“Once upon a time the nations of the world had castes. A way of categorising who was important and who was not. To divide the population in segments. This notion may be old, but it is alive in this brave new world we have built. These days we have Access.” - blogpost published on Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes, watch-blog, year 2041

They stopped right before the towering wall and Andreas put a hand on it. “Initiate, 1253453.”

It followed no mechanism Martin could make out. A pulsing square of light, coffin-sized, shone against the wall. He blinked, and then a rectangular opening formed. Without pausing, Andreas entered, then the other Deputy.

For a moment Martin just stood there. “Are you coming?”

He shook his head, trying to dispel the worry he carried and entered. What if someone stole his card? What if-

Light. White. A square passage continuing maybe fifty metres before curving. His feet were locked to the ground. Great arrows in neon began to shine, pulsing in tune with his heartbeat. “Come on then,” his Deputy called. “We’ll need to take a tram to Reception Hall before my job is done.”

They walked the length of the path, and following the curve there sat a teardrop-formed machine inside a wall. Martin had seen cars, cruisers and lesser gravitronical hovers, but this was something arcology-made.

“Will I see you at the next gathering, sister mine?”

The Deputy, who had only ever referred to herself as Deputy in Martin’s presence, stared at Andreas. “No,” she said, eventually.

They didn’t look like siblings, Martin thought. Deputy’s skin color was closer to his, rather than the white of Andreas’, and whereas both he and Deputy had round eyes, Andreas’ had epicanthic folds.

“Are you certain you cannot be tempted, Sara? There will be food, wine and of course, a certain-someone will be there.”

The light distorted in that same funhouse-figuration as Andreas vanished into thin air, but not before the Deputy, Sara, glared at the spot he had previously occupied.

“Get in!”

Knowing that tone, Martin got inside the tram. He had seen these in casts and videos, but never outside an arcology. Sara got in and began manipulating the tram’s controls. She struck a sequence, and the tram began to move.

Martin soon lost any sense of direction, up became down, left to right, repeated a hundred times over that is until-

“Check your right.”

Martin gazed down through a floor and into… a jungle. Water cascaded from a mountain, snaking its way through several thickets of bamboo before eventually terminating in a lake. He could make out great flights of colourful birds flying through the sky. He must have been more tired than he thought, for the sheer scope and scale of the artificial vista beggared belief. It had to be, from one end of the habitat to the other, perhaps two kilometers in scope.

The militia required of all campers a certain standard of fitness. Under that standard, he calculated, it would take him twelve minutes to run from one end of the habitat to the other. Ten, if he were pushing it.

The floor grew opaque again and Martin reeled. If Stockholm Arcology had something like that…but of course they’d never show it to an outsider.

But he wasn’t one anymore, was he? An outsider, that is. He had his pass, and a letter of introduction.

“Close your eyes. It will be some time before reach we the Reception.”

He did as the Deputy bid, though not for the reasons she thought.

In the darkness behind his eye-lids a symbol formed. A golden ‘f’ next to the letter ‘w’, that one in blue. The symbol on the letterhead. The Federated World. Now, what could they possible want with him? As far as Martin knew, he payed his taxes, kept away from the more serious drugs and if you didn’t count those minor misdemeanours…

He had opted out of the provincial exams, but that was hardly a reason for a summon to an arcology. His parents were dead and gone, their debts tallied, their vices unknown. Besides, they had been gone and buried for close to a decade. Anyone wanting to revenge themselves on his parents could have gotten what they wanted a long time ago.

Eventually he let it pass. You couldn't live in one of the camps and not learn how to relax. He leaned back against the comfortable seat, enjoying the sense of the synth-leather.

He wondered what the real thing would feel like. Then, actual leather hadn’t been a thing since the Devastation, or the Continental Exodus. Not since the Old World ended.

He slept like a baby.