The 13th Continuum (Book 1: The Continuum Trilogy)

Chapter 3: The First Warning

The lights in the compartment flashed off and on, and a tone sounded one time. 

This was the First Warning for Factum, or the work-ing class, to report to school or their chosen trade, whichever applied. Myra spooned up the last of her porridge and stood up from the table while her father rolled up his blueprints. The colony functioned on a strict schedule. On their assigned day, they also had to attend services at the Church. Any Factum caught scrimping on their duties, or skipping them altogether, risked getting demoted to Hocker status. Nobody wanted to end up a Hocker, not if they could help it. Myra nudged her brother to make sure she had his attention.

"Tink, time for school. I know you don't want to go, but we're Factum and rules are rules."

Tinker looked up from his computer, and his pupils focused as if he were noticing her for the first time that morning. His computer was a rarity in their world. He'd built it himself from scavenged parts. Some came from the Spare Parts Room in Sector 10 or the Com Store, but most had been ferreted home by their father, plucked out of old machines that couldn't be repaired or discovered in long forgotten parts of the colony where only the Engineers dared to venture anymore.

Tinker hopped up, stowed the computer in his rucksack, and slung it over his shoulder. Through it all, he didn't utter a single word, but his lack of response was normal. He didn't start talking until he was over four years old, and now, at twice that age, he had the ability to speak and a large vocabulary—at least according to his impressive test scores—but, more often than not, he still chose to keep silent. It also didn't help that he was small for his age and often got bullied by bigger kids at school.

"Tinker, have a good day at the Academy," their father said, draining the last dregs of his tea and stashing the blueprints in his satchel. "Myra, I'll see you after you drop your brother off. I'm assigning your team to a water leak in Sector 7."

She envisioned a map of the colony and zeroed in on the area that housed the Aquafarm. "Oh, water leaks, my favorite."

"Just be thankful it's not a sewage leak," he replied. Though his voice remained serious, a smirk pulled at his lips. "We've got one of those, too."

"Thank the Oracle, or I might start to regret my pledge choice." "In that case, I might start to regret assigning your team

to the water leak," he said without missing a beat. "It's not too late to switch the assignments. I'm sure Erwin wouldn't mind giving up sewage—"

"Say no more!" she cut him off and flashed the biggest, most cheerful grin she could muster. "Who doesn't enjoy a little hypothermia first thing in the morning?"

Then, before he really did decide to switch the assignments, she seized Tinker by the arm and shuttled him toward the door. She swiped the tattoo on her wrist under the scanner. It beeped its approval, and the thick door dilated.

The corridor was filled with Factum headed to school or work. Everyone was dressed in the same rough-spun clothes— the women in crude dresses, and the men in coveralls and loose-fitting tunics. Most wore sandals, but a few lucky Factum had boots. Some clutched satchels or pulled rickety carts, while others went empty-handed.

Myra stepped into the corridor with Tinker in tow. As far as she could see down either side of the passageway were identical doors that led to other compartments. Their only distinguishing features were the numbers that marked them— descending to the left, ascending to the right. Odd numbers on one side, even on the other.

Suddenly, a Patroller stepped out from a doorway. He was dressed in black from head to toe. A steel pipe was strapped to his waist by a chunky bit of rope. It was imprecise yet deadly, and therefore the Patrollers' weapon of choice.