Submitted for the September 2025 prompt: Terrestrial Settings

The divan on which Senechal Redney lounged was threadbare and stained, but ownership of such a thing spoke to his status. He studied a sum-slab, poking its cracked surface with greasy fingertips. Surrounding him were two dozen metal canisters, which was fewer than normal. His tongue did victory laps around cracked and blistered lips before spasming into a rictus grin.

 

The Senechal’s raised merchant stall overlooked a sprawl of sheet metal and tarpaulin hovels that made up New Savoie’s bazaar district. Neighboring merchants hailed an unsteady stream of passersby, their promotions falling on deaf ears as the day drew to an end.

 

“I got purification tabs, or if you’re feelin’ adventurous, screamers, forget-me-nots, ‘n slag sticks,” a sallow-skinned man yelled over the chugging of nearby generators and bleating goats. He pulled open his jacket, revealing a series of swollen skin pouches sewn into his abdomen.

 

“Lucrative day today, Crapaud?” Redney suppressed a look of disgust.

 

“Every day free from the Ministry is lucrative, monsieur.” Crapaud bowed.

 

Low-hanging chain bulbs illuminated the bazaar’s muddy walkways, but not the deals being made in bad faith. Here, trust was just another currency, and cheaper than the counterfeit kind.

 

The air reeked of sweat, animal dung, and mystery kebabs sizzling on vendor grills. Water dripped from above into pools dotting the cavern’s pitted surface, carved out long ago during humanity’s downward migration.

 

His attention held hostage by the sum-slab, Redney failed to notice the crowd dispersing. Or the chorus of goat hooves clattering against stone. Their udders, secured with synthetic gloves, swung back and forth as they scampered for refuge in the cavern’s dark alcoves.

 

A hushed silence followed.

 

When Redney finally looked up, his heart leapt. He bolted upright, the pockets of his rough-spun pants jingling with shekels. His eyes darted skyward. High above, armed guards stood watch in catwalks overlooking the bazaar. They acknowledged Redney’s anxious gaze with a unified thumbs up, their visual amplification goggles glowing eerily. The creases in his face disappeared.

 

An unusually tall figure clothed in white angled towards the Senechal’s stall, each step slow but purposeful. Dark yellow splotches stained the white fabric covering his eyes.

 

In one hand he held what looked like a walking stick. Redney's eyes squinted at the object, a banded metallic shaft ending in a spire. His throat constricted. In a former life, he’d procured rare, often deadly, artifacts for warlords and criminals. And this object was always at the top of their lists.

 

My God! A grimrod, thought Redney. He swallowed, trying to force down the anxiety rising in his throat.

 

“You’re early, Leper,” Redney stammered. “Next shipment’s not until–”

 

“Mother sees your sleight of hand. The last shipment was tainted. She demands an additional 75 canisters of pure precursor for her fabrication looms.” He nodded at the rusty metal containers surrounding Redney, his soft, raspy voice carrying through the bazaar unopposed. “Recompense, for your deceit.”

 

Leper stopped in front of Redney’s stall.

 

“She also requires 20 generators, 5 kilometers of fiber optic cable, and access to the gene bank you’ve hidden at the end of this cavern. The Ministry will come to heel, one way or another.”

 

Redney shook his head. “You really think I have access to those kinds of resources? None of the Senechals do.” He paused, rubbing his chin. “And why so much fiber optic cable?”

 

“Mother is no longer confined to the particle accelerator’s mainframe. She needs a reliable means of conduction.”

 

Redney burst into laughter. “Mon ami! You’ve spent way too much time with that deranged persona. I’m not sure who’s crazier.” He looked up again and nodded. The guards took aim at Leper.

 

“Do not forget where you came from. And who has guided your rise,” said Leper, twisting a groove in the grimrod. The staff’s spire ending flashed like lightning, briefly bathing the cavern in pure white. Chain bulbs flickered. The puttering of generators slowed. Screams tore through the air. Above, guards clawed at their sparking goggles. Some lost their footing and plunged from the catwalks. The stone below absorbed their impact with barely a thud.

 

Leper leapt effortlessly onto the raised stall. Redney backpedaled, crashing into his wares. Canisters toppled and rolled, each bearing an inscription: CERN.

 

Leper squatted and leaned over the Senechal. “Do you agree to her terms? Or have you forgotten that family comes first?”

 

Redney’s chest heaved. “Oui, oui! I agree!”

 

“Good. Remember what you’ve seen and heard, and be thankful this is only your first infraction. Mother forgives her own. But you’ll get no second chances.”

Leper dropped to his hands and knees, the erratic light overhead draping him in spectral shades. He crept atop Redney and removed the cloth from his eyes. The Senechal screamed.

 

* * *

 

That night, Redney dreamt of his childhood. Tunnels lined with dusty glass panels and strange geometries stretched further than the eye could see. Skinny children played in colossal chambers, their echoes weaving a dirge to the past. An ever-present caretaker, clothed in white, watched from a distance.

 

A vaguely feminine voice droned on an endless loop, always within earshot of the children.

 

“Mother cares for your well-being — you will never go hungry — you will always be safe — you will be taught how to survive on your own — when you’re grown, you’ll remember my kindness and repay the favor.”

 

Redney woke in a cold sweat. The events from earlier sprang to mind: Leper’s gaunt, albino face hovering over his. Those pink irises and the yellow tears they wept. The Senechal swore a silent oath then, rocking back and forth in terror. Never again would he attempt to bite the hand that fed him.

 

He dabbed away yellow tears of his own. Once his debt was repaid, he’d return to his childhood home — to the Hadron Collider. Mother's rise would require his full devotion. And all the illicit resources he could bring to bear.