The City Goes Dark

By J.J. Shubert

Ernest is just a fixer, a maintenance worker whose duties mostly amount to replacing lightbulbs and turning things off and back on again. But when a citywide blackout plunges New Victory into near-total darkness, no one else seems to be stepping up to do anything. A local doctor enlists Ernest's help to get the hospital AI system back online and figure out what's gone wrong. He soon finds it's not one problem but several: someone has sabotaged the hospital, people aren't looking away from screens, and the AI system is not behaving as usual…

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.J. Shubert
• Release date: Jul 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223757702

J.J. Shubert

J.J. Shubert is an avid reader and writer who prefers science fiction but will often stray across other genres. Aside from novels, her other works include poems, novellas, and short stories. She works in a library and at a community college in Illinois. In her free time, she also enjoys camping and playing video games.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The power went out at 8:00 sharp, after the sun had set and the shutters had been drawn. Ernest had his eyes closed when it happened and saw the back of his eyelids darken, sure, but more than that, he heard the whooom of the power being choked off from his apartment building and felt that hollow sensation in his chest that happened when all of a sudden, the eternal electric symphony of almost—but not quite—inaudible whirs and hums reached the end of the song.

He opened his eyes. It didn’t make a difference; the darkness stayed the exact same. He could hear his tinnitus ringing for the first time since he’d moved to the city.

Then, a few seconds late as usual, the secondhand clockwork on the shelf started chiming. Eight clongs rang out, tuneless and oppressive in the new silence. Ernest counted each of them.

It was the only clock in the city that still had a voice. Pretty much everyone else had the network-certified clocks with customizable tones and the impeccable synchronization, but as a fixer who worked on electronics all day and saw them for what they were, Ernest kept as few as possible in his actual living space.

One exception was his phone. That couldn’t reasonably be avoided these days. But when he flipped his open, he winced when he found it dead. He used it so little that it didn’t run out of battery too fast, but it also meant he didn’t think about it enough to charge it.

Muffled cries from nearby neighbors indicated their power must be out, too. So, it wasn’t just his problem.

He pushed himself up out of his armchair and moved slowly with his hands out towards the apartment’s exterior wall, away from the cries. His rough hands pressed against the crinkled paper of old photographs pinned to the corkboard on the wall. He worked his way left until he found the smooth, cool surface of the window and shoved it open, then did the same with the coated shutter on the other side.

At this time of night, it wasn’t much, but it was some light to work with.

Ernest frowned. It wasn’t as much light as usual. The street lights were out, too. So, it had to be a sector problem, not just a building problem.

This mainly still was, he realized, his problem. At least, that was the likeliest situation here. A transformer must’ve blown or something else of that magnitude. He vaguely knew about that sort of thing, but it’d been a long time since he’d learned what to do about it. This stuff didn’t happen in the city, had never happened as long as he’d lived here. It had the network to make things more reliable. If any little thing did go wrong, anyway, it was usually up to the software geeks. They only really needed hardware guys like Ernest when something decided it was going to physically blow up or corrode or, in most cases, just stop working and need to be replaced.

If that had happened, city officials would be at his door any minute to demand he figure it out. He sighed and headed to the nightstand, squinting, and retrieved some old candles and a lighter. After a few clicks, the lighter still worked. Dull orange light bloomed across the walls, unsteady but more helpful than the outside light. It was overcast with the threat of rain, hence the shuttered windows. There’d been an acidity warning for it; it’d be worse than usual, so people were supposed to stay indoors and protect vulnerable surfaces, i.e. keep their windows shut.

The candle had its own little glass jar, so Ernest could carry it around for a minute before it got hot. He went to the kitchen and fished a bag of tea lights from a drawer, setting one candle on the kitchen counter and one on the bathroom sink even while something in the back of his mind told him it was just a trick of the weather and everything would flash back to normal in a few minutes. And if it didn’t, well, so what? It was night. It was time to sleep soon, anyway. Maybe he’d just go to bed early.

Some of the neighbors were panicking about the dark now. He couldn’t make out words but he could hear yelling. And...he frowned. Scratching?

Meanwhile, Ernest’s fat yellow cat, Butterball, hadn’t so much as looked up from her spot in the middle of his bed. He pushed his fingers across his stubbly hair and sat back down in his armchair, blocking out the faint sounds around him. Some people were just too afraid of the dark.

He set the candle on the rickety card table next to the armchair and picked up the hardcover book he admittedly hadn’t cracked open in years. He just used it as something sturdy so he could sit in his armchair and write. His penmanship looked even worse on the lined note paper in the dark. He reread a bit and then picked up where he’d left off before he’d started resting his eyes:

I have some time off, tomorrow, though, so I can hopefully finish fixing the recliner. It’ll take at least an hour, to GET to the spring I know I need to replace, and to put it back together. Whoever builds these things, doesn’t think about who’s going to repair them. Where to go for the parts? Try the place on 23rd first. Shouldn’t have to leave Rabbet, but I think, there’s a place in Lower Riverside if not.

So, the power went out. They better not drag me out to fix something. It’s night, it’s cold, it’s raining. I’m supposed to have time off. I’m not the only fixer in the city. Maybe because it’s my sector, though. They better not. I didn’t even get to finish the game, but we were losing, anyway. At least, I’m not missing much.

Ernest added a few more commas; he was always paranoid about whether or not there were enough. It had been at least thirty years since his last grammar lesson in grade school, but he remembered how much his teacher had gotten on his case for missing commas. Then he stopped and frowned. Something about this wasn’t right.

He set his writing aside and picked up the radio from the card table. The radio wasn’t that modern, but it wasn’t a relic. It was the only thing in his apartment besides the phone that connected to the network. Its cord dangled towards the floor outlet. He turned it over in his hands, then thumbed open the battery case. It was supposed to run on battery power even if it wasn’t plugged in or getting external energy. When had he last changed the batteries? They were in there alright. He snapped the lid back onto the battery case, but nothing happened.

He turned the volume up all the way and heard the faintest of static. Okay. So, it worked, it just wasn’t getting anything. He frowned at the tiny display which barely glowed at all.

His shoulders relaxed. Any second now, the answer would come to him. Or the radio would work like it was supposed to and someone would calmly explain what was going on. Yes. It was all going to be fine.

Old instinct told him to smack the side of the radio, but no, no, there was no need for that. It was just...getting warmed up.

His tinnitus got louder.

TAK! A sharp sound startled him out of his reverie. He set the radio aside and stood up, rubbing his eyes. Boredom had compounded the weariness into something weird.

Another sound, less sharp but from the same direction, followed the first. Ernest could tell what it was and went to the window, cautiously sliding it open. A faint mist had started up outside, tingling his skin where it made contact, but there was no hail, at least.

Hey! a voice yelled down from the sidewalk below. Past that, there were some trees and then the overpass; Ernest’s window didn’t face the bulk of the city, which he liked. People didn’t tend to walk around the back of the apartment building. But someone was standing there, waving her arms. There wasn’t another soul in sight. How do you have light?

Candles? Ernest called back. Was this a trick question? Had she been throwing rocks at him? I can, uh, drop a tealight down for you if you want or something!

Do you know anything about what’s happening?

Ernest shrugged. Power’s out.

Obviously! Do you know why?

Not really. Probably something went screwy at the network facility. Someone spilled coffee on a capacitor, he joked.

Are you a fixer? the stranger asked hopefully.

Ernest winced, regretting the joke and its technical vocabulary. Yeah, but I can’t do anything about it. The city’s got their own guys for the network. I’m more of a glorified lightbulb replacer.

"That’s fine! Come with me anyway. I work at the hospital up the road—nothing is working—this can’t be happening. I’ve got a patient going into labor any hour now. Everyone’s all stuck behind these damn doors. I need somebody," she snapped, sounding more frustrated than desperate.

Okay, okay, Ernest sighed, stepping away from the window. He hated it when people got uppity and impatient about being cut off from their TVs for five minutes, but he supposed it was different with the hospital. People had monitors and such, and the doctors really had to see what they were doing.

He threw on his long coat, shoes, and hat since it was raining, then tried the door. Of course, the standardized automated slide hatch didn’t slide at his touch. He twisted out the lever for the emergency mechanical override and pushed.

The door didn’t budge.

That didn’t make sense. The override didn’t rely on power at all. The only reasons the door wouldn’t move were that something was physically obstructing the slide track, which there shouldn’t’ve been, or Ernest had tripped the burglary lockout, which he hadn’t, and even if he had, that wouldn’t work with the network down and the power out. Would it?

What the... He employed the tried-and-true fixer method of making at least three attempts with increasing force. The third time worked, but his relief was temporary. He considered his route and realized there would be several more sets of doors to get through—to the stairwell, out of the stairwell, and then out into the street—and at least one had a physical lock the owner locked at 8:00 each night, except she was usually early, but she’d unlock it if you had to leave, but she was probably stuck in her apartment...

Ernest stepped away from the door, the candlelight wavering in the wake of his coat. He grabbed his general maintenance key, which he could use to open or unlock any powered doors, though that still wouldn’t help him with the physical lock.

Hello? the doctor outside called out again.

Ernest went back to the window. The door jammed a little and that’s just one. Something’s wrong.

I know! I said, they were all stuck at the hospital, too. Can’t get into any of these buildings. Nobody’s come out yet. The windows’re all blocked, too. Yours was the first open one I saw. How come your window’s not stuck?

The automatic shutter’s broke.

Even in the dark, he could see her make a face. Aren’t you a fixer?

Yeah. That’s why I broke it. ‘Automatic’ just means the thing’s just more unreliable and a pain in the neck to fix. Look, ma’am, I don’t know what you want from me. I’m two stories off the ground up here, and I’m not exactly inclined to jump down. I’m no spring chicken.

Don’t you have a fire rope?

I’m telling you, just let the network folks have ten minutes to do their jobs and everything’ll be fine, Ernest insisted. Even his neighbors had quieted down now. Things were getting calm, settling down. This was the problem with relying on anything more technical than the sun rising and setting every day. Things went wrong, and you just had to live with that. The crash should’ve taught everyone that, if nothing else.

The doctor demanded, What? We experience a city-wide blackout and you’re just going to sit around and wait for it to magically get better? Look, I just—I just need someone who knows something about connecting a terminal to a power node. I know that’s supposed to be, like, step one you learn in pre-school, okay, but I forgot about it in favor of steps 2 through 99, and so if you won’t help me, you can at least tell me what I’m supposed to do, okay?

Ernest stared down. ...If there’s a city-wide blackout—terminals get their power from the same plant as everyone else. That thing shouldn’t be on.

I know. And none of the others are. And this one doesn’t even want to be on...whatever it’s on. But it is. It’s the only thing that’s working, and I just need to do whatever it is I have to do to make it work better and get some of these doors open and get to these patients. We don’t have any emergencies right now except the pregnant patient, but I’m sure there’ll be a dozen more getting into accidents in the dark like this...

Ernest jammed his hat on his head and retreated from the window. Snatching up his journal, he scratched out one more message:

Update: stuff that’s supposed to work doesn’t, and something that’s supposed to be off isn’t. Going to investigate.

He lingered just long enough to blow out the kitchen and bathroom candles before stuffing the journal, the bag of tealights, and the lighter in a pocket with his other tools and wrenching open the wall-mounted box for the fire rope. I think you’re right, he admitted as he uncoiled it. I better see what I can do. I at least got a key that might get some doors open for you. Would you mind holding this steady for me? He tossed down the rope.

The doctor caught it and held it still as he painstakingly climbed out of the window and into the open air. He wasn’t that heavy, but he wasn’t skinny, either, and he used to have the muscles to make climbing easy, but that was years ago.

All the same, he wasted a few seconds struggling to shut the window as much as it would be shut behind him. The rain would damage his carpets, and the fog of it would ruin his walls and everything. Besides, the last thing he needed was Butterball running away on top of everything else. Not that she was inclined to acrobatics any more than he was.

The window closed to about an inch around the rope; it’d have to do.

Really? the doctor muttered.

I have a cat, Ernest grunted as he descended.

Oh. I—I’m sorry I’ve been a little—it’s just that none of this is making any sense and it’s already been a long day, the doctor said, steadying Ernest as he came to a rest on the ground.

Likewise. Sorry, too. What’s your name?

My name is Dr. Keen, she said, sounding a little rote. Probably used to introducing herself to patients that way. And you’re...?

Ernest. He glanced at her in her minty scrubs and frazzled bun of dark hair. C’mon. We’d better get back there before this rain picks up, you without a hat and all. You didn’t have anything in there you could take with you? How’d you get out, anyway?

The locker room where we keep our stuff is locked, she answered one question but not the other as she led the way, setting a brisk pace. Ernest had to jog to keep up, leaving his lightless apartment in the gathering gloom behind him.

CHAPTER 2

Around them, the city was eerily silent. Most people would’ve been indoors when the outage happened, of course, avoiding the rain. They’d be bundled in their blankets inside, cozying up and winding down for the day. Ernest longed to be among them, but now that the situation had presented these inexplicable incongruencies, he knew his mind wouldn’t rest until it got resolved, anyway.

Here in the Rabbet neighborhood of New Victory, a few of the buildings were falling apart and boarded up, abandoned in the exodus after the crash and then forsaken as unsalvageable by the few who remained. The lived-in buildings—well, now with how the doors were stuck, they had the same feeling. Mostly, though, they were just vague shapes in the dark.

Ernest lived in the western bit of Rabbet that was right by Lower Riverside where the hospital was. He and Dr. Keen reached the building in a few minutes.

Right away, it became obvious how she’d gotten free of the building: its lower level had wide glass windows and doors. Very modern. One of the windows had been shattered. An office chair laid guiltily on the sidewalk. Dr. Keen swept past this without comment and climbed through the opening, which she’d lined with linens or towels or something. Once inside, she offered a hand to help Ernest through. Her grip was strong and steady.

The window led to some office side-room. I don’t work on this floor and I forget whose office this is, Dr. Keen explained as she stepped over to the doorway. Probably where the secretary retreats to when he’s not at the front. There’s no label. Whoever it was, they left the door open—I haven’t run into them. Careful of the chair I put here in case this door decides it wants to close.

Ernest got his bearings and spotted another desk chair braced in the doorway. You’ve done a lot in the half hour since the power went out, he noted and fumbled in his pockets for the candles. A few clicks of the lighter got one lit.

I was looking for a light. I was pretty persistent about it. My patient is really uncomfortable, lying in a pitch-black room. Thanks, she added about the light, then grabbed an abandoned coffee mug from the office and carefully set the tealight inside. The mug was translucent, so it gave off a decent bit of light, though the dirtiness and patterns in the plastic sent patches of darkness sprawling around on the walls along with the glow.

It was enough that they could walk down the sterile hallway without problems. A cleaning cart sat askew in the middle of the hallway like a monster in this light. Where was the janitor, then?

Where’s the terminal? Ernest asked instead.

This way. Dr. Keen led the way confidently past door after door. Voices came from behind one. Shuffling behind another. Ernest examined one door for a moment and, either because of its design or because of the low light, couldn’t even find a place to work in the maintenance key to force it open. Figured.

Another turn led them to an open doorway at the end of its own little hallway. Pale blue-white light gleamed against the linoleum at the threshold. The door was labelled TERMINAL ROOM. It reeked of bleach.

It was more of a closet, the way most terminal rooms were. Nobody was supposed to actually go in there except for maintenance. Why the door had even been open, Ernest couldn’t guess. It was supposed to be kept locked for security.

The terminals were dusty. They were old models, thick and chunky with boxy screens and wide keyboards and tangles of cords dangling from their backs. The standard three of them sat on a table that had duct tape wrapped around one leg. Two were reassuringly dark.

The middle terminal glowed faintly. Dark gray surrounded the words:

Insufficient power; signal unreliable.

Please connect to alternate power node.

Ernest relaxed a little. "Oh, duh. There’s a couple different terminal models, but—yeah, these’re the ones that’ve got onboard batteries. Keeps them functioning long enough to reroute the—plug the terminals into somewhere better in the event of a power outage, y’know, like a breaker trip or something, so it’s got enough juice to light up the monitor and tell you where the problem is, so this is supposed to be normal, except it’s also supposed to tell you where the damn