The Unbroken Chain

16:44 - 26/03/1010 - Ursagrad, Chiropterra

A sharp hiss of hydraulics and the bus jerked to a stop. The doors slid open, allowing Abdaz and the other passengers out onto the pavement outside.

It was still quite a walk back to his apartment. Tonight was paynight too. Hopefully when he got home, he’d see his payslip in the post. Not that it was the celebratory night it once was.

It was a secret to nobody that the company wasn’t in the best shape, falling short of sales targets over the last few months. For Abdaz and his colleagues, this meant he hadn’t seen a wage increase in well over a year, even as the cost of essential goods and services continued to go up. In fact over the last few months, there were even deductions from their payslips to cover “urgent essential business costs”. It meant paying bills, planning a week, and everything else became all that much more of a pain. But a small deduction from his pay was better than being laid off.

And Abdaz needed this job. His wife was pregnant with twins, their births due in a couple months. Their modest savings were slowly growing, but they’d need a steady income to keep the soon-to-be family of four afloat. His foals wouldn’t grow up in the same poverty Abdaz did, or in the same destitution many former labourers still lived in. Yet to make sure of that, more than anything, he needed stability.

But before he could make even a few steps beyond the bus shelter he heard a voice behind him. “Wait, Daz!” It was Merzaal.

Abdaz stopped and turned around. Merzaal had hopped off the bus right before the doors shut. “Merz? This isn’t your stop.” They took the same bus home, but Merzaal didn’t get off until a few stops further down the way.

“I know, but I need to talk with you, and I need you to promise not to mention this to anyone about it.” He spoke quieter than his usual voice, a slight urgency in his voice. His eyes went to watch the bus as it pulled away from the stop.

Abdaz felt the slightest furrow in his brow. He shrugged, keeping eye contact with Merzaal. “Alright, Merz. Shoot.”

“I need you to promise me not to tell.” Merzaal glared with a conviction burning behind his eyes Abdaz had rarely seen from him. He took a look over his shoulder and a glance past Abdaz. They were both alone under the bus shelter, their faces lit by the purple lamp on the roof. “No offence, but I know you well enough that I need absolute certainty that you won’t tell anyone else.”

Hesitating for a moment, Abdaz could tell he shouldn’t treat this flippantly. Whatever it was must’ve been deeply personal, and his friend trusted him with it. “I promise,” he said clearly, and with full sincerity. “I promise I won’t fib on you or tell a soul. My lips are sealed and my word is good. Now tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Okay.” Merzaal drew in a deep breath through his nostrils. He looked Abdaz dead in the eye. “We’re planning a strike.”

Abdaz blinked, the words coming as a shock. Like the sudden clap of thunder and lightning raced across the sky. “Strike?” He had to ask again, just to be sure he’d heard Merzaal right. “I think that’s illegal, Merz.”

Merzaal groaned, his eyes clenching shut. He brought his head down, pressing a hoof into his forehead.

“Sorry, who’s we?” Abdaz asked, his voice smaller as uncertainty crept in. “And when?”

Merzaal. “We’re doing it soon. Me and…” He hesitated. “Me and a lot of the other workers at Perigee.”

“Who, Spich?” Abdaz blurted the name out like an accusation.

“Not just-” Merzaal cut himself off with a grunt, his jaw tightening as he glanced past Abdaz. His eyes returned, resolute. “Look, a lot of other workers, I’m not going to name them if you’re not fully on board. And, we need as many workers with us as possible for it to be effective.”

“But…” Abdaz was blinking. A lot. The gravity of the situation weighed him down like a large waterfowl hanging around on his harness. “But strikes are illegal and against contract.” His voice was barely above a whisper, as though speaking too loud might make the danger more real.

“I know.” Merzaal’s voice was low yet firm.

“You do?” Abdaz was still struggling to believe it. It all sounded so rash, so reckless. Like Merzaal had just dragged him into some back-alley casino and told him to put everything on black with no warning and no second thoughts. His lips shuddered. “Why?”

Merzaal’s response came swift and steady as if he had rehearsed it a hundred times in his mind. “Because the company’s not paying us our fair share. Because they’ve been taking from that share. Because they’ve had us working in dangerous conditions for years. And because, most of all, they still treat us like we’re labourers. We need a way to stand up for ourselves on our own four legs.”

Abdaz was pawing at the ground. “We’re paid pretty well for what we do.”

“Inflation in Chiropterra is at four percent year after year, but our wages have only gone up by three percent in the last two years.” Merzaal had definitely rehearsed that. “We’re being screwed.”

“Have you tried talking to Zalid?” Abdaz asked, searching for anything that might stop this runaway train.

“Of course I did.” Merzaal didn’t miss a beat. “It’s the first thing we all did and nothing’s changed. If Zalid was going to do something, he’d have done it by now.”

“Maybe if I talk to him, he’d-”

“Do not talk to Zalid about this.” Merzaal’s interruption was sharp, almost a command.

“Why?” Abdaz protested. “He’d understand.”

Merzaal’s eyes darkened, his tone firm. “Daz, he’s the one holding your chain.”

The words struck Abdaz like a blow to the chest that sent him a step back. “Oh Za’al,” he muttered, disbelief creeping in. “You sound exactly like Spich.”

Merzaal blinked, his brow creasing. “What?”

“This whole thing is one of his schemes, isn’t it?” said Abdaz, words tight and slathered with suspicion.

“What? No,” Merzaal’s head was shaking, jittering.

“The last thing any of us needs is chaos and division,” Abdaz pressed, his words steady but layered with quiet desperation. “This- This could tear everything apart!”

“Daz, please.” Frustration cracked through Merzaal’s voice. “Do you want to be at the mercy of the company, those corporate drivers, your whole life? The same company and ponies that used you as a slave?”

“I need this job, Merz,” Abdaz shot back. “I’m going to have foals to look after in a few months!”

“Exactly!” Merzaal’s eyes lit with intensity, his hoof cutting the air. “Don’t you want the best for them?”

“The best for them is to give them a future.” Abdaz said, his tone hardening, fear lacing his words. “I can’t give them one if I’m fired. We could lose our jobs, our homes, everything! Everything we’ve built!”

“And you don’t think that could happen regardless?” Merzaal’s expression darkened. “They’re slave drivers, Daz. They kidnapped us, enslaved us, made us work for meagre wages. Now they’re cheating us out of even that.”

Abdaz shifted uneasily, his brow furrowing. “Things have been getting better, you must have noticed that. We aren’t slaves, we’re citizens, a respected community.”

“That’s only because so far they’ve been willing to throw us enough goodies to keep us working and in our place.” A scoff, barely repressed, came out of Merzaal. Cold and bitter. “As soon as they can take away any improvements, they will. And they are.”

But at this point, both of them already knew that there was little more to say. Abdaz had already made up his mind, and so had Merzaal. Nothing either of them said could really change the other’s mind, at least it felt that way. Abdaz couldn’t really force Merzaal to stop, at least not without breaking his trust, but whatever he was doing, Abdaz knew he couldn’t get involved.

While Abdaz was mulling over what to say, Merzaal spoke again. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” His tone was more pleading then.

Abdaz groaned, dragging his hoof across his face. “Look, Merz.” He felt his eyes drop and his lips tighten. “You’ve been a good friend to me, I won’t report this. But please, if you do something rash, you’ll make things worse for everyone.”

“This is about making things better for everyone. You have to know that.” Merzaal stepped closer. Pleading had become begging.

“I just want you to stop and think about what you’re doing. Think about how it affects us all. Not all of us can take risks like that,” said Abdaz. “Whatever you've got planned, I can't be a part of it.”

Merzaal opened his mouth to say something, but paused. He stepped back, head bowed slightly with his eyes still on Abdaz. “Okay,” he said with a sigh.

“Okay,” Abdaz repeated, as if to confirm Merzaal’s retreat. There was little else to say, so Abdaz turned away and walked on. Yet after only a few steps, he knew it was too sour a note to leave on. He turned back, one last time. “See you tomorrow, Merz. Stay safe.”

“See you tomorrow.” Merzaal settled into the bus shelter, the bench releasing a sharp metallic creak as he sat down.

Abdaz quietly walked the rest of the way home, below dim flickering street lamps and into the neighbourhoods of grey concrete towers.

Poor Merzaal. He went out of his way to speak to Abdaz, and now he’d have to wait half an hour if not more, given how far behind they seemed to be lately, for the next bus. Now that he had the time to himself, maybe he’d see sense before he acted foolishly. Abdaz was Merzaal’s supervisor, it was technically his duty to alert upper management if workers were planning on breaching their contracts so brazenly. But he also knew he couldn’t betray his friend’s trust.

Before too long, he was at the door to his apartment complex. First thing he did was retrieve his post from the first-floor postbox, stashing the letters into his jacket to check later. No elevator, so it was one long hike up nine floors of too-tall and too-narrow stairs. Upon reaching his floor he carried an additional ache in his legs. Soon he made it to his door, unlocking it and pushing his way to the heat radiating from within.

“I’m home, dear!” Abdaz called to Azanit, his wife, as he threw his jacket on a hook.

The couple’s apartment was nothing remarkable. A combined living room and kitchen, a bedroom, a small bathroom, and a single small window that overlooked a concrete wall to the alleyway below. Hard grey walls, hard grey floors, hard grey furniture, in a hard grey building.

But it was the presence of a loving couple that made it into a home. At that moment, the sounds and smells and cooking were coming from the kitchen, and- Ooh, was that moussaka?

“Hi, love!” Azanit called back, welcoming Abdaz with a soft smile and a look from her sharp sapphire eyes. “Dinner is just about ready.”

Azanit stood beneath the warm light, her stripes a striking contrast of black and white that stretched and expanded over her round belly. Her long, silky smooth black mane had been pulled back into a tight bun. While her legs remained strong and slender, holding her weight with ease, her movements in the kitchen had considerably slowed from her usual pace.

Sweat ran down her forehead as steam filled the kitchen. She was still in her work clothes from her part time job, a ‘Moonburger’ uniform and a once white apron stained with spots of green and yellow. The extra income helped pay the bills and raise their savings, and they needed to save what they could for when the twins arrived.

Abdaz always appreciated the lengths Azanit went to, but it pained him to see her working herself so hard. He trotted into the kitchen. “You really don’t need to put so much stress in,” he said, embracing her.

“It’s nothing, love.” Azanit reciprocated the hug. “And I’d hate to keep you waiting for dinner.”

“I know, I know, but you’re doing so much and you should be resting. I’d rather know you’re not overworking yourself than eat as soon as I get home,” said Abdaz. “Hell, I can cook for myself, you know.”

“Yeah and that explains why you were nothing but skin and bones when I met you,” Azanit chuckled, poking Abdaz’s barrel. The couple stood apart, still with one hoof on the other’s shoulder. Azanit tilted her head and gave a smile. “Now come on, you must be starving.”

Within minutes the dinner was served, and the couple sat and ate around the small table they had in the kitchen. Mmm, Azanit made a delicious aubergine moussaka, and Abdaz made sure she knew it. She’d made enough for tonight and tomorrow, and Abdaz had to stop himself from eating more than he should’ve.

Over dinner, they chatted over whatever came to mind. At some point, Azanit asked, “How’s Merzaal, by the way?”

At the mention of his name, Abdaz barely repressed a sigh. “He’s fine.” He didn’t want to bring up the strike, he promised. Even though Azanit didn’t have the power to do anything, he still made a promise.

Azanit furrowed her brow. “Is something wrong with him?” She could tell he was hiding something, and Abdaz knew it.

“He’s…” Abdaz tried to think of a way to keep it honest, yet vague. “He’s just a bit prone to recklessness, I think. He gets in over his head sometimes.”

“Anything we need to be worried about?” Azanit asked, more to continue the conversation than out of imminent concern.

“It shouldn’t be. Whatever he’s doing, it shouldn’t affect us.” Abdaz sighed. “I’m doing what I can.”

Azanit smiled at him. “Sometimes, that’s enough.”

Once dinner was finished and Azanit was clearing away the dishes, Abdaz got up and checked the post. He dumped the letters onto the table, sifting through what he’d received. It was that time of the month where the postbox filled with bills. Bills, pointless marketing, bills, a coupon book (save that for later) and more bills.

But amidst it all, his payslip.

He tore open the envelope, and all was there. His hours last week, and his rate of pay. Followed by all the deductions.

Tax, repayments, and of course, “urgent essential business costs”.

He opened up some of the bills, adding up the billed amount and estimating the overall monthly cost. He looked at his payslip again, multiplying his take home pay over the course of a full month. It dawned on him as the sums added up in his head, that if it went on like this, he’d be lucky to break even this month.

He pressed a hoof into his forehead releasing a quiet groan.

What to do, what to do?