Young Writers Society

Reece couldn’t help it. He was unsure as to why he couldn’t resist, he just knew he wouldn’t rest easy until everything that could be done needed to be.

Reece traversed the tunnels towards the control room, internally battling with a gnawing sense of unfinished business that plagued him from on occasion. Fortunately most times, it did so with good reason. Once he had almost forgotten to seal a valve properly, if he hadn’t been for this sense of incompleteness that filled his being, then the citadel would’ve been flooded by a toxic formula of the oil. Another time he misplaced a valuable piece of machinery which would’ve been thrown away had he not meticulously retraced his steps searching every inch ground.

When he finally reached the heavy steel door of the control room, he was surprised to find it open. Inside he heard Bert and a… woman’s voice?

Grinning, Reece jumped on the opportunity and barged into the room. He didn’t bother to look around and blindly pointed at his boss. “Bert you old coot! Finally land yourself a girl? Who’s the unlucky lady?” He announced, to his surprise three sets of eyes turned his way.

A man a few years older than Bert, with extraordinarily pale hair, grabbed Reece’s attention first. The silvery haired man wore a strange robe that seemed to be made from a patchwork of different materials, all of them dark colours. There was strange crest sewed onto the man’s chest, the crest was merely a patch of white in the midst of a sea of dark. The patch had the VacaneTech logo imbedded perfectly into it, it must’ve been part of a uniform at some point.

Is he an albino? No it can’t be, his eyes aren’t red and his skin not pale enough. What’s with the robes? And that crest? Reece stared at the strange newcomer with an unknowingly intense curiosity. Soria would love to see this.

Whoever had been speaking abruptly stopped, a Roustabout Foreman in her deep brown uniform frowned at Reece, and her hair was a glossy matted tangle of brown and grey. Maria, foreman of Pump three, was a sour woman. Even by the grouchiest of Roustabouts standards.

Bert glared at Reece, a snarl smothering his features, his cheeks flushed red with anger, or embarrassment. Reece would prefer anger because Bert would forget about that in the morning, but he would remember the embarresment. More work for Reece tomorrow then.

“For the Mires’ sake Reece! Shut up!” he waved with one of his gorilla like arms. “No I haven’t got a woman and I don’t need you to remind me of that. Maria was just telling me, that some survivors from an Overflow just washed up near one of the Wells.”

Bert pointed past the man in the patchwork robes. In the corner of the control room, three similarly dressed people lay unconscious. Two men and a woman donned in the patchwork robes slumped against the wall. They had the sunken eyes and malnourished bodies, they looked weathered and beat. Reece could guess that they had collapsed from exhaustion leaving their friend to deal with negotiations, they did not have the same white hair as the latter, however. One of the men obviously hid muscles below his robes, but they would’ve been deflated now. Merely a shadow of their former glory.

Shied into the corner was young man not much older than Reece himself, his hair was a glossy dark and he was twitchy, even if he was exhausted it seemed the slightest noise would make him jump into the air.

What grabbed Reece’s attention the most however, was that the young man wore a maintenance jumpsuit. It was padded lightly at the knees and it was covered with deep pockets and belt loops for tools. He didn’t have any tools on him, however.

Reece frowned, it was bad practice for maintenance workers to be without their most valuable asset. Or at least he believed so.

“Who are they and why are they in here?” Reece asked, drawing his attention away from the strange bunch in the corner. “Shouldn’t the medics be checking this lot over if they escaped from an Overflow?”

“Not sure.” Bert said. “Pale hair over here says that they don’t need anything. He seems to be their ringleader, so I’m fine with it.”

“We do not wish to be a burden to you, we prefer not to rely on others for aid. But as is said, your offers are well received and I thank you for your benevolent kindness.” The pale haired man bowed his head to Bert.

Don’t inflate his ego, white hair. Reece groaned silently. He won’t shut up about his, “benevolent kindness” for weeks!

“If you don’t mind our intrusion would you be able to let us stay and regain our strength.” The white haired man continued.

Bert grinned a big toothy grin. “Of course, that won’t be a problem. I am Bert, the conductor, head of the maintenance crew and unofficial leader here on fifty. Please, make yourselves at home.”

“I thank you, good Bert. My name is Wilton a humble priest.” He clasped his hands together and raised only his right ring finger, as if he was pointing.

“Oh really?” it was Maria’s turn to talk, her voice was unintentionally filled with doubt. “What religion do you serve, Mr Wilton?”

“The Reliant’s. A path of the Rail. And you can just call me Vicar, young lady.” Vicar Wilton bowed his head to Maria. She nodded slightly in thanks. She was nearing the end of her prime so it was rare for her to be called ‘young’.

“I’ve heard of you lot.” Bert said waving his finger. “There’s a whole bunch of you in the cluster. Each one a different branch of a similar religion.”

“That seems like trouble.” Reece suddenly interjected. “Are you sure about letting them in Bert?”

“Watch it boy! He’s right there, don’t be rude!” Bert said. He turned to apologise to the priest Wilton. But the robed man held up his hand.

“It is alright, Conductor Bert, I understand the young man’s concern. I too would be concerned if strange people showed up on my doorstep, especially with the rumours surrounding ours and the other Sects. However, I assure you that the Sects vary greatly, and we rarely bicker among ourselves anymore.” He nodded politely to Reece, settling some of his tension.

Maria sneered. “Bicker? That’s a light term considering the slaughter at the iron pools settlement.”

Wilton frowned. “Ah yes. That was a very, very unfortunate time. But I assure you, the four Sects have come to terms and we now each have our own railway to follow.” He smiled, life returning to his face. Reece decided to raise the question of why he looked so fit compared to his comrades. “Perhaps if you all would attend my sermons, maybe you will find the answers you seek, and perhaps even more.”

Bert frowned, the deteriorating office chair creaked under his weight. “Wait sermons? Hold on. You are saying that like you’re allowed too. When did we discuss this?”

“Is it a problem?”

Bert paused. “No I… I don’t think it is.” He leaned back in his chair, a confused look on his face.

Are you serious, Bert? Reece sighed internally. Hopefully this Vicar doesn’t end up being to much trouble. I’ll have to get Soria to help me keep an eye on him.

The Vicar noticed Reece’s frown and smiled. A hint of triumph flashed in his eyes. Reece watched as he left, leaving the three of them behind to deal with the unconscious survivors.

Soria had told Reece about a little trick once; declaring something as already agreed upon even if it had not been mentioned prior. It was a tactic to push the argument in the favour of the person using it. The humble priest just played Reece’s boss like a fiddle, and he did it beautifully.

Wilton was no ordinary priest, that’s for sure.