The Engine What Runs the World
Quinn W. Buckland
The Engine What Runs the World
© May 18 2018 Quinn W Buckland
All rights reserved.
Cover by. Mnsartstudio
First Edition
For my late Grandpa, Wayne Hodges.
You’ve always supported your grandkids, no matter the endeavor.
It’s only right this first one is for you.
We miss you.
1
Her name was Blue.
Smoke Callahan closed the door behind the woman who had entered his home office and let out a sigh. Many times Smoke had been given jobs to track down and retrieve a missing person, typically a runaway slave or a kidnapped concubine, but rarely a free woman. Smoke didn’t particularly care for such work, but a job was a job and bills needed to get paid.
He scratched his head lightly and sat in the plush chair behind his cluttered desk. His powder-blue typewriter sat front and center, while on either side papers waiting to be filed leaned from several haphazard piles. Near the right edge of the desk, a closeglass - a large piece of convex glass connected to a small bone handle - bore the impressive amount of grime that could only form after months of living underground. Next to it sat a pristine feather pen and inkwell. Other odds and ends of a private investigator lay strewn across a candlelit room.
Though usually dry, the air in his office had gained a low level of moisture, as if large amounts of water had recently evaporated. Not likely, as the only water that ever made its way to the underground came from the water pipes. One of the copper pipes serving the first level of the Underground had burst, letting large amounts of steam into the air. This moisture brought the smell of rot and mould alive. Though his small home of synthetic wood could never rot, the place still smelled as if something grew inside the walls.
As the woman entered she introduced herself as Marla Lang. She stood half a head shorter than Smoke, taller than most women. The scent she wore smelled of honey and flowers, a scent not normally found in the Underground. She gazed at Smoke with her large green eyes as he introduced himself; her eyes were red and puffy, clear signs of recent crying. She held her dark hair in a tight bun, a style more for convenience than fashion. The dress she wore was a dark blue and made from a fabric Smoke hadn’t seen before. In her hand was a small hemp bag with what looked to be a few small objects he couldn’t quite make out.
As Marla sat on the opposite end of the desk, Smoke marked her every move; the way her eyes narrowed at the sight of the clutter, though widening when she saw his revolving pistol or the bottles of mulch liquor. She lifted the side of her dress as she sat - Smoke assumed to allow for greater movement and comfortability.
Smoke opened the top drawer of his desk. Sliding a set of lock-picking tools aside, he pulled out a pair of lookers wrapped in a soft cloth. He wiped the lenses free of any dust that had settled from the air and placed them on his face. He then pulled out a large, faux-leather bound journal with onionskin paper. He opened the book to the blank page in front and slid a well-used pad behind it. All used pages had been carefully removed, leaving little evidence they had been there at all.
He stoically peered across the desk at Marla; he dipped his feather pen in the inkwell and patiently waited for her.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Marla began. “My sister Blue is missing.”
Smoke began to write, “How long has she been gone?”
“A week.”
“Tell me about your sister,” Smoke said without looking up.
“What do you need to know?”
Smoke looked up from his pad. “Anything you can tell me,” he said softly. “Age, height, weight, who she hangs around with, what level you both hail from, her personality, if she has any enemies or friends. Anything like that.”
Marla’s eyes narrowed and her lips pressed tighter after Smoke mentioned needing to know the tower level. “She’s sixteen, around nineteen hands tall, just under nine stone,” Marla paused for a moment. “She wasn’t the sort of girl who had many friends; she was more of a solo book person. We’re from the second above, though she spent a lot of her time on the surface. I’m not entirely sure what I can tell you of her personality; she was a lone girl. That said; it’s hard for her to have enemies when she spent so much time by herself.”
Smoke sighed, “That’s really not a lot to go on. Is it possible she’d have met someone on the surface or even in school?” Smoke paused for a moment. “People in tower still have schools right?”
Smoke’s ignorance seemed to have amused Marla - a small curl of a smile formed on the edge of her lips as her eyes softened, “Yes Mister Callahan, we have schools.”
Smoke matched her amused visage to keep her from becoming defensive, “It could be possible that she was approached by someone at that time.”
“I’ll be honest; I didn’t know her well, at least not since she grew up,” Marla confessed. “It is absolutely possible she met someone that took her,” Marla slightly cocked her head to the right - she looked as if talking about it had given her a thought. “She may have run away. She basically shunned the family business that brought us to the second above.”
Smoke grinned, now they were getting somewhere. He scratched down the notes as quickly as he could, “Why would she shun the family business?”
Marla gave him a half shrug, “I don’t know.”
Smoke had to fight to stifle a small bit of laughter. Instead he raised an eyebrow, “You don’t know?” Smoke inquired. “Miss Lang, I need to know everything you can tell me. Even the smallest detail could make finding her all that much easier.”
Marla hung her head, “My family’s business isn’t exactly what some would call morally sound, I’m not going to get into what it is if it’s all the same to you.” Marla gave Smoke a pleading gaze before he waved her to continue, “Blue took issue with what we do. She looked like she’d come around though.”
Smoke shrugged, “Sometimes people deceive you, especially when others are capable of doing bad things to get what they strive for?”
A poor choice of words. Marla’s eyes narrowed again, her nostrils flared and she crossed her arms. “What do you know about my family or what they strive for?” she spat.
Smoke raised his hands in surrender, “Nothing, nor do I have intentions of asking. It’s not my place to learn the inner workings of a family unless it’s important to the case. If it does become important to the case however, I will have to start asking the questions you don’t want asked.”
Marla glared at Smoke for a moment before giving him an angry nod. “It is still possible she has been kidnapped; she left everything behind. She wouldn’t have left without at least a book, some skins and some survival supplies. It’s hard to say where she could have gone, but without skins she couldn’t have gone up, so she’d have to be at least on the surface or lower.”
Smoke smirked; it was always easiest when people came to the natural conclusion instead of wasting his time with conjecture. “Is it possible she won’t want to come back?” Smoke asked.
Marla shook her head, “It doesn’t matter, she needs to come back home.”
Smoke gave Marla a scowl, “You should know - I don’t like delivery jobs. Especially if the package is liable to fight back. This could cost you.”
“We’ll discuss price later.”
Smoke shook his head, “We’ll discuss price now, or I’m going to have to pass.”
Marla glared at him from across the table. The small wrinkle above her nose gave her a look of dangerous attractiveness. If Smoke had been a younger man he may have tried wooing the woman. Her face soon softened and showed a look
of lament as she hung her head, pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. “I don’t have the authority to discuss price Mister Callahan,” she said before opening her eyes. “My parents will discuss price with you.”
Smoke resisted the urge to tell Marla that she was much too old to still be going through her parents. He dismissed the thought, leaving it to the sake that tower life was likely much different than the underground in more ways than just social status and luxury.
“Alright,” Smoke said after a moment of thought, “how do I speak to them?”
The demeanor Marla had carried with her from the moment she walked through the door changed. She went from bereaved sister to stoic business woman in the blink of an eye. “They are currently working on getting you a one-time pass to the second above. It’ll take a couple days to arrive, but you’ll be able to talk to my parents.”
“Excellent,” Smoke said in the same calm manor he’d been using the whole time. He wasn’t about to change how he held himself just because she did. “In the meantime, do you have anything of hers that I could look over and use to give myself a place to start?”
Marla nodded and raised the small help bag, “I have her diary, an image and a voice image.”
Smoke scratched the back of his head, not out of itch but out of habit when he got less than what he needed. “Well, that should give me a start,” he said trying to hide his disappointment. “If possible; once I’m in the second above I’d like to search through her belongings. In the event she did run away and was not kidnapped there may be something that could give me an idea as to where she might have gone.”
A look of nervousness crossed Marla’s face for a moment, Smoke made a mental note of that. “I’ll run that by my parents,” she said with a shaky voice. “I’m not guaranteeing anything though.”
“Without seeing her personal space I may not be able to figure out where she’s gone. You would be surprised what a person gives away with their room or their possessions.”
The visage of Marla’s face showed absent contemplation. She nodded slowly before standing, “That’s all I have to say for now.”
Smoke raised an eyebrow in suspicion, “All you have to say, or all you’re permitted to say?”
Smoke expected a scowl; instead Marla gave him a soft smile before stepping toward the door. Smoke placed the feather pen back in the inkwell, stood and moved across the room. He opened the door for the young woman, “I’ll find your sister,” Smoke said in an attempt to reassure her. “There’s never been a missing person I haven’t found.”
Marla stepped through the doorway. She turned toward Smoke and raised the corner of her lips, “I know,” she said. “That’s why I came to you.”
She turned away from Smoke and walked down the dirt road toward the market and the lift. He closed the door after her and let out a long breath. “What am I getting myself into?” he asked out loud.
He walked toward the haphazard desk and sat behind the typewriter he used only to fill out his documentation. He scrolled a piece of onionskin paper through, then reached into the hemp bag and pulled out the small image of Blue.
Blue was pretty for a girl of sixteen. She appeared older than her age, though not wearied, a lifetime of good nutrition and a total lack of stress could have accounted for her appearance. In the background of the photo stood two trees in a field of green grass. Smoke believed both the grass and the trees to be artificial oxygen converters that pumped excess carbon to foundries to create manufacturing resources.
Grass was common on the surface, though there wasn’t a tree to be seen. The only place a real tree could be seen was on the surface, and even then you’d have to go to one of the many great forests; not possible for anyone in his area. Even those in the towers would have to spend a great deal to see a real tree; a family from the second above would not have the skins.
Smoke opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a folder made from a thicker version of onionskin paper. He pulled his feather pen from the inkwell and wrote the job number as well as the missing girl’s name on the top flap. He slipped the paper inside and left the desk
He tucked the image away in the folder and proceeded to pull out Blue’s journal. It was an expensive notebook bound in real leather and filled with paper from trees. The cover alone would have cost a small fortune, nothing to someone in the tower, but inaccessible to someone from the surface and lower. “She’s got expensive taste,” Smoke whispered to himself.
The paper made from tree pulp felt smooth on his hands, it beat the translucency of the onionskin paper he was used to. He read each word slowly and carefully, making sure he didn’t miss anything she had written. There had only been four short entries, the earliest entry showing him it had been recently bought.
Date: 25/05/4324/1594NE
I bought this journal today. I guess I can use it to write down my thoughts and shit like that.
Date: 01/06/4324/1594NE
I had a bit of a shock today, a woman came to me and offered me a job. She’d seen my report on how a healthy and sustaining underground could greater benefit the surface and the towers. I’m not sure if I want to know just how she got her hands on my report.
She said she knew I was only sixteen but it didn’t seem to matter to her, she was very interested as to what I could bring to her business. I’m not sure exactly what her company does, but she did say she’s not situated within the tower. That alone intrigues me, especially if she’s able to come and go from the tower as she pleases.
I told her I would think about it and I promised never to speak or write any details, and I aim to keep my word. I don’t think I’m going to take it though. It’d take me places I never thought I’d ever see, but I have to ask myself, are these the sights I actually WANT to see? Many of these areas are dangerous beyond all measure. I don’t even know how I’d ever survive to get to the place of new employment.
I don’t think I’m going to take it. When she meets up with me next week I’ll let her know.
Date: 07/06/4324/1594NE
The woman convinced me to reconsider. I almost want to take it, especially after she explained what I’d be doing. It would certainly be easy on me to leave. I’m done with my family and I’m done with the second above. I want to see new worlds... It would be quite the adventure. Even if I don’t take the job I think I’ll still go see the underground. I’m actually excited for the first time for as long as I can remember.
I’m still going to think about it though. She gave me until the end of the month to come to a decision.
Date: 27/06/4324/1594NE
I’ve decided I’m not going anywhere. Too much has happened that I’ll probably get into later. My parents dropped one fuck of a secret in my lap a few days ago… I can’t even handle it. I’m blown away and astounded that I hadn’t caught on before, everything points towards it. I can be such an idiot. I can’t write it down, I can’t even speak it. I guess it would make it too real. I can’t stop the tears from falling; it’s been this way for days now. They told me to take all the time I needed to come to grips with the secret and I intend on it.
I hope she understands. I hate to disappoint her, but I can’t be allied with her.
Smoke flipped through the rest of the pages looking for anything else she may have written or any drawing or anything that could be on the pages; he soon put it down. A kidnapping seemed more like a possibility. Maybe the woman who had offered her the job wouldn’t take no for an answer. He wished she’d have gone into more detail about the job or where it was located.
Smoke stretched his back and shoulders before returning to the journal. Something seemed off. The way she wrote about her family suggested that it was still possible for her to be a runaway. The clues pointed toward a kidnapping and he would treat the case as such, though he wasn’t ruling out runaway just yet.
He placed the diary in the folder along with the image. The final item in the bag was a small voice image - a small vinyl disc, rou
ghly the size of his thumbs, with several grooves within containing the voice imprint of Blue Lang. The disc was much too small for the voice imager he kept beside his desk. He needed the one he kept in his storage room, not a difficult task, just time consuming.
As Smoke entered the storage room he sneezed. A fine layer of dust covered the vast majority of the objects that lined the shelves and boxes. He placed a small-cloth over his face as he gazed over the contents before him. The shelf was a mismatched collection of random items he’d collected over the years. Some were still useful, though some were sentimental junk. The set of brass goggles, decorative short-blade and tall-hat would be useful once cleaned, though the set of broken lock picks, and collection of voice images from Glass had been kept because he couldn’t bear to get rid of them.
He eventually came across the voice image player and picked it up. The small yellow box showed a speaker and a slot to enter the voice image as well as several buttons to play, stop or pause the recording.
He sat back at his desk, put the voice image in the device and pressed play.
A long stream of clicks and pops were heard as the voice image waited for its user to start speaking. “My name is Blue Lang,” the young woman’s voice began. Smoke could hear a hint of panic within her voice. “If someone has found this and is listening to this, it means I am no longer home and I will have no intentions of returning. There could be several reasons to this; I could have left to pave my own way, distant from the pressure of being under my family’s collective thumb. I could have been kidnapped either along my way after leaving… meaning she got to me….. Or… or I’ve decided to take the job offer. There’s no way anyone would be able to find me.”
Smoke could hear Blue’s sense of urgency in her voice as she spoke her words. She was a young girl doing her best to keep her cool while frightened. Her voice gave everything away.
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