The Engine What Runs the World

by Quinn Buckland

  She drew her shortblade and waited for what she hoped would be enough men to guard the lift while she made her way to the third above. Victory hinged on their ability to guard the lift and conquer the first above while more men made their way upwards. They’d been given direct orders to not kill the families living within, though robbing and looting was completely permitted. The only time killing would be permitted would be against the soldiers and anyone who fought back, even then if crippling was an option, it would be the preferred method. Self-preservation was key though.

  Constance watched as the lift doors opened and half dozen men in leather and iron armour emerged from the lift. The leader of the team, noticeable by his red armour and the medals on his breastplate looked down at her. “Glad to see you made it here alright,” the guard said with cheer in his voice. “Sure took your time though,” he finished with a laugh.”

  Constance gave him a nod and asked, “You have much trouble getting here?”

  “No,” the leader said. “The soldiers were easy enough to take down. It was the lift that scared us the most. I’ve never been this high in my life. I kept expecting the lift to fall back to the surface with us still inside. I don’t know how people can stand living in this place.”

  “When it’s all you know you don’t think of it,” Constance replied. “I need you guys to guard the lift and bring your men up. I got one dead guy over there, but there is no way those shots were not heard. There’s bound to be people on the way. I’ve got other business to attend to. I’ll be seeing you all back on the surface, and I better be seeing all of you.”

  The leader smiled and nodded his head, “Yes ma’am, I’ll personally make sure all my men make it home safely.”

  Constance smiled and ran down the hall. Before she made it back to the vent she had one more stop to make. The Orion house. It wasn’t their fault her family had been forced from the tower, but they were living in her childhood home - their goods were as good as hers. She wouldn’t take much, only as many skins as she could carry and maybe a trinket or two. Either way, she was owed as much for her stolen childhood and for what had happened as a result.

  She found the home easily; the slash through the family emblem was a dead giveaway at a distance. She fired at the door handle and the door opened without any effort. As she entered she was greeted by a swash of blues and forest greens. It was her childhood home exactly as she remembered. They hadn’t even bothered to paint over the colours her parents had chosen for their home. She found it almost disgraceful. She knew she wasn’t thinking straight, but her anger and mixture of several strong conflicting emotions didn’t care. They wanted her to take vengeance and she would obey.

  The family, stupidly, came running in response to the sound of the shot. They looked to be a likeable family. The man wore a grey button shirt with a black waistcoat. Constance could see the chain of his fob watch reach from his waistcoat pocket to his button line. He had a straight stance to him and a flat stomach.

  His wife wore a long flowing scarlet dress filled with crinolines to add width to the waist of her dress. Her hair was done up in a way to add as much height as possible. The pendant around her neck looked to be made of gold with a large ruby in the center. She was a fit woman with perky breasts. She appeared as if she had yet to birth any children. Constance looked around the home and saw no evidence of children anywhere. This was a childless couple living the good life.

  Constance pointed the revolving pistol at the woman, “Alright,” Constance said, “I want two thousand skins, her necklace and your fob watch. I am not joking around here. I will shoot you both to get what I want, don’t fucking test me.”

  Constance then shot at the roof and watched as the faces of the couple turned from confused annoyance to objective fear. Her rational side hated herself for what she was doing; her emotions tuned it out as best as they could. She’d be sick with guilt and grief later, for now she’d take what she could get.

  The man handed his fob watch to Constance. She grinned in delight as she held the small piece of metal in her hand. She opened the watch and a picture of an old man sat within. “Who is this?” Constance asked.

  The man looked to his feet, “It’s my father. He gave me that watch before he died. It’s not all I have from him, I still have the fortune he left me. It’s just sentimental.”

  Constance had been ready to feel sorry for the wealthy man until she heard him say the fortune came from his father as well. After that her senses eased. A gift from a parent before their deaths are always the most treasured, but it seemed this man could go without a watch for a few hours before he left to get another.

  She flipped the cover of the fob watch open and removed the picture and placed it on a shelf beside her. “It’s just a trinket,” she said to the man. “You can get another. It may have sentimental value, but it’s not like it’s the only thing he ever gave you before or after his death. You’ll be fine.”

  The woman was slower to hand Constance the necklace. She fumbled with the gold chain before it finally fell loose from around her neck and in her hands. “Here,” the woman said with tears in her eyes. “This is my best piece; I hope it goes to good use in your care.”

  “This will feed my men and I for over a month,” Constance shot back. “Forgive me if I don’t feel sorry for you. Now,” she said looking at the man, “I believe I also demanded two thousand skins. Get to it!”

  The man looked to the other room, to his wife and back to Constance. In a foolish attempt, he leapt forward towards Constance. It was an idiot’s bravery, he had no idea what he was doing or that Constance would shoot. She fired a shot into his leg and he collapsed into a heap by her feet. “You cunt, you shot me!” he shouted.

  Constance looked to the blood coming out of his leg at a slow but steady trickle. Nothing important had been hit; at least she didn’t think anything important had been hit. She gave him an absurd look. “A person breaks into your home with a revolving pistol, threatens you and demands money and trinkets. What did you think would happen when you rushed me? That I’d just run away? Now,” Constance said to the woman, “I’ll be taking the two thousand skins.”

  The woman nodded and left the room. Constance expected the woman to grab a revolving pistol to fire at Constance. She knocked the man out before moving from the place she had been standing and hid around the corner from the next room. When the woman came through she’d know if the rich bitch had planned to get the drop on her or if she’d actually pay the two thousand to ensure the safety of herself and her husband. At worst the woman would call security, the same security that would be occupied with the growing army of underground soldiers. Constance felt she’d be safe.

  The woman soon emerged with a small sack. She looked around only noticing Constance as she cocked the revolving pistol. “Here are your skins,” The woman said with tears in her eyes. “Please leave us alone now. I beg of you.”

  Constance nodded, “Get a doctor for him as soon as you can. I don’t think I hit anything important, but I’m not a professional so I couldn’t tell you.”

  Constance then left the home and ran to where she had exited the vent. She wasn’t keen on getting back into the tight space, but she had a job to do and questions that needed answering. The third above would be her next stop. It wasn’t a long trip, but she suspected it would be the most important destination she’d reached as of yet.

  19

  The ninth below was just as empty and eerie as it had been when Smoke had first left. The dim light from the bulbs that hung from the ceiling barely illuminated the floor. Smoke, Blue and Penelope began to walk from the steam-powered lift in the direction of the lift to the eighth below. “How long do you think we’ve been down there?” Smoke asked. “I was unconscious a lot and lost track of the days.”

  Penelope shook her head, “I don’t know. I hadn’t even healed from the shot before they threw me into the engine. I had to reconstruct myself and it could have taken a long time, especially since
I was a fine paste. Either way, I doubt we have a lot of time before the boomers go off.”

  “One of the officers told me they knew about the boomers,” Smoke said with a contemplative voice. “There is a possibility he was lying, though I don’t doubt there may be a few boomers they may have missed. I’m not willing to risk sticking around just in case.”

  “What are you talking about?” Blue asked.

  “The underground decided to have a revolution against the towers,” Smoke explained. “They planned on using boomers to collapse the underground, making it uninhabitable for anyone. We need to get to the surface as quickly as we can.”

  “Can you run?” Penelope asked.

  Smoke shook his head. His legs and arms had begun to scab over, but the pain still persisted. Running was out of the question. It was only a few miles between them and the lift, not a long walk, though he’d be thankful for when he’d get to sit and rest his limbs. Blood had begun to seep through the fabric of the body armour he had been wearing leaving it a disgusting purple colour. He looked to Blue who was also walking funny. He imagined she could still feel the effects of the metal jaws clamped to her groin. She probably would for quite a while.

  Penelope was becoming noticeably agitated. “I understand your pain, I really do, but we have to get a move on. We’re going too slowly and if the boomers are still in place - well, I really don’t want to have to dig myself out of this much earth.”

  “We can’t go any faster,” Blue snapped. “Don’t you think we understand the urgency? Smoke’s legs are ruined and my groin just took more electricity than anyone should ever feel run through it. Forgive us if we can’t move our legs a little faster.”

  Penelope scowled, “You two keep going to the lift, and I’ll meet you there or on the way. I’m going to find something to make this go a little faster.”

  “See you at the lift then,” Smoke said with a coy grin. “Bet you we beat you there.”

  He could see a semblance of a smile on Penelope’s face before she ran from them. Smoke wished he could run as well. Penelope hadn’t been wrong when she said time was running out. He was a little surprised the underground hadn’t been collapsed already.

  The pain in his arms and legs grew as he continued walking. He silently cursed the engine and all those within. He especially cursed Portia Lincoln. Blue would be alright in a few days, maybe sooner. It would take several weeks for his arms and legs to heal enough for major use. Glass likely wouldn’t like the scars.

  He shook his head of the thoughts of Glass dismissing him for his new disfigurement. She’d seen him do horrific things in his past; she may laugh at the irony. He had disfigured many people in his childhood - now he got to feel what he had done to others. He had apologized for what he had done several times, as often as he could to the families that had been forced to deal with their scarred or missing family members. He had done what he could to atone for his past. This may be the poetic justice that had been needed to wash him of his discretions. He didn’t think so, but it was a pleasant fleeting thought.

  As Smoke and Blue passed the town he recalled the time they wasted looking through the homes in hopes of finding Blue. The eighth below was more of a waste, but at least he now had Blue in his presence.

  Penelope rounded a corner with two chairs with wheels. Her grin was one of triumph and glee, “Look, I found something that should help,” she said happily, “I’ll push the both of you to the lift. You don’t have to move at your snail pace anymore, plus you’ll be able to rest your wounds.”

  Smoke had seen the wheeled chairs before. They were quite common on the lower levels of the underground. It wasn’t uncommon for a person to hurt themselves bad enough to require alternative modes of transportation. The wheeled chairs were the best way to ensure someone could get around. Although, Smoke had been quite surprised Penelope had managed to find two in the ninth below. That sort of place didn’t really allow for weakness and people who required a wheeled chair typically died shortly.

  He sat in the chair and felt as his legs began to tingle and twitch as the tissue continued to try and stitch itself back together. The healing had been laboured by the walking; now his body could do what it needed to get better while they escaped the underground.

  Once Blue had taken her seat Penelope began pushing the chairs. The smooth flatness of the floor allowed for easy rolling. Smoke continued to look around the ninth below in hopes it would be the last time he’d ever have the displeasure of seeing it.

  They reached the lift quickly, much quicker than Smoke expected. Penelope rolled both wheeled chairs onto the platform and proceeded to turn the crank. Smoke watched as the chain the lift used as a safety mechanism tightened as the gears attached to the turn crank began to spin thus lifting the platform from the ground. Smoke had his doubts the lift from the eighth below would be there waiting. He had his hopes, but admittedly they were not very high. The lift driver who had been given the instructions seemed fairly dim and liable to forget to use the lowering mechanism.

  He watched as Blue gazed at the spinning gears that permitted the lift to ascend through the vertical tunnel. Smoke always enjoyed watching the expressions surfacers tended to show when looking at the underground technology.

  He didn’t doubt the tower was a world more advanced, he’d only seen a few things during his brief visit to the Lang home; though the thought of having the area’s best minds and brilliant inventors in the towers would bring on bigger and better technologies to improve the lives of the rich, only allowing the surface and the underground to partake only when the technologies had become old and outdated to them. It was all speculation, but if the evidence of such things had been presented to Smoke he wouldn’t be surprised in the least.

  The three had remained silent during the lift ride to the eighth below. Penelope continued to turn the crank while Smoke and Blue stared off into space. His legs didn’t hurt as much as before, though the pain from the needles persisted.

  He looked over to Blue who had avoided his gaze since leaving the engine. He couldn’t blame her; he had allowed her to go through the pain of electric torture. If he had been a bigger man he’d have screamed his submission over and over until they stopped. He had forgotten at the time that the people of the engine don’t kill. They are forbidden to take lives. They wouldn’t have killed either of them no matter how much he had screamed. He could have called their bluff and avoided her torture, but his selfish greed came through and she knew it. She also knew if he submitted they’d be in a totally different scenario by that point. There really was no winning.

  As Penelope brought the lift platform to a stop on the eighth below she grabbed the two wheeled chairs and began to push them towards the next lift. Her demeanor was sullen and hurried. Smoke could understand why. If the people of the engine had missed a boomer and it went off they’d be buried alive. Smoke and Blue would die quickly under the falling rubble and would be buried for all eternity. Penelope would survive the blast, the falling debris and the lack of air. She’d spend the next century digging herself through several miles of dirt to get back to the surface. She wouldn’t be able to eat, drink or breathe. She wouldn’t need any of those things to survive, though he was sure she’d need them to feel any sort of comfort.

  Smoke couldn’t image what immortality would feel like. All the marvels and horrors she’d seen through her many years. She was old enough to have seen religions come into existence and then fade away into obscurity and soon die thereafter. Maybe there was something to her Writer religion. If anyone would have an idea on what happened in the afterlife, it was likely she would be the one to know. He couldn’t bring himself to believe in an indifferent writer who cared for nothing but the story – a person who wrote on the few individuals all through the history of his world and their adventures and how they develop as people during their trials. It made everything seem like it didn’t really matter.

  Was he another one of The Writer’s characters in an overarching
storyline? Was he a person destined to change as a character through a period of time? He didn’t feel any different. He could feel the same cynicism he felt towards the world he’d felt before. He still believed the tower should fall and the underground should be moved to the surface. His views hadn’t changed. Maybe he wasn’t the character The Writer had been following all this time. Maybe Blue was its main character and Smoke was the man who was to come in to save the day only to fail at the last minute. Was this just a series of random circumstances that Penelope happened to stumble into through a series of choices and this adventure would never be a story The Writer would ever write? The thoughts hurt his head.

  The lift to the eighth below greeted them like a shining beacon of hope. No lights came from the contraption though Smoke could feel its light as if it had illuminated their way. He wondered if every lift from this point onward would have the same effect on him.

  Penelope wasted no time putting Smoke and Blue on the lift and turning the crank to bring them to the seventh below. Smoke remembered his last time on the seventh below. It was the first time he had any sort of inclination that something was wrong. It was when he had found out about the plan that seemingly everyone else in the underground knew. Or at least everyone in the lower levels knew about. He didn’t doubt the upper floors learned of it before he had left, but yet he had no idea.

  His thoughts came back to Constance. She’d have been herded back to the surface with everyone in the underground. He wondered if she had still kept control of the fourth below despite not knowing what was going on. Smoke wouldn’t have blamed her if she had chosen to give the reigns to Cobble and return to her regular job. He didn’t think she’d get caught up with the fighting; she had no stakes in the quarrel or animosity towards those in the tower. The thought of her keeping his position worried him. The entire population of the underground on the surface was bad enough, but her trying to lead at the same time could be disastrous. He didn’t think she’d have it in her.