[ Chapter One: Cold Fish Sandwich ]
The hum of the transport chutes across the balcony, the whirr and clank of the Vahki patrols down the street, the roar of airship engines overhead. Morning in Le-Metru again.
Sunlight crept through slotted blinds, glimmering over widgets and broken masks scattered across the floor. Kakaru mumbled as the light stung his eyes and begrudgingly pulled his feet from the covers. He adjusted his green Kakama and idly kicked a gear across the room, watching it spiral in on itself. Wub wub wub wubwubwubwubwubbbbb. His cold fingers gripped the edge of the bed as he sat up and gazed around the room, letting his eyes focus. Chiseled tablets of outdated prophecies, maps of the chute systems and lists of black-market shops lined the walls in disarray. Copies of his papers from the Ga-Metru college were scattered across the table in the corner, pinned down by empty mugs and dead lightstones. He'd only failed one class last semester on Practicality versus Aesthetics in Ga-Metruian Architecture because he thought the current transport system could have been more effective and he wrote a strongly-worded thesis saying just that. The door to his left was barred by a thick metal pipe, a practice he picked up to keep the Vahki patrols from going through his room while he was away.
Kakaru stood up, bracing himself against the desk to keep from falling over. He blinked several times and reluctantly opened the blinds, setting the moody room ablaze with white light. He walked to the freezer and pulled out a cold sandwich from four days ago. As he broke off a small portion to munch on he stared out the window at the chutes running large cargo crates. Huh. Large, industrial, molten protodermis spill marks, heavy soot, travelling east on chute five from the lower levels, tagged with inspection papers from Onu-Metru. That means it's most likely mining tools being sent to the forges for repairs. Nothing of value.
Kakaru finished off his sandwich and snatched a paper from the wall, checking his references for the day. One functional mask of illusion with mottled yellow-black design, to be traded to a crafter in southern Ga-Metru. Mahi dung, the closer to the Coliseum the worse Vahki patrols got. That one would be hard. Next item. Three small refined protodemis obelisks, lifted from a market stall in the City of the Carvers, to be resold to a collector not two kio away by the Atrium. That one he could hit on his way out, easy.
And... that was it? Kakaru shrugged. He could have sworn he managed to haul away more than that last time. Then again, he was risking a lot in the first place. There had been several threats against Turaga Dume by an unknown Matoran faction and the Vahki had doubled their efforts to find them after an actual assassination attempt during a Grand Kolhii match. Kakaru smirked when he thought about it. He had nothing against Dume, but one had to admire the guts of those guys to try taking out the Elder in broad daylight during a public event.
Kakaru folded the list and tucked it under a stone tablet. He opened the front door, latched a small wire to the inside, and shut it again as he walked out, pulling the string taut. If anyone tried forcing their way in to confiscate evidence that he was a petty thief, they'd be cremated by six pounds of volatile protodermis before their hands left the knob. Maybe a little extreme, but it was better than being caught. The law was everything in this city.
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Edited by Kakaru, Feb 17 2013 - 09:35 PM.