Fourth Transmission:

Subversion is a way to better define something.

To expand the contexts in which something can exist.

It is not creation, it is a reaction. Manipulation. Cultivation.

Playing on expectations might seem like the only path to creation, but it is an act of theft.

There is no sense in being clever.

-Parts of an old argument

----------------------------------------

I live and work in Speculation City.

It is a series of ancient structures built into a cavernous rocky landscape that is subject to regular seismic activity. It constantly changes the arrangement of these structures and the topography of the rocky landscape around them. Our homes hold their integrity despite this. Those of us who build them have a natural sense of how to accomplish this, and don’t really question it.

Recently a large troupe of academics has descended on these caverns and started poking around and asking all kinds of questions. They made functional towered homes atop the cliffs. They rocked and teetered constantly and often broke, but could be quickly fixed. They’re the ones who started calling the place Speculation City, probably on account of all the questions they had about it and how eager they were to come up with some answers.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The researchers dug deeper and deeper until something responded. They went down and didn’t come back up. Something was slaughtering them down there. Then the mercenaries moved into town, and slaughtered back.

They went down in small groups with sharpened steel and torches, armor and grit. I’ve only seen what’s down there come back up in parts, but I think they look like giant bugs. From what I can tell that’s how the real economy of the city got going. Teams go down, sell what they bring up and maps of the places that are safe to go. People push further and think of new questions to ask. Everything gets more specific. Systems get put in place. Infrastructure.

Expectation.

I cook meals at the last stop before a deep drop. It’s where adventurers go to carouse, find assignment, eat and tell stories before braving the unknown. It’s an outlet to the largest and most dangerous tunnel systems, apparently.

The floor of the restaurant has natural vents of extreme heat that vent up through small craters we turn into ovens and grills. It’s a wide, low dome with tables ringing the outer edges and elevator rigs in the major craters that drop down to the dig sites. I’m in the middle, grilling bug bits and pouring beer.

I have no desire to do anything else. I have no curiosities about what it’s like down there. I might hear tales told over drinks between comrades, but the details don’t linger in my mind.

I look for opportunities to go beyond the cliffs to the wooded lands that surround us. There are things to be gathered there that make the food more palatable and profitable, and probably healthier. I’m not sure if I enjoy doing this, but I do find myself trying to create opportunities to do it with some success.