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Chapter 3: Wednesday (Cont.)
Higgs
climbed through the barricades and out into the street. The sun was going down,
and he reflected on the strange beauty it cast on the city’s architecture. The
area where he stood had once been a financial center of the city. After the
Traditionalist revolution, this area was abandoned, rather than reformed. The
cost to tear down the old office buildings in favor of smaller, more manageable
alternatives wasn’t worth it. The city expanded into other areas, where smaller
buildings now housed the businesses that once were here. Walking through streets
bereft of the activity that marks a vital city, Higgs felt as if he was
transported to some other world.
The
desolate surface hid the city beneath, where criminals, vagrants, and
Technologist rebels hid away. Whether it was oversight or willful ignorance,
the Vickies that controlled the city rarely ventured near this neighborhood.
The Technologist movement was crushed decades ago, but lived on in the margins
between old and new. Higgs, no stranger to the city’s literal and figurative
underworld, knew that the rebels were there, but he tended to avoid them. He
wasn’t a crusader, no cause could be so
great that he would give his life.
He felt a
hand on his arm and turned to see a caped figure that he hadn’t seen since that
fateful night that set all this in motion. Higgs spoke in a whisper, out of
pure force of habit. “Hey. Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”
The
stranger scanned the area nervously. It was as if he was afraid to be seen.
Higgs led him to a former bank building that he knew was now abandoned. Inside
the building, they found a small office that was empty. Higgs leaned against a
bookcase, now empty and coated in dust. The stranger crossed his arms in front
of his chest. “You signaled. What is it you need? I cannot linger long.”
“I need a train car. Do you know where I can
get one?”
“A train
car? What for? And beside that, how would I have access to a train car?”
“No
questions. That was our deal. I don’t ask about the book, you don’t ask about
my methods. I don’t care how you get it. I’m sure you have connections. Can you
get me a train car?”
The
stranger paced the room, breathing heavily through his pollution mask. “Yes, I
can do it. Where do you need it?”
“There’s
an abandoned commuter station East of the city. Have it there. Can you do it by
tomorrow?”
“Why…” the
stranger caught himself, “Yes. I can do that. Is there anything else?”
“No.
That’s all.”
“Is
everything on track? The train arrives on Friday. I must have that book.”
“Relax,
man. You’ll have your book. I will personally see to it.”
“Very
well. I must go now.” The stranger spun on his heels and walked briskly away.
***
Evenings
in the city accentuated the already stark contrast between the classes. Here in
the lower-class neighborhoods, the workers crowded into taverns and
restaurants. They wasted their hard-earned pay on low-grade liquor, trying to
numb the pain of a meaningless existence. Higgs walked along the street, lined
on either side by low apartment buildings, stuffed with workers and clerks. The
cogs of the city’s industrial machinery saw very little reward for the smooth
functioning of the economy. The buildings where they lived were barely
adequate. The slum lords who owned the buildings were typically the same men
who ran the factories. Very little opportunity existed to break out of the
cycle. Opportunity was lacking and ambition even more so.
Higgs was
different. He was determined to break free. His family had never been wealthy.
His father died too young, leaving a penniless widow and hungry child. His
mother did what she could to get by, but it was never enough. Higgs learned
early on that he had to be the provider. It started simply enough, shoplifting
food and clothes for the two of them. In time, he got braver, with greater risk
came greater reward. When his mother died, he had nobody to look after, and the
theft got greater still. Not until now had he attempted anything that could
lift him above his simple beginnings.
He took a
cab to the North Shore. Most of the homes here were better secured than
prisons, but he walked the street anyway. The glow of gaslights lit his way
past mansions and compounds. All the considerable wealth of the city was
concentrated among a few wealthy families here. The houses were lit like
Christmas morning in a show of opulent waste and lack of concern for the
preservation of the expensive fuel they required. It was ostentatious and
gaudy, yet Higgs envied their wealth.
He saw the
club on the lakeshore, the true hub of activity in this wealthiest of
neighborhoods. People milled about in the courtyards and in front of the
well-lit windows. He wondered how often these people thought of the ordinary
folks that that enabled their wealth. He suspected it was not often at all.
Many of the people in that club would be his victims in two days’ time. He couldn’t
find any pity for them.
***
Inside the
club, Montgomery Lester sipped his cognac slowly, taking in all the
complexities of flavors, the bit of sweetness on the tip of his tongue, the
warming glow of the alcohol in his chest. He strolled out onto the boardwalk,
gazing out at the lake as it rippled in the moonlight. A well-lit airship was
drifting its way toward the club. No doubt, it would be delivering folks here.
He sat on a nearby bench and watched the great helium whale lumber its way
toward the platform over the lake.
As the
people piled out of the luxurious cabin of the airship, he spotted a familiar
face. He stood to greet his sometimes-friend. “Hello, Geoffrey. Fine evening,
isn’t it?”
The other
man, rather short and portly, with a thick, well-groomed beard smiled and
reached a hand toward Montgomery. “Yes, certainly is, Monty. A fine evening
indeed.”
The two
shook hands and walked along the boardwalk together. Geoffrey Carthage was the
owner of the airship that had arrived. In fact, he was the owner of a rather
large fleet of airships. Carthage Aerolines was the biggest competitor to
Lester’s trains. The Airships had taken a great deal of market share in the
city, while the trains still dominated long-distance travel.
Montgomery
started the conversation. “How’s business, Geoff? It seems that there is a new
Carthage ship every week.”
“Business
is good, Monty. I’ve carved out a very profitable niche in the city.”
“Yes, you
certainly have. Though I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hurting my own
business. I doubt you’ll be able to replace long-distance trains, but in the
city, you are certainly winning. Seems that only the lower classes use my
trains these days, the airship is preferred by the well-to-do.”
Geoffrey
gave Montgomery a slap on the back. “That’s the way of business, Monty. And I
wouldn’t rest on your laurels if I were you. Airships get faster and faster,
and they excel in comfort. Flexibility is the name of the game, when it comes
to transport. Progress and innovation will generally take the day.”
Montgomery
laughed, “You sound like a cursed Digit, Geoff, all this talk of progress
sounds a bit subversive, don’t you think?”
“All
within bounds, my good man. All within the bounds set forth by our great
leaders. You of all people should know how those bounds work.”
“Yes, of
course.” Lester thought silently to himself for a moment. “I feel that the
spirit of our movement has been lost at times, Geoff. The focus is on the
boundaries, not the principles. My father always taught me that it’s not that
we hate technology, but rather that we hate its effects on society. I worry
that too much innovation could serve the same purpose.”
“I suppose
you’re right, to a point, Lester. I would never question your father’s wisdom.
Truth be told, I owe him a great deal of gratitude. And you, by extension. But
come now, you innovate plenty. I’ve seen the literature on your newest
locomotives. That is one mother of a mover.”
Lester
smiled at the other man, proud of that accomplishment. “Yes, she certainly is.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but I could have sworn I saw your name on the manifest
for this Friday’s armored car.”
“You
caught me, old pal. If there’s one thing I can say about a train, it’s great at
moving heavy things, and my gold is very heavy.” He laughed heartily, throwing
his head back with glee. “Not even my Spartan could carry such a load easily.”
“Nothing
beats a train when it comes to reliability, Geoff. One thing is certain; you
can trust me with your valuables. A Lester train is always on time.”
“So it is, Monty.” Geoffrey laughed again. “Come now, let’s cut the business talk, shall we? It’s a fine evening; there’s no point in ruining with hostile chatter. It appears your drink has vanished, and mine never existed. This round’s on me.”
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