Jace hung from the outer ropes, dangling from a height so far above the Earth that the city below looked like a hive of fire ants. He watched with a mix of awe and curiosity as mon-bikes and Sisseroes zipped along the byways. Mon-bikes, the preferred method of travel for the working class, stood taller than most men, a wheel-inside-wheel-inside-wheel technology. The innermost wheel spun reverse of the next one, which moved the outermost wheel along the magnetized streets. The Sisseroes, in contrast, were elongated half-spheres that used polarized metal strips to lift the vehicle’s cabin off the roads.
His arms hung dead at his sides. The phase-torch was heavy in his grip as he flicked the switch and swayed with the brilliant white flame jetting from the phase-torch’s outer heat-ring. He pressed the banding of metal against the air-ship’s steel rivets… the metal softened and melted around the broken joint, sealing the rivet in place. He flicked the switch and the flame winked out. Hand-over-hand, he jerked himself up the heavy rope until he sat cross-legged on the upper platform of the air-ship.
Paige carefully unfolded the map, her fingers trembling over its aged, canvas surface. She slowly lowered the monoscope over her right eye and tightened the thick leather strap. The map’s image bloomed large before her sight, but it was blurred as if through tear-streaked eyes. Instead of rubbing her eyes like her instincts told her to do, she cranked the monoscope’s adjustment valve. The center scope spun open like the iris of the eye. Two smaller gears controlled the fine-tuners… she only had to give the axial gear a quarter-turn and the nearly-microscopic words were revealed.
The lettering was a thing of beauty, broad arching strokes and precise curves that widened on one side of the letter and thinned on the other. To think this flowing script had lain hidden in plain sight for hundreds of years. These curving words formed the images of the ocean’s waves. She could not imagine the skill of the writer, or more to the fact, artist… her own writing balked whenever she started writing very small.
She quickly transferred the miniscule script to her pocket journal. Her handwriting looked as though a bear had clawed curvy marks into the paper. The words described a small Atlantic Island, dead-center of what was now referred to as the Bermuda Triangle. She rolled and tied the parchment map as she pondered the words further. It spoke of a gate and key. If the gate could be unlocked with the key, endless knowledge and wealth could be discovered. She slid the map down into the brass tube and loosened the monoscope from her head. She carefully folded the monoscope’s leather straps and placed it into her satchel.
The rotors had been damaged beyond repair. The rest of the fittings, hoses, and mechanisms appeared to be in fair shape. Without the triple rotors my arm would be useless. The thing would dangle and I’d have to lug it around.
“Of course, I could just remove the limb completely,” I suggested to Lessa. “It will make the climb harder, but it’s useless if I don’t have replacement parts.”
“You’ve been trying to break it for as long as you’ve had it.” Lessa’s voice, melodious and chiding, was full of mock disapproval.
“What can I say? It’s a pain in the…” Lessa’s arched eyebrow halted the last word. Instead, I sighed and finished with “shoulder”. She smiled and nodded. “Satisfied?” I asked teasingly.
“Very much so. It means that you CAN learn. It’s NOT impossible to teach you new tricks.”
“Oh har har… you are too funny,” I responded, words dripping with sarcasm. “I wish you hadn’t dug up that old book of worn-out clichés. Half the time you use them at the wrong time. The other half, they just aren’t funny.”
“You know what?” Lessa prompts, a dangerous look in her eyes.
“What?” I respond in feigned innocence. I knew I shouldn’t have provoked her, but I couldn’t help it.
She tightened her thin lips. She narrowed her beautiful eyes until they were fearsome slits. Then, nothing. She just huffed in agitation and breathed out explosively. “If you don’t want it, just take it off and leave it here.”
I did exactly that. She stalked away to the farthest edge of the mountain terrace’s 3rd landing would allow. Now she was angry and our fun would be over. At least for a little while… ‘I just need to stop talking sometimes,’ I thought regretfully. She knew I loved her and I knew that she’d come around like lightning eventually; but it would be torture to both of us until that time.
My fingers fumbled in the tool pouch until they found the hex-wrench, needle-nose pliers, and ratchet-clamps that were necessary to remove the heavy biomech arm. I loosened the 6 bolts and stored them away. I held the thing as far out as possible as I unplugged the lubricant parts… the dark, viscous liquid squirted in a small arc all over the stone-work. Finally I tugged off the gaskets and unwound the rotation gears. The upper piston hissed as it slid away from the shoulder joint. Then the arm clattered to the ground.
My name is Cyrus Cort. You probably don’t know me and I doubt you will ever hear my name again. I only say this because I’m currently locked inside a DSRV (Deep Sea Robotic Vessel). The lights flicker erratically all around my head. Oxygen levels, however, are good.
“Well,” I murmur aloud, “at least I won’t suffocate while I die.”
The pressure differential is still well within survivable parameters as well, so there is no distinct concerns over being crushed by the ocean that presses down on all sides. I pick up my juice box and take a small slurp… I love the taste of strawberry-kiwi fruit juice in the morning. Is it morning still? I glance at my wristwatch and confirm that it’s still morning… 9:45 AM or near enough.
“I think it’s time for a snack now. Pizza, pretzels, and strawberry-rhubarb pie… that would be delicious. Unfortunately, my choice is salty paste or non-salty paste. Yum!”
Okay, so the tubes were actually creamed food with extra nutrients; but they were pretty vile. I wish they could have sent real food – even cans of veggies would be better than this crap – but this vessel is tiny and only had room for food tubes. I squeeze the goop in my mouth and swallow, trying very hard NOT to taste any of it. I can feel it stick in my throat, refusing to go down. I think to myself that the stuff must be made of slime and rocks. I take my water bottle and spin the cap open. I tip it and pour half of it down my throat, swallowing over and over until the nasty taste is gone.
“Wash, rinse, and repeat,” I say with a shudder. Then I repeat the paste-eating process until the tube is flat and rolled up. “Now for dessert.” By dessert I mean a pinch of white powder made wholly of crushed Altoids. My mouth feels fresher now.
The dashboard blinks and goes completely black. I think to myself what could be happening now. The air vents shut off. My eyes dart around and I am suddenly terrified. I know doom when I see it, and having no power so far beneath the ocean’s surface is surely a sign of my death soon to come.
I can already feel the drop in temperature that was precipitated from the loss of electricity and climate controls. It’s not freezing yet, but soon enough. My eyes boggle out suddenly as I realize that the oxygenation machine would also not work without power.
“So I wonder which will kill me? I’m betting,” I begin with a fake chuckle and a chattering of teeth, “on the cold.”
As I sit there and contemplate my future, things take a turn for the worse. Great bubbles and concussion waves hammer at the outer casing of the vehicle. I know what is happening and curse under my breath. This was the result of deap-sea earthquakes… “Probably higher than 7 on the Richter Scale, that one.”
Ripple after ripple washes over the vessel and it slowly tips over. Through the viewer I can see the sea rolling in cycles of light and dark. I feel very relieved that the gyroscopic actuators did not rely on electricity. If not, I would probably be swallowing hard to keep from vomiting. It is bad enough seeing the landscape twirling. I close my eyes and wait for the momentum to stall out. When I’m satisfied I open my eyes once more… at this point I almost wish that the inner and outer lighting systems were not self-powered through small internal batteries.
Wide in my vision is the sea floor, at least part of the sea floor. About 10 yards ahead I can see the ragged edge of a cliff. Only pitch blackness can be seen beyond. A flicker of green phosphorescence shows that the opposite side is more than 50 yards beyond the closer edge and the sheer drop seemed to fall out to a great distance. I gulp and freeze in place, too afraid to even move. Then I sneeze.
Who knew that 1 sneeze would be enough to send the robotic sphere rolling over the edge. Now I’m screaming like a little girl on a Roller Coaster. Granted I can’t actually feel the motion of the vehicle, but I can see the walls of the canyon move across the view screen as I rush downward.
My lunch rushes up to greet me and I swallow back the acidic bile and slow my breathing. I hear metal groan. My ears feel dense and I pop them. The air pressure is changing drastically. I haul in the view screen and seal the periscope opening. Now I see nothing outside.
“I wonder how far down…” I begin. My words leave my brain and I pull myself up from the floor. I try to ignore the squealing and snapping noises, but when the gyroscopic actuators break loose I cannot ignore it… the inner cabin spins loose and crashes against the outer shell. Again I lever myself up only to find everything sideways or fallen.
My head feels like a bursting melon. My fingers rake through my short hair and find wet blood. The cut is not bad, but head injuries do like to bleed. I feel the blood pound away inside my skull. I am so very tired. Blackness pours into my vision and the world around me vanishes.
I wake up groggily. The blood on my head was dried and clotted, spilled down my forehead and pooled along the edge of the semi-circular console. I just as soon would have slept through my own death; but the groaning and squealing was even louder now and was what had woke me. I roll upwards. I scrape at the dried blood and watch it flake off to the floor… well, not floor exactly – the robotic vessel IS sideways after all.
My throat is clenched thick and my head is still fuzzy. I suddenly begin to feel the chill in the air. It was MUCH colder down here. My teeth chatter loudly and I pull my wool overcoat over my arms. I can see my breath clouding in front of me. I rub my hands to warm them, then I tuck them under my upper legs and rock back-and-forth. I can’t even think from the cold. I reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet. I pull out a curled and tattered picture.
“My love, I’ll be with you soon,” I murmur. A tear falls on the curled-up edge and I wipe it away.
Suddenly, the squealing noise becomes deafening. Bolts tear away from the outer shell and bounce around between the outer casing and the inner cabin. The metal echoes. The outer shell buckles. I close my eyes and kiss the picture. I hold it close and try to ignore the sharp pain that twists inside me as the entire cabin folds in on itself. I feel suffocated with cast, agonizing pain. Then, I feel nothing. I feel peace as the real world drains away. The tight embrace of death takes me.
BOOK 1: AJAX TARNISHED.
Prologue: The Curie Institute – Instructive Orders
--------------------------------------------------
The musty dimness filled Kyle's nostrils and he breathed it in with a sigh of relief... this was like home to him. He had only been an Acolyte for a short while, but the High Curator was already requesting his promotion. He threw the switch and watched the bulb of the old lamp blaze into brightness... these old trinkets always astonished him. He had taken this position to study these relics and see what made them so important. Unfortunately this was not a museum, and the public would not see these items. Not that he really cared whether everyone could see them or not. He was just content to be around these wonderful artifacts and to write down their uses and functional structure.
"Now they want me to move up in the ranks, but I'd much rather stay right here." There was nobody around to listen to his words. "Yeah, I know it would be good for my career. I don't really care for those things though. I just want... no, stop interrupting me." He breathed in heavily and jotted down 'mid-corded with copper wire, dual-braided, pegged and pin-spliced' into the hard-bound journal on his desk.
A knock on the edge of the door buzzed at him, but he ignored it. A second knock echoed through his ears. He closed
his eyes in irritation, but ignored that knock as well. Just as he was leaning back to his work, the intruder began to thud at the door with an obnoxious, angry series of knocks. Kyle sighed irritably and reached over to flip the latch… sometimes it was good that the massive research desk, all formed from the same Teak Wood Tree, rested against the wall next to the door. With the desk set that closely to the door, he could just lean over at these inopportune times. The door swung outward on hinges that crooned painfully in his ears. He flinched at the sound and turned to see who it was.
A thick man with a tightly-oiled, triangle beard framed the doorway. Kyle didn't really know him any more than he knew the High Curator himself... but, then again, he didn't really care who the man was. A scowl on the man's pointy features, a tightening at the corners of his mouth, did nothing to improve the man’s normal harshness. His fluid words sounded funny against his odd accent and throaty voice as he declared, "A message for you… from Sibilante." There was almost anger in the man's voice.
Kyle motioned with his hand, looking over the top of his spectacles. He often forgot that he wore the small round pieces of glass against his eyes while he performed his researching and archiving. “Just drop the message there Parris.” He knew how
jealous that Parris became when he was passed over for things or when he perceived special treatment.
The man – Parris – was built large, with muscles that were more predominant against his robes than any other man he had seen in quite some time. The Curie Institute wasn’t a sprawling palace, nor was it a large complex, but it was populated with at least 500 people, and none of the others came close to the scary strength that Parris Leningard exhibited. It wasn’t like everyone that lived there was a wimpy scholar with arms like noodles; but Parris towered and intimidated.
“I was told,” Parris said, “that I was to give this message into your hand personally. Into your HAND.” The man’s teeth ground loudly even though his lips were tightly compressed. He leaned in threateningly and stuffed the wad of paper into Kyle’s unsuspecting grip.
Parris grunted as if waiting for something. Kyle looked up at him and said, “Thank you for the message. Is there anything else that you need?”
The man grunted again and spun on his heels. “No, sir,” he responded. He stomped out and slammed the door behind him, glaring the entire time.
Kyle watched the door close behind the man before he tore open the envelope and began to read the message inside. When he was done, he sighed regretfully, unplugged the gas lamp, and
stuffed the note in the inside pocket of his robe. Rising from his chair he grabbed up his Curator Manual and left his room. He locked his door back and headed down the hall towards the Offices of the Magistrates. His feet shuffled and his eyes were downcast for the entire walk there, as if he was on his way to be hanged. A short, stout woman with blue-tinged hair met his gaze when he entered the anteroom.
“Do you have an appointment?” the lady asked him discourteously. When he nodded, she just harrumphed and pointed at a row of 6 chairs. She leaned back to her desk as soon as he was seated.
He remembered the last time he had been summoned. It had taken nearly 2 hours before he was seen. This time, he came prepared so that he didn’t collapse from boredom and nerves. Pulling out the small manual he flipped it to the Histories Section and began to read it for what must have been the fiftieth time.
“At the turn of the Millennium, the rising powers of the Multi-National Government (MNG) found that society was in turmoil. This agency determined that the continued use of Atomic and Sub-Fusion Technologies would soon tear the world apart. Turning to top-level scientists and engineers, these technologies were abandoned. Chemical and Alternative
Technologies were turned to in order to repair the deepening fissures between societies and cultures. Over the subsequent decades of effort by these governmental agencies, languages and ideas merged as the ‘True Age’ progressed.
“The rules and regulations of the MNG, as stated in the Constitution of the Lands, were thereby written down as the Histories and were retained in a single location – The Curie Institute of the Past. The Curie Institute was mankind’s second true attempt to collect the vast knowledge, artifacts, and truths of the world in a localized place. The first such attempt could be credited by the Biblical Personage of Noah. Noah’s Ark, where the God of the First Era’s King James Christian Bible presented Noah and his family with the challenge of collecting knowledge and artifacts in the form of the male and female gender of every known species in the world. Thus during the Great Floods would these animal species be kept safe.
Then came the Years of Dissemination, where the information and knowledge of ages long past were hidden away. The only group of people to have access to this information called themselves the CareTakers. The subsequent generations of CareTakers were all
fostered from a single ascendant line dating back to the Originals. The CareTakers did their jobs well and all of the knowledge of the past was subverted, technological advances were guided away from the destructive sciences, and were pointed towards sciences of the natural world.
Now, 140 years after the creation of the Curie Institute, the Curators still watch over the safety and tranquility of the Lands. The New Militia, a blend of governmental agents and military-minded peace-keepers stayed the course and guided the Divergents as they found a variety of methods to curb the questions from the Original Thinkers and the Modernists.”
“You may enter now,” said the receptionist. Her voice was annoyed but he gave her the best knowing smile that he could give.
He pushed the door open and entered the room… it was nearly identical to his previous visit, with small statues at each corner that made him feel creepy. After a gesture from the aged man behind the ornate desk, he flopped himself sullenly into the encompassing chair. Breathing deeply, he asked the man, “High Curator, why have you summoned me? The summons was vague and unclear.”
The man cracked wrinkled knuckles and wheezed out with a long, low hiss of breath. His eyes were small and seemed nearly covered by the mass of creases that lined his forehead and cheeks. His slow drawling voice was low, raspy. “As you know, we have been looking into certain aspects of a virus that seem to be spreading through several cities.”
“A virus, High One?” Kyle asked with confusion.
“Yes, it is a disease that wastes away the body and kills indiscriminately. We have been quarantining these cities to fix this problem.”
“And what do you need of ME in this?”
The old man pursed his lips and squinted. He turned his head away and paused in thought for long moments. When he spoke, his voice was distant, “You have been long trained in certain techniques to suppress the evils of the world.”
The words continued in a droning flow and Kyle breathed harder and harder, eyes wide in a mix of anger and fear. He closed his eyes and felt the desperation welling up in him. He wanted to wail in despair as the realization slowly crept up in him that he would never be able to return to his studies.
***
Part 1: Steel Worx
Chapter 1:
“Time to shut down everyone,” Aaron Jaxler called out to his line, passing the word over to Gaven, who would make his routine circuit around the foundry floor. “Get that final piece finished!”
“Right, sir,” answered a thin man with wings of grey at his temples. “It’s still not quite there yet, though.”
“Well, keep an eye on it… you know how they are about going past hours.”
Aaron turned his attention back to the smelter unit’s thermostatic dial. The gage line had twisted to about 1500, not quite up to the needed 1538 Celsius. He could just envision the iron being sort of lumpy and congealed, if metal could be described as such. The heat dial twisted more and he waited impatiently, tapping his foot until the lines matched.
“Kelvin!”
“Ajax?” replied a droop-eyed man younger than nearly everyone there.
“Fill the mold,” he hollered, exasperated. Kelvin wore on him, needing to be told what to do all the time. “Quickly, please.”
“On it.” The man pulled up the long handle and swiveled the mechanism around.
Aaron hurried over to pull out the guard pin. He slid the pin into its loop and slowly opened the furnace door, shielding his face against the heat. He instantly felt the sweat droplets form and evaporate from the back of his neck. He puffed with exhaustion.
Kelvin swung the handle inward and twisted it. The smelting pot slid into its holder, locked in with a click, and the molten metal began to slowly slide out and fill the rough-looking mold beneath. The metal glowed white and orange as it flowed down. Kelvin held his eyes close together in a squint.
Aaron breathed in the hot fumes and pushed the door closed to the furnace, locking the pin back again. “Ok, now just a little bit for it to cool down and we can put this final piece into the quenching baths.” He wiped moisture from his forehead and fanned himself with a hand, moving stagnant air as if it would keep him cool. He spun the heat dial down to the lowest setting once he noted the metal flow halt. The furnace had to
cool down before switching it off, so he waited a long handful of minutes while the unit cooled down. He never did understand why the unit would break if shut down before the cool-down, but he wasn’t about to test it out.
Once he could touch the metal to the right of the dial without feeling the heat it was time to shut it down. He glanced down the other lines and saw that the other smelting units were already cutting their power. The gears wound down loudly, some of them squealing in protest as the steam rushed out of the heat vents… he could almost follow it on its journey out of the foundry, hearing the hissing heat echo softly as it moved out of the building. The gas lamp bulbs above the other units were being turned off one-by-one. Short of his own line, he was sure the other lines all had their last pieces in the quenching baths, maybe even past that.
He pulled the lever and the final piston piece popped free of the molding, still far too hot to touch. Pulling his leather-bound working gloves tight, he grabbed up the long-handled tongs and warned the others behind the gate so nobody would get burned. The tongs began to brighten from the transient heat, but the handle remained dark and cool.
The piston piece was all one solid unit, with a split down one side, a slot down the middle, and a flare on either end.
Most of these were used in the grand air ships that often drifted through the clouds. Some ended up on the Steam Locomotives that routed at the edge of town. Some even ended up in strange mechanical contraptions that Aaron had never actually used.
“Ajax, you’re losing it,” called Gaven as he returned.
“Thanks,” he answered back, pulling his attention back to the task at hand and turning the tongs to keep the piston piece so it stayed steady in the tool’s grip.
He first dipped the piston in the first quench, the salt content in the water enough to make the metal sturdy. The second quenching bath was made of pure water to cool it down further and clean off the scale and brine that normally built up on first quench. Otherwise the only structural positive was that it seemed to allow somewhat more flexibility. The last quenching bath was the ‘secret formula’ that was pre-mixed by people that understood the science behind it far better than he did. It smelled bad, that’s all he really knew, and it threw out a discolored steam. A bellows forced the noxious fumes away as he performed the final quenching in a detergent-water-sand mix that was spun rigorously by 2 men on either side of the vat. This one washed, polished, and acted as a rinse.
He tested the water with a copper coil. The metal indicated that it was safe to touch. Removing his right glove, he dipped a finger in the vat and then plunged his arm in far enough to pull out the piston piece. They were always so much heavier than he expected. He placed the final piece on the cooling rack and wiped himself down with a towel that suddenly appeared in his hands.
The final whistle had just blown and everyone hurried over to the time clock. The line quickly grew as each person irritably had to wait their turn to punch the time into their card. It took a long time to get through the line as each person had to undo belts and snaps and other things to get themselves free enough to handle their timecard. The handle of the time clock always ground and seized up. Whenever he glanced back, there were all sorts of heads popping out of the line to peer ahead, hostile and impatient. He could understand the sentiment, especially for those on the far lines that couldn’t make it to the front of the line. People shuffled and milled around, talking to their friends nearby.
Aaron was never one to make too many friends where he worked. He did his job and went home to his family… this was just a means for food and shelter and a sense of pride. Others liked his quiet attitude, for the most part, which is why he
always ended up getting the promotion or the position of authority wherever he went. He never really asked for it or even wanted it, but he had to be good at what he did otherwise he wouldn’t get it.
He pulled the lever and heard the slight crunch as the cutter bore the oddly-slanted hole in his timecard. He had to tug and wiggle the paper to remove it, but at last it came loose in his grip. He slid his timecard in the corresponding slot and nodded to the next person in line, a hard-faced woman that he only knew from others.
“All yours,” he told her. She didn’t really respond, instead just smiling slightly as he backed out of the way. He shook his head slightly and started to walk away.
“Ajax, how are you?” asked one of the workers. He answered back that it was going well.
“Hey Ajax, how are the wife and kids?”
“Ajax! See you tomorrow.”
“Hey buddy, I don’t get to see you often anymore… still on line 1?”
“See you in the morning.”
Aaron didn’t mind them all, but he didn’t really understand how he had become so popular. His own line didn’t seem to enjoy him being there, but others seemed to take it that he was a close friend. Maybe they all thought of him as a way to get promoted… he had seen it before, people crowding to the bosses to get more money or power. To think that, if it came down to it, he would have been content to go back to being ‘just one of the guys on the floor’.
As he made it beyond the line of floor workers, he heard a keen whistle and looked up. To the far side of the work floor, a narrow door blocked the heat from escaping to the offices, meeting rooms, and upper management suites. He didn’t even really know what all was up those stairs, but he suddenly got a very ominous feeling. A head peeked around the door, with brown curls and long lashes. Eila Garner, secretary to his direct supervisor, motioned for him to follow her. Most men found her quite appealing to look at, but she was just a little too thin for his taste.
‘She isn’t a troll or anything,’ he thought to himself as he took to the flight of stairs. Her frame seemed to curve and wiggle in a dance as she climbed upward.
“Weller wants to speak to you,” she spoke downward, her voice mild and accented from one of the Eastern sea-side cities.
She was a bit muffled, but still the condescending tone came through.
Aaron didn’t respond. He didn’t really like this woman’s attitude or personality. ‘She acts as if she owns the place,’ he thought… then, like a whip, it hit him that there may be a reason she acts like she owns the place. He harrumphed at the thought. She turned back quizzically, but he just made it seem as if he was worn out.
Eila reached the Third Floor Meeting Room and pushed open the steel doors. The room was brightly-lit with a dozen third-turned gas lamps. The steam-piped furnace was currently off and none of the normal heat rose from its coils. Eila’s mahogany-inlaid dictation type machine rested in the corner with a tall stool pushed up to the lettered keys. Aaron closed the door behind him with a quiet thump… it was then that he took note of the filled room.
Unfamiliar faces, all of them. Eila grinned back at Aaron, her lips curving with haughty condescension. She looked to the head of the long oaken table and leaned forward, her lips pursed. Aaron could only imagine she thought this was sexually provocative and would land her some sort of recognition or reward from the man that represented the power seat. All eyes
seemed to swivel towards the man, finally familiarity among strangers. Eila blushed girlishly and dashed to her stool.
Herrmann Weller, Foundry Manager and Vice President of Operations for the entire coastal region, sat in a high-backed chair made from high-grade aluminum. He wore his customary black, pleated trousers and burnt-umber shirt in the flowing, trim-sleeved tunic style. The man’s overcoat was adorned with a pair of military stars and a badge of recognition hanging from the shoulder.
The man himself was a stone slab of a man with a stolid expression at all times. He motioned Aaron into the room and waited. “Please, come in and feel welcome, Mr. Jaxler,” Weller invited. A flurry of clicking sounds and quick whooshing noises seemed to repeat his words, the sound of pistons and gears echoed from Eila’s corner. “You can have the seat at the foot, Mr. Jaxler, and then we will explain what is going on.”
Aaron took the indicated seat and furrowed his brow. Rapid introductions were made, with cursory head nods or quiet, accented words from the other meeting attendees. The room grew silent before it became extraordinarily busy and intense. An hour passed by as he heard from several men and women. He listened intently to arguments, criticisms, suggestions, and demands. A second hour was gone before he knew it and he was
ushered out of the meeting amid a squabble of voices, all talking over the top of each other. His mind swam with confusion as he tried to process the information… he listened to the clicking of keys, the humming of the typing machine’s inner gear-works, the babble of words, and the sounds of the steam furnace hissing with sudden life.
For him, this meeting was over and he could leave. He couldn’t fathom what needed to be done, not at the moment. He decided he would let the information simmer. Eila was standing before him, speaking, but he wasn’t able to focus on the words. Her indignant stare and quick tugs to his jacket pulled his attention to the realization that they wanted him now to leave the room. She pushed him from the room, barely opening the door to allow him room to leave.
He climbed down slowly. The stairs downward were dim and he was aware that nobody else would be there still. His feet echoed loud in his ears, but he couldn’t think about what was beneath his feet or in front of his face. There was too much going on in his head already.
He shook himself as his hands twisted the handles of the outer door, just now taking note of the intervening space he had crossed in thought. His brow creased and he puffed out a concerned breath… he didn’t know what he would do.
Chapter 2:
The doors were heavy and he didn’t even open them all the way before squeezing out. He let the doors slam shut behind him as he slowly made his way to the curb line. He barely noticed the damp drizzle falling from the steely clouds overhead. A blue-and-white striped Electro-Slider slid up in front of him. The front-most window squealed as it slid downward into the thick metal door casing and out of sight… a head lowered and peered out at him.
“You have a Passenger Card?” The man’s voice scraped against stone. “I don’t give rides for free.”
Ajax pulled his card from his pocket, waving it in the air. The rear door beeped and the locking mechanism hummed as it gears spun. It took a few moments before he was bending his head into the cramped seating. He wasn’t overly tall, but he was not short either, and only a youngster or very small adult could sit in a Passenger Electro-Slider with any level of comfort.
The man was grey-haired and wore the usual attire of Passenger Drivers, blue-striped slacks with a cobble-hat angled downward to shield his eyes with the squared brim. Ajax always thought the hats were weird to look at and never wanted to wear one… at normal times, he would laugh inwardly at the wearer that
looked like they had placed a bent aluminum food can atop their head and peeled up the metal at the front.
“So? Where to?” the driver asked impatiently.
“You know where to, Marv. You’ve been one of only two drivers that I’ve taken passage from in the last two years… and what’s going on?”
“Hey, just making sure you weren’t going somewhere else.”
Ajax furrowed his brow before inquiring further.
Marv sighed in response and scrubbed fingers through his grey fringes. “Fine. I had Sam and Jules just before you and they were talking. They said you were called upstairs. They seem to think you were getting promoted… at least, Sam did. Jules wasn’t so sure and she kept saying that maybe you did something wrong… that maybe you were reprimanded or even fired. If that was the case…” he broke off with a shrug and tried to turn around.
“Nothing so grand or so lucky,” Ajax breathed. “It was something much worse.”
Marv froze with a questioning expression, so Ajax began explaining. By the time he had finished quickly capturing the scene, Marv was shaking his head. “Wow, I don’t envy you that.”
“Thanks,” he responded sarcastically.
“And you’re certain you are heading home instead of the Fever’s?” The man’s bushy grey eyebrows were concerned.
“No, I need a clear head to think through this, and drinking would not give me that clarity.” Ajax sat back and sighed, then he continued with a wry note, “Although this would be one of those days to drink myself into a stupor.”
Marv chuckled and turned to his job. “I’ll have you home to the family in no time… how’s Morgan and the kids?”
The slider pushed off the curb. The grinding of the gears and the hissing of the pistons seemed to crackle in the air as the vehicle moved to the middle of the roadway. The buildings and people on the cobbled sidewalks rushed past his window. The movements were cyclical as the vehicle sped up quickly and slowed down jarringly. His teeth rattled each time, but he was used to the ride’s slow-fast-slow-fast pace.
He heard a small siren in the distance and then another. He could envision the Medic-Trans Electro-Sliders aglow in Warning Orange as they sped up to residences. There was probably a good twelve out at the moment in all different sectors. The viral influenza appeared to be extra hardy this season and was contaminating a lot of people, far more than the
average season. The clash of those squealing sirens reverberated against the slider. He assumed that the noise dampeners were still in place, since the noise would be near-deafening with them removed. He wondered if anyone close to his house was infected… he certainly hoped not.
As he rode along in malleable silence, he started counting the houses that were roped off and marked with quarantine tags. Some stretches stood untouched, then there were stretches where every house was marked. Some with 1 house tagged and all the others safe, some the complete reverse… the random nature appalled his senses. Out of all the homes that he ticked off in his head, the numbers came out to about 1 in 20 houses were tagged, and just a week ago the number of infected was nearly zero. He squeezed his eyes shut and just tried to ignore everything.
When Marv drew the slider to a halt at his house, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He had fallen asleep with the tension clawing at his belly and throwing spasms in his shoulders. He still didn’t know what to do and he didn’t want Morgan to have to worry. She had her own job and the kids to take care of… that was like having multiple jobs from everything he had witnessed, and his own kids always seemed fairly well-behaved compared to so many others at their age.
Marv handed him the note-board and the pen like always. He waited as Ajax signed his name and marked down the amounts. His card was good for at least four more double-rides before he would need to fund the Passenger Account again. When he handed the note-board back, the greying man’s hard hands clasped his own and the man nodded. Ajax inclined his head and waited a long, awkward moment before sliding his hand free and opening the door.
“Everything will be alright, Ajax,” Marv declared, feigned confidence evident.
Ajax was not so certain. He nodded once and walked like a man who had been given a death sentence.
He breathed deeply before swinging the front door open. Marv drove off with a small honk, meant to be reassuring Ajax was sure… it didn’t really help. The evening gas-lamps were already sparked and glowing at each end of the street and the haze of the night was nearly fully draped over the neighborhood.
The green paint was peeling along the edges of the siding plates. Several dirty footprints were ground into the welcome mat and Morgan would be getting upset if it were not brought in for cleaning. Drooping, he pulled it up and slung it over his
shoulder. The strip fibers clung to his overcoat and he didn’t even need to hang on to the thing to keep it from falling.
Morgan, always dressed to perfection with a content turn to her full lips, stood in the doorway. One eyebrow was raised in question, but all she said was, “Good, you’re home. Thank you for bringing that in… I was going to ask you to do that tomorrow since it needs a good cleaning. Put it in the basket and come in, dinner is ready and your kids are getting impatient.” She waited only a few moments for him to drop the mat into the wire-mesh laundry basket, then she was tugging him into an embrace.
“I’m sorry I am late, my love,” he said, covering the worry with feigned indignation. “The bosses wanted me to attend a short conference.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, not like I had anything to add… most of it was referring to the accounting department and financial agendas.”
“I’m sure you put your thoughts in,” she replied with a impish grin and a slow roll to her eyes. She laughed at his reaction and said “come on and eat.”
“Ha ha ha, you are so very funny,” he responded, not wanting to miss the chance to dish back the mockery. Nobody that overheard them would ever mistake it for a real argument,
but sometimes they just had to fake fights and insults just to act like everyone else.
He rushed after her and gave a small pinch to her bottom. “Not in front of the kids,” she cautioned, insincere.
Gavin covered his eyes and twisted in his seat, having seen the pinch. “Yeah, not in front of the kids,” he said, his voice still young and high-pitched, now full of anguish. “I did not want to see that.”
“Well,” Ajax replied, brushing a hand over his son’s head, “Perhaps you should not have watched.”
“How could I not watch? I’m hungry and I was hoping you were coming in so we could finally eat.”
Ajax looked at his son, who seemed to be holding back apoplectic shock with a single hand. He had a strong chin, just like his grandfather had lived with all his life… too strong, many would think, and his ears came out a bit too far to make him anything but gawky-looking right now. He remembered that age, it was difficult. The boy was pushed up to their rectangular table, seemingly pinned up against the framework… whenever he moved, the lace-tipped table cloth threatened to tug loose.
“Mom, tell Gavin to stop doing that,” complained Sofie, seated straight across from his son and nearly the complete opposite personality-wise. “He always shoves himself right up against the table and.. look! whenever he moves around, my plate starts moving. I hate it when he does that.”
Ajax chuckled softly, always glad of his children. Their normalcy was enough to push out some of the earlier concern. After giving Gavin a small hug, he moved around the table and did the same to his daughter. She turned her cheek up like she did so often these days with an expectant smile on her face. He gave her a peck on the cheek and ruffled her hair… the startled look that pulled her features outward gave her the look of an owl with those big eyes as round as they could be.
“Gavin,” Morgan cracked.
Ajax looked over and his son was sitting there, etched in shock, having been caught in the act of pulling on the table cloth. Gavin released his grip on the fabric and his face flushed. Ajax just shook his head slightly and pulled out his chair. His had arms, just like his wife’s.
The smells of roast pork and buttered peas was warm in the air over the table. Four tall glasses were filled with the lime-colored drink that so many people were drinking these days.
It was supposed to be fruity and was supposed to contain a lot of healthy ingredients to keep the body strong. He and Gavin dug 3 spoons of sugar each and mixed in their drinks. Morgan and Sofie, like porcelain statues of perfection, shook their heads and tipped their glasses back in unison. He shrugged at his son and took a swallow, nodding in satisfaction.
“So, let’s eat,” Ajax announced after a folding of hands and the normal meditative moments were done. “It looks delicious. How was school?”
“Brant was mean again,” Gavin said with a wave of his spoon. “He made us take a test… and he didn’t even give us time to study before it. Brian was so mad.” Brian was a short, angry boy that was in Gavin’s class and had been in his class from day 1. The two boys were pretty good friends outside of school, but Ajax could see that changing already as Brian was getting bigger and more athletic. Gavin had the same genes as Ajax, which meant that he was probably not going to win any medals for running or jumping or games in general. His 10-year-old body would fill out, but not for a long while.
“Well, my day was great. Sefani and I went riding today,” Sofie said into the quick silence, sticking a tongue out at Gavin. “I ran the course and was rated a 4.” His daughter’s beaming smile was enough to lift the spirits of any who might be
sad. He could envision her in a wellness role when she was grown; but she was only 12 right now, far from grown.
Sofie had shown finesse with horses and so the school had placed her in riding courses. There weren’t too many schools around that offered specialized classes, but he and Morgan had been fortunate to have a job that offered educational benefits. She continued on as she dished herself up, glancing around the table.
“Hey, don’t take it all,” Gavin hissed. “You might get fat and the horse you ride might not be able to pick you up.” He made a face with puffed-out cheeks and laughed at her angry flush.
“Shut your mouth. You can’t ride at all.”
“I could if I wanted to, but I just don’t want to.”
“No you couldn’t.”
“Yes I could,” Gavin said, sticking out his chin.
Ajax glanced at Morgan and she just shrugged, the spoon full of pork and peas. She mouthed something that he couldn’t hear, but he knew she was saying ‘they have been like this all day’. It was a common sentiment.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Gavin spluttered around a mouthful. He swallowed at a warning glance. “There were 3 more kids gone in my class… I heard that some are really sick and might not be back for a long time.”
“Yeah, that’s the same in my class too,” Sofie agreed. “But there are already 6 gone from my class… and I overheard someone say that Jazlin was going to die.” Her eyes glistened.
“They’ll be fine,” Ajax replied firmly. “You know how rumors are.” He didn’t know whether these were really rumors or not, but he fervently hoped so.
After that, dinner became somber. Everyone ate in near-silence, only broken by the sounds of chewing, swallowing, and drinking. When the plates were cleared, he sent Sofie and Gavin to shower and dress for bed. They grumbled less than normal, then trotted away to find their pajamas.
Ajax helped Morgan wash the plates and glasses and gave his kids a hug and kiss as they returned from showering, hair lank and wet. His brow furrowed after each left, concerned again and trying to forget that he had to tell Morgan about the meeting.
He went to the shower, stripped off his dirty and metal-encrusted clothes. When he stepped under the steaming water, he just stood there and let the heat leach out some of the stress.
When he felt his muscles relax, he started to really think about work.
“Ajax,” the short woman with auburn curls said, a stubby smoke-pipe clenched in her teeth. “We need you to make the announcement tomorrow at your weekly meeting.”
He thought her name had been Gladys, but he hadn’t really caught all the names. He felt his stomach knot up instantly. He felt like an executioner all of the sudden. His coworkers would not be able to make it without the benefits of the union. They would blame him, but there was really nothing he could do, was there?
Herrmann Weller watched him impassively. He scrutinized. He said nothing. The man was like a stone and did not care about his employees.
“Just like that?” he asked.
“Just like that.” It was Weller, slapping the table. “There are too many costs. The financers and investors would lose money.”
“What about the workers?” he questioned angrily. “There are a lot of people that work here that could not get by without the union. The benefits are what allow them to even come to work, some of them.”
“Then they will not work here. As simple as that.” Weller was a viper under the foot and a bear over the head. He could do whatever he wanted and he knew it. “We are not asking you. I don’t care what you think of the decision. I only care that you do as I say.”
Morgan tugged him out of the shower and looked into his eyes. Her expression was suddenly dour. “What is it Aaron? You can tell me.”
It all came flooding out of him in an instant.
Her arms surrounded him as he told her all about what had actually happened during the day. He didn’t bother too much with the details before the meeting or the actual words in the meeting, but was able to make plain how little he could do.
“I know these people,” he said roughly as his throat tightened with emotion. “I know them. I know how many will not make it.”
“They will get by,” she replied sternly, confidently.
“I don’t even know if we’ll make it by without the union benefits. The schooling, the insuring of our health… the Passenger Card is even a union benefit. If I have to pay for the ride home each night, that will be nearly 500 weekly… I only make 2600 weekly.”
“I know.”
“Then we have the house… the union covers that cost as well. We may have to move.”
“Aaron, stop. If we need to move, then we will move. We will do whatever is needed. The kids won’t like it, but they will cope. They are young still.”
He swallowed back the rest of his worries. He knew that she was right. “What do you think I should do?”
“Ultimately, it’s up to you. You really think the others need the union to survive?” She watched his nod and continued, “then you do what is right. Don’t let them dictate this. Stand up for them.”
“They may fire me for it.”
Her eyes turned down and she thought about it before speaking again. “How much money would we need? If we moved to a cheaper district and a smaller house?”
He pursed his lips and tumbled several numbers in his head. Right now they were paying 3700 out for all the home, education, meal, health, and extraneous costs each week. He made, as he had already indicated, 2600 weekly… her income added another 3400 weekly. That was enough to give them a comfortable life
with 2300 extra each week. So without his income, they would be 300 in the negative each week.
‘If we move to Tarlyn Market,’ he thought, ‘housing would be around 1000 weekly, and the schools there were only 500 weekly.’
Morgan watched as he calculated. She smiled and spoke into his thoughts. “Hon, we can make it. I already know the costs of all those things and my income is enough to make it by. Not comfortably, but we could make it by.”
He looked dubious. “I don’t know. There are so many things that we might be missing.”
“Then you may have to sell yourself,” she mused. “I know that older woman up the street, Marys I think her name is, always seems to have her eye on you.”
“You, my dear,” he mocked, “might enjoy that too much. Maybe I could just get a different job instead.”
“Okay,” she sighed in mock exasperation, “but Marys might pay better. Feeling better about this?”
“I’m fighting this then.”
“Yes, you owe it to yourself.”
He whispered a kiss across her lips. “I’m glad you are on my side,” he laughed softly.
He wasn’t completely confident, but at least he felt like they were aware of the possible challenges afterwards. Maybe it would not go badly. Maybe. Curling up beneath the blanket, he rested his arm over her shoulder and watched her drift to sleep, envying her ability to slough off the concerns and worries. Sleep did come, but it was more than an hour that he breathed in and out, trying to blank his mind. His dreams, as expected, all centered around losing his home and job.