Thulani eased his control stick forward, watching the hydraulic arm through his video feed as he lined up the section of pipe with its counterpart.

  "Set," Thulani said into his radio.

  "Good copy," Floyd responded as the light from his deep pod illuminated the work site on Thulani's feed.

  "Sealing gasket in place," Thulani locked the clamp to stabilize Floyd's workspace.

  The arch welder at the end of Floyd's mechanical arm attached to his abby pod flared, brightening Thulani's screen to the point that he glanced away. The pressure gauge on his dashboard displayed red digital figures. 8749 kPa / 1268 PSI. That was hardly interesting. He read the display that absorbed him—oxygen 21.5%.

  Thulani took a slow, deep breath, and his migraine melted in real-time. This! Thulani noted victoriously that this is what it's supposed to feel like. After months of investigating, Thulani found a glitch in the oxygen regulation software and disabled it in his work sub. Now, he was breathing 21.5 % sweet, life-giving O2.

  "Thul!" Floyd barked through the radio, shocking the operator back to his task. His pod had begun to drift, shifting the half-welded pipe.

  "Sorry!" Thulani stammered and nudged his controller, realigning the pieces. He was at work and had to focus. He took another deep breath, and his mind cleared. The oxygen regulation glitch was hidden and likely accidental; in fact, Thulani couldn't identify where the glitch was in the code. However, when the official life support software was updated, it introduced a flaw to the hardline.

  Thulani's thumb almost pressed the radio switch, exposing the mistake to Floyd, but something internal stopped him. Everyone called him paranoid. He was trying to help, but he already had judicial action hanging over him for breaking the rules. Besides, Thulani wasn't a software developer but a pod technician. Voicing his theory without proof wouldn't help his already precarious civic standing.

  His hand drifted to his breast pocket on his jumpsuit. The small square chip in his pocket was the key to proving his suspicion. Surely, he had gotten it right this time.

  "Alright, set," Floyd's voice crackled over the speaker. "Let's go home."

  The two technicians veered their pods from the work site and headed for the decomp chambers. Specks of white floated in the black abyss, illuminated only by their headlights as they steered their minisubs back to base. Only the minisub's six-inch reinforced, high-strength steel hull kept the ocean depth from crushing its soft, fleshed pilot.

  Thulani was tempted to reactivate the air regulation software update to avoid problems, but he closed the software directory on his terminal and decided to let the next technician enjoy the dense oxygen levels.

  Thulani’s camera picked up schools of fish swimming behind protective mesh hatcheries as they passed under the aquacultural district. Farming pods drifted by, feeding the sectioned-off farms, and harpooners patrolled in search of predators.

  Thulani backed to his sealing port and locked it into place with a decompression manhole. After years of experience, the complex and dangerous maneuver had become second nature to him. He crawled through a man hatch and entered Joberg's primary maintenance dock. The air thinned around him as he reunited with the city's life support system.

  U.V. lights cast a muted glow on his mahogany skin, reflecting off the oils and sweat accumulated over his twelve-hour shift. By the time Floyd caught up with him, Thulani had stripped his muted red jumpsuit back, tying its arms around his waist.

  "End of day is Lekker, yeah?" Floyd asked, mopping sweat from his obsidian-dark forehead. The slang was a cultural right among technicians and mechanics.

  "Ja, ja," Thulani agreed, though he frowned at the shallow city air. The software glitch he disabled only affected his work pod. The flawed system still affected the whole metropolis, probably accounting for this season's rampant sickness. Many assumed it was the quality of the air filter, but now Thulani knew it was a matter of quantity.

  "You want to go to the spot and get a drink?" Floyd offered.

  "Ja-nee," Thulani declined. "Olivia’s waiting for me."

  "Maat, say hi to her for me,"

  "Will do," Thulani promised.

  "And Tjommie," Floyd said with a mischievous chuckle.

  "What?" Thulani asked.

  "Don't put another baby in her. Or at least get a license this time."

  "Ah, Domkop!" Thulani hissed, throwing a dismissive hand, and Floyd laughed as he walked away. Of course, Floyd was joking, but he made a good point. Unlicenced impregnation was a civil offense. It had been an accident, though. He hadn’t tried to get Olivia pregnant, but they definitely could have been more careful.

  Thulani passed street stalls with heavy breach hatches thrown open. The road was made of steel grating with a pair of linear tracks running down the center for the irregular electric vehicle. He recognized everyone on the streets—not by name, but at least by face. Joburg was small enough that eventually, he could have spotted an outsider, as rare as that was.

  He stopped by a kelp chip stand, the smell of oil and salt making his stomach rumble.

  “Hello, Thulani,” Mrs. Gumede said, packing his usual order. “See any outsiders today?” Her wrinkled skin dotted with dark liver spots creased as she smiled.

  Thulani snorted. “Nope, just a big empty sea, same as always.” While outsiders existed, they traveled in nomadic small subs and usually avoided Joberg. “How’s Mr. Gumede?”

  “I visit him at the rest home,” she said as Thulani entered a pin into her terminal to pay her. “I’ll join him soon.”

  “Why are you still working the stall?” Thulani asked. “Shouldn’t Neledi be here?”

  “She still feels sick,” Mrs. Gumede croaked, handing over the chips. “Truth be told, I’ve been feeling faint as of late.

  Thulani suppressed the words before they escaped—Because the air was too thin, He’d prove his suspicions before causing any panic.

  “Say hello to Nandi and Olivia for me,” the old vendor said.

  “I will,” Thulani said, continuing homeward. He walked two kilometers inward and ascended six stories. A subtle sense of claustrophobia and vertigo supplemented his suspicions about the thinning air. He needed to prove his mistake soon so they could resolve the issue. He stopped for three breaks to catch his breath before reaching Olivia's hatch. The UV light over her door flickered with inconsistent power surges.

  Thulani spun the dial, inputting the code on the hatch before it clicked open. He pushed the steel door inward and stepped over the raised threshold. The aroma of seaweed crab casserole filled the air, and his stomach rolled. The apartment, while modest, has steel walls designed to withstand the pressure of the ocean should the metropolis flood.

  "Liefie," Thulani called as he sealed the hatch behind him. "I'm home."

  Olivia stepped into view and grinned when she saw him; her baby bump, initially subtle, was finally starting to show. Her pale skin had grown taught as she lost weight during the first trimester, and she had pulled her light brown hair back into a ponytail. She arched her back, trying to alleviate some of the weight. "Hartlam, how was work?"

  "I found it!" Thulani said, setting down his ships as he crossed over and grabbed her hands. "The air is too thin; the regulation software has a problem."

  Olivia winced but quickly covered it with a smile. "You're sure? We can't afford any more negative attention."

  "I can prove it!" he promised as he reached for his pocket but froze. It was in his breast pocket, and he had tied off his suit around his waist. It very well could have fallen out. He cursed and fumbled at his tied sleeves. The urgency melted when he felt the square chip where he left it. Thulani fished the chip out, still protected in a plastic case.

  "I'll connect this to the hardline and perform an O2 test. The older software should give us oxygen readings without the flawed program.

  "Thul," Olivia asked tactfully," How did you pay for that?"

  "I," Thulani froze, realizing she was much more stressed about the money than potentially revealing a systemic error.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  "I made it," Thulani explained. "From old components, and I copied the old software. Olivia, you understand why this is important, right?" He gently put a hand on her rounded belly. "If you're not getting enough oxygen, it could hurt the baby."

  She masked an inner turmoil with a quivering smile. "We still owe 15,000 rands. We should have gotten a license before—" Her hand instinctually drifted to her budding womb.

  "Don't worry about the fine," Thulani drew her in for a hug. "I'm working out a deal with Councilman Vermeulen."

  Olivia gasped and pushed away. "What do you mean? What does he want you to do?"

  "Nothing bad," Thulani assured her. "He owns the fine now and had a few jobs for me to pay them off; his terms are generous."

  "I don't like it, Thul. You know what he does to people who fail to meet his expectations."

  "It's just a few soldering hardware pieces, and he'll knock off 5000 rands; I've already done it."

  "Thul, you're not a systems tech; you drive a pod! You haven't been trained."

  "I haven't been licensed," Thulani corrected her. "I'm not bad." In the living room around them, thick piled systems-textbooks bore testament to his effort. He had read most of them more than once.

  "Thul, maybe you should stop doing things without a license."

  "Vermeulen's a councilman; if this were illegal, he'd get in more trouble than I would!"

  "He's a gangster and a shark!"

  "Olivia," Thulani reached up and gently tilted her chin up. "Nothing will come of it, I promise. I'm going to pay off this fine, then we can get a marriage and a birth license, and then we will raise our child."

  Her big green eyes flickered between each of his; her breath tickled his face, forced and thin because of the limited air supply. He leaned down and kissed her soft lips, and she relaxed into him, her bump pushing into him unexpectedly.

  "Are we going to eat? I'm honger Netnou!" Nandi stomped into the kitchen behind them. Thulani's sister glared at the two of them through wide-set eyes over her pointed nose and sharp chin. She wore a similar red jumpsuit also tied at the waist with toned arms exposed through a white tanktop. She had clipped her mas of coiled black hair on top of her head. Her ebony brown skin was a few shades lighter than her brothers.

  Thulani grinned, and the pair joined Nandi in the kitchen, where Olivia pulled the crab casserole from the oven.

  "How was work?" Thulani asked his girlfriend as he scooped the green and creamy white mass onto a plate.

  Olivia snorted in disdain. "Hydroponics is a joke; I'm a trained water treatment specialist, but they have me reading mineral levels at the farms because I'm pregnant?"

  "Hah, don't be Kakster; I heard you, Gespek, all night," Nandi scoffed, seemingly unable to turn off the slang.

  "Yes, pregnant women throw up," Olicia retorted defiantly, but I'm not so fragile. I don’t need a worthless job."

  "You're throwing up because the air's too thin," Thulani corrected.

  "Not this Kak again, bro!" Nandi groaned.

  Thulani jabbed his fork at his sister. "I'm going to save lives."

  "You're going to get another fine. Can't keep your pants zipped." She gestured to Olivia, who blushed.

  "Hey, wees cool, man," Thulani snapped. I'm sorry," he apologized to Olivia. His girlfriend seldom used slang, making communicating with his sister, who rarely spoke clearly, difficult.

  The bell at the hatch rang. Thulani shifted his chair back. "I'll get it." He dabbed at his lips with a seaweed paper napkin before crossing through the small living room. He rolled the internal wheel, disengaging the seal. The hatch squeaked on unoiled hinges as he hefted it. The doorway framed two men, both shorter than Thulani.

  Cornelius Vermeulen looked up at Thulani, his eyes studying the laborer past his gaunt face. Uncommon for anyone but a councilman or high management, Cornelius wore a vest and a tailored dress shirt. Behind Cornelius, Mendla Zwane looked past his proverbial master for threats. Cornelius was the only person Thulani knew of in Joberg who had a bodyguard. More than personal security, Mandla was also a known bruiser.

  "Mr. Vermeulen!" Thulani stammered in surprise. "I wasn't expecting you today."

  Mr. Vermeulen's sharp blue eyes cut across Thulani's face in an analytical scowl. Thulani had learned that the budding sneer was Mr. Vermeulen's default resting face and not usually indicative of a specific offense.

  "I know I'm early," Mr. Vermeulen prefaced, his voice dry and sharp, "but what are the odds you're done with our little project?"

  Thulani stepped back. "Come in. I'm not quite finished, but I'm close."

  Mr. Vermeulen didn't need to duck to step through the hatch, and Mandla followed like a shadow.

  In the kitchen, Nandi leaned over to see who they were hosting, but her eyes widened, and she took a sudden interest in her meal when she recognized the men.

  "How much progress?" Mr. Vermeulen's languid words caused Thulani to step back, and he couldn't help but feel like he was being studied under a microscope.

  Thulani crossed to the built-in television mantle, retrieved two rectangular ports, and carried them to his commissioner. "They should be able to preprogram unmanned pod maneuvering, but I haven't been able to comb through the software I downloaded for bugs."

  "That should suffice," Mr. Vermeulen removed a handheld tablet.

  "If you don't mind me asking," Thulani started. "A receiver to the hardline would work much better than this. You'd be able to control a pod in real-time remotely, and it would be much safer."

  "Receivers are expensive and have a limited range," Mr. Vermeulen said. "Plus, we rely on the hardline far too much. We could lock a pod onto a damaged sub and send rescue supplies without risking pilots or a receiver.

  The color drained from Thulani's face. "It needs a lot more work before it can do that; it doesn't have a docking protocol yet."

  "We'll work out the kinks."

  Mr. Vermeulen drew a black cable from the mantle and plugged his tablet into the hardline. Thulani watched his 15,000 rand debt appear on the screen.

  "Sir, why do you need it now if you have time to work out the irregularities? I could refine it if I just had a little more time."

  "You let me worry about that," Mr. Vermeulen input a command, and the fine dropped to 10,000. He could have done it remotely as his tablet no doubt had a built-in receiver, but out of courtesy, Thulani's port would record the history of the transaction.

  A heavy weight lifted off of Thulani's shoulders as he watched the number shrink, yet something nauseating twisted inside of him. Why did this all feel so dirty? Potentially faulty hardware wasn’t worth 500 rands.

  "Make me more," Mr. Vermeulen said as he turned to leave, "and I'll have you debt-free in no time."

  The men stepped back through the hatch, and Thulani noticed several knives strapped to Mandla's belt.

  Their backs to him brought him great relief, but something else wrestled with his desire to disassociate from the councilman.

  "Mr. Vermeulen!"

  Mr. Vermeulen paused at the threshold.

  What was he doing? Mr. Vermeulen was the last person he could trust, but the quasi-gangster hadn't scoffed at his abilities and skills. He had treated Thulani like an asset and a tool, but at least he respected his instruments.

  "What if there was something wrong with the air levels? What if the regulation program was flawed? Could you do anything about it?"

  Mr. Vermeulen turned to look back at the pod technician. "I think—" his voice dragged in calculated contemplation, "You should call in sick tomorrow. Seal your hatch, and don't open the door for anyone."

  Thulani recoiled in surprise. "What? why?"

  "Good day, Mr. Mabaso," Mr. Vermeulen exited with his hound at his heels.

  Thulani's skin itched, and the air seemed especially thin. Call in sick? Lock the hatch? What could that possibly be about?

  Thulani shut and sealed the hatch, then turned to find Olivia watching him from the kitchen doorway.

  "How did it go?" She asked, her eyebrows drawn in curious apprehension.

  "Good," Thulani assured her. "Really good. I'll pay off that fine in less than a month."

  She nodded and bit her lip thoughtfully. "Don't get drawn into working with him," she pleased.

  "I won't," Thulani promised. "Just until the fine is paid."

  Thulani plugged his square chip into his hardline monitor and ran the program. He switched the menu to the life support report. O2 levels read at a healthy 21.7%. His chip would take almost an hour to process, so he went to take a shower. Using the buttons on the monitor's side, he purchased unheated five gallons of semi-grey water. It was the cheapest option, costing only just under forty rands. He only showered a few times weekly as water costs could add up. He rinsed in cold water, gasping at the shock before turning off the spout. He lathered with soap and then rinsed himself, using just under a gallon; he'd leave the remaining four for the girls if they wanted to bathe that night.

  After drying off and getting dressed, he sat inches from the hardline monitor as the old diagnostic bar loaded. He didn't hear Olivia sneak in until her arms wrapped around him from behind. "Come to bed," she whispered in his ear, sending a chill down his neck.

  "I'm almost done," he promised her.

  She yawned behind him, stretching her arms and back tight from carrying the baby. "I'm going to try and wait up, but if you take too long and I fall asleep, that's on you."

  Thulani grunted in response, and the progress bar ticked up. "Liefie," he turned to Olivia.

  "Hmm?" she hummed sleepily.

  "Why don't you call in sick tomorrow?" He asked, Mr. Vermeulen's cryptic advice echoing in his head.

  "You serious, Hartlam?" she asked.

  "You don't need to work so hard, and we'll pay off this fine earlier than planned."

  She smiled, light brown hair falling in front of her pale face. "Sounds nice, but only if you call in too."

  Thulani took her hand, her ivory skin contrasting his mahogany brown.

  "How about I buy us dinner on my way from work," he countered.

  She smiled and hummed in satisfaction. "Hurry to bed."

  He smiled as she left, but the expression dissolved as he returned to the monitor. It ticked.

  Surely, he was just paranoid, right? He was worked up over nothing.

  Tick.

  He had to know. Once he had his proof, life would return to normal.

  Tick.

  If he were right, he'd have the evidence he needed to take to the regulation plant. They would fix it quickly. Maybe people wouldn't dismiss him so readily; perhaps they'd take him more seriously.

  Tick. Ninety-nine percent.

  Thulani's nails dug into his knees, and sweat beaded his brow.

  Tick.

  18.8% Thulani staggered back, knocking his seat to the side. The number read in the old program's font next to the updated 21.7% on the official life support report.

  An orange banner flashed across the top and bottom of his monitor.

  Malware was detected. System isolated from the hardline.

  Thulani reached back and bulled his matted coils, completely unconcerned that his chip had locked him out of the system. The screen froze on the two inconsistent reports.

  The entire city of Joberg was slowly suffocating.