Read Online REHO: A Science Fiction Thriller (The Hegemon Wars) by D. L. Denham - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: D. L. Denham
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blessing as well as a curse to the port town. Devastation caused by the salt and moisture from the ocean ate away at the buildings like cancer. Sections of the buildings had been cut away, removing the cancerous rust and then covered with either a bolted or welded patch of steel or copper.
Reho was curious about the cast iron pipes. “What are these?” In some areas, more than a dozen pipes ran across a building’s wall.
“Clean water and steam runs through most of them,” Gibson replied. “The smallest ones are gas pipes. Utilities are very competitive here. Each political party runs its own utilities for its constituents. But the main supplier is Torco, and its power comes from there.” Gibson pointed to the coal burning plant that powered the town but left it polluted and dirty.
Reho bent down next to a cracked pipe. Steam spewed from where it had been poorly fixed. Reho dusted off fresh ash from his pants legs. He ran his hands through his hair, shaking out an inch of the fine soot.
“It’s always like that, too,” Gibson said. “There’s no use rubbing it off; the stuff just smears. They’ve been living this way for at least half a century. They have made some impressive innovations, though. But none of this compares to Neopan. Hell, I hate it here. You lose your balance and you’re looking at a couple broken bones and few missing teeth.”
Reho looked up at the ash cloud in the sky. “All for steam.” Ash fell over the town like filthy snowflakes. The farther away from the coast they moved, the worse it became.
They didn’t see anyone moving around until they arrived at the center of town. At first Reho wasn’t sure what he was looking at. His initial thought was that a Hegemon or something else of an alien nature moved toward them on the opposite side of the street. The street was darker, gas lanterns already burning, casting the walkways with eerie shadows. It moved slowly then was joined by something else that stepped out of one of the buildings it passed. Reho could hear their whispering through the curtain of ash. Gibson seemed either unaware or disinterested in the sight.
A lady wearing a bulbous, bell-shaped dress of the same tarnished-copper color as the buildings shook her oval umbrella into the street, creating a tiny whirlwind of ash in front of her. She cackled as she and the other figure disappeared into the building.
Gibson noticed Reho staring as they passed the doorway through which the lady had disappeared.
“They’re human,” he said. “Just . . . eccentric.”
Another door opened, this time closer to them. A tall figure in a black suit and white ruffled shirt stepped out onto the street and turned in their direction. He held a cane but no umbrella; instead, his face was hidden behind a thick, black, copper mask with a large canister attached to one side. His voice was muffled as he passed them, but his words were clear.
“Good day, gentlemen,” he said in a strange accent. Reho noticed his hands, encased in bright gloves with an intricate flower design, one he recognized from his mother’s garden. American dogwood.
Gibson nodded as they continued past the man.
“Some have breathed the ash for so long that it’s killing them,” Gibson said, responding to Reho’s intense gaze at the man’s mask.
Suddenly, Reho heard a singular singsong voice traveling through the streets.
They rounded the corner to find a young boy standing on a wooden box, a two-sided billboard hanging around his neck.
“Mother nature, NOT Father Science! ” the boy bellowed into the ridiculously large copper megaphone. The front of his sign read: Death to Industrialists! and Monet NOT Decay! On the boy’s back, a painting of a woman and young boy stared at Reho and Gibson, the woman holding an umbrella. Their amusement faded into the blues and greens of the paint that contrasted everything Reho had seen in Darksteam. As if on cue, ash fell.
“What is going on here?” Reho muttered as
Reho was curious about the cast iron pipes. “What are these?” In some areas, more than a dozen pipes ran across a building’s wall.
“Clean water and steam runs through most of them,” Gibson replied. “The smallest ones are gas pipes. Utilities are very competitive here. Each political party runs its own utilities for its constituents. But the main supplier is Torco, and its power comes from there.” Gibson pointed to the coal burning plant that powered the town but left it polluted and dirty.
Reho bent down next to a cracked pipe. Steam spewed from where it had been poorly fixed. Reho dusted off fresh ash from his pants legs. He ran his hands through his hair, shaking out an inch of the fine soot.
“It’s always like that, too,” Gibson said. “There’s no use rubbing it off; the stuff just smears. They’ve been living this way for at least half a century. They have made some impressive innovations, though. But none of this compares to Neopan. Hell, I hate it here. You lose your balance and you’re looking at a couple broken bones and few missing teeth.”
Reho looked up at the ash cloud in the sky. “All for steam.” Ash fell over the town like filthy snowflakes. The farther away from the coast they moved, the worse it became.
They didn’t see anyone moving around until they arrived at the center of town. At first Reho wasn’t sure what he was looking at. His initial thought was that a Hegemon or something else of an alien nature moved toward them on the opposite side of the street. The street was darker, gas lanterns already burning, casting the walkways with eerie shadows. It moved slowly then was joined by something else that stepped out of one of the buildings it passed. Reho could hear their whispering through the curtain of ash. Gibson seemed either unaware or disinterested in the sight.
A lady wearing a bulbous, bell-shaped dress of the same tarnished-copper color as the buildings shook her oval umbrella into the street, creating a tiny whirlwind of ash in front of her. She cackled as she and the other figure disappeared into the building.
Gibson noticed Reho staring as they passed the doorway through which the lady had disappeared.
“They’re human,” he said. “Just . . . eccentric.”
Another door opened, this time closer to them. A tall figure in a black suit and white ruffled shirt stepped out onto the street and turned in their direction. He held a cane but no umbrella; instead, his face was hidden behind a thick, black, copper mask with a large canister attached to one side. His voice was muffled as he passed them, but his words were clear.
“Good day, gentlemen,” he said in a strange accent. Reho noticed his hands, encased in bright gloves with an intricate flower design, one he recognized from his mother’s garden. American dogwood.
Gibson nodded as they continued past the man.
“Some have breathed the ash for so long that it’s killing them,” Gibson said, responding to Reho’s intense gaze at the man’s mask.
Suddenly, Reho heard a singular singsong voice traveling through the streets.
They rounded the corner to find a young boy standing on a wooden box, a two-sided billboard hanging around his neck.
“Mother nature, NOT Father Science! ” the boy bellowed into the ridiculously large copper megaphone. The front of his sign read: Death to Industrialists! and Monet NOT Decay! On the boy’s back, a painting of a woman and young boy stared at Reho and Gibson, the woman holding an umbrella. Their amusement faded into the blues and greens of the paint that contrasted everything Reho had seen in Darksteam. As if on cue, ash fell.
“What is going on here?” Reho muttered as
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