Chapter 10: "Taco Tuesday"

Captain Posthumous Lier shut off the console embedded in his desk and rolled his chair backwards. Having just gotten off a call with the head of sewage management, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling. He wondered if he would get as far as memorizing the name of the man he'd just gotten off the phone with. The last one hadn't lasted three weeks before having some sort of nervous breakdown. With all this centipede business going on, Lier gave him about three more days.

'What was his name again? Gropple? Hopple? Something of that sort. Sounded even jumpier than the last one.' Lier thought, giving a forceful kick and spinning the chair around a couple of times.

He'd asked to meet with Gillis before the press could get to him. Lier had tried to dissuade him for the sake of sparing the mans feelings. Harvel wasn't the type to go along with institutionalized secrecy. Their best course of action would be to just keep their mouths shut.

If he knew Harvel, and he did, any mention that word getting out would be harmful to them could only result in disaster. If they kept quiet about it and swept it under the rug he'd most likely avoid talking to reporters like the plague. At this point Tunnel Times was the only publication even aware of it, and Lier needed to keep it that way.

The central offices had been pushing for more funding and a "restructuring" of the whole sewer management system. Of course, the women and men pushing for said policy changes had never set foot in the sewer. They'd barely ever seen the inside of a pump station. And they wanted to restructure his sewer. His goddamn sewer.

The sewer he'd fought and nearly died for. The sewer many others like him had, in fact, died for. The sewer he'd pulled from the brink of collapse nine-teen years ago after "Taco Tuesday".

Oh, he remembered "Taco Tuesday". An event that had not only called for reform in the food production process but that had killed seventy-three members of the waste-walkers. A massive collective case of food poisoning, originating from genetically modified bacteria, had caused an influx of waste material so massive it had nearly sent the city back to the dark ages.

Pipes exploding due to pressure build up. Fat-burgs, dislodged from their resting places, sent hurtling through the tunnels like massive, white, runaway freight trains powered by brown, green, and yellow nightmares. They'd lost six teams the first two hours, another nine in the ensuing week. There had only been eight-teen teams to begin with.

Within a week the entire chain of command had tendered their resignation. As he'd watched his captain clean out his desk and walk out of the door, he'd known something needed to change. The immediate power vacuum afterwards was just the thing he had needed.

In the nine years after he'd built the waste-walkers back up from the seventeen remaining members to nearly full strength. In another five he'd completely rebuilt every damaged pipe, valve, seal, and drain left in ruins by the incident. In another two he'd been demoted by corporate for insubordination to the point where he'd ended up here. Captain of pump station 6.

If he had to be honest, he was a bit glad. Being on the top of the shit pile had started to wear on him. It was all too rigid once you got involved with the Boris-Valkan government. You told them you needed eight pump seals, they said you would get six, and three would be broken. You said you needed five pens and they'd get you five thousand. It was all so stupid.

The station on the other hand was small, damp, and flexible. You said you needed a pen, they'd tell you to go buy one. You said you needed pump seals and they'd tell you to just take care of it. It was brilliant.

The ability to just do things without having to fill out six forms and send nine emails was astonishing. Leir hadn't felt so free and responsible in years. Yes, he'd been accountable for any negligence before, but accountability and responsibility were two very different things.

Responsible was something you decided to be. Accountable was what other people decided you were. Responsible wore boots, accountable wore dress shoes. Leir decidedly liked his boots.

The little green light on the corner of Liers desk pinged. Rolling up to the terminal he pulled up the notification. Scrolling through the message he recognized the name Lindon. He had an appointment for a meeting at seven. Knowing it was only five thirty Lier sat back and stared at the door.

He wasn't surprised when the knock at the door came at five thirty-two. Don always tried to be early to throw him off. He leaned down and pushed the button hidden below the corner of the desk.

Lindon sauntered in, tossing his coat onto a chair in the corner as he sat down in front of Lier. "Post-man." He said, giving Lier a nod.

"Donny. What's this all about?" Lier responded, returning the nod.

"What? Just like that? No, 'How you been?' or 'What's new with you?' eh?" Don asked, lighting up a bent cigarette. He blew the smoke from his first drag over the surface of Liers desk.

"Donny, I know how you've been. You've been the same way since you trained me." Lier answered, disrupting the rolling wave of smoke with his arm before it could reach his keyboard. Don knew he'd quit last year and was consistently trying to remind him how much he hated the smell.

A grin spread across Dons face, showing off the decades of cigarette and coffee stains on his teeth. "Well, this time is different. This time I have plenty that's "Up" with me Posty." He said, taking another swift drag off his cigarette.

Posthumous Lier leaned forward until he was but a foot away from Dons face. "What's up with you, Donny?" He asked, in a steady monotone.

"Well, since you asked! Do you remember that day, nineteen years ago? You remember that frightened kid I tackled into a crevice so he wouldn't end up a red smear on the steel, as a white whale hurtled our way. You remember what we saw afterwards?" Don asked, locking eyes with Lier as he pulled again on the quickly disappearing cigarette.

"I remember Donny. I remember the thing in the dark." Lier answered, standing up and walking over to the far wall. He passed his hand over a portion of the steel. "I remember all too well." He said, pushing two fingers into a nook near the bottom.

Dons eyes widened as Lier pulled away a section of the wall. To Liers slight disappointment he didn't seem all that surprised. "Too well indeed, eh kid?" Don said, sidling up next to him.

"You were expecting this?" Lier asked, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.

"Well, I expected something. Maybe not this, but something. You always liked playing detective." Don replied, taking a final drag of his cigarette, the cherry beginning to burn into the filter.

"This is everything so far. All the way down to level 4." Lier said, ever so slightly proud of himself.

"How many?" Don asked, trying to take it all in.

"Seven-teen in almost as many years. Got anything to add?" Lier said, holding out a red pen.

"Yeah." Don answered, pausing. "Right. Here." He finished, passing up the pen and putting out the remains of his cigarette near the bottom left corner.

Lier put the pen back in his pocket and stepped back looking at his expansive map of the Boris-Valkan sewer system. The black mark where Don had stuck the butt was about three inches away from the blue line transfer station. It was still smoldering as the filter dropped to the floor.

Lier sighed. "Figures..."