Prologue: Gold Plated Fountains

Lemmy watched with uninterested eyes as party goers shifted around the chandelier lit ballroom. Gold-rimmed glasses clinked and tinkled above the sounds of some electro-pop mashup song he couldn't identify. Generous pours of Bullrutters were passed around as people started to fall into the rhythm of yet another high society party that he'd forget by tomorrow.

Lemmy Greigs was the only son of the illustrious Bantam Greigs, owner of Greigs Aeronautical Works. He had always been introduced as such. He had always been addressed as such. He had always wanted to toss himself out of the nearest window when they did so.

He'd always hated being a damn Greigs. Oh, the money and nearly unlimited research materials were perfectly agreeable. He wasn't going to argue with that but putting up with his family's snooty friends was tantamount to torture.

As far back as he could remember, every party or gala he'd been forced to attend had bored him to near suicide. They never had anything to talk about. Oh, their mouths could certainly move, and sounds were made, but nothing interesting came out. It only ever evened out to impotent one-upping about new revenue reports and whatever shiny new AV they were puttering about in. Yes, he had in fact seen the new Terminus LM3s, he'd damn well built their propulsion systems. He'd spent the last six months looking at them and he was sick of hearing about how fucking shiny they were.

When you were all filthy rich what did it matter if someone else was slightly more so? If the son of the head of Mayburn medical had an enormous apartment with four gold-plated fountains, why did yours need to have five? Why would you want to walk around your house being constantly reminded that you had to pee? None of it made any sense after a certain point.

Motors. That's what Lemmy understood. Motors made sense. You put one value in at one point and you got another value out the other. You shoved an 11mm driver into the ignition port and it would explode the next time you turned it on. Lemmy suspected that if you shoved an 11mm driver into the head of one of the many faces around him you'd be lucky if they noticed before their brains leaked out of their nostrils.

Their lack of hobbies astounded him. As far as Lemmy was concerned getting wildly drunk in nightclubs and asking your parents for money didn't count as hobbies. Admittedly, that time he'd seen Tanty Washoe do two rails of stardust off a moving air-cycle must have taken some level of skill. No small amount of practice either, as he'd found out at her funeral two months later. When his peers had snuck off mid eulogy to chase a bit of the purple dragon themselves, he'd understood that it wasn't their fault. They didn't know anything else.

He'd only ever been interested in Asha Meadows at any rate. Asha was a bit of a weirdo among high society. She was rather pretty, but she never seemed to buy new clothes. Her long black hair and large green eyes gave her a bit of an occult appearance. She brought stacks of books to parties and read through them one by one until they started stacking the chairs on the tables. Her record was four in one sitting

Rather than ignoring the other snoots, Lemmy could have sworn she was barely aware of their existence. In turn, the snoots avoided her like a foyer that didn't echo. She was a perfect partner in lack of crime in his eyes. Unfortunately for Lemmy she seemed just as unaware of his existence as she was theirs. Their conversations tended to be only five words long. Though, most wouldn't count "Hello Asha. How are you?" and the inevitable deafening silence as a conversation.

Currently, Lemmy was sitting across from her skimming through the summary on the back of the novel she was reading. As far as he could tell it was a story about sewer workers or something. He'd heard about that being a dangerous job somewhere, how you could fill a novel with it though was lost on him. The cover was of a man in some sort of suit firing two assault rifles at what looked like a horde of giant ants.

"Do sewer workers carry guns? I figured they just walked around with big plungers." Lemmy commented, primarily to himself.

"Yes. It's cheaper than using insecticides." Asha replied, to his surprise. It was so rare that she answered his questions Lemmy had to look around in case someone else had said it.

"Wait. Did you actually hear me that time?" He asked, leaning in eyes wide with awe. This was the first time she'd answered one of his questions.

"Yes. I hear you every time." She answered, still reading intently.

"Oh... Why don't you ever tell me to shut up?" He asked, embarrassment flooding his face. He'd asked some quite stupid questions in the past, most with the intent of goading her into a response. He was currently remembering every one of them in excruciating detail.

"No need. Not that distracting." She replied, her eyes never leaving the book.

"Oh, sorry. Is that book very good?" He asked, trying to salvage the longest conversation they'd ever had. He'd asked plenty of idiotic questions up until this point. Why stop now? To his surprise she shook her head.

"No, but it's interesting. I can't find many books on the sewers. These are the only ones." She replied, looking up at him for the first time. For a moment her eyes met his and then flicked back down to the open pages.

"Sooo, you like the sewers but not the books?" He asked, trying not to sound too confused. Asha shrugged.

"Neither, but I'll have to know about the sewers to run the city one day." She answered, giving him a look. It had been a look, but it came across as a challenge. When Lemmy had recovered from his surprise he thought about her choice of words.

"Run, but not own?" He asked, not even realizing he'd said it aloud. Every one of the snoots talked like they wanted to own the city, never run it. You'd have to be out of your gourd to want to run it.

Ashas eyes lit up as she placed her bookmark and snapped the book closed. For the first time she asked him a question back. "And why do you think that is?" She asked, locking her eyes to his like great green spotlights.

Lemmy swallowed hard, trying not to lose the abrupt staring contest he was competing in whilst he thought. His brain raced, darting straight past all the normal reasons, then overtaking the abstract, but then he slammed on the brakes and made a u-turn. It seemed simple but then again simple tended to be profound.

"People who own companies always leave the clever bits to someone else. I can't remember the last time my dad made a business decision, let alone a good one. He lets Mister Lauper do that because Mister Lauper knows what he's doing. If he wanted to, Mister Lauper could shut everything down tomorrow and my dad wouldn't find out until the money stopped coming in." He answered, some sweat running down his forehead and soaking into his eyebrow.

A discreet smile began to form on Ashas face. "You're not as big a fool as you try to act Lemmy. That's not a bad quality to have. Knowledge is a currency and its always best to look poor." She said, the smile leaving her face.

Lemmy contemplated this. He'd always used a mask of idiocy to relate to the snoots. It hadn't been entirely intentional, but it was a great defense mechanism. If people thought you were simple they just let you do as you pleased. Nobody wanted to be accused of bullying the simple guy. In his 23 years alive it had worked all the way up until this point.

Asha glanced towards one of the groups drinking next to the bar. "Do you see that man over there? The one with the gold suit and the laugh loud enough to break glass?" She said, opening her book again and setting the bookmark on the table. Lemmy knew who she was referring to before he even looked. The man was palming a literal mug of Bullrutters.

"Sternum Bloch? Yeah, his mom owns Bloch Steel. Why?" Lemmy said, trying to not let his eyes linger. Staring for too long might make his eyes go bad. Sternums suit was giving the Terminus LM3 a run for it's money.

"He, like many others, believes my family is poor. He believes that Bloch Steel is thriving and unsinkable. What he doesn't know is that two days ago Meadows Mercantile bought Bloch Steel out from under them. He doesn't know that if he keeps spending like he does, within two months he'll be penniless.

His mother doesn't know either. She doesn't know because, as you put it earlier, "People who own things leave all the clever bits to someone else." But I know. I know because my parents know. They know because they own and operate our company themselves. They do so because we're better at the clever bits than anyone we could hire." She said, never taking her eyes off the book open in front of her.

Lemmy sat back in his chair. Asha had always just been there, sitting and reading. Never saying a word good or bad about anybody. The other snoots seemed to drop in and out of the limelight quite often though, usually due to rehabilitation schedules. It dawned on him that there were some faces missing from this party.

"Wait. The Olsteins and the Bellhouses haven't been around for a while. Are you telling me that was your folks?" He whispered, leaning in a bit. Asha replied with a stare. Admittedly the Bellhouses had all been bell-ends but he'd actually appreciated the Olsteins.

"And the Baggits? The Lockhams?" He whispered, leaning even closer. Asha continued to let her eyes do the talking. He slumped back into his chair, never taking his eyes off hers. A raucous bout of laughter from the direction of the unknowingly doomed Bloch compounded the overwhelming sense of irony Lemmy was feeling.

He let out a sigh and scanned around the room. There were more faces missing that he'd never even noticed were gone. How long had they been slowly wiping out the upper class? Who was next?

"Are you afraid?" Asha asked, shifting her eyes back to her book. It wasn't a threat. It had come out flat like a psychologist asking a patient how a particularly bad memory made them feel.

Lemmy ran a hand through his curly black hair. He wasn't afraid. He was the one who had designed Greigs last three propulsion systems. If they got bought out, he'd probably be the last one to lose his job. Though it might have a bit of an impact on his nearly unlimited budget.

"No, but I think I might start reading more books." He answered, picking up one of the volumes stacked on the table and thumbing through the pages.