Starmaker's Gambit
Razmir took a deep breath. The air was stale. It had been run through the elevator's filters so many times it was practically dead, but it was more pleasant than the—
Ding.
The doors opened, and the chemical-polluted air rushed in. The type that made his lungs burn with a familiar corrosion. The kind that never truly left you, no matter how long it had been since you last breathed it in.
He stepped off the elevator, into the mess of the industrial spire's 13th level. The lift system didn't go any lower. Rusty stairs and broken walkways were the only ways to reach the deepest levels. Not that anyone willingly went any deeper than 13.
Raz still wore shades two hundred levels below the point where the duracrete jungle chocked out the last rays of sunlight. Level 13's streets drowned in the violent light of banners and advertisments, which shone down on the denizens like a neon sun. One that might burn away their misery. This deep, the residents had long lost every tether to the wider galaxy. Only outcasts, criminals, or the forgotten suffered the misery of the lowest levels.
Razmir had once been one of them, a long time ago, before he'd clawed his way up—level by level—until he saw a real sun for the first time. He still remembered the feeling. Warm rays hitting his skin in the cool, recycled air of a speeder. He had vowed then never to let that feeling go, and he hadn't. These days, the only reason he ever returned to places like these was work.
He settled against the corner at an intersection, next to a run-down cybernetics doc. He checked his chrono. Any moment now, he was due for a visit from a 'friend'.
Ding.
The doors opened, and the chemical-polluted air rushed in. The type that made his lungs burn with a familiar corrosion. The kind that never truly left you, no matter how long it had been since you last breathed it in.
He stepped off the elevator, into the mess of the industrial spire's 13th level. The lift system didn't go any lower. Rusty stairs and broken walkways were the only ways to reach the deepest levels. Not that anyone willingly went any deeper than 13.
Raz still wore shades two hundred levels below the point where the duracrete jungle chocked out the last rays of sunlight. Level 13's streets drowned in the violent light of banners and advertisments, which shone down on the denizens like a neon sun. One that might burn away their misery. This deep, the residents had long lost every tether to the wider galaxy. Only outcasts, criminals, or the forgotten suffered the misery of the lowest levels.
Razmir had once been one of them, a long time ago, before he'd clawed his way up—level by level—until he saw a real sun for the first time. He still remembered the feeling. Warm rays hitting his skin in the cool, recycled air of a speeder. He had vowed then never to let that feeling go, and he hadn't. These days, the only reason he ever returned to places like these was work.
He settled against the corner at an intersection, next to a run-down cybernetics doc. He checked his chrono. Any moment now, he was due for a visit from a 'friend'.
Last edited:
