Mobius (15 page)

Orsteen topped off Thirm’s glass. “I apologize for your inconvenience, Thirm, but you must collect your money from the Scions of Sensimion, since your deal is with them.”

“Where are they?”

“We’re meeting them in the underground city of Ironwrought.” Orsteen pointed to a three-handed clock. “We better leave now, since the sun sits just below the horizon. When daylight comes, we must be gone from the surface—temperatures will become smoldering.”

I looked out a window at the light on the horizon. Mercury was slow on its axis. Nighttime remained for eighty-eight Earth days, the same length as daytime. During this long day, the Miners take refuge in the underground cities, where they mine precious ores.

Thirm Bastile grumbled, as if to stress his inconvenience.

“I don’t have your money, Thirm,” said Orsteen. It’s only a short journey to Ironwrought—there you’ll find your riches.”

The group boarded a small craft that, despite Orsteen’s great wealth, was dented and old.

Morion touched a finger to an unsettling crack in one of the windows. “Don’t you own a less dangerous craft?”

“Don’t worry,” replied Orsteen. “She’s an ugly can, but flies true in all directions.”

We disembarked and flew along the great Scarp of Mercury, which meandered into the distance for over a hundred kilometers. Embedded in the steep face of the Scarp were many homes, perched high like the nests of cliff-dwelling birds. At the moment, a great migration was occurring—Mercurials abandoned their homes as the season of night came to an end. At the upper plateau of the Scarp sat foundries, acclimation centers, and a spaceport that sent the minerals off-world. Empty air scows embarked for the underground mines, where they’d become full with the precious ores of Mercury.

My attention focused upward. My heart raced as I saw shimmering lights coming from the sky.

“My synthetic eyes are detecting something!”

“Don’t worry, Theron. It’s not the Fume. It’s an aurora effect. We’ve been working on a large project here on Mercury. We’ve been trying to generate a magnetic field strong enough to counter the radiation of the solar winds. We’ve so far created a twenty-kilometer dome—a mini magnetosphere. The power required is enormous.”

“I had no idea you were working on such a bold endeavor. How strong is the field?”

“About fifty percent of Earth’s.”

“How are you powering it?”

Orsteen made a long pause. “We all have our secrets, Mr. Mobius.”

Orsteen took the craft down to the base of the Scarp and flew toward a huge hole. Above it sat an enormous sign of twisted metal displaying the name “Ironwrought.” We entered the hole with speed, plunging downward into the depths of Mercury. After a ten-kilometer descent through darkness, we came to a series of force fields. Orsteen explained how they acted as atmospheric containment gates.

Once through, our craft entered an expansive cavern. It was unbelievably large and was illuminated by the ambient glow of the city Ironwrought—a place reminiscent of an earlier time in Earth’s history. The city’s cobblestone streets separated intimate city blocks occupied by modest stone structures, all artfully built. Homes, taverns, bistros, and storefronts each presented their own unique character and sophistication.

Orsteen pointed to the perimeter of the city. “We’re in Ironwrought’s main cavern. From here, tunnels radiate outward, leading to smaller communities and mining complexes.”

An anti-gravity field about twenty meters thick lined the domed wall of the cavern. Hundreds of drones hovered on guard, removing fallen rocks and boulders that collected in the anti-gravity field.

Orsteen landed the craft on one of the city streets near the edge of the cavern, and we got out. The air was cool and carried a rich mineral smell that seemed almost therapeutic. I took a few deep breaths and looked to Allienora. She was grunting in annoyance as she pulled up her sagging pants. At last, she ripped off the base of her shirt and tied it around her pants like a belt.

Thirm Bastile continued to carry his diamond-fiber case in a paranoid manner. He looked suspiciously at passing Miners on the street. “Why do they stare at me?”

“They probably find you interesting,” said Orsteen. “We don’t see many foreigners in our cities.” Orsteen removed Morion’s black hole generator from the craft and attached an anti-gravity node to it. He pushed it through the air to Morion. “I leave you in charge of your case.”

Morion reluctantly accepted it.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing down the street, where marched a parade of giant, monster-like puppets. Long poles, driven by Miners, animated the creatures with thrashing limbs and gnashing jaws.

“They represent demons and long-toothed monsters fabled to dwell in Mercury’s depths,” explained Orsteen. “The Daylight Festival will continue for the next few Earth days. It would be smart to stay by my side. Drunken Miners are quick to brawl.”

“How can they celebrate in the streets when we’re faced with invasion?” asked Allienora. “Aren’t they concerned about the safety of humankind and the threat of the Obelisks?”

“It’s by my instruction that they carry on with their normal routines. But don’t underestimate Mercury’s preparedness—on a moment’s notice, we’ll be ready for anything. If the Obelisks spill forth hordes of alien conquerors, have no doubts, the Mercury Miners will be there to smash heads with the best of them.”

Allienora didn’t seem convinced, until Orsteen removed a small holo-projector. “Mercury is more ready than you know, Prime Minister.”

He displayed a holo-image of a thousand ships of unfamiliar design.

“We have an armada of anti-relativity warships waiting to be launched from a nearby military base.” Orsteen looked thoughtfully through the streets. “These are just citizens. Unfortunately, I can tell the Obelisks weigh heavy on their minds, as the festivities appear unusually lame.”

Orsteen led us through the streets, which presented six hundred years of Mercurial culture. We passed stone effigies to old leaders and small monuments made of twisted metal paying homage to some past achievement. The physiology of the people also told of their history. Their considerable stature and rugged features alluded to the harsh beginnings on Mercury, when only the strongest could tolerate a Miner’s life.

We at last approached the outer envelope of the city. I marveled at the cavern’s towering rock dome. A beautiful collage of figures was carved into its surface. The stone portraits stared with proud expressions toward the great city of Ironwrought.

Orsteen held a respectful hand to his heart. “It’s tradition that when a Miner dies, they’re immortalized in stone, so to become a part of Mercury. It’s believed their eternal vigilance protects the city from cave-in.”

“Quite romantic,” said Allienora.

I noticed children among the portraits. “So many young.”

Orsteen shook his head. “There were sad times in the beginning.”

“Unfortunate,” I said. “But there are always risks when conquering new frontiers.”

Thirm groaned impatiently. “Where are you taking us, Orsteen?”

Orsteen indicated the mouth of a small tunnel in the rock wall ahead. “It’s not far.”

We entered a tunnel filled with an intoxicating odor of sweet organic matter. Our way was lit by small but brilliant light sources scattered about the tunnel walls.

“What are these lights that guide our way?” asked Morion. “They’re like gems filled with internal fire.”

“Their beauty is beyond words,” said Allienora.

“They’re bioluminescent slugs,” said Orsteen. “They live in these tunnels, surviving on the chemosynthetic moss that grows beneath their feet.”

I was a bit mystified when a tiny robotic spider approached one of the slugs and scanned it. It then gently picked the slug up and carried it away.

We continued deeper into the surreal environment of slug and moss. Orsteen navigated us through tunnels that split again and again into smaller and smaller passageways. At last, our tunnel ended at a round metal door on enormous hinges. Above it, a holo-sign advertised “The Scented Slug.”

Orsteen swung the door open, and we entered a tavern full of loud-mouthed and beer guzzling Miners.

Orsteen sang in a deep baritone, “The mighty men of Mercury, we toil our hands and our fingers bleed. The sun’s harsh glow takes us below, but our retreat is no defeat. We drink! We eat! We never sleep!”

The crowd pounded their mugs and shouted warm greetings: “Lord Orsteen Hunn has arrived! How about a round for the house, Master Orsteen? Who are these
smallies
you bring for our amusement?”

Orsteen hushed the crowd. “Today you’re graced by the presence of four brave souls. They’re on a mission against the Obelisks. Please, treat them with respect.” He smiled broadly. “Now, carry on with passion—our lives shouldn’t be wasted in dull moments!”

The crowd again became excited, guzzling their drinks in a collective toast.

Allienora moved close to Orsteen. “Do you think it’s wise to announce our intentions? The Scions of Sensimion have gone to great lengths to keep our presence on your world a secret.”

“Our presence won’t be known,” said Orsteen. “I’ve disabled the city’s telecommunication nodes. We’re completely isolated from the rest of the solar system.”

“I shouldn’t have questioned you,” said Allienora.

“You think of the welfare of the group. A worthy cause for second-guessing.”

We sat at a large, round table, where an AI-droid took our orders. It returned with five heavy mugs brimming with amber ale and a platter of small, gooey balls. All in the group, except Orsteen, sat like miniatures at the huge table. I noticed a single bioluminescent slug roaming the table’s surface. Its pulsing glow reminded me of the exotic energy that exuded from Defense Minister Renworth Vole.

A man approached the table. He was the smallest Miner I’d seen.

“Master Orsteen!” he said in a high-pitched voice that suited his small size. “You bring me new customers from the reaches of the solar system. My establishment will no doubt become legendary throughout all the worlds of men.”

Orsteen wrapped a friendly arm around the man. “Everyone, this is the owner of The Scented Slug, Glum. His family has been tossing drinks here for over four hundred Mercurial days. He’s a good friend, despite his tendency to dabble in questionable endeavors.” He looked to Glum nostalgically. “If I recall the last incident correctly, you were in trouble for selling cheap swill obtained from a criminal from Blackrot City. The beverage wasn’t just disgusting, it also caused an epidemic of crawling hives.”

“In all fairness,” said Glum, “I wasn’t aware of the swindler’s reputation. Not to mention, I sampled the shipment myself and was immune to the illness.” Everyone glanced at their drinks and Glum continued. “Don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson, and now only serve the choicest of swill.” He let out a cackling laugh that pierced everyone’s ears.

Orsteen’s face became serious. “My friends and I are here to meet a group called the Scions of Sensimion.” Orsteen gestured to me. “Have you seen anyone with such brilliant blue eyes in your establishment?”

“No,” said Glum, looking at me curiously. “Such eyes would’ve caught my attention. However, let me ask the AI-droids. They notice many more things than I. While I’m at it, I’ll fetch you our premium ale.”

Glum returned with five fresh mugs and five empty bowls too small for serving food. “This is twenty-day-old Grobblemoss ale. Drink lightly or your heads will swim. And here are some smoking bowls in case you decide to indulge in the slug.”