4

Briggs was back at the registration counter in no time, the same fox-eared woman still sitting behind the desk. She saw him approach, and her award-winning fake smile appeared on her face. He put his hands back on the desk, returning her smile with one of his own. He doubted he could give off the same megawatt smile, but it was fun to try.

“So, am I all cleared to go into the city?” Briggs said, his smile almost hurting his cheeks. This smiling business was harder than he gave her credit for.

“Yes sir, everything is all settled, and your new ID is now ready for you,” she handed over his new ID book, its golden icon of the Runner’s Transport Union glistening in the light. He ran his gloved fingers over the embossed cover. It felt like he was back in the Port of Angels, receiving his first Runner’s ID badge all those years ago.

“Thank you again for your patronage at Horizon-Visions, we hope that your stay is a pleasant one.” Briggs could tell she’d said this a thousand times before. It was rote and cue card perfect. She then returned to working on her monitor.

Briggs took the hint and pocketed the new ID book. First thing was first, he had to return to his rigand drop off his earnings. It shouldn’t take too long, all things considered, and he was in a good enough mood to wave down a passing unloader trolley. It stopped in front of the concourse. A dirty-looking beanpole of a man stood at the front, eyeing Briggs up and down with a neutral expression. The young human man cleared his throat.

“So, where are you headed, Mr.?”

Briggs flicked the man a single dull-looking coin, the driver deftly caught the coin mid-flight. He pocketed the coin in a flash, then smiled at Briggs.

“You know what Mr. I don’t need a name, where do you want to go?”

“Take me to dock twelve please, I need to drop something off, then I can pay you again for the return trip,” Briggs said as he climbed into the back seat. “Sound good?”

The unloader was in motion before Briggs even latched his seatbelt on. He chuckled at the speed in which the lad wanted to get paid. It was a good feeling, this sense of urgency. This little splurge he was paying for would cut the time it would have taken for him to walk back to his rig in half. Or even less, depending on how fast the kid drove. Only time will tell.

As it turned out, hiring the boy to give him a lift saved almost an hour round trip. Briggs hadn’t realized that getting to and from his rig was such a massive distance. Let alone that he had walked said distance only a few hours ago. He sometimes wondered if he was part machine, the way he could just tackle a problem and let his brain wander. Then before he knew it, the problem was solved, or in this case, the distance had been walked.

The trolley skidded to a halt in front of the processing concourse. The young man turned around and gave Briggs a winning, if not dirty, smile.

“Here you go Mister, back safe and sound before you could say ‘Pay Day’.” The kid all but laughed at his own joke. Hell, even Briggs cracked a smile at that old chestnut of a turn of phrase. He pulled out another small dull coin and handed it to the kid this time.

“Thanks again bud, it was a nice ride. A little bumpy, but it seems like I got a good driver today.” Briggs said, stepping off the trolley. He was almost at the door when the kid whistled at him. He turned and saw the young man patting the bright orange number fifty on the side of the trolley.

“Hey mister, just ask for number fifty. I work the day shift, and I will happily give you a ride back to your rig any day, any time.”

Briggs guffawed at his sales pitch. It was simple, but he liked the boy’s pluck. He turned back towards the door, waving back at him.

“You got yourself a deal, kid!” Briggs yelled to be heard over the clangorous mess of heavy machinery and moving vehicles. The door closed behind him yet again.

Ok, Jimmy has been sorted. Most of my money is safe in my hidden lockbox in my rig. Now I just need to head over to the job screens and see what I can haul as I move east. Shouldn’t be too hard overall.

The job board was just a simple multi-terminal affair. There was a large information screen with a list of available jobs, their destinations, and how much they were paying for said job. If you selected the entry, you could see what the cargo contained, how much it weighed, and its overall size. All these factors were key, and Briggs thrived on figuring out the most efficient load configuration. He sorted through a few simple jobs, then moved on to the bulk delivery tab. These jobs were usually more lucrative, with the downside of the massive amount of weight you must account for. Luckily, his rig was more than capable of handling these bulk deliveries. Once he had a small list of deliveries highlighted, he entered his rig ID number, as well as his Runner ID. The screen prompted him to scan his ID badge in the slot below to accept the contracts. He pulled out his brand-new ID and inserted the front page into the scanning tray. Crisscrossing infrared beams scanned his ID code. The machine let out a small chirp of acceptance, followed by a short error sound. His eyes shot up to the screen, his mind reeling. The simple text was displayed at eye level, ‘This ID is on hold, by executive order of the mayor of Horizon Visions. Would you like to ask for an appointment to dispute this claim?’ Briggs’ hands flew across the keyboard, smashing the Y key. The screen chimed with affirmation; the text read.

-Congratulations, your scheduled appointment is set for twelve thirty for Maytag twenty-eight. Please make sure that you are at least fifteen minutes early, this is for check-in purposes. Please take the printout below to show to security. Have a nice day:-)-

The text smiley face at the end of the message looked like it was mocking Briggs, and it took more effort than he cared for to not punch the screen. It was not considered a crime to hold a Runner—far from it. Keeping Runners honest was the best way to ensure they adhered to the Rules of the Road. Otherwise, who could you trust nowadays? Briggs took the small business card-sized printout at the base of the machine and put it into his duster pocket.

Guess I have yet another stop to make before this day is done, fantastic. He thought morosely.

Briggs walked past the intake counters and towards the exit to the city. It was nice to finally walk out to somewhere not controlled by either security or parts of the Runners Union. The city was where people thrived and died. A place where you could lose yourself in vices, devices, and a whole host of options a person could think up. The city was laden with possibilities not available on the road.

Briggs let the warm air brush past him as he exited. Two well-armed and armored men looked at him from either side of the exit door. Their helmets shone in the early morning sunlight. They almost seemed like robots with all that gear strapped to them, but if you worked for the Security Firm, then you took no chances. It was better safe than sorry when dealing with ruffians and bandits. Both men turned back to stare towards the cityscape, and Briggs couldn’t blame them in the slightest. It was a heck of a sight.

Hundreds of single-story buildings dotted the landscape, all the way to the base of the large obelisk of the mayor’s tower. He saw loading trolleys, delivery vans, and small two-person vehicles—all driving around the dirt-encrusted asphalt roads. People hollered, voices were raised for the selling of street goods, and he even spotted a few groups of kids playing a form of soccer. Just seeing this wonder of life gave Briggs his usual boost of dopamine.

This was the reason he did what he did. The Running, the fighting, it was all for this one brief glimpse at some form of stability. He pressed a button at a crosswalk and waited to enter the city proper. It only took a minute or two, and before he knew it, he was in the middle of a press of bodies. They all crossed the road. He got lost in the smells, the noises. Some Runners hated actually going into the madness of a City-State. It took a certain breed to travel through the wastes, and a lot of the Runners were loners at heart. Briggs took it in stride, little doses of happiness to fight the oppressive sadness of the empty Wastes.

After crossing a few busy intersections, he spotted the way down to the sublevel of HV. The top parts of the city were always bustling hives of activity. However, the major shops that he needed to see were below the surface. So, at the first opportunity, he entered a gray-green cylinder of concrete. Its massive stairs could easily accommodate six people standing shoulder to shoulder, and the railing on either side was often used for the less mobile of citizens. He stayed to the right side, towards the inner wall of the stairwell, making sure to keep up with the humanoid traffic. It was only the polite thing to do, and after sixty steps, he started to work his way back toward the outer end of the circle. He said his ‘pardons, excuse me, sorry to bother you,’ until he exited the busy set of stairs. With the hard part behind him, he walked into the much cooler air of the undercity.

Before him was the truest heart of HV. This was the realm of the hard workers, the day-by-day blue-collar crowd that kept the city above running like clockwork. The immense concrete and steel beams jutted up into the ceiling, keeping the massive amount of weight for the upper city at bay. The pillars themselves were as wide as several city blocks, and perched up and down on each one, was a hodgepodge of humanoid life. In HV, you never built out, you built up and around. The marvel of engineering on the scale he witnessed would have melted someone’s mind in the ‘fore times. The pillars extended down several stories until they vanished into a bottomless-looking reservoir of water. There was a joke that Runners used to say about HV. ‘If you ever got tired of the undercity, you could always take a swim. All you’d need to do was walk the wrong way long enough, and that would be that.’ There were large connection bridges that darted between the pillars, the main streets, and the lifelines of the undercity. The lighting down here was twofold. There were a series of mirrors that funneled light from the surface and illuminated the entirety of the underground space. Not only did the natural light help with the dreary atmosphere, but it also allowed natural greenery to flourish, which there was plenty of. He felt like the small touch of nature helped to dilute the oppressive feeling of concrete. Briggs always marveled at how well you could split light to cover such a vast area. If there was ever a storm or cloud cover, then the fusion reactor in the central pillar would pick up the slack. When the reactor wasn’t supplying power to the lights, it was funneled to the pumping stations. Everyone needed water to survive, and HV had a lot of it. At least they had a day and night cycle down here. He remembered when the local town committee thought that having the lights on all the time was a “great” idea. Turns out, not having a nighttime really messed with people’s circadian rhythm.

Briggs walked over towards a ramped area, where a few dozen people milled about. Then without warning—five pill-shaped cars, suspended from the bottom of a rail line, shot out over the chasm. Electricity sparked and arched, as the undergrounds’ version of a subway system flew out towards the nearest pillar. Its occupants on board were delivered safely to their next stop.

Briggs waited in line patiently, letting the elderly go in front of him, if it did happen. It was not often, but he was a guest in this city. Even though he was on a timetable, he didn’t want to appear rude to these people.

He approached the front of the line, and looked over to the appropriate transportation map, its multicolored lines showing the paths around all twenty of the pillars. His eyes moved down till he found the purple line that would take him to pillar fifteen, the merchant district.

I hope that Vexis is working today, it would be a pity to come all this way and not buy what I need. Oh well, not like I could just give him a call, man what I wouldn’t give for a cell phone these days.

Another set of five cars pulled up to the station platform, there was a purple number fifteen stenciled on the sides of each car. This looked like his ride. The doors whooshed open as he stepped over the safety pit, and into the inner workings of the transport. Some people made way for others to step into the car behind him, and in no time the cars were full. A small chime sounded as the doors closed, and an automated voice clicked on.

“Welcome to Horizon Visions Metro Rail system. If you are riding the purple line to get to…PILLAR FIFTEEN…PILLAR SEVENTEEN… and…PILLAR EIGHTEEN. Welcome aboard. If this is not your line, then we apologize for the inconvenience. Please alight at the next hub station and an attendant will be happy to assist you. Alternatively, each carriage has a large color-coded map to peruse at your convenience. Next stop… PILLAR FIFTEEN.

Briggs held onto a pole that stood in the middle of the train car and braced for the machine to reach top speed. It seemed like this model was well maintained. It reached top speed in a matter of seconds. There was no jarring shift of momentum, or g-force pressures. The transition was smooth and seamless. Everyone swayed in the motion of the car as the carriages turned and spiraled on its rails. It reminded Briggs of staring into the waves of the ocean, everything moving in unison until the waves crashed on the sand.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

The trip was an uneventful one, he saw a few of the other pillars pass by as a blur, the large slit windows glimmering as some structures flew by faster than the eye could track. Some of the passengers were happily conversing with each other, but Briggs was only able to catch snippets of conversations.

“I hope that the rains come early this year. I really do love the sound of running water when it leaves the outflow caverns,” an older woman said.

“Man, I can’t believe that the raiders had the stones to attack us in force. They must be getting desperate,” a man intoned.

“I heard we finally got a large shipment of medicine, straight from ‘Shattered Well’. I have a cousin that works the dockyards, and he told me this morning that some Runner braved the storm to get us that medicine.”

“Man, you would have to be crazy to make a run in a class five dust storm. It was so bad I heard that even the bottom of Pillar Three felt the tremors of that storm.”

“So, did you hear that the mayor is cracking down on curfew time? I think she is just being overly paranoid. I can’t really complain though, she has only been mayor for a year or so, but she has already made such great strides to help the people in the industrial sector.”

“Dear, we’re almost home. You take it easy tonight; I know we have been working the late-night shift. How about I cook us a late breakfast, then we can take a nap.”

Briggs just let the rest of the conversation seep into the background, it was great being surrounded by so much life, it soothed him. He felt the brakes deploy as everyone swayed as one again. The entire vehicle slowed to a crawl, then to a complete stop, there was another soft chime and the intercom crackled to life again. The same mechanical voice cut through the wash of conversations.

“Dear passengers, welcome to…PILLAR FIFTEEN…we hope that you enjoy your time in the merchant district. If your destination is…PILLAR SEVENTEEN…or…PILLAR EIGHTEEN…then please remain seated. Please allow passage for outgoing passengers to disembark, before incoming passengers can board this carriage. Thank you.”

Briggs stepped out of the transport, looking around at the majesty of the Merchant Pillar. The most prominent feature was of course the massive pillar that the district was built around. He saw multiple cable elevators going from floor to floor. People flowed up and down the stairs, and food stall vendors shouted their wares. Kids ran on the concrete and metal streets, and a few bikes passed him by. It was all just wonderful. Briggs shook his head and got into work mode, he still had a little way to go, and a few areas to walk past.

It took the better part of an hour to reach his destination, he had to take three flights of stairs, and one long cable elevator ride. The elevator ride was nice, nothing but the sound of squeaking gears and the wind rushing into the open-air cabin. It slid to a halt as he reached the bottom level of the pillar. Briggs stepped out, looking at the well-lit platform. Shops were clustered, stacked on top of each other down this far. Briggs could even hear the water lapping at the bottom of the Pillar. He walked over to the nearest railing and looked down. He saw that there was a lighter shade of the pillar, dozens of feet above the water line.

Wow, there has been a bit of a drought, the water level is a lot lower than I expected. I wish I could haul enough water where things like this would not be an issue. Maybe the brains at the Science Industrial Complex could figure it out one day. Oh, well, best not to dwell, Briggs thought somberly.

He stepped back from the railing and headed towards the sound of hammering metal, and the smell of burning coal. He had to see a man about a weapon.

******

Briggs walked up to a large metal structure, it was made of a combination of sheet metal, even more concrete, wood, and some large pieces of banded metal. The large sign that hung over the open-air storefront read, ‘Hermit’s Metalwork’, all in mismatched lettering. Briggs wondered if they understood the origins of some of the letters used for the sign. Most of them looked like they came from old fast-food restaurants during the ‘foretimes. He made the decision to let that secret lie where it lay—firmly in the past. He walked up to the open door, then grabbed a hanging hope that had a sign wrapped to the top, it said ‘Pull for Service’. Briggs pulled it with a quick jerk, and a loud ringing gong rippled through, the ear-numbing sound of metal being struck by a hammer. Then there was silence, only accented by the sound of several pairs of footsteps coming towards Briggs. He prepared for what was to come. He crouched down, lowering his center of gravity, and knew deep down it was not going to help him in the slightest. Three tiger men, followed by an even larger tiger man rounded the corner, their eyes were all slitted, sensing their prey.

Briggs felt his throat run dry as all four of them looked at him. Then the spell was broken, and all of them smiled winning grins as they flew at Briggs, not giving him the chance to run. Briggs was bodily scooped up in a massive group hug, the largest of the tiger men patted him on the head. His thick accent gathered everyone’s attention.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the mighty Runner Geller Briggs, come to grace my humble little metal works.” The man’s thick accent sounded akin to German, but he was still not sure how that was possible.

“You got me Hermit, fair and square.”

“I see you have not changed at all, my friend, still as resolute as ever,” Hermit said as he shooed off the other tiger men. “Kids, back to work, I know you wanted to see Briggs and all, but the forge can’t go cold. So, get out of here.” The three smaller men took off in a dead sprint, not saying a word to their father.

Briggs stared at their retreating forms, all of them looked like the spitting image of their father. Tall and rippling with corded muscle, the same orange-white designs decorated their fur in similar patterns. Aside from Hermit's larger size, they even had the same twinkle in their eyes.

Briggs smiled a small smile to himself; it had been almost a year and a half since he last stepped foot in this shop. From the onset, it looked like nothing had really changed, except for the size of Hermit’s kids. Though he did not see his wife anywhere.

“So, Hermit, how is the family doing? The last time I saw you, your boys were hardly up to my waist. Now, they are almost the same height as me. At this rate, I am starting to feel like the short man out.”

Hermit guffawed, “This is true, my kids have grown quite a bit since the last time you were in town. We are still grateful, by the way, for the medicine you gave my Irena. Without it, she could have died from sepsis. It still baffles me that even with all the fancy equipment at the local clinics, they still could not have stopped her death from occurring. It’s like they don’t really care about us little people who live down here, they just see us as a means to an end. Sometimes you feel like you could just… scream.”

Briggs remembered the first time he had met Irena. She was a beautiful, tall, curvaceous human woman, with auburn hair and a smile to match. Her pale blue eyes could pry the truth out of any man. She also loved Hermit with all her heart. So much so, she bore him three sons, and was still the picture of loveliness. It was not uncommon for races to mix and interbreed, even if it was looked down upon by most of the sentient races. It seemed that after all this time—even after the fall—there was still racism. The notion of racism still existing so long after the fall, it baffled Briggs.

“That is good to hear Irena is doing well, my friend. I am sorry about the new mayor. I’d hoped things would be better, but if she is not taking care of the little people…” He sighed heavily. “It really does turn my stomach some days. Us Runners do all the dangerous leg work, and sometimes the people that need those supplies never seem to get them. Is the new mayor corrupt? Or does the SIC just not care about most of its citizens?”

“Well,” Hermit said as he fitfully scratched the back of his matted neck fur. “I can’t really say too much on the topic of corruption. Other than the small bits of information that come through my door freely.”

Briggs motioned to Hermit to continue.

Hermit inhaled, his large chest bulging like the bellows from a forge. “It’s like this. The mayor has ties to multiple businesses. From the shipping sector, to the docks, even the growing farms and caves. If it can produce revenue, then the mayor wants to know about it. She has eyes everywhere, and she’s not afraid to use her power to get what she wants. I’m…” He paused for a moment, thinking. “It’s not all bad, this new added tax revenue that’s being utilized allows for some wonderful things to be maintained. New parks, better health and security services. Hell, we even have an upgraded night cycle, complete with stars and everything. Other than that, all we can do down here is work, save, and hope that things will get better one day. I know that someone from the neighboring pillar tried to make it work as a rig Runner hire. You know how dangerous those jobs are sometimes. Even with someone watching your back, the Wastes are a dangerous place. I just wish that all life on this planet could just get a break. If it's not food shortages one week, it's bandit raids the next, or it’s a crackdown on illegal medicine. It’s just all too much to bear.”

“You know things will get better, Hermit, they have too. That is what hope is all about. Either we all will lift ourselves out of the squalor, or we are all destined to rest in the mud trying not to drown.”

Hermit shook his head before a smile curved his lips. “You are an odd man, my friend.”

“How so?”

“Your unwavering belief and conviction, it is…inspiring. But in your line of work, I doubt that positivity keeps you safe from bandits or any other danger out in the Wastes. How do you manage to keep on going despite everything you do?”

Briggs looked contemplative, a faraway look in his eyes, before he focused on Hermit. “Don’t mistake positivity for hope. As a successful Runner, you need to be tactical, logical, with a strong ability to compartmentalize in stressful situations. Fear is one of the strongest emotions I feel on the road. It pushes me, gives me the adrenaline rush to turn that fear into something useful. But to stay sane, you gotta have more than fear. More than that adrenaline rush. You need an ideal.” He shrugged. “Hope is mine.”

Hermit clapped him on the shoulder. “We sound like a pair of gossiping old ladies.” That caused Briggs to laugh in return. There was shared understanding between them. Nothing more needed to be said. “I know you didn’t come all the way down here just to get mobbed by my family. What is it you need? New metal couplings for the rig? Maybe some odd bolts that you use for some of your ‘odd’ machinery. Oh, wait…could it be that you're finally trying to upgrade that monster of a camshaft you have in the underbelly of the Long Haul?”

Briggs shook his head, “Nothing, that crazy Hermit.” Briggs pulled out a piece of paper and set it in front of the burly Tiger-kin. “I need you to make me a pair of these,” Briggs ran his finger over the drawing of a kukri knife. The wide head of the knife led to a slender central portion, which then took a thirty-degree angle all the way to the hilt. This weapon was designed to cut, slash, and be thrown.

Hermit’s eyes widened ever so slightly, “I’m not sure if I could do this. You know that we can’t make weapons down here.” He looked left and right, trying to gauge if any of his neighbors were listening in. He lowered his voice, “You know I can’t do this.”

“Hermit, why don’t you do us both the favor and cut the lies? You know, and I know, you’re good at making weapons. You’ve been supplying the security forces of the undercity for years. I can see your handy work on anyone down here old enough to carry protection. So please, do me this solid. I have credits, I have some I can give you, and I just need something with a bit more oomph. The Wastes are getting more and more dangerous by the day.” Briggs scratched his scalp, “I don’t know how much longer I can keep up my string of good luck, it has to run out eventually.”

“Ok, ok,” Hermit chuffed, a sign he was nervous. “I will make you these two weapons, but if I get caught.” Hermit looked pensively at Briggs. “I won’t sugarcoat it, if the local security forces ask me about this, then I will have no choice but to tell them the truth. I have a family Briggs, I can’t risk their well-being on someone, not even you.”

Briggs put a hand on the crestfallen man’s shoulder. He patted it gently. “That’s fair, Hermit, I could not ask any more of you. I know you are taking a huge risk by doing this. I can’t trust any other smith, though; I saved my money and some of this.” Briggs opened his satchel, pulling out a smaller bundle of cloth, he set it down and unwrapped it. Hermit’s eyes went wide, looking at the Dark Steel ingots, then back up to Briggs. His eyes trailed back and forth for several seconds, then he choked out a response.

“Dark Steel, where did you find this much… it's even in ingot form. I didn’t think that anyone could…” Hermit paused, “You know what, I don’t really want to know. The less I know in the end, the better. So if we are doing this, I am going to ask for the money upfront, no I.O.U’s this time my friend.”

Briggs didn’t even break eye contact with him as he tossed a heavy sack onto the workbench. The bag made a loud clatter as silver credit coins rolled out. A few of them spilled onto the floor, rattling, and coming to a stop. Briggs looked over to the bag, then back to Hermit.

“This is three times the amount of what you would charge, even for a simple tool for tilling the soil outside. On the plus side, what I want is a lot smaller, and you already have the ore. I want this all done in a day, two tops. I don’t plan on staying here longer than necessary. Now for the true carrot at the end of the stick, Briggs thought. “Plus any Dark Steel left over, is yours to use, think of it as an incentive to put my order to the front of the list. That work for you?”

Hermit just stared in shock, Briggs could see it in his face. His fur stood on end, and his eyes were small slits. He had put his friend in quite a difficult bind. If he didn’t take the job, he would lose out on almost three months of extra pay. On top of having a small supply of Dark Steel to work with, which alone was mind-bogglingly expensive. Several heartbeats passed between the two men, then Hermit broke the silence.

“Ok, ok, ok,” he said, patting the air in surrender. “I will stay up and work on the design tonight, then me and my boys will work on making the actual weapons first thing tomorrow morning. How will we get them to you, though? What pad are you staying on?”

“I am currently at dock 19. I also have a small boatload of repairs being done to the Long Haul, so it’s a mess of activity.” Briggs pulled out a piece of paper, wrote something on it, then handed it to Hermit. “Here, on this slip of paper, is the authorization code for the loading bay. Find a loading chute, type in that number, and slip the weapons on the pallet that will be presented to you. Most likely, security will try to inspect whatever comes in on the chute before it makes it to me, so put them under something. I order parts from you all the time, so give me some conduit spares, or better yet, give me a shell of a breaker box for a T-14 junction circuit. That should be large enough to hold one blade sideways.” Briggs patted the burly man on his arm. “Thank you again for doing this, it just might save my life out there.”

Briggs turned around and started towards the exit. Hermit was trying to pick up the last few coins, then stood abruptly.

“Wait Briggs, could you at…least,” he stumbled over his words. Briggs turned his head to listen. “Would you like to stay for dinner? Irena is making a killer stew, and she always makes far too much. We would be honored to have you. Please, my friend.”

Briggs paused and then shook his head regretfully. He pulled the door open. The cooler outside air chilled the sweat that had formed on his brow.

“If it wasn’t for the fact I had another engagement, then yes, I would have happily sat at your table. As it is, though, I must go to a meeting that I usually try to avoid.”

“What…other engagement?” Hermit said, his face a wash of consternation.

“I have a date…with the mayor,” Briggs sighed.