My goal for writing this story is to embed Easter-eggs that parallel societal norms; snippets and characters will exaggerate the consequences of trends and the effects of "thought-craft" being seeded into a society starved of objectivity. (work in progress)
The following conversations are roots for a story encompassing the lives of several crews mining Gloserrock or GLR, the raw-block that preserves a compound known as Timeet or TMT which is believed to be an industrial byproduct from another age. It was found to have exceptional Proteinogenic qualities and is considered an essential amino acid and necessary food additive. TMT has found its place in NOVEK society as "food-staple: 1230" a supplement that improves metabolic efficiency, lowering a person's required caloric intake. The concentrated form of TMT also acts as an mood-enhancer and is the main ingredient in Freemadol, a very popular recreational supplement. Thus, TMT is highly sought after and is the source of much inter-planetary commerce.
When the whistle blows... crews from the NOVEK mining conglomerate head to the local watering hole. After a long day curating GLR utility requests at Chesley's Gorge; a deep ravine mining facility in the Hygian province, known for its rich TMT deposits several crews employed by foreman Halbrad haul into Ruto's most popular pub the Thistled Antler.
Mr. Halbrad is responsible for security of the entire F-block East-chain a NOVEK curation-wing that manages GLR line requests. Each chain is made up of four block-crews individually responsible for filling one of the GLR service requirements: Generation, Organization, Dispensation and Curation.
A trio of Generators from the Purple Flower crew slide into their usual place, smiles sprawling across their faces as they snuggle up to the bar for the first of the night's many rounds.
Fritz, a spindly old man with a wild mustache and angular hairdo that defies common sense and gravity knocked back a healthy swig of Targ. There are mixed feeling about Targ's status as a sanctioned recreational substance due to its all to common side-effect of causing abusers to spasmodically jerk when their heart-rate spikes. Targ's desired affect induces an odd cross-state of energetic inebriation that seems to characterize his entire being.
Fritz was known as somewhat of a loose cannon regularly involved in confrontations with other miners. Prone to mood swings and unpredictability, he is one of those people that should probably keep an extra dose of Freemadol on them, at all times. Sneered through the Targ's caustic burn, Fritz let out an annoyed sigh that almost sounded like a wimper, "Damn, the mine was brutal today".
Shit! nothing like it use to be; Adam said, as he stirred his tart bluish-green drink with a small straw. The Cosmowailen had been his go-to brew for years now, like most recreational supplements it contains a healthy ration of TMT amongst other compounds. Adam typically enjoyed how it made his ears buzz but tonight the effects were more annoying than distracting. It had been weeks since he heard from Jacky with nothing to take his mind away from her absence but ramblings of the fellas and this tart blue-greenish concoction. We barely leave the surface now days, he thought in response to Fritz's exclamation of how tough mining was today.
Dig deep or go home, he said; we're not gonna find anything but trace mineral and flake where they have us digging... everyone knows source is deep! Tell me, why is the company wasting time digging these swallow tunnels?
Felix gestured slowly with his mug... pointing its rim at Adam; agreed, the company's priorities are all jacked up. It's plain and simple, there is just no need to waste time scratching at brittle surface-stone. What do they expected to find, Felix thought to himself as he chugged the rest of a thick malty beverage called "Musky Maureen" that tasted like licorice and wood.
They're as dense as the stone we're searching for... besides the crews are too spread-out in my opinion we're not making any progress. Sometimes I feel like Fritz's dog when he gets into the Targ, just spinning in circles but without a tail to justify the effort.
You both are full of something offal. The company can barely keep the mine crewed as is; no blocks deep-mine anymore, especially with the absent-minded security detail we have, it would be suicide. Anyway, remember Marc... poor somabitch dead before they got him to the surface and we had solid surveyors then, not the likes of Halbrad and his clowns.
Adam slammed his tankard onto the bar, no shit! Some kind of wierdo bug crawled right in his ear, he never seen it coming. Tell me, Fritz is that whats wrong with you? Has some "wierdo bug" taken-up residence in your head, because I think it may be too late for ya!
Cocked and ready! Fritz began flailing his arms wildly weaving in a few air punches for good measure. I believe you hit the nail Adam, damn if I don't feel that little shit scratching around in my brain. It talks to me, ya know... tells me things like what I should do to a nappy headed toddler that just learned to keep his arse clean. Anyway, deep mining is a fools errand, and I'm not fetching, not for them and not for you. There is just too much fracked up shit in those deep pockets.
The bellow of a hearty man shook the bar, drawing the attention of the Purple Flowers and the miners from other crews. Mr. Halbrad was ruff looking guy covered in tattoos, he eyed several of the patron around the tavern, then glared at Fritz who still exasperated from the earlier discussion. A frown creases his brow as he raises a tall ivory tankard high in the air. Salute crew, word is in... we've been awarded the Monnic contract.
Several patrons exchanged nervous glances. Seated at the far-end of the bar, a small man known as Neval swiveled to catch Mr. Halbrad's attention; "boss... it's been more than a decade since that mine was opened let alone crewed". How long will it take for safety inspections to clear?
Large corded arms flexed as Halbrad folded them across his chest as he glared at the runt of a man. It won't disappoint! I am Error and you can rest assured, when it comes to mining, drinking mead and laying maids you can rely on what we Halbrad's be knowing... trust me. Turning away from Neval's less than convincing facade, Error Halbrad double pumped the tall ivory tankard into the air again.
The tavern broke into a cheer as a round of mead was hosted into the air to meet toast and a chorus of a local favorite began.
Tip your tankard and grab a wench
pull up a char and find your niche.
We're reminded of we need
and that need is for mead.
So drink, this glorious night!
