3. THREE
THREE
NIKLAUS
Location: Seraphinden
Niklaus ran half-naked across the Skywalk toward Aethertech Mechanics, sweating in the slick tropical heat, pulling on clothing as he went.
Dawn was an aged aristocrat, tarrying over the sea with haughty indolence: bejeweled with dew, saturated with perfume, scathing and intolerable—especially to one with a hangover.
It had the grace to gild his path just enough for him to not bang into something.
He cursed his lack of sleep as he tripped into sirwal and boots.
Through the gate. Up the stairwell. Niklaus burst into the chamber where Aethertech Mechanics—colloquially Aetech—hosted its monthly board meeting.
The heavy doors cast an echo to the mosaic ceiling, four stories above.
Ten heads swiveled to stare at him from the table at the room’s center as he threaded the final button of his tunic: Hashod, his mother, four oligarchs, and Aetech’s other investors.
“Sorry I’m late,” Niklaus panted, slumping into the chair beside Mesu Jironesh, the chairman, and kicking his feet onto the granite table.
“I only just received notice we rescheduled for this morning.” And he wouldn’t have received notice at all, had he not asked Latouda to let him know if his mother left their residence unexpectedly.
Jironesh broke the room’s silence with a throaty cough. “Ah. Yes. Wonderful. Well, many of our members were not able to make it tomorrow evening, so we—”
“Even though that is the schedule we have followed for the past year without issue?”
“Ah. Yes. We, ah, had planned to send a summary of events at highsun to the minority unable to attend today.” That minority being composed entirely of Niklaus. “Would you like me to—”
Niklaus waved a hand. “No need to catch me up on everything you’ve discussed thus far, I’m sure I’ll put the pieces together.”
Jironesh looked around the table in a silent plea for support. No one made eye contact. “Very well. In preparation for tomorrow’s oligarchical session, I think it is paramount that Aethertech Mechanics present a unified front before Taranil’s ruling.”
Niklaus frowned. Taranil had proposed a law to prohibit literacy among the Groundling caste—ninety percent of Nelfinden society.
“United against it,” he clarified. Silence again—Chaos sweet Chaos, did it sing. “United against the ruling that will reduce our society to a tyrannical mockery of progressive civilization.”
Niklaus’s mother took an interest in the view out the window: swaying, dawn-dappled palms six stories beneath them, the sea beyond it. The others sat as cold marble statues while Niklaus’s blood grew hotter and hotter, until he was nearly sure his body would lift from its seat like a balloon.
“Ahm, no.” Jironesh shifted his spectacles up his nose.
“For the protection of our assets, for the sustainment of our culture, and the prevention of the spread of misinformation, it is crucial that literacy become privatized and within specific sectors. It will free us of excess tax spend and make working hands available to stimulate this economy.”
Niklaus set his feet down. He planted his hands on the table. “Taranil is a corporativist. While this might grant our organization affluence, think about this from a bird’s-eye view. He is a xenophobe. He’s cutting us off from the Chori, the Tera’thians, the Azadonians.”
“Nations that have only brought us war and—”
“Nations that will bring us economy! That will bring us information! This ruling will cripple us. It will give Taranil the ability to control the Nelfinden narrative. To widen the gap in the caste system. That’s the real invitation to war!”
“From my standpoint, I don’t see the problem,” said Hashod. “Control who becomes educated, and everyone on this board is ensured a longer grasp on our positions.”
“As apex predators?” Niklaus retorted.
“Are you saying that is not preferable?”
“I’m saying if you anger enough rabbits, they’re going to find a way to take down the wolf.”
Jironesh’s peppered mustache flared as he addressed Niklaus’s mother. “Sesu Meyernes, I believe your son is the one lacking in education. Private tutors cannot replace the knowledge instilled by a formal schooling in economics.”
Niklaus stood, padded wooden chair screeching across the floor.
“Let’s talk economics, then. The economic destabilization Taranil is using as a basis for this ruling has resulted from the inflated cost of living in Shrokan.
And that has been caused by Korshuva and Skywalk landlords raising prices to afford the new standard of living generated by Aethertech Mechanics. ”
“What are you insinuating?” Hashod fumed. “There’s no definable causation here.”
“There will be if our board presents a united front in favor of Taranil’s ruling this afternoon.
” Niklaus glowered. “There will be no Aethertech Mechanics if the Groundlings revolt. It doesn’t have to come to that.
In fact, if we can care for the Groundling population, they can become assets.
We can influence this ruling. No—better yet, we can prevent this.
I vote for a thirty percent decrease in pricing.
We can easily hit our metrics quarter after quarter without traumatic repercussions. ”
“Said by a pompous fop of an eighteen-year-old with new money and no idea what he’s talking about.
” Mesu Coliea was a thin, balding man with eyes and nose reminiscent of a hawk’s, who served as Aetech’s secondary chairman.
His family had lived atop the Skywalk—the web of gilded infrastructure that raised Seraphinden’s aristocrats six stories above the rest of society—longer than almost any other, and he and his brother both sat as oligarchs.
“That pompous fop just purchased your shipping business,” Niklaus spat.
He couldn’t be the only one who saw reason.
He looked at his mother, still transfixed by the window.
Why wouldn’t she look at him? He rounded the table to kneel in front of her.
“Mother. Think about what this is doing. Think about everything my father cared for. What I care for.”
Finally, her painted brown eyes found his, but only after running through every other pair at the table.
She forced a smile. “Nikla, I can see you’re very upset, but there is no need for extremism.
This ruling comes from a place of good intention.
If you push too far in the opposite direction, it could harm our hard-fought relationships.
A good businessman knows not to lean too far in any political direction. ”
Niklaus was not above begging, but the woman before him had been pumped so full of kretch, it was stopping up her ears.
She would never hear him. He swallowed and stood.
“Walk that middle ground, eah? Halfway here, halfway there on any given opinion. It’s the guaranteed way to keep a third of your friends. ”
“Nikla—”
“Violent revolts are sown when the distribution of information is as poor as the distribution of resources. And the distribution of information becomes poor when the general populace does not receive an education.” He scanned the room.
“When this city is burning to the ground, I don’t think it will bode well for our profit shares. ”
He left. He looked like a fool, leaving. But he would have been a fool to stay. Such was the way with battles that couldn’t be won.
Niklaus couldn’t stomach his breakfast, nor his studies, nor any conversation from the usual sycophants trying to catch his ear.
Instead, he went for a walk, following his feet without any direction in mind.
They brought him to the gardens, then to the balcony, and then to the front gates of Aethertech Mechanics all over again.
By this time, the sun had arced high into the sky. The board meeting would be long over.
Back up the stairs. Back into the arching entry—only now he didn’t veer left into the meeting chamber.
He strolled directly onto the work floor.
Niklaus had only visited the space twice since production had begun a year ago.
Now that he was here, he wondered why he didn’t come more often.
The sounds and smells of industry tumbled around him.
Dozens of workstations stretched beneath a ceiling lit by skylights.
Workers passed through the aisles with stacks of papers and dollies carrying crates.
Pipes capped by hissing silver valves stretched across the walls.
Niklaus watched a man blow glass into an orb the size of a melon. He stared as he walked until he was looking over his shoulder—and collided into another body.
A furious screech echoed around him. Paper scrolls tumbled in every direction.
Niklaus crouched to retrieve one rolling beneath a workstation, only for another hand to fall on it.
It was a girl’s—a young woman’s. A pretty young woman’s: long black hair braided away from her face, almond eyes with large black pupils, full lips, full… everything, really.
That beauty stopped at her expression.
“Ay! Fucking chikoto! Stumbling round, like lost puppy with no thing better to do,” she snarled, snatching the scroll.
“I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking.” He retracted his hand and stood abruptly, ramming his head into the workstation.
“And you should be! You has eyes.”
No one had ever spoken to him like that before. No honeyed formalities or passive aggression. No ‘Mesu’. No ‘apologies’. She spoke like a barking seal, and with an accent just as thick.
A strange laugh escaped his throat. “Trust me. If I could think of another excuse, I’d give it to you.”
The witticism was lost on her. Rather than ease her tension, it caused a string of unintelligible curses followed by, “I no trust you any more than you look where you going. Go find something useful to do.”
It was like she’d slapped him clean into the headspace one needed to outmaneuver an oligarchal ruling. He smiled at her. “Perhaps I will.”