Overflow - Chapter 1.2

/// Forgot to mention that I started writing this story ages ago and stopped around the 55k word mark. So I dont really know whats going on either. sorry for grammar mistakes btw I only gave these things a quick run through. Enjoy///

The Train was here.

Metal grinded against metal and the fast moving freighter screeched through the square on the tracks that intersected with the citadel. A trail of black smoke followed the trains engine, the machine was fuelled by the plentiful oil. It didn’t slow and containers each labelled with a different number, sped past. For each number there was a monolithic citadel, theirs was fifty. And as usual, a carriage with the number fifty branded on its sides slowed to a halt at the intersection.

The doors slid open and several crates of grain, tinned goods and other foodstuffs were lowered by a machine and several workers. There would be enough food there for the relatively small populace last until the next time the train came through. Other crates would be filled with, linen, clothing, medicine, and other basic household necessities. There was at least one crate for Soria who sold and bought miscellaneous goods.

Reece nodded to Soria and took his leave. He pushed past the line of children eager to get their rations and go home. Nodding stiffly to the now broke Oil Roustabouts that had cornered him, they glared at him from where they sat near a wall. Fortunately they didn’t do much besides curse under their breaths, there was no law enforcement in the rural citadels, but the isolation and small populations managed to diffuse any criminal activity. A worst case scenario would be addressed by the de-facto elder or head of the citadel, the Conductor.

Reece proceeded towards a spacious exit tunnel that led to outside the citadel. Outside he was once again greeted with the pungent smell of swamp and oil. The sun beat down and the unending humidity making Reece’s maintenance suit cling to his skin.

Looking at the railway that protruded out the side of the citadel, Reece admired the carefully constructed supports that held the railway above the wetlands, even more so now it was holding the extensive freight train.

The railway was beautiful to look at during the late afternoon, the orange glow of the sunset reflected of the water, silhouetting the skeletal wall that seemed to continue forever. It was eerily beautiful and combined with the approaching dusk fog and the sudden crisp coolness in the air, it made for serene views, especially on the few overlooks and open windows higher up in the citadel.

Except in broad daylight where the railway just seemed obtrusive. Like now.

Reece walked along the pier were a few Oil Roustabouts gathered to wait for their shift. A man-made water way ran along the side of the elevated railway, and a barge pulled along by a chain on one side, approached the pier.

The acrid smoke from the refinery wafted out of the secondary exhaust pipes and ventilation shafts situated around the citadel, in drafts. Creating a haze around the central part of the citadel, like a ring of toxic gasses. That was why Reece had fixed the smokestack on the roof of the citadel, hopefully the gasses would thin out a bit in the near future.

Reece mounted the barge, moving awkwardly with the Roustabouts destined for Pump two and one, if their ensigns had anything to do with it. He secured the utility belt around his waist and moved to one side of the barge, trying to avoid his fellow voyagers. Naturally they all smelt of swamp and oil, but a few of the female workers tried to mask the stench with cheap perfumes. It didn’t work of course, but each to their own.

Reece received a few dirty looks, they knew he wasn’t going to be doing the same back-breaking work they did. And he was glad for it. He respected the labourers, it was a dangerous job after all.

It was taxing too, mentally and physically. Reece had allowed himself to tolerate their brusque and often rude mannerisms, most of the time… Not all of them were idiots, however. Someone had to maintain and control the technical side of the massive oil wells, thus some roustabouts could be seen wearing brown uniforms, they preferred to be referred to as Pump operators but the name had never stuck.

With a creak the barge drifted down the waterways and canals dug to make travel by boat possible across the wetland. Workers aided the barge, pulling it along by the chain that anchored it. It was a workout but it would lessen travel time.

There were few trees this close to the citadel but groves of Blackwood and spear root trees dotted the landscape ahead of them. How things could grow in the wetlands had always been a mystery to Reece. The very earth was drowned, it seemed there was nothing but mud. And to make matters worse there was more often than not a layer of oil smothering the pools of water, grievously affecting anything living below and above the surface, plant and animal alike.

The roustabouts took the pollution as an incentive to work harder and keep the oil underground rather than bubble up uncontrollably. Too much oil would poison the area and even the air, luckily they had gas masks if that ever happened.

“Reece, over here.” A middle aged woman in her bluish grey Roustabout uniform, examined Reece blankly. She had the number two stitched onto her shoulder. Her uniform had watertight legs, labelling her as borer.

However they were useless as rarely did anyone cross the wetlands on foot, without the aid of duckboards or some other floatation device. The borers had to dig the deep holed to find the oil springs or geysers that had been covered up. Walking on the mudflats left them stuck at chest height depths or even lower, rendering the watertight legs obsolete.

“You hear me or what, Blondie?!” She repeated annoyed. Using Reece’s unexplained blonde irk to steal his attention.

“I hear you.” Reece said finally, doing his best to keep his tone calm and relaxed. “And I’m not blonde for the Mires sake!”

The woman sighed and shook her head, her black hair - that was common to this area, was cut short and traces of grey could be seen creeping up from the hairs roots. “Yes, yes. You remind us of that every damn day. Just give us a hand will you. It’s not going to kill you.” She ordered, gesturing to the chain. Reece couldn’t place a name to her face, but that was understandable. It was best that people didn’t get to familiar with Roustabouts, especially Borers, what with the work they had to perform.

Several of the other roustabouts on the barge sent dirty looks his way. Reece grunted and snatched the chain from the woman’s hands, joining the workers at the chain. The chain was slick with oil and grease. It wouldn’t rust even after being submerged in the water. But it sure was a pain to grip, Reece and the other workers on the chain found themselves losing their grip more times than they cared to count.

An hour passed and the barge still drifted steadily along the canal. The mid-morning sun had just risen above the citadel and the workers on the barge no longer had the luxury of the monoliths shade. The suns heat came in waves, adding another level of discomfort to the already sweating workers. The chain grew slack and Reece watched as several workers disembarked and scrambled along several duckboard trails over the uneven mudflats.

The oil pump towered over the workers in the distance, its pistons moved with a strangely soothing rhythm. Crude oil sucked up by the pump pooled in a container at its base. The workers checked the machine for problems and carefully turned on the pump generators sending the oil through a pipeline back to the refinery. A few of the roustabouts went past it, where they would begin to bore a new hole into the mud. Reece silently wished them luck. The mud they worked in was often riddled with disease, they could run into a pocket of toxic gasses buried in the mud, suffer a cave in deeper down or worse, dig right into a Kruckadon nest. He noticed the woman he spoke with earlier was gone, and perhaps she was among them.

Reece watched silently for a while, eventually he said a few parting words those still on the barge and jumped to the right bank of the canal. He walked along a crude line of duckboards opposite that of the well. The railway loomed up ahead. Its height made it look closer but really it would take Reece fifteen minutes of brisk walking to get there. He moved carefully to avoid putting too much weight on the duckboards, one wrong move and they could sink into the mud, making it difficult to go back the same way. This in mind he took longer than he should’ve getting to the Railway and when he finally did the sun had reached its highest point in the sky.

Reece jumped from the duckboards to a ladder at the base of the railway. It rose above him like a tower, elevated almost fifty feet above the wetlands so it would not get damaged by seasonal floods. Halfway up the ladder Reece paused to inspect the concrete supports. The internal support was not yet rusted and only harmless lichen clung to the sides of the supports. He smiled, less work for him today, tomorrow, and hopefully even after that.

Assured of the railways stability and the prospect of minimal work, Reece moved along the top of the tracks. Stepping carefully checking for rotten wood, he made his way to a breaker box sitting atop a post off to the side. Reece checked the box for rust and checked the electrical equipment inside. Everything was still in its place, nothing had been shaken loose and no wires had been eaten by Spearbill loons. Reece flipped a switch that would alert the Conductor that he could still control the direction of the train.

Reece slid back down the ladder ready to move onto the next switching post only to notice something in the corner of his eye. He had noticed it before, passing it off as a branch sticking out of the mud.

It was an arm.

He froze, had anyone else come with him from the barge? No that was impossible. He tapped the side of his legs nervously, while staring at the arm to see if it moved. It wasn’t damaged only stiff and coated in mud, maybe it was Kruckadon lure. They often did things such as this.

The creatures had a tough hide, combined with a nasty set of teeth. They weren’t abnormally large, about the length of an arm usually, but they made up for that with speed. They were common below the surface of the mud and water, they hunted small fish and eels that resided in the mud with them.

But in groups they often formed nests, making lures out of intact body parts, so some unsuspecting person could reach out to lend hand. They would then be dragged under the mud and either be killed by a Kruck’s maw or worse, drowned in the mud and left to slowly decompose until good enough for the creatures to feast. Even if the creatures weren’t big enough to easily consume a person they were still a problem that plagued the Wetlands.

Reece hurried along the boardwalk back to the barge leaving the arm and its owner – or owners, behind. Safely on the barge all it took was a few more gruelling hours of chain pulling, to return to the citadel. Reece and a few of the returning Roustabouts scrambled back onto the pier.

The citadel looked astonishing from afar, its dark stone jutting far into the sky, touching the havens. Citadels were mysterious relics from before the sinking, and the lifeblood of those who lived in the Great Black Mire.

Reece hurried inside and began to move along the paths marked by boot scuffs and worn by constant foot traffic, which led to the upper floors of the citadel. He passed by rooms carved into the stone where young children played and workers slept. Their doors consisting of curtains that only offered a modicum of privacy.

Several rooms had windows to act as ventilation, but that also let all of the outsides foul odours in. Reece reached a large steel door – possibly the only actual door in the entire citadel – bolted into the stone. Inside there was a control panel and several screens. A window spanned out above them overlooking the loading bay. A uniformed man with a sour face stood near it, rubbing the stubble on his chin out of habit rather than thought, Reece couldn’t imagine his boss ever thinking about anything for more than a second. His uniform a deep blue resembling a shabby button up suit. The number fifty was stitched into the uniforms shoulders, and the Conductors arms seemed too big for the only conductor uniform in the entire citadel.

“The railways all good, Bert” Reece announced. Bert turned to meet the younger man’s gaze.

“Took you long enough.” Bert said, “If that damn Train keeps rattling all those bolts loose it won’t be long before the whole railway collapses.” He was wrong about that, it was far from collapsing even if some of the wood was rotting.

“Take that up with Fletcher. I’m your technician remember.” Reece said. “Everything on my end looks good for now and it doesn’t seem like anything will need replacing anytime soon. But I’ll check again tomorrow anyway, because those wire clamps you had me install last week, don’t seem to what to stay attached.”

Bert spat and slumped down in an old office chair that he bought from Soria, ruffling his uniform. “Good, you do that.” He said, before proceeding to run a few checks on the Train’s destination making sure it was heading down the right line. He turned back to Reece and motioned him over.

“I found this” he held a small flat sheet of metal, the logo of VacaneTech was branded on the side. “It was screwed to the side of the control panel, I noticed it before but forgot to tell you about it.”

Reece nodded. “Okay… what does that have to do with me? Why show me?”

Bert sighed and rubbed his temples. “Cause your into old world stuff, keeping a horde of those strange plastic men. People are gonna get the wrong idea about that, you know. You’ll never get yourself a decent woman at this rate especially if you’re always around that Merchant Soria.”

“My life and how I live it Is not your problem.” Reece said, annoyed. “Anyway what does this logo have to do with me?”

“Do you know what this is?” Bert asked, his patience dwindling.

“A VacaneTech logo, like the ones on the Train. What about it.” Reece was confused. Those logos were plastered on just about everything. Then why was Bert so flustered about this one in particular.

This idiot better not bring up the mysteries of the Mire again… Reece glowered silently.

“I’ve been thinking about the mystery behind the citadels and the railway. After you told me about it I just couldn’t get it out of my head. And I was thinking maybe this VacaneTech has something to do with it.” Bert said. His voice revealed he was eager to talk about the subject

“Well yeah, this VacaneTech obviously had something to do with it. But the question is not who but how. These massive monoliths and endless railways couldn’t’ve been built in a day. And neither could the Railway. And that’s supposedly how they were made.” Reece said.

Bert sighed and tossed the logo aside. He slumped back into his chair and scooted back over to the control panel. “Okay then, no need to shut me down so fast. I was just trying to relate to my maintenance crew alright.”

“I’ve worked under you for years Bert. You don’t need to relate to me, or any of us for that matter. So don’t try, ever again.” Reece said frivolously.

Bert sighed. “Fine, this old man will shut up, if that’s what you wish. Now listen, I got something else for you. I want you to go check out the refinery one of the… processors, that’s right.” He said checking his terms. “One of the processors is acting up, that prick Jones is complaining that it’s not something he can fix.”

Reece grimaced. Like that asshole could fix anything.

“If there’s something important that needs replacing, make it your priority.” Bert gestured to emphasise his words. “We can’t have the Refinery non-operational for even a day, I don’t care what you have to do to get those parts. Rip up an old piece of machinery, or scavenge in some ruin, I don’t care as long as it gets done.”

“Alright I’ll do that.”

Bert paused, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “That or woo Soria to open her little box of goodies she keeps hidden from us.”

Reece flushed slightly but managed to keep a straight face. “And what if Soria doesn’t have the right components, what then? Those Scrabblers from the cluster don’t show up too often anymore, not since they stripped that old wreck a few months back.”

Bert shrugged. “You have three options, if one doesn’t work then try the others. If those don’t work they make a new opportunity, now quit dawdling and go.”

“One more thing.” He said, Bert turned back a round to face him, a frown on his face.

“Before you start, If you’re asking for money, then my answer is already no.” Bert said defiantly.

Guess not then. Reece thought supressing a smile. “I saw a Kruckadon lure near the ladder to the railway. Should I do anything about that?” Reece said.

“No. Best just to leave it. You’re the only one who goes up there anyway.” He said.

“What about the person used for the lure? Or more specifically just their arm.”

“Not my problem.” The middle aged man said, he spun around in the office chair. “No one has shown up missing on the register so it’s best to just leave it be. You and that purse snatching Soria could do some digging if you like. I don’t mind you two playing detective every now and then.”

“We aren’t playing detective, we just spending time exercising investigation skills.” Reece didn’t tell him that everything they found, she kept to be used as potential blackmail.

“Sure...” He didn’t sound very confident. “Just go fix that processer and you should be done for today.”

Reece sighed and left the control room. The walkways were lit by florescent tubes, their hums and buzzes filling the empty tunnels and passages with sound. The floor was a layered with matts woven with reeds to stop people tracking mud throughout the citadel.

As Reece neared the top of the stairs leading to the Refinery, he got a taste of the foul, acidic odour, which lingered in the stones. Reece pitied the workers whose clothes would be ingrained with the stench, any white clothing in would be tinted with a sickly greenish-yellow. Fortunately or unfortunately, nobody owned any white clothing. The grey Refiner uniforms were the closest thing to white in the citadel. Even everyone’s socks were dark.

Reece passed through an empty doorway, to find himself on a balcony overlooking the twisting steel structure that was the refinery. Large concrete tanks filled with oil rested below the ground and large pipes sucked oil from them into several machines with spinning drums, they would break up the oils components making the stuff much more efficient. The refinery was littered with air cooling systems and ventilation, if the room overheated it could be dangerous. Reece smiled, knowing he had repaired a crucial circulation fan just a week ago, and the smokestack just this morning. It felt good to be useful. His previous hesitations about doing extra work lifted, he got to it.

The Processer was fine more or less. Rats had gotten in and chewed on a few wires, one of the workers had probably forgotten to properly seal the thing shut after use. The processor just needed some rewiring, a simple but tedious task. When Reece finally finished fiddling with the centuries old machine, he noticed how empty the place seemed. Was it already that late?

He waved to one of the workers still milling about, and two of them set about closing down the Refinery. When they were done Reece meandered back through the citadel, several stairwells and a few minutes later, he arrives at the living quarters. Pulling the curtain that surrounded his bunk, closed he turned, admiring the collection of old world figurines resting on a shelf above him.

Reece sank onto the canvas bunk with a sigh, he was exhausted from the day’s work, but something kept him awake. A feeling incompleteness bore into his gut and he could not lay still. Whenever Reece felt this feeling, he knew something remained unfinished, something he missed and the uncertainty within him made him feel as if it were important. But what was it? Picking through his memories Reece failed to notice the sound of footsteps right outside his bunk.