The attraction. It wasn't a law of physics. It was a 'Spatial-Utility'. And every kilogram of mass your body pressed against the city's foundation? That was a 'Structural-Load'. A gravitational debt.
Solar stood in the "Weightless-Atrium" of the High-Sector. The air was artificial, smelling of ionized copper and the cold, sterile scent of anti-gravity generators. WHIRRR. HUMMM. Above him, the elite floated in 'Premium-Zero-G' bubbles, while below, the workers were crushed by 'High-Density-Floor-Tiles' that tracked their every Newton of force. Solar wasn't looking at the sky. The sky was for those who could afford the 'Lift-Subscription'. He was looking at the "Mass-Sensors" embedded in the obsidian floor. In Aethelgard, if you wanted to stand upright, you didn't just need a skeleton. You needed a 'Ballast-Permit'.
"The mass-audit, Elias. Tell me the 'Kilogram-to-Credit' ratio is surging with the planetary-alignment."
Elias was leaning against a reinforced pillar, his knees buckling, his breath coming in heavy, pressurized grunts. GRUNT. STRAIN. He looked like a man who was carrying the weight of the entire sector on his shoulders. "The industrial-slums, sir... they're 'Floating'. They're literally tying helium-balloons to their limbs or sleeping in illegal 'Tension-Nets' to minimize the 'Down-Force' on the sensors. They're becoming a city of balloons just to save eighty credits a day. They say the 'Gravity-Tax' is making it cheaper to drift into the void than to walk."
Solar laughed. A dry, jagged rattle. Like a lead weight being dropped into a crystal vase in a room with no atmosphere. CRASH. SHATTER. "Balloons? No, Elias. That's 'Structural-Support Evasion'. If they're not pressing down, they're 'Vandalizing the Center of Mass'. Why are you trembling? It's just an audit of the Newton. Add a 'Buoyancy-Penalty' of 85% to any unit that registers a 'Weight-Discrepancy' of more than five grams. If they want to float, they pay for the 'Air-Space Occupation'. Existence is a heavy-service, Elias. And the anchor is the wallet."
CLANG.
Solar slammed his bone-handled cane onto a high-density tile. The sound was flat—a cold, heavy thud that didn't echo, as if the floor swallowed the sound-waves. THUD. DULL.
"Audit the weight, Elias!" Solar hissed. His voice was a cold rasp. A blade in the dark. "I want a census of every gram. Every pound. Every ton. If it has mass, it has a 'G-Force-Liability'. And tonight? The ground is expensive."
WHIRRR.
A massive gravity-well under the atrium began to pulse, increasing the weight of the lower-sectors to harvest the 'Kinetic-Compression' for the High-Sector's power-grid. DRONE. VIBRATE. Solar didn't flinch. He just watched the "Gravitational-Revenue" bars turn a heavy, metallic purple on his display. PURPLE. GLOW.
"You're taxing the very force that keeps the world together, Solar!" A voice. From the ceiling-beams where the shadows seemed to defy the very laws of physics. The Shadow. He was there, his silver mask glowing with the reflection of the anti-gravity fields, looking like a man who had forgotten what it felt like to have a shadow. "You've put a meter on the very pull of the stars! You're not a CEO! You're a planetary-parasite with a ledger of lead!"
Solar looked up. The atrium was a blur of floating bodies and crushed souls. He didn't move. He didn't blink. "A parasite? No, ghost. I'm a 'Physical Auditor'. You think you're a hero because you 'Fly'? I'm the one who owns the 'Singularity' you're trying to escape. Get off my beams. You're causing 'Structural-Stress' and I'm about to charge you for the 'Density-Manipulation Surcharge'."
POP.
The Shadow tried to glide, but a 'Mass-Increaser' beam hit him, making his suit weigh four hundred pounds in an instant. CRASH. CRUNCH. Solar didn't flinch. He just watched the pressure-plates locking onto the intruder's "Unauthorized-Heaviness".
"The audit is moving to the density, ghost!" Solar roared over the hum of the gravity-well. "Everything is an asset! Every gram is a transaction! I'll tax the jump! I'll audit the fall! I'll put a price on the very gravity that pulls you toward your grave!"
He turned his back. Walked toward the heavy, reinforced exit. The door hissed shut—HSSSSS.—leaving the atrium in a heavy, crushing silence. He didn't feel the pressure. He didn't feel the hate. He just felt the math. It was gravitational. It was absolute.
"Elias!" He barked as the pressure-seal clicked. BEEP. CLICK.
"Yes... sir?"
"The 'Floaters'. Don't pop their balloons. Sell them 'Anchor-Insurance'. 80,000 credits for a 'Steady-Ground' guarantee. If they want to stay on the floor, they pay the 'Friction-Subscription'. And tell the survivors... the world is heavy. But the bill? That's a 'Planetary-Attraction Fee' of 98%."
Solar poured a glass of water from his flask. Cold. Clear. GLUG. GLUG. He drank it while the city below was crushed under the weight of its own debt. He didn't blink. The interest never sleeps. And tonight? Even the very pull of the earth was going to be sold to the highest bidder.
The atrium was locked. And Solar held the lead-weights.