Read Chapter 4: Chapter 4

That evening, Léon sat in his quarters with the lights dimmed, staring at the images on his datapad. The junction box in the pictures looked innocuous—just another piece of electrical infrastructure, the kind of thing that littered the conduits of the underground. But he knew better. He knew what was inside.

He had spent the afternoon digging through the maintenance database, searching for any reference to the device. He had found nothing. No serial number, no installation record, no maintenance schedule. The junction box was invisible to the system, a ghost in the machine.

He had also checked the power distribution logs more carefully, comparing the scheduled reductions in the junction box's firmware to the fluctuations he had logged over the past months. The dates matched. The times matched. Every fluctuation that had plagued Section 17 could be traced back to the device's programming.

Someone had installed the device to deliberately—and secretly—limit the power supplied to his section. And they had done it at least six months ago, maybe longer.

He tried to imagine who could do such a thing. The Régie de l'Énergie controlled all access to the conduits. Every technician, every engineer, every maintenance worker was vetted, trained, and supervised. Installing an unauthorized device would require access, expertise, and a great deal of confidence that the device would never be discovered.

Unless, of course, the people who installed it were the same people who were supposed to maintain the grid. Unless the Régie itself was behind the power restrictions.

The thought was vertiginous. The Régie de l'Énergie was supposed to be neutral, apolitical, focused solely on keeping the lights on. If it was involved in a scheme to restrict power to the lower levels, then the entire structure of underground society was built on a lie.

He needed to know more. He needed to understand why.

He pulled up the power distribution data again, this time focusing on the total production from the geothermal plants. The plants were operating at 62 percent capacity—far below their theoretical maximum. The official explanation was that running the plants at higher capacity would accelerate wear and tear, risking catastrophic failure. But Léon had seen the maintenance records. The plants were in good condition, well maintained, capable of running at 90 percent or more without significant risk.

Why were they only running at 62 percent? Why was the underground constantly short of power when the plants could produce so much more?

He checked the consumption data for the upper levels. Level One—the administrative districts, the luxury residences, the commercial zones—consumed 38 percent of the total power supply, despite housing only 12 percent of the population. Level Two consumed another 22 percent. Level Three received 18 percent. Level Four—the deepest, most crowded, most vulnerable section—received only 15 percent, despite housing nearly 40 percent of the population.

The numbers were stark. The upper levels lived in comfort while the lower levels shivered in the dark. And the gap was growing.

He closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. He had known, on some level, that the distribution was unequal. Everyone knew. The people of Level Four complained about the shortages, the rationing, the cold. But they accepted it as the natural order of things. The upper levels were important—they housed the government, the economy, the people who made decisions. They needed more power to function. That was the story, and everyone believed it.

But the numbers told a different story. The upper levels didn't just receive more power—they received disproportionately more. And the lower levels received less than they needed, less than they were entitled to, less than the system could provide.

The inequality wasn't a bug. It was the point.

He opened a new document on his datapad and began to write:

The energy shortage in Level Four is not the result of insufficient production or aging infrastructure. It is the result of deliberate, systematic power restrictions, implemented through unauthorized devices installed on the main feeder lines. The restrictions are scheduled, coordinated, and hidden from the maintenance database. The purpose appears to be the preservation of a hierarchical social order in which the lower levels are kept in a state of artificial scarcity.

He stopped writing, his fingers trembling slightly. If anyone found this document, he could be arrested for sedition. The Conseil des Profondeurs had strict laws against spreading "destabilizing information." People had disappeared for less.

But he couldn't stop. He had to document what he'd found. He had to tell someone. He had to do something.

He saved the document under a filename that would look innocuous—Maintenance Notes, March 2087—and stowed his datapad under the mattress. Then he lay back on his bed, listening to the hum of the ventilation system.

He thought about the people of Section 17-C. The old woman with her shopping bag. The children playing in the tunnels. The workers lining up for their ration of protein porridge. They lived their lives in a state of constant, low-level deprivation, never quite understanding why there was never enough. But now he knew.

The power was there. It was being produced in abundance. It was simply being taken from them, siphoned off to support the comfort of the upper levels, while the lower levels were kept in the dark.

The grid is a liar, Madame Baptiste had said.

He was beginning to understand just how deep the lies went.