Submantle- The Alpha Key

by Patrick Lane

  Nifty smiled. I’m glad at least one of us can relax.

  “Good,” the broad man said, setting the book on the console. “That was a longer nap than I expected.” Checking the time, he added, “We should be in time for supper if quick work is made of disembarking the lads and lassies in back.”

  Nifty nodded numbly, a little annoyed with himself for not pushing harder. He would have to bide his time and see if he could catch Scotty in a more receptive mood, maybe once he’d got some food in him.

  Pushing forward on the control levers he guided the Eos towards the third ring of the Helix as vivid blue words appeared on the display:

  Citadel City, Population 158,871, Temperature 38C, Humidity 82%, Rainfall on 73 hour cycle…

  The list went on. It was one of eight such cities located inside the Helix.

  “I don’t have to remind you that we will have a quick turnaround. They wouldn’t have called us back so suddenly otherwise. One day—two at most—before we leave, so keep yourself available,” Scotty said.

  “Two days?” Nifty blurted. “What about working the last forty-three days straight with no break?”

  “Working, lad?” Scotty asked. “Imprisonment aside, I think you spent more time practicing with your shatter bat and drinking at the Flying Walrus than you did paying mind to the ore-scorching crews. Not to mention an unsuccessful download of Rogarth’s mantle watch. Learning new techniques or not, you were hardly taxed these last weeks.”

  Scotty was right, he had taken his licks during his imprisonment, ‘a valuable lesson in reconnaissance etiquette’, Scotty called it. Drinking was for the watched and not the watcher. Nifty was just relieved that this particular detail of his capture hadn’t made its way into Scotty’s report.

  Nifty was complaining for complaint’s sake, a final jab. With the opportunity gone, his thoughts strayed to his breast pocket as he considered their shortened stay. The pendant he’d won from Rogarth’s crew in that game of Lag and Slash—a finely crafted bird in flight, made from airiron, one of the rarest Flux metals in Submantle. He had no doubt that it had once served as an early warning for the Jax scourge in years gone by. To have survived all this time the piece must have developed some kind of resistance to the corruption.

  He flushed a little as he considered Lulu, the necklace’s intended recipient. Or at least he hoped she would be. He already ran over dozens of scenarios for delivering the gift that wouldn’t leave him nursing a black eye or fat lip, discarding each one in turn as he came back to the undeniable conclusion that the direct approach was probably best.

  Another sigh escaped his lips. Why did this have to be so hard?

  Before long they approached the docking ports— dozens of them, arranged in a precise grid on the outer wall of the Helix. They ranged in size from scarcely twenty feet across, to well over five hundred. Nifty selected one designated for the Ranger Corps and slowed to a crawl as the circular port irised open, allowing Eos inside.

  The vessel set down on the floor of the chute with a gentle thunk followed by a shiver across the hull as the door closed behind them and the magma was sucked from the air lock. He switched off the train’s slip-shield and deployed her wheels. Moments later a scorching chemical wash doused everything in the airlock, sluicing away any stray fragments that had accumulated in the mantle.

  A second door opened ahead and Eos rumbled forward into the mile long tunnel penetrating the wall of the Helix, until they emerged at the docking bays beneath Citadel City.

  A dozen or more monstrous blaze hauler cargo ships lined the aisles of the port, accompanied by at least twice as many Ranger dreadnaughts. Nifty deftly guided Eos between the rows, finally settling her into their assigned slip, joining the rest of the fleet nearly filling the docks.

  “Good! Dinner time,” Scotty said as he stood, taking a final look at the clock and patting his belly. “I think I’ve had my fill of field rations for a while.”

  “Aren’t you going to stay with your family tonight?”

  “Absolutely, lad,” he replied with a grin, “but nothing’s to say that I can’t stop in at the mess hall first for a little snack before making my way home to Sarah.”

  The pair stood and grabbed their utility jackets, Scotty’s the grey of a Senior Commander; Nifty’s the tan of Lance Corporal. Without a word Scotty tossed his jacket and work belt onto his shoulder and made his way to the storage bays in back.

  Nifty leaned over to the charging station next to the control console and removed his shatter from her dock. After giving it a quick spin he holstered her in a bracket built into the spine of his jacket. He moved to follow Scotty’s exit but Otto appeared between him and the doorway, chittering with excitement.

  “Yes, we’re at your new home,” Nifty told him.

  When Scotty had agreed to take the slip-munk with them on the return voyage it was on the understanding that Otto would be turned over to one of the animal nurseries on arrival. Nifty doubted the creature, with its tenuous grasp of language, really understood what that meant. From what Nifty could gather the tiny creature thought it was to be brought to Rocktower so it could be trained as a Ranger, like the dusters.

  Nifty hadn’t had the heart to tell him that wasn’t quite how it worked, nor did Otto have the vocabulary yet to understand it. At the nursery Otto would undergo a rigorous evaluation to find out if he had the mental capacity to receive proper training, and possibly even augmentation with a Flux rod to amplify and focus any aptitudes he had. And that was just a start— budgets, integration, tactical value and housing were just a few of the considerations the Ranger Corp had to consider before final decisions were made.

  Nifty crouched and held out his hand to the little fella. “It’ll be ok, I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of.”

  Otto regarded him nervously with those big blue eyes for a moment, then finally let out a nervous squeak. He scampered up Nifty’s shoulder and made his way into the jacket’s front pocket so he could keep an eye on things from beneath its flap.

  Nifty smiled as he left the cockpit. He really did hope things worked out for Otto.

  “We’re home, boys!” he exclaimed as he entered the hold, sliding down the stairway rails to the neatly organized storage area where the pushsnouts were shaking themselves awake.

  Home? Food? Forests? Snort signaled with a combination of ear twitches, huffs, and squeals.

  Nifty smiled as he approached their pens. The massive boar, true to the nature of his species, enjoyed nothing more than trying new delicacies. It was a trait that no amount of genetic tinkering could seem to curb.

  “Yes, Snort, we’re home, but only for a day or two,” Nifty replied, flinching slightly as both boars’ heads whipped up in protest and one of Snort’s tusks narrowly missed his head.

  “Easy there, friends. Relax,” said Nifty, soothingly.

  While Nifty tried to calm the pushsnouts, Scotty crossed to the cache containers. He climbed the rungs that kept them safe from the reach of the inquisitive beasts and withdrew two bricks of a solid, tar-like substance that filled the air with a nutty aroma. He threw them down to Nifty.

  “See, it’s alright,” Nifty reassured the pushsnouts, peeling the wax paper away from each brick. “We were hoping to save this for a special occasion, but if you quit complaining, you can have the last of the saffron lichen-cuds. You may even be able to visit the mud baths before they close. Quickly, though, Scotty needs his dinner,” he said with a wry grin.

  The exotic cud had the desired effect, and both beasts immediately settled down. Shuffling closer, they picked the treats from his hands with surprising gentleness, dexterously grabbing each piece with their large, tusked mouths. Chewing slowly, they began the elaborate ritual of describing their treat to one another, in agonizing detail, despite the fact that each cud was identical. Each grunt and squeal, when combined with a particular accent or gesture, could have literally hundreds of meanings.

  Originally bred for clearing rubble, the boar�
�s broad shouts, almost as wide as they were long, were covered with boney plates as durable as a delve-train’s hull. This, alongside their affinity for human contact, made them highly sought-after work companions. As a result, many of them had been reassigned from the mines; they were found to be far more valuable serving in the Ranger Corps than they ever had been simply clearing rock.

  Other Rangers, like the Fergraniteson brothers, preferred the smaller hyber-rams as mounts, mainly because of their speed and willingness to engage in confrontations. But they could be notoriously difficult to deal with.

  Nifty opened the bay doors with a whoosh. The smell of machine oil and some kind of spiced cargo came wafting through the hold as a ramp telescoped between the doorway and the dock below.

  “Check-in tomorrow morning,” Scotty began, “And please do us all the kindness of showering properly before you return, especially if you plan to visit the mud baths.”

  We shower, we shower with mud, Grunt signaled, giving a mighty shake as he snuffled with amusement.

  We make saddle with mud, no shower need, Snort signaled with his own amused snuffle before trotting for the door.

  Both boars disappeared into the docks, no doubt heading for the food stalls. Lucky beasts, Nifty thought with an inward sigh. Most of the pushsnout’s training was done in the field, so once they were released from duty nothing more was expected from them except making sure the Flux rod, muscle amplifier, grafted to their torso’s were kept charged. Nifty wished the same was true for him and Scotty.

  “Dusters attend,” Scotty called, interrupting Nifty’s rumination.

  What had appeared to be the ceiling of the compartment began to distort, and six dusters materialized, seemingly out of thin air. The ultra-fine, iridescent fur on their wings and slender bodies changed from the silver-gray of the hull, back into their natural browns and green. As one, the dusters glided down to land on the rails around the pushsnout’s stalls.

  “Thank you, ladies,” said Scotty, nodding to each in turn. “I hope your utility kits are in good order. Please stow them before we get outside. Fleet, Swirl, Dip, Dart, Floe, you five will be off duty for the next twelve hours. Report to my office tomorrow morning. Ryder, you will remain on duty with me,” he instructed. “Any questions?”

  Ryder, by far the smallest of the praying mantis-like creatures, waved her front, bladed appendages frantically and made a series of popping sounds. Like all animals in Submantle she couldn’t talk, but she could communicate quite clearly using body language. Roughly translated, her elaborate display meant, We are home?

  “Oh, sorry Ryder. Excellent question. His mustache hiding a grin of amusement. “Yes, we’re home.”

  Without any further instruction, the five off-duty dusters de-rigged their utility harnesses, each one flying over to place them in a cubby above Nifty and Scotty’s lockers that doubled as a charging station for the Flux rod amplifier stored in their chest pieces. All signaled a brief goodbye briefly before fluttering to the docks.

  Ryder, scarcely a foot tall, hopped over to Scotty to land on his shoulder. She reached out tentatively with her front appendage to stroke his sideburn. Cinnamon? She signaled.

  “Yes, we can get you some cinnamon,” he answered, then turned to Nifty. “Dinner, then off to find out what is so important about this blasted Key that it warranted your abduction. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” replied Nifty, crossing to his locker to retrieve a large duffel bag that contained his sparring equipment, “but I will be stopping off at the practice yards either tonight or tomorrow for an hour or more.”

  Scotty just shook his head.

  He was about to exit the train when they were greeted at the door by a stout, breathless Ranger, dressed in a clerical uniform. “Lance Corporal Orediten,…um, um, welcome back sir,” the man said between gulps of air. “Commander Slatearm, um, please sir, Councilor um, um, Doon requests your presence. He-he-he sent me as soon as he he...”

  “Quite enough, Quentin,” Scotty cut in, familiar with Doon’s aide.

  Quickly gathering up his gear, he turned back to Nifty. “We’ll check-in, and by the looks of it you may have to call everyone back to prep for an earlier departure.” Shaking his head he added, “Dross and double dross, what in blazes is so important that we can’t have a little dinner first?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  They left the docks behind, but not before noticing a flurry of activity. Mounts and supplies were being loaded on delve-trains and engineering crews crawled across hulls, making final adjustments and repairs.

  Nifty handed a maintenance report to the one of the mechanics as they passed, holding out little hope any proper repairs could be done on their train in less than twelve hours.

  “The Eos, quick turnaround, check her power rods and the repair solution vats please. Oh, and the right rudder feels a little sticky when we dive,” Nifty instructed the spectacled man, who added his report to a stack under his arm before scurrying away.

  They exited the docks and passed through the city’s security checkpoint. Scotty received more than just the perfunctory salutes that a man of his rank usually received as many of the senior the guards recognized the legendary Ranger and snapped to attention.

  As Nifty emerged from the docks he took a deep breath, savoring the smells of home as they entered one of the courtyards in the lowest level of the city. The aroma of freshly cut herbs, combined with the earthy odor of new tilled soil, filled his nostrils. He had felt Otto poking his head from his pocket several times, pulling the flap shut at the first sign of trouble.

  You have no idea, do you, little friend? Nifty thought to himself.

  The city itself occupied a small portion of the third ring of the Helix. Like most Helixes, the roof of the tubular tunnel was miles away. Off to his right Nifty could see the gentle slope of the tunnel as it slowly descended, following a helical shape, spiraling down towards the direction of the earth’s core. To his left the tunnel sloped upwards, its slowly curving oval disappearing in the same fashion as it circled through the mantle to where it attached to the earth’s crust. The entire Helix was just over six hundred miles long.

  He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket to check his mantle-watch. It confirmed what the engineered sun spheres, hanging miles above, were already telling him: Dusk was approaching. The enormous globes dotted along the tunnel’s ceiling cast a warm yellow light that fed the forests and farms growing across all three hundred and sixty degrees of the tunnel, including the roof.

  “We—we—we best hurry, sirs, Councilor Doon seemed most upset,” Quentin began. “Rangers don’t just well, well, well—disappear.”

  “Rangers? Who?” Scotty ordered sharply.

  “Sorry, sorry. I—I—I—Master Doon was hoping to brief you in person,” Quentin replied, quickening his pace.

  Across the courtyard utilitarian buildings dominated the cityscape, each complemented with neatly manicured gardens and ponds, a bucolic finish to an urban landscape. Countless water channels crisscrossed every sector, conveying all manner of barges via hydro-energy fields that manipulated the currents.

  They stepped onto one of the barges and were carried briskly to the center of the city where a column of water elevated the barge to the upper levels of Ranger headquarters.

  The grounds in front of the headquarters were as neatly manicured as the rest of the city. In a large fountain fed by dozens of interlacing streams sat an enormous metal-and-stone sculpture. It had been crafted into a stylized Helix with a pick blade at its crest, the symbol for the Ranger Corps.

  A dozen mounted guards, including three on rip-tailed pangolins and one on a highly prized hammerhead rhino, waved them through the tall gates as they passed into the headquarters.

  “Welcome back, Commander Slatearm,” the soldier on the hammerhead blurted boldly as they passed.

  Scotty only nodded, striding purposefully past the hive of activity surrounding the administration buildings.

  Close to twenty thousan
d Rangers and their families called Citadel City home, with thousands more stationed throughout the Rocklinker Alliance of Helixes. The Ranger Corps were the peacekeepers for this quadrant of Submantle. They were responsible for twenty-three helixes, including the five largely-abandoned Bastion Helixes built by the ancients nearly six thousand years ago.

  There were thirty-six million Submantlers in their jurisdiction. The Ranger Corps was involved in everything from boarder disputes to monitoring Flux mining. Their duties fell somewhere between the local constabulary and the military and it was widely accepted they were the first line of defense against any strange occurrences in Submantle.

  The party continued through the headquarters and passed into a broad hallway affectionately named The Gauntlet of Heroes. It was lined with impressive, lifelike statues of Rangers from bygone ages, each one complete with a detailed account of their heroic deeds.