[DH] Motherboard, Part 1, Scene 1 and 2

THE NIGHT LAND

Part One: Salvation

Scenes One and Two

Salvation had been built from things that had already failed.

The oldest walls were immense slabs of poured concrete, stained black beneath decades of rain and industrial smoke. Iron frames rose through them, some still carrying the weight of structures that no longer existed. Pipes crossed the ceilings in bundles. Electrical conduits had been opened, stripped, repaired, and closed again so many times that nobody could say what belonged to the original system.

The settlement had grown inside the remains.

Workshops occupied loading bays. Sleeping quarters filled old offices. Market stalls stood beneath gantries that had once moved machinery large enough to crush a house. Every available surface had acquired brackets, cables, shelves, lamps, hooks, or signs.

Salvation did not look rebuilt.

It looked occupied.

The generator beneath the crew's workshop began its morning cycle with a deep metallic cough.

The floor shook.

Elorin was already underneath the machine.

Only his boots and the lower half of his coat were visible beneath the open access panel. His shoulders shifted as he worked inside the housing.

"Light."

Theris raised the work lamp.

The yellow beam fell across the exposed mechanism.

Elorin's hands disappeared into the machine.

He was lean rather than heavily built, but there was strength in his forearms and shoulders from years of handling equipment. His blond hair had been tied back badly. Several strands had fallen loose across his forehead. The long coat he wore had once belonged to someone who worked in a laboratory. It had since acquired reinforced seams, tool pockets, chemical stains and patches of material from at least three different sources.

The original coat had probably been expensive.

The current one was useful.

Theris watched the gauge.

She was built for work.

Tall for a dwarf, broad through the shoulders, and heavily muscled without an ounce of wasted movement, she wore layered protective gear over practical clothing. Salvaged plates had been incorporated into the arrangement over the years. Her chain had been repaired so many times that some of the links were visibly newer than others.

Her shield leaned against the wall nearby.

It was a massive slab of reinforced Ancient metal.

It had probably belonged to something much larger than a person.

Theris had made it into a shield.

"Again," Elorin said.

She hit the starter.

The generator coughed.

Once.

Twice.

A relay snapped somewhere inside the housing.

Then the machine caught.

The vibration came up through the floor.

Elorin remained underneath it.

Theris watched the gauge climb.

"Good?"

"Good."

"That's not what I asked."

Elorin emerged from beneath the housing.

There was grease across one cheek.

"Good enough."

Theris looked at him.

He looked back.

Then she nodded.

"Good enough."

Elorin reached for a rag.

Yosef was already at the workbench.

He had been there throughout the repair, standing slightly apart from the machinery while his tablet displayed a stream of figures.

He was lean, dark-haired, and neatly dressed despite the workshop. His charcoal field coat was worn but carefully maintained. Wire-rimmed glasses sat low across his face. His clothing had the severe, practical cut of old military-academic equipment, stripped of anything unnecessary.

He looked at the generator.

"Power draw is stable."

Elorin wiped his hands.

"It was stable before."

"Then why did it trip twice?"

"Because the regulator was failing."

"Which you said it wasn't."

"I said it was salvageable."

Yosef looked at him.

"That wasn't the question."

Theris looked between them.

"Don't start."

Neither answered.

Shinjo sat on an overturned crate near the doorway.

He was the lightest-built of the four, all narrow shoulders, lean muscle and economical movement. Red hair fell around his face. His leather armor was worn at the edges and carefully maintained at the places that mattered. His battlestaff rested against one shoulder.

He was not watching the generator.

He was listening to it.

The machine's vibration traveled through the floor plates.

Shinjo's head tilted slightly.

Theris noticed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're listening to something."

Shinjo glanced toward the wall.

"Pump."

Elorin looked at the wall.

"I don't hear a pump."

"It's under us."

Yosef checked the tablet.

"Maintenance pump?"

"Old."

Theris frowned.

"Should we care?"

Shinjo shook his head.

"No."

That was enough.

Shinjo had been doing things like that since the crew had known him.

Finding a useful component beneath an otherwise worthless pile.

Knowing an old machine still had power before the meters registered it.

Turning toward a sound nobody else could hear.

Elorin disliked not knowing how he did it.

He had never stopped trying to find out.

Shinjo had never stopped refusing to explain.

Neither considered this a problem.

It was simply another thing they had learned about one another.

Elorin closed the generator housing.

Theris looked around the workshop.

"Inventory."

Yosef turned his tablet toward them.

"Two usable coils. One regulator. Six meters of intact copper. Three relay blocks, all damaged."

"Food?"

"Low."

"Medical?"

"Four doses."

Elorin reached toward a small sealed vial on the bench.

Theris caught his wrist.

"No."

"I wasn't taking it."

"You were touching it."

"I was checking it."

"You know what it is."

"Yes."

"Then leave it."

Elorin looked at the vial.

Then put it back.

Yosef continued.

"Fuel is sufficient for five days at current consumption."

Theris nodded.

"Debts?"

"Joey."

"How much?"

Yosef gave her the figure.

Theris rubbed her thumb against the edge of one glove.

"All right."

She looked toward the door.

"Market."

Elorin picked up his tool harness.

Shinjo stood.

Yosef shut down the tablet.

Nobody needed to say what came next.

They had work.

That was enough.

---

The streets of Salvation were already busy.

A cart loaded with stripped conduit rattled beneath an old gantry. A mechanic stood waist-deep inside a filtration unit while another person held a lamp. Two children carried a bundle of cable between them. Somewhere nearby, a welding torch hissed against steel.

The air smelled of wet concrete, hot dust, oil and scorched insulation.

Salvation had no clean boundaries between home and workplace.

People lived inside the ruins because the ruins were the only shelter available.

The crew moved through them without comment.

Theris walked first.

Elorin followed with his tools.

Yosef carried the tablet.

Shinjo watched the machinery.

They reached the communications office shortly after the morning cycle.

It occupied what had once been an administrative room.

The walls were thick.

The doors still closed properly.

That made it valuable.

Inside, three old terminals sat beneath a row of battered receivers.

The machines were ancient but functional.

Their screens were thick-faced cathode displays. Amber phosphor text crawled across them. Cooling fans rattled inside their housings. Someone had repaired one keyboard with keys from three different models.

There was nothing mysterious about the place.

It was infrastructure.

People in Salvation used it to post work.

The network connected the settlement's brokers, scavengers, merchants and crews.

Jobs went up.

Crews took them.

Payment was recorded.

Disputes were occasionally settled.

The terminal was slow.

Nobody trusted it completely.

Everybody used it.

Yosef stepped forward.

The screen took several seconds to respond.

A line of amber text appeared.

Then another.

He waited.

Theris stood beside him.

Elorin leaned over the terminal.

Shinjo remained near the doorway.

Yosef scrolled.

Three commissions.

The first was a search.

A salvage scout had gone out toward an Ancient transit route and failed to return.

The commission offered payment for locating the missing worker, with additional compensation if the scout could be brought back alive.

Theris read the entry twice.

"How long missing?"

"Long enough to post a recovery commission."

"Last known location?"

"Northwest."

"Route?"

"Ancient transit infrastructure."

Elorin studied the entry.

"Anything about equipment?"

Yosef shook his head.

"No."

Shinjo looked toward the map.

He did not speak.

Yosef moved to the second commission.

A local institution had lost an Ancient relic.

Not misplaced.

Stolen.

The notice requested assistance in recovering it.

The description of the relic was incomplete.

The information regarding the thief was worse.

Elorin frowned.

"That's all?"

"That's the posting."

"Who owns it?"

Yosef read the line again.

"Local institution."

"Which one?"

He scrolled.

"Not specified here."

Theris looked at the commission.

"That will need a conversation before we take it."

Yosef nodded.

The third entry was shorter.

Much shorter.

A cash job.

No-questions-asked.

Report to the scrapyard just after sunrise.

Expect danger.

Theris read it.

Then read it again.

"That's the whole commission?"

Yosef nodded.

"Yes."

"Client?"

"Not listed."

"Task?"

"Not listed."

"Payment?"

"Cash."

"Amount?"

Yosef gave the figure.

Theris went still.

Elorin looked over.

"That's high."

"Yes."

Shinjo stepped closer.

"Why?"

Nobody answered.

There was no answer on the screen.

That was the point.

Yosef studied the notice.

"No-questions-asked."

Theris nodded.

"And expect danger."

"Yes."

Elorin folded his arms.

"That's not a job."

"It's a job," Theris said.

"It's a blank check."

"No."

"Close enough."

Yosef looked at the three notices.

"The first has the clearest objective."

Theris nodded.

"The second has the clearest recovery target."

Elorin nodded.

"And the third?"

Yosef looked at the final entry.

"The least information."

Shinjo said, "Most danger."

Yosef looked at him.

"Probably."

Theris turned away from the terminal.

"We'll speak to Joey."

Elorin glanced at the screen.

"About all three?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Theris looked at him.

"Because the terminal tells us what the jobs say."

She started toward the door.

"Joey tells us what they mean."

The others followed.

Behind them, the terminal continued its slow work.

Amber text crawled across the screen.

A payment record updated.

A maintenance notice appeared.

Somebody had posted a request for replacement filtration parts.

The local network continued doing what it had done for years.

Nothing watched them from it.

Nothing spoke through it.

It was only an old machine serving a settlement that could not afford to replace it.

Outside, the generators turned.

The market opened.

And four salvage workers went to find out which of the day's work was worth the price of getting killed.