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Alien Bet & Invasion of the Lake Puppets | Ch. 3 - The City Hall
🕑 Added 2024-08-21 18:03:24 +0000 UTCJoey scanned the passersby. Some people looked scared but didn’t evoke any feelings of alertness in him. Others tried to discreetly look away, embarrassed by the officer’s studying gaze. Others passed by and ignored him as if he were invisible.
He picked out those from among the crowd that made him feel alert and imprinted their faces in his memory. If he saw them again, he would recognize them.
How he wished he could flip a switch to turn his hypervigilance off. He couldn’t help it. Since his father died, his nerves were stretched taut, and his senses were always on alert. It was exhausting.
Joey glanced at his wristwatch. It had taken him less than an hour to get here. He spared a look at the city wall behind him, with white marble imperial-looking columns.
A gurgling noise could be heard from around the corner. It was a rumbling, mechanical sound. It sounded as if the whole city had just burped from indigestion. The concept wasn’t too far-fetched. The problems that would result from this catastrophe would turn everyone’s stomach.
As the neighing of horses and the curious glances from transients provided further hints at the commissioner’s arrival, Joey performed his final checks to ensure his uniform was impeccable. Around the corner came Rhino II with the commissioner’s expressionless face behind the wheel.
As he neatly parked behind Rhino I, Joey stood at attention. Looks mattered here. The buzz that both Rhinos would cause was probably reason enough to attract the curiosity of journalists who would converge to the city hall as sharks drawn by blood.
Joey saluted, and the commissioner saluted back.
“Constable.”
“Commissioner.”
Both walked side by side.
“Commissioner, was deploying both rhinos wise? The journalists will figure out something is wrong.”
“Although our goal is discretion, here speed was more important.” After a few seconds, he added, “Or maybe you’re right. I panicked. We shouldn’t have brought the rhinos.”
Joey gulped. He’d never seen his commissioner so nervous. They silently climbed up the steps. It was time to see how bad things were.
*
“Your credentials, sir,” asked a guard in metal armor at the entrance of the oil market. Geoffrey obliged, showing his license. The guard studied the document attentively. “Please, come right this way.”
The guard led Geoffrey onto a small side room, one of many like it, and began searching him. After ensuring that Geoffrey carried no weapons, the guard handed him a hooded cloak. “Put it on, sir.”
Geoffrey did, and at the guard’s beckoning, he covered his face with a hood. The guard left, and Geoffrey followed him through a complex labyrinth of corridors. Geoffrey had always marveled at how the guards knew where they were going. Occasionally, he saw another merchant following a guard at an intersection.
Coming to buy oil was almost like attending an eerie funeral. Many times, merchants had nightmares about the specters of the auction house.
The guard finally made it to the boxed chamber door. Other guests entered the neighboring chambers, but Geoffrey was clueless as to their identity. He saw the number 265 on the door, and went in. He’d been assigned the boxed seat on the structure’s third floor. Looking down, he had a clear view of the podium and the gigantic board.
The auction house was built as if it were an opera house or a theater, with one difference: all seats were boxed. Geoffrey could see the podium where the auctioneer would stand, but none of his neighbors. Geoffrey searched the notice board for the day’s prices of sirenia. The price was still stable at 94 crowns.
Geoffrey waited for the auction to begin while sitting on a red velvet cushioned seat. He grimaced as he studied the lavish furniture around him. Calculating the obscene amount of money the auction house had spent in furbishing these boxes alone left a sour taste in his mouth. For them to be able to afford this kind of expenditure while keeping only such a small percentage of the fuel sales gave wings to one’s imagination. Just how much money went through the oil market every year?
The auctioneer arrived at the podium and gathered his notes of the day’s listings. The amphitheater was utterly silent, and the auctioneer’s voice resounded pleasantly and clearly in the structure. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the oil market. We have a fine lot to present to you today, a wonderful lot indeed. We have over two thousand sirenia barrels. Don’t be shy. Don’t be shy!
“Let’s start with the first lot. Thirty barrels of sirenia, refined right here, in our Grassum Lake by Wilson & Wilson. We’ll start at the price of ninety-five crowns per barrel. Who gives ninety-three? The gentleman from box 176. Who gives ninety-four? Can I get ninety-five? Thank you kindly, mister. Who gives ninety-six? Ninety-six anyone? Going once. Going twice.”
Geoffrey raised his plaque.
“The gentleman right there. Going once. Going twice. Sold! Sold to the gentleman with number 265. The next lot is for a hundred barrels from the Silver Ranch. We will start this lot with ninety-five crowns as well. Who gives ninety-five? The gentleman right there. Who gives ninety-six? The gentleman down here. Who gives ninety-seven? Going once, going twice.”
Geoffrey raised his plaque again.
“Ninety-seven to the gentleman. Going once. Going twice. Sold! Sold to Mr. 265.”
The auction went on. The competition became fiercer, but Geoffrey didn’t even blink as he kept bidding. Soon, the other merchants just gave up on competing altogether. Geoffrey’s buying frenzy was driving up the price of the barrel for the day.
Geoffrey was sure that some more sensitive investors could feel something was off. They were probably wondering whether they should try to buy the oil despite the ludicrous inflation. Still, he doubted that anyone had the imagination required even to begin to suspect what was happening lakeside.
New Lisbon had maintained a steady supply of sirenia for two centuries. There were always more than enough barrels. No one wanted to buy oil at an above-market price. There would be more the next day. There always was.
“Mr. 265 is unstoppable. One hundred barrels of oil sold at 130 crowns apiece. Oh my. This hasn’t happened in a while,” said the auctioneer. A mix of disbelief and something Geoffrey thought was embarrassment could be heard in his voice. “We are sold out. This is a fine day for the house! Thank you, Mr. 265.”
Geoffrey stood corrected. He had mistaken the auctioneer’s emotion for embarrassment, but it was regret at not having more sirenia in stock to sell. The auctioneer probably received a commission on the sales. “Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll have another auction tomorrow at the same time.”
Geoffrey stood up and approached the door. He knocked twice, signaling the guardsman that he wanted to leave. He pulled the hood over his head, hiding his face. The door was open shortly after, and turning into an anonymous specter again, he followed the guard toward the cashier.
*
The mayor paced in the office as he spoke in a nervous tone. “It’s a disaster! A catastrophe!”
Whenever Joey saw the mayor speaking in public, he seemed so sure of himself, but now he looked like a frantic child. Fabius, however, showed his worth as a police commissioner. After overcoming the initial shock at the news, he now managed to remain still and unperturbed as a statue. Even though Joey tried to follow his good example, he couldn’t stop tapping his foot nervously or fidgeting with his hands.
The mayor turned to the commissioner. “The ranchers are panicking, Fabius! The city hall guards have their hands full. Please send some officers here to assist us.”
“Yes, Mr. Mayor.”
“Sir, Dr. Link and Professor Norris are here,” interrupted a secretary who knocked at the door.
“Good! Finally, someone who can explain to me what’s happening! Have them come in, please.”
The secretary opened the door and let two aged men in. One was tall, and his hair was a mix of grey and golden. He wore a dark brown shirt and a pair of beige trousers. He was almost as tall as Fabius. Even though he was an academic, he still had tanned skin and looked lean and outdoorsy.
The other guest was almost half as tall. He looked even more scholarly with his plaid blazer and thick glasses. His bald head gave Joey the impression that his brain was bigger than average.
The mayor shook hands with the two academics. “Gentlemen, please have a seat. This is Commissioner Fabius and Constable Joey. These are Dr. Link, a biologist specializing in Lake Grassum, and Professor Norris, a well-respected economy professor at Orca University. They are both Science Academy nominees.”
“Good morning, Mr. Mayor. Commissioner. Constable,” Dr. Link greeted in a pleasant tenor.
“Good morning,” Professor Norris said while taking a cloth from his pocket and wiping the sweat off his long forehead.
The mayor seemed more relaxed now that he had two scholars to help him understand the situation. “Gentlemen, my aides have briefed you on what’s happening in the lake. Dr. Link, what do you make of this?”
“Your honor, I have very little data to work with. All I know is what your aide has told me. He said that the lake has somehow lost, at least, some of its salinity. Are you sure this information is correct?”
“I’m afraid so, Doctor.”
“Are there water samples? Any measurements? Has any team been deployed?”
“No. We haven’t had the time. What’s the worst-case scenario?”
Dr. Link took a deep sigh. “If the lake permanently became a freshwater lake?”
“Yes. What would happen to the herds of sirenians then?”
Dr. Link scratched his chin, simulating possible outcomes. “We don’t have to worry about the manatees, the balatees, or the Steller’s Sea Cows. Our greatest liability right now is the dugongs. They can only live in brackish and seawater. They won’t take this change well. Has there been any reports of dugong deaths or sickness?”
Joey gulped. His family’s estates owned a herd of dugongs. Even though he hardly went there, the animals were still his in name. He wondered if they were doing alright.
“No, not to my knowledge,” answered the mayor. “Susan!” shouted the mayor, almost making Dr. Link jump off his chair.
“You called, sir?”
“Go downstairs and ask the producers if any of their dugongs have fallen ill or died.”
“Right away, sir.”
Joey didn’t miss the small appreciative grunt from the commissioner beside him. It seemed that the mayor and the commissioner had a similar approach to managing their employees.
“So, if only the dugongs are affected by the disaster, we’re safe. Right?” asked the mayor.
Dr. Link shook his head. “Hardly. Sirenians can be very sensitive to changes like this. Sea cows can avoid reproduction and even suffer miscarriages if they feel that the conditions to bring their calves into the world are wrong. Additionally, oil production is intrinsically connected to the welfare of the animals. If they’re stressed and feeding on forage, they can’t put on the weight you need to harvest their oil.
“The unique conditions that make Lake Grassum the best place on the planet to raise sirenians are very delicate. We can be looking at a total disrupture of the food chain and irreversible damage to the ecology of their habitat.”
“Mr. Mayor?”
All eyes turned to Joey, who’d decided to intervene.
The mayor frowned questioningly at Joey. “What is it, son?”
“Even if the animals are safe, you must consider how the vacuuming parlors will be affected if they’re damaged by the flood. It’s very sensitive equipment.”
“Constable Joey is the son of the late Jebediah Jones, sir. He knows a thing or two about ranches,” explained the commissioner.
Joey saw how frowns around him turned into looks of respect.
“Of course, of course! You have the same eyes. That’s where I recognized you from. Your father was a great man,” the mayor complimented.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Some producers did mention that their parlors were ruined. It’s a good observation. I’ll make a note to call someone who specializes in the repair of the parlors. Let’s keep hearing Dr. Link about the biology side of things for now. Please, doctor.”
Dr. Link continued, “I suggest studying the possibility of temporarily relocating the dugongs to the Steller Sea Cow ranches in the ocean.”
“Very well. What else?” The mayor never stopped writing as the doctor spoke.
“An ecosystem is both a fragile and a robust thing. Even though many species will die if this sudden change has indeed occurred, others can survive and adapt. However, the lake’s habitat will take time to regain its vitality. We should ensure plenty of forage is available to get the manatees and the balatees through this change.”
“Susan!” roared the mayor.
The mayor’s secretary popped her head back into the room. Even though she was smiling, her breathing was heavy, and her hair was disheveled.
“What did the producers say?”
“No reports of any animals getting sick, sir.”
“Most intriguing,” let out Dr. Link.
“Good job, Susan. Take this piece of paper. I want the finest mechanical engineer in town stat. Dr. Link. Can I ask you to gather a team and check the lake? I want answers.”
“Of course.”
The mayor stood up, politely prompting the biologist’s dismissal. “We’re in your hands, Dr. Link. Regardless of how much or how little you discover, send all the information you collect by sundown.”
“You can count on me, Mayor.” The man hurried off with a vitality that didn’t match his age.
The mayor sat back down and focused his eyes on the other scholar who had remained silent until now. “What about the economy, Professor Norris? What are your predictions?”
Judging by the amount of sweat on the professor’s forehead, his predictions were the stuff of nightmares. “It depends on how badly this catastrophe affects sirenia production. We can’t make sirenia without sea cow blubber; over a third of it is harvested here in the city. If the world suddenly loses a third of its oil...” the doctor trailed off.
“What?”
“Well, the precedent we have is 1843. When the number of whales started to dwindle, and the supply for whale oil couldn’t meet demand, there was a market crash, looting, widespread panic, and finally war.”
Joey shuddered at this prophecy of doom.
The professor continued sharing his opinion. “Of course, this is a different situation; we’re not speaking of an extinction, merely a localized ecological catastrophe. But if we extrapolate what happened to the world in 1843 and apply it to the smaller reality of New Lisbon, I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole city descended into chaos. No city depends more on the production of the lake than us.”
“What do you suggest we do?” the mayor asked.
“The first thing is to stockpile. Assess how much oil is in stock and ensure you can maintain supply during this crisis. Contact the oil market and ask them to limit the sale of oil immediately to avoid hoarding.”
The mayor put down the pen and clicked his tongue. “The auction master is a difficult man to deal with, Professor. I doubt he’ll accept.”
“Given the urgency, he might. Additionally, reach out to producers, warehouses, and anyone with a stockpile. We need to know how much sirenia we have and how long we can keep the light on.”
The mayor wrote the suggestion down. “Professor, I’d like to ask you to stay here for the day and have you manage this inquiry. I want your help to navigate this crisis. Finleeeey!”
This time, a young man in a suit came in through the door. “You called, Mr. Mayor?”
“Take the constable here and go to the auction house. Ask them to halt oil sales immediately until we can better grasp the situation. Be polite. We can’t afford to offend them.”
Even though Joey received an order from the mayor, he still spared a glance at Fabius to make sure his superior was OK with it. Fabius gave him a nod, and Joey walked briskly toward the mayor’s aide.
Now outside the office, Joey slightly relaxed and cracked his neck and knuckles.
“My name is Finley. Nice to meet you, constable.”
“Call me Joey. Follow me. I have a tank parked outside. It’ll get us there faster.”
