Forged in the Fallout by Ben Green

Author:Ben Green [Green, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Loamseed Press

Mimic Their Craft

As far as dressing for the social, Rugnus refused to leave me to my own devices. But at least I match everyone else. Even with the party split between socialites and fame seekers, everyone is dressed in crisp colors and flowing fabrics. I settled on a coffee brown collared shirt with yellow and white neon accents and a simple pair of slacks.

I’ve never had to wear anything this uncomfortable in my life. I’d rather gear up to muck out a goat barn.

Two girls in denim blouses, one lined with strings of light, one lined with fur, eye me from across the room. I take another drink from the floating serving trays, but Rugnus grabs it from my hand and sets it on the table. “Not that one. Got to keep your head in the game.”

The room is already spinning, thick with bodies and music and conversation. Keepers are spread out over the whole floor of the building, waiting to demonstrate their craft to the handful of teams who’ve ‘come for glory’. Koglim’s words. Screens everywhere show the scores of the competing teams. Though the score has nothing to do with finding the key. It’s more about the notoriety the teams gain as the night progresses. Anything under one thousand points and none of the headhunters for businesses and keepers will even talk to you.

Most of the partygoers are of the social variety, ignoring the challengers altogether, preferring the company of their friends and the keepers. Rugnus tells me there are many people from Whurrimduum in attendance. And Sira has said, more than once, that Handler installed the best foilgrips for the occasion. No one can budge away at will.

“This better work,” Winta says, gazing at thousands of kinetic spheres dancing with the music against the reflective black ceiling.

Eating appetizers, dancing, and greeting strangers has me numb.

The swinging, digitized tones and brass instruments of this Loamin music—like something out of an 80’s spy movie—must be lulling away my senses, or maybe it’s the stiff collar smothering me. Either way, we’re not making any progress toward the fourth level. Rugnus is happy about that, but Koglim is as determined as ever.

Rugnus flashes yet another smile, a trait that’s gained him even more followers on bluelink in the last few hours. The decadence and pomp breathe life into Rugnus. Every arm he grasps to test strengths, every joke he tells emboldens him to greater heights. In short intervals, he checks in with his followers through his bluelink connection, sometimes talking to the air as if they might be listening.

To say the least, I strongly dislike all the added attention. Everyone but me seems able to act naturally, but I’m as rigid as an oak. More than once, someone from the group has had to come search for me in the crowd—I’ve been using them as camouflage.

“Koglim and I can duplicate this craft in our sleep,” Rugnus says. “Our audience agrees.”

Winta lowers her voice, and it’s almost drowned out by the music. “If you can deal with the heights.

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