Silver Sahara

Chapter 9: The Golden City

"BUY ME!" The city roars, from within its dense soot clouds to the thick sludge drained into the sea. The shifting mass of industry is built from the process of product. From creation to sale. A beast of wealth fashioned from shimmering stone. The people and their money its blood, the thick paved roads its veins, and the palpating fluxes of supply and demand its heart. Nearly no corner is safe from the call of purchase. Below within the sparsely used metro of the old city or within the sky ample with airships, the city engraves, if not outright builds products into its very being. Foundations of thick programmable polymer able to display the latest clothes on the market and if left off simply reflect the city—passively catching another commodity. The bus stops were almost tiny hamlets of purchase: vending machines, coded seats, and walls designed to tap into a user's net use. Even the deceptively organic instances within the city can list or present a viewer with options of liquor— a common need for passersby left to primitive forms of travel. The "trees" decoratively (and strategically) planted beside the streets creates no clutter or polluting pollen. Lingering besides its roots for a short time, the semi-synthetic mass manifests into a statue featuring products and prices based upon the studied mannerisms, heart rate, and tone of the nearest customer. Innovation and ambition cultivate within cities— here upon the ever watching street of Krowns that truth settles deep into the very fibers of the golden city built beside the Gold Coast. Amongst the un-uniform architecture as pretty as it is grand and efficient, one's own breath can betray them. Ensnaring them within a psychological trap engineered through the collective knowledge assembled by long dead researchers over 300 hundred years ago. Time marches and cities grow. Knowledge is acquired and knowledge is lost— the city yet feels to the millions of people acting as its blood to be ancient and eternal. A constant of their lives, the beast assimilates even outsiders to such a thought. Despite being, as it is now, only 23 years old.

"This damn thing." Kiera grunts while haphazardly typing on the car's mounted computer.

Car's honk upon suffering from Kiera's abrupt braking and sudden lane changes.

"Would you like me to give you directions?" Rich nervously asks. The muffled angry yelling of a driver can be slightly heard.

Kieara jumps back into her seat. "Direct away, passenger princess. I'm just mad I can't play music." Kiera pushes the computer away in defeat.

Rich visualizes the civil layout. Every street name and shop from Baylor to the shore. "Right on this turn." Rich points while his other hand braces for the impending turn. "You want me to play music?"

Kiera wipes the HUMVEE around a corner, nearly causing the entire thing to fall to one side. "If playing music implies you singing to me... absolutely not."

Rich looks down somberly while kicking his feet. "Are you and Jay both organic?" Rich suddenly asks.

"Yup. Though some day I'm gonna replace a hand with a spindle-work. Something to help master my craft." Kiera fiendishly smiles.

"No alterations, and both of you drive so... carefree." Rich contemplates rephrasing his sentence.

"Blood doesn't run long; the heart pumps anyway." Kiera replies as if the phrase is commonly used.

Rich gives a confused expression. He knows it's a metaphor but fails at deciphering its meaning.

Kiera glances over. "An expression Uncle uses. Something he and his brother would say to each other." Kiera smiles warmly as if reminiscing.

"Live fast and die in glory? My father told me soldiers would quote that from the propaganda during the war."

Kiera nods. "No. It was different. Uncle told me they would say it as kids too. I think it means life moves as fast as you make it. Inspired by some ancient quote."