“Level One; Surface City!” The bionic level lift mind announced as the doors opened. Moloch and Krasus began to walk forward with the rest of the legionnaires, pushing the hovercart between them. The crowd craned their necks to get a glimpse of the glass gallery beyond the gate, smiling at the sunlight from the sky that shone through the open lift doors. Surface city was a restricted level, one had to be granted a free travel pass, be property owner on the level, or be an employee of a corporation headquartered on the level to disembark the lift. This was the closest an average citizen would ever get to it.

Since Moloch and Krasus were legion, such restrictions didn’t apply to them and they pushed the hovercart with the unconscious Salazaar on it forward. The surface city Constables waved them through without giving them a second glance and then dutifully checked the identification of anyone else who followed them off the lift, making sure they had permission to enter the topmost level of Zerzura.

They emerged from the central lift gate tunnel into an immense glass gallery, blinking owlishly as their eyes adjusted to the bright orange light of the setting sun. In stark contrast to Drydellia, the lift lobby for surface city was quiet, and sparsely populated with well dressed travelers who waited in luxurious plush leather seats. Lift gallery attendants in red round hats and vests attentively waited on them, scurrying across the gleaming polished floor with trays of snacks and refreshments. The Lobby was also of an old world style construction, but updated to the clean modern design aesthetic that the wealthy citizens of this level preferred. Swirling gleaming stone, was met with glass and inlaid with precious metal filigree. Surface City was the topmost level of the pillar, but to even visit it was something most of the other citizens beneath their feet could only dream of.

This level was the ancestral seat of the Emperor of their civilization, the location of the first Legion Ziggurat and the grand palaces and villas of the wealthiest and most important citizens in the Republic. Surface city was a melting pot of the most successful Anoekians their race produced at any given time and it was a level reserved for the best of the best. Corporate merchants, Politicians, the Emperor and his staff, the members of the twelve temples, and esteemed guests and envoys from all over Maja, flocked to conduct business and find pleasure on the grandest level on the top of the biggest pillar city in the Republic. Moloch didn’t think it was right to gate off the level from the other citizens of the pillar, but his opinion meant nothing for those decisions weren’t up to him.

The sight of Moloch and Krasus and the rest of the legionnaires pushing the hovercart drew looks from the affluent citizens in the central gallery, but even their dirty blood-soaked armor was not enough to warrant more than a passing glance. After walking straight through the grand lobby doors that were designed with swirling metal motifs they were out in the cool fresh open air.

Long paved immaculate streets stretched to either side, with artistically placed beds of flowering ornamental plants and trees with soft white accent lighting lining either side of them. Beside the planting, and lit from below, were the grand stone towers of the thousands of palaces that had been built across surface city. Their swirling spires stretched off and up reaching far into the star studded night sky. The three moons of Maja were already rising, hanging fat and heavy in the sky and they were only just starting to crest over the silhouette of the distant mountain range on the horizon. The Emperor’s palace called the Citadel sat between it all, a wide imposing building of tremendous size, like a jewel nested in a crown of architectural splendor.

“By the Light, it's good to be home.” Krasus mused, taking a moment to lean against the hovercart after initiating the brake and inhaling the fresh pure air of the outside world. “You really forget how wretched some of the places in the pillar are, until you just take a moment to take all this in.” He looked up as two new skycars sped across in the express lane above them.

“The three sisters, rising against the dancing spears, will be beautiful tonight. If we can wrap things up at the Ziggurat quickly enough, there might still be time to view them with a glass of elixir and some esteemed company.” Krasus continued with a satisfied leer on his face.

Moloch knew all too well the “esteemed company” Krasus was referring to. Having an inherited noble title from his family's settled estate did confer some benefits to Krasus and as such the circles of high society were open to him. Krasus was in possession of a standing invitation to any number of the perpetual parties that the very wealthy of Surface City hosted in their palaces.

Moloch had originally thought the opposite would be true, as he had always assumed the urban elite would look down their noses at the country gentry, but Krasus’ familys estate was located over several very rich rare earth mineral deposits, not to mention other precious raw goods from the jungle that were always in demand by Corporate Merchants. So they took every opportunity to court his favor, as a word from him could open up very lucrative trade contracts for their corporations. As a common born Centurion Moloch was never extended any invitations of the sort, because being in the Legion was a step above being a servant in the eyes of surface cities elite class.

“You should do that.” Moloch replied simply.

“You sound as if you want to join me.” Krasus replied with a sly smile. “I can hear the longing in your voice. You’ve never asked, so I always thought you weren’t interested.”

“I never said that.” Moloch replied, taken aback.

“You didn’t need to! Your tone told me everything I needed to know.” Krasus told him, his smile growing from ear to ear.

“I can show you visions of pleasure you cannot begin to behold, my friend.” Krasus continued.

“Uh-huh.” Moloch grunted. “Let's circle back to that later, our ride to the Ziggurat is here.”

“You shouldn’t be such a social recluse Moloch, it’s bad for your career.”

“What? I had no idea your parties were full of Prefects, Legates and Praetors!” Moloch told him in a tone of mock sincerity.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Increasing your social standing among the elite on surface city can yield you many benefits.”

“I’m not interested in benefits.” Moloch said flatly. “Only service.”

Krasus sighed. “Of course you are. Even though you’re such a bore, never fear Moloch, for I’ll not give up on you not even if it takes a hundred cycles.”

Moloch started pushing the hovercart again, and then paused for a moment, speaking over his shoulder to Krasus. “If we have enough time when we get back, you can buy the first round.” He said.

Krasus smiled at his back. “The social turtle at last pokes his head out of its shell.”

A gleaming and sparkling clean armored hover transport bearing the insignia of the first legion idled in the street outside, taking up a good section of the roadway, forcing the other hover cars in the lane to move around it. Its driver, totally oblivious, lounged against the seatback and thumbed through notifications on his intelor.

Krasus banged his fist twice on the hood. The driver, an old wizened legionnaire, started at the sound, and he snorted and rubbed his eyes upon seeing the Centurions, and he punched the door release and the panels of the transport compartment slid apart and a ramp extended to the street’s curb.

The interior of the hover transport felt very empty after everyone had taken their seats and pulled the safety restraints down. It was immaculately detailed, and try as he might Moloch could not see one speck of dust or one smudge on the windows. The surfaces had all been polished until they shone, oiled to prevent aging and vacuumed to remove all dirt and debris.

The driver turned around to look over his shoulder at them as they walked in and took seats on long rows on either side of the cabin.

“In the name of the great white legion! Are you lot all that’s left from when I dropped you off this morning?”

“Stow it Howie and drive us back to the Ziggurat.” Krasus cautioned. “None of us are in the mood for your foolishness right now.”

“Is that so?” Legionnaire Howie replied, his voice holding a note of amusement at the Centurions condescending tone.

The other faces of the legionnaires looked as glum as Moloch felt. Potter, who had been maintaining a silent vigil since they got on the level lift, looked particularly gloomy, as he just held the standard upright and leaned slightly on it, his eyes fixed on an indeterminate point in the distance.

Howie ignored them, and took a huge swig of sweetened stimroot tea, which had been brewed until it was black in color. He gasped after the tremendous gulp and sighed with satisfaction as he smacked his wrinkly shriveled lips together. Then he made some inputs into the hovertransports central instrumentation panel to turn on some music. A series of high pitched wails whistles and screeches laced over rhythmic drumming, trumpeted through the speakers of the cabin.

Krasus crossed his arms and frowned.

“Friend of mine, works as a swain with the path wardens. Howie explained. “His watch tower is near a Parrotkin nest tree. He sends me these recordings he takes. Apparently the birbs really love him so gets invited to all their ceremonies. He records them and sends me the tracks back.” Howie shouted back to them over the cacophony of chirps and howls. “Once you get a taste for their music, nothing quite hits you as hard or as right.”

Now two voices, one pitched low, and the other pitched high began a warbling duet that started to make the tinted armor tempered glass of the hover transport rattle in their panes.

Howie stared at Krasus directly in the eyes, using a large mirror that was positioned over his head so that he could look at the occupants without turning around until he broke down and replied.

“You don’t say.” Krasus said in a completely exasperated tone. Moloch watched as his hand subconsciously inched slowly towards his holstered emitter.

Moloch smiled to himself under his helmet. Legionnaire Howie was very old. Already considered old by the time that Moloch had joined the legion, and in that time he had only grown more cantankerous as he racked up the cycles of service. He had saved Praetor Shalos when he was a young soldier, by throwing himself on an explosive that was planted on his pet dog by Nilth assassins. He had lost everything from the waist down when he had drop kicked the beloved pet away from his Praetor at the moment of detonation.

Praetor Shalos was not ungrateful to the young Legionnaire for his sacrifice and saw to it that he had the finest medical attention and bionic replacements. He had been offered a discharge with a complete wounded hero's pension, but Howie had refused him, instead asking for a hover transport route to drive instead on surface city. Declaring that he still had two hands and a head to give for his Emperor.

Impressed by the Legionnaires loyalty and selflessness, Praetor Shalos granted his request and thus Howie the driver was born. Rumor had it they still ate one meal together every week. While Legionnaire Howie was now very old, Praetor Shalos looked solidly middle aged. The Emperor’s blessing was an incredible gift that kept the recipients young and strong for many cycles.

Moloch shook his head. Howie and Krasus always clashed, or rather Krasus clashed with Howie. Howie didn’t seem to mind him, while Howie drove Krasus up the wall.

“Can you believe this was a wedding?” He shouted over the music. “After the song ends, my friend says the birbs consummate the whole affair in front of the whole nest. A real shame the recording stops with the song.”

He waggled his hairy eyebrows at them for emphasis after favoring Krasus with a series of seedy gesticulations.

Then Howie paused the music. He put his hands together and whispered a silent prayer to the light to protect the Emperor from all harm and to safeguard their travel back to the Ziggurat. When he finished, what was not a short litany, he sighed and smiled.

“Light bless the Emperor!” He bellowed back to them. Then he started the music up again, which made it extra jarring as he had restarted it in the middle of what was a slow building song.

Now he pulled a soft pack of cigarellos from the front pocket of his jacket and shook one far enough out for him to grab it with his tea moistened lips. He lit the stick and puffed on it a few times.

The smoke smelled great, like a sweet rich cream, blended with several exotic aromatic spices.

Krasus clutched the safety harness of his chair with a deathgrip. It seemed after everything that happened today,

Howie was starting to get to him.

Howie closed his eyes, savoring a particularly long drag, which he permitted himself an equally long exhalation.

Then he sat upright in his chair. “Alright, boys where too?”

“Where do you think, you absolute cactus?” Krausus shouted at him. “The Ziggurat! We’ve been waiting for you to get through all these goofy rituals to take us to the Ziggurat! We would have been halfway there already if you weren’t so slow about things!”

Howie snapped his fingers. “Ah that's right! I was just testing you, Centurion, I’m happy to report that you passed.” then he waggled a long wrinkly finger at Krasus in the mirror, and gave him a saucy wink.

Krasus reacted like he had been slapped and tried to jump out of his chair and lunge at Howie. He was caught by the safety harness and held tightly in his seat. At some point the driver had activated the lock on the safety barriers.

Howie just stared at him, smiling, sucking his two front teeth.

“Centurion please remain seated until we arrive at the Ziggurat, so that you’re protected in the event that we stop suddenly. And remember, exercise patience Centurion! There is nothing wrong with taking a moment to pray for the Emperor. Light knows he carries the burdens of our whole civilization upon his holy shoulders! We are also blessed when we bless others.”

Krasus muttered under his breath, as he tried to ineffectually wrench the safety barrier off himself. He gave up after a few more tries and sat there trying to look dignified, but failing miserably to do so.

The parrotkin wedding song continued to blare out of the speakers as Howie, nodding along and tapping his foot in time, suddenly put the hover transport in motion, lurching forward and cutting off two other hovercars, causing them to almost collide, as he merged into the lane.

“ See? If the light wasn't protecting us, we might have had an accident right there.” He called back to Krasus.

“Always remember to say your prayers!”

Krasus looked away from him and crossed his arms, scowling.

They sped away at blurring speed down the grand avenue towards the Legion Ziggurat.

After a few minutes had passed, the parrotkin song finally ended in a wailing crescendo of screeches, wails and trilling squawks. Howie looked up into the mirror. Moloch felt himself become nervous when Howie took his eyes off the street even for a moment as they raced along the avenue at their current speed. Unlike Krasus, he was feeling very grateful for the safety harness that held him securely in his seat.

“Did you bring me anything back from the mission?” Howie asked, with the demanding curiosity of an old timer. He held out his hand and motioned for Krasus to put whatever they brought him into his palm.

“Do give him something Krasus quickly, he’s not looking at the street.” Moloch urged.

“You do it.” Krasus replied petulantly. “I can’t reach the hovercart.”

Moloch frowned, at which was an obvious and petty lie, from Krasus as he strained to reach his hand under the tarpaulin they had used to cover the pile of spoils. His hand lighted on a long wooden box and he pulled it off. Feeling more nervous with each passing moment, as Howies eyes had not left either of them, he fiddled with the clasp and opened the lid. Inside were eight gleaming, perfectly round Lylaar electropearls. Moloch audibly gasped. They crackled and danced with swirling electric potential.

These were extremely rare in the Republic, and were grown in vast oysterbeds by the hostile aquatic race that lived in the oceans of maja. The Lylaar used these pearls to power everything from their slave saucers to their fearsome weapons. However Supervisor Rofoscue had managed to get this box of pearls must have been quite a story. It was considered suicidal for anyone in the republic to try and dive down and steal them from a pearl tenders oyster beds. Finding the secret location of the pearl beds was already an impossible task, much less diving down, avoiding detection, then extracting the pearl and making it back alive and out of the sea before the Lylaar got any wiser was an incredible feat.

One electropearl, much less eight of them, would fetch a princely sum of ducats.

Even Howie looked surprised. “By the light!” He said quietly under his breath. “Where did you boys say you went again?” He said, an avaricious light glinting in his eyes.

“Howie the road!” Moloch shouted, pointing ahead of himself.

Howie whipped his head around and instinctually swerved into the incoming lane of traffic, barely avoiding a collision with a sleek yellow hovercar that was stopped in the road, as he expertly swerved back into his proper lane, avoiding a head-on collision with another in the opposite lane. All of the other drivers pumped their fists and shouted ear curdling obscenities at them as they sped away.

“Ding-dong Tourists! I don’t know why they are allowed to drive on the streets, with professionals like myself.”

Howie said as if nothing had happened, hooking a thumb at himself, as he took another long swig of sweet tea and ashed off his cigarillo in a tray, before returning it back to his mouth to be clenched between his teeth.

When everyone was still silent, several of the remaining legionnaires still had their eyes screwed tightly shut as they clutched at their safety harnesses.

Howie saw their expressions and smiled a toothy grin. “ I don’t know why you are so worried. It's true what they say, when you lose body parts, your other senses become twice as keen.”

“You still have to use them, you bumbling flapjack!” Krasus shouted at him.

Howie ignored him, and held out a wrinkly hand. “One of them pretty pearls, please now if you don’t mind.”

Moloch hesitated. Howie was famous for extorting payments or “gratuities” as he called it from his passengers, demanding anything from ration bars, random pieces of equipment, to ducats, and what was in their particular case, was a small fortune. Howie always took an interest in parties that had spoils when they returned, demanding that they give him a cut as if he had been there.

Praetor Shalos had been informed multiple times about the old Legionnaires rascality, but everytime he had found it more humorous than egregious, always saying that he would “Look into it.” It seemed Howie was truly untouchable.

Moloch reckoned it was worth trying to barter with the old Legionnaire.

“Wouldn’t you prefer something more usable, like ducats?” Moloch offered helpfully. He quickly reached back under the tarp and pulled a large case filled with neat stacks of high denomination ducats. Moloch grabbed a handful and held them out to howie. The stack was worth about six months wages as a hovercar driver, and Moloch thought they should be enough to buy off the old driver's curiosity and satisfy his greed.

“I got more ducats than I care to spend.” Howie said, waving at a bucket of ducats he had placed where the front passengers seat would have been. It had been removed and instead there was a series of storage shelves, drawers and bins placed within easy reach of the driver’s seat. One of those bins was just full of ducats chits, no doubt from several cycles of “gratuities” extracted from the many rides Howie had given to Legionnaires just like them. It was a small fortune in its own right.

“You’re sure?” Moloch said, trying to delay things as long as possible.

“Pass.” Howie said, smiling wolfishly at him in the mirror above his head. Snapping his fingers now and making a clutching motion with his extended hand for Moloch to place it there.

“I’ve got two whole albums of parrotkin music I could play, and we could drive much much slower than we are now.” Howie offered helpfully. “Or I could try to get back to the Ziggurat as quickly as possible, and drop you lot off by an unoccupied cargo bay, where it would be convenient to unload that whole heap of treasure into without anyone being none the wiser.”

He let those words sink in and he took another long swig of the sweetened tea.

“Your choice.”

Moloch didn’t say anything. Then looked up as Howie slowed the hover transport to a crawl and made some inputs his center control panel.

“Now this next one, is an opera, called Yrek-Meck-Tuzk-Tuzk-Kreezumpizh! It is a riveting story about two young parrotkin, who sing a three hour duet to each other about how delightful it is to forage for fruit as the sun rises.”

There was a collective groan in the cabin.

“Voids bells, Just give him the pearl Moloch!” Krasus urged him. “He's got us cornered.”

Howie smiled another one of his toothy grins when he realized that he had won.

Defeated, Moloch strained against his harness and put a pearl in Howie’s outstretched hand.

“Thankee-kindly for the gratuity.” He told them, as he put the hover transport into gear and once again they were speeding away towards the Ziggurat. “We’ll save the opera for another time.”

True to his word, when they arrived at the Ziggurat, Howie used his considerable knowledge of the Legion operational timetables, and dropped them off at a secluded area of the hanger bay by an empty cargo bay.

As they filed off and out of the hover transport, Moloch turned to Howie.

“What are you going to do with that pearl? You won’t be selling it, since you don’t even spend the ducats you already have.” He asked him, pointing at the overflowing bucket.

Howie took another sip of tea and stubbed out his cigarello. “Always wanted an earring, to wear when I’m off duty. Nothing else seemed quite right until I saw those pearls of yours. Are they valuable, cause they sure are pretty.”

Moloch groaned, as Potter hobbled by, using the standard as a crutch. Howie saw that he was missing his leg from the knee down.

He held up a hand to stop Potter. “Oi, young fellow, a moment if you don’t mind.” He told him.

Potter stopped and looked at Howie. The ancient Legionnaire smiled at him. “I’ve been there son, and you’re about to get a bionic replacement. Look me up when you have the time, I’ve written my own tuning algorithms for the bionic limbs that will have you stepping like you never lost it in the first place. Also I’ve got a special salve that helps with the phantom stings, got me through a rough patch, and I know it will help you too.”

Potter smiled and nodded. “Thanks Howie, I appreciate it.”

“Of course, anything for a brother.” Howie replied with a faraway look in his eyes. Then he cleared his throat loudly.

“What are you lot waiting for a written invitation? Disembark, already! I’ve got one hour before I’m off duty and I got to get this old hag cleaned and detailed. Look at how filthy she is!” He grumbled as he waved them out of his vehicle.

Then he held up the Lylaar pearl to his ear and winked at Moloch, who found that he was smiling under his helmet in spite of himself.