The Engine What Runs the World

by Quinn Buckland

  The man Smoke assumed to be their leader stepped forward, “Alright, I want a name, I want your reason for being here and I want a damn good reason to not shoot you.”

  Smoke furrowed his brow at the mention of a reason to not shoot. That was odd behaviour for a Worm. “My name is Smoke Callahan and I’m looking for a young girl who was last seen on the seventh below.”

  “Lift’s the other way numb-nuts!” one of the Worms said, which caused a short bout of laughter. “Besides, nobody is going down anymore, haven’t you heard-”.

  Without looking the leader had shot the talking man in the head. The answers part was a difference, but their ruthlessness to their own had remained the same.

  “I’m on a job from the fourth floor,” Smoke said knowing it had the high probability of getting him shot. It was best if he told the truth though; if they caught him in a lie it’d be a guaranteed death sentence. If he had been caught in a lie he’d suffer more than a few bullet wounds. “They wanted me to drop off a package in the garbage beside the statue of Pedro Argos.”

  The mention of their saint’s name caused half of them to lower their revolving pistols. Their leader didn’t seem phased. “Prove it!” he said loudly. “We are expecting a package from the fourth floor. We were on our way to look and see if it had arrived when we found you. Throw it to us and if we see what we expect to be inside you will be let go. You will be able to go to the statue of Pedro Argos to pay your respects and then to the lift. No other detours and no other stops. We will be watching you.”

  Smoke could feel sweat begin to bead from his forehead and under his hat. He didn’t know what was in the package nor did he trust these men were the intended recipients. He didn’t really have a choice in the matter. He reached into the inside pocket of his longcoat and threw the package to the leader. The leader caught the package; Smoke noticed a grin could be made out from the leader’s cheek movements. He pulled out a small blade from his pocket and cut the package open.

  Smoke didn’t know what to expect from the package. A small shipment of narcotics had been his first guess. He wasn’t fond of the prospect of being a narc again, but the lack of product floating into the air or falling to the ground when the Worm caught it set his mind at ease a little. His second guess had been a bomb set to blow at the time of opening. This obviously was not the case when he saw the man grin again. Smoke didn’t quite know what to think when all he saw in the package was a bunch of small papers. He couldn’t even begin to guess what had been written on them. “What’s on the papers?” he asked as an attempt at finding out.

  “None of your goddamn business!” the leader shot back. “If they didn’t tell you above we will not tell you here. This is exactly what we wanted, in a way a little more. As promised you are to go to the statue and pay your respects to Pedro Argos and then straight to the lift. We will tell her to wait for you. She has not yet gone today and she will not go without you aboard.”

  Smoke nodded politely and continued towards the park. There was no more need for him to remain in the shadows. He may have screwed up his mission and given the package to the wrong people, but it was what he had to do to get out of there safely. After all, he accepted the job to keep him going through the underground, not through any sort of duty. Thoughts began to run through his head about what could possibly be on the papers. Curiosity began to engulf him as he walked. He did his best to force the need to know from his head, but to no avail. He knew he’d never find out, at least not until he made it back to the fourth below and forced the information out of Cobble… or Metal Jaw… or Conrad… or Reggae. Someone would talk and he was going to find out. Knowing he would find out later soothed the itch of not knowing - a little. He knew as he continued forward it would get pushed to the back of his head as necessity persisted, but it was still a heavy annoyance for the time being.

  The statue of Pedro Argos stood in the center of the only park the fifth below had. Of everything on this level the statue was the only thing that was immaculately clean. People from all around must come up on a daily basis and clean all the dust from the crevices. The brass shone within the dim lighting of the floor making it a shining monument to the man who had freed the fifth floor from the Nagara.

  The statue had been erected shortly after the man’s death fifty years prior. Smoke remembered hearing the stories as a kid about the man who single handily fought off dozens of Nagara in the name of the fifth below. Smoke had always thought of the man as a bit of a folk hero and that his story had been exaggerated to an extent. He didn’t doubt he played a major part in the forced exodus of the Nagara, but to be one man fighting such odds didn’t seem likely to him.

  Smoke looked to the ten foot statue showing the stoic face of Pedro Argos as he held two revolving pistols aimed and ready to fire. No detail had been left out of the statue, including the scar across his left forearm. He could see the bullet holes the artist had carved into Pedro’s chest and back indicating this had been his final stand against the Nagara. The battle of the lift where Pedro shot until no Nagara had been left standing. The story had depicted Pedro collapsing shortly after the battle had ended and he had died all alone. He had been found after all the smoke had cleared and someone had been able to get to him.

  It was a nice story, one Smoke enjoyed even as he got older, but it was nothing more than a story.

  “Pedro Argos,” Smoke said in a low prayer like voice, “saviour of the fifth below. I wish for you to continue to protect this floor and prevent any Nagara from poking their heads from their corner of filth again.”

  He didn’t mean the words. If the Worms had been wiped out the next day he wouldn’t shed a tear for any of them. He may not like the deaths of the children, but it’d be a better fate than what they had ahead of them.

  He turned to leave the park towards the lift as the leader of the Worms stepped forward with a similar package to what he had given them. “Before you leave,” he said, pulling down his softcloth, “we require you to take this and give it to one of the Nagara slavers.”

  “You’re working with the Nagara?” Smoke asked in shock.

  “Desperate times,” the leader said.

  Smoke nodded and he decided to not ask any more questions, “So you want me to take this? Will I have to take another one from that person to the floor below?”

  The leader shrugged, “Don’t know. Not my place to guess. But you must give this to a man named Blaze Pox.”

  Smoke’s eyes shot open. It was a name he knew very well and a face he thought about with great glee. “I know Blaze,” he said stoically.

  This time it was the leader’s eyes that widened, “You know the Pox? I’m not sure if you’re a fortunate man or the most unlucky one I’ve ever met.”

  “Some days it’s hard to tell,” Smoke said in agreement.

  “You must be Smoke Callahan, I’ve heard of you,” he said with a short nod. “I’m Homer Thatcher.”

  Smoke returned the nod and took the package from Homer. “Odd name Homer, does it mean anything?”

  “My father said a man named Homer was a great storyteller from thousands of years ago. He’d tell them to me before I’d go to sleep as a little boy - stories of a great wooden horse and the sea voyage that happened after. They were always my favorites as a kid. It was a bit of a shaming later though when my namesake was considered a sign of weakness. I fought to the top of the Worms and here I will stay.”

  Smoke cocked his head slightly, “Why are you telling me all this?”

  Homer gave him a devilish grin and said, “Because I can and because you have to listen.”

  Smoke gave no sign of interest, anger or apathy, though he did give the leader of the Worms a look of respect. He wanted to be on his way though, he knew the lift driver would be there waiting for him. “Well, I don’t know any of those stories and I don’t know if Homer was a real person, but what I do know is that I have a lost girl that needs to be found. If I may, I will go deliver your package and continue on
my way.”

  “Perhaps I’ll regale you in one of the stories my father told the next time I see you.” Homer said with a grin.

  “Until that day.”

  Homer nodded and made a slight hand gesture to show that he was permitted to pass. Smoke took the opportunity and began his walk to the lift that would take him to the sixth floor.

  Blaze Pox.

  The name rang through his head like a bell that wouldn’t stop. He hadn’t seen the man in many years and didn’t know what sort of ground the two of them stood on. He wouldn’t be as hostile as Fulcrum had been, but he doubted they’d be drinking together upon their meeting.

  He allowed those thoughts to go to the backburner of this mind alongside the curiosity of what was in the packages. He would cross those bridges when he got to them, but for the time being he had a girl to track down as well as thinking of a way to prevent his death at the hands of Fulcrum. While the honour of keeping his word would translate well to the other floors below, Glass would much rather he be with her than maintain some pointless honour among criminals. If he were being honest with himself, he had the same preference.

  He couldn’t help but grin to himself as he walked towards the lift, which had finally come into view. The thought of Glass grounded him and gave him a reason to get things done as quickly as he could.

  9

  Rage bubbled through Constance as she watched Smoke depart the fourth below. Once Smoke disappeared from view she stormed off back toward to the basement tavern. He had left her in the fourth below and she couldn’t help but hate him for it. It wasn’t that she was an essential part of his mission and he wasn’t an essential part of her plan. What had caused the rage was the sake he put her in charge of the Cartel. She had no interest in being their leader, even if it was only a temporary position.

  She had been impressed with herself for remembering where the tavern had been. She opened the door and quickly walked downstairs. As she entered the tavern she scanned the room. The majority of the people had cleared out by this time, including the body of the former boss. One of the serving girls was on her hands and knees scrubbing the now-congealed blood from the synthetic wood floor. There would be no way all the blood would ever come out. Constance thought to the near future where the blood that had been on the floor would leave left a tell-tale stain that would only ever disappear after several years of foot traffic and replaced boards.

  She gritted her teeth and sat in the seat where the Boss had made them sit only a few hours prior. She raised her index and middle fingers in the air to summon a serving girl. The one that approached her was a young woman with long golden hair with sparkling green eyes. She gave Constance a nervous smile and asked, “What can I get for you?”

  “Darkplant liquor. Bring the bottle.”

  The woman nodded, “Right away. I should tell you though Miss, you should probably find another place to sit, that’s where the new boss sits and I doubt he’d like anyone at his table.”

  Anger began to bubble higher within Constance, “And what if I don’t move?”

  She could see the instantaneous fear in the woman’s eyes, “Bad things for both of us Miss.”

  Constance swallowed the anger she had within her. She wasn’t going to bite this woman’s head off for trying to protect her own job and possibly her life on top of Constance’s. She looked back up to the serving girl and said, “I’m the Boss for right now. Smoke decided to go down to the fifth below and probably going deeper. He’s left me in charge while he’s gone.”

  The serving woman gave Constance a suspicious look. “Alright,” she finally said, “I’m going to need proof.”

  “Talk to Cobble or Metal Jaw,” she said as she began to lose her patience.

  At the mention of the names the serving girl moved aside and quickly moved toward the bar. Constance watched as she grabbed a bottle of the darkplant liquor and a small glass. She immediately brought it to Constance’s table and placed them down gently. “Here you are ma’am, and I would like to apologize for my rudeness.”

  She could see the genuine look of apology in her eyes and it sated a lot of Constance’s anger. “It’s alright,” she said calmly, “I can’t expect everyone on this floor to know every little bit that goes on as soon as it happens. I also know you are just protecting yourself. I would though, like you to send out a message to Cobble. I’d like to speak with him.”

  The woman nodded and moved to speak with her boss. She pointed to Constance as she spoke. The woman said a few words to the man behind the bar and soon left the tavern. Constance poured a small bit of the dark liquid into her glass and swallowed it in one gulp. The alcohol burned down her throat but it still had the taste of the darkplant she loved so dearly. She poured herself another glass and proceeded to take sips from it at a much slower pace. She didn’t intend on getting drunk, only calm her nerves enough she could think straight.

  The tavern was nearly deathly silent. The band had left while they were gone, leaving the place with nothing more than the sounds of moving glasses and footsteps. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Smoke had left her; there had to be a good reason for this. She didn’t think he had any interest in coming back to stay. He’d probably put her in charge to hold the fort while he thought of something. He couldn’t stop his investigation; not for her or anyone else. Not even for himself; not even for Glass.

  Then it hit her. Something he had said while they had been tied to their chairs. He had said he could move around without getting noticed if he were alone. Another person was one more the enemy could spot. She had stayed to keep Smoke safe from the dangers of the lower floors - this wasn’t about her or her capabilities - it was about making sure he made it down each floor safely.

  She smiled and finished her glass of the darkplant liquor. She poured another glass and continued to think. The major concern of hers now was what she was going to do while she remained here. She had been told to hold the fort down in a world she knew nothing about. Smoke must have known she wouldn’t have the first clue as to what to do or how to lead these men. Fear and worry began to creep into her brain, replacing the anger and rage that had recently vacated.

  She took another sip and placed the glass down. She was already beginning to feel a slight buzz from the alcohol and it was pleasant. Constance never really enjoyed the feeling of being drunk, but this time it was quite nice. It allowed her to put away her feelings.

  She heard a small noise come from the entrance as Cobble walked through the door. She couldn’t tell if he had been angry with this outcome or if he had been relieved. She didn’t really want to know. He met her eyes and she gave him a slight head nod, the way Smoke had taught her, and he approached her and sat down across the table. They sat in silence for a minute before he asked, “How much of that have you drank?”

  She looked down at the glass again as a sense of shame passed through her and had disappeared as soon as it had arrived. “This is my third glass. I’m only filling them half full though.”

  Cobble contorted his face and nodded his head absent mindedly. He raised his thumb and put his index finger to it. This was a hand signal she didn’t recognize. He must have been able to tell her ignorance towards the more intricate hand signs and laughed, “I’m asking if I may share the bottle with you.”

  Constance remained stunned for a moment before she furrowed her brow and nodded, “By all means.”

  Cobble raised his index and middle fingers in the air once he caught the barkeeps attention. He nodded to Cobble and brought him a glass. Cobble silently took the bottle and filled his glass. He placed the bottle back on the table between them and said, “Well, this is quite the turn of events. I don’t think I’d have ever guessed Smoke would take the reigns as boss, and then to put a surfacer in charge after leaving. That’s just blowing me away.”

  Constance gave a single chuckle, “I know. I didn’t see that coming at all. I don’t know what goes on in that man’s head, but sometimes I swear he’
s not thinking things through fully.”

  Cobble’s face straightened as he took a small drink from his glass, “In all honesty, I am really at odds with myself. I want to be the boss of the underground. I’d have taken it years ago, but Smoke would have to verbally renounce his right as heir to the Cartel. He took off for ten fucking years and that wasn’t a true renouncing, even if he thought of it that way. If his father had died, one of us - probably me - would have had to go to the first below to fetch him. He’d have to come down to the fourth below and do his verbal renouncing in front of the entire Cartel.”

  “You’re at odds because I’m in charge,” she said, feeling the fear return.

  “I am,” Cobble agreed. “Though you can rest easy. We have rules and laws we all abide to. It keeps things from falling into disorder and chaos. Our heir system is even there to prevent power vacuums between those who hold ranks within the Cartel. So because Smoke is now the boss and he placed you in charge you are officially the Boss and under our protection until he returns.”

  Constance did what she could to avoid breathing a sigh of relief. The last thing she needed was to look weak in front of the second in command. “That’s a good thing to know,” she said trying to seem as if his explanations didn’t matter to her. She didn’t think she was doing a good job of it though.

  “Besides,” Cobble said as he took another drink from his glass, “killing you wouldn’t get me any closer to the position of boss.”

  “Are you planning on killing Smoke?” she asked.

  “Not if I don’t have to,” Cobble said as he hung his head. “As long as Smoke renounces his position upon arrival he will be permitted to leave the fourth below alive and will even have free access to our supplies and men as needed. He’ll be an honorary guest, just not a member.”