Aether Spark

by Nicholas Petrarch

  “I say we take our grievances to the Spire! Force the meritocracy to heed our voice until they end the abuse of Hatteras’ citizens!”

  The crowd was visibly resistant, but Chance kept on.

  “I see here men and women who’ve slaved all of their lives to make this city what it is, and at the end of the day does the meritocracy give you anything in return? A home? If you call a gutter a home. Some bread? If their tossings are enough to sustain you. They’ve given us nothing and demanded everything. Even our very lives. That’s not enough for me. Is that enough for you?”

  “At least it’s a life,” someone called back.

  “If this is what we call a life, then I welcome death with every accommodation,” Chance said. “At least in death we’re not meant to suffer any longer.”

  His words fell upon the crowd with gravity, and he fought to see through his tears. The silence which settled upon them was profoundly sober.

  “When will we have another opportunity like this?” he asked. “Will they give it to us? I promise they won’t. It’s time to make your own opportunities, not wait for them to decide your fate.”

  “They’re too many,” someone said. “We can’t fight an entire city.”

  “We are the city,” Chance cried. “They’ve worked so hard to make us feel like nothing more than strangers in our own homes, begging for the scraps when we should be feasting on the fat of our labors.

  “It’s not about fighting them. It’s about having our voices heard upon the Spire. We can’t keep complaining about our misfortunes and blaming it on the tides when the ones with the power to turn them are sitting up there right now!

  “But, if it came to a fight,” Chance continued, his voice solemn, “I’d rather have a hundred desperate men than a thousand of their soldiers. They’ve given us our greatest freedom, because in taking away the quality of our lives they’ve stripped away our fear of death. We’re driven by something deeper. Desperate men have nothing to lose and everything to give.

  “If we won’t speak up against the thousands of injustices they commit each and every day, then I say they are right. We are slag, and they’re free to do what they will with us. But not me. Not anymore. It’s time to show those cogs they can’t ignore us anymore!”

  The fire behind him had spread until it covered the entire deck. Chance felt the heat on his back, but he kept his gaze on the crowd, waiting for some sign they’d heard him—that they were with him. Yet, all he saw in their faces was fear and hesitation. They didn’t know what to do. They were as lost as he was.

  But, he’d meant what he’d said, and he’d fixed himself to his course. Even if he had to do it alone, he would march to the Spire and face the meritocracy, come what may.

  “Do what you will then,” he shouted, “but I’ve had enough!”

  Chance uncoiled one of the ropes on the deck and slung it over the side. He hopped over, gripping it tightly as he slid down to the ground. It burned his hands, but the pain was hardly comparable to what he’d endured thus far.

  When he touched down, he tossed the rope away and walked through the crowd, his eyes harsh and unforgiving. He cursed them silently for their cowardice as he passed.

  Many of them lowered their eyes, not able to meet his.

  The dirigible flared up behind him in a deafening explosion that shook the whole yard as the balloon finally caught fire and ignited the gasses inside. People screamed and shielded their eyes. A plume of brilliant flame erupted into the air and the ship below came crashing down to the earth.

  Chance didn’t look back. He kept his gaze forward as he trudged toward the gates. Kwame, Simon, and Rhett hurried to join up with him.

  “That got them a look,” Kwame smiled.

  “A lot of good it did though,” Simon frowned. “I told you they’d be hard to convince. It’s not the right time.”

  “What are you going to do now?” Rhett asked, struggling to carry all the components as he kept up.

  “I’m going to meet them,” Chance said. He didn’t stop walking. “I’m going to meet the meritocracy. I want to see their faces this time.”

  He knew it was foolish. He understood he’d be taken and killed for what he’d done and was about to do, but he didn’t care. He had nothing to lose. He had nothing he wanted but an end.

  And end to it all.

  As he walked, he realized that Simon, Kwame, and Rhett were still with him. They’d matched his pace and were looking ahead.

  “This isn’t going to end well,” he told them. “I know that. You don’t have to come with me.”

  “This is my fight,” Kwame insisted.

  “I told you, I’m with you,” Simon said, not deterred. “As foolhardy as it is, I’m with you. I’ve fought enough battles for Hatteras over the years. Perhaps it’s about time I fought one on the right side.”

  “Rhett,” Chance said. “Go home.”

  “Welch said there’d come a time when I’d need to ignore what you told me to do.” He looked up at Chance with eyes aged beyond his years. He threw the components down, letting them break. “I think that’s now.”

  Stubborn kid, Chance thought. But he didn’t argue. If the boy wanted to make this his fight, he had as much right as anyone.

  Their little group passed through the gate in silence, and turned up the serpentine road. The black pillar of smoke from the burning dirigible rose like a banner over the bay, signaling to the rest of the world what had transpired.

  There was no hiding now. They’d know he was coming.

  He wondered briefly what was taking the guard so long to respond. They should have descended on the Exchange long ago. Perhaps, fortune was really on their side.

  It was then that Chance heard it, the sounds of many footfalls on a paved street. He glanced behind him and couldn’t quite believe what he was witnessing. Whether out of curiosity or something more, the people had followed him through the gate and were falling in behind him.

  Against all odds, the people were following him.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The March on the Spire

  These ripples I send out into the world... I fear how they may reappear.

  — Excerpt from Mechanarcissism

  T hey followed the serpentine road, their hodgepodge mob, climbing higher through the city as they marched on toward the Spire. Chance was genuinely surprised by the response they’d received, both from the people and the city.

  What had started as a small hundred at the Exchange had blossomed in a short time into a sizable force. Runners raced throughout the Basin, spreading the news of the crazy kid leading the people in a marched on the capitol, and like rats in droves the Basin-dwellers emerged from every nook and corner to join.

  He’d expected the guard to arrive and put an end to it, yet no soldiers had appeared, nor did any constables interfere. Their numbers continued to grow until Chance was confident the city would have a challenge if they tried disbanding them.

  Chance and his friends remained at the front of the march. At first their steps had set a cadence for the others to follow, but soon the crowd had set a cadence of its own. It swelled and beat behind them, a breathing entity, so that Chance felt he was being pushed by the mob rather than leading it.

  It was both exhilarating and intimidating, being at the front of that force. His confidence grew with it, and he didn’t hold back as he drank in the feeling of invincibility which spread through their company.

  Not even the approaching storm could dissuade them. The wind had whipped up into a small gale, blowing puffs of dust through the streets. The first drops of rain could be felt; they fell like pins in the gusts.

  Despite the weather, however, the mood was optimistic.

  They would take their grievances to the capitol and bring their plight before the electors themselves. What would happen then, or how their complaints would be received, no one was sure. Nothing like this had ever happened in Hatteras.

  They marched with a resolve to f
ind out.

  “Chance! Chance, you sorry sod! It’s really happening?” Ponti appeared out of one of the side streets and rushed up, jostling him roughly. “I didn’t believe what I was hearing, so I had to come see it for myself. I don’t know how you did it!”

  “A tide is turning,” Kwame smiled.

  “Looks that way,” Simon said.

  Unlike the rest, Simon had grown serious and uneasy the further they marched. But, he’d been true to his promise to stick by Chance.

  “I’m not sure what we’ll find at the end of this road,” he said. “It’s unnatural not to have been contested by now. Someone should have stepped in and done something to try and disperse us.”

  “It takes all of a navy to stop me and you!” Kwame leapt into the air at the declaration. His spirits soared, unrestrained.

  “That’s just what I was thinking,” Simon said. His voice sounded significantly less enthusiastic, and Chance wished he’d try a little harder to mask his worry. “All the same, I’m not keen walking blind into whatever is waiting ahead of us. We have no idea how we’ll be received at the capitol.”

  “I agree with Simon,” Chance said. “We should get eyes ahead of us.”

  “I can go,” Rhett volunteered.

  Chance hesitated. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about Rhett being on the front lines like he was. He thought about telling him to go back once more, but Rhett had already rejected that idea. The boy was growing up. Whether it was his time, or if circumstance had forced it upon him, Rhett was becoming his own agent.

  “Alright then, run up ahead and see what you can see,” Chance instructed. “Let us know what we can expect. And stay out of trouble,” he added.

  Rhett nodded. “Aye aye, captain!” He gave a sort of salute and ran off up the street at a sprint. A chill ran down Chance’s spine as he watched the boy go.

  Captain? How in all the city’s misfortunes had he become a leader?

  Fate had a sick sense of humor.

  “Whatever it is you all are thinking, you’re in over your heads.”

  It was Liesel. She’d come up through the mob and fallen in between Chance and Simon.

  “That’s what I tried to tell him,” Simon said with a weak laugh. “But he’s not having any of it.”

  “I just didn’t expect to see you going along with it,” Liesel said. “I always thought you were the one with more common sense.”

  “What can I say?” Simon shrugged. “They boy’s persuasive when he tries to be. I’m not the only one who felt so.”

  “Obviously,” she said, looking back at the ever-growing mob. “So, does anyone have a plan? Or are we just winging this one?”

  “We talk to them,” Chance said, his voice determined. “We take this right to the capitol and demand to meet with the electors. With this many people, they won’t be able to ignore us.”

  “I suppose that’s a plan.” She didn’t sound convinced either.

  Chance couldn’t understand it. He thought Liesel and Simon would have been more enthusiastic. Yet, here they were vocally casting uncertainty. Weren’t they the ones who were part of the Resistance? Hadn’t they been waiting for a moment like this to act?

  “I’m surprised to see you here, Ponti,” Liesel said. “I didn’t take you as the fighting type.”

  “Oh, no,” Ponti said. “I’m not a part of this. Just seeing you all off before I find myself a spot in the cheap seats.”

  He gestured to the spectators along the side streets who had gathered to see the march pass by. Many of them were residents of the Spire. They’d obviously heard about the march and come to see what it was all about. Many of them looked upon the procession with a mix of curiosity and distaste.

  “How can you sit and look?” Kwame asked. “Me and you have this fight.”

  “Yeah, well...” Ponti stuffed his hands in his tawdry pockets. “Maybe I’m not quite as desperate as you all just yet. I like my life, as miserable as it may look—and I plan on keeping it as long as I can.”

  “I thought you looked out of place here,” Liesel frowned. She gave Ponti a dismissive look and turned to Simon.

  Chance saw her hand off a belt and short-barreled rifle from under her coat. Simon draped the belt over his shoulder and cinched the buckle tight. Now that Chance looked, he saw Liesel wore a belt around her waist—with two wheel-lock pistols. Even Kwame had produced a single shot muff pistol. He screwed on the barrel and pocketed it again.

  “You think there will be a fight?” Chance asked.

  “Can’t be sure,” Simon said, checking the chamber of his rifle and tucking it against his side. “One can only hope they’re in a mood to listen, like you said. But a mob is a fickle thing. We’re sitting on a powder-keg. The smallest thing could set it off.”

  “Not to mention the meritocracy and what they have in store for us,” Liesel said. “They’re probably not keen on having their hand forced. They’ll resist it before they go with it.”

  “We play this carefully and perhaps we can keep things from getting out of hand,” Simon said. “Very carefully.”

  “Still,” Liesel said, tapping her hip. “Best we be prepared.”

  Chance rested his hand on the carrier under his coat. If the worst should happen, at least he wasn’t completely defenseless.

  “They’re waiting!” Rhett shouted, racing back down the street. His legs flailed wildly, and he looked as if he might take a tumble at any moment as he pushed himself to his limit. “They’re waiting for us!”

  “Where?” Simon asked. “How many?”

  “All of them!” Rhett wheezed. He joined up with them and struggled to regain his breath. He looked like he’d just sprinted the whole city. “There’s a whole... line of them... on the steps...of the capitol... just waiting.”

  “Well, if any of us had the notion this was going to be easy, we can abandon those thoughts now,” Liesel said.

  “What we do?” Kwame asked.

  “We keep walking,” Simon said. “It’s likely this mob will turn around the moment they see the opposition. I bet that’s what the capitol is betting on too.”

  “I don’t think so,” Chance said.

  He couldn’t explain it, but he was almost certain they wouldn’t break. He could feel the force behind him. It felt alive, like it had a will of its own. And there was momentum in it now. It had been building since they’d left the Exchange.

  “As long as we don’t hesitate, they won’t,” he said.

  “How can you be so sure?” Liesel asked.

  “I’ve seen forces break under less dire circumstance,” Simon added.

  “Because this is it,” Chance said. “This is the real thing. It’s the moment Serge was speaking about all this time.”

  “Well, we’ll find out soon enough,” Simon said gravely. He pointed ahead.

  The street was rounding the southwestern bend that led into the mall. Into view came the pillared front of the capitol building. And there, just as Rhett had described, stood a company of constables and soldiers in dense formation, filling the steps surrounding the capitol.

  “Gods above,” Ponti said.

  Chance felt it too. The soldiers stood unmoving in their line, looking down on the approaching mob. Compared to the hodgepodge Chance led, they cast an imposing presence. It wasn’t going to be easy getting past them.

  But, Chance still felt the momentum behind him. It wavered slightly when they enter the mall, but the force of it rolled forward. As long as that momentum remained, he could keep walking. It carried him.

  “Well, this is where I leave you all to it, I think,” Ponti said, giving an overly-compensating comical salute.

  Chance caught his eye. He couldn’t blame Ponti for wanting to run, but if Chance had been in Ponti’s shoes he’d have stayed—if for no other reason than to back up his friends. In that moment Chance realized just how hollow Ponti really was. He had no sense of loyalty.

  Chance’s eyes must have communicated his feelings beca
use Ponti hesitated. “Sorry,” was all he managed to say, and he shrugged helplessly. Then he turned and fled.

  “Good riddance,” Liesel spat, but Chance felt the void Ponti left behind.

  They approached the steps in silence. Only the shuffle of feet could be heard as the mob crossed the plaza. A hundred paces? Maybe more? The walk felt longer than they’d come from the Exchange already. In that silence, and under the stares from the guard, the seconds passed like ages.

  They neared the bottom of the steps, and it occurred to Chance that he had no idea how he would get the mob to stop, or if they’d just push him right on through the line. He watched as it drew closer.

  Thirty yards. Fifteen yards. Ten yards.

  Chance’s whole being strained backwards even as he advanced until, as though some unknown signal had gone through the whole of it, the mob slowed to a halt. Chance felt his breath catch. He was caught between two forces, and he felt the pressure squeezing him from both sides.

  The constables and soldiers were grouped on the steps, stacked deep and tight so that none would be able to pass between them if they tried. At the top stood the officers and duelists of the meritocracy.

  Chance subconsciously scanned their faces for Ringgold, but couldn’t make him out. They all looked alike in their uniforms.

  “Well,” Liesel said under her breath. “Let’s see what they do.”

  The forces stared at one another, no one sure what to do. The rain was beginning to fall thicker, but neither showed any sign they’d noticed. Eyes were trained on one another, appraising the moment.

  Finally, one of the officers came forward and looked with disdain on the mob before him.

  Chance swallowed hard. It was time. He stepped forward—a step so reluctant it felt like he was walking waist deep in water—and drew the man’s hateful eyes to himself.

  “This mob will turn back immediately and remove itself from the capitol,” the officer shouted. “You have no business gathering here in force as you have. Disperse!”