The Red Tower, despite the striking name, proved to be simply a large piece of real estate. A pair of screens on the outside listed several businesses and services that made use of the fifty-two floors. About half of it was taken up by the Trade Leagues, in some form or another, but there were also things like tech services, a hotel, restaurants, no-doubt expensive apartments, some sort of legal service, and a spa.
But Gaylen concerned himself with the reason he was here: The get-together on the second floor. The three of them walked through one of many sets of doors on the front side, and into a lobby that took up maybe a third of the bottom floor. The rest was taken up by several reception desks, doors that led to who-knows-what, several elevators, and staircases of varying width and structure.
They weren’t the only arrivals. People were still coming, but judging by the din making its way down from the second floor, most had already arrived. Gaylen didn’t see a single person leaving, or even making use of the elevators or the doors. Everything flowed up the stairs, towards the sounds of the meeting.
A few people in matching uniforms stood by the bottom of the stairs, observing the arrivals but not engaging with a single one of them. This was an open meeting, after all, and the three of them made it onto the stairs without being questioned about anything.
Kiris got a couple of lingering looks, which she ignored, but Gaylen believed it had more to do with her unusual skin than anything else. Her flawless body was hidden beneath drab, baggy clothing, as it usually was, and her incredibly soft mane of hair was hidden beneath a hood.
That was all reserved for him, along with the person beneath all that invisible armour, and Gaylen once again felt blessed. As they reached the top, Kiris turned her head slightly, and gave him a knowing look. He smiled back at her. Then it was back to business.
The Red Tower’s second floor was essentially one big hall. There were three stages, although only one was in use. About half the floor was made up of large pits, there were tables and chairs on platforms that stuck out of the walls, and a few raised walkways increased floor space even further. The event wasn’t quite a crush, but the extra space sure wasn’t wasted.
“Well, what do you think?” Jaquan asked, and fiddled with his toolbelt. “Do you think we’re welcome?”
“I’m pretty sure we’re beneath notice,” Gaylen said.
Open or not, the event was clearly really meant for local people of import. The exact cut and style of “fancy” clothing varied with societies, but of course it was always intended to stand out from factory workers, service people, and whatnot. Here, that translated into outfits that consisted of multiple different pieces, buttoned together and partly layered. The average number of individual pieces for a man’s jacket, for instance, seemed to be four. Plus, there were the headbands, with tassels trailing from the back. And general vibrant colours.
“I’ve travelled wide,” Jaquan said, as they stood together on a relatively empty stretch of floor. “Seen all sorts of culture, both in detail and in brief snippets at thoroughfare stations. One learns certain universal truths. Such as how easily “fancy” can translate into “silly”.”
“Heh,” Gaylen chuckled.
“You should see the Old Kingdom’s aristocrats,” Kiris said. “You’ll see the tragic results of millennia of accumulated tradition and fashion.”
“I’ve seen images,” Gaylen said. “And yeah, they look like a bunch of clowns exploded and were randomly stitched back together.”
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They progressed further into the hall, slowly and aimlessly, taking in the sights as everyone present waited for the event to truly start. There was catering, of course, and who didn’t take advantage of free food? Gaylen went with a couple of wheat sticks, while his two companions each took a little spongy cake.
“Are you guys seeing any actual order to all of this?” he asked after a few small bites. “Since the High King is supposedly going to be taking questions?”
“I’ve spotted a few drone stations,” Jaquan answered. “I think they might just be hovering around after the main event, serving as microphones.”
“Hmm.”
Gaylen didn’t care for the idea. That kind of setup made it all too easy for a bigshot to be selective about who got to ask a public question, without being too obvious about it. But all he could do was wait, and so he did. There was no point in mingling. He didn’t know anyone or anything from here, in addition to simply not fitting in. The three of them just made a bit of small talk and slowly roamed around. Gaylen stopped at another table, where a caterer with a professional smile offered him a drink in a tiny glass. It was just after he finished it that an electronic warble drew people’s attention to one of the stages.
On the centre of it stood a man in variation of the local fancy/silly outfit, clearly designed to stand out among people who were already dressing to stand out. Around him was a semi-transparent holographic double, three times his height, for increased visibility.
“Greetings, greetings, by above and below!” Chairman Macario said, with the easy charm of a politician. “Thank you all for coming! Thank you all for being here for an historic occasion. Today I intend for us to decide the future of-”
“Oh, if I may just interrupt for a moment?”
The second voice overpowered Macario’s through cranked-up volume. Despite the loudness, Gaylen recognised it.
“Here, on the second stage.”
Gaylen looked, as did everyone else. Oleg stood in front of the curtain. Gaylen looked up, and thought he spotted the drone that was broadcasting the Veroki’s voice.
“Good people of the Trade Leagues, Chairman Macario, I am here on behalf of Undertown,” the man went on. “The backs you stepped on to reach as high as you have…”
Macario didn’t continue speaking through the drones. He just made hand gestures, and the security staff responded.
“But don’t worry, I’m not here to air grievances you’ve heard a thousand times before.”
Circa eighty metres lay between Gaylen and Oleg, but he still felt there was something subtly off about his appearance. His skin wasn’t quite that typical shade of yellow, and curiosity made Gaylen take a monocular out of his coat and put it against his eye.
“After all, mere words have accomplished nothing so far.”
There was a sheen over the man’s face and hands. It didn’t seem to be an attempt to pass as something other than Veroki, because it wasn’t close to succeeding.
“So I’ve opted for a different approach.”
The security guards were almost at the stage, moving around tables and small gatherings of standing people. Oleg paid them no heed, and Gaylen eyed the exit. A bad feeling was creeping up on him, and he started walking.
“Let’s go.”
“I bring a gift, o lords of the Trade Leagues,” Oleg continued. “Drink deep! Drink vengeance!”
The sharp, awful hiss came from many directions. Gaylen looked up, as voices sounded in shrieks, barks of surprise, and outraged yells. Drones had emerged from their stations. They were buzzing about the air and spewing ugly, brown clouds.
The meeting was being gassed.