He closed out his System’s response without reading its full answer.
He’d pissed off the wrong person, that was for certain. Someone had paid off the building’s security to ignore his comms.
It wasn’t Grif; she was obviously local muscle hired by the man he’d last seen playing tug-of-war with a tow truck. Maybe he should have listened to Lief’s advice, to try and “make friends” more often, but he shook his head. In some ways this situation had only been a matter of time, and who’s to say it wouldn’t have been worse if he’d played it differently?
The only way out of this mess was through. He ran his finger over the small hole in the back door of his truck. Something he’d need to get fixed… eventually.
He checked his System HUD and looked over his delivery schedule for the day. He’d been woken up earlier than he’d planned on, but he could use that and get started earlier. At that moment, however, an incredibly annoying message from his System popped into his HUD.
Unlike regular System messages or comms, he was unable to minimize this one. It glared at him, warning signs flashing in his vision. And he knew from experience that it would get worse if he didn’t go take care of it. He added a visit to the CES branch to his to-do list for the day.
He quickly sent a comm to Lief, asking if he knew of anyone named Grif Scrivler, real name or alias, then drove down to a massive logistics hub next to the river that serviced the ground freight, air freight, and river barges flowing in and out of Aba. Raw materials mined out of the mountains and surrounding wilderness were processed in Aba, routed through this logistics hub, and then mostly flowed downriver to production hubs on the coast, with some shipments going via air to other continents, or a precious few, directly off-world.
That he was going to stay low was a given. Thorn was happy he hadn’t had any product in his truck this morning, and that Cook had not taken him up on the offer of painting the Stellar Eats logo on the side of the truck for a handful of quints per month. Premium advertising, he’d called it at the time, but had been shot down. If he had done it, then whoever was after him would be able to track him back to his job, same as if he had accepted the System handshake from Grif, or if he hadn’t set his System settings to anonymous by default.
It was not the first time and wouldn’t be the last that Thorn was happy his boss wasn’t terribly business minded.
When he finished parking at the logistics hub, he received a query from his System.
For the very modest fee, Thorn could use the facilities designed for the short and long-haul transporters. Every ship, truck, aerial lift, and transport that arrived in Aba, no matter how big or small, had a human operator. Of course, Systems with remote drone capabilities existed, but there were fairly strict range limits on them. Old myths and legends talked about Systems that could exist independently, inside of machines. None of those remained now, if they had ever existed in the first place. Thorn had his doubts. How could something as complex as a System ever work on wafers of silicon?
The facilities included a shower and shave for him in a private room, and a wash for his truck as well. He couldn’t be getting any dirt and raw snake blood on his deliveries for the day. No, if he got any specks of that glitzed-up snake blood on anything, he’d have to charge extra.
He also took care to splash some of the dirty water up on the sides of his truck, and on the front as well. While he wanted to keep the interior of the bed as clean as possible, in no way did he want the exterior to have any extra shine or polish. System-backed ownership requirements hardcoded into the machine itself did make stealing his truck (or anyone’s, for that matter) a difficult job… but that didn’t mean that enterprising thieves couldn’t just cut parts of it off instead.
A little extra dirt and grime made his most valuable possession less valuable in the eyes of potential thieves.
After he was finished freshening up, he got into his truck and headed towards the docks for one more quick stop before going to Stellar Eats. On his way out, he stared idly at the massive drop ship occupying one of two orbital landing pads. It had a stylized rendition of a Crow emblazoned on the side. The Crows outpost quartermaster and Gammon had both mentioned that there was a bigshot visiting their outpost. He’d likely seen that person flying out to the outpost a few days ago.
Thorn revised his initial impression after getting a closer look at the dropship. If they had arrived on that… What was bigger than a bigshot? Whatever it was, they shouldn’t need to come here.
Aba was a central city for the region, but not that important on the continent, much less the planet. Not many dropships came here at all, and if they did, they were beat-up merchant haulers or the smaller, fast couriers operated by the Wayfarers Guild. He wondered what business the Crow VIP had here, but then put his speculation aside. He could ask Gammon, but seeing as he wasn’t a Crow, he knew better than to expect her to spill any internal Crow business to him.
No, he just hoped it wasn’t the prelude to some kind of local regime change, or an incoming beast wave, or some horrible event that a major Crow player had been hired to do something about. Or… maybe it was just an internal audit of the local branch? Some financial discrepancies, perhaps, with a certain easily angered Quartermaster? And thus an example needed to be made…
One could dream.
The docks on the Fels River were a short drive from the Flying Q rest center. Thorn double checked his rifle and laid it across his lap, just to be safe. All of this area around the docks, the logistics and distribution hub and the landing pads for dropships, was nominally under the direct administration of the local Aba government. That government was, of course, a coalition of the Guilds with interests in the city.
Those Guilds had decided that it was in their collective best interests for the people in the city who were not in one of their guilds (and there were a number of those, Thorn himself included) to be an efficient and pliable source of contingent labor. To be used when needed, and out of sight when not. Efficient in this case meant cheap, and pliable meant willing to work for cheap.
Thus the roads leading down to the docks were lined with all manner of residents looking for work. Thorn had spent time on this road, and hated the memory of it.
He stopped his truck in front of a tall cathedral, a garish display of chrome and chiseled glass in the otherwise rundown area.
Thorn walked inside the open doors of the building, carrying his rifle in the crook of his elbow. Cool, dry air washed over him and his eyes adjusted to the soft glow of recessed lighting. There was a low hub-bub of chatty voices from pairs and groups of people scattered around the room.
He walked up to the member in the center of the atrium, whose job it was to greet visitors. The million-watt smile on the man’s face dimmed slightly as he glanced at Thorn and the rifle in his arms.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we ask our fellow believers to check their weapons in the lockers provided to your right–”
“I’m here to see Jake,” Thorn said. He hadn’t seen this particular member before, but he wasn’t surprised. They kept the lower ranking members on cycle, moving them in and out of various assignments. He wondered if Aba represented a good or a bad assignment.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I do now.”
“Um, well, I’ve notified Team Leader Jake of your presence, but he is a busy man charged with the task of managing this entire facility, and I can’t guarantee his availability. If you would be so kind as to check your weapon, we have a number of amenities you may partake of as you–”
“I will not be so kind.”
Thorn’s rudeness had its intended effect. A few of the others in the lobby had noticed him, his gun, and loud voice. The atrium fell silent as people began trickling out of the exits. The two waited for several awkward moments before a familiar, oily voice called out from across the room.
“Thorn, Thorn, Thorn.” Jake walked across the atrium. His gray robes swished across the finished granite, his head held unnaturally still. It always unnerved Thorn, and he assumed that was the point.
“The prodigal returns,” Jake said, shooing the greeter away.
“Just here to get the clanker in my head to quiet down a bit.”
“Have you not yet learned that your blasphemy will not provoke me?” Jake shook his head. “You have not yet seen the error of your ways.”
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“No, I have not.”
“‘Tis only a matter of time,” Jake said. “But if your spirit is not yet willing to serve… perhaps there is still a way that you can materially support the mission of the church?”
That was fast and straight to the point. Jake must indeed be busy; he normally harangued Thorn for an hour before asking for a bribe.
“There’s a few AG meals in my truck I suppose I could donate to the needy.”
“Excellent,” Jake beamed. “The needy are many in these dark days. The curse of glitter has driven many to madness, their Systems riddled through with corruption, and the Church their only means to salvation.
“Surely you have seen them?”
Thorn nodded and wondered where Jake was going with this.
“A donation of quints or cores would also go to aiding those poor souls on their path to recovery.”
“Does it look like I have any cores?” Thorn said, scoffing. “No. I got nothing else.”
“A shame,” Jake said. “A great shame. You have such potential! Which is why it saddens me to tell you this, but it is my duty as your leader. I would encourage you to think of the people less fortunate than you, the ones you are destined to lead as an Integrator of the Church, and to return here next month with greater resources to aid them.”
He paused meaningfully. “Significantly greater resources.”
Thorn turned and walked out. He hopped into his truck and slammed it into gear, his tires squealing as he peeled off down the road and towards Stellar Eats. He was so irritated at the exchange with Jake that he forgot to donate the AG meals that he’d promised.
He’d been fine with the petty extortion that Jake had put him through so far; a few quints here and a few quints there, mostly in trade goods. But he was damned if he was going to let the man con him out of a core. He’d have to figure out some way of getting his System to shut up.
A problem for next month.
The stop-in at Stellar Eats was quick. Cook wasn’t there, but that was not unusual. He worked long and odd hours and didn’t employ many other regulars besides Thorn. Thorn’s day was normally set out in three parts: deliveries, pick-ups, and working the counter at the diner on odd days.
Most of the deliveries were routine. Boxes of sausages for a few restaurants downtown. Pre-prepared meals for several merchant shops. No deliveries for the Crows Guild today, so at least he didn’t have to deal with a perpetually angry Quartermaster.
The only interesting pickup was at the Wayfarers Guild for an off-world package. He had to confirm receipt via his System and give a drop of his blood (painless, at least), even after Cook had authorized him to pick it up in his stead.
By mid-afternoon, Thorn was back at the diner running plates. His shift was slow. Excruciatingly slow. What few customers he had petered out until no one was left.
He wondered what Lief was up to. It had to be something to do with the awakened beasts that they’d killed and the evidence of glitter in their blood. He knew he’d be dead weight on a mission like that, but he’d rather be out there risking his life and doing something than be stuck at this diner, bored out of his mind.
He thought about what he needed to do about Grif, but the wheels just spun in his head. Hopefully she would just go away after he refused to pay her. Jake at the CES, though… he wasn’t going to be one to forget about him, not with hooks directly into his System. Maybe he could buy him off with a shard or two; give him a sob story next month, go in looking a lot more scruffy and dirty. He’d made the mistake today of looking clean and confident, as if he had all of his humpers lined up in a row.
When the bell on the door rang about ten minutes before closing, Thorn felt a mixture of relief and irritation. Relief that he finally had a customer to take his mind off of his thoughts, and irritation that now he was almost certainly going to have to stay late past his scheduled shift.
“Hello there,” a woman said. Thorn looked up. He recognized the voice.
It was Grif, a smug smile wrinkling the scar on her temple.
Grif, if that was her real name, waltzed into the diner and sat down at the bar. She’d ditched the worker’s uniform for a chic, domineering look. All stitched black leather and sheer, tight lines.
“Hot cup of caf, please,” she said with a lazy smile.
Thorn obliged, pouring a cup and setting it on the bar. He knew better than to let his anxiety show. “What else will you be having? The kitchen will be closing in a few minutes.”
“This is good for now,” Grif said. She took a sniff of the caf and then set it back on the bar after taking an appreciative sip.
“Just you?” Grif asked, looking around. “This is an interesting place, especially for a town like this. Not your normal decor. Very old fashioned.”
Thorn thought the decor was simply lazy, or cheap. No integrated machine tech in any of the booths, tables or bar. The faded red leather seats with silver trim didn’t match any major Guild’s aesthetic.
“There’s me. Cook’s in the back,” Thorn replied. “So what is it you want?”
Grif appeared to be a woman of many smiles. The one she wore now was one of mild disappointment.
“Can’t a woman enjoy a quiet cup of caf after a long day of work?” she said. “I should teach you to be a bit more patient… Mr. Thorn Farmer.”
Thorn didn’t reply. Instead, he took out a rag and began wiping down the counter. It was already spotless, he just wanted something to do with his hands.
Grif continued taking slow sips of her caf, looking around the diner and watching Thorn work. The minutes ticked by.
After she took her last sip, she set her cup down, stood up, and turned to leave.
“Ah yes, I almost forgot,” she said, turning back. “Our small piece of business. My client appreciates your offer, but he has a counter. He will park where he wishes, when he wishes, without interference. He will also require compensation for the damage to his vehicle.
“My time is expensive. Tracking you down, learning of your associates, workplaces, history with the Agrarian Guild and with the Church… Strange business, those CES stiffs.”
Thorn’s jaw clenched.
“Today’s been quite pointless, honestly. I enjoy punching down… but this far down…” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “But I am paid to be thorough. Luckily for you, my client is out of town for the next week. You have until he returns to conclude our business.”
Grif smiled brightly.
“Three small cores should do the trick. Or we can work out a System contract to work off the debt, let’s say fifty thousand quints’ worth. I am sure the two of us could figure something out… Something mutually beneficial.”
Thorn stared at Grif, and imagined punching the creepy smile off her face.
The door jangled as Grif left the diner. Thorn threw his rag on the top of the counter.
Three cores, or fifty thousand quints. This was ridiculous… He’d expected some extortion, but not so blatant, and not being driven into a predatory System contract.
Cook walked out of the kitchen and picked up the rag Thorn had thrown.
“It seems you are in some small trouble,” Cook said.
“I’m sorry about that,” Thorn said. “She tracked me back here somehow.”
“You borrowed money?” Cook said, disapprovingly.
“No,” Thorn said. “I just called a stupid tow truck on a car in my spot. The spot I pay good quints for.” The part where he had to lease his own spot because Cook didn’t let him park his truck at the diner was left unsaid.
“I don’t want your trouble in my place,” Cook said.
“I understand.” Thorn swallowed, his mouth dry.
“You are a good kid,” Cook continued. “But trouble is trouble.”
Cook looked at him gravely, and Thorn nodded, not sure what to say. He knew trying to make any excuse would go poorly. Even if it wasn’t his fault; even if he was in the right here, and he was being extorted for having the temerity to stick up for himself.
“I give you time to fix your trouble,” Cook decided. “The smiling woman said one week, so I also will give you one week. That is long enough for you to either… how do I say… finish cooking in the fire, or escape from the frying pan.
“Fix your trouble, or don’t come back.”
Cook returned to the kitchen, doing whatever it was he did back there late at night when there weren’t any more patrons at the diner to cook for. Thorn finished tidying up the front for closing and walked out, locking the door behind him.
Anger at the unfairness of the situation boiled in the back of his mind, but Thorn left it there, for now. In a way, there was a silver lining to the whole thing. He hadn’t needed to ask Cook for time off to take care of the situation. He had never asked for a break from a job, so he wasn’t sure how to do that. And he wasn’t fired either, not exactly.
He was on a vacation.
It was too bad he didn’t have anyone to spend his vacation with. Another silver lining, though: if Grif’s as-yet unnamed client was out of town, he wouldn’t be illegally appropriating his parking spot, and he could at least still park in a safe place. Well, relatively safe place. Grif had managed to bribe or sneak past the security of the building before…
Thorn gave up thinking about what to do and drove to his parking spot. He needed some sleep. He had a whole week to think up something instead of paying off the ridiculous amount these hustlers were asking for. Might be time to leave the city. Flipped on its side, Cook’s ultimatum was good advice, however harsh it came across. He needed to fix this, and fix it for good… or disappear and never come back.
Thorn slammed his hand on the steering wheel of his truck. It was all so stupid. It was just a parking spot! It was such a small thing to that rich, high-leveled fly boy, but to Thorn it was his home.
He had a good chuckle thinking about taking his situation to the local authorities.
There might be laws, but there was no System contract between the city and its residents to enforce those laws. There might be magistrates and judges, but they were positions purchased by the highest bidder, beholden to the interests of their guild and their wealthy sponsors. There was only one immutable law in Aba, Agrotis, and even the galaxy, and that was the law of quints: whoever had the most, won.
Thorn was back in a valley of depression by the time he arrived at his parking spot.
He pulled in, turned the truck off and got out of the cab. If he left Aba, he’d need to ditch the truck as well. A pang of sorrow hit him. This truck was really what had let him get himself set up, working a job independently, and he’d have to let it go.
The faint whir of a quiet engine sounded behind him. Thorn turned quickly and saw a drone floating down towards him. He scrambled quickly behind his truck, putting some metal between him and the unknown drone.
As he got a better look at it, he noticed it looked awfully familiar. If he wasn’t wrong, it looked exactly like one of Lief’s scout drones.
Thorn sent a quick message to Lief, but didn’t receive a response.
The drone continued drifting towards Thorn slowly. He tried pinging the drone via his System, but the response came back garbled and nonsensical. It did not have any universal signifier or identifier, but that wasn’t uncommon.
It hovered close to eye level, directly over the hood of his truck. Thorn was crouched down, staring up at the drone as it landed on the hood and powered down.
After deciding that if Grif was going to blow up him and his truck, she wouldn’t use something as expensive as a drone, Thorn reached out and picked up the lightweight machine.
Nothing happened.
The drone was scratched and bent in a few places. Dirty and stained, but it had the same camouflage and design as Lief’s. It had to be his.
It was difficult to see in the dim light, but Thorn squinted at the stains on the underside of the drone, and scraped at one with his finger. Was that… Yes, it was. It was very faint, but if his eyes weren’t deceiving him, the stain was faintly glittering in the dim light: just like the blood of the awakened snake they had killed.
Another quick comm to Lief yielded no response.
Great. What now?