GOLGOTHA part 1&2

Tableman Ulric sighed "On that last point I will secede to you. It was a waste of a talented young Philosopher to be assigned to a technician of all people. As such you are to be reassigned —"

"REASSIGNED?"

"Yes, reassigned. And please, do me a kindness, and stop interrupting." Alec shrunk down into his chair.

"You are hereby reassigned to the city of Golgotha upon the world of Throne. There you shall aid the leading Archon in investigating the recent disappearances of foundry workers. A position much more fit for a hot-blooded Philosopher such as yourself, wouldn't you agree?"

"May I speak?"

"You may."

"I am thankful for this new assignment —"

"But..."

"But. I can't help but note that our great nation is engaged in active conflict against The Sword Stars, The Khanate of Flesh and the Numen Cooperatives. Why not send me to war, I promise you I could serve best as a war councillor . Not an advisor to some Archon ruling an ancient torn up world."

"You don't want to see war, boy. And besides, that ancient torn up world was once the capital of the old Dynasties and is presently the greatest industrial planet in the New Moralist Authority, hardly an unimportant post. Not to mention it is the planet our moon currently orbits - unless I am terribly mistaken - meaning you could visit your acquaintance, if you so wished."

Alec gathered himself, "Thank you Tableman. I will gladly accept this charge, and would like to apologise for my behaviour today. It was unbecoming of a Philosopher."

"Your apology is accepted. I too was young once." Ulric chuckles, "Though I can scarcely remember it. Your charge awaits. Go to Golgotha and meet with its Archon. Report back what you find."

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As Alec's shuttlecraft plunged into the atmosphere he felt trapped between the sky above and the city below. The skies were choked with pollution, staining the cancerous sunlight a sickly saffron. The city was little better, mostly consisting of dusty ruins of rusted steel and crumbling brick. This place looked old, and it was so very old. Yet in the centre of the detritus was a colossal facility of gleaming chrome, tendrils stretched out from it rooting into the remains of the city. This was The Foundry, the reason Alec had come all this way. The Hegemony built The Foundry to recycle the city to create a new world after the old collapsed. And when the Hegemony too wilted and died, his people, The Moralists, assumed control of the vast mega-factory. Looking down at The City of Aeons and the scars it bore, he wondered what they would leave behind.

The planet's ecosystem had long since perished, and the city was so overgrown as to become an urban wilderness. Populated by mindless scrapper drones eager to recycle the iron in your blood, and subterranean pirates that lurked in the now submerged tri-rail below. Yet the Foundry is vital to the Moralists, the beating heart of its economy. So a small population of survivalists tends to it, ensuring its production of starships, computer chips - and anything else the imagination can summon - remains uninterrupted.

Yet Alec wouldn't be here if it hadn't been interrupted. People were disappearing and The Foundry was under threat. But by who, and for what purpose? The shuttlecraft landed, Alec swept his anxieties aside and emerged into the streets.

Condensation clung to the rebreather strapped onto Alec's face and his unpowered exoskeleton dug awkwardly into his ribs. He wore a hooded ivory dress and a tall corset that accentuated his lithe moon-born frame. Yet with all the paraphernalia he needed to inhabit the surface of Throne, and the tawny dirt that now clung to his dress, it felt as if all the pomp of his formal Philosopher attire had been somewhat undermined.