The Unbroken Chain

16:46 - 30/09/1010 - Ursagrad, Chiropterra

At the end of another night at work, Abdaz stepped off the bus into the dark embrace of the night. It had been long enough since the incident that its echoes had almost stopped bounding in his ears.

The nights after the incident were intolerably busy, a natural consequence of a quarter of the factory’s workforce vanishing overnight. Whole departments had lost everyone outside of their supervisors or managers, with workers from other departments having to come in and plug the gaps. Each shift was a frantic dance to hold the line, each machine a hungry mouth to feed without anywhere near the amount of the hooves to feed them. Even the din of the machinery grew angrier, the building itself resenting the loss.

New workers had eventually come in to replace all the fired strikers. Zebras, and young Chiropterran ponies with bright eyes and fidgeting hooves, most barely out of their teens. Many of them had already been let go, either due to tardiness, attitude, or simply not being up to Perigee standards. One kid, a young pegasus named Blue Crystal, was really taking the piss. Literally. He took multiple ten-to-fifteen minute toilet breaks per shift. Training and integrating that lot slowed the process down even further.

Regardless, the factory regained its rhythm, creaking back to life as though those lost workers had never been. In fact, 1010 was shaping up to be one of Perigee’s most profitable years yet. Abdaz and the other workers were graciously rewarded with a two percent wage increase over the next year.

As for those like Merzaal, Spichka, Zadamil, Zanki and all the others who’d been fired, Abdaz hadn’t heard a thing about them since.

The only one he really knew, the only one he really missed, was Merzaal. None of the new workers could replace him, either as a friend or as an effective worker. But since the incident, Merzaal’s very name had become a taboo at Perigee, merely uttering it drawing the ire of managers and directors. The same had come of all the other strikers, especially Spichka. Like Abdaz’s own memory was the only evidence they were ever there.

With frequency, Abdaz felt the urge to reach out to Merzaal, his hooves itching to write out a letter or make a call. But, like a cold wind slicing through his coat, the memory of that night stayed his hoof. Merzaal had chosen the path of violence against Abdaz’s advice, leaving only a silence that stretched as long and dark as Abdaz’s walk home.

While approaching his apartment building, an assortment of posters plastered to the exterior wall caught his eye, bright colours contrasted against the grey concrete.

One poster displayed a drawing of a zebra with a broken pair of shackles around their legs bucking a football far away, leaving a vibrant steak of green, red, and white. Bold text on the top read, “BACK YOUR OWN TEAM”, followed by text on the bottom reading, “VOTE PROGRESSIVE PLATFORM”. The small, and largely powerless, native interests party.

Yet all around it, one after the other, rows of identical posters for another campaign crowding out the wall space. A photo of a crowd of smiling ponies and zebras, framed in a solid field of cool blue. Bold white letters popped from the field, reading, “FAIR WAGES, BETTER HOUSING, STRONGER RIGHTS - NATIONAL DEMOCRATS - THE CITIZENS’ CHOICE”, their agenda clear.

One look told him everything he needed to know about which had the wider reach and as such, the better chance of winning. While imperfect, the National Democrats were the obvious choice for a labourer-turned-citizen like him. That and they were the only ones who could keep the United Commonwealth’s lot out of office.

Musing on the point for a moment, and Abdaz remembered. In a few nights he'd be voting. Him, one of the millions trusted to have a consequential voice in the future of Chiropterran governance. A decade ago such a thing would’ve been unthinkable! By trusting that things would get better, he’d been proven right.

But even though he’d made up his mind, he still found his eyes drawn to the Progressive Platform’s poster, standing out by virtue of it being the only one. The sheer quantity of National Democrat posters made them fade into the background as white noise. Having more colours than just blue also helped. And if it stood out to him, it’d stand out all the more to other passersbys and all his neighbours. The imagery was evocative, strong enough to convince someone to change their vote. And every vote for a no-hope third-party was a vote not going to defeat the United Commonwealth.

Already he felt his hoof reaching up, mind fretting over the damage this poster could do. How many it could push towards irrational action. How loudly it advocated undermining Abdaz’s own efforts at becoming a respected citizen. How the incident could repeat on a provincial, no, national scale. What if he just tore it down?

No. He pulled his hoof away and carried on. It’s just a stupid poster, him tearing it down would only bring more attention to it. He could trust his neighbours to make the sensible choice. Sure someone’s brash young teen, allowed to vote for the first time might toss their vote away, lost in idealism and fantasy, but soon the sensibility gained by age and experience would come through. After all, the majority of his coworkers made sensible choices during the incident a few months ago.

Still, the whole idea of an election would’ve been truly unimaginable ten years earlier. The Legionary Council, formally transferring all its lawmaking authority to an elected congress, a congress where a former labourer like him could vote. Just one of the ways he was becoming a freer stallion, through honest work and steady progress rather than reckless fighting.

Well, whatever Spichka and Merzaal were up to now, they couldn’t take those wins away from him. His rights as a citizen were enshrined in law.

With a soft turn of his key at his apartment door, Abdaz slipped into the dim stillness of his home. Warm air washed over him, dense with the scent of milk. He didn’t announce his presence, weary not to shatter this fragile quiet.

He barely saw her at first, his eyes drawn to the pale glow of a lamp illuminating the corner of the living room. But there was Azanit, seated in a faded armchair, her form half-curled around a bundle swaddled in blankets. She looked up at him, her eyes meeting him with a look that held both a deep weariness and a serene calm he could never comprehend.

Abdaz stood in the doorway, his heart filling with a vast bittersweet ache. Closing the door behind him felt like shutting out the world of mechanical clamour and company mandates. Here was the silent perfection he thought unimaginable years before, his hoofsteps making as little sound as possible as he approached.

The twins were named Zatalie and Aniza. They looked just like their mother. Abdaz crouched beside Azanit, marvelling at his two little miracles as their breaths rose and fell in tune with Azanit’s. This was his anchor against the tides of all he’d endured. They made him strong and weak at the same time, his struggles rendered silent beneath the soft breaths of his family.

The previous few months had certainly been a challenge. The sleepless nights awoken by one or both of their children crying. The disgust of changing a nappy. The shock and horror upon learning how much nappies cost in the first place. And the utter despair at having to change them so often.

They’d have to move out of this apartment at some point, get the kids their own room so they didn’t have to sleep in a makeshift crib in Abdaz and Azanit’s bedroom. They deserved to grow up in a real home, not this concrete cube. As soon as Azanit could start earning an income again.

But one look at the two fillies, and he knew. The extra hours at work, the time spent building a home, the holes burned in their savings. It was all worth it.

He already knew the twins were the proudest achievement of his life, and they still had a whole life of potential ahead of them. He’d watch them grow, learn, and eventually prosper.

Everything he’d done so far had led him here, and would lead to the hopeful future of these two foals.

Nothing could take that away from him.