AMBYSSUS | Ch. 2 - The Switch (Patreon)

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The dawn became increasingly brighter, announcing the warmth of the morning. The light hurt Geoffrey's eyes. Since he went to the lake he'd been suffering from a persistent migraine. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a headache.

As his locomotive neared one of the town’s entry terminals, he searched the compartment conveniently built into his seat's arms. Geoffrey carefully selected the red flag from the bunch and waved it out of the window while blowing the train whistle. The switchmen crew noted the intended destination and swiftly switched the railways so Geoffrey’s locomotive could enter the red circuit.

Even through his headache, Geoffrey still took the time to admire the work these men did. They manned the terminals, always at the ready. The crew worked around the clock, under scorching heat, pouring rain, or freezing cold. It was a deceptively complex and dangerous job. One moment of distraction when crossing a line could cost their passengers hours of their time, or worse, it could make a switchman lose their life.

When one of the members of the switchmen's union had knocked at Geoffrey's office to ask for his support, he hadn't hesitated to give them a donation and sign their petition to get the city to add bridges and tunnels to help switchmen move over or under the tracks without getting themselves into danger. Even though the initiative had been approved, Geoffrey hadn't seen a sign of the construction work starting.

The terminal Geoffrey was entering right now was used mainly by ranchers and workers coming from the lakeside and was one of the busiest ones in New Lisbon. Most were communal lines, and only a few private ones, such as Geoffrey’s, made it out here.

As was his habit, addiction, and tic, he consulted his pocket watch again. It was six-thirty in the morning. Although some traffic could be seen, the tracks were relatively empty.

The switches were operated, and Geoffrey’s locomotive joined local traffic. Different circuits of rails zigzagged through town, sometimes over a bridge or under a tunnel. There were twenty such circuits, and each took about one hour to complete. After consideration, Geoffrey had concluded that the red circuit was the best choice for today. It was one of the railroad routes that traversed the center and passed by the city hall.

Once inside the red circuit, Geoffrey waited for a curve that could afford him a good look at the other vehicles behind him, trying to see if there was anyone he recognized.

Truth be told, even if it wasn't a day as monumental as this, Geoffrey would have still looked over his shoulder. It was one among many survival skills he had been forced to develop when he was a street urchin. When one lives on the streets, it's better to have eyes behind one's back.

He didn't see any of his fellow ranchers or their personal locomotives. If he guessed correctly, most ranchers still hadn’t heard about what had happened at the lakeside. They would undoubtedly head to the mayor’s office as soon as they found out. He should go too.

As far as he knew, most ranchers carelessly built all their facilities as close to the shore of the lake as possible to avoid wasting time in transportation and maximize profit. Geoffrey was among the few who prized precaution enough not to spare expenses in building his processing facilities on higher ground, even if that cut his earnings. Much of his fellow ranchers' equipment had most likely been decommissioned.

Large lake floods were an exceedingly rare event. Most ranchers didn’t bother preparing for the possibility. Nevertheless, Geoffrey hadn’t gone from a beggar to a businessman by skimping on planning. He favored long-term planning over short-term gains. Slow and steady wins the race.

Geoffrey's headache was receding, and his thoughts were gaining their usual nimbleness and dexterity. He couldn't fathom how devastating the flood would be on the local economy. Most of the world’s fuel came from the sirenian oil harvested in the lake, and demand constantly chased after supply. If production halted because of the flood, it could ruin the city. Worse, it could collapse the world economy.

He glanced at the dial showing him how much fuel was left in the tank of his locomotive and sighed. Transportation would be one of the things that would be compromised. Lighting and heating too would all be affected. He sighed. The least he could do was offer his fellow businessmen a helping hand and be neighborly. He was one of the ranchers closest to the city. He was also one of the few that had gone through the trouble of setting rails between the city and his ranch. Most likely, on a day when each second counted, he would be the first to get to the mayor’s office and sound the warning. Yes. That was the right thing to do.

Geoffrey picked another flag. It had a chess-patterned field, signaling that he wanted to park his locomotive at the next stop. The switchman serving the parking lot noted the flag and activated the switch rail that led the locomotive to a railroad parking yard. As he pulled the lever, the tracks slightly changed, allowing the locomotive to leave the circuit and enter. The switchman quickly reset the switch so other trams or trains could go past unimpeded.

As Geoffrey climbed out of the cab of the locomotive, he looked around in confusion. By Ambyssus’ ambition, why was he in the city market? How had he gotten here? It was across town from the city hall. Hadn’t he come to the red circuit? Geoffrey looked up at the signs in the yard and saw blue plaques all over. Strange. He had come to the blue line.

Dazed, Geoffrey tried to gather his thoughts. He was sure he hadn’t picked this circuit; nevertheless, he stood here. Could it have been a mistake done by the switchmen crew? It would take him more than an hour to take his locomotive from here to the city hall. Should he get a taxi? Should he walk?

Gently, smoothly, he felt his attention being persuasively drawn to the market across the road from the railroad yard. The taste in his mouth became sweeter, and a numbing sensation flashed across his temples. His thoughts were gently nudged toward an idea. It was Geoffrey’s idea, of course, but he had dismissed it as soon as it had formed. Although it was quite lucrative, it wasn’t pretty or kind.

Geoffrey stood indecisively, trying to decide on his course of action. He stood at a proverbial switch terminal. It was time to determine where to take his train. If he did decide to go down this path, it's true that he wouldn’t be doing anything unlawful. His plan was a legitimate way of expanding his business. There might be some damage to his competitors, but wasn’t the business world one of war and struggle? Had his competitors gotten the chance to gain this opportunity, they wouldn’t hesitate to seize it.

Flashes of painful memories as a street urchin came to his mind. The pangs of hunger. The sweaty grime that stuck to his skin and the hair lice that made him itchy. The cold nights. The threats of other street gangs who wanted him out of their lucrative turf.

Then there was a flood of pleasant, marvelous memories of success. His first business. The elation of lucrative endeavors. The comforts of wealth. The esteem and respect of others. Yes, yes. Perhaps there was an honest opportunity to be gained here. And if he was indeed correct, time was of the essence.

Finally convinced, Geoffrey marched toward the market. Balaena Market was renowned throughout the world. New Lisbon was the city with the best access on the planet. The airport, port, and train stations were all the biggest in the globe, strategically placed across the street from the market.

Even from his relatively low vantage point, Geoffrey could see cranes unloading containers from vessels coasted on Port Aurum, Zeppelins taking off from the Aquilae Airport, and train whistles signaling the arrival or departure of cargo. All these three gigantic structures were as close as it was logistically possible to the market. Wagons bringing merchandise in and out of the market to the three transportation hubs reminded Geoffrey of a busy tireless ant colony.

This was one of the few markets in the world open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. All worthwhile commercial routes stopped, started, or ended in New Lisbon. With routes came the merchants and variety, and with that wealth. Geoffrey remembered reading in his economics class how an interesting study done by Bowhead University revealed that half of the world’s products, or at least one of their components, were at some point sold or bought here.

Even though this was a colossal enterprise, Balaena Market was kept well-organized. The market was divided into five districts: husbandry, agricultural, industrial, imports, and finally, at the center of it all, there was the fifth district, the legendary oil market.

Geoffrey came here every week and worked in many different establishments throughout the years when making his way up to his current fortune and capital. As he made his way toward the building, Geoffrey reminisced about his professional experience here. He had once bought unappreciated wares from an ignorant merchant in one stall, only to sell to an appreciative salesman next, making a quick buck. Before that, he had baked apple pies and sold them to the workers and salesmen entering and leaving the market.

Without much thought, he used the nearest entrance to his parking yard. This was the North Market District, where the husbandry trading section was located. There were streets with stores set up in an organized fashion. Stalls of all different colors and sizes made the environment festive and eye-catching.

As Geoffrey entered the sirenian section within the district, screams of merchants that had already set up their merchandise competed for his attention. This part of the market smelled like sea cow, grass, leather, and salt. Geoffrey was so used to the smell that he almost immediately grew accustomed to it and dismissed it.

“Get yourself some of our balatees’ springs. Exceptional yield. Good for any industry!”

“Steller’s Sea Cow stellar leather! We kill none of the animals following the Science Academy's environmental regulations. All animals died from old age!”

“Fine sir, why don’t you take this carved chess set of dugong bones?”

“Good morning, chief; those boots have seen better days. Why not try one of our manatee leather boots?”

Geoffrey ignored all the sales pitches thrown at him. Looking at the time, he took a small detour and, from afar, glanced at one of the booths hawking wares made of sea cow materials. The tablet read in elaborate golden letters, “Geoffrey Inc.” After assessing the effort of his hired sales staff that attempted to sell some of the products manufactured at his estate, satisfied, Geoffrey made his way to the oil auction house—still closed. Geoffrey looked at the market’s clock. It would only open at 7:30. A line of people waited at the door. Trying to make sure they could get their hands on the precious fuel.

Seeing that the door for buyers remained closed, Geoffrey made his way around the back of the building and entered through the door destined for producers. The security guard recognized him and invited him in.

“Good morning, Martha. I would like to see Master Gulliver, please.”

“Certainly, Mr. Geoffrey,” answered the receptionist, “I'll call him immediately.” The receptionist entered the office space and located the old clerk, whom she towed toward the reception. Master Gulliver was a man in formal attire. He wore slacks and a vest made of dugong hide and had a nose that was shapeless and flat.

The hunch in his back and the glasses told the story of an office worker who had spent many nights reviewing paperwork at a desk. He looked at his long-time supplier, lowering his gaze so that his spectacles wouldn’t hinder his line of sight.

“Jeff. Long time no see.”

“Master Gulliver, it is a pleasure. Always a pleasure. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“What can I do for you today?” as he asked the question, Master Gulliver checked his wristwatch. “The next auction will begin soon.”

“How many of my estates’ casks do we have stored here?”

“Well, I don’t know the precise number.” After some thought, he added. “About two hundred?”

Excellent, it was better than he was expecting.

“Alright. Do you think you can hold on to them for the moment? Please don’t release them to the market.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Master Gulliver, with a puzzled look, on his face, “Any specific reason?”

“None I have the time to discuss right now. We can talk later. I'm sorry, I must go; I don’t want to miss the market opening. We’ll catch up sometime soon. Yes, soon.”

By Ambyssus’ ambition, it was time to become rich.

*

Joey was almost done with his reports. He refused to go home before he could finish up all the paperwork. He was obsessed with closure, a trait he'd inherited from his father. He had spent the last months of his life working on this case. It was time to wrap it up, turn it in, go home, and spend time with his family. He rubbed his chest, feeling a small bruise where Molly had jumped him earlier, and smiled. Looking out the window, Joey realized it was morning. His wife and daughter would wake up soon. If he hurried, he might still be able to bring them breakfast.

Looking at his desk, Joey saw a picture of him as a child, sitting on his father’s lap. He had placed it here to remind him why he had forsaken a life of luxury and entrepreneurship and had joined law enforcement instead. Looking at the picture was a two-edged sword. It motivated him to get his work done, but at the same time reminded him of what he disliked the most about his job: It was hard to maintain a good balance between work and family.

Even though Joey loved to serve his city and lock away bad guys, nothing was more important than family. His father had always been good with that. No matter how busy he was, he always had found the time to let little Joey run into his office in the middle of a meeting with politicians, businessmen, and merchants and let him tell everyone about the big disgusting bug he had captured in the backyard.

The commissioner stomped through the bullpen. Like a star that drew debris, asteroids, and planets into its orbit, the man drew respectful looks and countenance from everyone nearby. His eyes rested on Joey, and the subtlest nod commanded that he discreetly follow him.

Joey had seen the commissioner with this look on his face before. There was something big going on. Joey rose from his seat, stretched, trying to dissolve the knots of tension from spending hours typing away at his desk, and discreetly followed the commissioner.

Coming into the office, the commissioner readily closed the door and the shutters. “I think that you and I will regret not going home to sleep when we had the chance,” announced the commissioner.

“What do you mean, Chief? Is there anything wrong with the dark sciences lab we busted? Don’t tell me they've lawyered up. Oh, man! Those leeches. How can they find so many loopholes to exploit?”

“No, no. None of that. It’s something entirely different. Listen. Mr. Wilkinson, from one of the Estates in the lake, did me the favor of coming here to let me know that something big has happened there. He's already gone to talk to the mayor, and I imagine he will call for us anytime soon.”

“Are there pirates active again?”

“No, Joey. The lake has changed somehow. There's a flood.”

“A flood?”

“Yes, and it seems that it has changed the water.” Joey gulped. Grassum Lake was the lifeline of both the city and the world! "We don't know what we're looking at here, Joey. We must be ready to deal with riots, looting, and protests. The Whale Oil War began with something as simple as this. If this impacts oil production, we might have the whole world at our throats. ”

Joey took a moment to register the seriousness and the dimension of this.

“Boss, what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to run point on this. It is of paramount importance that we keep this quiet for as long as possible. We want to avoid panic. Let's first try to ascertain what has happened to the lake and think of solutions. Only then do we want the populace to know about what's going on. OK?

"Yes, sir."

"Now, go home, get cleaned up, and meet me at the mayor's office. You know the kind of pressure I've been under, Joey. We can't afford to fail here. And, if anything, tonight, you've proved to be a reliable and trusted employee. I'm counting on you.”

This seldom-said compliment meant a lot to Joey. After his late father had passed, the commissioner became Joey's rock. Despite anything Joey might say or how tough he acted around the commissioner, he deeply respected the man and would be there for him through thick and thin.

"Thank you, sir."

"Joey," the commissioner threw him a key. "Take the rhino."

"Sir?"

"Go!"

Following Fabius' advice, Joey calmly stepped out of the office. As he crossed the bullpen, all he could think of was explaining to his wife that he wasn't getting a holiday. She was going to be so mad. As Joey left the precinct, he squinted at the sudden change in brightness. The dark bags under Joey’s eyes probably made him look like a panda. He should have gone home when the commissioner had told him to.

Joey took the keychain out of his pocket. The police’s tactical tank was a powerful machine only taken out in extreme cases. Unlike the personal locomotives that required railroads, the rhino locotanks moved on caterpillar tracks and could move in any terrain. The bestial tanks were exceedingly expensive and could only be owned by the government.

He had seldom driven one except when time could make or break the operation. The fact that the commissioner had given the keys to Joey showed how important he considered this operation.

Joey drove the rhino through the streets. Riding a locotank was significantly different from riding a locomotive. With the latter, one just had to worry about speeding up, pulling the break, blowing the whistle, and waving flags to switchmen. With the tank, however, one had also to steer the thing. It was like having a horse and a train in one vehicle. This added a significant layer of complexity and danger to traveling.

As Joey steered the metallic juggernaut over tracks and barely out of the way of passing horses or people, he finally parked it clumsily in front of his home. He rushed into the building without forgetting to take the keys from the ignition. The last thing he needed was for some kid to railjack him.

Despite the rhino's many virtues, the vehicle was exceedingly noisy. His wife had been drawn to the sound and was already at the door, waiting for Joey. She seemed refreshed and energized after a sound night of sleep.

"Joey, my love. You're back."

"Honey, something has happened."

"What's wrong, Joey? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"There's no time to explain!" Joey ran past her and dashed toward the bathroom.

"Joey, you're scaring me. Are you OK? What's going on?"

"I need to get to the city hall. Please, get my official uniform ready. Also, something to eat and drink, please." Joey gratefully saw his wife going to the wardrobe, taking the official uniform, and laying it neatly over the bed. She then disappeared into the kitchen.

In record time, Joey had shaved, bathed, and put on his official uniform as the commissioner had instructed.

"Thank you. I'm sorry about this."

"I guess your time off has gone out the window?" she asked, disappointed. Joey felt a rush of guilt and sadness going through him. "I'm so sorry, honey. I'll explain to you later. I have to go to the city hall. I promise I'll make it up to you. Deal?"

"Make sure Fabius promises me that too."

"Will do." Joey stormed out the door.

Ch. 1

INDEX

Ch. 3