Day One

Wright's bullet exited his gun faster than the speed of sound and burst Simmons' head open like a dropped tomato. Blood and headguts ejected from the fresh smoking hole in his head. It was like watching a flower bloom in the morning. Simmons fell to the ground in centipede slow motion: feet, knees, waist then neck. The air smelled like gunpowder brains and skin. It was a good smell. It was the smell of success, the smell of breathing for another day. It was the smell of Mika's happiness.
Wright whistled to Selecta, "Message Scopes. Tell him that we managed Simmons." Selecta nodded her understanding and snapped her beetle to attention. She peppered it with her sachel of spices. The beetle responded and it carried her off, scuttling across the sand to the Union Station. Wright hostlered his gun and took out his Sharknife and cut off Simmon's ear. He added it to his belt, looping it via Simmons' Armada ear ring. It jingled against the other ears, the ones that were smaller, baked and salted by the sun. He took some spices out his his satchet and jingled them in his hand. His beetle, Mephisto, crawled out from under the earth and shook herself. Wright patted her horn and mounted her. He gave her more spice to indicate that he wanted to go to the Axelrod. He licked his cracked lips. The drinks would refresh him. He scanned the children's room sky. Nothing in sight. No gyros, no radio birdmen, no skyapes. Contented, he set off.



Ash burned Selecta's face as she and her beetle scurried across the Smoke Plains. Union Station was relatively close, 2 hours straight, if she rode in the shade of the Rail Project, but the Smoke Plains were safer for her. Alterbus Wright paid her good money, but they were both unlicensed managers and the DoC wasn't fond of that. So she stuck to the Smoke Plains.

Axelrod sprawled out of the desert like a maligilant weed. It was created decades ago, during the great coal rush. Workers came from

Axelrod was a mangy patchwork of a pity. On the Western outskirts were the bones of a decades old mana harvesters. They were dilapidated half domes covered in dead ether tendrils. They were frozen mid movement, appearing to look like ragged hair instead like effecient tools. Some farmers stayed there after the crash, trying to churn some mana out of the air or soil, but the dividents were sparse. Where the air onced burst with life, it now smelled racid and Godless. The eastern section of the city was the polar opposite. It teamed with life and money. They called it New Steel, after the metal economy grown bythe Rail Project. Work not done gratis by the Tinfolk of the Chinese was funneled by Domionion reps to local foremen. The the help that they needed was enourmous and varied. Hextionists magicked the rail, hoping to starve off curses from the States or potential golumnization that had occured near Temblock. The Temblock golumn put back the Rail Project several months, causing the Domion to bleed moeny to get back to speed. Constructionists and forgers strengthened the rails, insuring that when Artemis was functional and made its way past the city that the rails wouldn't buckle under the stress. The Dominion paid the workers with heavy coin, the slaves with high grade whores. But what seperated Alexrod from other industrial towns along the Project like Temblock or Packerton was the Empress.
The Empress was the economical hub of Axelrod. It was Mayor Treble's project after the Mana-crash. He wanted the city to keep clockwork and not evaporate like others after the crash. A trading port, hotel and market streched into a scythe curved tower. Mana scientists magicked the tower into holding its impossible shape, while sacrificies to the twin Luck Queens kept money flowing into the city. Cloudhooks and skylarks would dock at the bottom of the curve while their crews could supply themselves with wares and arrange opportunities for quick coin. At night, the Empress would be illuminated for dozens of klicks by a large neon green sign announcing its name in a babel of languages. Even the blind knew the name. Axelrod was a dirty city and money and opportunity flowed through it like blood. Wright hated it.

He waited for Selecta in their usual job after a management, the Sliced Thumb. It was an old underground tavern burroghed deep beneath the Empress where a Queenery once swarmed with life. Because of its past, it was a great place for wanders to keep their beetles. The soil in the caverns was rich and soft, perfect for sleep and feeding. The cantina was filled with a mixed sort. Burned out bear riders hunched in corners, empty husks of soldiers, slowly waiting to die. The rougher workers from New Steel would visit if they were looking for trouble or extra coin. Clockworkers toiled away on their creations between drinks. Air travelers would find company or fresh meet for new outputs. There was always energy in the bar. Wright occupied himself with a drink and a message from Mika that he received from the wire.
CONTST TODY. THNK IL D OK. MS U. ND U. CM BK SN!

He read it over and overa gain, filling the missing letters and exchanging it with her voice. How long will it be? Another two months?
"Congratulations," Selecta said from behind him, breaking his concentration. " Your bank account is pregnent. Scopes is the pa, and his load is mighty."
Wright nodded. "How thick we talking?"
"Fresh cow cream. The man's oiling you up, Alterbus, but you don't need me to tell you to bend over."
"Next time you go to Union Station, tell him to that I have staint scrape for him and I want him to shove it up his ass. We've sparked too much with Armada. Money aside, we can't afford to spark shit with them. I don't want to be a holy man, dig?"
"He's adamant. Says that the cream's a taste of the job. Says that it'll pay mighty."
"Mighty generous. Tell him I send my thanks, but no thanks."
Wright downed his beer and started to leave but was stopped by Selecta's hand on his shoulder. She showed him her closed hand, buzzing with life. Wright knew that Scopes meant business. Selecta held a mouth bee.
"Like I said, he's adament. Wants a meeting in the basement of your brain."
"And...?"
Selecta jingled her spice sack.
"A little bit of column a and a little bit of column bee and you're head'll be hollowed out. It's up to you."
"Sounds like he oiled you up too." She smiled an ivory grin.
"There's fat dollars in my purse and it needs to go on a diet. After you visit Scopes I'm going to help it lose weight by helping me find some release. You're a man. You understand release." She handed the bee to Wright and he tilted his head back and snorted it. At first, he felt a small buzz of vibration as it worked its way up his sinus into his skull. Then, he felt nothing. Wright started to drink, to kill time. One never knew when the bee would do its work. Then there was a spark pain in the back of his head and the room started to shutter like a moth's wing.
"See you on the flip," Selecta's voice said, distending and straining. Colours brightened and the room began to implode. The smokey skin of the room faded out and was replaced with the electrical hues of the Basement. Scopes was waiting there already, slumped into a fleshy chair grown from the room. Wright started to sit and as he did so, the ground pulsed with electricity and thought. By the time his knees were bent, he found himself sitting in a chair much like Scopes. Scopes stared at Wright with his eyeless sockets. ?He was all business.
"We have a management issue for you, Wright."
"Better not be another Armada one. They'll get fierce and they'll get fast if we don't sit some down for a bit."
"Crickets and fires. You're done with Armada for the moment. Your management helped us elevate a mole. That'll keep the sun out of your eyes for a while. Things will stay cool. You're no lizard."
"So why the quick business? I usually get some down for a bit. There's shit I need to take care of. Snap quick, move like a lunatic."
"Your situation with Mika is well known to us."
"Fuck you."
"You're going about it the wrong way, you know. Chemicals and surgery? There's better options for her situation. Do what we want and you'll be in the black all your life. Money talks, bullshit walks, right? You're always about coin."
"Bullshit's walking this evening, and it's taking the long and winding road."
Wright started to move out of his chair and the room started to dim and fade as the smells of the ar became stronger.
"Wright, we have one of the Twelve." Wright spat dismissively.
"You're talking shit."
"This is mighty fierce, and we need you for this. We got people all around. We're going to stop the Rail project and you're going to help.
"Right. And how am I going to do that? The Project's almost finished and Artemis and guarded mighty tight. There's not much you guys can do. The Dominion's tough, and they're tough. They're like the Pilgrims, oiled and spineless. You won't be able to get a bead on them."
"It's easy if you hold the puppet strings. I have one man handling the MoD. Like I said, we have a management issue for you. We want you to kill the PM."
"Impossible."
"Not if you have the President's Tear."
Wright did a double take.
"You're utterly serious? You know where the President's Tear is? I thought that bullshit. Like holy grail, or somethng like that."
"We're good as gold, Wright." Scopes spent the next hour telling him about it. Everyone in powered feared the President's Tear. It was the Magic Bullet. One shot could tear through guts and bone. It was the weapon of revolutions. And Scopes knew where it was.