Driftmetal V

by J. C. Staudt

  Chaz flashed a smile from behind the plastic shield. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

  I gave him a wink and left the workshop.

  When sunset came, I returned to the brig. “What’ll it be, Yingler? Fortune or family?”

  He stared at me, venom in his gaze. “I’ll help you. But you have to promise to leave my family alone forever.”

  “That’s a pretty long time,” I said. “Sure. You’ve got yourself a deal. Shake on it?” I reached through the bars.

  Yingler gave my hand a cautious look, perhaps thinking I wanted to test out some new augment on him. After a moment, he approached to just within reach and shook with me. “I feel like a fool, taking you at your word,” he said. “But you haven’t left me much choice.”

  “You’re right, and let me be clear. If you try anything—a double-cross, a trick, anything that isn’t help—not only will I rescind our agreement; I will make you watch what I do to your family. Do we understand each other?”

  He flung himself onto his bunk and crossed his arms. “Yeah.”

  “Congratulations. You love your family. See you in Seskamode.”

  Along the way, I spent as much of my time and influence on Mini-Max as I could. He was a quiet kid, respectful and calm in all respects. He’d outgrown the phase of childhood where you have more energy than any adult knows what to do with. I quickly learned that once you got Max going on one of his myriad interests, he could talk about it for hours at a time while hardly pausing for breath. He liked nature and science and history, taking things apart to figure out how they worked, and magnet theory. He liked birds, kites, paper airplanes, catapults, and anything else that flew or made things fly. I knew he’d enjoy a stint with Chaz in the workshop, but I didn’t want to interfere with my chief gadgeteer’s progress, so I told Max I was saving the best for last. When he was done learning knots and ropes with Thorley, I sent him to the engine room to learn about steam-powered machines and the synergy between driftmetal and gravstone.

  The air thickened when we left the stream. I can always feel the atmosphere getting heavier, and I’ve never liked it. Low-altitude air is easier on the lungs, but it has a grimy quality to it, like sediment at the bottom of a glass of unfiltered water. It’s not going to kill you, but it’s downright unpleasant compared to the good stuff.

  Early one afternoon, Seskamode sprang up through distant clouds. It was paved out to the edges, not unlike many low-lying floaters. When the smaller islands ripped free of the planet, I can only imagine they left large sections of built-up terrain behind. I’ve heard of larger cities that split into multiple floaters. Seskamode was a case where the middle floated away and left its outskirts to boil in the Churn—or so the stories went. As a result, the buildings around the edge were the newest. The ancient architecture at Seskamode’s center consisted of arched windows over cobbled streets that meandered like veins into larger, more recently paved avenues. The whole place conveyed a feeling of complacency, as if whoever ran it had done only what was necessary and left the rest in ‘good enough’ condition.

  I instructed Mr. Sarmiel to fly us in low so I could scout out the Seskamode Trust. When we found the bank, he slowed down so I could take a good long look. Buildings, like people, can be analyzed according to the condition of their roofs. This one was bald and cracked, fronted by stone columns and crowned with a flat balustrade terrace of aging concrete, patched in several places.

  Mr. Irkenbrand got landing clearance from Seskamode’s crow’s nest, and my Ostelle settled to rest in a full-size docking bay at the Seskamode Skyport. With the time for action drawing nigh, I descended to the brig to bring Yingler and Thomas up to speed. Yingler looked at me with numb indifference when I entered, no doubt aware that it was time for him to put his money where his mouth was. Or maybe he was jealous because I looked so freaking cool in my villain cape.

  “Afternoon, gentlemen. I’m glad to have you both in my service. Here’s how this is going to work. Yingler, you’re going to tell your fellow inmate Tom everything he needs to know about your bank and how it protects its accounts. I’m going to listen and take mental notes. Ready? Go.”

  Yingler was confused. “Wait… what am I telling him for? I thought I was the one going into the bank.”

  “What makes you think I’m letting you out of this room before I have all your money?” I said. “Tell the truth, or your buddy here could be going away for a long time.”

  Both men looked at me in shock.

  “Your jailers may look like big dumb grunts, but they’ve got sharp ears, and they report everything they hear to me. I’ve heard about all the little heart-to-hearts you two have been having down here. You’ve formed a friendship. So here’s how Tommy-boy is going to know whether you’re really his friend, or if you were just talking to him to pass the time. You tell him how to get at your money, or he goes to jail and you spend the rest of your life watching me hurt everyone you love.”

  Thomas and Yingler exchanged a glance.

  “That’s right, Tom. If this doesn’t go flawlessly, not only are you out a friend… you’re up a creek.”

  “The Seskamode Trust has been in business for over a hundred years,” Yingler began. “They’re at the forefront of the banking industry and have worked closely with the Regency to develop new technologies and advance financial security across the world. The company was founded by two—”

  “This is turning into a real snooze-fest, Yingler,” I said. “You sure know how to take something fun and exciting and make me wish I was huffing septic fumes. Get to the good stuff.”

  Yingler glared at me. “The Trust requires the same paperwork you’d have to furnish to prove your identity at any bank. For withdrawals, though, account holders are required to provide a code word, which is known by only themselves and a handful of bank employees.”

  “What’s yours?” I asked.

  He wrinkled his mouth. “Delicatessen.”

  “You’re a simple man. I like that. You’re easier to take advantage of, that way.”

  Yingler stared at Thomas for a moment, as if deciding whether to continue with the truth. “The account isn’t under my name.”

  “Vilaris,” I said.

  Yingler nodded.

  “I miss that guy.”

  Yingler said nothing.

  “Alright, then. When was the last time you were in there, Yingler?”

  “When I deposited the proceeds of the gravstone sale. Six months back, give or take.”

  “You on a first-name basis with any of the employees? How well do they know you?”

  “I doubt anyone there could pick me out from a lineup,” he said.

  “That’s good. Now Tom, you’re going to apply for a job at the bank. This whole scheme hinges on you. All you have to do is look in the bank ledger and find the most recent account balance under Clinton Vilaris’s name. Simple, right?”

  Thomas nodded.

  “There’s something else we need to account for,” I said. “Your accent.”

  Thomas made a face.

  “Say, ‘Hello, I’d like to apply for a job.’”

  He did. As per usual, his accent had the unfortunate distinction of sounding thin and elongated.

  “Not like that. Say it like a normal person. Without all the eo’s and aw’s.”

  Thomas tried again. Not even close, and way more awkward-sounding.

  “Okay, forget it. If you’re not even going to try, you can go in there and get pinched for all I care.”

  “I was trying.”

  “I find that hard to believe, Tom. Try again.”

  This time, instead of a normal person, Thomas sounded like a backwoods yokel.

  “That was… wrong. But not terrible, actually.”

  “Why can’t I just speak the way I normally do?”

  “Because you have to sound like a bigshot banker, not some servant-class pauper who’s never had two chips to rub together.”

  Thomas frowned. “I rather resent
that.”

  “Feel free. You have the rest of the day to sit in there and resent it all you want. I’ll be back tomorrow with further instructions.”

  I went to the galley, where Chaz was enjoying a late lunch with Blaylocke, who was up and walking around again. “There he is,” I said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I got shot.”

  “Don’t push yourself. I’m going to need you nice and healthy when I try to convince Malwyn and DeGaffe I’m on their side.”

  “They’re never see a techsoul that way. Not after the Yingler debacle.”

  “And yet without the proper connections in the stream, they’ll never survive.”

  Blaylocke grunted and gave a shrug.

  “Anyway, Chaz is the guy I came to see. You have that eavesdropper ready to go?”

  Chaz nodded. “It’s in the workshop.”

  “Great. Time to take it on its maiden voyage.”

  His brow furrowed. “We just got here. You want to go in now?”

  “Yeah, and we’re burning daylight. Take your lunch to go.”

  The two primies shared a glance.

  “Sorry,” Chaz said.

  “It’s alright, Chester,” said Blaylocke. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re alright to make it back to the infirmary by yourself?”

  “If I’m still hobbling toward it when you’re done, you’re welcome to give me a hand.”

  Chaz and I went to the workshop, where he wired me up.

  “When I get back, I want a full report on how well this thing works,” I said.

  After placing Sarmiel in charge, I donned a disguise and packed a thousand gold chips into a duffel bag, then walked to the Trust. The building’s interior was classy; immaculate area rugs over marble floors, potted plants that looked like pineapple stems, and dark wood paneling at the teller windows.

  A man in satin waistcoats with a thin oiled mustache greeted me at the door. One of the account managers, I was sure. I sat in one of the two chairs facing his desk and reached across it to offer him a handshake, which he accepted.

  “Haluicious Nordstrom,” I said, affecting my best impression of Thomas. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “You as well,” said the manager. “Richard Meriwether. What can I do for you today, Mr. Nordstrom?”

  “Well, Dick, I’d like to open an account. This will be my starting deposit.” I lugged the duffel bag onto his desk and pushed it over to him.

  He opened it and peered inside, eyebrows lifting at the sight. “All in gold, eh? Good man.”

  I was confused. “How else would I bring it?”

  “You must have heard of our recently introduced system of notes.”

  I hadn’t, and I told him so.

  “It’s a rather ingenious thing, really. Here, I’ll show you.”

  He reached into his pocket and produced a black plastic rectangle about the length of a thumbnail. It had the number “5” etched into its surface, with a shiny metallic band running down the side. “This is a note,” he said. “It’s worth five chips.”

  “How do you fit five chips’ worth of gold in such a small object?”

  He laughed. “Oh, no, there isn’t any real gold in it. This is an authentication strip. Each note has a unique serial number that proves its authenticity.”

  “So the note… represents… the chips,” I said, still confused.

  “Exactly.”

  “But where are the chips it represents?”

  “Why, we keep them here, of course.”

  “So you keep the real money while people carry around worthless slivers of plastic?”

  “See, now you’re getting it.”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I know it’s a difficult concept to understand at first, but it’s really catching on.”

  “So if I deposit my chips into an account with you, what happens if I want them back?”

  “Oh, I’m afraid that won’t be possible from now on,” he said. “Deposits of any kind are accepted, but withdrawals can only be made in notes. The system of notes is a security measure we’ve developed to prevent fraud. Much harder to move notes illicitly when they’re trackable, you see. We presented the technology to the Regency’s financial department a few months ago, and they took to it right away. Soon it’ll be used by banks all across the stream, and everywhere below.”

  “But what if I prefer chips…?”

  He gave me a patronizing smile. “Think of chips and notes as holding equivalent value. They’re interchangeable, you see.”

  I wanted to punch this guy right in the mustache. A lot more had happened while I was holed up on Maclin than I thought. How was I supposed to steal money if the money could be followed? This was the worst idea ever, which was why it didn’t surprise me at all that the stupid Regency had gone for it.

  “Okay, forget it,” I said, breaking into my normal accent. “I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

  Meriwether leaned back in his chair. “If you insist. It’s only a matter of time before every bank adopts this exciting new change.”

  “Keep your change,” I said. “I’ll keep my chips.” I snatched the duffel bag off the table and left. Looks like I’m gonna have to rob the place after all, I thought.

  It was time for Thomas to do his thing.

  5

  “How did it feel?” Chaz asked when I entered the workshop.

  I took out the earpiece, ripped the flat microphone off the inside of my cheek, whipped off the belt wire, and tossed everything onto a workbench. “Forget about that, Chaz. There’s been a change of plans.”

  He nodded. “I heard everything.”

  “So you know we have to break in.”

  “What?”

  “The bank manager said they don’t allow withdrawals to be made in chips anymore. We can’t show up in Pyras with a bunch of little plastic rectangles and expect them to believe they’re as good as gold. It’s like Blaylocke said earlier… Malwyn and DeGaffe will never trust a techsoul again. Not unless we have some real money to shove in their faces.”

  “You just got your criminal record wiped clean,” Chaz said. “Now you want to rob a bank?”

  “The beautiful thing about criminal records,” I said, “is that they only exist if you get caught. Besides, the sky marshals are all but extinct. Kupfer and his merry band of losers are too busy harboring the Regent’s family to worry about chasing me right now. We’ll be halfway to Pyras before they ever get wind of a bank robbery.”

  “Didn’t Yingler say the Seskamode Trust is one of, if not the most secure bank in existence?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what makes you so convinced you can rob it?”

  “You.”

  “Huh?”

  “You convinced me.”

  “I think you’re confused. I’m trying to un-convince you.”

  “It was the day you explained how plasma works, Chaz ol’ buddy.”

  “Holding up a bank with a plasma weapon isn’t likely to get a different reaction than any other weapon.”

  “We’re not going to hold anybody up. We’re going to cut a hole in their vault.”

  “Stealing from the bank is different than emptying Yingler’s personal account,” Chaz said.

  “Not if an employee makes a new entry in the bank ledger the day of the robbery. First we find out how much money Yingler has in there. Then we have Thomas zero out his account and steal approximately the same number of chips. Next time they balance their books, they won’t come up short.”

  “You’re sure you don’t want to have Yingler go in and make the withdrawal.”

  “Again, Chaz… it’s the difference between plastic notes and gold chips. We need gold if we want to convince Gilfoyle to work with Pyras again, and I need it if I want Pyras to trust me. Which I do.”

  Chaz’s lips tightened. “Well, I don’t like the idea of stealing. But I guess if it all comes from Yingler’s account anywa
y…”

  “Let me remind you that Yingler may not even have enough in his account to get us out of this mess. We’ve got to send Thomas in to do some scouting first. If Yingler’s broke, for some reason, we’re in big trouble. For now, you’ve just gotta trust me. You trust me, don’t you?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Don’t guess, Chaz. Know.”

  He shrugged. “Time to plan ourselves a heist.”

  When I sent Thomas into the Trust the following day, wired up with the eavesdropper so we could hear everything he was saying, he actually gave a half-decent performance speaking in the normal-person accent we’d been practicing. I warned him that if he ever turned on us, we’d take off with Rindhi and they’d never see each other again. So Thomas Smedley filled out an application. A week later, much to my relief, he got the job.

  By then, news of the attack on Roathea had reached the low-flying islands. The Civvy fleet had indeed been obliterated, thanks to the zealous and idiotic efforts of Admiral Pearson. Maclin still held Roathea, though the deaths of several key synod members had ostensibly weakened its leadership. The Seskamode Trust seemed to be in full denial of the Regency takeover, forging ahead with its system of notes, even as people from across the skyward realm chattered about staging a liberation. Although Chaz and I had designs on commandeering the Galvos army, we knew there was no way we could stop idiots across the stream from making dumb decisions, so we didn’t try.

  All it took was a single workday for Thomas to get the information we needed. As part of his new employment, Meriwether gave him a tour of the whole facility, right down to the safe deposit boxes. Thomas sketched out a basic floor plan, from which Chaz and I were able to extrapolate the approximate size of the vault. He also found out where the bank’s ledger books were kept—in a back room behind the vault—though he didn’t manage to get a moment alone to look for Yingler’s account information. I told him not to worry about it; we’d take care of that during the robbery.

  Meanwhile, Chaz had spent that week developing the cutting tool we were going to use to get inside. The thing was gigantic, mostly because it required a ridiculous amount of power to operate. It cost us over ten thousand chips to build—an investment well-worth it in my mind. Having paid my crew its wages and given bonuses of ten-thousand chips apiece to Sable, Chaz, Thorley, and Eliza, I was down to one-point-six million. I had to cross my fingers and hope Yingler’s account was large enough to make this whole venture pan out.