4. Vesper
VESPER
Astronomers are strange creatures, even by Dross standards.
There are levels of them, ranging from cheap Star-Rakers to the very expensive Chronal Mappers.
The cheaper you go, the more likely the chances of your information being wrong.
There are three levels of them, and to move higher in the levels, the Astronomer must have had more correct predictions than incorrect.
It doesn’t matter how long they’ve been doing it.
Some astronomers never rise above level one Star-Rakers.
It’s business, and their business determines lives.
Even the “cheap” ones cost an arm and a leg, and sometimes more than that.
As Dox leads me into district twenty and I get a good look at how dirty and decaying the sector is, I start to hope Dox didn’t pay a Star-Raker.
I hope she at the very least got an Orbital Clerk.
I know there’s no way she was able to afford a Chronal Mapper.
Only the richest gang leaders can afford their services.
“How much further is it?” I ask Dox as I pull my hood lower over my eyes.
I don’t want any of the Union to recognize us.
Though we’re no longer in the district Orion is based in, he has people everywhere and he’ll have put out a call.
If any Union sees us, that’s it. We’ll have to fight our way out of it and we may not make it to the Harrow Gate at all.
“It’s just up here,” Dox says.
The tall building Dox leads me to doesn’t look promising.
In fact, it looks like it’s leaning to the right just a little, the first warning that this building will likely go within the next few years.
Whoeever built this place built them well—testament by how long they’ve lasted without maintenance—but we’re nearing the end of the metal structures’ life cycles it seems. All over Dross, the buildings are starting to crumble more and more each rotation.
I wonder if I’ll be alive to see it crumble to dust.
“This place?” I ask hesitantly, my brow going up as I look at the leaning tower. “You’re sure?”
“Come on,” Dox says, rolling her eyes.
I sigh when she tugs me into the building and I get a good look at the Breathers lying around the lobby. “You paid a Star-Raker, Doxxie?”
She scowls back at me as she pulls me up the stairs. “Have a little more faith in me than that, Hyena,” she grunts. “Of course I didn’t pay a Star-Raker. I wanted as accurate as I could get.”
“So . . . he’s an Orbital Clerk?”
She glances at me and then away. “No.”
I trip over my feet as I climb the stairs and nearly take us both down. “How did you—”
“Let’s just get up there,” she interrupts. “I’ll answer your questions later.”
When Dox and I had worked so hard for an apartment on the fifteenth floor, it had felt like we’d won a war. We were low enough to avoid the worst heat, low enough to not have to climb a million flights of stairs, and we’d finally made it. Anything lower than ten floors was considered rich rich.
The Astronomer Dox paid lives on the third floor. The third floor!
It takes everything in me not to ask the question again. How the fuck did Dox afford a Chronal Mapper? Her necklace wasn’t worth that much, not to an Astronomer. It could have afforded an Orbital Clerk, sure, but a Chronal Mapper?
“Don’t look him in the eyes much,” Dox instructs me as she straightens her shoulders. “He doesn’t like it.” Then she knocks on the door.
There’s the sound of rattling metal inside, a scuff and thump, followed by a curse in a masculine voice. The footsteps approach the door and then it’s thrown open wide to reveal the Astronomer in all his glory.
I’m not sure what I’d expected. I’ve seen Star-Rakers and once, I’d seen an Orbital Clerk out in the street, but I’ve never been close to or seen a Chronal Mapper. I can say with full confidence that the man in front of me is wholly unexpected even had I been able to imagine him.
His clothing is clean and made of rare cotton.
That’s the first thing I notice. He looks as if he isn’t itchy at all, and I’m immediately jealous.
Even now, my clothing itches at my armpit, rubbing my skin in a frustrating way.
His hands are soft and unblemished in a way I’ve never seen in Dross.
We all have calluses and scars, but not this man.
This man looks as pristine as the Ascendant Guards who frequent our ring.
His face is relatively handsome, but slightly off kilter, like it mimics the building he lives in.
His nose is just barely crooked, as if it’s been broken before.
His eyes are a bit too wide apart, a pair of spectacles balanced on the tip of his nose.
I’ve never seen spectacles that weren’t cracked and broken. These are perfect.
The man’s bright purple eyes focus on me first, confused, but then he looks at Dox and his eyes soften measurably.
“Paradox,” he says, smiling. “Is it time for our meeting already?”
Dox returns the smile and flutters her eyelashes. “I promised I’d come back, didn’t I?”
“That you did,” he nods and opens the door wider. “Please, come in. You and your . . .” His eyes look me up and down but never seem to meet mine. “. . . friend.”
“This is Vesper,” Dox supplies helpfully. “She’s my sister by everything but blood.”
“Well, any sister of Paradox is a friend of mine,” the man says, closing the door behind us.
If the man is unique then his home is even more so.
The walls are lined with old machines, things I have no name for, pieces I’ve never seen before.
The machines are stacked from floor to ceiling.
There’s only a narrow pathway to walk through once you move away from the door area and clearly, there’s a specific pathway to follow.
Dox steps to the side and pulls me with her, allowing the man to lead the way.
“I appreciate that, Oberon,” Dox replies, following after him as soon as he starts cutting through the machines.
I follow dutifully, determined to keep my mouth shut. Dox knows what she’s doing here and I’ve never dealt with a Chronal Mapper. There could be some sort of etiquette that would result in us not getting the predictions. And then we’d have a hell of a time getting through the Harrow Gate.
The floors are clean where the machines don’t sit and surprisingly, most of the metal contraptions aren’t covered in a fine layer of dust. That tells me two things.
This man takes perfect care of his collection, and he must use them often.
Of course, I’ve seen some of these items out in the scrap heaps.
I couldn’t tell you what any of them do.
It’s all tech from before, when Dross was a fully functioning society.
Now, it all decays, but these items in this apartment feel well loved.
“You’re admiring my collection,” Oberon says, interrupting my thoughts when I stop to stare at a particularly large metal box.
I startle and immediately jerk my eyes away. “I’m sorry. I’ve just . . . never seen something like that before.”
Anyone else might have been insulted, or considered my perusal a threat. Theft is common in Dross, especially if something is worth anything. But only a fool would steal from a Chronal Mapper.
“Don’t apologize,” Oberon waves away my anxiety. “Would you like me to show you how it works?” He laughs. “Of course, you would.” He moves over and pulls it from the stack. “This here is a radio,” he declares proudly.
I squint my eyes. “A radio?”
He nods enthusiastically. “Indeed.”
“And . . . what’s a . . . radio?” I ask, glancing at Dox who is smiling at Oberon.
“I’m glad you asked, Vesper!” he says, excitement lighting up his entire face. “A radio is a device used to detect radio signals. Our ancestors used these machines to pick up these signals and listen to things such as news, events, and even music!”
I frown. “Like magic?”
“Magic? No, no. Like science.” He points to a few round designs on the machine where it looks peppered with holes. “These are speakers. The sound came out of here.” He sighs. “Unfortunately, without electricity, it no longer works, but I know it was glorious while it functioned.”
The man is speaking another language entirely. Science? Speakers? Electricity? None of these words make sense to me. I’ve never heard them before.
“What a shame,” I say, glancing at Dox in confusion, who only laughs.
“Your machines are so very interesting,” Dox offers, stepping closer.
“That they are. That they are.” Oberon nods before setting the radio back on the stack. “Oh, but you’re not here for that, I know.”
“That’s right.” Dox nods. “We were hoping to get any updates on your predictions. That last time we spoke, you gave me a five-kilometer radius. Can we get any narrower than that?”
“I can,” he nods. “I spent the last sleeping cycle speaking to the stars, interpreting them. I knew that it would be close to here, thus why I chose to come to Apartment Twenty.” My eyes bug out at the admission that this man has multiple apartments around the ring, but he continues as if he doesn’t notice.
“In fact, I can narrow down where and when,” he says, beaming proudly.
“That would be amazing,” Dox says.
For a second, I forget Dox’s warning and I find myself meeting Oberon’s purple eyes directly. He flinches and jerks backwards, making me jump and reach out to keep him from tripping over his machines. Dox is there before I am, her hand around his wrist, steadying him and blocking his view of me.
“I’ve got you Obbie,” she says. “Don’t you worry.”
Oberon laughs nervously and straightens. Only when he seems to gather his senses does Dox let go. I’m so thrown by the situation, confused why my gaze would cause such an issue, that I almost miss the most important detail of the interaction.
Dox and Oberon are familiar enough to have a nickname for him. Very familiar.