Working in a dead-end, post office job in the heart of a primarily-Human city, Arya Salcrest cannot let her secret out else she loses her rights and her safety. Norren Sterling, a member of the Council whom she met after a failed museum trip, is det...
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The transport tube made a seething hiss as it sucked the letter canister Arya fed it. Her eyes wandered towards the other sorters lined up on both sides. They stretched with the length of the floor, curving towards the deck leading out into the corridors. All of them wore the same color scheme with variations only based on gender and fabric.
Arya pulled against her cap, making sure her hair was still inside it and that her stumps were still hidden. Then, she picked up the next sheet in her pile, checked the address it was being sent to, and grabbed the stamp appropriate for it. She pressed down, the mechanisms of the stamp crinkling under the weight. When she withdrew, a square seal was already stuck on the corner of the envelope.
It took practice, for sure, to remember the appropriate stamps for each region in the New Civils. Arya made do with memorizing the color of the handles. Green was for the Western Provinces which were still partly monarchic. Red was for places within Aldermere and the region around it under its jurisdiction. Blue for the provinces beyond the curb of the River Klenner. Violet for everything that wasn't included in the other colors.
By habit, she rolled the envelope and smoothed the circle out with her hands. Then, she grabbed an empty canister from a crate below the illuminated desk by her stomach, and stuck the rolled envelope inside. After years of doing the same thing, the circle now fit the canister's diameter cleanly at the first roll.
Arya clicked the canister's lid shut. Then, she flicked the safeguards around it, enjoying the sharp chinks they emitted after they slid under the groove lining the canister's lip. Before she sent it up the tube, she twisted the rings around its body, resetting the lock. This method prevented the lid to open even if the safeguards were pried free. Then, she tucked the delivery code printed in a sleek card into a slot in the canister's underside. It's useful in opening the locks using the rings.
The code was also different for each canister but they didn't change. The same code would be used for the same canister for decades to come, unless the locks pop off or something goes wrong with the mechanisms inside. So, it's possible to get the same canister for two or more different deliveries for a human's lifetime.
Well, it's not like anyone's keeping tabs of the codes sent in with the canisters. Who does that?
A loud tolling rang from the rectangular prism of a pillar rising from the atrium. The bell at the top swung wide, signaling the start of the Pondiem hours. To Arya, it only meant one thing—lunch time.
She set down the next envelope she was looking to stamp. She removed the apron over her blouse and skirt, throwing it carelessly over her desk. A bottle of ink and a metal-tipped quill cluttered underneath but she couldn't bring herself to care. The bottle remained closed anyway. It's not like she has had to provide additional data in the address lines to any of the letters in her batch this morning.
Like sheep being herded towards the pasture, Arya followed the rest of the sorters in her floor and deck into a set of double doors. The first who made it there pushed them open, setting the rest of them free. When Arya cleared the doors, Eury was already tittering down the stairs leading to the floor above Arya's deck.
