City 2

City 2 — Election Day

It was election day in City 2. However, that’s a bit of a misnomer. Not the part about the election, that was true, but the idea that there were any other cities. The cluster of once-shimmering now washed-out grey skyscrapers sat on the thin platform that gently rocked along with the waves of the ocean. For all directions until the horizon was the same view. The stillness of the water betrayed the sheer turmoil that was occurring within the city.

Closer to the city one could see that the construction effort that had gone into it was impressive regardless of the limitations. It seemed like at every floor of every building there was still another million storeys above you. In between each skyscraper was a web of corridors that connected each building at differing levels. Some were straightforward connections and others, mostly on the outskirts of the city, made an effort to swing around and provide an all-encompassing view of the peaceful blue.

It made sense to the locals. “Of course floor 38 of Building C.A needs to connect straight to the 20^th^ floor of Building A.B!” They would exclaim to you, “How else would the nurses receive their mid-afternoon banquets?”

The chanting of crowds on the streets below were audible to everyone below the 50^th^ floor. From the 10^th^ floor down it was deafening. A crowd waving homemade banners of ‘Save our children!’ to the concern of those waving it and the confusion of everyone looking on.

Counter-protesters, many of whom had never been on the ground floor in their entire lives, were shouting back at the moral panic with cries of “Murderer!” and “Floor four forever!”

The catalyst for all this was something that from the outset sounded completely benign: Taxes.

The population had increased tenfold over the course of the past 20 years. The city government could barely keep up with all the nurseries and neo-natal departments they needed to handle the growth. Nobody even knows why or how this happened. Some statisticians noted that the boom coincided with a growth in orange juice sales, but analysts have since discredited this correlation.

Thus the tax. A whopping 1% extra per extraneous child you have. Some have noted that this would mean by the time you have your 100^th^ child you will be giving away all of your money as tax, but as yet nobody has hit this level.

This is what these protesters were currently bickering about, this singularly contested issue. Usually the rhetoric of the candidates was a lot more measured. As the last city on Earth there was always and undercurrent of needing to maintain order and decency.

“Staying the course” and “Sensible construction” are the two most popular slogans that get wheeled out with irritating regularity. It’s a common saying that the only way to waste one’s vote is to vote at all.

This taxation was the catalyst for these suppressed emotions. No civilisation can remain civilised for that long and this nudge was all it took.

All the feelings spilled out, all the debates that would have happen had everyone not collectively bitten their tongues and at least verbally agreed with what the current leaders put forward. The shouting was almost incomprehensible there were so many issues being thrown about.

The fourth floor had been the worst hit by the turmoil. What was once the sole nursery had been transformed into an unzoned slum.

Nobody knew how the elections would turn out, but no matter what it was going to be explosive.