### James I > *"Each pod would eventually make its way out of the city and — James' line of thought stopped on cue. The pod dropped steeply, and the hum of the train became deafening as it plunged deep below the earth’s surface."* Though he had taken the necessary precautions to ensure that his superiors at the ACRON would think otherwise, James was almost giddy with excitement. Sat in the middle of one of Aramnal's private transport pods, James appeared calm and collected. He had always known to represent himself well, but since his employment with the ACRON, his demeanor had become as stable and steady as any even the most disciplined among them. On the inside he was an unusual flurry of knots and tangles, and -- despite his managing to appear otherwise -- his mind ran without end. His body ached from adrenaline that he had suppressed for far too long, but he was truly happy -- a rare occurance in this city. His joy had not surfaced until after this morning's conversation. Despite having heard reliable whispers for weeks, James had delayed his excitement until he was on the magnet train, and thus away from his council's directorship -- at least for the duration of his assignment. This will stand to be the longest period he has been out of touch with the organization in the almost six years that they have employed him. Given the cryptic instruction he had received, James knew well enough that he was allowed very little insight into what was meant to be accomplished over the next few weeks. Being a simple pawn in play had never come naturally to James, but leaving a breadth of room for the unknown always had. He did not take casually the gravity of his assignment, but he cleared his mind to prevent any ramblings it may produce from souring his otherwise delightful mood. "I serve to spectate, and not speculate." James dutifully reminded himself. He felt his way over the words with his palate but not his lips or vocal cords. Silent speech had been something his directorship had encouraged him to utilize while away, and this mantra in particular had been a recent favorite among those in his council. Its words felt more rehearsed than appreciated -- though that was his reason for reminding himself of them. "A smile is only as strong as the muscle that gives it shape," James spoke silently and smiled to himself. His face maintained its complete neutrality. Ground transport in the city had been privatized a couple of decades ago. Since then, it had ceased to be a luxurious affair and become a necessary way of life for many professionals. Rezoning of much of the city had followed shortly after the pods were privatized. Many of the more common folk of Inner Aramnal had found the ability to live in one place and work in another for the first time. The pod's patrons had since become an odd variety of people from so many walks of life. The pod where James would spend the next few hours brought with it at least a dozen others, most of whom completely ignored everyone else. This served as James’ strategy as well, though it was not everyone's idea of pod transport. One man, in particular, seemed hell-bent on eye-balling each of the pod’s female patrons in turn. Another was sound asleep -- though the magnet train hummed at around sixty decibels or so -- and a third seemed to be very drunk. The men and women of Aramnal were as varied in build and temperament as the dunes that surrounded the city, and just as the dunes would, any outliers of Aramnal's general populus were sure to make themselves known. The cost of being unaware of his environment could be his life, a though that was seldom far from the forefront of James' mind. Where he was going, the dunes could either keep your life or take it from you, and identifying the difference is near impossible for those with untrained senses. People he could read, but sands lie about their intentions far more readily than any man could. Despite the odds stacked against him, as well as some of his better judgment, here he was -- a happy man on a magnet train -- hurling through Inner Aramnal at two-hundred-twenty-some miles an hour, and without so much as a hint of emotion showing through on his face. As if by some act of divine interference, James' third-person introspection managed to throw him off. In an almost unheard-of lapse of control, a grin worked its way past his facade and planted itself awkwardly on his person. It would have been an odd sight to behold -- a child's grin appearing suddenly on an otherwise stoic man. No one noticed. James began to wonder at the time of day. It had started to feel like his journey was taking longer than he had been told it would in his briefing. He looked up on reflex, but there was no sun. The lack of windows on transport pods was by design. James' pod specifically was heading to Outer Aramnal, but all of the pods were manufactured the same. Each pod would eventually make its way out of the city and — James' line of thought stopped on cue. The pod dropped steeply, and the hum of the train became deafening as it plunged deep below the earth’s surface. The man who was sleeping awoke at the rise in volume. He did not seem startled, but refreshed somehow, as though a morning nap had been all that he needed before his day's labor. --- *As part of a serialized novella entitled: "Gust".*