"Shit"
It sounded horrible, playing back the audio again and again only makes me realize how fracked I really am. Who buys 2000 thrones worth of producing equipment without realizing the guy who promises a quick escape from the lower hive can barely use his throat for anything other than screaming?!
"That was it!", Rafi shouts from behind the glass, confident in what was honest to the emperor, the worst rhyming scheme I'd heard in my admittedly shallow experience, "I think I'll get the second verse down before they kick us out"
Recording booths were hard to find on Solano, the world didn't host many cities and none of them could lay claim to a thriving music scene. I had managed, my father was a vox announcer, one who made the daily work announcements and relayed orders from the spire. He had allowed Rafi and me a half-hour in the soundproofed room. It wasn't particularly impressive, as far as vox announcers go my father was only allowed to speak to the sub-district, of which there were hundreds in this hive section alone.
"Alright, Rafi", I sighed and played the beat.
I listened as Rafi Donaghue belted out another verse, he wasn't bad at singing, just wholly unsuited to what the current music scene demanded of someone. Most songs nowadays end up a mess of beat drops and overlapping sounds, combining into pure noise that did quite well for itself in the cramped confines of a club.
It wasn't like you could listen to much else, gregorian chanting and whatever the cowboys listened to were the only other genres Solano had to offer. If you were lucky a passing imperial guard regimental might play their appallingly uncreative regimental song to a parade crowd, it wasn't much but at least it was different.
"What'd you think?" Rafi turned to me, taking his headphones off his curly hair, "is that a hit?"
"Uhh", I looked up from my audio workshop. "Rafi I think this is something we're gonna have to work on"
His face dropped, clearly dismayed by the lack of excitement visible on my face, his distinctive orange blazer not matching his gloomy demeanor.
"I gotta get to work man", pushing all my equipment into the duffel bag, "If I'm lucky, the salvage yard will up the pay, especially with the manufactorums increasing quotas"
"I don't think it was that bad", Rafi said.
"I didn't think you were that bad", I spat back.
"Let's come back next week, I'll come up with something better than what I have right now"
"You rhymed Tallarn with Chow Horn", as much as the genre of 'pound' emphasized pure noise alone, the vocals still needed to rhyme enough that it wasn't grating to the audience. "I don't think pounds for you man, your freestyle is lackluster, if you're gonna play at Emps Hammer you're gonna have to work on that"
"Look, I'm sorry I roped you into buying that audio equipment but come on, let's just try!"
He looked at me, hands clasped together in front of his face, looking at me straight in the eyes with an anticipatory smile already plastered all over his face.
"You know what, you're right", I sighed, I was never really able to say no to Rafi, charismatic bastard had been doing this shit since we first met playing scrumball at the ripe old age of 11. "I'll come next week with a better beat and we'll do this again IF I can convince my father to let us in again."
"I could always count on you my friend", Rafi adjusted the orange bomber jacket he seemed to wear everywhere nowadays, I couldn't for the life of me remember if he got it playing blackjack, in a fight, or got it honestly working part-time making flak armor for the PDF, the story changed depending on the person. "I'll walk you to the scrap yard for your abundant generosity, the spire is too low for the likes of you"
"You're welcome too, just don't leave anything in the recording room or my father will send me to the spinward front to 'teach me some discipline'"
The recording studio and office surrounding it weren't large by any means, but it was the base of information dissemination for 60000 people, so the doors were still heavily fortified with ceramite to prevent any unsavory types from taking control of the building. While there was still a slim risk of assassination, rebellion, and blackmail associated with being involved with the Vox station, it was still a cushy job compared to the billions toiling 12-hour days in manufactorums across the hive. But I just couldn't imagine myself stuck in the cold cramped cubicles for years upon years, doing nothing but waiting for the next set of instructions from whatever highborn parasite became minister of information, the only excitement being when an enforcer orders a fugitive warning be put out.
The walkways were unkempt and ugly, rockrete stretching as far as could be seen in cramped streets bustling with all sorts of people. Our sub-district was mainly dedicated to salvaging operations, meaning cleanliness wasn't an especially desirable quality, hence why refuse was piled into every crack and crevice. The garbage service should technically come every month or so, but they leave our part of town for last because they got paid for how long they worked, not how hard, if you could call it work, most of the time they just tossed it into the underhive.
"Announcement from the Office of Planetary Governor", My father's voice still shocked me every time his voice boomed through the streets, his 'official' voice much harsher than normal. "Planetary Governor Crastus of House Cillelain congratulates the workers of Solana on their unyielding faith in the God-Emperor, every quota-cycle lasgun production reaches new heights of what is sure to be the first of many new records. The crusade for the reclamation of the Salivros Sector from the vile Xenos is set to become the biggest yet in the history of our system. The imperial guard has reported its highest recruitment in recent history; ten new regiments have already been trained and formed into the Fourth Solanan Army! Already the armada gathers, the regiments drill, and the formations march, salute the brave volunteers who will soon hoist the banner of Saint Verevya upon Warboss Barrogs charred corpse!"
"Sounds like this'll be the big one", Rafi always was an idealist, every day one step closer to getting the imperial eagle plastered onto his dark skin.
"That's what they say every crusade", turning to look at the temporary recruitment stall on the street corner. "This will be the fifth by my dad's count, as for the 'biggest yet' rhetoric, they say that every year but the fleet only gets bigger by a frigate or two."
"Why do you have to be such a buzzkill, Last year's upperclassmen are up there right now!"
"Hey I'm not a defeatist", I put my hands up in defense while we talked. "We take a few worlds back every crusade, just not a whole sector like promised."
"You know you can be a real dick sometimes Noah", his face souring, giving me a disdainful glare as we stop by the entrance to my hab block.
"Yeah, yeah frak you too, just wait here while I put this stuff away and change clothes"
My family was particularly lucky, we had an apartment nearly twice the size of an average laborer's domicile, those complicit in the administration of Solana received certain privileges and my father was an 'essential worker'. The apartment itself was well furnished, and a lot of the furniture heirlooms passed down from one Ridley to another. My father was lying on the couch in front of the TV with my mother, some announcements were pre-recorded in advance, hence why 40 hours a week was possible for my old man.
"How'd it go?", he smiled arm around my mother, watching another one of those Commissar Cain movies, he always did love action.
"Fine", I said, a little bit of disappointment leaking into my voice. "Gotta get to work though"
"Just get back before 9 or I-", I closed the bedroom door before my mother could say anything else.
I never really got around to decorating my room like Rafi or any of the rest of my schola mates, a desk, bed, and rack to hold my clothes was all I really needed for the last few years. The only piece of color in my room was a genuine first-run print of the 'Rynn's world' Solanan premiere poster, one of the greatest pict-films ever made in everyone's opinion. I'd spent the next 4 years writing 'Aeronautica Imperialis' as a preferred profession in the yearly aptitude tests until I found out recruitment was restricted to Spireborn. If they didn't want lowborn recruits than why did they put so many flight simulators around the hive?! A picture of a thunderbolt fighter piercing the skies with a space marine in the background, sun peeking through the silhouette. The pilot gritting his teeth from the g forces as the orks tried (and failed) to chase his steed into the heavens. I placed my bag on the desk, doubts about this venture of mine fluttering around in my mind, about whether or not the store would take returns, or at least if I could sell it to a cogboy for scrap.
"What happened?", Talus Ridley was an imposing man to most, six feet two in the lower hive was as tall as you realistically needed to be. However, the most intimidating thing about him was his voice. Even though he sounded different to me and my family, he still radiated authority and power. "Recording session not go as you hoped?"
"Not really no", I sighed. "Rafi's not as good as he said he was"
"Look I'm happy to keep letting you in the recording studio now and then, but with the crusade ramping up the office is going to be busier and busier", he said leaning on the doorway. "Maybe we should get realistic."
"No Dad", I said dismissively, a hint of anger leaking through my voice. I loved music, I liked producing, as much as the current situation looked hopeless, the idea of giving in to failure left a bitter taste in my mouth, not after I sunk so much into it. "I need to see this through"
I'd been doing amateur production with schola equipment and learning how to play the guitar the last few years. I wouldn't show my skills outside of close friends but I was still damn proud of the progress I made over the years. As much as I was disappointed by the abysmal performance of today, I needed to make this work, for my pride at least if nothing else, I wasn't going to stop a day after I finally got my hands on some quality equipment.
"You have maybe a semester left of schola before full-time employment, I'm just saying I have some friends in the central information ministry, it would be a better start than I got and I know you have the smarts for it."
"Dad, I can't just give up, I can't just ditch Rafi like that", I said exasperated. "I want to do this"
"I have nothing against the Donaghue boy, I still remember when I first enrolled the two of you in scrumball practice, after 2 weeks he was half the reason you kept going to practice.", he sat down on my bed. "You as a pod forward and him as a back centre you made a terrific team on and off the field, I'm just saying you have to start thinking beyond just the Schola, you'll have a month out of schola to get a permanent work assignment or apprenticeship before you're turned over to the manufactorums."
"I understand what you're saying Dad, but I really have to get to work and right now you're introducing hostility into the workplace", I shuffled through the words while putting on my work jumpsuit.
"'Hostility in the workplace'", he chuckled before standing up. "Why don't you just come to our men's amateur league scrumball practice, my pals at central administration will be there and absolutely can't wait to meet the strapping young lad that calls himself my son"
Amateur League was mostly made up of the privileged lowerhivers, the ones who had the time to show up to practice with most factory workers working their lives away. Most of the players were in their 40s by the time they showed up, and they weren't the prime example of fitness people usually thought of when scrumball popped up in their minds. The last time I saw my dad play at a tournament, there was a particularly heavyset factory overseer who lasted a whole 4 minutes before being subbed out for exhaustion, but what a magnificent 4 minutes it was.
"Yeah-fine-got-it-bye!", I rattled through the words, practically hopping through the doorway trying to put my boots on.
"BACK HOME BY NINE", My mother shouted. "OR I'LL PERSONALLY TALK TO THE SALVAGE-MASTER WILL HAVE YOU FOR SANGUINALA TOO!"
She only saw a thumbs-up before I rushed out the front door.
—
"So that's your backup plan?!"
"What's so wrong about the guard?", Rafi said as we walked down the streets. "My great-grandfather served in the Sabbat sector and we're still surviving off his stipend."
"I can't believe you're genuinely considering this", I spat back, rubbing my brow in frustration.
"I don't want to work in the manufactorums my whole life", he grunted. "My father worked the same job his whole life, he replaced his grandfather's position role and he'll expect me to do the same"
He glanced at the crowds passing him by, shuffling about, a shambling purposeless horde with no greater directive than to raise their children to do the same. Recruits were expected to give 10 years of their life to the guard, and the perils of warp and time dilation might mean that they came back decades later than when they were supposed to.
"Attritions rates 85%, only around 15% make it back Rafi, my dads seen the numbers"
"It's called a backup plan for a reason", he gives me a despondent look that shows me he's not in any way lying. "I'm not staying here Noah"
We didn't talk for a while after that, 5 minutes at most just taking in the scenery. The central pillar looked monolithic in its enormity, the foundation from which the hive was built around, it was large enough that it'd take a day or two to walk around its circumference. As if a journey like that was possible in the first place, the twisting architecture in the arcology lost any semblance of order millennia ago, if any one person knew how to navigate the whole hive, they died when it was a lot smaller. Cables jutted out of the column like arteries of dark metal and crackling electricity, sourced from the fusion reactor that powered the entire hive. At any one point in time, the Spireborn could cut the electricity, another measure against rebellion from its subjects.
The salvage yard was located around the central pillar, it collected trash and discarded material from the above levels since the colony was founded, accumulating a massive garbage pile which hid countless secret treasures abandoned by their owners. Barely broken but otherwise fine electronics littered the landscape, cogitator parts, very expensive-looking engine components, and stainless steel cutlery were just some of the things that a salvager could make a pretty penny with commission. Salvagers crawled over the jagged landfill surface like tiny termites, scavenging anything worth value from the refuse of the upper hive, like the end of a digestive tract, squeezing it for the last drop of nutrients before unceremoniously pushing it all down into the underhive.
"About time!" Shouted Salvagemaster Erin, a portly man with a pimply face and an uglier grin, he took attendance by the entrance gate. His personality was just as unsightly, the years of rooting through the droppings of Spireborn made him bitter. However despite all his cons, and there were a lot of them, if you didn't ask him for time off he was fair compensation-wise. If you made the mistake to ask for a shift exemption without giving him some overtime beforehand, you would either receive an invitation to the unemployment office or he would pay some thugs to beat the living shit out of you at whatever you were taking time off for. "15% extra commission on humidifiers, now get the frak out of my sight."
"Be seeing you Rafi!", I said, jogging a bit so he wouldn't smack me around for lazing around.
"See you tomorrow!", Flashing a smile to me before pivoting to turn around much the same way a PDF soldier would, sounded like he was already practicing.
The salvage preparation area was a large open space with a small warehouse located in the corner. A vehicle workshop, precision workbench, and assorted machinery were spread out in the open, Erin made sure that every square meter he paid rent for was used. The mean-looking machines in the vehicle workshop were currently in the middle of disassembling a groundcar with ease, the contraptions were meant to carve everything of value out of anything short of a battle tank, and even then the mechanics swear they'd make quick work of a baneblade if ever given the chance. An old man sat next to the lifted groundcar, drinking a cup of recaf calmly while a vox stereo rested on a wooden barrel nearby, belting out imperially sanctioned regimental music. It was an odd sight, to see someone so still, peaceful even while the backdrop had a car ripped apart for the few thrones its shattered corpse could provide the firm.
"Anything good on the radio Mr. Harris?" He was a grizzled veteran by this point, having salvaged long before even Salvagemeaster Erin had finished Schola.
His clothing style was singularly utilitarian, scattered few could say they had seen him wear anything other than his trusty boiler suit, fewer still in anything fancier than a dull t-shirt and plain pants.
"Same things they've been playing for the last 30 years", he replied gruffly, taking another sip from the recaf as he watched the groundcars control panel get pulverized for traces of gold. "Reminds me of the last crusade, same songs too."
"They're ramping up recruitment", I said, hanging up my coat in one of the lockers placed nearby and pulling out my helmet and filter, some of the stuff that the upper layers used emit some sort of dangerous something or the other when cracked open, and nothing this hive produces is sturdy enough to survive that kind of fall. It had two eye holes and a round attachable filter that swung around and hit something every time you turned your head too fast. It was cheap stuff, as old as the firm was but it kept the cancer out of my lungs and that was good enough for me. "Strapping young men such as myself are in big demand"
"You sniveling teenagers wouldn't make it past the first system", Milson Harris was one of the few guard veterans who made it back alive, always making cryptic references to war stories that he told no one. "Back in my day, we could disassemble a lasgun faster than you could say 'Alakazam'!"
"Alakazam!", I shouted pointing finger guns at him, fully kitted out in my protective gear.
"By 'Ka' we'd already have the focusing crystal out and the stock detached, all this pussyfooting nowadays is gonna lose us the war. Our boys would have had the warbosses head on the pike by the second month if we-, we weren't- weren't" A far-off look overtook his vision, looking past the car disassembly process, like he was ignoring the world around him.
"*Snap*", I snapped my fingers in front of his eyes, supposedly this was slowly becoming the norm for Mr. Harris, the frequency of which was getting worse with his age. "If you weren't what Mr. Harris?"
His eyes suddenly snapped back into focus, his usually sharp mind reasserting itself and lifting him out of the fog. "Ah, it doesn't matter, old wounds Ridley."
"Anything new posted on the bulletin?", The bulletin listed the current contracts and lists which indicated high-demand items or in some cases specific heirlooms lost by someone in the upper hive they'd pay a lot for to have back. "Already heard about the humidifiers from Erin"
"Someone up top wants one of the Sanguine engines for his ride, we've been ripping apart cars for the afternoon for one up to standard but other than that there's nothing", He pulls up a dataslate next to him, showing me the paperwork with an expensive looking engine and a finders fee that lives up to the description.
"What about the humidifiers, anyone cart one back yet?"
"No but if you don't find one by 6 don't bother, these climate control contracts last about as long as a rich man's clothes in the underhive, either he soils them or some other chap does the soiling for him.", he says, before spitting on the ground, a smile spreading on his face.
"What about my request for more hours, has Erin picked up on that?", I asked pensively, I told the old man to float the idea to the salvagemaster, a well-respected veteran's word carried more weight in Erin's mind than the droning of a rookie.
"Ah sorry kid", He replied, his face quickly switching to an expression of subtle pity. "In his words: 'Why would I give that lazy bastard a cent more when all he's gonna bring back is copper wiring and rusted ball bearings'"
Looked like I wasn't gonna be making those 2000 thrones back anytime soon. "Worth a shot, I'll bring you back something good"
"Nice to see you working for once", He said chuckling.
—
The border of the landfill was guarded by a chain link fence that did nothing to hide the stench of the place, only making it so the big pieces of garbage didn't spill over into the district. The smaller pieces however slipped through the gaps, littering the ground with dirty rags and empty packaging. The gate was clear though, mostly because of scavengers shoveling garbage out of the breach, but the garbage had to be cleared regularly because it reappeared every fortnight. The smell was unbearable if it wasn't for the gas mask, years of throwing biodegradable waste into the landfill had created a consistent smell that the upper hives would have never tolerated in their sectors. Whole cartons of food were thrown out by the spireborn, a waste lower hives men would have never tolerated in their own homes. The consistent pressure of years of garbage pileup led to the garbage providing a semi-solid 'floor' where scavengers could traverse, so only the entrance was subject to regular cleanup, while the rest of the landfill was scoured of valuables by men with questionable protective gear.
The surface was littered with broken glass, ceramic, and other jagged sharp objects, the main reason why proper high-quality boots were needed for the work. It made the job safer, but not completely safe, many experienced scavengers had missing limbs because of ground that looked solid but collapsed, impaling their legs with rusted steel hidden in the structure. Any puncture wound gotten here was almost guaranteed amputation if antibiotics weren't applied immediately to the unlucky scavengers wound, any salvager was sure to carry some sort of bandage or disinfectant, but any medical supplies would have to be paid out of their pocket. Bionics wouldn't be given either to any workers unfortunate enough to lose a leg or two, the local mechanicus enclave considered scavenging 'non-essential' and refused to provide service even if one could afford it.
Grabbing onto old plastic outcroppings of machines whose model was long discontinued and whose purpose was forgotten, I hoisted myself onto the landfill surface. The area was anything but topographically perfect, hills and valleys dotted the landscape, trails created by the inexorable march of those who worked here every day winding through historically high reward areas. It was beautiful in a weird way, how the droppings of the manufactured world recreated the natural one so perfectly, even a few plants were growing out of some old shoes.
"Bluffod PHC has secured bid for grid TH8932", a loudspeaker blared over the landfill site, notifying salvagers of any significant events or if their parent company lost salvage rights over a certain grid. Bluffod was the only clue anyone ever got about salvage master Erin's last name, no one got close enough for him to tell them himself but the company name gave us all we needed to know. "All salvagers in service to Bluffod PHC must cease operations immediately and relocate to grid TH8932"
What was Erin thinking?! Grid TH8932 was located on the outskirts of the landfill zones, mainly composed of smaller items that were older and less valuable than ones directly below the garbage drop sites. Anyone who wanted a humidifier wasn't going to get it there, the only ones in those benighted plains were left there for a reason by generations past. It was typical, pay next-to-dick for the bid and expect to see the items you ask for by your desk at the end of the shift. But I wasn't one to disobey a direct order, trudging over old food packaging and weak disposable plastic containers, all the while praying to the god-emperor for a humidifier rather than the sainthoods he seemed to give out like candy these days.
—
Sitting down on an old car seat was much more comfortable than I thought it would be, it seemed like only one or two springs had been broken. The material was withered and the fake leather covering had flaked off to reveal considerably cheaper cushioning underneath, the head seat had broken off and there were slash marks on the sides, but all in all, it was in a good enough condition that I would have brought it back if Erin dealt in something as small time as home furniture.
2 hours of searching and it had turned up zilch, grid TH8932 was living up to its reputation. I'd found some copper wiring in an old freezer but commission was terrible on bulk materials. It seemed today was looking like one of ill fortune and iller pay, the emperor just wasn't by his side this day.
Probably saving his blessings for the feast of the emperor's ascension.
I stood up slowly and with great effort, mimicking the way the veterans moved, not a day went by without one complaining about their knees, lower back, or joints. Not Mr. Harris though, he was older than the others by a mile and three quarters but he persevered, I'd always suspected the guard replaced something under that jumpsuit of his with bionic replacements, perhaps the tendons to preserve operational effectiveness.
"A bird wouldn't be able to find its squawk out here", putting my hands on my face like a pair of binoculars, scanning the barren and desolate wastes for anything worth investigating.
Walking along the recaf cup dunes I could only wonder where my life was going to go from here. I wasn't staying here, that's for sure, music was unlikely at best as much as I loved it, and only one in every 20 pro-scrumball league prospects was scrounged from the lower hive. Maybe I should take Dad's offer? Who knows; in a couple of years maybe my voice would become as authoritative as his. If I followed Rafi into the guard I'd most certainly die, but it wouldn't be boring, then I remember Mr. Harris, and then I remember that that sort of excitement is the worst kind. I looked at my watch, 7:20, if I didn't find that humidifier in 15 minutes I wouldn't be able to make it back to base within the deadline anyway.
Suddenly a rumble caught my attention, the hill I was on didn't feel so stable anymore, the garbage shifted underneath my feet and the slopes started collapsing.
"FRAK, I shouted as I lost my fitting, joining the impromptu 'rockslide' as it flowed into the gap between the dunes.
I grabbed onto anything I could, there was nothing connected to anything down here, everything was loose and unstable, and I could do nothing to orient myself as I became an immutable part of the landfill rearranging itself.
I fell with the contents of the hill for what must have been 15 seconds, it felt so much longer to me as I struggled to get free or at least close enough to the surface that I could easily dig myself out.
Crashing into the bottom of the valley, my body was being buried under what seemed like tons of garbage pushing the air out of my lungs and attempting to pin my limbs into position as I fought to remain mobile. I threw my arms up to guard my vitals, curling up to protect myself from anything hard or sharp that hill had that could pierce me, preparing for the inevitable pain of a stray baking pan lodging itself into my forearm.
No such pain came, the rumbling started to subside, and I no longer felt the impact of soft objects on my person. The earthquake was over, the danger had passed, I opened my eyes to assess the situation I was in, hoping to find myself somewhere resembling safety.
A heavy solid object covered me, pushing it off, it revealed itself to be a thick piece of plywood, sharp glass and metal sticking out of it. Seemed like amid all the danger, the emperor decided to grant me his divine protection, if not they would have almost certainly pierced my suit and while not outright killing me, would cost more than what I was willing to pay in medical bills to fix, not to mention the risk of amputation.
I felt my suit all around, feeling for breaches in the suit or any attached pieces of clothing. My boots were pretty cut up, but nothing pierced its thick hide, its scars only a testament to the high quality of my second cousin's practice. Raymond's insistence on sourcing materials from the upper hive had probably just saved my toes, I'd have to thank him later.
Letting out a sigh of relief, I dusted myself off and took a look around, keeping an eye out for anything in my surroundings to find out where I was. I was at the bottom of the small divot next to the hill I was previously standing on. It looked like the chair I was sitting on fell here too, resting on an old broken porcelain sink, if I didn't find the humidifier in time I might just bring the sink back, porcelain was pretty valuable relative to the other bulk materials.
A glint of light, I snapped my head to the side as I spotted something shiny sticking out of the hill slope. Seemed as though the rockslide unearthed treasures inaccessible to scavengers before, an edge of what looked like an unrusted plasteel square object stuck out among the crowd. I jogged over there, trying to dig around it to not prematurely damage it by pulling it out. It was a microwave, a relatively intact one it looked like! It looked extremely high quality, else it would have rusted like the rest of its type, if not a humidifier, a bounty such as this would make a fitting substitute. I was giddy with excitement, this day didn't seem like a total waste after all!
"For your love, benediction, and generosity, I thank you holy God-Emperor, I promise to devote my immortal soul to your warm embrace now and forever", I prayed, closing my eyes and placing my fist on my chest as a sign of humility, before resuming.
I pulled and I pulled, feeling the microwave shift around within the terrain, shifting the garbage around it as it cooperated with my tribulations.
CRASH*
I was on the floor, but the microwave was out, I laughed just a little bit, a pat on the back of sorts for a job well done.
Pulling myself up to get on my knees while I crawled to the microwave, I was surprised at its condition. It was a bit busted up, with a few dents and probably some internal issues but nothing Mr Harris or Salvagemaster Erin couldn't fix in due time.
Then I saw it, something in the microwave itself, placed almost religiously on the microwave turntable, like a chalice on the holy altar at our local basilica. It looked like a mini-dataslate, incredibly small, something that'd fit in a pocket inside another pocket, a tiny screen decorating a smooth stainless steel body. It looked advanced, electronic, and most importantly it looked expensive.
"Wow I really lucked out", I muttered, reaching out to inspect it with my hands.
It turned on, quickly and violently, the screen lighting up with a brightness I wasn't used to on the dataslates, the colors on its screens so vivid, almost like a pict theater but opaque in a way a projector could never be.
I lurched back, startled by its unprompted outburst. How? It sensed my arm approach like it knew my greedy intentions, I hadn't even gone through the proper rituals of activation, its machine spirit must have gone several years without proper maintenance. Even the most high quality of machines as small as that needed yearly maintenance, judging how deep it was in the hill it must have been there a decade or two, so how did it turn on?
I reached out again to pick it up, taking my gloves off to interact with the screen. The metal was cool to the touch, but it seemed to lack any indentations, no charging port, datajack, or anything at all. It seemed like this would be more valuable than I thought, didn't seem like a fix job for Mr. Harris any more, sounded like a job advanced enough for the tech-adepts to accept.
I flipped it to its back, and something fine was written on the bottom: 'Circa M28.564 Pearson Illuminated'.
Emperor, I had archeotech in my hands, a relic from the dark age of technology was in my hands, this could get me killed if the techpriests found out I had interacted with it without the proper rituals. I flipped it back onto the screenside, but it also could get me to the spire! If it had an STC fragment in it I could have the hive! By the emperor the options were limitless! Now I just had to figure out how to get it out of here-!
Out of nowhere, something popped up on the screen, a few words emblazoned ominously onto the screen.
Now Playing
Hotel California - The Eagles
The words stood there on the screen, unblinking and unmoving, I sat there dumbfounded for a minute, waiting for it to act.
"Weird, though it was gonna do something for a minute there-"
Then the sounds started flowing out of the little machine and I heard what I recognized to be a guitar open up with a beautiful and exotic melody I'd never heard before.
My head started nodding to the beat, my ears enchanted by what I surely recognized now to be blessed archeotech.
At that point I didn't care about the microwave, in fact, I didn't care about anything but sitting there listening to that bewitching guitar. I sat there for what seemed like forever, quietly concentrating on the singer's honeyed words and charming melody. I didn't know where in the galaxy this California was, but this song made it sound better than Terra and its moon combined.
The guitar solo awoke something in me, I immediately wanted to try it back home, it sounded like a challenge, and the kind of note arrangement it displayed was completely alien to the rest of the planet's sounds. The audio started fading out as the song ended, the runtime coming to a stop, disappearing while the ambient noise of extractors in the distance and compactors whirring filled the area again. The moment of magic scattering itself to the wind, leaving no trace of it behind.
It was like nothing I'd ever heard before, the song was so dissimilar, so unique to what I previously thought was the limit of what the music world had to offer, it made me wonder what else myself and the world were missing out on.
"Shit"
It sounded good.
—
Author's Note: Sorry about Daughter of the Emperor, I was still starting high-school back then and didn't have the time to finish it. I'm in university now so it should be fine.
I'm working on the assumption that low gothic is linguistically similar to english, or the amount of syllables, rhymes or anything would never work with the songs I want to put in. Put any suggestions for songs you want in the reviews or just message me, I love all genres.
Disclaimer: I don't own Warhammer 40k or any of these songs featured, self explanatory really.