Inside the vast array of sewage pipes, grates and pumps, inside the service tunnels and the chimneys of the great furnaces, between smoke and steam and filth and waste, lives a contraption. A mixture of cast iron and gears of copper shaped to look vaguely like a rat, it skulks in the darkness. While it sniffs around, you can see a massive array of teeth lining the inside of its mouth, to make short work of any would-be opponent. In the darkness it skitters back and forth on six bladed, agile legs, making slight clicking noises that echo around the tunnels. It might be needed soon.
 
Darkness has enveloped the city, but in the Governmental Palace the work never stops. Discussions, votes, clerical work, news from other worlds, patents, lawsuits. In the kitchens the night shift has just started, and the cooks are hard at work supplying the government's diligent workers with steady supplies. Several, synchronized servants make their rounds around the palace, refilling lamps when needed, taking orders for ink and quill and documents and so on. The front office, despite the hour, is staffed well enough with clerks ready to service the public. Truly, the work never stops.
 
"This is absurd!"
The fat fellow in the distinguished jacket draws a murmured agreement in the meeting hall allocated to colonial policies. "Our explorers are heroes, heroes take risks!". His opponent ignores the crowd and pushes his point forward, arguing for safety, arguing against unneeded danger and so on. The government's continued romantic stance about the Explorer's Guild, labeling them as heroes and ignoring the high death rate of those who venture into the unknown, has never really been called into question. Soon enough the man is silenced and sent away, a political and ideological defeat to his name. Sighing, he looks to a ventilation shaft above him in the hallway outside, and taps it lightly with his cane. He nods approvingly at the reaffirming click sound that came from the vents.
 
As the night progresses into early morning the meeting is dispersed, having made no notable decisions of any kind. The fat, distinguished man in the appropriately large and distinguished jacket sinks into his seat in the Palace's minor dining hall, waiting to be served his main course. He sips a bit of the Palace's staple red, and nods at the sweet flavor and almost complete lack of alcohol. Politicians must set an example, even when left alone. He briefly reflects on the recent meeting, and the animated young man who argued a lost point. The young are stubborn, he decided, but they do know their place when firmly reminded.
 
As dawn breaks, the distinguished man leaves his jacket on a hanger and collapses into his large bed, exhausted. The workday swirls in his mind as he falls fast asleep. His honest sleep is not disturbed in the least when a groan from the vents above cover a sharp clicking sound, approaching.