The pounding came again, louder this time, shaking the entire frame of the dilapidated door. Havel’s grip tightened on the hammer. Zenia clutched the radio to her chest, her small face drawn with fear. “Wait outside, Officer!” Tazya called, her throat tight. “We are not prepared to receive you. You are early.” “Early?” A booming voice, rough as splintered timber, rattled through the wood. “The District Ration Board’s schedule is not subject to a citizen’s convenience, Voris! Open this door, or I’ll consider it obstruction of duty and double your coal tariff for the month!” He hammered again, three more blows, each one jarring through the house. Tazya exchanged a frantic look with Havel. Obstruction of duty was a severe charge, enough to revoke their housing points. Havel slowly lowered his hammer, his face a mask of cold calculation. He moved towards the door, his movements deliberate. Tazya instinctively stepped in front of him, her hand reaching for the latch. “No,” Havel’s voice was a low murmur, barely audible over the Inspector’s impatient grunts. “Let me.” But Tazya was already turning the rusted iron, pulling the door inward with a groan of protest. The man standing on the threshold filled the doorway, his silhouette imposing against the grey, snow-dusted street. Vance was a hulking man in a thick, grease-stained overcoat, his face scored by wind and gray bristles. A heavy Board insignia, tarnished brass, pinned his lapel. He stepped inside, not waiting for an invitation, his heavy boots tracking slush onto the already damp floorboards. His eyes, small and dark, swept across the dismal interior, lingering on the tarp-covered window, the single, sputtering oil lamp, and Zenia, who had retreated into the deepest shadow, clutching her radio like a shield. Vance stopped directly over the small, precious pile of coal they had carefully hoarded in a corner near the hearth. Without a word, he raised his heavy boot and deliberately, with a slow, grinding motion, kicked it. Black dust exploded outwards. A few lumps skittered across the floor, coming to rest near Zenia’s feet. The largest piece, jagged and vital, rolled under a sagging cupboard. “Just checking for loose planks, Voris,” Vance sneered, his gaze fixed on Tazya, whose hands had clenched into fists. “Wouldn’t want any precious fuel going missing through a hole, now would we? Ration fraud is a serious offense.” “There are no loose planks,” Tazya said, her chin lifted. Black dust coated her boot tips. That lump under the cabinet was two mornings of heat. “Perhaps not. But your file indicates a single occupant at your previous flat, and now suddenly, a spouse and a dependent, all demanding a triple allotment.” He produced a sheaf of forms from his pocket, snapping the paper with a thumb. “Convenient, Voris. Right as the freeze arrives. A sudden match, wouldn’t you say?” “Our marriage is registered,” Tazya retorted, planting her feet. “And Havel is an established worker in Vesker, with ledger entries at the Central Audit Bureau. Zenia is my sister and a dependent minor. All under Rule 7.C of the Winter Allocations Act, revision 21-A.” Vance squinted. “Rule 7.C. You have an agile memory for paper, Voris. You sort ledgers, don't you? Always ferreting through obscure clauses. It will not spare you a charge of falsification. Your paperwork claims ‘joint habitation with spouse prior to enactment.’ Yet your prior file shows no shared address. Explain that, Voris. Or do you deny your signature?” He held up a page bearing a red wax stamp. Tazya’s mind raced. He was trying to trap her. They hadn't cohabitated. They hadn't even *known* each other. She clung to the wording she had copied onto scrap paper by candlelight. “Sir,” she said, clipping each syllable, “Rule 7.C, sub-clause 4, paragraph Beta, explicitly waives ‘prior joint habitation’ for any citizen whose prior room was condemned under immediate clearance by the Civic Housing Trust. Skarn Street 12 was condemned three weeks ago. The files confirm it.” Vance’s face darkened, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He hadn’t expected her to know the sub-clauses so intimately. He had intended to catch her off guard, to force a confession of fraud. He scowled, his gaze darting from Tazya to Havel, who had remained silent, a looming presence behind Tazya, his hands now resting lightly on her shoulders. “Clever evasion, Voris,” Vance grumbled. “I am not done. Show me the sleeping quarters.” He stepped toward the back room, angling to examine the floor pallets. Just as Vance took a step, Havel moved. It was a fluid, almost imperceptible shift. His arm, which had been resting on Tazya’s shoulder, slid down, his hand settling firmly, possessively, on her waist. He stepped forward, subtly but decisively blocking Vance’s path. His presence was suddenly immense, radiating a quiet, dangerous intensity. Havel’s shoulders squared, his gaze fixed directly on the brass badge. “Vance,” Havel’s voice cut in, level and dry. “My wife has cited the code correctly. Furthermore, under Civic Statute 3.B, domestic entry is permitted only upon delivery of an active warrant detailing reasonable suspicion, or with the written consent of both tenants. You carry neither.” Vance stopped, his eyes narrowing to slits as he stared at Havel. The accountant’s cold, methodical delivery was just as cutting as Tazya’s precise legal citations. The hand on Tazya’s waist, the way Havel now stood, slightly in front of her, was an unmistakable sign of defense, of claiming. It wasn't the gesture of two strangers in a fraudulent marriage. “Reasonable suspicion?” Vance sneered, his breath sour with chicory coffee. “This entire farce gives me cause!” He drove his bulk forward, his shoulder hitting Havel's chest. “Step aside, Krellin, or I will write you up for interference.” Havel didn’t move. His hand tightened imperceptibly on Tazya’s waist, a silent anchor. “Statute 3.B, Paragraph Gamma,” Havel said, without blinking, “defines suspicion as requiring two sworn affidavits of non-cohabitation by separate neighbors, or physical proof of duplicate lodgings. You possess neither.” He kept his body pinned between Vance and the rear doorway. “As a clerk in Central Audit, I review these filings daily. Any deviation from procedure voids your assessment and prompts a review of your conduct.” Vance’s face twisted into a snarl. He knew he was beaten. He knew Tazya and Havel had cornered him, using the very bureaucracy he wielded as a weapon. He pulled a flimsy, yellowed paper from his coat pocket and thrust it at Tazya. “Fine. Play your little game, Voris,” Vance sneered, his gaze flicking from Tazya to Havel, then back again. “But the Board isn’t so easily fooled. This is a summons. A full audit of your combined household finances, next week. And don’t think you’re so clever. Enjoy the warmth, Voris, because I know you signed the annulment waiver for the Solstice audit.”

The Inspector's Quota