Citizen Tales 5 – Working (Patreon)

Bolbin tried to get the stiffness out of his shoulders by rolling them repeatedly. The steady vibrations of the car were only doing so much to help loosen them. Sitting in the back, he gazed out groggily into the Guild Hall. All of his body felt heavy, weighed down by the terror of post-alcoholic dehydration. Neck muscles strained, struggling to keep his head up.

As a gnome, Bolbin often struggled with the burden of his huge brain. This was both due to the above-average intelligence of his kind and the relatively larger size on their small frame making it actually tiresome to move large distances. The average gnome stood at about 1,10 metres, while the head circumference matched that of most humanoids. Of course, they had neck muscles to compensate for this issue. That only did so much.

By the Lady’s design, gnomes faced three plights. They were cursed with being intelligent in a world of simpletons. Cursed with having small frames that forced them into reliance on gadgets or tallfolk. Cursed with sharing their species’ name with the most common title given to earth elementals. Whoever had that brilliant idea deserved a rocket-boot to the backside.

Usually, species like his were screwed in the Abyss. Humans were adaptable, one had to admit that much, and their dominance over the Abyss was not just due to them being the prime species. It was Bolbin’s conviction that humans could survive in a field of radioactive waste. He had no idea how, yet was sure they could.

Even taking such extremities aside, humans were everywhere, they knew how to get everywhere, and they somehow could thrive everywhere. They barely even needed each other, especially the more powerful ones. Even the average human managed to carve out their niche.

Gnomes, among many, many other of the Abyssal species, were confined to certain possibilities by virtue of their inborn traits. Bolbin would never run as quick as most humans or display the same magical capacity. What he had was a great intellect and a great understanding of artifice. In that, he was quite a stereotypical member of his species.

Intellect and understanding of artifice were not traits that lend themselves optimally to survival in an untamed Abyss. Bolbin and his family had managed to muddle through for one reason or another. A large contributing factor, a past he was not proud of, was that he had helped construct the kind of rudimentary Mana Factories that had been used to extract energy from slaves and captives.

When the Golden Rose had taken over the area he used to work in, that had been a godsend. Bolbin had pledged his case to the inquisitors and they had deemed him truthful. He had been sent on his way, allowed to live in a pacified region, and soon found the wisdom of the Lady’s gospel.

About a month ago, he had also moved to the capital. Much as he liked the people out in Bulwark, there was very little work for someone of his talents out in the steppes. The capital offered more, much more. Luck had been with them ever since they moved. An Apothecary had fixed his wife’s long-lasting skin disease, his eldest daughter had found a boyfriend (people around here were practically obsessed with shortstacks), and his two sons had enrolled in the local university.

The only thing he did not like around this chain of events was that he had a suspicion his daughter and the friendly young lad she was dating had pre-marital sex. The Lady would not approve of this, he felt.

That was his personal interpretation of the whole ‘Keep love and lust strongly tied and under control’ doctrine of the religion anyway.

Bolbin blinked a couple of times, his focus switching from the inside to the outside. He was riding in the open back of a logistics truck. The road of smooth, eternally solid grey stone underneath let them drive without any bumps or jumps. There was only the constant, slight vibrations of the mana engine. Audibly, this was mixed up. The moment they hit one of the Guild Hall’s bridges, the many materials piled onto the open space, prototypes and raw materials primarily, cluttered about.

“You doing fine back there?” the driver, a friend of the family called Helmepo, asked. Bolbin had met him when first registering himself with the Industry District and they had gotten close rapidly. On most days, Helmepo drove by the Harbour just as Bolbin got ready to make his way to his workstation. The consequence was that the gnome usually enjoyed taking a ride to work.

“Just the usual,” Bolbin responded, cheerfully. He ran a hand through his hair. Once it had been entirely pink, but age had since sapped the colour out of a lot of it and there was a notable bald spot at the back. He was past his prime, but that was alright. Even old men like him could find good work in Fusion, if they only tried hard enough.

They made it over the bridge and rolled further down the road. Looking east, across the canal system that separated the individual islands and districts, Bolbin looked at the Commercial District. His head throbbed when he recalled yesterday. He had drunk a lot. Bolbin saw his primary loyalty tied to the Order of the Golden Rose. That being said, the Fusion Festival had been a festival to the current good times. One had to enjoy them while they lasted. For all Bolbin knew, Fusion could collapse as swiftly as it had been created.

“They sure are fixing everything up quickly, huh?” Bolbin said. Yesterday, everything had been filled with people and food stands and party tents and events and all manners of entertainment. Now, there were only a few places that awaited disassembling. The festivity left no mark on the land, no tumbling trash or trampled down patches of grass. Bolbin had always thought that large parties were best thrown in an Illusion Barrier. That way the cleaning up could be done by just deleting the entire chaos from existence. ‘Leaving all that work to the Lady might be bad for the soul, though,’ he considered.

“Never been dirty around here since I started working in the Guild Hall,” Helmepo responded, turning the car leftward. One of the awkward things that Bolbin had noticed above the Guild Hall was that several roads were not properly curved. Instead, they consisted of several, slightly differently angled roads. Awkward, for some drivers.

The sudden turn made Bolbin groan. Heavier than ever before, he wanted to put his head down. He suddenly realized just how bright it was. “I had too much last night…”

“Yeah, I saw that.” Helmepo laughed. “The missus probably wasn’t amused.”

“She was passed out by the time I got home.”

“Lucky you, then. Sharp curve incoming.” The warning was futile, Bolbin had no idea how he would have prepared himself for the nausea. Around the corner they drove, then over another bridge. The flat stone they hit on the other side belonged to the Industry District – the place where both of them worked. “You could just take the day off.”

“I’ll never get a permanent contract if I don’t show up regularly,” the gnome responded. “Plus, I want to get a new arcanotech kit for Bilbon.”

“Ever the worker,” Helmepo hummed and turned left. They drove past the Mana Factories and the Brewery, whose sight summoned some aching memories. Bolbin got to keep staring at them, after they turned right and up the main route to the Warehouse. Car activity picked up rapidly at that point, as a bunch of similar or larger vehicles drove raw materials to the Industry Buildings. Once they hit the circular road around the Warehouse, this only doubled up further. Everyone wanted something from the Guild Hall’s stockpiles.

The Warehouse was a fascinating place, one that Bolbin still marvelled at after a month of seeing it nearly every day. It was a sprawling complex of red-roofed, oriental-esque buildings, whose architectural style was secondary to the efficiency of its ever-shifting sprawl. Cranes and platforms all over moved the crates of materials that spawned into existence, after being stored away in the other Warehouse in the Production District.

What wasn’t moved by humanoid hand was moved by humanoid design. Many processes took place automatically, following orders that had been placed the day before. The Warehouse took care of everything and its overseers had the necessary access to the console to fix things should anything go awry. Occasionally, a drone could be seen, flying materials from A to B. Bolbin understood that these were infrequently used due to energy concerns.

They finished their path around the Warehouse and finally arrived at the place Bolbin was working at: the Circuit Factory. “Thanks for the drive!” he shouted, after jumping off.

“Anytime!” Helmepo shouted back, while turning the car around. “See you at lunch!”

They waved their goodbyes and then separated, one driving off and the other waddling into the Circuit Factory.

Like the Warehouse, it was an impressive Building. Smaller, doubtlessly, but it made up for that with the intricate designs. The roof had the green colour of computing hardware, while the white walls had the metallic texture of a computer case. Stepping past the circuitry-covered gates, Bolbin followed the lines in the floor that served as guides. Several lamps all over the walls showed which rooms in the many corridors were currently in use. An interactive map of the facilities hung at the back, reminding or telling visitors what to expect where.

The Circuit Factory did produce the small, intricate parts used in the three primary variants of modern, physical magic: artifice, arcanotech, and computing. Many a simpleton would argue that computing was a purely mundane art and therefore should not be counted among artifice and arcanotech. To them, Bolbin could only say that the mundanes had figured out something so amazing that it might as well be magic. It certainly held the same creative power.

Bolbin walked over to the high-tech reception. It was surrounded on all sides by large panes of glass, with several interactive screens around the receptionist, whose only purpose was to ask difficult questions and receive finished products. Bolbin had neither at the moment, so he grabbed one of the many stools around and used it to get on the proper height to use one of the screens.

Buildings in the Guild Hall offered three kinds of jobs: beginners, freelancers, and contractors. Beginners were the people who had just registered with the Building’s administration and were on probation. Materials were provided from the Warehouse and to prevent people from just writing themselves in for a job and then making off with the valuable components, they were put on a time of probation. For people interested in learning the craft, they had to enrol in that university first. Only the Production Buildings let people start without any prior knowledge.

Once a beginner had been proven to be trustworthy and moderately skilled by creating a number of predefined gadgets, they rose to the rank of freelancer. Freelancers were left to follow their own designs, the only limitation was that they had to build something someone wanted. Requests came in from the government, corporations, and private people.

Lastly, contractors were people that had been given a permanent contract from Fusion. They were closer to traditional industry workers, receiving a fixed salary in return for their working hours. People that freelanced could earn more and were flexible in what they got to produce. However, contractors received a number of benefits, such as sick leave, a pension, and vacation days.

Bolbin was a freelancer, gunning to become a contractor. He was past the age where he needed the freedom to put the job down spontaneously for a three-day binge. What he wanted was the stability of the contracting life. Until then, he would get as much money as possible by taking the best paying commissions. Obviously, every other freelancer had the same idea.

First, Bolbin checked his inbox. Every person that received a finished commission was also handed the name of its creator, to let the more able freelancers get a stable customer base. So far, Bolbin had not managed to get a return customer. He also had not gotten a single complaint. The most likely explanation was that the general level of skill was so high that people didn’t bother to pick out specific engineers, just like most people didn’t bother to always get a haircut by the same person.

‘Alright, let’s go with that,’ Bolbin decided and picked a relatively simple project. The Thorne company requested a pile of modified chips. Since the Circuit Factory automatically produced a variety of basic parts on its own, all Bolbin needed to do here was take a pile of those basic parts and make minimal adjustments by hand. That would take him about three hours and then he could take out another mission.

Tapping on the confirmation button opened a new window. It outlined where Bolbin would find the crate with the components deemed necessary for this commission. A few minutes later, Bolbin had that crate loaded onto a handcart and was pushing it along to his regular room. This would be another productive day in the life of one of the Guild Hall’s many workers, Lady willing.

And normalcy ensued.