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The Hungry Cities Chronicles

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The Hungry Cities Chronicles

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby NorthernSoul on Thu Jan 03, 2008 9:10 am

It was mid-afternoon and the huge haze of dust kicked up by Casa-Blanca’s treads was settling as it paused in its trek across the Sahara to digest the small nomadic settlement it had been chasing for several days. Above the blunt, white-washed roofs of the Blanca over-city, streaked grey by the smoke that poured from the engine’s exhausts, rising out of the city’s underbelly Casa district, hovered Airhaven.
Buoyed by its many hydrogen envelopes, their once-vibrant colours now bleached by the harsh Afrikan sun, Airhaven, frequented by aviators, travellers, salesmen and criminals, had been following the larger traction city for a week. Little red air balloons shuttled tourists to and from the famous flying town and aviators did good business taking on passengers and goods.
Although not far from the airship docks, business in the Ahmar Café was slow. Perhaps the heat was keeping people away or perhaps the aviators who generally formed a large proportion of the clientele were too busy doing other things. Either way, the dim, quiet space beneath the draped red awnings at the front of the café was almost empty. In the corner, a waitress swept up the red Saharan dust that had collected overnight and, at a table by the entrance, an elderly man slumped in his chair, dozing.
On the table in front of him sat an open book and a pair of half-moon spectacles. The faint breeze that came off the slipstreams above Airhaven rifled through the pages.

’…between the American Empire and Greater China, the Sixty Minute War was the most destructive conflict mankind has ever known.
The exact date of its occurrence is unknown; such was the totality of its devastation that in the Black Centuries which followed (discussed in Chapter 6- Chaos in the Black Centuries) almost all knowledge and record of human history up until that point was lost. What is known that the weaponry used was almost incomprehensibly advanced in comparison to our present understanding of science and technology.
North America, now colloquially known as the Dead Continent, was severed from Neuvo Maya by the strategic obliteration by Slow Bombs of the isthmus linking the two continents. It remains a radioactive wasteland and what little is known or, indeed, surmised about its history, is the result of the dangerous retrieval of Old Tech artefacts from the coast by a few intrepid historians.
The furthest reaches of northern Greater China, now the border to the Great Hunting Ground were also severely irradiated and the Hunting Ground itself was thrown into a period of cataclysmic geological upheaval, resulting in the emptying of the Med Sea and the volcanic destruction of the Middlest (the English name for what is now called Persia in Anglish, presumably so-called for its position in the middle of Afrika and the Great Hunting Ground). The Himalayas were forced upwards, causing the creation of Shan Guo, the only pass…’


The wind died down a little and there was a tapping as the waitress emptied the sand from her dustpan into the rubbish bin behind the bar. The man at the table shifted but didn’t wake up.

‘…probably some time in the 25th Century. The first static settlement to be converted into a mobile, traction city was London, by Nicholas Quirke, the first proponent of Munciple Darwinism, in order to cope with increasingly scarce resources. Many other cities followed suit, including the armoured Panzerstadts and the Neuvo Mayan Ziggurat traction cities as well as many other smaller towns and scavenger suburbs. It was, as it is today, eat, run or be eaten.
However, small pockets of Anti-Tractionist static settlements did, and still do, remain, primarily in the Neuvo Mayan Andes, southern Afrika and, of course, south and east of the Great Hunting Ground, protected by the Himalayas and their geological offspring (see Chapter 14- Batmunhk Gompa and the Shield Wall of Shan Guo).
The necessity of transport and communication between mobile cities spurred on the development of airships and balloons capable of travelling distances of thousands of miles. However, the invention of the heavier-than-air airships seen in Old Tech times has so far eluded…’


With a snort, the man woke up and rubbed his drooping eyelids blearily.
“Another Eirish coffee please,” he said, to the waitress who was now leaning against the bar, fanning herself lazily with the menu. “Picked up a taste for them when I was on Dublin.”
As she set about making the drink, the breeze came in and swept over the pages once again.
“Pesky wind,” he muttered, taking off his spectacles and placing them on top, to weigh the pages down.

’…relics of Old Tech to rise in price over recent years in response to demand for their use in scientific study, as museum pieces, even as fashionable ornamentation (see Chapter 21- The Impact of Old Tech on Modern Culture).
Importantly, they have also be used to help to alleviate the growing problem of dwindling prey and other ground-level resources (trees for biofuel, for example) by helping scientists in the leading centres of research to devise new ways to increase fuel efficiency and recycle waste. There have been suggestions that Old Tech could be employed for far more sinister, destructive purposes but, to date, the only relics of the Sixty Minute War have been broken beyond repair or incomplete beyond reconstruction and modern science not nearly enough advanced to comprehend their workings…’


“Your coffee, Mr Quillan,” said the waitress, putting the saucer down on the table.
“Nonsense, my dear, call me Jarvis.” He took a sip of the coffee and grimaced appreciatively. “Lovely. Now, where could I find an aviator to take me on as a passenger? I’ve got an appointment to keep in London, which I gather is chasing a suburb east along the edge of the Med Sea Bed, so I suppose I should get a move on whilst its still close. I really can’t stand overly long airship journey. I get rather nauseous, you see?”
“Go to the docks and ask around, Mr Quillan, you’ll soon find one. I’d tell you to ask some of the patrons but we don’t seem to be very busy today…”

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Re: The Hungry Cities Chronicles

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Lyolok on Sun Jan 06, 2008 3:11 pm

The sun was baking Casa-Blanca. Turin Reed was not a fan of being subject to desert heat. Sweat beads collected on his brow and saturated his tight fitting black long-sleeve shirt and his jeans were heavy. The sweltering air tasted gritty and singed. Even the friction of walking carried into his boots as if he felt his toes were in an oven. The sticky people bustling about were equally uncomfortable, although most of them were wearing more appropriate clothing for the element. They kept their faces to the ground and their minds on air conditioners, paying no mind to the large bag he slung over his back or the case he held in his hand. Communal suffering was the only good thing about the heat.

The only other comfort came from the quick breezes that would flow from the wings of airships. It was a second of pleasantness until the exhaust pained the nose. Airships and balloon transports were everywhere, and somewhere the ship to which he was considered crew was laid. It was right where he left it, snug between two massive balloon transports with red fabric and some light red mismatched patching. He knew that they would take most of the clientele for this trip to London. That is why he was unconcerned with following the captain’s orders and haggling with the passengers. But as he placed his case and bag in a hidden compartment in the ships back cargo bay, he decided he might as well try to pick up someone who would want a quick ride to London.

He walked to the entrance ramp and set up a chair in the shade of the ship’s hull. He sat watching the passing people, each uninterested with him and the ship. Every so often a straggler would pass close enough for Turin to get them thinking about a quick flight. He was unsuccessful in the end however. Maybe it was Turin’s harsh stare. He knew he could get someone to take the offer soon. He had an hour ‘till the Captain returned anyhow.

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Re: The Hungry Cities Chronicles

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Nils on Sun Jan 06, 2008 9:24 pm

A wheeling aircraft, silhouetted against the sun, momentarily cast Ingmar Erikson in shadow as he among several other aviators reeled it in. It was an air gondola, a strange shape among the coming and going series of red air balloons and the occasional stream-lined body of an aviator's plane. Its prow was woven into the shape of a long-necked bird. Sails rose above it like wings.

"What do ya reckon they are? Nuevo Mayan?"

"Dolt. They're too far away to travel here. Must be one of those desert suburbs around here--the Bhutaan or Tsaka-something. Not that you can you tell the difference from here."

One of its two main propellers spun weakly, as if torn askew. Its passengers were still covered in Saharan dust, their faces hidden under scarves of deep blue rich silk as they stoically clung to the sides of the air gondola.

"What brought it down? Freak dust devil?"

"Yeah."

Two of the passengers were dressed in distinctive outfits from which hung ribbons used to help signal changes in wind currents. They were the operators of the air gondola--one to steer, the other to pedal. Their silk tassels whipped about into a tangle as the gondola keeled limply onto the surface of Airhaven.

"No wonda'. Looks flimsy as pay-pah. And still uses pedal-powered propella's? Didn't stand a chance."

Nevertheless, though archaic and quaint, the silence of a pedal-powered aircraft was nicer than the constant roar of engines in hardier ones. This air gondola was for the noble or the rich who wanted to travel in luxury to the sound of nothing but the shifting sand and the Saharan zephyrs.

Ingmar smacked the two dawdling aviation assistants upside the head. "You two can stop gaping or I'll knock the both of you back to apprenticeship status. Start prepping my ship for the next destination."

"I'm going to the café. Be ready in an hour." Ingmar made his way toward the fluttering red awnings of the café, his eyes squinted as they adjusted from the bright sunlight to the shade of the ship's hull. He caught sight of a familiar face, harsh and brutal-looking. Ingmar stepped up to him and clapped a palm on his shoulder. "Turin, may the sky goddess frown upon you for abandoning your captain and forcing him to enlist two idiots to prep the ship," his voice was serious, but his eyes twinkled jollily. "Join me at the café."

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Re: The Hungry Cities Chronicles

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Axanthisis on Mon Jan 07, 2008 10:02 am

It was a simple plan. You might say the oldest trick in the book, but no books have been written. He was paying for 50 crates. Only one had functioning weapons inside, but no one would find that out until Johnathan was long gone. He had opened the first crate, and fired off a few shots. He was pleased. They were top of the line. The other crates were weighted down, so the assistants loading them into the warehouse wouldn't notice a thing. One the boxes were loaded 'properly' Johnathan pocketed the cash. Then he donned his jet bike and left.

Making enemies with one of the traction cities wasn't a good idea, but Johnathan figured if he lay low for a while, things would work out. Stay in a static city, make small money. Any was as good as the next really, just so long as he wasn't recognized.

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Re: The Hungry Cities Chronicles

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Lyolok on Mon Jan 07, 2008 11:13 am

“Sorry Capt’n, but I had some errands to run.” Turin tried to match Captain Erikson’s jovial attitude with a smile of his own. All he could muster was a lopsided grin that made his eyes narrow slits, giving himself a menacing appearance. He told the truth when he said he had ‘errands to run.’ He would never tell the captain what they were. He would never tell the captain what was hidden in his quarters. Luckily the captain was satisfied with Turin’s answers although vague; satisfied as far as Turin could tell.

“Aye, Sir.” Turin nodded. A cold drink would be a sweet relief about this time and cafés were havens for business. Good business was always appreciated. What he could not appreciate was the heat. It was unfortunate that he had to leave his shade. Turin wasn't a complainer, however, he followed orders like a good employee. He kept pace with the captain close behind his right shoulder. He felt it wasn’t appropriate to walk side by side, considering the airship captain was his superior. Besides it was easier to walk down the crowded streets in a v formation.

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Re: The Hungry Cities Chronicles

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby NorthernSoul on Mon Jan 07, 2008 3:49 pm

When Turin and Ingmar reached the Ahmar Cafe, Jarvis was nearing the bottom of his second cup of coffee. At the entrance of newcomers, he brightened up- aviators, perhaps, to take him to London! However, upon seeing the distinctly... unsavoury appearance of the two men who had just walked in, his previous enthuisiasm was dampened.
Still, London was only a day away as the airship flew and he wouldn't have to spend too much time in such uncivilised company. And it appeared that beggars could not be choosers- every other aviator he'd seen was doing business with Casa-Blancan tourists.
He carefully closed the book, the blue cover inscribed in gold with the words 'A Brief History of Municple Darwinism by J. Quillan', and put it into his canvas knapsack, hefting it with difficulty onto his back. He placed his half-moon spectacles onto his nose and tried his best to look like the worldly traveller that he was.

Meanwhile, the waitress had approached the two men.
"Can I take your order?" she said, dully. Three patrons. It was a slow day. Usually the Ahmar Cafe, famous for its scarlet awnings and its appearance in the world-famous novel 'The Phantom of Airhaven' ,was buzzing with hard-drinking aviators and the occasional tourist. Today all they had was a couple of airshippers just off a job and an eccentric, almost to the point of naiveity, historian.
Perhaps it was just too hot.

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Re: The Hungry Cities Chronicles

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Axanthisis on Thu Jan 10, 2008 12:30 am

Johnathan tailed the two aviators into the cafe. They were a hardened lot, and he new better than to sell them some cheap crap and run. They would probably catch up with him. They were taking their time getting to the bar, so he slipped around them and placed a few bills on the table (it had been a while since he had used real money to pay for a drink, and it felt exhilarating).

"The strongest stuff you got." Suddenly he felt generous (although one might scarcely call spending someone else's money generosity). "And what ever these to gentlemen would like as well."

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Re: The Hungry Cities Chronicles

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Lyolok on Fri Jan 11, 2008 1:30 am

Turin and Ingmar casually strolled in, glancing about the empty café only to find two patrons. Unusual for this time of day, he could only figure that the heat was keeping people away. He immediately recognized the young man with the bills on the table. He had been following them a while back. The other man seemed a little more respectable, a scholar of some field. A waitress was there, harmless, and a cook was grumbling somewhere in the back. They quietly made their way to an open table and sat down.

“Two cold ones, li’l lady,” Ingmar’s eyes twinkled towards the beautiful young waitress as he laid down the bills with a hefty tip.

“These are covered.” She politely returned with a smile, but Turin could tell the waitress would not take much of Ingmar’s flirting.

“’Scuse me, darlin’?” Ingmar nearly fell out of his chair, could he perhaps be getting somewhere with this chick?

“That gentleman over there.” The waitress pointed out the young man who had been following them before.

“Not that I’m ‘gainst the free booze. But he’s gonna wan’ somethin’ in return.” Ingmar looked the young man over as if to size him up. Turin already knew that the young man was not an city agent. If things were good, then he was just a man looking for a ride with an unsavory airship crew. If things were bad, he was a con artist.

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Re: The Hungry Cities Chronicles

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Axanthisis on Sun Jan 13, 2008 11:49 pm

An uncomfortable stare. How predictable. In all of his years, it seemed no one could take something for free. He downed his drink and ordered another.

"Drink up." He said with a smile. "I know what you're thinking. What's the catch? Why would your good friend George give you a free drink? Well, today is a day for celebration!" Johnathan downed the shot and took yet another. He gave the waitress a few more bills and a wink. "Everyone here drinks for free tonight."

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Re: The Hungry Cities Chronicles

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby NorthernSoul on Tue Jan 22, 2008 6:22 pm

((Sorry for the long gap- I was waiting to see if Nils was still involved...))

"Splendid! I'll have a whiskey!" interjected Quillan, stepping up to the younger men. The waitress shrugged and went to over to the bar to get their drinks. She tended to agree with the aviator; free drinks, in her experience, tended to come with strings attached. Or at the very least with other intentions.
"Now, gentlemen, I apologise for my interruption but I must ask, would any of you be willing to offer me passage to London for a reasonable price. I have a very important appointment there in a week that I must keep." Quillan smoothed down his trousers and tried to look important. "And I require only the very best aviators."
He beamed at his well-constructed complement and looked at the men expectantly through the lenses of his half-moon glasses.

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Re: The Hungry Cities Chronicles

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Axanthisis on Wed Jan 23, 2008 3:22 pm

"London's a nice city I suppose." Johnathan interjected, trying to be a part of the conversation. "I wonder is it all in place these days, or does it roll about. Moving cities are filled with nasty people you know."

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Re: The Hungry Cities Chronicles

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby NorthernSoul on Wed Jan 23, 2008 4:42 pm

"Of course it moves! London was the first to become a traction city! Nice indeed. In my humble opinion, London is the greatest of all the moving cities- I was born there!" exclaimed Quillan, giving Johnathan a pointedly disapproving look. "Have you never heard of the great Nicholas Quirke, boy? Do they not teach history in school these days?" Then he looked at him a little more suspiciously. "Nasty people-? I say, you're not an anti-tractionist, are you?" He backed away slightly and now his look was more of disgust, as if Johnathan had a particularly unpleasant smell, than disapproval.

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Re: The Hungry Cities Chronicles

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Axanthisis on Sun Jan 27, 2008 10:29 am

"Anti-tractionist." Johnathan chuckled. "I suppose I slept through most of history as a boy, like almost every other boy did." It was a believable answer he hoped. Better than 'Oh I was a slave and didn't get any education.' "And there's nasty people in every city isn't there? You'll have to forgive me but, I had a bad run in there. I suppose it isn't fair to lump them all together." Johnathan downed and ordered another. Maybe if they realized how drunk he was they would disregard him. That would be nice.

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Re: The Hungry Cities Chronicles

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby topofoff on Fri Jul 22, 2011 6:13 am

"I was there recently" said a man from a table near by, his face was in shadow but his clothes suggested that he was a trader of some sort. leaning forward the man leered "I sold them some old tech, they wanted it for some crazy plan they have but I have said to much, can I buy you some drinks? Sorry where are my manners I'm Peter Tureman, captain of the 'Failure is always an option' and owner of the old tech shop on old Kent street. May I ask your names gentlemen?"

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