An oily yellow fog hung in the air like thick soup. Scraps of metal and broken machines caught the oil as the air circulated and bead dripped down into small pockets and pools of viscous liquid. Nooks and crannies hid the oil all over the Dregs like little pockets of gold. Old machines, crushed vehicles, and destroyed ships piled on top of each other like layers of a cake. Massive segments of metal and old filaments of colossal Paladins and Knights from the Great War were scattered around as well. An arm there, a leg there, part of a torso there. Everything broken was discarded and tossed into the ever growing pile on the outskirts of the city. A thick mist of fine oil droplets mixed with fumes to permeate the air with a viscous liquid.
Oil was a highly sought resource in the Uppercity due to how it was used to make ether filaments. The demand lead to scores of Scrappers abandoning the trade of metal and instead opting to gather the syrupy liquid that fell from the sky in the Dregs. Bitlin, one such Scrapper, carefully eased himself through the field of discarded metal as not to accidentally overturn anything and spill the precious liquid.
Beads of oil ran down the special glass of his goggles and into a tube connected to the holding tank on his back as he carefully made his way through the dense metal jungle. Jagged edges of ruined frames and bent plates could tear a hole in his suit, or worse, sever the tubes that ran from his sleeve and pant cuffs. An extendable gooseneck nozzle was held loosely in his gloved fingers as he hooked it dexterously where oil could gather. He gently squeezed the handle until he could hear air rushing through the safety valve.
Each step placed deliberately for maximum balance while in precarious position with the sloshing weight growing on his back. His rubber suit tugging at him as he used it for flexibility far beyond its’ recommended parameters. Gnex products were effective, but only if they were used exactly as designed. A hair past their intended threshold and they failed spectacularly.
Massive metal plates and broken Knight appendages created a maze of metal to be navigated with the utmost caution. This particular section of the Dregs was especially tight and narrow making most scrappers steer clear no matter how much oil was hidden inside. Terven steel was very resilient when properly maintained, but bubbled up when exposed to the elements for a long period. Over time the bubbles ruptured and gathered oil in little pockets prime for gathering.
The amount of oil that he could harvest was insignificant in comparison to the hazards of the area. It was a necessary risk however, Bitlin had already run his regular route and come up a short. He must have crossed paths with somebody and not realized it. He would need much more to hit his three tank quota. The sly tone of the Quartermasters’ voice when he had cut the deal still rang in his head as if it was yesterday even though it was many years ago.
“I’ll let ya stay nice and dry, IF ya do your grandpop’s share as well. Tha’s one for yeh kiddo, an two for ‘im cause e’s an adult. You miss and you’ll be out.”
Bitlin exhaled slowly as the hiss of the nozzle turned into a muted hum as the head dipped below the surface of an oil pocket. He pumped the lever with his fingers to keep the suction running as the oil was pulled from its’ hiding place. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of raw filament and his gaze was pulled towards it.
A knee joint from an old Knight, and a Xeder product as well! That could fetch for a lot of credits if he could grab it and get it back. Bitlin squinted a for a second. Xeder parts would be worth a lot, if they didn’t have holes scorched through the side. He could strip it down for scrap later, Xeder used rare metals to make their machines. He scanned the space around for anything else, fibers, filaments, armor, circuits even. He saw a few different makes that had been picked clean, mostly rusted Tellio and Karnik, a few Terven, but no more Xeder.He kept looking until he noticed the sound of rushing air.
The pocket of oil had run dry and he hadn’t noticed, pumping away blindly. Bitlin shook himself slightly, he couldn’t let himself get distracted. He was a salvager, but gathering oil made more money and time was of the essence right now. The soft yellow light had already faded with the setting of the first sun and all that was left was the harsh blue of the second. That light would fade soon as well and he would be left out in the dark if he wasn’t careful.
His grandfather had been adamant that he never use ether powered tools because they were useless when not supplied with power. Ether came from within and if he ran out of energy he would pass out in the middle of nowhere, alone. An electric light was out of the question as well. The oil didn’t ignite easily, but when it burned, it burned. The last time the Dregs had caught fire left a perfect circle of dust where even the metal had disintegrated.
As he looked around at the Dregs he noticed dark clouds gathering on the horizon just over where the sacred forest was supposed to be. Rain never made it this far. The oil haze knocked it out of the sky, but it was pretty to look at before it disappeared.
The nozzle spluttered as it overflowed and Bitlin retracted it, tightening the spigot before precious drops of the oil were wasted. He pulled out a small personal container and reached up to dip into the puddle before leaving. He went up on one leg as he felt his suit protest as he stretched. Using his fingers to scoop out just a little more oil for himself before he left the Dregs for home.
Loose blots and metal shavings danced on the ground as a low vibration hummed from beneath the earth. Bitlin froze with oil slowly dripping off his fingers. The ground bucked suddenly and he lost his balance as his feet skidded on the ground. He teetered dangerously and held his breath as he scraped his ribs against the jagged plate with exposed wiring behind him. He waited for the burning sensation that came with a torn suit as his flesh rusted at the oils’ touch.
After a few tense seconds of nothing but cold sweat, Bitlin exhaled slowly though his filter. His suit had held. The night chime rolled across the in a distorted echo as he straightened and screwed on the cap of the container and hooked it to his belt. He began the long trek back to the Station through the Dregs as the last sun began to tease the horizon.
Broken clouds disappeared under the endless expanse of stars unfurling overhead. Bitlin was careful to keep his balance as he made his way through the silent metal jungle. Now that he was done looking for oil, parts and pieces of tech jumped out at him in the fading light. Joints, armor, thrusters, frames, chassis, clumps of wiring, and even broken filaments all appeared before his eyes as they darted around. His minds eye restored the machines to their former glory before becoming scrap. He traced and reproduced every inch into a mental library of diagrams and measurements.
Nuts, bolts, fastenings, connectors, and even the odd filament would find their way into his hands without him noticing. The quality of the pieces varied, but that didn’t matter. He would polish them later. Even these old bits could be of use to someone, especially if he sold them at a lower price. Every credit counted down here.
As he was sliding down a particularly smooth section of metal he saw himself reflected in the mirror like surface. Dusty brown suit, gas mask, grey gloves. He certainly looked like a scrapper, covered in oil and powdered rust. If only he had the time and the means to hunt metal.
Bitlin reached the bottom squeezing through an opening in the wall where he paused, half out in the open. This was a remarkable clean opening, no rough edges or jagged corners. The edges of the metal were like think mirrors. He followed the rim and slowly ran his gaze back up the way he had come. The panel was long and flat. The polish had also held up rather well considering were it was. His breath caught in his chest as excitement bubbled up from his toes. He was standing on a relic from the Great War, the sword of a paladin class mech.
The massive blade was stuck into the ground, covered by generations of scrap, but seemingly unblemished by time. The oil must be keeping it from corroding he thought as he looked around excitedly for any trace of the massive machine that had wielded the awesome weapon. He wasn’t expecting anything to remain of the Paladin, but there were sure to be something of value nearby. Places like this were rarely picked clean. He made sure to remember the surroundings so that he could find this place again before returning to the Station.
The Station was nestled under the broken shield of a fallen battle mech on the outer edge of the Dregs. The Terven make had left the armor bubbled and pitted as it aged, but it kept the oil out and that was all it needed to do. Flickering red light emanated from bare filaments running across the floor stuck out in the darkness like a beacon. The eerie light gave the building a feeling of foreboding as it lit up the surroundings. Scrappers gathered like fleas underneath the canopy to trade machinery and deposit oil to be purified into filament.
Long trails of neutral white ether light streamed from the common pathways of the Dregs. A few red dots bobbed in with the common color, but they were so few in comparison. Most that ventured out into the Dregs carried some for of illumination for the dark, but Bitlin only had a few glow sticks for emergencies. Anything else was too expensive. He hurried to join the trail before he was lost in the dark. His calves burned as he hauled the full tanks through the metal forest. The ground became slick under his feet and he slid down a slight decline into the traveled path. A group of scrappers were carrying piles of scrap with white ether lights pointed forward. Bitlin snuck in behind them, close enough to catch the ambient light, but far enough to not seem like a threat. The last thing he needed was to get blasted in the face for accidentally surprising someone.
The scrappers joked around with each other until the reached the Station. Bitlin followed them until they took the left to the scrap yard and he went right to the refinery. Bitlin stepped onto the cleansing grate and pressed the switch for the fan to blow any loose oil up into a saucer on the ceiling. He held out his container and collected the dribbling liquid carefully as he glanced around. The sun had set before he had made it back and only a few scrappers were still trading, but there were plenty of people taking a dive in the bar.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The Quartermaster was busy filling drinks so Bitlin shrugged off the top of his suit and waited patiently next to the oil deposit. Conversations buzzed around him and he let himself drift off in them as he watched the moons rise.
“You see the size of that rainstorm?
“No, but I felt that tremor. Those old pipes are gonna burst one o’ these days.”
“You hear about Teral?
“That old bag of bones? What’d he do?”
“Hey teapot.”
“The Guardians have been sending more units as of late.”
“Aye, must be because of them rebels. Got stopped on my way home I did.”
“Those muggers, causin trouble for us workin folk.”
“Dere was ah scuffle earlier taday. Prolly gonne be a bunch stomping round.”
“Teapot!”
Bitlin’s eyes head snapped up as he jumped with surprise. The Quartermaster was leaning over the counter next to him. Red filaments wrapped around the Quartermaster pulsed as his ether powered the building’s utilities. “Wakey, wakey. You find enough today?”
Bitlin hooked his tank up to the deposit and pulled the lever to apply suction to the tube. Both he and the Quartermaster watched the dial slowly climb as the depot recorded his addition. The needle stopped just shy of three bars even though there was still a little oil left. They watched the last drops of oil climb up the hose and into the depot without the needle moving.
The Quartermaster clicked his tongue and pushed himself up on the counter. “Well boy, you did yer best.” He said. “But you’re a little shy.”
Bitlin felt his face get hot and his vision narrow. He very deliberately reached up and gently tapped the glass dial.
“Yeah. Must only need a little more.” He said as he pulled out his personal container. The depot sucked the small container dry in seconds but the needle twitched its’ way above the bar.
“Made it.” Bitlin said as he gathered his things, only then realizing that his fists were clenched.
“Mmm.” The Quartermaster grunted and waved him off. Bitlin hurried off, anxious to get away from the Station. When Bitlin was gone the Quartermaster stepped back on the filament that powered the depot and the dial jumped way up past the fourth bar.
“Tha’s sly.” The nearby drinker said with slurred speech. “‘E always bring back ah ful pot, dun’ needa trea’ ‘im li’e dat.”
“The rest of you can barely get two bars. Someone has to pick up the slack.” The Quartermaster said glaring at the man and snatched the bottle away from him. “You’ve had enough. Get out.”
“Aye, aye.” The drunk mumbled as he stumbled out of the bar. The quartermaster took one more glance back at the dial before getting back to work. No way he would let a piggybank like that go.
Bitlin hurried through the Undercity avoiding the glowing red lights in an effort to avoid attracting attention with his garb. Scrappers were widely regarded as people too weak to work and easy pickings for thugs. His ears were still roaring as he ran through the night market. He was making his way by the machine shop when Nuli poked her head out.
“Hey Bit! You got any extra oil? I’m just about out.” She called after him. Bitlin paused and backpedaled. Nuli worked maintenance and custom parts for fascinating filament machines. Bitlin envied her for being able to work with machines all day and this late at night. this particular piece was a Terven ball joint, highly sophisticated with a wide range of motion.
“Sorry Nuli, Shinar’s sticky dial took my whole container today.” Bitlin said. He wiped the sides of his container with his finger and held it out to her. “All I got.”
“Tha sneaky bastard.” Nuli said following with a curse as she scraped the drops of oil onto the rim of a cup. Bitlin’s ears burned slightly as she uttered it and he averted his eyes inside the shop. “Sorry, bud, slipped out.” She apologized as she handed him a small sack.
“Fresh buns.” She said as she tapped her chin. “Tell you what…”
She produced a small vial with a slide pump. “If you could take this with you tomorrow? I’ll give you credits by volume…”
“I will.” Bitlin said taking the vial. “Why do you need this stuff so bad anyway?”
“Oil is the best medium for Ether.” Nuli said putting a cap on the cup. “I need it to make my own filaments. The stuff sold around here is no good for my machines, wastes too much energy in heat just moving the power. These hyenas charge top dollar for the crap too.”
“Does it really make that much of difference? I see all kinds of scrap out there and I can’t tell the good from the bad.” Bitlin said. That was a lie. He knew exactly what the difference was, but Nuli had first hand experience in crafting and might tell him something new if she explained it again.
“I’ve told you this several times already!” Nuli said exasperated. “Besides being more flexible, higher quality filaments lose less energy as heat. The hotter the filaments get, the faster they degrade and fray. Now get out of here before the Guardians finish their shift change.”
“Right.” Bitlin said as he walked his feet away a little disappointed with the diet version. “That rotor joint is bent three degrees on the fastening disc, it’ll rub against itself too much like that. Probably makes a grating noise…” He added as he stretched past the window. Nuli looked back and forth between the rotor joint and Bitlin’s shrinking back.
“Where were you four hours ago?” She grumbled to herself as she grabbed a level and went back over to her workbench with a grinder. She pushed aside the lubricant bottles she had emptied and drew up the angle with a laser. “Ha! It’s two degrees. Some genius you are, off by a whole degree.” She muttered as she went over two her tools and selected a large hammer. “Time for some persuasion.”
Bitlin and his grandfather lived just on the outskirts of the ventilation channels in a hollowed out orb of thick unoxidized metal. For the life of him, Bitlin had no idea what make the orb was made from, only that he didn’t recognize it. He liked to think it was the eye of a fallen colossus from the Great War, but his grandfather didn’t like that idea. It made sense why, Grandpa Wakal spent all day and night in there. Bitlin climbed the ladder and poked his head over the rim of the hole.
“Hey laddie.” A raspy voice echoed slightly in the spherical space. “Busy day?”
Grandpa Wakal was lying on the bed where Bitlin had left him early that morning. Lying frozen in place by the rust slowly taking over his skin with growing scales of powdery red metal. The final fate of the Ferroblood. Rust had claimed his whole right side and part of his left leg, leaving only half his face and torso exposed as the rust slowly bled from his pores in a fine powder. Bitlin hoisted himself up into the socket to slid down the side.
“Hey Gramps. How ya feelin.” Bitlin asked as he wound the light up to power it.
“I’m bored stiff!” Wakal said as the lamplight wavered slightly. “ Slap my knee for me boy!”
Bitlin smiled and rapped his knuckle against the old man’s leg with a clang as they shared a laugh. The old man’s sense of humor was still fine tuned even in his sorry state.
“Nuli gave us some buns.” Bitlin said holding up the small bag with a smile.
“Ah she’s a good lass.” Wakal said. “If only she wasn’t a Mechie.”
“Ah, she’s alright.” Bitlin said as he counted out four small buns. How thoughtful.
“I’m not feeling very hungry today, you can have my second one. You’re a growing boy. You find anything today?” Wakal asked as Bitlin handed him his two. Bitlin paused and swallowed the stone in his throat as he nodded. He turned away to hide trembling lips.
“I found these.” He said dumping out his pockets of all the little things he had grabbed on his way back to the Station.
“Ah, and you call yourself a scrapper.” Wakal sighed. “These are barely worth their weight.”
“I don’t have to sell them for metal, they can still be used.” Bitlin said around a mouthful of bread. “The price beyond the sum of parts.”
“And deal with an Armorer? Nonsense. Stay away from them, you hear? They only care about money, that’s why they all make weapons. Aren’t any good souls anymore, buildin’ or fixin’. No one fixes anything anymore, they cast it away and replace it as soon as there’s something wrong with it.” Wakal said.
“Some still do. I don’t see other people with new gear all that often. Most everything is jerry-rigged now anyway. Nuli had a nice terven joint in for tuning, hardly throwing it away.” Bitlin said as he gave his equipment a through check.
His pump was all dinged up and scratched, even the nozzle arm was a little bent. Wakal had gotten Tellio models and they were probably the most valuable thing they owned. One had been sold long ago when Bitlin got sick to cover the medical fee. Wakal had saved the extra tanks from one to attach to the other. That way he could still meet their quota with just one pump. Then he became afflicted with rust and was rendered unable to move.
Bitlin rubbed his hand over the welds attaching the three tanks. The craftsmanship was seamless. Wakal had been quite skilled before he lost his fine motor functions. If Bitlin hadn’t known that the tanks didn’t come like that he never would have known. Granted, the appliances themselves weren’t rather remarkable to start with. Tellio appliances weren’t fancy, but they were tough. He was on his fourth Gnex suit and he still had the same pump. With that in mind he checked where he had scraped the suit earlier for any tearing. His suit was old and worn, but it hadn’t degraded enough to be compromised.
“New to us is new, doesn’t matter who had it before us. Those fools would strip each other naked if they thought they could get away with it.” Wakal rambled. “If they spent more time caring about their neighbors than their own pockets people wouldn’t have to live in holes.” Wakal said gesturing around wildly. “Mechie’s built this whole city for crying out loud, from the ground up! It reaches out to touch the sky! And what do we get? Rust and dirt. If they were truly good people they’d still be working to help everyone, not just working for the highest bidder.”
“People gotta eat grandpa.” Bitlin said as he shoved another bun in his mouth.
“People gotta live too. Wakal said. “Just survivin’ aint livin’. Spend too much time grinding away at your life for profit and you’ll end up like me, at the end with nothing to show for it.”
He grabbed Bitlins’ arm with strength that Bitlin didn’t know he still had and pulled him close. His back creaked as he strained against the rust covering his body
“Promise me boy, don’t waste your life here. Not like me. Here at the end with nothing to show for it.” Wakal coughed as he clanked back down still clutching Bitlin’s arm.
“I won’t grandpa.” Bitlin said softly as Wakal wheezed on the floor.
“Good.” Wakal said and weakly reached for the drawing board laying next to him on the floor. He shakily tried to brace it against himself, but it kept falling from his grip. Bitlin sat next to Wakal and handed him the stylus. Wakals’ hand shook from even the slight weight of the stylus. He could hold it, but just barely.
“Now, yesterday was converting complex cross threading into simple single threading, do you remember?” Wakal wheezed.
“Yes.” Bitlin brushed the board clean and scratched a few things on the surface. Wakal watched for a few minutes and listened to Bitlin explain the process.
“Good. I’ve had all day to think of this one, so we’ll move on.” Wakal said. “Today will be energy reduction across large surfaces, coupled with heat diffusion and reduction in joints.”
Wakal taught Bitlin until he passed out from exhaustion about an hour or two later. Bitlin closed the entry hole most of the way, leaving it slightly open for air flow and slid quietly back down to the floor. A few half started pieces of junk stared at him from where they lay in a pile in the corner. A quick mental check and he realized he hadn’t found any missing pieces. He carefully placed each of the knick-knacks he had scavenged in a bucket teeming with them. He took one last deep breath before slumping over to finally rest. One day he wouldn’t have to get up early and work all day to get by. One day he would make what he wanted, when he wanted, for who he wanted. One day.