The Nightly Montage

Rusted Rose

Rejan faltered as his thoughts sharpened into knives, carving him from the inside out. He couldn't think. Within him, his skeleton tried and failed to rearrange itself back to its proper form. The metal thorns pierced and scratched and clawed at his heart. His skin was warm; his bones deathly cold. Rejan was being crushed, buried under the weight of tens of thousands of years, death and insects transforming his sentient features to dust.

Rejan knew what it was like to die. This however, must be what they called "life."

The hug lasted a few seconds more, in which Rejan held his breath. He hadn't seen his old friend in months. He should be cherishing this moment, but all he could think of was the vice squeezing his lungs. Finally, the internal pressure eased. Badual leaned back in his motorized wheelchair. He was always one for hugs despite Rejan's discomfort. But to see his comrade's jovial smile was worth it. Badual's voice was muffled behind his mask."Rejan! What a wonderful surprise to see you. Are you well? How are you? I haven't seen you since—"

"I know. But the worst has passed. I've recovered."

"Good! Come in, come in."

Rejan stepped inside. Unlike the other Spires, Badual's home was fashioned after an extinct species of flora known as a willow tree. It was fit for a family of ten. The large interior was made of cool, curved wooden walls that joined to create a domed ceiling. Lightbulbs emitted white light that pulsed with energy. Against one wall was a rack full of planted seedlings, waiting to sprout under the right amount of sunlight and shade. Part of it was covered by a tarp to block the harsh sunlight coming in from the windows. Not one had sprouted without withering days later, but Badual was stubborn. And rich. As the Mayor, he had access to all of the amenities one could need: ventilation, comfortable furniture, and a variety of strange contraptions that was Badaul's version of "entertainment." The house was cluttered despite its impressive size. His obsessions occupied his life where people did not.

But it was necessary. This was the proof of our Mayor's achievements. Sustaining an entire city was no small feat. Without Badual's machines, inventions, and mysterious powers, they would have perished long ago.

Badual hummed, disappearing into the kitchen to make tea. Slowly, very slowly, Rejan eased himself on the sofa. The tightness in his chest lifted, though each breath was measured to avoid causing more internal damage—whatever might have happened inside his body. His knees bumped against a low-lying table. A small window provided a view to the cluster of Spires below. Oxidized metal structures served as their homes, while cables, concrete roads and the droids that kept watch connected the city together. The way of life was familiar, stable. But Rejan couldn't ignore the specks of metal and dust that flaked off their precious structures, floating upwards and disappearing in the blazing sky. The Sickness was spreading. It affected objects and people alike. Everyone was infected to a certain degree; only their immune systems, luck and cruel fate dictated when they neared death's door. It was only thanks to the Mayor's seemingly supernatural powers that kept the city functioning. Preserved food and water were delivered to the households every day, without question. They were assumed to be acquired from somewhere outside the city walls, or within Badual's home. It was fashioned after a willow tree, after all. Did he have a special reserve? Somewhere deep underground, where fertile soil supported crops? No, even that was not possible with the Sickness.

Rejan had his suspicions. The Sickness that wrung their planet dry was unnatural. It followed no laws of science from the old world, so why should Badual's method of powering the city, whatever it was, rest in the realms of science? Rejan was certain that Badual's scientific inventions were a guise. At best it was rudimentary technology. His friend was hiding something from him.

But what? This wouldn't have bothered Rejan until he had been infected with the Sickness, too. He had stumbled to Badual's house. He didn't know why. Everyone knew the Sickness was incurable. It chipped your skin, glazed your eyes with hallucinations, and stole your memories like a thief. But through his delirium, Rejan had made it to Badual before collapsing. He hadn't seen his friend in a long while. If he died, at least he wouldn't die alone, and that was the most he could ask for.