Chapter 1: The Relic, pt. 1
510 from Colony Foundation
Toivo Vanhanen was one of the few who remembered Helsinki before it became a City in a modern sense of the word. It just took some 80 years for what was designed as an exact copy of an ancient settlement to turn into a vast Megalopolis girdled with steel and concrete, dug in the frozen ground, and sheltered from the outside world by cyclopean domes.
The only resemblance of the former Helsinki, the city left on Old Earth, were the melodious names of its sectors like "Espoo" or "Kainianen". Yet, there were fewer and fewer people left for whom these words bore some meaning. One by one, the old-timers passed away, but Toivo Vanhanen kept his vigil in his workshop at the corner of city lines LE-21 and LY-45, which in his heart were still Kirstentie and Sokunsuontie streets: wide and green, open to gloomy sky and the cold salty breeze from the sea.
He sincerely loved that other, former world.
With a soft click, a cracked receiver, artistically connected to the general information network, came to life, and a pleasant jazz melody enshrouded the workshop. Toivo leaned back heavily in his chair and closed his eyes, enjoying the last moments of peace before the noise and bustle of the waking City reached his doorstep. He didn't have to wait for too long. Soon his trading room, filled with shelves and racks, was pierced with the ringing of a copper bell.
The old man reluctantly rose to meet the first customer.
A box of bearings. An electric heating coil. A magnetron and a pair of vacuum tubes. Toivo pushed the order towards the packing area and blindly felt for a creaking cash register. Over the years, he had honed that movement and turned it into a reflection of himself: just as tired and dry — and completely inappropriate to the era of cashless trading and automatic accounting.
However, Toivo did not care about the opinions of the few stray customer who happened to wander into his workshop. What did it matter if the cash register had run out of tape many years ago or if the grinding of gears and clanging of levers sometimes managed to scare some of them?
It was day after day that the old man kept knocking out non-existent checks while enjoying the sounds of the old mechanism.
"Have a nice day, hope to see you again!"
The mechanical voice, full of hoarse and rattling was right enough to scare away thieves, belonged to an ancient android-salesman. Its arms and head were covered with artificial skin, almost indistinguishable from the one of a human being. Beneath it, there were about thirty tiny servomotors placed there by engineers to accurately mimic the work of facial muscles. The rest of the droid's body made out of rough metal was hidden under a knitted sweater which was inherited from the owner's son.
"Hey, Matti, old chap, what do we have for today?'
"Order No. 3214, left by Mrs. Ida Meyer. The customer is expected within the day."
"Oh, right, that lady and her violin… Look, drop her a message, tell her I've got nothing for her so far since I'm still waiting for the tuning pegs and that they're to come tonight. But watch it, pal, apologize to the lady as you should."
"Message sent."
That machine, a D-25 service droid, was the same age as Toivo. It was a relic of an era when the colonists were sure they were just a step away from the wonderful bright future, the one in which androids would take over most of routine work allowing human being to spend their time on creativity and self-development. Back then no one had any idea that very soon city administrations would have to come up with a solution for keeping millions and millions of workers busy. Even large factories had to switch to manual labour while service droids… well, they were among the first to go to scrap recycling centers.
The working day went on as usual. Toivo operated soldering iron, tightened up loose bolts with a wrench, picked at old mechanisms with his screwdriver. His droid-assistant collected orders and greeted politely customers when some of them came round the workshop. It was only in the evening that Toivo allowed himself to sink into his favourite chair, hidden behind the counter, and enjoy a cup of scalding hot coffee (or rather, what they called a coffee in the recent years) that immediately appeared on the armrest. A file of newspapers from almost 30 years ago appeared from under the seat. They had yellowed with age and mottled with worn-out font.
The old man immersed himself in reading.
Yet, he did not have time to finish the front page as the music programme was interrupted by an urgent news release. Nothing really new, however, was being broadcasted.
"…Protests have been continuing in the SI-7 and SI-8 sectors for already a week now, but there's still no answer to the demands made by the trade union representatives.", a newsreader reported it so cheerfully as if the stubbornness of the city's administration was his own merit. "'The municipality is continuously making efforts to resolve the current situation', the N1 reports with reference to the source in the city administration. In the meanwhile, an explosion is reported to cause numerous fires in the storage facilities belonging to the Intergen and Helagro corporations. The industrial port area is blocked by police force and other city services are unable to access…"
With a heavy sigh, Toivo shook the newspaper and reached out to shout both the annoying newsreader and his news. There was nothing new or surprising that droids had been once again smashed in the industrial sectors. Municipalities have made countless efforts to return droids under domes but each time the city authorities met fierce resistance of workers edged on by trade unions which always resulted in riots and mayhem. Objectively, there none of them barely had anything to worry about, but it was almost impossible to get through to nowadays neo-luddites and their leaders. And it had to be admitted, they destroyed the machines with no lesser ferocity than the followers of Ned Ludd on Old Earth.
"Welcome to 'Better Days'"
Toivo started in surprise as he had heard the droid's hoarse rasp and spilt some coffee on his knee. Before the old man came to his senses and ask the assistant about how many times it was ordered not to yell as if the workshop was on fire, an earthquake began. The floor trembled from heavy footsteps, the shelves and racks vibrated through a powerful demanding bass.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Olly_Jarvinen
Olly_Jarvinen Hey! Thanks for reading. Hope it goes well so far! This is my first work on WN, pls, consider leaving a thumb up or writing a comment to show there is someone out there :)