A Matter of Black and White - chapter 1 (Patreon)

The pulsating, multicolored light of the sun washed in waves across the rocky surface of Scintillantem Contingent. The strobing spectrum of the star was spectacular, but also the only color on the entire vista aside from grey and slightly darker grey. Scintillantem Contingent itself was every bit as drab and unremarkable as it’s sun was mesmerizing, a barren lump of rock and sand with no resources or to speak of and an atmosphere choked with toxic dust. Even the colony cities were dull and grey, lusterless networks of habitation pods and transport tubes uniformly built out of unvarnished, government-issued resistlon panels. New arrivals to Scintillantem Contingent invariably complained about how muted and sterile the constructions were, rejoicing that at least the sun’s pulsing light show was there to liven things up.

Long time residents of Scintillantem Contingent felt the blandness was the colony’s best feature.

The constant, unending undulations of color, bouncing off the dusty air to brighten up even the night sky, were indeed spectacular the first day one saw them. Maybe even for the first week. After the first month, they became unremarkable. After six months, they became a nuisance. After the first year, they were maddening. An incessant, ceaseless strobe with no variation or disruption. A predictable poke in the eye without respite. It was so spectacularly, fantastically, jaw-droppingly BORING. To permanent residents, the plain grey walls and their color-absorbing matte surfaces were a thing of beauty. To sit in a dark, window-less room and stare into a blank, featureless panel and see nothing but stillness, that was the most refreshing vacation one could ever hope for on Scintillantem Contingent. Not a break from work, not a rest from physical labor, but a merciful reprieve from the interminable onslaught of color.

All the better for CC88 Porcaro, then, that his ocular implants didn’t register the color spectrum. As far as he was concerned, the universe was all a collection of greys on top of more greys already. He could understand, factually speaking, why so many of his coworkers dreaded spending time near any of the city’s many windows and observation domes, or why they would occasionally freak out at the sight of an oily film on the surface of factory machinery. But at the same time, Porcaro could never REALLY understand it, any more than he could understand why so many tourists would fly in just to sit in front of those big giant windows all day and stare out at, as far as he was concerned, an endless stretch of stones and dust.

That was how Porcaro related to his fellow humans on most things, actually; with a sense of rational comprehension but emotional detachment. This was one of the primary reasons Constaboids like him were created in the first place. The Duteronimous Radial Emperium, with it’s seemingly endless reams of protocols and bylaws and proper ways in which things must be done, was one of the industry leaders in physical and mental augmentation to avoid human frailties such as confusion, forgetfulness, and boredom. Producturgists to specialize in the proper organization of any workforce, Decoromancers to maintain public conduct, and of course Constaboids such as CC88 Porcaro to oversee the impartial and accurate application of the law. His coworkers often said that the real reason Porcaro’s ocular sensors were monochromatic was because a lawman like himself needed o only see things in black and white. As with everything else, Porcaro understood the grammatical structure of the joke, and presumed it to be funny.

Of course, occasional jocularity aside, no one in Porcaro’s position was ever especially popular with the rest of the population. Most of the workers viewed any form of law enforcement as at least a mild threat, appropriate as most of the workers were at least mildly involved in some form of criminal activity at all times. However, despite his legal background, Porcaro was not, strictly speaking, a member of Scintillantem Contingent’s law enforcement organization. Technically, he was simply another member of the city’s mechanical technician crew, there to maintain the landing platform apparatus. The Imperious Leadership had only assigned Porcaro to monitor the legal situation in an advisory capacity, a role so underpaid as to necessitate his taking up more regular employment on the side. Unfortunately, Porcaro’s relations with the local law enforcement was no more cordial than with his coworkers, as they all viewed him as a potential usurper of their authority. Still, they at least observed the proper protocol to the point of showing him the barest required cooperation, and the obvious tension strangely improved Porcaro’s standing with many of the other workers, as if it were a sign that he was at least somewhat trustworthy. Porcaro’s worst relations, unfortunately, were with the city management. Protocol or no protocol, the managers of Scintillantem Contingent openly viewed the presence of any Radial Emperium representative, no matter how insignificant, as antagonistic to their continued reign over the city. Although officially within the Radial Emperium’s dominion, most of Scintillantem Contingent’s upper management was made up of businessmen from other nations, with no allegiance beyond their paychecks. It was this paranoia that most likely led to Porcaro’s continued employment at the lowest level of manual labor even after all these years and freely demonstrated competence. At every level, the people of Scintillantem Contingent were indeed prone to irrational decisions and counterproductive behavior.

It was for this reason, as contrary to his training as such impulses may have been, that CC88 Porcaro was quite excited over the arrival of the Nitpicker.

Operational protocol would never have permitted him to hire an outside contractor of this sort himself, but The Galactic Nitpicker’s Guild had been contacted by city management themselves. It was one of only a handful of actions from the upper offices since Porcaro arrived that he truly agreed with. In a city teeming with duplicitous scheming and self-serving half-truths and general unwillingness to tolerate perfectly valid criticism, the arrival of an individual specifically trained in the art of exposing and dissecting poor decisions could only be a good thing. Just a chance to converse with someone more interested in problem solving than petty local politics promised to be quite refreshing. Granted, Porcaro was fully aware of The Guild’s reputation for attracting… “eccentric” individuals, and that prospect did temper his expectations somewhat. But at the same time, Porcaro had dealt with nothing but eccentricity in its various guises since his arrival. One more oddball would hardly make things any harder to tolerate than they already were, and the potential benefits of a new presence on Scintillantem Contingent bound neither by Porcaro’s lack of jurisdictional authority nor his preexisting reputation were considerable. There was much that Porcaro couldn’t say or do even if he wanted to, and very little a Nitpicker COULDN’T say or do if that Nitpicker felt like it. Whether it would lead anywhere was another matter, but after what felt like an eternity of running in circles as predictable as the pulsing of the sun, the arrival of The Nitpicker offered at least the possibility of a change. That alone was worthy of a private moment of excitement.

As he approached the docks, Porcaro stepped out of the drab uniformity of the government-issued corridor to the maze of privately owned and furnished shops to cater to the arriving tourists. Though he was as immune to their bright decorations and garish signage as he was the colors of the sun, even Porcaro could grasp the intricate network of mirrors and glass favored by the stores and stands to harness and even amplify the light from outside. As with everything else, the locals of Scintillantem Contingent were as repulsed by the ostentatious chromatic displays as the arriving tourists were captivated, and it was notoriously difficult for vendors to find employees willing to work in the shops for very long. Porcaro’s only concern was how the distracting reflections and disorienting lights made it exceedingly difficult for vendors to watch for shoplifters, though given the sheer variety of criminal activities he suspected said vendors to be involved in, shoplifting was probably the least of their worries. Indeed, several of them became visibly uncomfortable as Porcaro passed, pausing their conversations until he was out of earshot. He was, of course, more than capable of lip reading even at extreme distances, but Porcaro felt no pressing need to rob them of their mistaken sense of security. They had little to discus that he didn’t already know about anyway.

Porcaro arrived at the boarding tube for docking pad 6 with absolute precision, exactly at the scheduled time of disembarkation. This, of course, meant he was many minutes ahead of the ship’s ACTUAL arrival, it having only just come within Scintillantem Contingent sensor range moments ago. Even this seemed to escape the notice of the technician manning the docking apparatus, appearing instead to be transfixed by the dull grey stripe running across his work jumpsuit.

“Updated time of the transport’s arrival?” Porcaro inquired, more to snap the technician out of his stupor than any real curiosity. The technician didn’t answer anyway, instead frantically scrambling to close whatever unsavory business he’d ACTUALLY had up on his workstation and replace it with the incoming ship’s flight plan. Content with the tech returning to his work, Porcaro didn’t wait around for an answer, instead resigning back to the waiting lobby until the ship arrived. It was forty-seven minutes late.

However late as the transport may have been, it wasted no time disgorging its passengers out into the docks. It was a familiar sight: wealthy vacationers in ostentatious outfits ooh-ing and aww-ing at the dazzling light show around them, while a handful of returning workers in their standard issue jumpsuits visibly cringed at the very sight of their home. And in the midst of them all, The Nitpicker strode in completely nonplussed.

Porcaro had received a satisfactory dossier to prepare for the new arrival, but even without a picture to guide him, pinpointing the odd man out would have been a very simple task. Under normal circumstances, his appearance would probably have seemed quite unremarkable. An adult male with no obvious physical augmentation and fairly unathletic build, with shoulder-length hair and exceedingly thick, nearly-opaque glasses. He wore a rather plain suit and turtleneck, far less attention-grabbing than the designer costumes of the tourists but also more unique than the intentionally plain jumpsuits of the local workers. The only truly memorable item of clothing The Nitpicker wore was a floppy cloth hat, once which even Porcaro’s monochrome preceptors could tell didn’t match the rest of his outfit. But clothing aside, it was the new arrival’s body language that immediately gave him away to Porcaro. Constaboid training demanded a heightened awareness of how the behavioral ticks and subtle gestures of an individual might give away his concealed true intentions, but even the most causal observer would have noticed how the Nitpicker was the only disembarking passenger utterly failing to react to Scintillantem Contingent’s native light show whatsoever. Where the tourists gawked and the locals shuddered, the Nitpicker casually strolled, seemingly more invested in reading the large book he carried in one hand and munching on the apple in his other. However, where most would have interpreted this behavior as one of obliviousness, a man too unobservant to even notice his unusual surroundings, Porcaro could detect more. Subtle hints of determination in his stride, astute changes in speed and direction to avoid colliding with the other passengers, the very fact that that the book’s pages were clearly reflecting the sun’s pulsating light yet still provoking no reaction. These were not the behavioral signs of an individual too distracted to notice his surroundings, but rather someone so COMPLETELY aware of his surroundings that they didn’t warrant a response. That, or a total lunatic, but Porcaro was fully prepared for the possibility that a Nitpicker might provide some difficulty in telling the difference between one and the other.

“Ichabod Caroherty Entropy Kendall?” Porcaro inquired once the Nitpicker had cleared the ramp. He responded, albeit through a mouthful of apple pulp, rendering the exact content of his reply indecipherable. He also declined to look up from the pages of his book, even as he again adjusted his trajectory to avoid a collision. Choosing to interpret the muffled response as confirmation, Poracro continued on.

“I am CC88 Porcaro, on assignment from Duteronimous Radial Emperium to this facility, and I will be serving as your liaison during your stay on Scintillantem Contingent.”

“That’s a whole lot of big words all at once.” The Nitpicker muttered, wiping some traces of apple from his mouth as he finally looked up at Porcaro. Or, at least, he tilted his head away from the book. Those impenetrable glasses made it difficult to discern exactly where he was specifically looking. “It must take you people a long time to get anything done around here.”

“I assure you the other residents of this facility are more relaxed in their vocabulary than myself.” Poracro answered, allowing a calculated hint of annoyance to tint his words “Though the inefficiency of their daily activity is beyond question.”

“The words of a man who definitely hasn’t made many friends around here.” the Nitpicker mused, seeming to give Porcaro a good once-over. “Don’t tell me… Let me guess… Between your glossy plastic sheen and those shiny red eyes… Producturgist?”

“Constaboid, actually.” Porcaro clarified “I’m afraid The Emperium does not consider this facility a high enough priority to assign a full-time Producturgist.”

“But they DO consider it a sufficiently rotten hive of cooks to send a full-time lawman to keep an eye on things.” The Nitpicker interjected “You REALLY must not be popular with the locals.”

“Not as unpopular as I would be if I actually had the authority to ENFORCE any laws around here.” Porcaro responded, gruffly “As it stands, The Emperium has only seen fit to grant me powers as a consultant rather than fully deputized agent of the law.”

“Ah. My condolences.” The Nitpicker mused, taking another bite of the apple in the process.

“In any case, we should really be going.” Porcaro continued, satisfied his point had been made “It’s no short walk to the management’s offices, and given the importance of your assignment, I’m sure they would-”

“Um, excuse me. What?” The Nitpicker interrupted, gagging slightly on his mouthful of apple in the process “What do you know about- I was given the impression that this job was on a need to know basis.”

“Mr. Kendall, I assure you that I need to know EVERYTHING that goes on in this facility.” Porcaro announced, with no small amount of satisfaction “ESPECIALLY those things management would prefer I didn’t.”

“DEFINITELY not popular.” replied the Nitpicker, only just now closing his book and giving the other man his full attention.

“And given that this is a matter of delicacy,” Porcaro continued, briefly glancing towards the vendors already making overtures towards the unsuspecting new arrivals “I’m sure they would prefer you made it to their offices without delay.”

“Yeah, about… that matter…” the Nitpicker said in hushed tones, himself eyeing the bustling crowd of tourists suspiciously “How much should we even be talking about that out here?”

“Mr. Kendall, I can assure you that this bunch will be much too busy staring out the window to notice anything we say on the matter.” Porcaro sighed, noting a pair of especially corpulent gawkers stumbling over a trashcan. “Granted, I cannot say the same for the employees in this facility, so if you would prefer not to discuss the assignment under these circumstances, I’m happy to oblige.”

“Ichabod” the Nitpicker responded.

“Excuse me?”

“None of this ‘Mr. Kendall’ stuff. It’s Ichabod.” he reiterated “I’ve still got plenty of years to go before I’m ‘Mister” anything.”

“I’m afraid I most definitely can NOT oblige you in that.” Porcaro answered, with a slight shake of his head “Not so long as you’re technically my superior.”

“Not popular at all.” the Nitpicker muttered with a slight smirk as Porcaro guided him down the nearest pedestrian tube.