Lies of the Old World

  Chapter 3

  Line of Inquiry

  Dianna crept through empty streets, cold ruins of a city time forgot. The road by her feet lay cracked and overgrown with vines and moss slick to the touch. She wouldn’t be able to run well, though a steady stride did the job. She could walk much more easily now, more so once she’d climbed down from the hilltop.

  Her arm still ached, a little numb, though it didn’t seem broken. She probably smacked a nerve too hard. Dianna wasn’t a doctor, but she knew enough about her body to assume she wasn’t in any immediate danger. Once the Order arrived on the scene, they’d take care of her. The Order treated its citizens well, however …

  “I should exercise caution perhaps,” she said to herself.

  Dianna paused at the sound of a flicker coming from her right. She turned and aimed her flashlight toward a pile of rubble that once was a tavern. She could tell from the burnt out neon sign, the gasses faded from a cracked opening. She walked across the street to the wreckage and examined the pieces in greater depth, her eyes perusing the wreckage.

  Frayed wires sparked deep between blocks of concrete. She followed the arching path of the chords until they disappeared into the building itself. Dianna glanced across to her left and spotted a decrepit open doorway, the metal slider blown off the hinges. She folded her arms and smirked.

  “Mustn’t be a rude guest,” she said. “I should pay my respects.”

  Dianna sauntered through the narrow opening and into what appeared to be a tavern. She raised her flashlight to highlight the depths inside, but she barely managed the movement halfway before the electricity hummed through the establishment in full coursing power. She froze in place as lights flashed on and music from dead artists played. A disco ball spun around the center ceiling, causing flares of glowing colors to span around the tavern.

  Dianna shrunk back as the chunk of ceiling the ball had been mounted to fell to the floor, though the motorized mechanism continued to spin the piece across the carpet. She huffed and stepped further inside, if not without some due caution. This waterhole was 2oo years old. Who knew what might fall next.

  “Seems organized,” she said. “I recognize a fine establishment when I see one. What’s the phrase now?” She paused. “Bartender?”

  Dianna spoke the words, having read them from a script in the Order’s archives. She hadn’t recalled much of what she read, content in not knowing much from the Old World, but her recent brush with death had piqued her curiosity. It was time to pry for something more. She waited as a mechanized figure rolled up from a storage hatch at the far end of the counter in front of her.

  She took a seat at one of the stools, the one covered with the least rust, though they had all undergone serious deterioration. She took it as a precaution not to put all her weight on the stool. The drone, seemingly humanoid in appearance, rolled up to her and stopped with decent precision. It spoke to her in a mechanical tone.

  “Welcome to Beecher’s Pub, ma’am,” it said. “How might I serve you?”

  Dianna paused and sized up the creature. It spoke with surprising accuracy, despite the ache in its gears. The voice box didn’t compare to those in the Order’s patrol drones, but for two centuries late to the party, it wasn’t too bad. Mechanically, it stood tall with a solid silver torso and two posable arms for service functions. Judging by his lack of mobility, she assumed his ‘services’ boiled down to pouring drinks, preparing dishes and accepting funds.

  “I don’t believe you’ll have anything on your menu that I want to sample today,” she said. “But I would like to ask some questions, if you please.”

  “Of course ma’am,” he said. “I will answer to the best of my knowledge base.”

  Dianna smiled. “A fine drone.” She paused. “What can you tell me of your last day in operation?”

  The drone whizzed, as if contemplating the question. “Specify, please. What factual information would you like me to recall, ma’am?”

  Dianna rested face against her palm.

  “Oh, you have to be difficult, don’t you?”