[b]Kangchai[/b]

The late morning sunlight slipped down the side of the crater. Basking over the exposed rock. Painting out the heavy orange and red hues in the vibrant heady rock face. It had taken no human measure to craft it. It took no human mining to cut the stone clear to the soupy, muddy clay base of the immense cauldron. As sheer as any perfect cliff-face could be. As smooth the pipe's that wound up the stone, hanging to the granite and limestone surface like steel vines.

In the falling warmth of the growing afternoon the steel took on the same soft orange glow as the rest of the crater did. It was as if morning light was dawning on the city, though in reality it had been awake for hours. It would be just that much of it would need be in the welcoming warmth of the sunlight for hours yet to come. It had yet to clear the landing strips, the farms, and the highland jungles that hugged around the sinkhole. It had yet to clear the angles needed to cast its breath to the deepest pits of the Lower Quarter, where the pumps chugged to feed and water the scattered city above. It had yet to kiss even the poor, who lingered above the Batmen.

But it had fallen into the highest mansions for sure.

Spilling across the floor the sun brought warm shades to the pink and swirled whites of the stone floor. The shining clarity bringing to the surface the fossilized alien life of an ancient Brahma. Strange ferns, ancient crustacean-like insects. Life the sink hole had not seen for generations, or centuries. Thousands even, if geology was to suggest anything.

But the trapped fossils had lust the luster of new, even upon the scientific community. They had worked it over, gazed over the alien biology like bewildered children before becoming bored and leaving. And the master of the house, he already knew every bone, every shell, and every leaf to heart. His floor was nothing new to him. It was polished, it was cleaned, and it shone where he had not covered it. It was all he could ask for from it these days. Because for him, he was a banker. Not a scientist. There was no value in fossils. Not unless it burned. But humanity had grown too far passed that for oil to be of value.

The long isolation of their species from the hydrocarbon had only ensured independence from it. They pursued, perfected, and grew their own plastics. From soy and on. Centuries ago they perfected independence and built themselves onwards. The departure from primitive hydrocarbons was ancient history. But there was one history that remained unchanged, refusing to leave: radioactivity. That was the light in the past that heralded the future. It was still that today. It may have changed, but there was still demand.

From the floor the rock climbed up the wall. The mansion was in itself all one piece, for the most part. Carved from the stone in the cliff side and set high as to over-look the entire city below. Its open-air, iron-grated windows breathed with the fresh air that swept down into the pit and drove over the rock face and into the caves like a refreshing bath. The sounds of inter-city travel washing in with the air. The light distant hum of engines almost a mile away reminded the home-owner that the city was alive. It breathed.

Throngs of civilian and industrial coaches zipped through the wide opening of the Kangchai crater like busy bees. Between them the military and security craft wove eloquently through like guardian drones, or peering hornets leaving the hive for greater missions above. There was little human interference here, it was doubtful many did not know how to drive. Centuries of AI advancement and computer design had created the parameters perfect for this sort of business. And most of it was routine, carved by a computer in straight lines that never intersected, only over lapped.

The invisible lower quarters was another story. Where the Pups flew, and hang gliders were the norm.

The master of the house, Mobuntui Hou had made it habit to count the city. If not in the morning, certainly when he found the time.

A man that might be described in earlier times as a senior was no frail man. He stood imposing, with a thick lion's mane of a beard and an abrasive curling head of hair as gray as aluminum. He exercised regularly, which added to his threatening physique. Heavy muscles bulged under dark, black, leathery skin.

As he stretched to his sides he looked out through his the panoramic window to the city. One hundred forty-five type IV cruiser drones... One hundred forty-six. He twisted himself to the side at each regularly passing drone. No matter how near or how distant. An inactive mind was just as deadly as an inactive body. And he needed the capabilities. Those faculties were important.

At any point of the city, one man could theoretically look out and see the whole of the city laid out before him on the canvas of rock. The sinkhole was circular, almost perfectly so; as nature would allow. Built along the edges and in the caves, the cracks, and crevices that wrapped around the edge was Kangchai itself. Gently slopped, sweeping architecture. Carved all into the rock. Softly swept out and rising buttresses and awnings made the scene all along the towering cliff-side in thousands, millions of dotted homes, clustered in collective neighborhoods; many almost self-sufficient in a sense.

The city would have been an experiment in urban design in some ancient time. If only man had discovered such places on their legendary, lost, home world. But Hou could not claim to remember. He knew Earth. Something in him recalled fragrant memories of succulent and fresh fit-fit in the mountains of Central China.

But being an exile and a refugee in the fringes of humanity's own control had begun to supplant itself, and it did not frighten him. Earth was gone now, smoke and fire and debris. There was no use in the past. Now was the now, the important present. Now would always be now, and the future. Prepare for the future, by building the now. Crying over the past does not build the now.

Behind him a holographic projection hung out from the wall. Filling out into the 3-d space a number of swirling graphs, charts, and other mundane drivel that would fill the rest of his day and help keep out the lurking monster of dementia. But Hou knew the information too well, Ever sense the arrival of Earth's refugees the growth of the colonial economy had been climbing. Men and women fresh from Earth trying to regain the life they had and cities swelling to populations into the millions. And as humanity's population expanded from then, so did the borders of the safe zone. Whether national or private, there was an interest to war with the natural hostilities beyond the designated safe-zone.

For years the Director's Board has pointed to the data with mixed feelings. The rapid climb upwards over the past sixty years was indeed booming. But they feared the sustainability. How hard the crash would effect them was something even the simulations could not give concrete predictions for. The sense of fear for the unknown economic future was a lingering specter in the back of their minds. It was as if they were trying to peer into the computer-less future. But the future glared back. To them they sat too uncomfortably at the edge of a rapid crash. And for the executive officers, it was a duty paid to everyone to maintain a status quo. The growth and inflation was good, but it needed to be controlled. Thundering deflation was worse.

The demand was there. The trivial demands of the civilian population was still there. The militarized pursuits of the IU - as much of a removed institute as they've become - and the safety of the Safe Zone was paramount and produced the biggest gains. And along those gains a large turn over. Being eaten was likely, man and all, and it perhaps presented the most stable point in Brahma's economy. Men will always be dying there and there will always need to be men to fill the ranks, and new gear to print for them.

There was a light electrical buzz. With a slow stop Mobuntui Hou ceased his exercise. “Come in.” he said, his voice booming. It was distinctly Africa, unlike his face; a father's gift to a son.

With a soft sigh the door opened, gliding into the wall as it let in a tall slender figure, dressed neatly in a lean black suit, black tie, white shirt. The man, young, tall, and lean was considerably generic in his appearance. He had nothing about him in his Asiatic features to differentiate him from any other man.

He looked over to Hou and bowed cordially, stepping aside to let in a second man. Stouter, wider. Skin a light coffee tinge. “Good afternoon.” the new man said, bowing. He was subtly Asian in appearance. Yet his tone and growing, thin fro suggested something of African heritage, much lighter than Hou's own.

“Hua Lefen.” Hou greeted, nodding. He said it toneless and casually. “How is your afternoon?”

“My afternoon is fine.” Lefen said, walking across the room. It was a wide open space, more a hall than anything. From floor to ceiling it was perhaps two stories high, all carved of the same marble and limestone as the cliff. Banners and portraits adorned the warm-toned ceiling and walls, as Earthly plants sat complacent at regular spaces. Large thick African ferns and bright flowers rescued from China. Even the Earth's plants would live with humanity on a foreign world.

“The Director Board is looking forward to a meeting though.” Lefen said, “I don't expect they'll want to talk about much. Not anything you don't get fed regularly in any case.” the man added, nodding to the data feed by the wall.

“Of course not.” Hou grumbled, “What else is there in any case? How much more we should act out on securing our mining rights? They know as well as I do that actually trying to get on our property is difficult.”

“I know as well as the rest of them know.” Lefen laughed, “But I got a message from the Cao Mi that might provide an effective reason to do it. I suppose it'll be worth getting the full briefing to bring the board together.”

“I don't think I read it.” Hou said, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“He suggests we act on what claims we can, if only to use something up. He believes it might be enough for short-term local promotion.”

“Short-term isn't the best term. It'll just fall again in short order as soon as we're done or tired.” Mubuntui grumbled, “Is that it?”

“Probably. I don't know.” Lefen shrugged, walking to the window.

In the distance on the far side of the crater stood The Pagoda. A stacked nine-layer tower, built of stone and glass and polished steel that glowed even in the absence of sunlight. Or so it seemed. The administrative heart of Kangchai, towering up over the rock-face from the mid-level to nearly level with Mobuntui Hou's home.

“Very well, we'll humor the fool.” he said.