Curiosity
All was silent, all was bathed in pale blue light. He felt as much at home as possible for being completely lost.
Construction was underway on the west side of Helios, and that meant the power grid had to be shut off for the safety of all involved. Most surface technology is unaffected, as the abundance of solar energy does not go to waste, but the streetlights would be dark this night, and for several days after. In the eyes of us outsiders, this is a minor inconvenience- the only danger being stubbing your toe on a stray brick in the walkways. The same cannot be said for the citizens of the surface, who grow quite lethargic and irritable in sunlight's absence. For some time, sleep would become a necessity.
It is during this time that the curious folk of the undercity get a glimpse at the lives of the folks upstairs.
The moonlight was much stronger than what he was accustomed to, but if what he had heard of the sun was true, he was blessed to not be writhing in pain from burns. Through squinting eyes, he observed the work of the finest artisans and architects Helios had to offer- whose obsession over detail meant every square inch of every building was a blank canvas waiting to be covered with intricate carvings. He knew a lot of the words he was reading, and could even hold a simple conversation with the surface folk, assuming they wouldn't revolt in terror. Knowledge has a tendency to trickle down here.
Down, but definitely not up.
His eyes had adjusted to the reflected moonlight to look up from the ground, so his gaze traveled upwards to the wide open sky above- to the home of millions of stars circling a magnificent crescent moon. This is the sight he had ventured this far for. Atlasian children grow up in a world where there is always a ceiling looming overhead, never knowing the inspiring, limitless beyond that the surface folk simply call the sky. For quite some time, he reached up towards the stars, imagining he could leave the ground and keep ascending until he was surrounded by them. The appeal of surface life was starting to make a lot of sense to the young man- it was freeing. Terrifying, but inspiring.
In his bewilderment, he hadn't noticed a pair of Helians passing through. The surprised gasp from one of them snapped him back to reality, and he began to panic. Atlasians are taught to be polite, and gracefully avoid contact with the surface folk, and his reaction had been anything but graceful, stumbling backwards and freezing with his back to a building. His steel feet struggled to find flat ground, stammering about and making quite a racket, which only served to frighten the two. They started talking to each other has they hastily continued.
"Skulker". Everyone in the undercity knows that one. "dirty... disease-carrying?" He hadn't cleaned out his hydraulics lately but he wasn't diseased. "should crawl back under ground and WHAT?" That was just rude. He didn't know all the words, but he understood enough to be a touch offended. But, he tried to maintain composure. He hung his head low, and muttered an apology for scaring them. They turned around, fury abundant in their expression.
Of all times to forget the subtleties of Helian pronouns. He certainly didn't mean to imply that they should apologize, though in hindsight it was how he felt.
The lack of light had done a number on the pair's patience, and it was becoming increasingly evident that they would not be satisfied without some sort of reckoning. He wanted to apologize again, but the words escaped him. Fight or flight instinct kicked in, and flight won. Darting back the way he came, trying to remember any shortcuts. For not spending much time on the surface, Atlasians are remarkably adept at navigating it. Prosthetic legs allow them to brace falls that would normally break bones, and their hands can grip onto most surfaces indefinitely if they need to. Lost in thought of ways to leverage this advantage, he only barely noticed he wasn't even being chased anymore. He stopped and listened for more movement, but instead only heard irritable cursing, though this time it was not directed at him. "Struck?" or was that "stretched"... "Leg" and "foot" were repeatedly used. Upon examination, it appeared the two had taken quite a fall down a flight of stairs, and were now in a tangled mess clutching their well-tanned feet.
His first thought was that they had gotten precisely what they deserved. Violence, even only in intent, was forbidden in Helios culture. Had they laid a finger on him, they would be in quite a spot of trouble. It was in both parties' best interest that he simply return back underground and... well, not what the two had suggested, but at least cease causing trouble on the surface. But a strong sense of community runs in every Atlasian's blood, be it born out of necessity or principle, and began walking back towards the two to help.
Fear had come full circle.
He didn't bother explaining what he was doing- he'd learned his lesson. He picked them both up effortlessly, hydraulics squeaking under the weight but holding strong, and carried them back up the stairs. Not really knowing what else to do once he got there, he said one word- "where". They understood, and pointed back the way they had come, down several alleys, up another set of stairs, down another, until arriving outside a mid-sized apartment complex. He set them down, and without a word, started retracing his route back. Much to his surprise, they called back to him with a single word: "Why?"
He thought a moment, and replied with a ubiquitous Atlasian proverb:
"When at the bottom, be strong enough to carry."
Construction was underway on the west side of Helios, and that meant the power grid had to be shut off for the safety of all involved. Most surface technology is unaffected, as the abundance of solar energy does not go to waste, but the streetlights would be dark this night, and for several days after. In the eyes of us outsiders, this is a minor inconvenience- the only danger being stubbing your toe on a stray brick in the walkways. The same cannot be said for the citizens of the surface, who grow quite lethargic and irritable in sunlight's absence. For some time, sleep would become a necessity.
It is during this time that the curious folk of the undercity get a glimpse at the lives of the folks upstairs.
The moonlight was much stronger than what he was accustomed to, but if what he had heard of the sun was true, he was blessed to not be writhing in pain from burns. Through squinting eyes, he observed the work of the finest artisans and architects Helios had to offer- whose obsession over detail meant every square inch of every building was a blank canvas waiting to be covered with intricate carvings. He knew a lot of the words he was reading, and could even hold a simple conversation with the surface folk, assuming they wouldn't revolt in terror. Knowledge has a tendency to trickle down here.
Down, but definitely not up.
His eyes had adjusted to the reflected moonlight to look up from the ground, so his gaze traveled upwards to the wide open sky above- to the home of millions of stars circling a magnificent crescent moon. This is the sight he had ventured this far for. Atlasian children grow up in a world where there is always a ceiling looming overhead, never knowing the inspiring, limitless beyond that the surface folk simply call the sky. For quite some time, he reached up towards the stars, imagining he could leave the ground and keep ascending until he was surrounded by them. The appeal of surface life was starting to make a lot of sense to the young man- it was freeing. Terrifying, but inspiring.
In his bewilderment, he hadn't noticed a pair of Helians passing through. The surprised gasp from one of them snapped him back to reality, and he began to panic. Atlasians are taught to be polite, and gracefully avoid contact with the surface folk, and his reaction had been anything but graceful, stumbling backwards and freezing with his back to a building. His steel feet struggled to find flat ground, stammering about and making quite a racket, which only served to frighten the two. They started talking to each other has they hastily continued.
"Skulker". Everyone in the undercity knows that one. "dirty... disease-carrying?" He hadn't cleaned out his hydraulics lately but he wasn't diseased. "should crawl back under ground and WHAT?" That was just rude. He didn't know all the words, but he understood enough to be a touch offended. But, he tried to maintain composure. He hung his head low, and muttered an apology for scaring them. They turned around, fury abundant in their expression.
Of all times to forget the subtleties of Helian pronouns. He certainly didn't mean to imply that they should apologize, though in hindsight it was how he felt.
The lack of light had done a number on the pair's patience, and it was becoming increasingly evident that they would not be satisfied without some sort of reckoning. He wanted to apologize again, but the words escaped him. Fight or flight instinct kicked in, and flight won. Darting back the way he came, trying to remember any shortcuts. For not spending much time on the surface, Atlasians are remarkably adept at navigating it. Prosthetic legs allow them to brace falls that would normally break bones, and their hands can grip onto most surfaces indefinitely if they need to. Lost in thought of ways to leverage this advantage, he only barely noticed he wasn't even being chased anymore. He stopped and listened for more movement, but instead only heard irritable cursing, though this time it was not directed at him. "Struck?" or was that "stretched"... "Leg" and "foot" were repeatedly used. Upon examination, it appeared the two had taken quite a fall down a flight of stairs, and were now in a tangled mess clutching their well-tanned feet.
His first thought was that they had gotten precisely what they deserved. Violence, even only in intent, was forbidden in Helios culture. Had they laid a finger on him, they would be in quite a spot of trouble. It was in both parties' best interest that he simply return back underground and... well, not what the two had suggested, but at least cease causing trouble on the surface. But a strong sense of community runs in every Atlasian's blood, be it born out of necessity or principle, and began walking back towards the two to help.
Fear had come full circle.
He didn't bother explaining what he was doing- he'd learned his lesson. He picked them both up effortlessly, hydraulics squeaking under the weight but holding strong, and carried them back up the stairs. Not really knowing what else to do once he got there, he said one word- "where". They understood, and pointed back the way they had come, down several alleys, up another set of stairs, down another, until arriving outside a mid-sized apartment complex. He set them down, and without a word, started retracing his route back. Much to his surprise, they called back to him with a single word: "Why?"
He thought a moment, and replied with a ubiquitous Atlasian proverb:
"When at the bottom, be strong enough to carry."