Striations

The air was oppressive, heat and humidity pressing down like a weight against the chest.  Even the breeze, when it did crop up, felt sluggish.  Jase could feel sweat trickling down his back as he stooped to pick up the last stone. Muscle already sore and tired from a long day of labor under the punishing sun protested the action by inspiring a soft grunt of effort.

"Let's wrap it up, boys!" The foreman's voice cut across the field, and Jase looked skyward for a moment as if he'd find strength in the faint, wispy clouds catching the deepening orange glow of approaching evening. Not finding anything there, he finally trudged back across the field and deposited the rock in the wall being formed. With his hands free, he wiped his brow on the grubby sleeve of his shirt and then stretched his back while the last few stragglers deposited rocks of their own. He hear the coughing sputter of the transport starting up and made his way there, bypassing the open tub of water with an act of mighty willpower. His throat felt like half the dust of the field was clogged in there, but he knew better than to drink unsanitized water.

As he settled into his seat on the transport, he looked out the grimy window.  The last light of day was casting deepening shadows across the area they'd cleared, but he could still see the green color of grass peeking through the worn out brown scrub. They'd be able to plant this field.

* * *

Jase woke with a start as the transport jostled into it's final position and the driver called out, "Last stop! Everyone off!" His body was stiff as he leveraged himself out of his seat and shuffled off behind the other workers. As usual, there were various hangers on gathered at the transport stop, hawking their wares in elaborate and yet somehow still scant outfits. Workers were well rationed for their efforts outside of the domes - much more so than those who stayed inside. Of course, nothing approached the luxury of the Fertiles, but if you were willing to take the risks, you could set yourself up quite nicely as a worker.

"Hey baby, need a bath? Massage?" "I've got skills!" "Marge'll make you beg for more, stud!" The catcalls followed Jase as he walked past the small crowd of men and women gathered at the barrier. Some of the other workers stopped at this or that offering, striking quick negotiations for whatever pleasure it was they fancied for the night. Jase just collected his bag, dropped off his tool belt, and exited the terminal to find the bathhouse. He couldn't wait to get the grime off his body and since he didn't drop his rations on hangers on, he could afford to use the filtered bathhouse.  That his passage inspired lingering looks from more than a few, and disappointment at his obvious lack of desire for any of their services was lost on him.

Light under the dome was a fickle thing - ever present but not always steady.  Brown outs were common, especially as the heat climbed in the summer and the cooling systems took more and more of the energy available to keep the domes from turning in to ovens. Still, the amount of light an area had was directly proportional to the power and resources of its residents.  The Facility was a shining mecca in the center of the complex of domes - separated from them all, but connected by spokes of decontamination tunnels joining to each of the five surrounding domes. Within the exterior domes, the affluent and powerful lived closer to the interiors, with stunning views of the pristine, white complex in the central dome. Most everyone had nostalgic feelings about the Facility, which had born them all, but few could clearly remember what it had been like inside of there. But everyone agreed that it was as close to heaven as one could get on this earth.

Jase wasn't one of the affluent and powerful by any stretch, but he was frugal with his rations and that meant he could afford the best bathhouses.  His current bathing room was his favorite, tiles and murals in greens and blues, with one glass wall that had a nearly unobstructed view of the Facility. He soaked in the hot water, having already scrubbed himself clean in the showers, and closed his eyes while the attendant shaved him and washed his hair. The tension slowly drawn out of his muscles by the heat of the bath and the deft massage of fingers on his scalp.  He was half asleep when the attendant rinsed his hair a final time and did a water change before leaving him to his peace. Through half-lidded eyes he watched the glow of the Facility, bringing up his memories of the place.

The scent of powder.  The brush of soft lips on his forehead.  Soft, pale skin.  Warmth.  His mother.  He could almost remember the sound of her voice, like a song whose melody is so familiar and yet ungraspable in the moment. He had been five when he had been separated from his mother, and he could still remember the wonder he felt when she held his hand to her rounding belly so he could feel the baby kicking inside. He could remember the infinite sadness in her expression when she watched him leave the Haven.

He held those memories tight in his heart, the longing they inspired a torture to which he was accustomed.  He wondered if she was still alive.  If maybe she was one of the Matriarchs now directing the breeding programs in the Facility. He wondered what her name was.

Watching the Facility from this distance, the melancholy memories of his mother pulled around him like a blanket, he fancied that he could see movement in one of the windows, like a hand pressed against glass.  But when he sat forward to take a closer look, he couldn't see anything.


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This one's for Kit, because she demanded.  And because I'm still thinking about what might happen on Gen's side of the glass. :)

Word Count: 1009
YTD: 5945