I can say that confidently after confirming it by trying.

“Each of you have your purpose. Look ahead and be safe.” A closing statement before Mutter takes a step forward. He focuses on the plan laid over the table, everyone following suit.

“We have our hours. The first hurdle is to get the drill through The High Gates.” He looks up to a person I haven't had time to ask his name. They exchange a nod, and he pumps his chest out.

“Distraction. With the dirt clouds, we might be able to slip out after you do.” A voice of confidence, the Workers behind him nod in agreement. They show no fear, and it confuses me.

Mutter traces a finger over the plan, leading out from the diagram of Wing Four and out onto the edges of The Partition. Through that is the Inner Wings. Our objective. “Wet Workers will keep the roads free. Do your best not to breathe in.”

The rest of the room look around in confusion, but I nod in understanding. Linen's contribution was never disclosed to me, but the cryptic warning is enough for me to have a few guesses. At least all that murk is being put to use. Finally, he looks to my side of the table. Eyes look past me over to Bellow.

“You keep the guards off in Wing Four. However you can.” Mutter states bluntly. Beside me, Bellow laughs heartily, gesturing to the door.

“A few Workers of Wing Five have a few ideas. I heard they worked well last winter.” My laugh follows. I guess they are still bitter about what happened during the starving winter months. I sympathize with their reasons. Payback for the lives lost. Retribution for stealing friends away.

As for me, my purpose is clear. It's distant, but I work toward it every day.

Mutter lands his eyes on me, shooting a narrowed glare. “You and I will start the drill. Once we punch a hole in the wall, you and Whisper find this weapon and wheel it out.”

I nod, returning the harsh look with a smile. “Easy enough. Just make the hole big enough.”

“Worry about your own issues, the drill will be mine.” He scoffs, but a smirk plays up on his features. Earlier in the week, we had a short argument about him leaving me in the dark about Wing Six. Bellow discovered us with bruises, but the open conversation was eye-opening.

Mutter and I got along somewhat better after that. A messy process, but life tends to send spanners into the works. That time, it worked out well.

“When the hammers start, we do.” He finishes with a deciding remark. Stepping back from the table, Discourse wraps his knuckles against the table, knocking softly.

“Dream of brighter steel.” A dramatic conclusion to the sudden meeting. Everyone begins walking out, lively conversations between each other as they walk through the door. I stay behind, waiting for them all to exit. Whisper stands across the table from me, watching me with confused eyes.

I heave a sigh, the sharp noise raises his attention, looking my way. “Is there any issue?”

“Discourse. I'm not doing this for the goodness of my heart.” I declare firmly. Putting my hands on the table's edge, I lean over, shooting a glare.

“Hyde, what are you saying?” Whisper demands through gritted teeth. I wave a hand, swatting away her words.

“I want this treaded weapon gone too, but there's another reason why I'm helping.”

He raises a brow, meeting my stare with a soft expression. “And what reason is that?”

“To break Orion out.”

I'm met with silence. At the corner of my eye, Whisper's words stopped shy, her mouth agape. Discourse watches me with renewed interest, eyes narrowing. His bottom lip shifts, deliberating whatever words he's going to say.

“So, why are you here with us?” He finally asks, a neutral, but curious tone. I exchange looks with Whisper, then respond.

“If I help you succeed here, then you'll have to help me.” It sounds more like a desperate demand than a deal, but he says nothing, watching silently as his brows furrow in thought.

“What you're looking for is quite the task. The Watcher is kept past the Inner Wings. There are only six ways through, all are not possible.

“And what way is that?”

He holds his breath for a moment, but he releases it along with his answer. “Up the lighted structures. Through the places where guards are frequent, but it leads straight to the center. Where they're keeping your friend.”

Another moment of quiet. A dreadful silence as the uncertainty weighs heavy on my chest. I know it would be unlikely, but he makes it sound like a suicide mission. We don't even have weapons that can kill the guards. Fire material can concuss, but the effects last for only minutes, and that's if you can get close without getting blown apart.

But I don't have a choice. Down here, choices are a luxury. Even when I chose to be with Discourse and his group of Defiants, all roads will lead to death. I refuse to accept this way of life. To conform and work with this illusion of freedom.

“If that's the only way, then that's the way we'll take.” I'm still faced without a choice, but the outcome is anything but decided. It doesn't matter how long, as long as we work toward it. I owe it to him to at least try.

“Hyde, we're not going to do a plan that's just going to get us killed.” Whisper makes a cold retort. I meet her stare, this time I don't waver. I have no argument. It likely would be just a suicide mission.

“Whisper,” Discourse looks over, her name prompting her attention over. “What are your thoughts on his cause?”

I watch her for every detail. Her eyebrows knit, her lips a hard line. Conflict reads clear on her face, another expression I get to see from her. A moment passes in silence, then she breathes out a long sigh.

“I was planning to bring it up after we're more suited, but I share his thoughts on getting Orion back.”

Air that I didn't realize was held leaves in a relieved breath. My body relaxes, but I'm not sure why. Is it because she's supporting my stand? I always thought she would. After all, she prides herself as Orion's friend.

I give a look. One she meets without words. A determined understanding as we both nod to each other. I look back at Discourse, his face more thoughtful, a hum pursed through his mouth.

“It won't be a sudden action. You know how long this plan took, Whisper.” He explains, and she nods bitterly. I've only been here for a few months, but this could've easily gone on for longer. Years, even. And this is just to punch a hole in a wall we can touch across The Partition.

He collects his breath, clearing his throat, leaning away from the table. “I can't say that the rest will agree, but you two are useful. For this cause, and others.” I stay silent, watching in anticipation. A sigh leaves his lips, and nods deeply.

“I'll see to it that The Voices will steer to get Orion back. Even I know there would be merit in removing their Watcher. People like him are not so easily replaced.”

I stare blankly, processing his words. He agreed? Whisper looks to me, nodding once. I didn't think it would work. Steadying my breath, I reply, but his words cut off mine.

“It would be a long wait until we can try. I hope you understand that.”

“Any step toward my goal is a step in the right direction, Discourse.” He nods, letting out a soft laugh.

“Bring me success tomorrow, so I can bring you yours.” A closing finality. I turn to the door, walking out. Whisper's footsteps sync with mine, approaching the door. He says nothing as it swings open and continues to say nothing when we close the door.

Our breaths release in tandem when the door clicks shut. She looks over to me, her voice tired. “You could've told me you were going to do that.”

I shrug, meeting her stare. “If I did, then you would've convinced me not to do it.”

My response takes her by surprise. It's one that mimics her own quick retorts. She walks past me, huffing out a breath, shoulders hung low. “Try to convince yourself against doing something stupid next time, if you can.” I laugh, following behind her.

“You said you agreed with me, though.”

“I did, but right now is not the best time to bring it up.”

We walk to the loading bay, stepping out through the opened shutter doors. “When is it ever, Whisper?”

Constant walking down these quiet alleys has ingrained a familiarity of dim lights and shadows. Still, I follow her back to a building that borrows rooms for Workers from other Sections. On this street, there are a number of them, but this one belongs to an individual that supports The Voice's cause.

For me, that means it's a free place to sleep. Smaller groups of Defiants never provided these opportunities, but that makes sense. That life of bartering with those types feel like a lifetime ago. Look at me now, a part of the very same group I looked down upon and exploited.

“Do you think we're all going to come back alive after this?” I ask as we walk in. The smeltery attached to the building provides heat, providing a relaxing air. In some moments, it reminds me of home.

“That's not the right answer you should ask, Hyde.”

I quick a brow, giving a sideways glance. “Why, because there’s no use being pessimistic?”

She shakes her head, walking ahead. “Because it doesn't matter.”

“Then what does?” My question stops her. The hall echoes faintly with noise inside occupied rooms. She remains still. Their way of thinking is still confusing to me, and I may not be able to understand it, but it wouldn't hurt to try and know.

Whisper looks over her shoulder. “Tomorrow matters. The plan succeeding matters.” She looks ahead, walking down the hall to her room. I turn the other direction, heading towards mine. Her word still fresh in my mind.

They confuse me. They all do. They face possible death, but they're hopeful. I think of everything that might go wrong, but they make moves as if they've already won. Is it bravery, or insanity? Perhaps it's neither of those nor something else. If I ask, I'm sure they'd brush it off with a joke, a snide remark, or confused silence. I'd like to think I've been accepted as one of them, but I share none of their views. Discourse himself knows of my true intentions, yet he accepted my conditions and promised to lend his support.

I spend the rest of the night thinking about it. The rhythmic vibrations of work quiet to a still, the hours concluded. Behind the walls, the noises began to shrink. I assume everyone has gone to sleep.

Despite the warm air, a chill settles on my back, keeping me awake. I reach in my coat, taking out the empty sheet Bellow handed to me earlier today. My eyes are heavy, and my breath evened. Did I fall asleep somewhere in the middle? I only remember my thoughts. Quiet worries about the lack of from everyone else.

Did they all write something? I wouldn't expect Whisper to make something as dramatic, but everyone else was eager. Heaving myself off the bed, I stretch, yawning the drowsiness off my chest.

I set the page down on the drawer adjacent to the bed. I don't even have anything to write on.

A second later, it clicks. I stand up, walking to my pack laid down on the table. I brought it with me. There was no way I could just leave it at home.

The charred metal clangs quietly in my hands. I remove the cover, pushing the rolled pages aside and taking out the needle and bottle of coal powder. What I salvaged from Orion's library. At least I can make use of some of it.

I bring it over to the drawer, laying out the needle and coal beside the blank page. With water, I wet the powder, using the needle to mix it.

What do I write? Should I lose enough of myself from getting fired at, this will be the last memory anyone would have of me. I could write out my regrets in life, but what are people going to do with that? A final goodbye? I'm not certain Harbour or Cass would miss me for long.

I set the needle down, sitting on the bed. Is it always this hard? Defiants are interesting to focus on their hellbent plans and still be able to compose words on paper. I guess the question is who am I leaving this for?

As I stew in my own thoughts, there's a knock on the door. “Hyde, it's time.” I look over. Has night passed already?

“Give me a minute.” I stare back down at the paper. It's blank, the coating of wet coal drips off the needle and onto the page.

I set them down, standing up and walking to the table. I grab my pack, then head toward the door, pulling it open. In front of me is a wide smile. It's too early to return one. “Bellow. You look chipper.”

“Months of waiting around can do that to you,” he responds with a jovial laugh. It's contagious, and I find myself cracking a soft smile. “Mutter will meet you with the drill. He's already on the way.”

“Glad to see he's also excited,” I remark with a chuckle. I step out, closing the door behind me. Unlocked. In the lobby are containers and leather sacks. Food and water. A warm send off if I ever saw one.

I take a cube of bread, biting into it quickly. The sharp sweetness will keep me awake today. Bellow reminds me to drink water, and I slide some in my pack. Who knows, I might come back alive.

“See you on the other side.” I give a wave as we both step out of the building. He'll walk the other way, meeting up with Workers from Wing Five.

Bellow laughs, slapping me on the shoulder. “I'll see you with brighter steel, Hyde.”

He turns the corner out of sight. I heave a sigh. Hopefully I'll see him in one piece. With the assaulting taste of saccharine in my mouth, I walk down familiar alleys to the main road. That's where Mutter holed himself in for two days with the drill. Around the corner, I find shutter doors are pulled open, the cart driven out with the drill on its cargo bed, concealed in cloth and tight wire.

Whisper walks out of the loading room, spotting me as she does. “I don't remember your hair being brown.” She says in greeting. I quirk a brow, combing a hand over my hair. I close my eyes before the dirt fell in.

“I'm not too fond of the dust storm,” I deadpan, huffing out fake laughter. I bend my head down, brushing off the dirt on my hair. If I remember, my hair is black. Constantly walking around this Wing must've gathered enough of it on my head. “You didn't bother to mention all this time?”

She shrugs, walking over. “It wasn't worth mentioning.” I roll my eyes, looking behind her.

“Does it work?” I ask, bouncing my gaze back to her. It's not the right time to ask these kinds of question, but I thought I would ask.

“Of course it does,” a voice behind the cart answers. Mutter appears into view, crossing his arms with confidence. “Let's hope you fixed the cart so we can get it out of the Wing.”

I laugh at the provocation. Whisper rolls her eyes, walking out onto the road. “Drive the cart, Mutter. We'll run late if we keep talking.”

He nods, stepping up into the seat. The engine groans to life as he drives forward. I replaced the sprockets with spares from Bellow's trip back to Wing Five. They're for bigger carts, but in this case, they're enough to support the weight of the drill.

I walk over to Whisper, taking out eyewear and wearing them as we follow behind the cart. As soon as we step out of the dome, rapid winds hurl specks of dirt, but the feeling is familiar enough to feel numb. I take out a mask from my pocket, wearing it over my nose and mouth.

Whisper gives a nod of approval to the gesture. She wears a long cloth wrapped around the bottom half of her face.

“What's the signal, again?” I ask, holding a hand to my face as I talk. She shakes her head, her gaze gliding along the top of her eyes. I shrug, understanding the motion. “Got it. Keep quiet.”

“You'll know when it happens, Hyde.” She finishes, walking silent after. I'll take her word for it. With this wind, conversations are still hard to do lest I want a mouthful of dirt. I look behind me, seeing a handful of cloaked Workers trailing behind. Our distraction to let the drill slip past without question.

They walk with a spring in their step, one of them is bulky with cargo strapped on his back. Ahead, lights of The High Gates fade into view amidst the dust cloud. On the road, a sparse traffic of Workers is stopped by guards. In the distance, the hammers of industry are still silent. Looks like we're still on schedule.

I keep my head down as the cart drives into the light. I adjust to the brightness as a guard approaches, stopping in front of us. “Where is this cart going?”

“Wing Five, Fifth Section for repairs.” Mutter answers in a deadpan. The guard peers behind him, another walks over to try and lift the cloth. “Why are there ties?”

He looks up at the guard, staring him down through the dark tint. “The dirt would damage it further.”

The guard in front of him is silent, but the other is still trying to pull off the wires to no avail. I look behind me, the cloaked Workers walking past us, a few meters away.

A sharp tug rings overhead, creaking against the wall. It quakes the floor, the guards looking to one spot. One draws his weapon, trained at the centermost one. “That group, stop!” Other guards do the same, approaching the group of Workers. Some spare a moment to hand out the gate passes, and the one in front of Mutter is no exception.

He drives the cart forward, not looking back. Whisper and I follow, but I look over my shoulder at the growing commotion. One Worker takes out a canister under his cloak, throwing it at the guards. Another sight grabs my attention.

Right behind us are more Workers. Despite the dust turning them into silhouettes, the large frame is recognizable. They aren't far behind.

I feel a tickle against my stomach, lightening my steps. Is this how they feel all the time? Familiarity breeds a sense of comfort, but I'm sure that I'd still be uncomfortable if I held hands and ran straight into weapon fire. At least, that's what I used to think.

“Did you hear that?” I ask quietly. We pass through The High Gates, the haze of dirt dissipating with each step. Whisper checks over her shoulder, facing forward a moment later.

“He's watching.” She responds in a low whisper. Her hand shuffles under her coat, taking out a small bottle. She uncaps it, pulling down the scarf to drink. I keep silent as we walk, glancing down both ways of The Partition.

The lighted structures stand in the distance, the open floor underneath is quiet, nearly empty save for a handful of carts rolling through the road. I stop walking, focusing my gaze at Workers heading this way. They wear dark clothes, walking at a slow pace.

As I follow the cart forward, they get closer, and I have a clearer look. It's not their clothes, it's all of them. Lathered in the deep murk, Wet Workers walk the quiet space. After a quick survey, it's only Wet Workers.

I listen behind me, the rattling of dirt against metal growing distant as we walk the width of The Partition. A blank metal wall stretches across my view. They say behind it is the Inner Wings. I wasn't told of any description about it, but only that life beyond these high walls are better.

I can't imagine what that looks like.

“That cart, stop,” A guard orders, his voice raised at our direction. I look ahead, walking in silence. It's still according to plan.

A shot fires, hitting the floor nearby. They yell out something, but my heart is drumming too loud for me to hear. I expect another shot, but it's silent. I calm myself and listen behind me.

Cries from Workers and rapid steps echo along the air. A moment later, explosions ring out. We're far enough away, but the blast still echoes painfully in my ears.

“Shouldn't we help them?” I ask out to them both. Whisper shakes her head, banging the bottle against the cart's side.

“No. They're keeping suspicion of us for now. We keep going.”

The noises grow more troubling as more sparks and shots pierce the air. Overhead, the tug of wires. In the distance, the carts stop moving. Wet Workers stepping out from the seats.

A yell goes out, and they drop barrels onto the floor. Dark murk seeps out, the warmer air has made the muck watery. So, this is how Linen is going to help.

Mutter drives up near the end of the high wall, turning around and moving in reverse. The bit of the drill faces the back of the cart. That way, we wouldn't need to dismount it.

Whisper and I remove the wires and cloth, pulling it off. With the nearby spotlights, the metal glimmers as it reflects the bright white. A dangerous glint, similar to weaponry.

“Start the drill.” He orders, the cart slowing to a stop when the tip of the drill touches the wall. I move to the side, pushing the button. It hums to life, the bit turning gradually.

I look back at the gates. The sight is complete chaos. Silhouettes within the dirt clouds, bright explosions and roaring rings of weapon fire. Bodies lie still on the ground, but the resistance only grows as more Workers join. I don't think we had that many, they must be uninvolved bystanders looking to help.

Even with all this, the guards are aiming to kill. Unlike what happened in First Section, the survival of the Workers is the least of their worries.

“This drill needs to go faster,” I say, looking over to Mutter. He shakes his head calculating eyes move between the drill and the struggle. “We'll die before we punch through the wall.”

He sighs deeply, realizing the situation, but the conflict in his face remains. “I can't make it go faster. We need to wait for the motor to speed up gradually.”

I walk closer, feeling around for the panel that covers the engine. “The motor connects to the entire engine, right?” It comes off easy, revealing the groaning machinery. Mutter shoots a quizzical glare.

“Yes. What's your plan?”

That's all I need to know. I loosen the straps on my pack, opening it and rifling through. It's still here, and this idea has worked before. “Shut off the engine and wait for my signal.”

“No, not again-” Another explosion booms out, cutting his speech. On our right, a guard falls to the ground. I see Bellow pick up his weapon. With his size, he carries it without issue.

“We have no time.” I yell out to Mutter who snaps from the momentary daze. He looks to me and then to Whisper, waiting for a third opinion. I shoot my eyes over to her.

She sighs, defeated. “We'll do it Hyde's way.”

“But-” A weapon fires, someone cries out. Mutter slams his fist on the drill, nodding. “Fine. But I swear, if the drill explodes.” He trails off into silence, shutting off the engine.

I wait for the bit to slow, then I pull a rod of fire material. A quarter of it was used, but this much should be enough.

“Guards are approaching from the other Wings,” Whisper warns, looking out as I break the rod apart, slipping it inside the piston cylinders. All of it. The motor needs to spin at its fastest from the start. “Get the drill moving, Hyde.”

“It's ready.” I call out, sliding the panel back on. My body rests against it, pushing my entire weight. I look over to Mutter who moves over to the switch. “It's going to be loud.”

He scoffs, a blast goes off behind him. “What else is new?”

Wires slink along overhead. If he's listening, then he'll want to cover his ears.

I grit my teeth, nodding at him.

A single push, and the internal explosion pushes Mutter and I on the floor. The panel hits me against the cold concrete, my vision swimming as ringing assaults my ears. Someone steps over to me, helping me up on my feet. I sway but keep balance.

My vision begins to clear, hearing following suit. In front of me, Whisper drags Mutter to his feet. Behind them is the drill, the engine smoking, but alive.

The drill's jagged bit digs into the flat metal, producing a scraping noise. I grit my teeth at the painful screech, but I can't contain sudden laughter. I didn't think that would work a second time.

“Now's not a time to laugh!” He spits out, staggering to the cart. I rush over, helping him on the seat. “Tell me when the hole is complete, and I'll drive it out.”

Whisper and I both nod, walking back to growing hole on the wall. Mutter backs up slowly, tearing into the thick metal. How big did they make this wall?

Not thick enough is the answer. To my surprise and the smug smile from Mutter, it only takes a minute for the drill to pierce all the way to the other side. It's completely embedded against the wall, grazing the back treads of the cart.

“Drive it out,” I yell. He nods and drives forward. Broken scraps of the wall grind against the drill as it exits, but it breaks out, leaving a puncture large enough for us to walk through. “I'm impressed.”

Whisper pushes past me, quickly heading through. “Save that for later.” She disappears inside. I follow, sparing a quick look before squeezing through. The fight echoes down the hole, muffled when I step through the hole.

My vision floods with white, taking a moment for me to adjust. Bright rows of light overhead, exposing everything in the offending light. Clear floors, and the wall is free of rust. It's unlike anything I've seen. It's clean.

“Let's go. We don't have a lot of time.” Whisper reminds, stepping out into the bright, open floor.