Clouseau stands hunched behind a new oven, attaching the wiring into the wall. Helios would install it himself—but on account of his bad back, Clouseau insisted on helping him make sure the wiring was installed correctly.
“I believe that’s everything.” The two of them look around them, at the newly built bakery in Ludere. “You should be ready to start baking again.”
“Alright Helios, could you show me how you prepare your food? And remember everything we went over.”
Clouseau makes some final marks on his clipboard. “Well Mr Helios, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’ll just drop this off at the director’s office, and then… I’ll be going. Take care of yourself, Helios.”
“Thank you, Clouseau. And not just for the… good word in the report, and getting my bakery running again. For everything. For all you’ve done for the Underground, for exposing those filthy Rats—you know, I never would have forgiven myself if you hadn’t found out the fire wasn’t my fault… You were our Inspector when we needed it the most.
“And you know, you’re always welcome at the bakery. For you, my friend, the mushroom pie is on the house!”
Clouseau walks along the brightly-coloured platforms of Caput—they look nothing like the dreary station he walked into many years ago when he first became Inspector. But then, nothing in the Underground is the same now.
He knocks on a door, and enters.
“Two weeks go quickly, don’t they?” He walks up to a manager's desk, and hands her a report. “That’s the last one.”
“It will be sad to see you go,” she says to him. “Good luck in the Overground, Clouseau.“
“Where do the trains go? If you just keep driving them after their last stop, I mean.” Clouseau looked up at his parents, eyes full of wonder. Young, innocent. “Surely they go somewhere.”
A night some 30-, 40-odd years ago, lost among memories. His parents looked back at him, tired, exhausted from a long day’s work, but loving. The train sped on through the darkness, rushing towards its destination. It was past lights-off already, but Clouseau couldn’t sleep without the gentle rocking of the train. “I don’t know, son,” his father replied. “Maybe someday it’ll be your job to find out for all of us.”
Someday I will, Clouseau thought, as the rumbling of the locomotive and the comforting embrace of his parents gently lulled him towards unconsciousness.
A day two full decades ago, give or take, but one that Clouseau would never forget.
Clouseau sat curled up in his room, clutching his father’s clipboard, staring at it as tears streamed down his face. How could they both be gone? A freak workplace accident, the Director’s Office said. All they could salvage was the piece of wood Clouseau held in his hands.
Stray pencil marks dotted the clipboard, marks of wear and usage. Others might call them imperfections, but to Clouseau they were priceless. Evidence of the years of labor his parents had contributed to Terminus.
He looked blankly at the photos the first responders had found with the clipboard. Behind all the paperwork and documents, a small collection of his childhood photos. A transparent sleeve filled with tiny Polaroids so that they could simply flip up all the other pages and see their son.
Clouseau choked on another sob as he looked at the three of them smiling at the camera without a care in the world. It was all so sudden. “Goodbye Mom. Dad,” Clouseau whispered. “I’ll make you proud.”
It was the day Clouseau adopted the title Inspector – so that nobody else would have to experience what he had.
As Clouseau slips Panther onto his shoulder, he runs through the checklist on his clipboard one more time. Food. Check. Water. Check. Nav System. Check. Satisfied after a final lengthy inventory, he swings his pack onto his back with a soft grunt.
“So we’re not Inspectors anymore, are we, Panther?” he says, gently scratching his companion. “What are we now? Adventurers? Explorers? Helios suggested Sandwalkers, but I think there’s more out there than just sand.” So much more.
If only they could see me now.
He stands before the vast staircase in Terminus Station opening up to an even vaster world, Panther perched on one shoulder, clipboard clutched against the other. The sunlight illuminates his face as he stares at the expanse before him. “Past the last stop,” he says to nobody in particular.
He steps outside.
Written by Vincent C.