The Mechanical Crown

The ragged edge

"So what are you, Obin? A scholar? A polyant?"

The man laughed uproariously, then held up the spade and bucket he was carrying. "You think I'd be doing this shift if I was a polyant?" He waved up at the spire, clearly visible from the outer edge of the city. "If I wave my hands at one of their flying discs, you know what happens? Nothing. This, though—" he hefted the bucket "—this does exactly what I tell it."

"Then you're an unverse? Is that what they call it?" Even as he said it, Tranton was unsure whether the term was derogatory or merely descriptive.

"That's me. And all my family."

Tranton moved closer and found a suitable spot to lean against. "Where I come from," he said, "my father built up a business. A good one. I took it over, made it even better. Went across the sea, travelled, forged my own path."

Obin snorted, and began shovelling loose rocks and dirt. "Sounds stressful," he said. "Anyway, we're all born equal here, right? We all start out neolant, and do our time down in the caves. Sorts out the special ones from everyone else."

Tranton cast his gaze across the island, from the spire down through the leafy terraces to the tightly clustered houses on the outer circumference. "This is all based on how good you are at working with source?"

"Don't ask me to explain it," Obin said, turning the corners of his mouth down. "Remember, I've got this spade because I don't get it. You want to know how it works, talk to one of your handlers."

"My handlers?"

"Yeah! The ones showing you and your friends around all the time."

"Got another one of those spades?"

Obin gestured at a pile of tools lying on top of a cart a short distance away and Tranton retrieved one, hefting it in both hands. It was light and strong, the materials reminding him of his sword. Tranton started collecting the detritus, dropping it into Obin's bucket. Obin watched for a minute, clearly amused, then got back to work.

"Don't get us wrong, Tranton," he said. "We might be filthy unverse, but we get fed, we get somewhere to live. My kids get an education. We get to live up here among the clouds. It's not a bad way."

Tranton felt sweat forming on his brow. "You don't ever want to move up?" He pointed at the spire. "Literally?"

Obin shook his head dismissively. "Nah. They're all a bit too serious for me. It's all about trying to be the best, and trying to ascend all the way to totem. That's not the kind of pressure I'd enjoy."

"Pressure?"

"They all want to be the next Aera. They're going to be pretty jealous of your friend, whatever he's called, if the rumours are half-true. Me? I prefer being unimportant."

It was remarkable how quickly Tranton had adjusted to not being stared at by everyone around him. Obin had skin darker than his, as did many Avians. It was a varied city, unlike the unnaturally pale valley. Other than his face being plastered on the strange displays, Tranton could walk the streets of Aviar without drawing any undue attention. Having been in the mountains for years before even reaching the valley, he'd forgotten what normal could feel like. That feeling tended to vanish the moment he started speaking to anybody, of course: they had a peculiar pattern of speech that sounded very different to the other dialects he'd encountered in the valley or back in the south. He'd made a point of talking to almost everyone who would stop to listen, and had noted to the dialect be more evident the further he got from the spire, as the grandiosity of Akila and Eris melted away.

"Jealous how?"

"Bear in mind that everyone who lives around the spire has wanted to be the next heir their whole lives. They were born to it. If you're not an unverse, then you've got some kind of affinity. And up you go. They all want to rise up the ladder, all the way to the top."

"And then what?"

Obin laughed again, as if talking to a naive child. "And then you get all of Aera's power, and take charge, and islands stop falling off the edge of the city, and we all get to go back to the homeland." He pursed his lips and frowned. "At least, that's the theory. Never seen an inheritance happen in my lifetime. Hence..." He gestured at the broken road and missing island.

As he stared at the space where land used to be, Tranton could feel other pieces of the puzzle locking into place. They didn't make him feel any less uneasy.

"Obin," Tranton said, handing back the shovel, "it's been a pleasure. I need to go and see somebody. Enjoy being unimportant."

"Hah," the other man said, nodding his head. "Maybe you should try it one day, too, Tranton Seldon."