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Chapter 17

I walked through the evening streets of LowTown, making my way over the patched and cratered old-tech asphalt, quilted with cobblestone patches. Occasionally I’d spy a line of wire, or a glimpse of circuitry through a crack, a call back to the days when lines could shine from the very roads themselves, or so the clergy said. I gazed up at the lines of lights that dotted the walkways, marveling at the sparking hiss of the few old-tech lamps that still worked. Each lamp bore the emblem of ElectroGlo Industries, the words written in a circular motion around a bulbous being wearing a top hat and a smile. They’d been going for five hundred years, some said. A thousand said the church. Both numbers were almost equally impressive as it meant that they still predated anyone and anything in the city.

Along the way, I noticed a rusted, half-buried sign for Erickson's Electro Repairs. The faded logo of a lightning bolt striking an anvil hinted that it was once something worth visiting and always made me imagine what the items that he repaired looked like, which ones broke the most, and in what amazing ways Erickson put them right again.

I wondered what CD would think about them. And about their replacements, monster oil lanterns burning sweet but erratically, their globular shapes strapped to the broken lamps that they’d been set to replace.

Maybe he'd find interest in the scavenged tech items people used as decorations—like the rotary dial phone turned door knocker I saw hanging on one door. A child ran past, clutching an item that I’d seen before, a handheld gaming device, clearly unusable, its screen cracked and buttons worn smooth.

I chuckled lightly. Didn’t seem to matter that it didn’t work. The kid loved it all the same.

The buildings of LowTown had that same sort of character I realized, beginning to whistle while I made my way toward the bar. They were old and cheap, sure, but they were also friendly, leaning into each other like drinking buddies at the end of a long hard night. Each and every one of them was a festive patchwork of repairs and decay, full of cracks and weathered planks.

As I passed by a particularly decrepit building, I saw an old-tech vending machine built into its wall. It was non-operational, with the words ‘Crunchy Genius’ emblazoned across its front, a giant spongy anthropomorphic cake standing tall in a faded image decorating its casing, wearing a long white coat and a pair of thick work goggles. He had a regular sponge cake in his left hand, and he was giving us all a thumbs-up with the right. Someone had turned it into a planter, with vibrant flowers spilling from its open compartments.

Of course, my spot in LowTown was a bit nicer than most, being situated in the quarter market near the Q3 well. Our land plots were bigger, which for most meant their homes were attached to workshops or storefronts, like my own, which gave us some better cred opportunities and a lot more space in which to live. Elli had a plot near my own, though it wasn’t where she lived. It was where she hawked and sold engineered components when she wasn’t fixing up mechs in her bay out in Uptown.

It made some of the people around here jealous, I realized. Only if it weren’t for the fact that she acted so much like one of us that they probably had no idea she didn’t belong. I sincerely hoped it would stay like that for a long time as I didn’t want to see her get into trouble.

As I made my jaunt through, I saw that most of the homes were closed and shuttered, the people inside either sleeping or hitting one of the pubs for some low-cred swill. Some of the residents had rolled out a thin line of wood shavings in the asterisk of the church; a ward against evil, or so the clergy said.

I saw a kid in a ragged tunic and kneeless leggings run up to one line and sweep it with his feet.

“Hey, turdling. Fuck off and leave ‘em be, yeah?” I swore. The kid turned a scarred face up at me and I saw that he was at least fifteen, short, and malformed.

“Eat it, Poity!” he yelled back, disappearing down the closest alleyway.

The little dude thought I was a noble. I grinned at the thought. Poity, a work-dodging weasel who had everything given to him. Yeah, I’d play the part tonight, really dig in and have some fun.

Wouldn’t be hard with Elli on my arm.

I saw a door open, the light from within spilling out into the street, a naked man getting booted in the ass and sent sprawling to the gutters. His clothes followed a bit later, after which a nude woman came rushing out. The door slapped closed, the sound of its locks extra loud and exaggerated by the angry force of the person operating them.

Chuckling, I put a bit of a hurry into my step even as a whistle came to my lips. LowTown had its own native theater, and everyone was cheating on everyone til Holy Sunday came around so they could tell the tech-priests how sorry they were for it all and get their slates wiped clean for Good Place.

As I passed, I continued to catch glimpses of life behind closed doors: a flicker of candlelight here, a moving shadow there, even the shapely shadow of a woman sneaking out of a window from one home nearer to the pub. I grinned, guessing someone’s daughter was defying parental orders and about to paint the town red.

I topped a rise and caught my first glimpse of the Gear and the Goblet, not much farther away, standing in the last twilight embrace of LowTown. For whatever reason, the place in which it had been set had no functioning streetlights anymore, and the place wore its shadows like a well-fitted cloak, a dark and mysterious structure set on the edge of a bunch of nobodies.

As I watched the door open, bright electric light broke the dark illusion and immediately showed off the place’s festive white and blues. In the day, the G and G was a beautiful sight, its owner an artist of some repute and not one to let a year go by without some touch-ups. The inside showed that same dedication, a place of varnished wood and upholstered chairs with painted canvas gracing every open space on the wall. Old-tech remnants were part of the charm—a defunct neon sign flickered above the bar, proclaiming GIRLS DRINK FREE ON TUESDAYS, and a jukebox from centuries past now served as a liquor display cabinet, showing off expensive bottles of the good hard stuff where once there lay records and gears.

I hurried my step, jumping a bit when a cat started yowling from one alley. Already I could smell the Market Square, the scent of its day's foods and liquors making inroads through the metal and oil of our neighborhood. Getting nearer I could see some flickering old-tech, a dancing hologram of a woman in a short skirt winking goodbye as she disappeared, replaced by an advertisement suggesting carnal pleasures and cool drinks in the sauna. Next to it, a closed-up shop’s clapboards indicated it sold the latest and best herbal remedies for the nastiest of sexual diseases.

Chuckling, I noticed that I was finally there. I marched up the wooden porch stairs of the tavern and flung open the door, stepping into the bright overhead lights and artistic delight of it all.

This was Elli’s favorite place, usually, and I didn’t blame her for it. The food was expensive, but the drinks ran the gambit, with watered-down lagers running a simple 5 cred per, and stillery hards running 7 cred a shot.

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I’d heard they had cheaper swill as well if you asked nicely, but that those came with a waver and the possibility of going blind. Neither of us had ever decided to try our luck.

I stepped to the nearest table, set about waist height, and took a survey of the place. The bar, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, stretched across the room, its surface gleaming under the ambient lighting, some ashes scattered over it from the trio of patrons smoking over their tin mugs and grinning rose-cheeked at every woman who glanced their way. Turning away to the bigger mess of tables, I saw a mix of somewhat familiar faces and weary strangers, gathered around tables in this clump or that, their conversations a blend of tales, deals, and dreams.

In the corner, a group engaged in a spirited game of foosball, an old tech game that had been battered hard over the hundreds or even thousand-plus years, yet still hung together. The gasping laughs and cheers of that crew pierced the tavern air, overwhelming all other sounds.

There was no Elli, though. Not yet. The thought crossed my mind to grab a drink and nurse it while I waited, but I decided against it. She wasn’t like most ladies I’d known in my life—she’d shuck her old clothes, roll on the new ones, and probably sprint over here as if the tech daemons themselves were rolling after her. Five or ten minutes and we could start the night off together.

True to prediction, she came in just five minutes later, hair combed and slicked, her sky-blue gown glittering in a way that seemed magical, catching the light of the room with her every movement. I stared, mouth wide open, and she smiled wide.

“Been saving this one for a lucky night. Emphasis on the lucky,” she said, leaning in and wrapping me up in her powerful arms. “You look amazing, Al.”

“There’s no way I look anywhere near as good as you do,” I said truthfully, my face warm. “Hey, you stay right here, Elli. I’ll go get us some lagers.”

“Get us Earthsweet! I heard they took in a shipment last night and I’ve been rarin’ to give it a try.”

I excused myself from our table, my steps carrying me towards the bar. More people filed in, mostly middle-class free people like Elli, but situated as it was on the border of both worlds, there was a smattering of peasant tunics and serf breeches as well.

Walking past the huddles of alright and poor, I slid up to the bar, slapping my credit chip down with a hearty slap.

“Alaric! What a nice surprise. Been a while since I saw you in here,” a voice boomed.

Coming in from around the open threshold of the keg room, I saw Marek, the barkeep and a man well-liked in every neighborhood he frequented. Stepping up to the bar and swiping up the credit chip with one burly black-haired arm, he beamed.

“What’ll you be havin'?”

“I hear you got some Earthsweet? Can I get two mugs?”

He grabbed two clean metal mugs with his free hand.

“Can do. But you gotta tell me why you've been so long from the pub, first. I heard you were running low on cred. Fortunes turning?” he asked.

“You could say that,” I said, watching as he sauntered into the backroom, and returned with two full mugs, their foam high and spilling over the sides. He stopped, staring out over the counter and towards the front door of the place, and I followed his gaze, seeing the shining form of Elli waiting for my return.

“You sly dog,” he said, his weather yet warm face curling up into the greatest of grins. Shaking long strands of gray hair out of his eyes, he indicated her with a tilt of his head, and I felt my face growing warm again. “You and her going out finally?”

“Just friends,” I said and he sighed loudly, though his deep brown eyes twinkled as he did so.

“If you say so,” he said, placing the mugs in front of me before handing me back my chip. “Do have to say, though, that it’s a dumb man who doesn’t take a woman like that to his homestead.”

I shrugged. It wasn’t the first time he’d pushed for us to hook up. I’d let him know that I wouldn’t shit where I ate, but he’d just laughed it off, promising that this thing that was hanging between us, it’d make a family man out of me in the end.

Seizing the mugs, I pivoted away from Marek’s parting jest.

“Go get her, tiger,” he shot after me as I weaved through the tavern’s lively throng.

The room, now teeming with the evening's revelers, presented an obstacle course of jostling shoulders and stray steps. Skillfully navigating this maze, I returned to Elli, her mug finding its way into her hands with a practiced slide across the table.

Elli, her interest clearly piqued by my brief exchange at the bar, raised her mug in a gesture of mock toast.

“Catching up with Marek?” she teased, her eyes alight with curiosity and amusement. “Any pearls of wisdom you’d care to share, Al?”

Our mugs came together with a satisfying clink. I took a moment to relish the Earthsweet’s complex flavors before answering her question.

“Marek reckons it’s time we seized our destiny,” I shared, a smile playing on my lips.

Elli laughed, the sound rippling out over the din of the tavern.

“Classic Marek,” she mused, her eyes sparkling. “He’s a wise man, Al. You should listen to him, but we’ll have time for all that later. Let’s shift our focus to CD for now. Imagine the doors he could open for us - assuming the church isn't right and he doesn't just devil curse us to hell.”

I couldn't help but chuckle, the absurdity and thrill of our situation weaving together with my sweet lager to form a heady mix.

“Venturing into the unknown with CD might be walking a tightrope, but I have a hunch he's on our side. With no one left from his past, what's he got to lose by joining forces with us?”

“The Duke?” she asked, her eyebrow arched.

“Ha. Well, yeah, maybe. But the Duke might just as likely smash him into pieces before hanging us as heathens.”

“That, too.”

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

“Let me tell you what this is. It’s our own advanced new tech shop. Not just any shop, either. Basically a new tech shop, but one that’ll be making stuff better than any of the techies in the nation! Maybe even one that produces some of that mutagen on the side. If we play our cards right, we’ll do better than a shop. I could buy my freedom, and get a surname. We could put out our own guild! Think of the cred we could rake in.”

Elli's eyes sparkled with excitement, her sip of lager pausing as she entertained the thought.

“And with that cred,” she began, “we could do so much more than just survive. We could thrive, change the game for everyone. Free the serfs!” she said, winking.

“Haha, now you’re dreaming.”

She bit her lip pensively.

“Maybe. But we really are on the verge of something big, aren't we?” Elli asked, her gaze intense, and voice starting to slur slightly from the spirits. The tavern around us seemed to lean in, as if eager to hear the answer.

“We are,” I affirmed, feeling the weight and thrill of our impending venture. “With CD's help, we're not just going to open a shop. We're going to revolutionize the way tech is made and handled in all of Alndra.”

“That’s hot,” she said. Getting up from the table, I watched her walk up to the bar and tick out some cred for a jar marked with the brewer’s runes. I couldn’t quite make out what they said, but I suddenly had the feeling we were going to be hanging out here a lot longer than we’d been planning to.

“What's the first thing you'll do with your share of the creds?” I asked when she returned.

Settling the jar along with two small glasses on the table, she leaned back, her eyes scanning the tavern's ceiling.

“First? I'll set up a mechanic’s school for orphans, somewhere far from UpTown so I can get to the kids who need it the most. Then, invest back into our guild, make sure we're untouchable by those who'd see us fail.”

“Those who’d see us fail?” I asked. She poured us drinks from the jug, and I gasped at the strength of it. “Holy Harken Happiness is that strong. What is it?”

She took hers down hard, gulped, and belched loudly, her face growing pink.

“Marek said it's Mechfire Brew,” Elli explained, before turning her head to cough into her hand. “Made out of town from fermented Thorncrest berries, distilled spirits aged in a crystallization vat, however all that works.”

She leaned closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper,

“Word is it contains a pinch of powdered mech core, giving it that hard fiery kick.”

Her eyes gleamed fiercely, shining with glee.

I eyed the jug incredulously.

“Bullshit,” I said, and she roared with laughter. “If there’s anything mech in that thing, it's monster oil and metal shavings. Oh boy, does that put hair on your chest.”

“Want another?” she asked, tilting her head.

“To the brink of creating our own tech guild,” I toasted, lifting my glass high. “Hey, Marek,” I yelled over my shoulder, “Can we get more of the Earthpiss or whatever it was too? Feeling a bit too unsteady to go over and get it.”

Elli clinked her glass against mine, her smile radiant.

“And to all the creds we'll earn and spend,” she added, her eyes and face growing dreamier and dreamier as the night went on.

We drank on into the early hours, stumbling back to my shop and crashing, giggling, into my cot, dreams of creds clicking through both our minds.