Episode 1: Operating Conditions
Chapter 2: The Vertebrae
(?Scene 1: The Station)
?EXT. HIGH RIM STATION - DAY
?The station was a cavern of wrought iron and whistling steam, marking the boundary between the Academy (The Bullseye) and the rest of the world.
?Silas stepped onto the platform, adjusting his Prussian Blue coat. The dark wool absorbed the light, making him feel heavier. Around him, hundreds of other students flowed like a dark river—future engineers, navigators, and doctors, all buttoned up to the chin.
?
From this altitude, Fathom Bay lay exposed like an anatomical chart.
?THE HIGH RIM (The Halo), where they stood. A ring of white stone and manicured gardens that refused to acknowledge the smog below.
?But Merrick was looking below the smog line, at the Mid-Town. A dense mat of red brick and slate roofs, tilting perceptibly toward the ocean. This was where the so called middle class lived. This was where gravity started to get "opinionated."
?And just below the Mid-town lies the Iron Lung District (The Docks). The bottom. A smudge of black soot and rusted cranes jutting into the water. The fog there was so thick it looked like a bruise on the map. All the factories, ports and slums are here.
(Scene 2: Arrival of Tram)
CLANG. HISS.
It was already humming when the doors slid open.
?The Vertebrae Tram arrived—a suspended cage of iron ribs, descending along the central spine of the city.
?The sound was low and constant, not loud enough to demand attention—just enough to make Silas feel his teeth. A vibration climbed up through the soles of his boots and settled somewhere behind his eyes.
The doors sealed with a soft hydraulic sigh.
Then the tram began to move.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
(Scene 3: ?INT. Tram Car - Continuous)
At first, it was smooth. Almost pleasant. The cable sang—a single note stretched thin, like a bow drawn slowly across a string. The city outside the glass panels began to sink, layer by layer.
?Through the grated windows, Juna watched a separate platform on the High Rim. A line of very small children—no older than six—was being marched toward the Primary Intake Ward. They wore miniature versions of the Academy uniform, their faces blank, holding hands in a long, terrified chain.
?"Fresh intake" Merrick murmured, following her gaze.
"Look at them. They haven't even learned Jaban yet, and they're already marching in grid formation."
?"It’s not a march," Elara said, her back to the window.
"It’s a calibration."
?The tram lurched. The descent began.
?As they dropped through the smog layer, the sunlight vanished. The air inside the car turned grey. The smell of ozone (High Rim) was replaced by the smell of burning coal and wet salt (Mid-Town).
Merrick leaned closer to the wall, pressing his ear briefly against the metal. He frowned.
“Wheel’s off-balance,” he muttered. “You hear that? It skips every third cycle.”
Silas listened harder.
The sound didn’t skip.
It hesitated.
?Silas stood near the rear of the tram, pressed against two older men in the grey rough-spun tunics of Dock Foremen. They didn't notice him; they were too busy whispering.
?PASSENGER 1 (Foreman):
"...swear on the Salt. The room was empty. Then she vanished in air."
?PASSENGER 2:
"Drunk?"
?PASSENGER 1:
"No. Really. She’d been with me six hours before. She kept saying the 'Black Knight' carried her."
?PASSENGER 2:
"Hush. Don't say that name. You want to pay the Due for just talking about it?"
?PASSENGER 1:
"I’m telling you, she was wrong. She walked across a road while closing her eyes, Thomas. I saw her."
?
?The tram shook as it crossed the 30-Degree Marker. The cables groaned, low and strained, like something being bent past tolerance.
?"Steady," Juna whispered, noticing Silas's white knuckles. "It's just the thermal shift. The rails expand in the heat of the Slant."
?"I know the physics, Juna," Silas muttered, looking at the Foremen who were now staring at the floor, refusing to look at the Prussian Blue uniforms nearby.
"I just don't like the sound."
?"What sound?"
?"The sound of the city groaning," Silas said.
"You know what? The hum always bothers me." Juna said without looking at Silas.
Silas frowned. "It's just the tram."
"No,"
"It follows." Juna murmured.
?The tram brakes squealed. A mechanical voice echoed through the tin speaker.
?SPEAKER:
MID-TOWN STATION BETA. CAUTION: GRADIENT AT 8 DEGREES. MIND THE GAP. MIND THE TILT.
?The doors hissed open. The air that rushed in was heavy, tasting of rust.
?"Welcome to the floor," Merrick said, buttoning his coat all the way up.