Paragaea (35 page)

The tram reached the terminus, and the company and the rest of the stevedores busied themselves unloading the freight. The work was grueling, the air in the terminus building stifling and close. Leena could not say how long they labored, so far from the light of the sun. In the eerie twilit gloom of the cavern, it was difficult to mark the passage of time, and when their work was complete, it seemed to Leena that it might have taken them a quarter of an hour, or the better part of a day. Either seemed as likely.

With the tram fully unloaded, the green-skinned foreman appeared, his parasol collapsed and propped at a jaunty angle on his shoulder. He paid the stevedores a few small, squared-off ceramic coins apiece, all except for the four newcomers, whom he also presented with a small ceramic disc apiece, emblazoned with nine concentric rings.

“These are temporary worker's chits,” he said, not entirely unkindly, “along with a few coins for your labors. Remember, though, if you
can
, that these chits are only for a short span, and you must
appear tomorrow morning by no later than four bells at the offices of the Ministry of Foreign Labor to apply for more permanent employment. If the Ministry is
unable
to find appropriate placement for you by the end of this cycle, you will be expelled from the city, your rights of access revoked.”

“Where might we find food and lodging, until tomorrow?” Hieronymus asked, slipping the coins and the ceramic disc into a pocket.

“
Well
,” the foreman said, sighing a belabored sigh. “You will want to proceed to the Immigrant Quarter in the ninth ring.” He waved absently towards the exit of the terminus, and the walls of the city beyond. “You might find it difficult to find accommodations, particularly with the coronation drawing so near. Many hoteliers and tavern owners will no doubt prefer to keep empty rooms on their registers than take on unknown lodgers so soon after the recent troubles. But so long as you steer clear of
agitators
, you should not encounter any especial difficulty.”

With that, their audience with the foreman was apparently at an end. Without another word, he turned and sauntered off towards his offices.

“He was certainly helpful,” Benu said, “I shouldn't think.”

“No doubt,” Balam said, his eyes narrowed as he watched the foreman's retreating back. “I can't say that I care for his patently condescending attitudes towards metamen.”

“To say nothing for his penchant for emphasizing random words in his speech,” Hieronymus said. “Most unpleasant.”

“Well,” Leena said, slinging her pack onto her shoulders. “I'm pretty sure I heard the word ‘tavern' in there somewhere, which suggests to me that we might find something to drink, if we look hard enough.”

“Little sister,” Hieronymus said with a smile, hooking his arm through hers, “I believe you've just said the magic word.”

Beyond the entrance to the terminus, they found a path that led to the main gates of the city. The stevedores with whom they'd labored on the tram were now lined up at the gate in an orderly queue, identification chits in hand, each being inspected by the city guards in turn. At random intervals, one of the stevedores, invariably a metaman of one kind or another, was taken out of the line to a fenced-off area a short distance away, stripped naked, and thoroughly searched.

“What are they looking for?” Leena asked, whispering behind her hand as the company joined the end of the queue.

“The foreman said something about agitators, and a coronation,” Hieronymus answered, watching the guards and their motions carefully, “but I didn't follow his whole meaning.”

“They should take care not to drag me out for such an examination,” Balam growled, eyes flashing as a Canid was led to the enclosure. Once the dog man's clothes had been stripped from his body, he was bent over a low table, and his snout twisted in a grimace of pain as one of the guards used a short, wicked-looking ceramic instrument to probe his nether regions, doubtless searching for some type of contraband.

“Strange that they don't object to such treatment,” Hieronymus said.

“I have found, over my long years,” Benu observed, “that there are no indignities which beings will not suffer, if they believe the ends are justified. These metamen have traveled great distances and at considerable risk, hoping to claim a small portion of the riches of Hele for their own. That few if any immigrants are ever granted full Helean citizenship is apparently not a deterrent, and so with visions of mineral wealth and luxury dancing before their eyes, they allow themselves to suffer privations they would otherwise find abhorrent.”

“Such is the way in decadent capitalist societies,” Leena said scornfully.

“Perhaps.” Benu nodded thoughtfully. “But I have seen similar in
cultures which have rejected monetary exchange for other economic structures. The Bacharian Polity, for example, ostensibly shares all property in common, and yet I've seen hungry mothers and starving children lined up for days on end for their dole of bread and weak soup. Is that really so different?”

Leena shot a hard glance at the artificial man, her mouth drawn into a line. “That is hardly the same thing. Such shortages are invariably the result of interference from without, a burden shared among all the populace when the state stands against the capitalist oligarchies of decadent empires.”

“So you would hold a system like the Polity's unaccountable for its own shortcomings?” Hieronymus asked. “A government that sends spies against its neighbors, brigands who think nothing of raising a hand against honest wayfarers who happen to differ in species from their genetic purity?”

Before Leena could respond, they reached the head of the queue.

“Next!” The guard snapped his fingers, motioning impatiently for them to approach. His green skin stood in stark contrast to the bright reds and blues of his uniform, a cuirass of polished ceramic across his chest, and beneath his helmet his hair was the same light blond as his mustache and beard.

Hieronymus went first, presenting the ceramic badge the foreman had issued him. After regarding it closely, the guard asked Hieronymus a few questions about his country of origin, his reasons for coming to Hele, and so forth. Hieronymus answered as simply as possible, saying simply that he came from an island far away, and that he came in search of work to which his hands could be turned.

The guard looked Hieronymus up and down, appraisingly, and then handed him back the ceramic badge.

“Next.”

The others of the company were each in turn interviewed, their temporary access chits inspected closely. Leena and Hieronymus both
sighed with relief when Balam was waved through without being taken to the enclosure for further examination, and when Benu was passed through, the company was on their way.

They passed under the high gate and, crossing the threshold, found themselves in Hele.

They were in the ninth and lowest of the nine rings of the city. It was constructed as one broad avenue that curved back on itself to their left and right, lined on both sides with buildings. Behind the buildings on the inner curve rose the retaining wall of the eighth ring, beyond which they could just glimpse the other rings, while the spire of the coregents' palace towered above all.

Directly before them, opposite the entrance through which they'd passed, rose a wide ramp that zigzagged in switchbacks up the steep slope of the inner wall, terminating at the edge of the eighth ring above them. Men and metamen, vehicles and beasts, moved slowly up and down this winding ramp, about the business of the city.

The majority of beings that passed them on the avenue, or that jostled up and down the ramp, were metamen, but what humans the company did see had skin that ranged from the pale white of Leena's own to the dark ebony of Yasen Kai-Mustaf, with only a scattered handful whose pigmentation was the dark green of the foreman and the city guards.

“So few green faces,” Leena observed.

“There will be few Heleans found here in the lower rings, I would imagine,” Benu answered. “As one ascends the rings of the city, one also ascends the social strata. Down here at the bottom are the poorest of the city dwellers, most of whom, like us, are immigrants to the hidden city.”

“I'm fairly certain someone mentioned something about getting a
bite to eat,” Balam interrupted, becoming impatient with the conversation. “I've been on my feet hauling crates for who knows how long, and I want a bed, a meal, and a drink, though not necessarily in that order.”

“I would take any and all of the three, in
any
order,” Hieronymus agreed.

“This way, then,” Benu said, starting to walk towards the right around the avenue's curve. “If I read the signage correctly, and I do, then the Immigrant's Quarter will be found a short distance ahead.”

The first three establishments they tried refused them admittance, with one tavern even refusing to open its doors to them. At an overpriced hotel along the avenue, they were told that there were no vacancies, though the corridors echoed empty and dark. A restaurant shuttered its windows as they approached, only a bare handful of green-skinned patrons glimpsed momentarily through the panes of glass. And as they walked on, the avenue seemed to become more and more vacated, fewer pedestrians and vehicles passing them by the moment.

“You there,” shouted one of a pair of green-skinned guards, approaching them from across the avenue, each with a half-meter long trident in hand. There was, by now, no one else in sight, only shuttered windows and barred doors lining the way. “What are you about?”

“We're just looking for food and lodging,” Hieronymus answered casually.

“Not past curfew you aren't,” replied the other of the guards.

“Curfew?” Leena said.

“We were told about no curfew on our entry.” Benu glanced at his companions and shrugged.

“Ignorance of the law is no defense.” The guard tightened his grip on the trident, menacingly. “Get indoors, and there won't be any trouble.”

“But we can't find anywhere that will take us,” Leena objected.