UNDERCITY
The basic layout of the sub-levels mirrored the upper floors. Will navigated past the station warehouse. The maze of tunnels and passageways was slightly more treacherous due to poor maintenance. Stray bits of loose electrical wire and debris littered the area. Thus, it came as a relief as Will reached the station proper.
The passenger side of the station was crowded as always. It was rush hour, and migrant workers hollered at each other as they moved crates and packages out of the vert trains. Will sidestepped two laborers hauling a massive container and joined a group of factory workers headed their way out. He was still in his fake uniform and fit right in.
Platforms passed, and more people joined their group. The crowd meandered its way through the station until they reached the exit.
Will looked past the crowd. Up ahead was a massive reinforced blast door, and two giant mechs stood sentry, guarding the exit. They towered over everyone, their guns trained and held to the side as they scanned the crowd.
The crowd gave the mechs a wide berth and squeezed past them into the exit tunnel.
The tunnel lights flickered. It was dimly lit, and there were long stretches where there was no light at all. Will kept a good grip on his bag.
After a minute of walking, they arrived at the end of the tunnel. Light streamed in from up ahead, accompanied by a haze of factory smoke and chemical fumes wafting from the tunnel exit.
A rusted signboard greeted them, its old label "Bunker 37" crossed out. Below, in rough red paint, a new message was scrawled: "Welcome to Undercity."
Will followed the crowd out of the station tunnel on to a metal walkway. The catwalk clanged as boots met steel. The crowd slowly broke away and Will gazed into the undercity. The most free and lawless part of the tower.
The town itself was the result of illegal excavation at the tower base. They had delved deep enough to reach the Tower's foundations. Thrusting through the very center of the underground factory town was a giant pylon of the Tower. The foundation pillar, a colossal kilometer-wide rectangular block, penetrated the town at an incline, dominating the cityscape.
The bunker's moniker came from the pylon itself, where a giant "thirty-seven" was etched on its weathered surface. The number was revealed over time as more the bunker was excavated through the years. Even today, the giant "three" remains partially submerged within the earth.
Needless to say, the tower residents were less than enthused to see outsiders digging around the foundations. But with the colossal size of Atlas-Mons, such towns barely registered compared to the giant tower. The illegal expansion continued, and now there were many such towns scattered around different pylons. Collectively, they formed the undercity.
Will climbed up the crisscrossing metal walkways. It was a veritable maze of passages. Due to the absence of a standard building code, the construction was haphazard. The initial settlements were purely utilitarian and characterized by brutalist architecture. Later buildings became increasingly unconventional as the constraints for space intensified. Packed so tightly in one place, people got creative as the city grew organically.
Will took his usual shortcuts through the factory side. The smoke was constant, and orange dust kicked up a cloud with every step. A lot of ores were processed here, with people transporting carts full of rutile, ilmenite, and teralite. The dust was everywhere, and cloaks and wraps were prominent in the passing crowd. Masks were also part of the standard attire, accompanied by a constant hum of breathing visors.
Will navigated the cramped alleyways and skirted past the crowd, hugging the sides of the metal railing, until he was past the factory area. He ducked into a smaller alley. Wires sprawled above like a spider's web, and steam hissed from a ruptured pipe off to the side. He sidestepped the broken pipe and exited the alleyway. Ahead was a crowded bazaar of shops and vendors.
The marketplace was crowded, bustling with people hawking their wares, and shoppers walked briskly in between stalls. Little kids darted in and out of the crowd, eyeing the pockets of passersby. Will walked past the vendors toward the only shop in the area that was conspicuously clean. While the rest of the shops were awash with orange dust, 'Uncle John's Odds and Ends' was pristine, its white paint gleaming.
Outside the shop stood Mary, Uncle John's daughter, with a paint roller in her hand. Splotches of paint adorned her overalls. Her dark hair was tied into a bun, and she wore a cap over her head. Her mousey face was scrunched up in concentration as she painted the walls with fervor.
"Go any harder and you might paint a hole through the wall," Will laughed.
Mary turned around and broke into a smile. "Well, look who it is, mister upper tower."
Will grinned. "You can kiss my ring if you'd like."
She rolled her eyes and flicked some paint onto Will. "Dad will be happy to see you; he was just talking about you the other day."
"I should hope so, judging by the amount of business I bring him."
Mary cocked her head and held out her hand, palm out. Will looked at her quizzically.
"If you bring my dad business, then what have you brought me? Don't tell me you went to the towers and brought me nothing?"
Will grinned and opened his arms. "Well, I brought myself. Does that count?"
She snorted and dragged Will to the shop. "Pa, I've got a five-foot-ten blockhead for you to sell. Make it cheap; it looks defective."
Behind the counter, a big rotund man with a white beard was haggling with a few customers. Uncle John looked up at the mention of a quick sale and spotted Will.
"William, my boy!" he boomed. "Here to sell me something good, I hope?"
Will lifted up his bag and jingled it with emphasis. The old man guffawed and waved him forward.
"Well, let's have a look at you. How is university life treating you? Haven't seen you a lot lately. Busy with school work?"
"It's not too bad."
"Ah, don't let those preppy know-it-alls get you down," Uncle John patted him on the back. "Oh wait, what have ya done with your leg, lad?"
Will looked down. A bit of the metal plating was poking through the shoe. "Got into a bit of an accident," he said, embarrassed.
"Angus is at the back, he'll have that fixed up right away." He patted Will on the shoulder and ushered him inside the shop.
Will made his way behind the counter and into the back of the shop. Behind him, Uncle John went back to arguing with a disgruntled customer. "I'm telling you, Rook, no Prints or Infils. You pay in tower credits or not at all."
Their haggling faded as Will went further down the narrow passage. Mech helmets hung on the wall; most had dents, and one of the more badly damaged ones looked almost cleaved into two. Under each helm was a plaque depicting the date of birth and passing. Will offered a silent prayer to the ancestor wall before leaving the passage.
He walked into a storage room. Boxes lined metal racks, arranged into neat rows. A grunting sound came from the left, followed by a thud. Will walked past a table strewn with machining tools and ventured into one of the aisles.
Angus was struggling with a heavy box, and Will hurried to help the plump boy.
"Will!" Angus exclaimed. The chubby boy wasn't as stocky as his father and still had a bit of baby fat on his cheeks. He accepted Will's help, and both boys hoisted the box, dumping it next to the tool table.
"It's good that you are here, Will," Angus wiped the sweat from his brow. He was about to shake Will's hand but noticed his greasy hand and offered an elbow bump instead. "We've got new stocks. Have a look around if you are interested."
"That's fine," Will chuckled. "I'm more of a giving mood today."
"Are you selling?" asked Angus. He glanced down at Will's backpack and noticed the prosthetic leg. "Oof! You are going to need to fix that."
"Yeah," said Will bitterly.
Angus grabbed a shaper tool from the table and handed it to Will. "Come on," The plump boy waved Will further into the storage space.
They passed rows of box shelves. Angus gestured to the new boxes. "The shop is expanding."
"I noticed," said Will. "New paint, new everything." He picked up an exo elbow joint from one of the boxes and gave a low whistle.
"There is more where that came from," said Angus.
Will placed the joint back into the box. "What about the embargo?"
Angus waved off the question and headed towards the back door. Will followed Angus out of the shop.
More boxes were lined up outside the shop, and more still were in the back of a running truck. The smell of half-burnt ethrazene came from the vehicle.
Will approached the truck and examined the boxes. They were all mech machine parts.
The rumble of the truck-engine cut off. Doors slammed, and boots thudded on metal grating.
Will turned to face the approaching footsteps.
A tall, lanky youth in a military tank top and camo pants strode out from the truck. He had an angular face and wind-swept tousled hair. Dog tags hung around his neck, along with a llizard head necklace.
With a stim-cig in his mouth, he grinned at Will. "Well, I'll be damned."
The older boy pulled Will into a headlock and gave him a noogie. Will struggled under his grasp and swatted the boy away.
Ryder laughed. "Can't a cousin get some love?"
