Submantle- The Alpha Key

by Patrick Lane

  “Hey Snort, could you do me a favor?”

  The beast eyed him suspiciously for a long moment before nodding his head slowly. Nifty leaned in and held out the Key for Snort to inspect.

  “Do you have room for this in your jowl?” he asked as the boar lunged forward for a treat.

  Yes, for food, no for not food, he answered, disappointed, turning back to his bed.

  “Oh, come on!” Nifty pleaded, “It’ll only be for a few hours until I get back from the markets. Double rations tonight and tomorrow if you do.” He knew the beast would have agreed just for a good rub behind the ear, but Nifty liked to spoil his workmate every now and then.

  Snort studied him for a moment, considering the offer. Yes, he finally relented.

  Nifty laid the device gently on his tongue, and Snort closed his mouth, twisting his head this way and that until he’d lodged it in a safe spot high up in the back of his mouth usually reserved for stashing treats.

  Taking a final look around, making sure everything was in order, Nifty pulled down the airlock levers and the door irised open, pulling a wash of cool air into the compartment. The entry tunnels were designed to flush off the slag from the mantle so they were only greeted with the biting smells of grease, repair fluids, and some kind of unusual cargo with a tangy odor.

  As Nifty walked down the ramp, Ryder blended in with his backpack and gave his neck a quick flick with her leg, signaling the approach of stranger.

  Two of the largest Boloczars Nifty had ever seen were swaggering down his docking ramp toward the train, both had blonde crew cuts, wearing assault boots and swinging splinter staffs at their sides. Each looked up to the task of wrestling a brunt grizzly, and the grim looks on their faces told Nifty they would gladly test his Ranger training should the need arise. Both men were Ascendants, as evidenced by their weapons. Like most non-Linker weapons, theirs were bulkier than Rocktower staffs and probably had several hidden functions to compensate for the lack of connection the wielder had with the weapon.

  A squat, golden-haired Sukairacian was stalking between the two guards, in the spotless black and red uniform of the city administration. A thin task-tablet under her arm elicited a sigh from Nifty.

  “Name and origin,” she snapped sternly, stopping at the edge of the ramp, clearly not impressed with the Rocktower insignia blazoned on the side of the train. The glowing monocular surgically implanted in her right eye gave Nifty the impression she was looking right through him, and he resisted the urge to lean in to see if she was Linked.

  “Niftmire Orditen, Crustspire city, Rocktower,” he answered and took out a credit coin large enough to cover docking fees for a week and to pre-emptively cover any bribes this little greeting party was about to extort.

  The blonde-haired giant on the left stepped forward, he was easily a foot taller than Nifty and outweighed him by a couple of hundred pounds. He took a moment to study the partially-healed cuts and bruises on Nifty’s face, looking slightly impressed. He held out a calloused hand, accepting the coin, and leaned in closer than he needed to.

  With breath reeking of week-old fish, he questioned, “You got some of your slaggin’ enforcement business here? I hope slaggin’ not, we slaggin’ look after our own here. You have a slaggin’ issue, you take it up with the local clan council first. Rocktower, and your slagging Linkin is nothing new here.” He finished his point by jabbing a thick finger into Nifty’s chest. “Well? Are you slagging-well Linked or not?”

  Nifty nearly smiled at the guards crass bullying. On any other occasion he would have set the giant oaf on his back, and been none too gentle about it, and they both knew it. But they also knew the last thing he probably wanted was to be denied entrance into Ragnatex. He flicked the little finger of his gloved hand, and felt the energy starting to gather in his palms. The light humming of the power discs in the palms got the guard’s attention. His eyes widened as they darted to Nifty’s hands.

  “I’m always Linked,” he replied, trying not to make it sound too much like a threat. “But I am just here to look for repairs and a visit to the ceraniron masters to get some work done on my bat” he added quickly, jerking a thumb to his backpack. “No official business at all, it shouldn’t be much more than a slaggin’ day,” he mimicked.

  “Now, now, Svengo, I’m sure our young Ranger friend here is well acquainted with the rules regarding his jurisdictional impotence,” the Sukairacian chimed in, sensing the tension, yet still managing to complete a well-practiced charade.

  “I am administrator Soraya.” She held out the docking paperwork, her slender arm brushing the guard to the side. “Sign here.” Nifty took the offered stylus and wrote his name on the roto-scanned form. “I trust that as a Rocktower Ranger, you won’t be needing instructions on Helix conduct? And nothing of significance will be entering or exiting the docks if this is simply a personal visit. If any cargo greater than that carried on your person is seen exiting or entering your train without the appropriate clan taxes made, both it and the train will be seized and you will be taken into custody. Questions?”

  “No, thank you. I look forward to visiting the markets,” Nifty answered politely, handing back the signed document. These unsanctioned Helixes always came with a few extra bumps, and he’d learned that it was best to stay calm, let the agents have their self-important moment, and move along.

  Apparently satisfied with his attitude, Soraya turned on her heel, her golden hair swaying imperiously as she stalked off to greet another vessel rumbling into place a few slips down. Burly Svengo snorted and shook his head before falling into step with the other guard, leaving Nifty standing there.

  “Well that went easier than I expected,” he commented to Ryder over his shoulder as he walked down the docking ramp leaving the greeting party behind him.

  Threading his way through the docks, Nifty located a repair service. After a fair bit of haggling the lead mechanic agreed to free up the steering fin and weld a couple of plates over the holes in the engines. It wasn’t a perfect solution but it would at least allow them to steer properly.

  As the buck-toothed Rocklinker accepted the credit coins for the work he asked, “Can we get the codes for entry? We will need to test the repairs.”

  “No code, no entry and I need it started immediately,” Nifty said. “I will be in the city for a few hours and you can enter under my escort once I return.”

  “But…” the man started, rubbing a greasy hand across an equally greasy nose.

  “You’re more than welcome to try and enter, but fair warning,” Nifty cut in. “There are two combat trained pushsnouts and a dozen dusters inside, all well versed in how to take care of any unfamiliar visitors. You won’t be the first person I’ve had to scrape off the deck plates who thought they’d take a chance with the snouts.” At which point he delivered an evil grin.

  The man just gulped. “Free the fin and cover the engine. Y- yes sir. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or three.”

  Good. Nifty preferred not to have unfamiliar mechanics, let alone unsanctioned Helix mechanics inside the confines of the delve-train. He’d heard stories, and wasn’t about to find himself the butt of some joke at the academy for not following the most basic of precautions.

  Nifty crossed the bay towards the customs check point on the far side, trying hard not to ogle the chamber like a new recruit on his first mission.

  Unlike Rocktower Helix, built in the post-Scourge style, Ragnatex displayed pure, ancient engineering and design, meant to last for millennia. Apart from Flux burns and the like, Nifty knew every line in the city’s architecture was still exactly as it had been when it was first built five thousand years ago. Pale silver arches raised the white marbled ceiling high above even the greatest ship in the bay. Its sleek, delicate lines and simple coloring gave the building an impression of lightness and purity.

  Reaching the check point, Nifty readied himself for a long wait in line and took this time to study the small square in front of the city gates. All
over the square, people from throughout Submantle were gathered in the most unlikely groups. Not like his last visit at all. He enjoyed the sight of Linkers and Ascendants trading so peacefully, and began to reconsider his thoughts as to why many Linkers kept Ascendants at arm’s length.

  Most Linkers looked much like him: they were easy to pick from the crowd and really just looked like larger versions of their topsider ancestors. The Ascendants were always a mixed batch. In order to compete with Linkers, the Ascendant Helixes had amplified their abilities using advanced genetic engineering.

  The result was that many differed greatly from the Linkers in appearance, like the guards he’d met at the docks. But in the crowd he spotted more than a dozen of what he would usually guess as being Ascendants from their body type, yet each one looked to be Linked to their weapons and tech. It seemed that in this infamous Helix, ruled by clans sprouted from pirates and criminals, an open mindedness had sprung from necessity.

  As it stood now, Ragnatex considered itself a free Helix, and was nearly without law. The exception was those governing trade and commerce. The half-witted guard had made a good point when he’d said that the city looked out for its own. Nifty could see guards in the city uniform patrolling the square, and he even managed to spot a few others in plain clothes blending in among the crowds.

  The officers at the final check point were finishing up with a pair of young Vulpurites and seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time inspecting their mechanical flight suits. They made the couple unfurl the metal-laced, silk wings while they attached a light disc to the propulsion system.

  “We’ve had problems in the past with night flying, and some thievin’ upstarts not running their slaggin’ night lighting,” the guard said to the pair as the light discs locked down over the exhaust vents.

  “These ‘ere will light up the moment you try flight at night. You can return to have ‘em removed when you leave, ‘cause they’ll lock down permanently if you try and slagging steal ‘em,” the guard said to the pair, waving them on.

  As his turn approached, Nifty moved his attention on the men manning the checkpoint, all looked to be Ascendants. He’d learned as a young lad that staring at people was rude and could get you into a lot of trouble, but he couldn’t help himself.

  It was managed by a heavily-gilled Hydrohelixer, with an unpronounceable name that included half a dozen too many ‘O’s on his nameplate. Nifty immediately decided to name him Oh. He was waist-deep in a large crystal urn of tepid sea water with three ridge-backed salt adders curled about his torso, their long tongues lashing about, smelling for contraband.

  To the left of the desk, was brawny Yolon. Sharp tusks, nearly a foot long, jutted from under the man’s jaw, and his feet ended in sturdy hoofs shod in heavy steel.

  A weedy, blue-scaled Thermotexer was guarding the other side. The man had such an unusual tinge to his skin that it got Nifty to wondering. His best guess was that, similar to the Yolon, the man had tried to gain some kind of swimming advantage for business in the Hydrohelixes, but, as often happened with black market gene splicing, the mutation had failed, and instead of gills he had received only the scales. Something he most assuredly hadn’t counted on.

  “Business?” asked Oh, in a pompous, gurgling voice, refocusing Nifty’s attention back to the lean Hydrohelixer. He was garbed in a soaking wet three piece suit that stuck to him like a second skin. His bulging eyes, looking rather bored, were glued to the holo-viewer in front of him. But the three salt adders circling around him were now fixed on Nifty, and slithered out from the comfort of the crystal bowl to loop around him intently.

  “Personal,” he replied simply, trying to ignore the yellow-ridged snake climbing up his leg to reach his pack, leaving a wet trail on his clothes and a slight smell of seaweed. After butting its head intently, sniffing the contents, it slithered quickly back to the agent, signaling something to the distracted officer that Nifty couldn’t quite understand. He hoped it was something to do with Ryder. She’d no doubt taken leave of Nifty already to sneak into Ragnatex, something she took and inordinate amount of pride in, but her odor was probably still quite strong on his pack.

  The other snake was sniffing around his pack’s pockets, trying to get inside, and Nifty turned around sharply, almost growling at the blasted thing, fighting hard not to grab it by the throat and toss it back into the water.

  “Striss, attend,” the muscular Yolon barked, sensing trouble.

  The snake drew itself up to Nifty’s eye level, lashing his tongue for a final assessment before it dropped to the floor; it slithered across to circle itself up around the guard’s thick frame to his outstretched forearm. The snake reported its findings in an unfamiliar body language and, when the man did not reply, it lay its head on his arm, waiting instructions.

  “Place your hand here,” Oh said, pointing to a light pad beside the counter.

  Nifty stepped forward, having already slipped off his shock gloves and placed his hand on the pad. The device ran its scans, beeping when it was finished, sending the data to the task-tablet on the desk. When Nifty’s name and origin appeared, along with his Ranger credentials, the Hydrohelixer raised his head to look at Nifty for the first time, his eyes narrowing briefly before waving him through without a fuss.

  As he headed towards the city gates, Nifty slipped the shock gloves back on, all the while feeling intent eyes on his back so he snuck a quick look over his shoulder as he neared the entrance. The tusk-faced Yolon was having a heated conversation with his snake, gesturing to Nifty intently.

  Dross, that’s all I need, an opportunistic guard. He’d known someone had been bound to take an interest in the valuable airiron, but getting sniffed out this quickly for such a rare metal was just plain bad luck. He considered returning to the train to store the airiron safely until he’d found a machinist, but his time constraints outweighed his safety concerns. He picked up the pace and lost himself in the crowd, hoping to avoid whatever the Yolon might be planning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Exiting the station he got his first look at the city of Rangnatx. It was just as he remembered, a study in engineering elegance. The cities multiple platforms arched towards the ceiling of the helix nearly six miles away like a beautiful tree built from metal and stone.

  The tiered platforms were supported by slender pillars and arches which, to the uneducated eye, hardly seemed up to the task of holding such impressive cityscapes, and spanned nearly a four mile cross-section of the Helix tunnel. Its widest platforms were easily two miles across and they worked their way from floor to ceiling. Like most Helix cities, it made the best use of space possible, leaving the forests both above and below largely untouched.

  He checked his watch; evening was approaching and the sun spheres were beginning to cycle down. Good, the night markets should be opening soon.

  The dock’s exit was located on one of the smaller platforms of the city, at just over a mile across. It was half way up the side wall of the tunnel, covered in exquisitely carved buildings, amphitheaters, fountains, and roadways. He could almost make out its twin across the Helix, along with over a dozen similar platforms artfully intertwined both above and below.

  Nifty’s first task was to find a communications hub and send a missive to Rocktower alerting them to the presence of the dreadnaught at Terraport. He had already prepared a report. All that remained was coding it to the nearest hub.

  He opened his watch’s mapping function and got his bearings as crossed the large square in front of the docking station. Despite the advanced hour, the city was still abuzz with activity and he found himself forced to wait in line once he’d located a communications building.

  Until the last century, the communications hubs had never particularly bothered Submantlers and most found the process very convenient. But as reports of Topsiders’ hand-held devices and their sell-fones became public knowledge, many wondered if it wasn’t time for a return of more of the Ancient’s tech. Records in
dicated that direct communication through small headsets were an everyday convenience back then.

  As it had with most things, the virus had interrupted even the simple task of direct communication across a distance. It gave him a guilty twinge as he thought about that, he was a Jax, this was his ancestors fault, something he had never had to consider before.

  Somehow the virus had adapted itself to latch on to the signals and explode anything Flux-related that received the signal, which in many cases included the user’s head. As it stood now, the communications hubs contained complex filtering checkpoints that stood between both users to prevent such incidents. Unfortunately, they were too bulky for even a delve-train to easily contain especially considering the massive filtering systems they already had designated for running the short-range navigation sensors.

  His turn finally arrived and he approached one of ten circular pedestal tables, three feet across, with gold and silver cables wrapping around the base. He lay the hand written report into a bed of mercury type composite in the middle, forgoing the longer process of actually talking to one of the attendants at Rocktower. Then he took his Ranger code key and inserted it into a slot to the left of the tray. There was a slight hum and, as simple as that, he was done and he reached in and removed both message and key.