Tunnels 05 - Spiral

groaned, rushing back into his office and slamming the door.
    “Keep your pants on, will you?” the Second Officer murmured. “Or maybe that’s not such a good idea,” he said, allowing himself a small chuckle. His merriment evaporated as, shaking his head, he reached over the counter to retrieve his helmet from where it hung on a peg. He put it on, then reached over the counter a second time for his baton. He might need it where he was headed — the riots were becoming increasingly violent.
    Swinging his baton, he pushed through the doors and stepped outside the station, pausing a moment at the top of the steps as he surveyed the houses across the way. By the light of the ever-glowing luminescent orb lampposts, he saw movement in an upper window, as if someone were watching the station. It was probably nothing, but the Second Officer was jumpy. He had never known such a mood of rebellion in the Colony, or such strong antipathy toward the Styx, the ruling class. But the Styx seemed to be so intent on their Topsoil operations that they no longer cared what the Colonists thought, or did — their only priority was to proceed with their plans unhindered.
    The Second Officer walked unhurriedly down the flight of steps, and as he reached the bottom, he heard a whimpering noise. He still harbored a vague hope that his Hunter, Colly, would one day come back to him. She’d bolted after the explosion in the Laboratories, an incident for which the Second Officer had received a commendation because he’d valiantly pursued the attackers. At least that was what he’d told the Styx, and they seemed to have accepted his version of events.
    But when the Second Officer looked down, he didn’t see his cat but a small albino dog. It was a young greyhound with a coat of the purest white. The dog was standing there, its tail quivering between its legs as it peered up at the large man though its pink eyes. It was obviously hungry, but what unsettled the Second Officer more than anything was that only the well-to-do families in the Colony kept purebreds like this one. Someone must have been so hard-pressed for food that they’d simply abandoned it.
    “Poor little chap,” the Second Officer said, offering a hand with the dimensions of a bunch of bananas to the dog. It whined and sniffed his fingers, then came nearer so he could stroke its head.
    And when he began to walk down the street, the dog followed right beside him.

    Before long, the Second Officer reached the Skull Gate. A Styx, wearing the distinct gray-green camouflage of a soldier from the Division, immediately stepped from the gatehouse. The Second Officer used this route to and from the Colony several times a day, not only to go to work but also for his official duties. Nevertheless, the Styx soldier scrutinized his warrant card, from time to time glancing suspiciously at the greyhound as if the Second Officer were attempting to smuggle contraband past him.
    Finally the soldier returned the warrant card and raised his lantern as a sign for the gate to be opened. It trundled into the huge skull carved into the rock above as if the monstrous apparition were retracting its teeth. The Second Officer continued on his way, stepping into the mouth of the skull. As he began down the dark passageway that was the main thoroughfare between the Quarter and the Colony, he welcomed the company of the little dog trotting along beside him.
    A thrumming sound filled his ears as he walked through a last turn of the passage and the Colony opened up before him. From this elevated position he could survey the South Cavern, with its endless ranks of houses all covered in a gauzelike mist of warm air and smoke.
    “How goes it?” someone shouted.
    The Second Officer stopped as he traced the multiple flights of cast-iron steps up the rock wall and located the Fourth Officer right at the very top. The man was on duty at the entrance to the control room for the Fan Stations, from where the low thrumming was emanating. Like many in the Colony police force, the Fourth Officer was a stocky man with a prickle length of white hair. And he was stationed there because the security had been tightened ever since Drake and Chester had used the air system to spread a mild nerve reagent through the Colony.
    “How goes it?” the Fourth Officer repeated, more loudly this time in case the fans had drowned him out.
    “The usual,” the Second Officer shouted back. “A rumpus in the North.”
    The