Coffee. More than nano-machines, more than magic, more than jet fuel; Hellion runs on coffee. Without it, workers across the planet, including yours truly, would spend our mornings groaning and rolling around on the floor instead of doing our jobs.

But is coffee the great unifier, or another divide across the city? My duty today was to find out. From the top to the bottom of the city, we’re getting coffee.

First stop: GEB cafe in Union Heights. Employees S3R4H and Tabitha kindly opened up a little early to kick off our adventure. My friend Abel met me outside after I lured him in with promises of free coffee.

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GEB’s Summertime blend

Beans: Sourced from GEB production off world, roasted in house.

Flavour profile: Sweet, savoury, a sensory overload of flavour.

Some coffees gently fill you with energy. They rub the sleep from your eyes, and help you shake off the pull of the nights’ tiredness. Tabitha’s special Summertime blend isn’t one of those.

The Summertime blend is a drill sergeant that pours cold water on your bunk and throws you on the back of a magical unicorn which rockets off on a lightspeed journey through candyland. The taste is engineered to perfection – a smooth transition of sweet flavours that contrast perfectly with the undertones of rich GEB coffee. But the kick is something else. This is a coffee that makes you ready to run a marathon and sell your bed, because you’ll never need to sleep again.

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Next on the docket was Scraptown. The journey from the Heights was a blur, a vivid slideshow of colours, some of which I’m confident have never been seen by man before. 

The always vivacious Jyggal let our manic demeanour slide as the eccentries of city folk – but regretfully informed us that the Grille doesn’t usually serve coffee. But as our shoulders slump, she quickly adds ‘However..’

The brass contraption she produces doesn’t look like any coffee machine I’ve ever seen. It isn’t one. Jyggal tells us the mysterious device was found in the desert – and while she has no idea how it works, if you feed it organic material and make a request, it somehow can produce whatever liquid edible you want.

Whether by means technological, magical, or biological, the lizard meat goes in, and ‘coffee’ comes out.

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Coffee(?)

Beans: N/A?

Flavour profile: Bitter, with a sweet, acidic kick

The liquid we drank, it’s hard to exactly call it coffee. It was black, and it smelled like coffee. It almost tasted like it. The acidic flavour and almost fermented aftertaste gave it a slight sense of unreality, a reminder that the drink we were consuming came from places unknown. Nonetheless, the effect was nourishing – a slow burn energy and a smooth pick me up that fended off our incoming sugar crash.

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As always, the friendly service keeps the Oasis Grille on the map – even as the only option in hard-scrabble Scraptown, they made us feel welcome. But we couldn’t stay. Our adventure wasn’t over yet – and our next stop was Row 32.

Unfortunately, the hole in the wall ramen bar that acts as the epicentre of life in Row 32 was closed by the time we arrived – and we weren’t sure if it served coffee anyway. So for Row 32, it was a quick stop into the Dirty Burg, the local diner. They gave us coffee in a can.

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Coffee In a Can

Beans: In the can

Flavour profile: Bitter, with a hint of can.

Not too much to say about this one. It’s coffee in a can. It keeps you going. It wakes you up for your sixteen hour shift, and it keeps you upright as you make ends meet in a district that always seems to be tensed for the next crisis. My apologies to Row 32. Next time, I’d like to check out the noodles, for a real taste of what this vibrant District has to offer.

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For our last coffee, we venture down into the dark. Through the pipes, that were once so unfamiliar, but now feel more and more familiar – the Undercity.

Once again, we have to sheepishly request owner Nia and employee Zilla to open up for us, as we’ve missed the morning rush. But they’re happy to oblige. The Chantrelle Cafe, Nia explains, is run for the benefit of residents – using food grown locally in the Undercity grove, and run at near-cost, to make sure everyone has access to a meal.

Weeks on from their formal separation from the city grid, the Undercity had begun to take faltering first steps towards self sufficiency. The lights, formally powered from the city grid, were replaced with magic crystals that pulsed with a warm glow. Slowly, power was being restored, and a fragile sense of normality was in the air.

The Chantrelle menu offered all the classic coffee options. Latte, Mocha…Fishy? What the hell is Fishy coffee? Our baristas explained that a former resident, Wisp, used to mix their coffee with fish they caught in the reservoir…and that this drink, mixing coffee with emulsified fish oil, is a riff on that legacy. I ordered myself a fishy coffee. I mean, I had to, right?

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Fishy Coffee

Beans: Sourced from the Undercity Grove, Roasted in-house with fire magic.

Flavour Profile: Bold, bright, rich, with a strong aroma and a hint of oil.

The Chantrelle cafe makes good coffee. I’ve had it before, and it’s a rich, bold dark roast. Just the thing to brighten a dark tunnel under the city. Does fish oil improve the coffee experience? To be completely honest – no. But that’s not why it’s there. It’s there because someone made their mark as part of this community. It’s a legacy – a little whimsical piece of history – one that won’t be recorded in the history books.

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Coffee. It’s not just something that keeps going, and keeps us productive. It’s something we do for each other, with each other. It’s a way of taking care of each other, and our community. Whether we use magic, strange contraptions, or get it out of a can, coffee can bring us together. It wasn’t the coffee that fueled this adventure across the city. It was the kindness of people who opened their shops out of hours. It was Abel, for keeping me company from Union Heights to Scraptown and back. It was Salvation City.

I’ve been in a reflective mood, so I’d like to do something a little different today. Yesterday marked twenty years since the release of Terror on the War Front, the seminal work by a writer from our Trident family that inspired me to pursue journalism myself.

His name was Thomas R. Huntsman.

Huntsman knew exactly who he was. A fearless writer who would call anyone out, anywhere, any time.

He dragged you along with him on a drug-fueled escapade across the galaxy in search of the Galactic Dream. He scorned objectivity and reason, in search of something far more powerful: truth. Not one truth handed down from above, but a multitude of truths found down in the muck.

Huntsman told us to wake up and smell the bullshit as the Galactic Union faltered and tottered its way towards the horrors of the War of Unification. He hurled vitriol at corporations and government alike in his early years, and he gained a following amongst the anti-authoritarian crowd who were tired of the war, the lies, the propaganda.

Huntsman kept his nose to the ground like a bloodhound as he ventured forth into the bleeding heart of the war. With his attack dog style, he went for the throat. He took on corrupt Union governors, the failings and foibles of the new provisional government, and the hypocrisy of just about everyone he met.

Something he found there changed his outlook. After the war ended, he was no longer content to live life stumbling from one hallucinogen to the next. He never shared exactly what it was, and anyone asking got both barrels of his famous scorn. It remained a part of himself he never touched on in his work, and never explained. Whatever it was, it drove him to pick himself up, get clean, and join the Trident family.

I believe Huntsman saw something that few else could in the aftermath of the war. The Trident motto, “Perception is Reality”, and the failed Union promise of the Galactic Dream weren’t so incompatible. The future lay not with the half-dead remains of the Union, but with the new world struggling to be born.

A passage from one of Huntsman’s letters made that clear:

“To put our faith in tangible goals would seem to be, at best, unwise. So we do not strive to be firemen, we do not strive to be bankers, nor policemen, nor doctors. WE STRIVE TO BE OURSELVES.”

“But don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean that we can’t BE firemen, bankers, or doctors — but that we must make the goal conform to the individual, rather than make the individual conform to the goal. In every man, heredity and environment have combined to produce a creature of certain abilities and desires — including a deeply ingrained need to function in such a way that his life will be MEANINGFUL. A man has to BE something; he has to matter.”

Tragically Huntsman’s own striving to be himself finally came to an end six years ago after a long battle with substance abuse – a struggle that haunted him for his entire life. His death was sudden and shocking after years of sobriety. He is remembered as a symbol for writers and journalists everywhere, and an icon in the Trident family. His work is immortalised in films such as Terror and Resentment in New Reno, as well as his many columns, now collected into book form.

I do my best to live by his words. My job is to be Jacqueline Desant, and to find meaning in that. Right now, that means sharing stories with you. It was Huntsman’s work that inspired me to take this path, and, like him, to join the Trident family.

I’m not sure that I can capture the inimitable and legendary spirit of Huntsman in this column, so instead I’ll leave you with one last quote:

“Who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived, or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?”

He was a man who always chose to brave the storm.

Here’s to you, Tom.

Have you ever slept in so hard that it felt like 10 weeks? Well, at least I had a cute swimsuit to try on. Come visit us in Azure Cove in the Heights, folks! Seriously, where else can you enjoy the sea and sand on a tidally locked planet?

You probably haven’t noticed yet, but this isn’t a normal update. That’s because…we’re changing schedules! After some discussion with my editors, we’re moving from a daily format to tri-weekly. That means around every other day!

What does that mean?

• More in-depth journalism!
• The same hard-hitting questions!
• Conch as ever!
• More ambitious journeys into the unknown!

In short, we’re talking bigger and better! I hope you’ll come along for the ride. This kind of work really is my passion, and I’m grateful every day to be able to share that with every single person reading.

So, with that in mind, we’re also going to flip the script! Got questions for me? Send them in! We’ve got portals set up on Fishcord or T-mail, whatever floats your boat. They can be about the column, me, the Heights, or anything else! Anonymous or not, if you have something you want to ask, now is your chance!

The best questions will appear in a very special edition of Down from the Heights, so don’t be shy!

Stay conchy!

(OOC: Please feel free to DM me with your in-character questions! If I get enough, I’ll do an answers article!)

A visit to the doctor’s might usually be a cause for concern, but it was a lucky chance for me. I bumped into Director Walker. Thanks to that, I was able to bend his ear about the goings on in the Wasteland! The white marbled walls of the Avalon meeting room give the place an austere feeling, the gentle spinning of an astrolabe the only movement.

Walker explained Avalon’s interest in the infection. “We heard there was some issues, something to do with an ex-Avalon facility that has been abandoned for some time.” Their investigations have yet to determine conclusively whether the facility itself is involved in the outbreak. However, Walker conceded that “a third party might have moved in, and been messing with the equipment.”

What exactly was this Avalon facility working on? Why was it abandoned? Walker remained tight-lipped. “That’s classified.” What he would share was Avalon’s findings. Whatever this infection was, it appears to be organic and “aggressively mutagenic”. Enlarged and highly aggressive beasts, dangerous even for the Wasteland, have been sighted in the vicinity of the former Avalon lab. 

On a more sombre note, Walker confirmed that both of the patients who had been taken into Avalon’s care from the Wasteland had since died. However, they were able to learn a little about the disease from studying the pair. “It seems to increase aggression, as well as mutation.” This increased aggression, it seems, was the cause of the ultimate fate of the deceased patients. “They broke out of containment, and started injuring each other, and themselves…It wasn’t pretty.” The remains were released to the Wasteland for cremation. Walker assures me there is no biohazard risk from this.

The question becomes, how far is Avalon willing to go to see this issue dealt with? “If it ends up becoming prohibitively expensive for the corporation then we would need to see about some sort of payment but, given that this is related to an ex-Avalon facility, we’re hoping to work with them to get this sorted out.” I leaned in. What if that meant putting a stop to whomever has set up shop in that facility? What if that meant Wastelanders entering those classified labs? Would Avalon support that? “Absolutely. We will work with the people of the Wasteland to make sure that whatever is going on this facility is dealt with.”

Finally, he explained that Avalon had, in fact, synthesised a prototype cure which was in the hands of the Scraptown authorities. He poured cold water on the idea of a panacea, however. “Creating a cure is going to be difficult because by the time we have made a cure for a sample that we have of an infection, it could be something else. We may have to create cures for each individual.” Designer drugs for individual cases certainly sounds like the type of solution that might quickly become “prohibitively expensive”.

Avalon has shown a great deal of goodwill thus far in their handling of the mysterious disease. Spending resources on finding a cure and an openness to an expedition to the source of the virus are both to be welcomed. However, without binding commitments, the Wastelanders will have to hope that this goodwill doesn’t dry up before they get their cure. And their answers.

In other news, today saw the opening statements made in the case of Calcaterra v. Jereslimah. We heard the Calcaterra’s lawyer, Louis Thorne, give an emotive speech about the impact of death in the family. In it, he referred to Antonio Florentine as ‘Antonio Calcaterra’. By elevating their late employee to a member of the family, the Calcaterras were staking their reputation on the outcome of this case. Thorne, when I caught up to him after proceedings, expressed confidence in their victory. He called for Jereslimah to face punishment to “the standard called for by the law.”

Jereslimah gave little ground as he faced charges for the alleged escalation that led to the death of Florentine and the synthetics accompanying him. He stated under questioning that no escalation had occurred, and that Florentine’s placement of a gun facing the clerk on the counter at the GEB store where the shootout took place constituted a threat. No verdict has yet been reached, and the trial continues tomorrow.

No clean and easy resolutions for us today. From the sands outside the city to the courts halfway to the top, life doesn’t always tie things up in a nice little bow for us. What does a just outcome look like for the Wastelanders? For the trial? For this city? It’s a little early to call it, but we’ll keep following the stories, here on Down From the Heights.

What can I say about Scraptown? The hardscrabble shanty town that lies between this side of Salvation City and the rest of Hellion has always been a bit of a mystery to her upstairs neighbours. In some ways inseparable from the city in economic and practical terms, in others, a complete alternate world, with their own laws, culture and customs, and a fierce independent streak. I have been wanting to visit properly for a while, but it’s the rumours of plague that call me down to the desert.

Despite their reservations, the medical staff at the Scraptown clinic were willing to share with me what they know. There is certainly a strange condition suffered by some Wasteland travellers: those afflicted suffer from strange boils and a greenish tint to their veins. There are also incidents of the infected acting strangely, even rumours of communication with a ‘hive mind’. 

They were quick, however, to emphasise that this is not a plague. Only those who ventured into the Wastes have become ill, with person-to-person transmission appearing extremely rare. “As long as we wear masks and actually take showers, no-one’s getting infected.” 

With such outlandish symptoms, it’s not surprising that I’m not the first city slicker to take an interest. But do-gooders from the city are met with suspicion. “They came down here, and they told me all about it, and it’s like an evil amoeba that keeps changing”, one clinic employee tells me. We’ll call her Flowers. “I don’t trust them either.” She adds at the prompting of one of her coworkers. 

Mistrust goes double for those affiliated with a corporation. The staff insinuate that visiting Avalon staff ‘kidnapped’ the infected patients, spiriting them away to the city. When I raised this with a Scraptown Councillor, who we’ll call Duster, he was quick to make clear these allegations were unfounded. “I wouldn’t say kidnapped. They willingly left with them.” 

Duster admitted to me their concern that loose talk of plague would lead to the city shutting down the elevator that carries people and cargo to and from Scraptown. Despite the independent spirit of the shanty town, their connections to Salvation City are just as vital as those scavenged in the wasteland.

Yet such links aren’t without tension. As I walked the town, many mentioned their mistrust of city folk, and their bringing of outside problems down to the Wastelands. I asked Duster his own views on the subject.  His response was laconic. “They can come, if they want to pay our people to take them out there.” He followed. “If you come down here and take stuff from the wasteland, you should have to go through us.”  And if they don’t like it? “They can come down a different elevator.” And if they try to force the issue? He gestures towards the Scraptown laws.

Three laws are painted on a huge metal sheet at the gateway. “Shootin’ in town gets ya shot”. “If you’re gonna fight, do it in the ring. (We like to watch)”. “If you’re gonna steal a car, get ready to die for it.” I don’t need him to spell things out any further.

Trust, it seems to me, is as hard to come by as clean water here in Scraptown. At the Oasis Grille, water is sold as “Basic” and “Deluxe” (the latter proudly ‘grit free!’). The Grille itself and the bubbly owner Jyggal offers a welcome hospitality and a break from the beating suns. Yet after a few much needed gulps of ‘Deluxe’ water, I can’t help but think it’s the relationship between Wastelanders and City folk that isn’t ‘grit free’.

That isn’t to say that this mistrust isn’t well founded. Old grievances die hard, and there are clearly too many to count. Caught between the grasping city above, and the harsh wastelands filled with beasts and bandits beyond their walls, it’s not hard to see why the trust of outsiders is a luxury many Wastelanders can’t afford.

But none of us – no sector of this city can stand alone. Crises like the infection demonstrate that clearly. Without the expertise from the city and without the Scraptowners’ willingness to co-operate, however fragile, our understanding of the infection would be poorer. If this was an airborne infection, a co-ordinated response could mean the difference of thousands of lives. It means spending our effort worrying about how to fight disease, not each other.

But how do we bridge the divide? As I made my way home, I knew I didn’t have the answer. But in Row 32 I bumped into Jimothy Young! While you may know him from shows like CEO of Sex, you might not know that Jimothy spent time in Scraptown. The Scraptowners even called him one of their own. I asked him how he thinks this tension can be resolved. “Understanding their rules, and respecting their culture.” He said. “I’m still not sure if I consider myself truly a Scraptowner, but they’ve been really wonderful people.”

“I have had thoughts at times about whether I want to [move out there]. There’s far more of a community there than anywhere else I’ve been to.” He said, though he looked a little conflicted. “It’s a family, really.” 

There’s a lesson in the tale. Trust isn’t something we can expect or demand. It has to be built, on both sides, on a foundation of respect. Scraptown is our gateway to the Wastes, and therefore, to the rest of Hellion. That means what affects one will always affect the other. So when you’re there, follow the rules, and be honest about your intentions. As for the Scraptowners? I hope they can find the strength to give us a chance.

One last thing before I call it a night! Today was the first round of the Valkyrie Fighting Tournament. (Footage still available on Trident pay per view!) Tomorrow, brought to you by TraVerse, the Air Derby will bring the roar of the engine right to your door! Trident’s own Vivienne “Big Money” will be racing with our corporate colours, so be sure to cheer her on! Not one to be beaten easily, Jimothy himself will also be racing in the TraVerse colours! It’s sure to be a hell of a showdown that you won’t want to miss! 

A digital rain is falling in Union Heights. Packets of corrupted data dash themselves against the street, while those without cyber eyes walk by, unseeing. Those brave or foolish enough to open the data receive memory errors, or relive past events. There is, as of yet, no official explanation. 

Not much is known about these data packets. However, one thing is clear – they are dangerous. Further investigation has shown erratic code executions – a virus with an unknown purpose that self-deletes after execution. Anyone interacting with this malicious and dangerous code should receive a full diagnostic and clear any potential corrupted data.

If only strange data was the only thing flying through the air of Union Heights. Today, gunfire rang out at the GEB building. One organic accompanied by three synthetics held up the ground floor storefront. All four were killed in the ensuing shoot-out with corporate personnel and CRO operatives, who were present on the scene.

My colleague, Arthur Leywin, was able to catch up with Kenji Bushida, a Shometsu employee and participant in the shootout. Kenji attributed the attempted robbery to “a Mafiosi type family attempting to move into Union Heights and other parts of the city.” He went on to add that “These were likely gangbangers roaming the streets looking for trouble, trying to make a name for themselves.”

Antonio Florentine, the organic who was pronounced dead on the scene, is an employee of the Calcaterra group. The Calcaterra group owns buildings and construction projects across the city, and has often been haunted by allegations of links to organised crime. Damon Calcaterra, head of the family run concern, forcefully rejects such labels, calling them “unfounded accusations by malicious business competitors.” These rumours have never been successfully proven in court.

This wasn’t Mr. Bushida’s first time dealing with Antonio. The synthetics from that very shootout were the same ones he had repaired in his shop that morning. Employees at the Shometsu repair facility allege that they were forced to release them after Antonio and his associates refused to pay their bills. “I was cornered by five of them. They told me, effectively, to ‘Enjoy seeing them around more often’. At that point, they had essentially stolen corporate property.” Kenji told Arthur.

Kenji gathered Shometsu personnel and hired guns to pursue said stolen property. They found them at the GEB building in a tense standoff with Corporate Response Operations negotiator Jereslimah and others. Negotiations, however, ended swiftly.

In the aftermath the alleged mafiosi were dead, with no other casualties at the scene. The remains of the synthetics were seized by Shometsu as corporate property in lieu of the unpaid debts. Some witnesses expressed concern that the corporate response had escalated a dangerous situation too quickly. The Calcaterra group has stated their intent to initiate legal proceedings along these lines. In defending the late Florentine, however, they will find themselves needing to explain his actions in both the GEB and Shometsu facilities.

Our witness, Kenji, did not believe this was the end of the escalation. “Considering some of the fiery words against me, and against Jereslimah and others…I’m certain this won’t be the last of them we see.”

“I’m sure CRO operatives as well as corporate security will be able to handle it and keep things safe up here. As for the rest of the city…we’ll have to look into how deep the parasites go.”

It’s good to hear that none of the public were harmed in the crossfire. Kenji attributes his own survival to a GEB built glass door. “Took plenty of shots – stayed standing, and no breakage.” Quite the endorsement! I don’t think I’ll be testing it on my own front door any time soon.

Between the rain of corrupted data from above, and synthetics being used as cannon fodder in shootouts on our streets; I’m reminded of yesterday’s comment from the Anglers. The world of technology does indeed come with dangers. As the city faces them, will cooler heads prevail, or will we see a shooting war come to our streets? We’ll continue to follow this story right here on Down from the Heights.