A Fine Black Sky
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
The vallalauga millipede cared not for nourishment from the Verdure Plant, though that particular location was the road upon which it travelled, because any succour it demanded came simply and easily. It was, however, the hum of industry that drove the vallalauga millipede on, slithering through a gap in the floor to the area above, where Attendants attended to the Makers and Inventors, as the Workers worked feverishly for the same.
The vallalauga millipede rattled over the ripples and indents upon the Verdure Plant efficiently, its many legs travelling unimpeded upon the undulating terrain in ordered measure - a unity of movement, and never a teeter to bring the vallalauga millipede low.
Little of the litany of odours from the floor below could cut through the olfactory attack upon the senses of the grease, burned metal and tempered steel, not to mention the tanned and treated materials in working piles around the Working Area, where heavy boot and hard covering, not to mention eye and body protection, was essential to prevent injury or death.
Both, unfortunately, occurred far more often than was desirable. But nothing, not broken bones, missing fingers nor bloody burrs would stand in the way of progress, for without progress there was no Unity. At least it was how many, if not all within this floor drained their lives, while in pursuit of it. If not, then being a Maker or an Inventor was certainly the wrong path to take. But it was upon the Workers that danger truly stood unsteadily. Their shoulders were to be burdened by the ideas and concepts of the great minds - those of the Makers and Inventors. They both were less doers. They were more delegators. Why exercise the brain and the brawn? When there was such an abundance - a plethora of muscle abounding? The life of a Worker here was cheap. It paled in comparison with the mind of a Maker, or the insights of an Inventor. Yet the vallalauga millipede continued upon its trail, up the Verdure Plant, focussed upon its own trials and tribulationary endeavours.
Yet below, it was plain to see something was burning away at Edric the Worker as he grinned at his Second, Neven, who was guiding the sheet into the cutter, while Edric pushed from the other side. He could contain his excitement no longer, “See Phile over there?” he said, in hushed tones, which was particularly testing in the clinking, the clunking and the thumping of sound, echoing through the domed acoustics of the Working Area, almost rhythmically pounding out a beat to industry of the most delicate kind.
Neven did not lift his head. He concentrated upon the task at hand, “What? Sorry. Keep hold of that piece there. I don’t want to slip.”
Edric rolled his eyes skyward, which Neven failed to observe, “I said see Phile over there?”
“What of him?” asked Neven, now lifting his head to look at Edric. The two of these Workers had only just recently been tasked together, after Neven’s previous partner had been invalided out of service, due to a compound fracture of the radius and ulna both together - called the Diffract Gemina. It had become that common an injury, it was given a moniker.
Edric could not keep the grin from his face, “I’m with his Wife. I’ve been with his Wife.”
Neven looked up, his brow furrowed in consternation, “Why are you telling me this? Please. Keep a grip on your end, Edric.”
“Neven - have you seen her?” asked Edric, incredulous, gesturing with one free hand the curves of his desire.
“What does that matter?” asked Neven suddenly.
Edric could not believe this needed explaining, “It matters to me.” he shrugged.
“I’m sure it matters to him also. Perhaps you should tell him.” said Neven, pointedly.
“Why? What would be the point in that?” This seemed not to be the path Edric had assumed his little tale would elicit.
It was Neven’s turn to shrug, “Morality is a virtue we must all keep.”
Edric looked through hooded eyes at Neven, “You sound like one of those Veiled. You’re not a Veiled are you?”
“What if I am?”
Apprehension then covered Edric’s soul and he shuddered a little as a cold sweat began on his forehead, “Look, just don't tell him, alright? Forget I said anything.”
“I’m afraid I cannot do that. The Code -“
“The Code my breeches! Just - keep it shut. It’s not like I’m stealing from him or anything.”
Neven eyed Edric suspiciously, “Then that would be imprisonment.”
“I know.” agreed Edric, mostly to himself.
“You are, technically, stealing from him, however. You are stealing a promise made betwixt he and his Wife -“
The cold sweat quickly evaporated, followed by a rise in Edric’s blood pressure, “I mean it, Neven! Don't say a thing! I’m on my last warning as it is!”
“The Code dictates -“
“No Neven! Not a word!” Edric hadn't noticed, but subconsciously he had released his grip upon the sheet, causing it to skid awkwardly.
“I’m afraid I must - Aaaghh!” Neven suddenly gripped his hand as a crimson fountain came out of his fingers. He quickly dropped to his knees, more out of shock than fear.
Upon realising what had occurred, Edric looked about him cautiously. Seeing no witness, he exclaimed, “Oh no! It slipped! Maker?! Inventor?! Vigilant!?”
Edric was forced to step aside as the Vigilants came in and quickly wrapped the deep cut in a tunic, while pulling the shocked and feared Neven away and to the stairs that led to the Medics in the floor above. Phile put a comforting hand upon Edric’s shoulder. He did not notice, however, the slight curl of the other side of Edric’s mouth in the merest tincture of a smile.
“Here. Let me give you a hand, Edric?” said Phile, immediately taking the place of the fallen comrade.
“Thank you!” replied Edric, with the most hidden sarcasm, “You’re most generous.” he said, with veiled insult. None the wiser, Phile simply nodded his appreciation.
In the interim, the vallalauga millipede had come upon a troublesome portion of its travels. It was required to slither around a branch of sorts, contorting its body somewhat. The motion itself twisted the vallalauga millipede inside, causing it discomfort, but seemingly the goal oriented creature took no truck with the malleable manoeuvre more than was required. The vallalauga millipede had no sense but for the unimpeded destination, yet when it had not that pleasure, even though it sensed no pleasure, defeat nor apathy, it was driven on by the odour of its target, its imperative - which was upon the floor above, and the vallalauga millipede was close. Very close. Below, two animated people began a course of conflict that could have easily been asided, if not for the ego of both.
It was that a Maker crossed the boundary between the one side and the other, the demarcation point that all abided by - the separation of Maker from Inventor. Rarely did they meet, unless upon a sanctioned exploration of ideas and implications of the same with a superior, or very occasionally, such as this time, when one party was in need of demonstrating knowledge based upon years of service versus intrepid examination and implementation. The Maker thrust a neatly sketched plan of a mathematically precise design under the Inventor’s nose.
“Inventor, what’s this?” the Maker asked, exhausted.
The Inventor looked up from his current work at the perfect design, “What do you mean?”
The Maker thrust a finger at a point on the design, tapping vigorously, “I mean - how can I put this? I know - what’s this?” he explained sarcastically.
The Inventor shrugged and returned to his work, “It’s a fradelinator, as you well know.”
The Maker shook his head frustratedly, “I know what it is, but why is it in this contraption, Inventor?”
The Inventor looked again at the design, his eyebrows furrowed, “Because - well, because it’s supposed to be there. It’s for the -“
The Maker waved the design about raggedly, “I know what its for. Why did you put it here? And here? And here?”
The Inventor stared meaningfully into the other’s eyes, “Not this again, Maker. You know the order of things -“
“Right. This is not about order. This is about practicalities. A demoyer would be an obvious choice -“
The Inventor shook his head, “I thought of that. Of course I thought of that. What do you take me for? An idiot?”
The Maker allowed a smirk to angle itself upon his lips, “Now you come to mention it -“
It was the Inventor’s turn to thrust a finger at the Maker, as way of emphasis, “Look, Maker, I’ve been doing this for forty years. You’ve been here, what, three? Respect your elders and betters.” he said, waving the other man away with a waggle of his digit.
The Maker, incensed, began to mutter, “Trust me, my three years has given me plenty of time to realise what a dunce you are and -“
The Inventor stood suddenly, causing the Maker to take an involuntary step backwards, “Take that back! Take it back now!”
“Make me!”
Circumspect in action, the Inventor retook his seat, “Well - look. Enough of this silliness? Let’s just agree to disagree -“
The Maker chuckled, “Ah, a coward! I knew it! Come on! First hit’s for free!”
“There’s nothing that is solved by fisticuffs -“ admonished the Inventor.
“Spoken like a true coward!” hissed the Maker, unable to let the bit go.
The Inventor waved the Maker away dismissively, “Look, just make the changes, and -“
The Maker, infuriated, scrunched up the design and threw it in the face of the other, a cardinal sin and clear intimidation to an Inventor, “Damn your plans! Damn your ideas! Damn you!”
Yet the Inventor did not cower, nor defer, instead he leapt the gap between the two of them and set about the surprised Maker, leading to a tussle upon the dirty floor with arms and legs twisting about, which allowed frustration intensified by both sides, to fall into each other. If either side could fight effectively, it would likely have been a bloodbath.
But fortunately, it was broken apart by the more sensible elements of the both sides, and slowly they returned to their respective sides, where the Inventor invented and designed, and the Maker made and complained about the ridiculous requests of the Inventors. For them it was easy to simply place an item upon a piece of paper. It remained the domain of the true artist to interpret it.
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