The telldron slid slowy into the peripheral terminal at Rsola. Kwastura had been awake for 2 hures watching the dusted pink sun rise over the flat, ashen plains expanding over the horizon. Through the window he saw the orruminae columns and the grey platform speeding closer and then slowing down as the platform brakes pushed against the belly of the craft, after which the vehicle came to a halt in precisely 23 seconds.
He stepped out of the telldron and covered his eyes with a shade visor to block out the sun staring him directly in the face. He saw throngs of travelers new to the city and Rsolans returing from distant voyages. The foreigners were the majority and were obvious outsiders once they would reach the interior of the city, donning humble countrymen garbs as Kwatsura wore: Eisen leather coats, soiled and dull green and red mufflers, shade goggles or visors, water and oil canteens strewn over a shoulder, grey synthetic yarn pants littered with patches and holes, oily black boots.
The Rsolan, however, would be the norm, wearing elegant reflective white carapaces, segmented in shards like some majestic armor, jade ornaments plastered in pitch black hair, brilliant mother of pearl shell plates extending from temples and covering the cheekbones; and the Rsolan elders preferred straight white silky gowns with an elongated tails dragging behind a foot or a half. They maintained callous and stern faces, sometimes nodding their crown repetitiously forward and backward while clasping pink, white, or orchid boxes filled with ceremonial soaps and ointments of their chosen brand. They walked at congruent paces away from the telldron platform hugging the plains and toward the smooth white ivrosian steps leading high up to the Rsola’s main gateway.
Rsola and its shell white ivrosian towers piercing a yellow or occasionally pink haze rising from the interior. It appeared a massive, organic shell bubbling upwards from the ground. Near the edge of the platform 23 travelers were gathered facing the soft grey stretch of land. Some were perching low like birds and others standing gazing out towards the glowing earth focusing on some distant point with a set of binoculars. Kwatsura noticed a few of them speaking in a odd dialect he was only vaguely familiar with. Probably Yreskian or some likes, he thought, noticing the drawn out “oooo” and “ehhhh” sounds repeated in the ongoing conversations. He approached them from behind, curious as to what they were gazing at and most likely discussing. He had some time to kill, 2 hures, before going through customs a Rsola and wanted to learn some more about Yresk, a city he had yet to visit and account on infrastructures to transmit back to the Kforretc library.
The platform was naked at the sides with no rail and although it stood 90 feet above the plains, an only slightly steep hill of black volcanic rock on both sides of the platform protected the clumsy or intoxicated visitor from a perilous fall.
Yous from Yresk?, Kwastura asked from behind in a loud voice to get the ring leaders attention. The ring leader was silent, staring through the binoculars and scratching the back of his neck. A moment elapsed and then he answered Kwastura without turning around or any slight gesture:
Yooooo.
Ha, Definitely from Yresk then eh, Kwastura laughed and almost said ”yoooo” as well, but shied in fear that the saying might strike them as pure mockery. A short, rather fat Yreskian at the far left stood up from his perch and approached Kwastura. The man was grinning with a glowing blue csoma cigar pinched between his front teeth. Yoooo, wes from Yresk meeehht. Some grundas we are. He spoke in a glowing voice and clapped Kwastura on the back with an open palm. Kwatsura smiled to acknowledge the friendly gesture.
Grundas eh. Your trade?
Ooooo, weehhr jooost some beeehlders. The fat man took a long breath of smoke from the cigar and breathed out the blue vapors which quickly dispersed in the strong winds blowing across the plains. And yeeehhhr trade meehhhht?
Chronologist. Infrastructure and energy mostly. Here in Rsola second time. Just collecting notes on recent orruminae installments, a new city telldron line. You crowd here for building assignment?
Oooo, nooo. Just a veeehhcehhhtion.
Chrooonooolgist! Another Yreskian, standing immediately next to where the fat man was perched just before, shouted in a laughing voice. Ooolweehhhs travling looon. Loooners. Hahahha.
The group unanimously broke out in laughter and muffled voices: Chrooonoooligist, Loooooner. Kwatsura smiled and then moved his gaze out towards the horizon noticing a tiny puff of grey dust rising slowly from the ashen desert floor. It wasn’t discernible to the naked eye, but he calculated it to be one or a small group (maybe two or three) motorbikes.
Acquaintance approaching on bike?, Kwatsura asked the short fat man who was back to puffing his cigar.
Yoooo. Feckling idiot gets droonk right befoooor wes leavin. Doesn’t feel gooood to ride teeehhhhdrooon. Bastard was tooooo seehhhck vooomiting teh cehrryy his lotment oof roocks up. So he takes the journey on bike reckon about 5 hures ago. He’s coming. He’s coming. Maybe another 3 hures, loooooks of ehhht.
From Yresk eh, that’s good little trek. Even 8 hures is impressive. Must be going fast.
Wehhhlll. Doooon’t know zactly when he left really. Wehhh just prooomised wes waits till arrives and gooo throoo customes gathered. Say boy, favour of yooo can ehhh?
The fat man lowered his voice to a near silent mumble with this last question.
Sure, if I can help.
Shut up Blern! Another man from the group who was standing next to the ring leader turned around and pushed Blern back a foot forcefully with his left hand. Blern let out a deep laugh from his belly and went back to his crow stoop by the edge, smoking his cigar and watching his distant friend’s advancements across the soft ashen floor of the barren earth surrounding Rsola.
Blern can hardly speak Rtinish with that horrible Yreskian accent. Stupid doff. Ehhh. Pologies, really.
The man who now engaged Kwatsura was tall and thin, with sunken cheeks bloodshot a deep plum with smalls dots and lines of crimson, popped blood vessels. He pulled a csoma stick from his coat pocket and lit the end glowing blue with his ring torch. His eyes were sunk so deep into their sockets it was hard to discern their color.
Name’s Jsern. Csoma? Jsern gestured to Kwatsura moving his left hand halfway back to the coat’s inner chest pocket.
Mines Kwatsura. And no thanks, carry me own. And might loose myself if I do now. Only seventh time to Rsola, really. And though last was really only 137 duns ago, the city is changing too fast you know? Here to survey a new infrastructure: mini telldron spiral connecting the main commercial districts, say they build this one in only 73 duns. Damn, you know, not to be controversial or nothing, but I just can’t believe it. Lot of energy in this one.
Freckling seriously? Jsern asked or stated, his tone utterly ambiguous. Perhaps concern was the only hint of emotion in his voice. He looked down to the platform and took a prolonged drag from the stick, sipped at the egg shell smoke from the end, and released a thin stream of smoke slowly from his pursed lips, producing a thin white line, the wind blowing parallel to his face.
Both of the men turned back and watched the plain and the sun now growing bright white emerging from his veil of dust.
After 3 minutes Jsern laughed. Damn, tell you what Blern bout to ask. Might think it funny you know. I’ve been to Rsola three times you know. But these doffs, sand trash, you know. Never. Blern specially thinks you know if they can make tropsas here, telling me I’m responsible for scouting.
The two men erupt into unanimous laughter.
Kwastooora, brother. You know these Rsola tamarins and their infinitely tight little clams. No wonder the freckling city looks like shell skin, because the walls are about as close to that as you can get. Man I have tried so much to feck in this town, but you cannot with these Rsola tamarins.
Rsolan woman Roslan Man. As the proverb goes.
Sorry chronologist. Not too keen on proverbs. Jest a builder, you know.
Right, well it might be a local saying, not sure. I’m not really your regular chronologist you know, whatever regular means.
Why not? Eh? Got saying in Yreskian goes: One chronologist, 51 cities, 1 tropsa. See more books and Kforretc transmissions than clams, eh? No just kidding, don’t think it’s that far true. So how many you got?
Clams or tropsas?
Aha! Funny little tamarin sheit! Tropsas course.
I’ve recorded 1493 officially, but I guess there are more accounting for fast hrot lodgings when the aaku is recharging. I don’t know, I don’t really practice pure rote accounting like some chronologists do. Just kind of follow thoughts and assignments at whim really.
Aaku, aauku! You snebby little bird sheits. Precise and official with every sheit you pass. Even write queer words with queerer symbols on notes. Seriously, I likes you Kwatsura. A chronologist that carries his own csoma, gets clam like a horny lil’ mut. Haha, hard to believe, honestly.
Yes, I am serious in my craft though. I accounted the majority of infrastructure bits to the Kforretc libraries amongst my grundas.
Right, you’re the man to talk to brother. A chronologist specializing in infrastructure eh? Installments and that sheit? Would like to really ask you a favor you know. Looking for some building ops in some place outside of Yresk where we can hit some hrots with nice clams like you’d find in Rsola, but not so tricky to catch. Snebby lil’ tamarins here.
What type of building do you do?
Ah, you know. Typical labor jobs, mostly telldron towers.
Any high risers?
Eh, no, low and mid risers. Intraurban loops, you know.
Well if you want a really to make a tropsa outside of Yresk, I’d recommend Fgorn really. You know it?
Yeah, south from Yresk. Never been able to go, being an expensive trip up the mountains. Telldron starts on an extreme high tower way to the east in Dkern. And Dkern is sheit to get too on bike … no telldron route there. If I could get decent work to make it there, I’d go.
Kwastura of course already knew these details well. He knew all the current telldron installments and the intercity courses; from what city to another you’d travel by bike, or even hike if the terrain was too treacherous for land vehicles.
I can get you work in Fgorn. I’ll be there in 132 duns if I continue to meet schedule. I’ll be there is to survey some telldron tower installments and share some notes with an old grunda.
Great, meht. Don’t worry about these doffs if you can’t find more than one or two. Just this elder doff here, the ringer.
Jsern gestured towards the ring leader, pointing with his left shoulder.
Right, of course. Then I’ll get your Kforretc bit code, I guess.
Yeah sure.
Kwatsura pulled the アーク from his coat pocket and donned it on left ring finger. He looked down waiting for the blue arc to glow bright and then held the back of his hand towards Jsern’s face. Jsern stood there puffing the remaining blue embers from his csoma stick, almost entirely aloof to the shining blue ring presented to him. Kwatsura realized Jsern hadn’t met any chronologists in some time at least.
Your bit code. The eye.
Oh bird sheits. Yes. Sorry mehts, not a regular with your type.
Jsern leaned down towards the アーク and pulled his left eyelid down to a reveal a naked half eyeball infused with blue light. The light intensified and died down after capturing Jsern’s iris.
Well Jsern, it was good meeting you. I’ve only about an hure now to meet a liaison in Rsola center. I’ll be going through customs now. Good Luck.
Yeah, too you as well. Let me know if you can crack open a clam in this town you little bird sheit. Fecking 1000 or so tropsas says.
Jsern nodded to Kwastura who had already turned around, advancing along the grey platform towards the the ivrosian steps which were now clear of the busy throng from just an hure before. 723 feet at the top of the stairs waited the gateway to Rsola marked by its insignia. 京.
