Part for of my wonderful (I hope) pet project Chronicles of the Abandoned. One can safely assume this carries with it a language warning (I forget it there's coarse language in this part) and a violence warning.
Comments appreciated as always!
The following day, I investigate the route of the patrol. It stems from a Militia barracks a few layers up and descends, emerging into the western side of the layer. It crosses the bridge over the river in about the center of the city, then winds its way throughout some of the more industrial areas of the city. Many buildings in that zone are abandoned, and used by the residents of the undercity for housing. They patrol the area to ‘show the colors’ and make sure that the scum of the city never forget that the Militia is always watching. I decide that I will have to take out the patrol one Militiaman at a time. To fight all three at once would be suicide. Unfortunately, I’ll have to take them out very quickly, which would be difficult, or in such a way that the others do not realize that anything is amiss, which would be just as hard, if not harder.
Finally, I decide that I will combine the two, and attack on the bridge, where the close quarters will negate their numerical advantage, to some extent. Once I decide this, I set about preparing weapons. I find a heavy concrete-like brick, which I can use to stun someone with a blow to the head, or if I get their helmet off first, maybe kill them. The piece of wood I brought on the journey to Osul’s house will work as a club, again being most effective if aimed for the head. Lastly, I have the stiletto. I search for other weapons for an hour or so before abandoning the search, realizing I can’t effectively carry much more. I return to the bridge and watch it for the rest of the day, keeping it under surveillance and watching for any patterns or tricks either I or the Militia may be able to take advantage of. Finally, I give it up and go back to the warehouse. After a quick dinner, I try to sleep, with little success.
The day of the assault dawns, and I am shaken awake by Raz’s grinning visage. “Breakfast,” he announces, holding a bag of food.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I say, yawning deeply. “But you are amazing, Raz.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says.
“Are you going to need help today?” Asil calls from across the warehouse. He is practicing with his weapon of choice, the sharpened metal pole. He has a roughly torso-sized cloth hanging from a support column, which he is using as a target. I hear dull thunks every time he hits it, which leads me to believe he has wood behind it, instead of leaving the metal exposed, which aside from making a hideous noise, would likely dull the point on his pole. Judging by the wounds the cloth has suffered, he has been practicing for awhile, or is far better than I assumed.
“I hope not. You should see this, though, if for no other reason besides being able to believe me when I say I want the Militia dead,” I reply, after swallowing a bite of breakfast.
“Whatever. I’ll be around,” he says.
“Where’d that cloth come from?” I ask.
“I found it.”
“Can you get more? I want to dress myself like a beggar. Something long, ragged, and concealing,” I explain. “I want to carry a club without being seen.”
Raz tosses me a blanket, which I barely catch. “Will this work?”
“You sure? You might not get this back. And if you do, it might be bloody.”
“I can find another,” he says, with a look that says quite clearly that he knows exactly where to look. I am surprised at his look, I must admit- I expected at least a little revulsion at the thought of his blanket being returned bloodied.
“Thanks, Raz,” I say for the second time this morning. I finish breakfast, and go about disguising myself. I wrap the blanket behind me, and use some strips of cloth from what remains of Asil’s practice target to tie the club under the blanket behind my back so that it won’t fall, but I can still draw it quickly. Hunching slightly completes the disguise, giving me the appearance of a typical undercity resident. I shove the stiletto into my belt, and decide I will have to carry the brick. Once equipped, I leave the warehouse.
I position myself on the side of the bridge the patrol will enter from, and sit against a nearby building, settling down to wait. I make sure that I sit in the shadows and slightly around a corner, out of view. In this regard, I look different from a typical beggar or resident, but feel confident I won’t be seen.
This is so uncomfortable, I decide for the millionth time several uneventful hours later. By this point, almost all of my extremities have fallen asleep, so I am forced to get up, go around a corner out of sight, and stretch until the blood returns to my limbs. This damn club is going to leave permanent marks on my back, probably. I just hope there’s enough blood in my fingers to swing this brick.
After a fair amount of circulation is restored, I sit myself down again, and continue waiting. To my surprise, the patrol comes soon after. Excellent. Talsen Grinto, you’re going to die. As the patrol goes by, I get to my feet, and slowly walk into the street and follow them. They don’t even notice me, to my surprise. Most people won’t come anywhere near a Militia patrol unless they absolutely have to, yet here I am, slowly trailing them, and they don’t even notice. You three are a disgrace to the already disgraced name of the Militia.
As the patrol approaches the bridge, I pick up speed, and close the distance between them and me. How can they not notice? Are they on to me somehow?
I can hear them talking now.
“This place is disgusting. Can’t wait to get off this damn layer.”
“Like you could stand helping rich old ladies cross traffic.”
“It’s gotta be better than this.”
They don’t realize anything? Is this going to work?
“What do you think, Talsen? Think he could give it up to go help old ladies?”
“No. He likes the young ones better.”
“And you don’t?” A snigger.
“I never said that.”
“That’s good,” I call. “Then you’d be a liar on top of being a murdering rapist!” I break into a run, letting the blanket flutter to the ground behind me.
All three of them turn around, shocked. None of them have their visors down, so I can see the expressions of shock on all three faces. I catch an eerie glimpse of myself reflected in a highly-polished visor, running in dirty, tattered black clothes with a brick in one hand. Then the image distorts, blocked by the reflection of my hand as I reach out, grab the helmet, and tear it off the head it rests upon. I spin to a stop, hurling the helmet at one of the other Militiamen and cracking the brick into the helmetless man’s skull. With a sickening noise I feel it give way, and the man crumples to the ground, quite dead. No time for sympathy now, or I’ll be just as dead.
I charge the man I threw the helmet at, about to try the same maneuver. He realizes what’s coming and edges backward, going for his gun. I instead throw the brick at the middle patrolman, Talsen, who is also pulling his gun out. He instinctively drops it and backs up, raising his arms to try and catch the brick. By now, the third patrolman has his gun out, so I opt for a flying tackle, and crash into him, below the barrel of his gun. He stumbles backward, flailing, and runs into the edge of the bridge, only stopped from plunging backward to the ground below by the railing. I fall to the ground and grab at his legs, lifting both of them up and giving him a good shove. He goes flying over the edge, screaming, accidentally kicking me in the shoulder as he flies over, and almost cracking me in the chin with the other foot. He takes the gun with him, and fires wildly as he plummets, nearly shooting me with one bolt of goop. I get to my feet and run at where I remember Talsen being, not even regaining my balance before charging. I know that I am running out of time- he will retrieve his gun soon if he hasn’t already.
I hear Talsen’s footsteps and look up. He is rushing towards me even as I am charging him, only he’s probably going for the gun. I reach behind me and grab the club, which I promptly throw at him, not even stopping to aim. I just want to delay him. He instinctively tries to slow down and throws up his arms to ward off the blow, which is exactly what I wanted. While he’s distracted, I pull the stiletto out of my belt and charge into him, shoving him backwards. He is completely off balance, and he can’t flail to try and regain it, because his arms are above me, where they are now pounding uselessly at my back. With a thud, he falls to the ground, cushioning my impact as I fall on top of him, and slam the slim blade into his chest. It’s not a killing blow, because his chest armor slows it, and I probably missed the heart anyway, but it hurts him. I pull it out and do it again as his hands close around my neck.
“Bad idea,” I stammer as my airways close, and start hacking at his wrists. Blood spurts everywhere as I hit the artery on his left wrist. Both hands release my neck as he screams in pain and tries to stem the flow with his right hand. I stab him in the chest another time, then again, and again, and again, and finally hit the heart. I pull his helmet off and jam it onto my head, listening to the Militia communications.
“…two units down, flat vitals. One unit unknown, no vitals. Converge on…”
Shit, they’re already coming. I get to my feet, stumbling, and throw the helmet off the side of the bridge, fearing that its location can be tracked. “ASIL!” I scream, running around, collecting as much of their gear as I can, and dropping it. I finally run for the blanket and begin stuffing items into it, using it as a makeshift sack.
Heavy footfalls herald Asil’s arrival. “Holy shit, man! I can’t believe you got all three of them! I…”
“No time!” I interrupt him. “Help me get as much gear as you can!”
“Got it,” he says, and scurries around, helping me. We collect both guns and as much ammo as we can, as well as both electro-batons, a pistol of some sort from Talsen’s body, and another stiletto. “I want that knife,” he says.
“Once we get out of here, sure! Let’s go !” I yell, and run for it. I look back and see him trudging behind me, his huge muscles bulging as he effortlessly hefts the spoils of war over his shoulder. We cross the bridge and charge down a side street, and cut into an alley.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Asil calls.
“No!”
“I do! Follow me!”
I let Asil get ahead of me, and follow his through another alley, down a different street, and around a corner, then nearly run into a man standing on a corner. I pull the stiletto, in case there’s trouble, but he hisses “Put that damn thing away! It’s me, Osul!”
“Get out of here! The Militia is on the way!”
“Thanks, Mi… Zeno. Come back in a few days when the heat is off, and we’ll talk business. My house, at night. Now go!”
“Will do,” I promise, then set off again after Asil, who was waiting, who is waving furiously for me to hurry.
“What the hell were you doing?” he demands as we round another corner and shoot past a startled passer-by.
“Talking to someone.”
“Who?”
“Osul.”
“What the hell for?”
“I did that for him. That was his price.”
“Price for what?”
“Supplying us, idiot!”
“Supplying us?”
“The uprising, with weapons!”
“When did you make that bargain?”
“Two nights ago!”
“How’d you know where he was?”
“Raz took me!”
“What?”
“You didn’t know?”
“How would I? I sleep at night, unlike some people!”
“That’ll change.”
“Whaddaya mean, ‘that’ll change?’”
“If this uprising gets started, we’re going to have to do a lot of work at night, dumbass.”
“Hey, you two!”
“Shit!” both Asil and I mutter, running faster. I pull the stiletto and Asil reaches into the blanket full of weapons before we realize that the muted hiss wasn’t the Militia stopping us.
“Over here, you idiots!” comes another hiss. A hand reaches out of a shadowed doorway to our left and beckons us. “It’s Enko! Not the Militia! This way!” The hand withdraws into the shadows again, and we follow. Once our eyes adjust, we see Enko, clutching the shoulder of a dejected Raz.
“Hey! How’d it go, Zeno?” he says, brightening as he sees us enter.
“It went well,” I reply. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I caught him coming to watch you,” Enko answers for him.
“Okay, so what are you doing here?” I ask him.
“Saving the both of you. This way,” he says curtly, and leads us out a back door into a blocked alleyway. He shifts some heavy looking rubble with ease, and takes hold of two metal semi-circles stuck into the neo-crete and metal flooring. He pulls and an entire panel of several square feet comes up, revealing its true identity as a camouflaged access point to travel between layers. “Go,” he orders. “There’s a stack of cargo containers below you.”
“Asil, go first, help the rest of us down,” I say, taking the sack of weapons from him.
Asil nods, sitting on the edge of the hole. He nimbly slides down, then calls up “All clear.”
“Raz, you next,” Enko says, with a look at his brother that brooked no argument. Raz slumped his shoulders dejectedly, and followed Asil down the hole. “I’m going last,” Enko said, after Raz vanished.
I give the blanket full of gear to Enko, then sit on the edge of the hole and slide down. I land heavily on a metal crate below. “Pass me the weapons,” I call up.
“Oh, it’s not bricks in this thing?” he answers sarcastically, passing it down. I grab the makeshift sack and pass it to Asil, then get out of the way so Enko can get down. A few seconds later, his feet appear, then the rest of him slides down, holding a cord that pulls the trapdoor shut behind him. “Everyone here?” he asks, looking around. “Good. Raz, you lead, and don’t run off. I’ll take the rear. Asil, in the middle, since you’ve got the heaviest load. Zeno… be useful, and don’t get lost. Let’s go.”
We make it to the warehouse without incident. “You left it unlocked?” Raz asks, surprised.
“Zeno was out playing assassin, Asil was nearby gawking and hoping to get in on the action, and I had to come after you, so who do you expect was going to stay behind?” Enko snaps, then looks sorry.
“Oh,” Raz says quietly, an uncharacteristic frown on his face.
Enko softens. “Just let me know next time,” he says.
“Okay,” he says, and falls silent.
The warehouse is exactly as it was when I left it this morning- it appears that no one has been inside it in our absence. I slide the locking bar home after I enter, and look around, confirming my initial impression. Raz slides several crates together to make a table of sorts, and Asil deposits the weapons onto it. “What did you get?” Raz asks, curiously.
“Two goop guns,” Asil calls, using the common term for the Militia Crowd Suppression Device, “a couple of ammo canisters, not sure which kinds, a pistol, not sure what kind, and a stiletto, which I’m keeping,” he concludes, holding up the blade in question and examining it in better light.
“It would help to get some real light in here,” I remark off-handedly. “Any thoughts about trying to get some electricity in here?”
“We could try that,” Raz pipes up. “Splice into a main wire, maybe…”
“We’d have to be careful. I don’t know if the government monitors power usage,” Enko says, always the realist.
“Maybe we could try and get a generator!” Raz says after a few moments of pondering.
“That might work. We could just stay off the main grid completely, and they’d never know,” I say, thinking aloud. “But how do we fuel the generator?”
“Steal a reactor core from somewhere,” Asil suggests. “From the spaceport, maybe. We could probably get parts of ground vehicles, too.”
“Actually, if we can steal parts from the spaceport, then we should get a bunch of other things, too. Maybe get a hold of some firepower to defend this place with…” I say, trailing off into silent thoughtfulness.
“Heavy weapons would be nice,” Asil agrees.
“This is if we can get into the spaceport, and if we can find anything to steal, and if we get away with it,” Enko says, shattering the wistfulness with his typical realism. “And we’d need a generator to power anything laser, I believe. And nobody uses bullets and gunpowder weapons in space- if they use anything ballistic, it’d be magnetically accelerated, not bullets. Or they’d use missiles and lasers. But not bullets. But if we can find a ship with a weapons locker or an armory, there might be some in that. Weapons for the crew to use to repel boarders.”
“He’s got a point,” Asil concedes.
I nod an agreement. “I think our priority should be a generator. With a generator, we can get light in here, and then we can think about bringing in weapons and stuff. Anyone have any ideas how hard it would be to get one? Or at least the parts?”
“We’d have to be careful if we get it in parts,” Raz says. “Not all the parts of an old electric generator that runs on a liquid fuel will be the same as the parts on a modern generator that uses a reactor.”
“He’s got a point,” Asil says again.
“One way or another, we should get one,” I say, trying to conclude the discussion and move onto the next point. “How should we get one?”
“Whaddaya mean?” Asil says. “We steal one.”
“But from where? Spaceship? Ground vehicle? Part by part?”
“More importantly,” Enko says, interjecting his customary dose of reality, “does anyone here know how to assemble or repair a generator? Or are we all going to be blown sky high by one of us tinkering with it?”
Ignoring the stinging of the sarcasm, I have to admit that Enko, as usual, has a salient point. “I don’t have much experience,” I admit.
“Same here,” Asil says.
“I clearly don’t, or I wouldn’t have brought it up,” Enko says, and all of us look at Raz.
“I can probably figure it out,” he says cheerfully, aware that we are all staring at him.
“Truly?” Enko asks, “Or are you kidding around?”
“I don’t know…” Raz says, downcast. “I probably could figure out how one works, but I’ve never done it before.”
“I thought as much,” Enko says.
For being protective of his brother, he tends to be a jerk, I decide. What’s with him?
“I say we let Raz try,” I say, coming to his defense. “We’ll watch, but if the four of us together can’t figure it out, we’re pretty much screwed anyway. So let’s let him try.”
“Alright,” Enko finally says.
“Which brings us back to the original question,” I say. “Where are we getting what from?”
“Leave it to me,” Raz says. “Asil can come help.”
“Okay,” Asil says after a moment, nodding.
“When?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll try and do it soon,” Raz answers with his usual cheerfulness. “I’ll start looking tomorrow. I’m sure I can find stuff.”
Enko rolls his eyes, but I am the only one to see it.
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