Chlorine Halos

Consequences

"Let's just say he teaches the advanced class," he whispered back with his crooked smile.

Donovan led me to my first experience with a penrose in the Escheron. As soon as my hand touched the orb, I slammed against the wall, which turned to ground. The skin of my cheek stuck to the glossy finish of the dark granite. I peeled my face from the floor, wiggling my mouth and nose. 

Maestro pulled me up and brushed me off. "It's all about timing and anticipation. You'll find the rhythm. Lean into it with your foot and spring back when you feel the pull." I had to admit, his coaching was effective. The next few penrose shifts weren't perfect, having stumbles and hesitance, but I was able to keep my head off whatever became the ground.

As we made our way to the meeting I didn't know I had with the person whom I didn't know, I noticed everyone was busy with something, not one person loitering or dawdling.

Whether it was two people conversing, using some type of unfamiliar jargon...

"Two were spotted, undoubtedly Séance," informed a man in an olive green, wool turtleneck sweater to a women in a charcoal colored, striped pant suit.

"We really don't need any others to be classified: three-eighty," replied the woman, incredibly concerned.

...or someone completing any number of assigned tasks...

"Danny, where you heading?" Maestro asked. The large man, who was nearly the size of Maestro, flashed a smile and adjusted his grip on the burlap sack he had thrown over his shoulder.

"Drop off for the miners at the slopes," he replied. "I'll be back soon. We'll meet up at the Crescendo." Maestro made a quick fist, biting his bottom lip. The two shared a laugh, then we continued up the stairs as he scurried down them.

...or even a group of people gathered for a specific objective...

"All graduates of the Annex, who meet the age requirement, mind you, may submit an application for the Alcove, but we must not forget to stress the difficulty of admission. We cannot make everyone happy," said a man standing in a beige suit, leaning against a conference table with his hands. He was completely surrounded by others who sat at the table, nodding their heads.

...everyone focused their attention to something.

"Does everyone here have some kind of job?" I asked Maestro.

"Yes, every single citizen of Cartesia fills a role which plays to the individual's strengths," Maestro answered. "We serve one common goal: Protect the grid. We do that in many ways. You'll find yours."

"Here we are!" Donovan exclaimed. "Jasper's workshop. Please, please, this way." We entered into a deep rectangular room. A faint buzzing became louder as we walked further inside. On one wall, tall windows extended from the floor to the edge of the vaulted ceiling and looked out on a large body of water. Thick, wooden crossbeams ran the length of the room and side to side, accentuating the vault it braced. Across from the windows, finely crafted chairs with a hauntingly familiar design were stained with a rich color, polished to a shine, and neatly stacked into columns. Ornate, pewter candlesticks stood on a shelf, remarkably detailed. Gorgeous guitars and violins hung on the wall. This workshop was full of pieces of furniture, instruments, and knickknacks made from wood, metal, and glass. The floor was covered by a thick layer of sawdust, end to end.

"Were all these things made here?" I asked as I examined every treasure I could. The buzzing sound ceased.

"Why, yes, they were," Donovan sang. "Expertly by hand!"

"Donovan, please don't oversell the product," said a man with a handsaw, stepping out from behind a large divider. He was tall with a dark complexion, which highlighted his bright smile, but masked his deep brown eyes. The goggles on his face also didn't help. His ratty, white t-shirt had a tear to the side of the neckline and his corduroy pants were covered with the same sawdust which blanketed the floor. The leather toolbelt around his waist was pushed to the side and loaded with a hammer, speed square, tape measure, and every other basic carpentry tool. As he walked toward the three of us, his unlaced work boots flopped with each step. I credited his build to the fact some of the things in this workshop would not only take precision to construct, but strength. He stopped in front of me and moved his goggles to the top of his bald head.