Free-Wrench, no. 1 (16 page)

She glanced to the captain, then took the
offered hand and stepped aboard. The door slid quietly shut behind
her.

“The tram ride will last twenty-seven
minutes. As a Calderan, I believe you’ll find the view from this
window to be of particular interest.”

She turned to the window, but her heart was
fluttering in her chest. Until now, she thought simply stepping
onto the
Wind Breaker
had been the most harrowing and
dangerous decision she could have made. Since then each day had
brought new threats. The strange man had called her by name. No one
outside her own homeland should know it, save the members of the
crew. How did this fug person learn it?

The tram rumbled into motion, swinging subtly
from the wires. It trundled downward, drawing ever closer to the
purple mist. Her heart pounded harder with each foot they
descended. Then, with a soft whoosh, they plunged into it. The dim
light of dusk was wiped away, replaced with pitch blackness. The
only light came from the cherry-red glow of the captain’s cigar.
The tram operator opened a valve on the wall, and the same sickly
yellow glow that lit the lower decks of the
Wind Breaker
filled the tram.

“For your benefit. We of the fug don’t need
much light,” he explained.

She felt a strange sensation around her feet
and looked down to find that the purple vapor was slipping into the
tram, gradually filling it. Captain Mack stubbed out his cigar in
an ashtray attached to one wall and cinched his mask in place. Nita
tightened the straps on her own. The fug was knee-high now. It felt
heavier than the air around it, and where it touched her, it
brought the same chill one might get from splashing rubbing alcohol
on one’s skin. Her breathing quickened. The fug reached her chest,
then her chin. Instinctively she breathed deep and shut her eyes
tight when it finally washed over her face. Her eyes burned sharply
enough to make them tear.

“The discomfort to your eyes will pass,”
their escort said. “You should not feel any lasting effects from
exposure to the fug unless you remain immersed for more than
forty-eight hours.”

Nita blinked the tears away and looked again
to the window. Perhaps it was something the fug had done to her, or
perhaps it was simply her vision adjusting, but suddenly she could
see a great deal more outside the window. Dull red and green glows
pulsed in the field of deep purple.

“The fug is densest in its top layer.
Eventually your visibility should reach a mile or so. That glow you
see out there is the shipworks. Every airship in the world was
built in a facility like that one.”

She stepped closer to the window and
squinted. Sure enough, mechanisms and buildings became visible.
Unfinished ships with their inner workings exposed drifted through
the air. The red glow came from enormous boilers, nearly a match
for those back home, but while her own were fueled by the heart of
a volcano, these were warmed by massive furnaces that belched fumes
and flames. Enormous tubes affixed to pristine envelopes began to
swell to shape, spurting puffs of green here and there. Unlike on
the surface, where the phlogiston was little more than a
bright-green gas, here the stuff was radiant, glowing with the same
color as the lights in the tram. Where it sprayed out into the fug,
it formed great curling swaths of radiance, like brief but intense
tongues of green flame.

Over the next few minutes, Captain Mack sat
on one of the plush upholstered seats in the tram while Nita
marveled at the otherworldly sights. As they came nearer to the
ground, buildings became visible. When they were higher it had been
difficult to tell, but now that they were close to the ground it
was clear that they had accelerated to a fantastic speed. Street
after street whisked by beneath them. It was a whole city, but
there was something wrong with it. The streets were empty,
lifeless. This wasn’t a city built by the fug folk. This was a city
that had been strangled by the fug. It was a remnant of whatever
people had lived here before, preserved precisely as it had been
when the last of them had died away.

“I believe this place was called Duldrum in
the days before the calamity. Most of us who live here now can
trace ourselves back to the residents who lived here,” said their
escort.

“You mean you
are
the residents of
this place?”

“Indeed. It is true that the fug is
usually
lethal. But some small percentage of the populous
doesn’t die. We change. We are those blessed by whatever quirk of
nature permits such a thing,” he said.

“Remarkable…”

“Please take a seat. We will begin to slow
now, and it may seem very abrupt.”

She did as she was told and was grateful that
she did. The tram shuddered and pressed her into her seat, the
escort swaying lightly and gripping a handrail for support. They
were almost level with the ground now. A loud screech rang out
distantly as the breaks on the cable slowed them further, and
finally they coasted to a stop. The tram operator opened the
door.

“Follow me,” he said.

He led the way into the eerie ghost town. The
streets stretched out on either side, utterly empty of vehicles,
animals, or people. The only sounds were the far-off din of
industry and the nearby hiss of a steam engine powering the tram.
She knew that a few hundred feet above, the sun was only just
setting, but here it seemed to be the dead of night. What light
there was came from lamp poles tipped with glass bulbs and glowing
with green light. Their destination was the former city hall, a
sprawling building, gothic in design, and the only place showing
even the remotest sign of activity. He pushed open the door and led
them up the stairs to an office labeled, simply,
Mayor.

“He will see you immediately,” said their
escort, pushing open the door.

It was a modest office. An old oil lamp
provided a warm amber light that seemed far more inviting than the
green light elsewhere. Everything was ancient, but exceptionally
well cared for, from the elegant antique desk to the stuffed
leather chairs that sat two in front and one behind. The walls were
book cases, filled with leather-bound tomes of every sort. Sitting
behind the desk was another fug person of much the same
description, though of somewhat less-formal dress. He reminded Nita
of a clerk, with a simple starched white shirt and bow tie. He wore
spectacles, and a waxed mustache, jet black against his gray skin,
adorned his lip.

“Ah. Captain West. I do so look forward to
doing business with you. And this must be the lovely Miss”—he
picked up a sheet of parchment and glanced at it, adjusting his
glasses—“Amanita Graus. I understand the others call you Nita. I
trust you’ll do me the honor of affording me the same
courtesy.”

“Of course.”

“Splendid. My name is Mr. Ebonwhite. I
oversee all matters dealing with our trade and communication with
the people of Keystone. We shall begin with the old business.
Captain West, here you will find your outstanding balance.” He slid
a different parchment forward. “I trust you’ll find everything in
order.”

Mack glanced over the figures and nodded.
“Here’s our manifest. We’ve got enough to balance and a fair amount
more to trade. We’d like to restore our usual assortment of
goods.”

“Cheerfully done. We’ve taken the liberty of
preparing your order in advance.”

“Thank you. We will also require some
repairs.”

“Ah, yes. Your encounter with the wailers. We
will be happy to oblige. And I must express my relief that Nita
here was not injured. It simply would not do for the first Calderan
to venture forth in over a century to be killed by a few misguided
souls. When you are prepared, send your ship down and we will
assess the damage and provide you with a quote for the required
service. I understand it will be rather extensive.”

“Ms. Graus here would like to ask for a
particular item.”

“Ah, yes. Something medical if I’m not
mistaken.”

“I… well, yes. My mother is suffering from a
disease. In Caldera it is called Gantt’s Disease. It…” She paused
as Mr. Ebonwhite looked away to yet another of the many sheets of
parchment arrayed on the table.

“Mmm? Oh, I’m sorry, do continue. Something
called Gantt’s Disease. I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with it.”

“It causes tremors in the fingers. The
prognosis is always fatal.”

“Mmm… one moment.” He stood and approached
the far wall, running his fingers along one shelf of books and
pulling out a thick tome. He brought it to the table and leafed
through. “Uncontrollable trembling… gradual loss of dexterity in
the extremities… presents itself when the subject is just exiting
middle age.”

“Yes, that’s it!”

“As fate would have it, that precise disease
was a particularly troublesome one for us in the fug. It is caused
by an imbalance in the stomach caused by infection. I understand
most of those beyond the fug have a natural immunity that we lack.
Fortunately a drug we developed, Tomocin, turned out to be quite
effective in treating it, as well as a large number of other
diseases.”

“You can treat the disease?”

“In the case of Moloch’s Degenerative
Disorder, which is what we call it, the drug is one hundred percent
effective. We can cure it. A single course of treatment is enough
to permanently eradicate it. Sufferers report a removal of symptoms
after a single dose and their complete nonoccurrence after three
doses. The disease remains common among us, so we keep a supply on
hand.”

Nita’s heart leapt. “Mr. Ebonwhite, I would
gladly pay any price if you would provide me enough of the drug to
treat my mother.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“Wh—Why not!”

“Well, if you were a trained diplomat, you
would be well aware that there can be no friendly relations between
any two nations without the mutual observance of the customs and
policies of the other. To be quite frank, you have not respected
our ways.”

“What did I do?”

“Oh really now, Nita. The repair to the
ship’s steam system.”

The captain’s head turned to her. His eyes
were almost smoldering with anger.

“I don’t know what you are talking
about.”

“Don’t you now? So when Captain West sends
his precious
Wind Breaker
down, if we pull up a recently
repaired deck board, we won’t find that a salvaged connector from a
two-seat boarding vessel has mysteriously replaced the one that was
fractured when that wailer vessel attacked?”

“Mr. Ebonwhite, I assure you—” the captain
began.

“Relax, Captain. We are well aware that you
were quite diligent in your warnings, and that Nita took great
pains to hide her misdeed from you. These extenuating circumstances
have been taken into account, and your resulting fine will be quite
mild. You will be charged for the parts and labor to replace the
offending part, plus a small fee. Nothing beyond what you can
easily pay. Nita, on the other hand, will need to wait one full
year before we are willing to consider trade with her or, indeed,
any
Calderan.”

“You—but I—by then my mother will almost
certainly have perished.”

“A fate that would have befallen her had you
not ventured forth from your homeland. It is hardly my
concern.”

“Please! You can’t punish
her
for what
I
did! I admit I disobeyed your rules, but there was a life
on the line.”

“If it will ease your conscience, I’ll inform
you that we wouldn’t have sold you the drug even if you’d been
willing to respect our customs.”

“Why?”

“Because there is no profit in it.”

“Profit?! But we’re talking about life and
death here!”

“Yes, Nita. We are. In the fug, profit
is
life and death. You saw our city. There is no sunlight
here. That means no crops. Very few animals survived the fug, which
means no fresh meat. If we are to survive, we must trade our
technology for goods from those on the surface. You are asking for
something which will
cure
your mother. That is a single
payment. Hardly justifiable.”

“There has got to be a better way. I’ll pay
any price!
Anything
!”

“I have no doubt that you will pay any price,
but the simple fact is that you will only ever pay that price once.
It would be different if this were a drug that had to be taken
again and again, for years and years. The problem is that it is a
cure. You’ll need it only once, and then you won’t need us anymore.
We must cultivate our dealings with you and your like as a farmer
would a crop. And a crop you can only ever harvest once is no crop
at all.”

“Surely we can find a way to trade
fairly.”

“Oh no. There are very few of us, and quite a
few of you.
Fair
is unacceptable. It would afford us too
little. No, in order for us to survive, the balance
must
be
quite heavily in our favor. We trade our disposable goods and, more
importantly, our
services
, and we take those steps necessary
to ensure that those services will
always
be in high
demand.”

“How can you be so—?”

“Oh, good heavens, look at the time. I’m
terribly sorry, but there are other meetings to prepare for.
Captain West, if you’d take your samples to our treasurer for
appraisal, we’ll settle the additional fees. Nita, you are
dismissed. Thank you for your visit, and I do hope to see you again
next year, provided you are more willing to behave yourself. Though
the treatment you seek is not for sale, I feel certain your people
will find we have much else to offer. Good day!”

He plucked a silver bell from the table and
tinkled it, summoning the escort to the room, who firmly took
Nita’s hand and led her out of the office and into the street.