This domed city was the last cradle left to humanity. One hundred thirty years since Earth's air turned to ash, fifteen thousand lives breathe only because a handful of engineers keep century-old machines limping forward—and none more vital than nineteen-year-old Hartin Alec, the youngest Chief Maintenance Technician in the dome's history.
Alec has lived his whole life inside Dome Varos's iron ribs, hated by the veterans he outranks, sustained only by exhaustion, duty, and the quiet companionsh
The Question Blooming on the Star of Ash - Episode 2
To the low hum of the ventilation fan, Hartin Alec awoke.
He gazed up at the ceiling of the narrow room. Still dim.
(That wound... it's definitely strange.)
The damage to the piping he'd found last night wouldn't leave his mind. A straight, clean cut. That was absolutely not the kind of damage that came from an old machine deteriorating. Someone had deliberately scraped it with a tool.
Alec sat up. His body ached in several places from sleeping in his work clothes. He looked at the spare parts placed beside the toolbox and remembered yesterday again.
(I'll check it properly today.)
With that decision made, Alec got out of bed.
***
As he walked through the residential corridor, more people gradually appeared. Everyone wore the same kind of work clothes, walking in the same direction. It was morning ration time, heading toward Commons Hall.
In Dome Varos, all residents received a fixed amount of food at set times. No money was used. The ration amount was determined by occupation. Technicians received slightly more.
Upon entering the hall, the smell of steam and the distinctive odor of simmered mycelium reached his nose. Several lines formed in the spacious room that could seat four hundred people.
"Good morning, Technician Alec."
A young woman at the ration station handed him a tray while speaking. She looked about fifteen or sixteen. She wore a technician apprentice uniform.
"...Yeah."
Alec answered briefly and took the tray. Mycelium soup and hydroponically grown vegetables. The same unremarkable breakfast as always.
The young ration attendant's cheeks flushed slightly as she glanced repeatedly at Alec's face. A genius technician who became chief at fourteen. He was something of a celebrity within the dome.
But Alec had no room to care about such things. His mind was still full of that wound.
***
After finishing his meal, Alec headed toward the upper council district.
He had to show the evidence he'd found yesterday to the council. If someone really was trying to destroy the dome, he needed to report it as soon as possible.
The council district had a completely different atmosphere from the residential area. The walls and floors were meticulously maintained. The air was cool and free of dust.
In the corridor before the council chamber, he passed an elderly technician. Gray hair, a face etched with deep wrinkles. Granate, one of the Repair Council members. A veteran who had worked in the dome's mechanical section for over thirty years, feared by younger technicians.
"...What business do you have here, boy?"
Granate frowned the moment he saw Alec. His voice carried unmistakable coldness.
"I found damage on the life support piping that appeared to have been deliberately scraped by human hands. I came to report it."
Alec chose his words as calmly as possible. He knew that if he became emotional, he'd only be treated like a child.
Granate stared at him silently for a while. Then he exhaled with a scoffing laugh.
"Old piping. Of course it has damage. Don't you know the term 'age-related deterioration'?"
"No, sir. That damage was scraped by a tool. It's not a natural formation."
Alec pressed on. But Granate's expression didn't change at all.
"Don't get cocky just because you became chief at fourteen. The Repair Council doesn't have time to entertain baseless rumors."
With those words, Granate disappeared into the depths of the council chamber.
Left alone in the corridor, Alec clenched his fists tightly.
(... Whatever. There's no point talking to that old man.)
He spat it out in his mind. But the anxiety was greater than the frustration.
Dome Varos was governed by five technicians on the Repair Council. Using their right to manage the life support systems as justification, they decided everything—from resource distribution to the severity of punishments. What happened if you defied them? Alec knew well.
The highest punishment in this dome was exile. Being cast out into the Deadlands—outside the dome. Officially it was called "a merciful sentence, granting the opportunity to live," but the reality was different. Without a protective suit, you couldn't survive more than six hours outside. Exile was effectively a death sentence.
(No one will believe me...)
Alec exhaled deeply.
***
If the council wouldn't help, he'd have to investigate himself.
Alec headed downward. To the far end of the mechanical section, to a place called the Records Archive. Old documents and blueprints from when the dome was built were stored there.
Opening the heavy door, the smell of dust mixed with the scent of paper drifted out. The shelves were packed tightly with yellowed bundles of paper.
"That's unusual. A technician coming to a place like this."
An elderly man with a bent back emerged from the back. Gray eyes, deep wrinkles. The archive keeper who had guarded these records for decades.
"I want to see old records. The piping repair history, and... whether there were any similar incidents in the past."
"Incidents, huh."
The old man pointed to a section of the shelf with a thin finger.
"This shelf holds exile records too. Three to five people are sent out from here each year. Most never return."
Alec turned through the old papers. Names and dates were written in hard-to-read handwriting—records of those exiled.
"What happens to people who go outside?"
"Some are said to have survived. They're called Dustwalkers. Those cast out from the dome or who escaped gather together and wander the wastelands. Not many of them. Just small groups of five or thirty people scattered around."
The old man continued, offering even older records.
"And there's also talk that old weapons still float in the sky. Something called the Helios Net—a satellite network from long ago. If you could operate it from the ground, it would become a terrible power."
Alec paused slightly at those words.
(Satellites... do things like that really exist?)
But right now, there was something more important to confirm than legends.
Alec continued flipping through the records. Then his eyes stopped on one particular sheet.
A report from thirty years ago about similar piping damage. At the time it had been dismissed as "age-related deterioration," but in small letters at the edge of the record, it said:
"The shape of the cut suggests use of a specialized tool. Investigation discontinued midway."
His heart went cold.
(Just as I thought... Someone deliberately made those cuts with a tool. Not just this time.)
The same thing had happened thirty years ago. And it had been covered up.
"...Can I borrow this record?"
Alec asked, his voice trembling.
"Take it if you want. No one's interested in such old papers anyway."
The old man nodded quietly.
***
Clutching the records to his chest, Alec left the archive.
As he walked through the corridor, he organized his thoughts.
The same damage as thirty years ago. An investigation that was covered up. And this time, the council wouldn't even listen.
(Someone is deliberately hiding this. Maybe even someone on the current council...)
The more he thought about it, the greater his anxiety became. But there was one thing Alec knew for certain.
(I'll tell Silas. He's the only one who'll actually listen.)
The only person in this dome he could trust completely. A childhood friend who had always been on his side, no matter what. Even if the council didn't believe him, Silas would be different. He'd definitely think it through with him.
With that thought, the weight on his chest lifted slightly.
On the way back to the residential district, Alec stopped in front of a small ventilation shaft. The faint breeze leaking through was the dome's doubly-filtered air. Still, standing here, he felt like he could sense the outside world a little.
(What is the outside really like?)
Dustwalkers. Helios Net. Records from thirty years ago. So many unknowns.
But there was one thing he'd learned today. Someone was trying to destroy this dome. And not just once.
Alec hugged the bundle of old records tightly again.
Tomorrow he had a large-scale repair operation scheduled with Silas. Before that, he had to check that piping one more time.
(What a pain... but I have no choice.)
He muttered it quietly to himself and walked toward the residential district corridor.
Back in his narrow room, it was already late at night. He placed the bundle of records beside the toolbox.
Lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, Alec thought about the damage from thirty years ago and the damage from now. He still didn't know who was responsible.
But there was only one way to find out. Tomorrow, at that location, he'd check again.
Listening to the low hum of the ventilation fan, Alec slowly closed his eyes.
The smell of old record paper still lingered on his fingertips.
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