Duty

  World of the Young Ancients: Book One

  Duty

  P.S. Power

  Orange Cat Publishing

  Copyright 2019

  Chapter one

  The light that hit Albert’s half open right eye was, apparently, the kind of thing that very evil people would turn on while someone else was trying to peacefully sleep. It was bright on a level that didn’t belong in his sleeping chamber, even when he was awake. Like the pure light of the sun through a window on Earth. Second City didn’t have things like that though. Panes of glass that sparkled and let light through directly. Doing that would be inviting the relative vacuum of the Moon to seep in. Instead there were large red gemstones on the ceiling, capable of producing at least ten different kinds of light. Rubies, but the size of both his hands put together. The light came from outside of them, in an aura. It would have been pretty, except for the searing pain.

  “Ahg. Jeffery, you’re a pain in the ass, you know that, right?” Albert forced a smile at his roommate, not really meaning it at the moment. The man honestly was a decent person, and worked with him at the club, which was the problem they were about to have to deal with.

  The room tried to spin, but it was close to the right amount for that kind of thing. Al tried to hold to a certain constant level of inebriation, and while his level had run a little low while he’d slept, there was just enough left over to keep him from having to think too much. At least if no one stood there and insisted he contemplate reality, or do other unpleasant things.

  Jeff, who was a dark-haired blur at the moment, dressed in blue and green clothing that sparkled enough to indicate it was time for work, cleared his throat. Stuffily, as if they had real jobs or needed to work to pay the rent or earn their food. Neither of those things were true. Worse, they had ten people that worked with them each night, keeping the party going. The truth was that he was barely needed there at all.

  Not for the first time that week, Albert Benoist felt like he was wasting his life.

  Which was ridiculous. After all, how common was it to stay roughly drunk for six months at a time like he’d managed? It was probably horrible for his liver. Doing it didn’t help the rest of his world either. It would, of course, be easy enough for him to slap on a healing amulet and to fix the damage he was doing. Then he wouldn’t be slowly killing himself though, so he’d been putting that kind of sensible action off.

  His roomie, which was how the Austran man referred to himself, shook his head gently. It was just possible to see the blue haired man doing it. Al felt his stomach turn as he tried to open both eyes, attempting to act like a responsible person, if not an actual adult. His parents had made certain he knew he was failing on that score. Every single time they talked, in fact.

  Which was why he’d changed the name on his handheld. Now his name was simply Albert, in the Terry system. The only person with that particular single name out of the million or so people that had that kind of communications device. So, they couldn’t call him any longer. If they wanted to get in touch with him for anything good, they could come and visit. It sounded like a big deal, asking them to go from the Capital of Noram to the freaking Moon, but the transport boxes meant it would be no more than a day trip for them. As it was, he kind of regretted having gotten them a handheld in the first place. It had seemed like a nice present at the time, the things being almost impossible for working people to get on Earth.

  “Time to get up, Mate. I told Serro that we’d get things opened up at six, which means leaving in… Fifteen minutes. She mentioned that it might be good if you drop yourself in the shower before coming in this time? I haven’t wanted to push, but you reek and have for half a week.” The man didn’t seem to have an expression on his painted face.

  That, now that Al could see him, was done in white with two blue stripes running down it over each eye. It wasn’t an inspired look. They were all supposed to do something special that way, every time they worked. Albert could have whined about it being unfair, having not had enough sleep, but the truth was that he clearly was getting up soon anyway. His bladder was kind of insisting on it. To that end, he nodded, at the better looking fellow and gave a halfhearted wave.

  “Everyone’s a critic, aren’t they? Don’t come in to work drunk… Don’t miss half your scheduled days… Wash occasionally.” That last part was a real thing, too. Growing up that had been done out of a wash bucket, most often. A cold one. That worked in the Capital, since it was always hot. In Second City he had to use a shower, which was still strange to him.

  They had warm and even hot water though, and water pouring over him wasn’t the worst thing in the world. A lot of people from Noram just didn't bathe that often. Not the common folk. Not that he was that kind of person. Al, like Jeffery, was a standard human. City tall and all that meant. Largely that he didn't have a real excuse to be shy like the commoners did or to look down on everyone in the world like the high nobles.

  Both traits had worked for him, after moving to Second City. The place had a mix of people from everywhere. Not just on Earth, though that as well. They even had people from the far fleet living there, since the transport system ran out to their ships like it did. Aliens, as much as the idea left him feeling awkward and like the world was too different than when he’d been younger. Not that he was old at all. Only twenty-five.

  His pal, which he had to admit Jeff was, being his best friend and all that, made a face at him. An embarrassed seeming one.

  “I hadn’t wanted… You get me, different customs and all that, ya’know?”

  Rubbing at his face, smacking his lips and less than covertly pulling goop from the corners of his eyes, Albert huffed a bit.

  “I know how to wash up. I’ve just… Been lazy for a while. If the stench gets too bad, just push me toward the water and I’ll get the general idea. Which is what you’re doing now, I suppose. I’ll hurry. Unless I fall down again. Then I’ll just moan piteously for a while.” That wasn’t really happening, even though it should. The hurrying portions.

  The falling down was more than likely. Then, cracking his head was a good excuse to sit in bed and drink all day. Night, as the case might be. Not that it really mattered on the Moon. They lived underground and daylight wasn’t a thing. Not unless someone figured out how to use the surface, finally. He actually had some ideas that way. All he had to do in order to make that work was find the best wizard in the world, trap them in a cage and force them to work for years on end on the idea. Kidnapping was frowned on, pretty much everywhere, so he simply stood up.

  His arms and legs didn’t really want to work right. Mainly because the happy juice hadn’t worn all the way off yet. It hadn’t strictly been alcohol he’d imbibed in the night before, he didn’t think. Jeffery would know, since he’d been the one on the bar. One of the three people doing that. The best bartender in the world, most likely. He could make any kind of drink, including fancy wines and spirits from anyplace that had them. If there was a drug that he couldn’t manufacture, no one had ever asked for it in front of Albert.

  For his own part, Albert mainly danced, alone, and avoided doing anything like cleaning up vomit or making certain that no one ended up having sex in the third dance room. He was supposed to watch for things like that, it being considered the easy work. Scolding people had never really been his thing, though. Not that he was the worst person that had ever worked at The Eternal. It was simply that the others who weren’t up to even his poor standards had been, rather politely, asked to never come back.

  Since no one got paid for what they did, it wasn’t that big of a deal, being let go. Except that it could hurt feelings. Why they hadn’t sent him to the employment board to look for something else to do was kind of simple, really. Albert was almost totally unemployable, in a classic sense.
They all knew it, too. He was too drunk, too skinny and short enough that no one wanted to see his ugly face in the whore house. Not as one of the people there to service others. Plus, to work there you had to be willing to take all comers, for free. That didn't just mean ugly women, either.

  Men and even aliens were possible. He might not have been a good or worthwhile person, but Albert was a product of his upbringing. In the Capital you didn't put anyone down for what they liked to do, but you still had to get married and for most men that meant liking women in bed. Or else. As it was, his own father assumed that Al had left home because he liked men too much that way. He’d hinted at that, several times.

  Looking for a reason that his son didn't have a wife yet. The truth was that he didn’t really know why. He’d just never really clicked with anyone that way. Besides, having someone to care for would be both work, which he was willing enough to do, he supposed, and a responsibility. A thing he needed, but didn’t know how to manage. As it was, he probably wouldn’t have made it to work that day at all if Jeffery hadn’t been there for him. Pushing him to take care of himself and actually do the minimal amount of work that being a member of society required from him.

  Stumbling enough that even he had to figure it was partially sleep and the rest a lazy sort of showmanship, he got himself to the small bathing chamber that was built into the wall. The set up was pretty much like everyone else had in that part of the city. The only really nice thing was that they had a third room, with only the two of them living there. Technically, he could have gotten his own place. Jeffery had figured that Al would starve if he did that though, even if it wasn’t that big of an issue to walk to the food device and hit a few glowing sigils. The problem there was the classic one though.

  Albert would forget to eat if someone didn’t remind him. At least while he was drinking and doing drugs every single day.

  True to his own prediction, he came out of the bathing room half an hour later, having fallen twice, meaning that Jeff had already left, being ready for the day like he was. For all the man was a bartender, he never seemed drunk or so drugged that it affected him at all. Which was strange, since the man drank and took things. He’d done it with Albert, more than once or twice, to be companionable.

  The club was far enough away that walking was going to take about fifteen minutes. It was tempting to use his Tor-shoes and float that way at about forty miles per hour. That kind of thing was dangerous, though. Even if everyone had to have a shield on all the time, by law. Especially if you were still more than a bit tipsy from the day before. Bashing into people was almost certain, given that factor.

  Flying was even worse, of course. Only damned fools did things like that. Everyone else agreed with him on that and didn’t do it indoors in the city. Outside, or in space, sure. Where it was safe, since you were well away from other people. On a planet… Well, the very idea was close to being his worst fear.

  Not stopping to get anything to drink, which he felt mildly proud about for half a moment, as if it wasn’t how most people went to work each day, Al set out at a quick walk. That turned into a slow meander after ten minutes, which meant he was about forty minutes late when he shuffled through the front door of the club. It was a place for dancing, meeting people and watching shows and performances, at times. They had party food and flowing drinks, as well as a nice assortment of drugs that mainly came from Austra or Afrak. At least the models for them did. They made almost everything there, using an incredibly high-end unit that no one else seemed to have access to. Meaning some wizard had made it just for them, for some reason. Noram had some nice wines and even half decent harder spirits. They lost the race in getting people taken out of their own minds though.

  Inside the place, through the purple stone door, a thing that glowed with an internal light, like it was made of glass, since it was decorated with magic, he found there were already people there. A few were dancing, and several just sat at the tables. Most of them were actually working. Being good that way. Unlike him.

  He waved at the glaring woman when she saw him. Her face was all white, except for her bright red lips. She had a stick in her hands, which was waved at him a little. It took him a moment to realize it was a broom and she was indicating he should take it from her, instead of a threat to beat him for being lazy and late. The thing was a festive red and had black bristles on it. Fake things that weren’t made of straw at all.

  “We need to sweep the whole place. Mop too, if you get a chance. We probably won’t, since you got here late. Like always.” There was a new glare for him, which seemed pretty real, until the brunette woman winked at him.

  Instead of getting defensive, he just nodded in her direction.

  “I know, Serro. I know. I should stop being me, get sober and… See, that’s the part that I keep getting stuck on. Do I find a real job someplace? Do something that isn’t… This?” He waved at the place, which really didn’t look that bad. No one tracked mud or dirt in. They just got sick and left their dead skin cells all over the place.

  When they weren’t dumping gallons of drink all over or dropping the pill of the hour on the floor for him to pick up later.

  Rather than get mad at him, even if he sounded a bit surly to his own ears, the manager grunted a bit. The sound didn't match her face. She was cute, without making a big deal about it. Too good for him that way. Which was why he’d never bothered to flirt with her. Even when drunk. It would just annoy her and waste his time.

  Her face seemed off then. Normally she faked a smile during business hours. At least he figured it as being false. Otherwise she was probably nice, or something misplaced like that. Good people shouldn’t be forced out into the world, to his way of thinking. Then they might have to deal with the ones like him. Storm Cloud of the Broom. He would have laughed, but it was a better title than anything he actually had. Than he’d ever been able to earn.

  Serro shook her made up face, then looked away, a bit wistfully.

  “Yeah. That would be good. Finding something… Well, we all feel that one, don’t we? I run a club and this is a good place. We make people happy… which isn’t exactly being a doctor or inventing new things. I don’t have a head for magic, so I do this.”

  That was close to his own story. Though he sighed a bit, considering the reality of it all.

  “I can make wagons. The kind that get pulled by horses? No one needs them now, of course. Everything is built out of magic, even in Noram. It won’t be long anyway, before the one thing I know how to do is useless. I don’t have any magical ability, either. Not even enough to properly dress myself, most days. That one might be me not caring, if you want the truth. There just doesn’t seem to be a reason to try, really.” Looking down at his plain brown clothing, he realized that was probably true. It was what he wore most days. Unlike the others he didn't put on a well made up face, either.

  Serro was all in shining green clothing, with a bright white face. Devon, behind the bar, getting bottle and jars ready for later, was in bright blue and red, with yellow stripes. He was even wearing a big red piece on his nose, along with red circles on his cheeks. A fake seeming curly yellow wig rounded that out.

  Everyone there had something going on, even the dancers. Then, they worked there, or would be doing that, once people showed up. Having people that got out on the floor early tended to get things moving in the right direction. Even he would be spending half the night doing that. Dancing, just to add a body to the flow of things. As far as he knew they didn't have a band in or an acting troop or jugglers. It would be canned music and food. They did serve that, but it wasn’t his portion of things for the most part. He just cleaned, when he wasn’t pretending to be part of the party.

  More to the point, he avoided doing that. Which was poor form on his part. Taking the broom, he started making motions with it. Ones that weren’t doing much. Then, there honestly wasn’t a lot to do that way, since the closing crew had done it all the night before.

  The wo
rds he’d spoken about not being able to dress himself properly got a sympathetic look from the heart faced girl. Woman. She was at least twenty-five, after all. Old enough to get married, if her boyfriend was ever going to step up and get that done. Whoever that was. She’d never spoken to Al about that kind of thing. They mainly talked about what was needed at the club, or at times, his life and what he had planned.

  Her voice was plain though. Normal, for an Austran. The accent was unmistakable. Flat and a bit nasal, with most of the words rounded at the ends.

  “There are jobs though. Real things that need to be done, that no one else is willing to take a shot at. If you’re ever willing to sober up. You should do that. I mean, this isn’t ten years ago or something. Just use a healing amulet for a few minutes and you’ll only have to deal with being without your mental crutch, instead of full-blown addiction. The first step to getting your life back together won’t be that hard, really. You simply have to be willing to take it. I have one, right here. A ticket to a new life, if you just risk taking hold of it.” The glowing amulet, with a shadow of a commoner on it, that being the Wizard Tor Baker back when he was smaller, was pulled from her right-hand pocket. Ready to go into action. It was wiggled back and forth in the air, as if she were playing a game with him. The lilt of her smooth voice did that as well.

  As if he were really going to give up the splendor of ruining his life that easily. He smiled though, since they’d done the same thing almost every time they’d spoken for about two months. It was, he had to think, some kind of project for her. Saving him from his eventual death, as if that wasn’t his plan or something.

  Except, of course, he doubted it would work. If he went on too long, people would realize that he was trying to end his misery and force him to stop. The only way to die, properly speaking, on the Moon and most places on Earth, was to do it suddenly. Well away from other people. Overdosing, or getting alcohol poisoning weren’t going to work for him. Not if he was around other people when it took place. Doing it slowly was starting to show too much, as well.