Hands covered in oil and grease, Gram wiped the sweat from his brow. The damn thing still wasn’t working, but why? Sitting down on the ground with his knees tucked towards his chest, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply. Why the hell was he stuck working on this heap? It should be Tom’s bloody job. But Tom was incompetent, an incompetent brownnoser who was roughly as useful as a bull in a china shop. If Gram was born a silver like Tom, he’d probably be an executive by now instead of being in his late twenties and still living with his parents. From what he heard, Tom was on the verge of being tarnished. Maybe there was something to the King’s justice after all. A fresh look at the liquid fuel rocket engine showed that while fixing the oxidizer pump, he had knocked a wire loose. It was always some stupid thing or another. The whole world was some kind of conspiracy of loose wires. Wire reattached, the machine hummed to life.
He could finally head to the bar and have a drink. He washed his hands, the black soapy bubbles rolled down the sink. He scrubbed with the coarse liquid until his hands were raw. It took over a minute before they were sufficiently clean to put his gloves back on. Dusting himself off, he threw his work goggles haphazardly on a counter, grabbed his coat, and started to head out. Bracing himself to avoid eye contact turned out to be unnecessary. The only people left were just a few dolphins who were currently mutely plugging along, hands moving mechanically at the tedious work before them. Under the dim red light, their cranial scars cast shifting shadows on their bare scalps.
Gram lit another cigarette on his way to the bar. There was a low rumble as the skeletal black frame of a void drifter slowly passed overhead. Tilting his head skyward, it would be hard not to notice the stark contrast between the grim crowded architecture of the lowlands and the towering glass structures of the upper city—something the typical resident had become numb to. Envy is a sin. It was what the posters said—not that anyone in the lowlands actually believed any of the propaganda the ministry put out. They just internalized it.
Lower Elysia was separated from the rest of Elysia geographically by a river and politically with guns. Elysia. The King sure did have a sense of humor. Upper Elysia and the Midlands should be “The United Future Occupants of the Third Circle and Fourth Circles of Hell,” and Lower Elysia could be “The Loose Coalition of Current and Future Occupants of Tartarus”—but then all the capitals in the empire had been named badly.
He was supposed to meet up with his chum Marco, but the lug didn’t show. Marco was supposed to pick up the tab for this session too. Gram didn’t have much more than a few pennies on him. Enough for some tigal, but that felt like a waste, given the bartender’s prowess. It is the sort of thing you drank at home for a third of the price. For when you just really wanted to make today into tomorrow.
“One bottle of tigal, Jim.” Gram said to the bartender.
“You said you hate that stuff.”
“I hate it when I have money. When I don’t, it becomes an attractive alternative to being sober.”
“You’re one of the few regulars that keeps me feeling like a real bartender. I don’t want you dulling your senses with that shit.” He turned to a slumped-over man still grasping a bottle of it, “No offense, mate.”
“Eh?” The semi-conscious man replied.
“How about this,” Jim said, “I’ll let you try some new cocktails I’ve been working on.”
“Ahh ya spot me too often. As much as I’m tempted, I think I’ll just have the tigal.”
The bartender began mixing a cocktail. “Here ya go.”
“Thanks.” He took a sip. The balance of flavors was overall good but a bit too fruity for his taste. The botanicals remained crisp and floral but not overly so. Clearly, this wasn’t made with the normal house gin. “Went top shelf, did ya?”
“How do you like it?” Jim did have some better liquors, usually reserved for the tourists slumming it as an adventure or trying to pick up copper girls, but occasionally he’d mix some for him. Wasn’t all that necessary. For cleaner drinks, sure, it made a big difference, but Jim was able to turn bottom shelf hooch into something complex, and more importantly, for his typical clientele, drinkable.
“Can I get a dash or two of bitters in this? I think for normal clientele, this would be good, jus’ reads a bit one dimensional.”
Chuckling, Jim added a few drops, “Bitter or strong as always?”
“Preferably both.” Gram said with a smile taking a sip. Better, he thought.
A girl sat next to him, relatively dolled up. There were plenty of empty places at the bar, so he knew where this was going. Gram kept his eyes focused on his drink.
“So, what’ll you be having next?” She asked.
“Negroni if the bartender finds that agreeable.” Gram pointed at the bartender. “This guy right here, won’t find a better mixer of spirits in the lowlands.” It helped, of course, that Jim was dialed into Gram’s pallet.
“That’s what I’ll try then. Jim, two negronis.”
“Ahh, so this isn’t your first time here.”
“Nah, you’re right about Jim though, don’t think anywhere else down here has a place that serves anything other than glorified horse tranquilizers, but still, I think he’s even better when he uses the proper stuff.” Turning to the bartender, “Jim, make those two with the good stuff. To be honest this isn’t the first time I saw you here, but given you always have company, I’ve never had the opportunity to chat.”
“Yeah, well ya know, bad form to drink alone.” Not that it ever stopped him.
“Neeshka.” She extended her hand.
“Gram, nice to meet you,” He said, shaking her hand.
“I don’t live down here, got myself a little place in the midlands, but gotta be down here most days for work.” Well, doesn’t that just make you special.
“So why not drink a little closer to home?”
“Can’t beat the lowlands on prices, and it isn’t like we got better bartenders in the midlands. Anyway, a sober carriage ride is dreadfully boring.”
“Lucky I’ve got a short commute then.” The negronis arrived, Gram took a big swig, Jim knew to give Gram less sweet vermouth.
“You ever been to the midlands?”
“Once or twice.”
“Ever think of moving there?”
“Not particularly. I like to keep my carriage rides from the bar short to the point of walking.”
“This might be a bit odd, but I work for Atlas. You know we’ve got a few plants down here.” Gram hated it when mid-managers used words like ‘we,’ as if they owned a damn thing.
Before she could finish, Gram said, “Happy enough at Crius, thanks.” It wasn’t his first time being headhunted.
“Oh, come on, I could get you something better than whatever you’re doing there.”
“Sorry, got my current boss just the way I like ‘im. Getting used to a new one would be like trading a trained dog for a wolfhound. Might be bigger, but why risk it?”
“It would also be closer to me.” She said with a coquettish flourish.
That she was attractive, there was no doubt. A shot of electricity ran down Gram’s spine. “Like I said, I’m fine.” He poured cold water on his imagination, fun now, hollow later.
She leaned in to whisper in his ear, “By the way, Gram,” She said in a sultry voice.
“Yeah?”
“You’ve got a big grease smudge across your forehead.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and then walked out, leaving her business card and more than enough coin for the two drinks. Jim looked at him and shrugged.
“Another, Jim.” Gram said, shredding the card.
Gram hadn’t exactly kept track of how many deep he was, but he was starting to feel the warmth spread through him, his mood lightening. This was pretty close to his optimal level, but maybe one more wouldn’t hurt. Each drink carried with it just enough judgment-altering ability to justify the next.
“The toffs ‘ere are all under control by aliens!” Gram overheard, “Tha’s why we don’t move forward with all these big ships we build. We’re just a factory for ‘em.” Gram took a larger sip. It was none of his business what sort of nonsense people believed.
The man continued though, it seemed like there was some correlation between how little people knew and how loud they felt comfortable talking. It was a bad idea, he knew it was, but he couldn’t help himself. He got up and walked to the table clearing his throat. “Well, actually, science fiction aside, space travel has natural limits. Perfectly explainable without little green men.” He was going to need another drink soon and a cigarette. His brain was itching.
The man looked up at Gram, “First off, they’re grey, second off, you really believe that it requires a thousand men just to send one toff to a space station?”
Gram lit a cigarette “Yeah, at least that, ‘specially since we’re stuck using vacuum tubes leaving terra firma. But regardless, the physics are pretty simple. You need a fuckton of energy to send anything into space. Not to mention that since toffs don’t like blowin’ up, things have to be machined with precision, not just throwing some hydrogen into a tube of pig iron. They have to be precise enough to intercept the space station perfectly, and if they are directly going to the moonbase, it’s a damn sight harder.”
“Yeah, well, what about them asteroid miners? They go up to the base, an’ then ya never see them again. Part of the alien slave force!”
“Humans have plenty use for slaves,” Gram said. “Ya have any idea how long it takes to get to a valuable asteroid? Bloomin’ years. They just send the stuff they mine back here usin’ unmanned ships. There’s a reason the goldies don’t just go out there themselves. A reason it’s mostly peace workers despite the very high and entirely hypothetical salary. Space is just a big empty depressing void with the very occasional cold rock to break up the monotony. Our best ships can go to mars in a few weeks, but not a lot to see other than red dirt and nowhere to go. Just a sealed-off enclosure where you drink your own recycled piss.
But then miners aren’t exactly flying first class. Those mining crews go up with the equipment, moving that lug at any reasonable speed just doesn’t make sense to the corps, energy scales exponentially as does the impact of space dust.”
The man chortled, “Sure do know a lot of fancy words. My guess is you’re one of them, a stone speaker. I’ll tell you what’s really going on” This should be good. Gram thought, a smile cocking up on the left side of his mouth.
“So,” the man said, “ ’bout a century or two ago, what happened?”
“The birth of quantum computing destroyed the financial system and eventually computers?”
“Ha! Ya even believe that one, how’s more computing gonna lead to less? Use your head.” Well, without encryption, it is sorta hard to do anything of substance on one. “An’ then conveniently they say that’s around when the designs of the JOLTs came up, and what did we stop doing?”
“Using solid-state technology?” Gram said, knowing he would be ‘corrected.’
“We discarded our silicone, used to be every human alive was said to carry silicone with them, and now? Not a one.”
“Silicone is useful for making circuit boards, which aren’t useful if all the circuits constantly fry.”
“It’s more than that. Silicon resists. It’s got properties that resist them.”
“And who exactly is them?” Gram asked. Everyone around them was listening intently.
“The aliens, o’ course. They are the ones who gave us the plans for JOLTs and the rest to make us stop carrying silicone around. Our ancestors knew the properties of the stuff. Ask yourself, we got plenty of rocks on earth, diamonds, and the like. Why do the golds covet the ones from space? You talked about how space is all difficulties. Why not just take the ones from here?”
“Because when you get rich enough, waste is the whole bloody point of buyin’ something. Showin’ off how many aurens you can sink into something totally useless is their game. No mystery there mate, just waste fer the sake of bloody waste.”
“If that’s the case, then why not ‘waste’ a little more on us coppers? Why, space gems?” Because fancy space rocks give you status and treating workers well doesn’t. “Nah, everyone in this bar knows how miserly those blokes are, yet don’t bat an eye spending the equivalent of five lifetimes of our toil te buy a new necklace. I’ll tell ya why. Those stones ain’t natural. They send out an energy field that controls them. As for us, it makes us submit, makes it so we can’t think clear. Think about it, you see a goldy without that stuff? The higher up, the more they wear. It links them te’ the aliens. Each gem is quantum entangled to the homeworld.”
“Then wouldn’t anyone have detected such fields?”
“Nah, they affect the quantum state of your mind. They operate on a different frequency than usual, interfacing with the microtubules.” More gibberish. “But,” the man said, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a handful of necklaces. He revealed that under his shirt to show he was wearing one. “These are natural silicon crystals. They prevent the field from getting to you.” Ahh, that’s the game.
“You can’t just use the word quantum in front of something to make it true. I can’t even counter because what you just said was exactly nonsense. Look, it’s easy enough to understand the state of things. King took over, gave some blokes privilege. Wealth an’ power an’ tech concentrated, and we spend our time lettin’ them play rocket man.”
“Ha, and who do you think the King is? Some immortal, unaging entity that no one ever sees that popped up right after the calamity? Clearly an alien! He doesn’t even bother to have a name.” Okay, that is the most plausible thing he has said so far. “The class system, they said they were doing tests, but what they were really testing was the effect of the stones. Those the stones could control became the goldies, those the stones could influence more weakly the silvers, an’ the rest of us, those it just calmed to become nice compliant worker bees are us coppers. Think about how you feel when one of them approaches you. That’s the effect of the gems they wear. But with these,” he said, grabbing the necklaces, “You can regain control.”
People had entirely crowded around the table at this point, “How much? Can I buy one?” Gram knew it would end this way. He slid off his left glove and stuck his hand in his coat pocket, counting the wires.
“Well, that’s the thing,” The man said, “hard to find this stuff, these crystals come all the way across the sea from the federation, one of the only places left on earth, not under their control. If you put it on, you’ll start seeing the truth. You might not be ready for it.”
“I am! How much?” One man yelled. He didn’t look ready for much.
“Can’t do less than 20 pennies each.”
Gram’s preparations complete, he slid his left glove back on. He laughed loudly, and the crowd turned their attention back to him. They wouldn’t listen to reason. He had given them that chance. “Any of you folk ever see me with my gloves off?”
He was a regular, and he had the habit of never taking his gloves off in front of others. This was about to pay off. The patrons looked at each other and shook their heads.
Gram wryly shook his head. “I’ll give it to him. He did get some stuff right, about the toffs having energy fields. It isn’t the gems they use, though. Think about it, the toffs with the most gems are the women. Are they the ones that make you feel all weak in the knees? And those hunks of rock aren’t going to do much, see silicon of old was very pure, that stuff he’s hawking is mostly crud. Not that it matters, it wasn’t the silicon anyway. It was the circuits.”
“Circuits?” Someone in the crowd asked.
“Yeah, electricity travels in all kinds of loops. Actually the King had all his stuff in this thing called a Faraday cage. Faraday cage is basically where you got a bunch of metal loops that trap the waves from coming in” Gram was merely guessing that the King had used a Faraday cage to maintain and access so much knowledge from the old world. Still, it wasn’t like anyone there could correct him if he was wrong. He took off his left glove displaying numerous wires wrapped around his fingers. “See, the way I avoid the mind control fields is my hand absorbs them, got a big one around my chest as well, but I’m not gonna take that off. Each wire is twisted into a Mobius, which is like a never-ending spiral that catches the fields dead.”
“Mobius? Fuck’s that?” one man with a glass eye said.
“Well, you see, a Mobius is a loop that twists on itself, so traveling on the surface will lead you to go forward infinitely.” That is what a Mobius was, but it had absolutely nothing to do with Faraday cages. The thing about people is the more fancy terms you throw at them, the more liable they are to believe you. The further from understanding the more useful, which was why every charlatan used the word quantum. That was a little too cheap for Gram’s taste.
“So that’s the same tech as the King?”
“One and the same. I gotta keep them hidden, though, or else the goldies will catch wise. I wear a whole suite, but even one can boost confidence. Here stand up and try it on.” He took one of the improvised wire rings off and handed it to the man sitting on his right.
“Can you feel that?” Gram asked, “You can stand a little straighter, breathe a little easier, your mood is a bit lighter, the confidence flowing through you now that some of the pacifying waves are being caught.”
“I can! It’s incredible, like seein’ in color for the first time!”
The nut job was sitting jaw clenched, fiddling with his necklaces.
“Now try on one of those necklaces. See if that does anything.” Gram said, then turning to the inferior conman, “if that is alright with you, of course.”
The man nodded, and the rube to his right tried it on.
“Nuthin’, at least not like the ring.”
Gram smiled to himself. He was still surprised every time just how suggestible people were. He turned to the conman. “Well, I applaud ya for noticing the waves around you, but that is just half the battle, I’m afraid.” Then turning to the group, “look, I normally wouldn’t tell anyone this stuff. Some of you know me, now you can understand me a bit more, why I know so much.” It was either that or the fact he actually read books. He knew which theory they would find more appealing.“I wear one on each finger, but really you get the most outta the first one.” Turning to his right, “but still, can I have my ring of power back?”
The man held his ringed hand to his chest and looked at Gram sheepishly. “Can I buy it off, ya?”
Gram paused and did his best to look pensive. “I suppose I could part with a few. These bastards are hard to make though, I’ll have to limit it to one per. Otherwise, you might get wave decompression sickness, an’ that‘s not pretty, let me tell you. Plus, with just one, you wouldn’t need to hide it.”
“How much?” The man who was the current wielder of the ‘ring of power’ asked.
Gram gave a pained look, “Lowest I could possibly go is 30 copper, and I’m serious you can’t tell anyone about this.”
The assembled group searched through their pockets, and soon, there was the sweet sound of coin clinking down on the table. The rock salesman sat mute, arms crossed.
Gram had a conviction. That conviction was that if someone was going to profit off of ignorance, it might as well be someone who actually knows the truth.He counted the coins and dispensed the ‘rings of power’ to his happy customers, each talking excitedly, no doubt increasing the placebo.
He clanked the night’s tab down on the counter. “Here you are, Jim, in full.” Leftover jangling in his pouch was a little more than a week’s wages. Not a bad night, but he had to get up early in the morning. It was time to head out.
“Hey,” The crystal kook said.
“Ya?”
“Do you have one more you could spare?”
Gram smiled. It turned out to be a good thing that Marco hadn’t shown. He probably would have ruined everything.
Gram’s parents’ house was only a twenty or so minute walk from the bar. The main street was lined with ladies of the night, hustlers, and people crouching in the roadside cooking food off improvised cinder block stoves. He used a hard-earned copper to pick up a meat skewer. What was precisely in that meat was a matter of great debate. At the price, it was unlikely pure lamb as was advertised. What was certain was that the spicy greasiness hit the spot after a night of drinking. The majority of gas lamps had long fallen into a state of disrepair. The flickering light that illuminated the street instead came from cooking fires and hawkers’ lanterns. All these little operations would evaporate in the day only to coalesce once again when the bobbies left with the setting sun. Gram stumbled forward, finishing the skewer. It was time to leave the relative safety to enter the shadowy side streets.
Gram heard the unmistakable whimpers of a cowering boy coming from a nearby alley. He peeked his head in, seeing at first the dim silhouette of a corpulent man. The heel of the man’s overstuffed palm pressed against the brick wall. He looked silver, no doubt on safari, looking for some pennies to shine. Gram raised his fist and saw it overlap with its double. He closed one eye, and it turned back into a singular fist. That ruled out a frontal assault. The man was likely armed anyway. Normally he preferred to talk things out, but silvers had too much insecurity stuffing their ears.
The silver kicked the boy. “Filthy lowie street trash.” He kicked the boy again. “You dare steal from me?”
The boy was sobbing, “No sir, it’s just dark, bumped into you is all. Promise.”
Gram took a deep breath, the kind one does before entering a freezing cold shower. Fuck. As the silver readied another kick, Gram stumbled into him, knocking them both down.
Gram stumbled to his feet. “So sorry, sir. I just had a bit to drink, and it’s dark. So sorry, sir.” Gram made a show of patting the dust from the man’s coat.
The silver gave Gram a strong backhand knocking him into the brick wall. “Get your filthy hands off me, you stupid oaf!”
Gram put his head down. “Sorry, sir.”
The silver hit him again, this time in the stomach, winding him. With a hard blow to the back, Gram hit the floor. Gasping with dust, he looked at the place the kid had been. It was empty. He smiled to himself. Then he received a kick to the stomach. “These warrens are bad enough without having you thieving rats crawling out of every corner.”
“Sorry, sir,” Gram coughed. “I swear I’ve got money. Don’t need yours.”
The silver crossed his arms. “Oh yeah? How much? Enough to clean my clothes?” He gestured at his slightly dusty coat. “I think not.”
Gram groaned pathetically. “Yes, just stop, please stop.”
Another blow to the stomach, Gram curled into the fetal position. “You’ll be lucky enough if I don’t report you.” The man put his boot on Gram’s side.
Gram laid there coughing and groaning. “Please sir, please, I got the money.”
The man pushed with his heel turning Gram on his back. “No use laying around all night then, up with you. Let’s see what you have.”
Gram achingly staggered to his feet, the taste of blood on his tongue. He presented the man with his coin purse.
The man weighed it in his hand. “Hmm, perhaps worth even a few denarii. It’s a pittance, but I suppose I’ll be merciful this time and accept.” The man dropped the bag in his left coat pocket. “Just watch where you are going in the future, trash.” He shoulder-checked Gram as he walked past. Gram put up no resistance and was pushed against the wall. Gram slid down, still gasping.
Well, that hurt more than expected. Gram touched his side, wincing. In the morning, there would just be bruises, deep purple bruises. He’s had worse.
“You okay, mister?” The boy whispered, slinking back onto the scene.
Gram coughed beating the footprint out of his jacket, “Peachy, just peachy. You?”
“Your daft, aren’t you? Ya know I was tryin’ to steal from him.”
“Come over here,” Gram said, gesturing in the direction of the voice.
The boy hesitantly approached. Gram gestured for him to come even closer.
Gram reached behind the boy’s ear. “You got something behind your ear.” As Gram retracted his hand from the boy’s ear, he moved the palmed denarius to his index finger and thumb, smiling at the boy. “You gotta work on that technique of yours, or it’ll get you killed. Here take it.” He pressed the coin into the boy’s hand. “Your cut for distracting him. Now let’s get the hell out of here before that fat toff gets wise.”
The purse was heavy with coin, not as stuffed as that silver would like people to think but still far more weighty than Gram’s had been.
Homo Economicish 