by Liam Clay
Something is wrong here. This handover ceremony is moderately interesting, but if this was the extent of it, the Ninetowners wouldn't be broadcasting the proceedings to the whole city. They must have something else planned. And I think I know what it is.
From higher up in the crater, I catch the sound of boots against steel. The crowd murmurs as they hear it too... and then hundreds of faces turn my way. I nod back; this is what I warned them about. And I swear, I can actually smell the adrenaline as it floods their veins. Then the mob turns to face outward, ready for whatever may come. I wish it hadn't taken this moment to galvanize them into action. But it did, and we're doing this, and that is enough. And now, through the gaps between factories, a small army appears. They wear no uniforms and fly no flags - but they do have a leader. And I know her well.
Vorashia is armored from shoulder to toe. Her steel jaw gleams in the sun, making her look like a cyborg out of some evil corporate lab. The slaver crews are arrayed behind her, armed and ready for battle.
“Well isn't this something.” She drawls. “It looks like the rats have remembered their claws. I'm glad. Crushing a proper resistance will send a stronger message to the other vermin.”
A snarl issues from the throats of my fellow slaves. Many of them have a Vor of their own. The one who captured them, tortured them, and sold them like a side of meat. And now all of that anger, that pain and degradation, is rising to the surface. Today, we go to war.
Then, to the surprise of all, the auctioneer shouts, “What the serious fuck is going on? Nobody told me these guys were going to crash the party.”
Sensing an opportunity, I shout, “The slavers came here to exterminate us, as a message to the entertainment quarter uprising! But we might have a few things to say about that.”
The auctioneer turns my way. “Is that the Live Soldier down there? And with two arms this time! You like to pop up in unexpected places, don't you?”
On the freighter, I see Delez's head swing around. Our eyes meet. Then his gaze travels sideways to land on Peace. She makes a strangled sound, and starts to push her way through the crowd. This is all the provocation Vor needs.
“Crews, attack!”
And shit goes wild. The slavers level their guns and start to fire into the mob. But the workers have harnessed their hatred, and they charge straight into the onslaught. Tikal and the others are pulled away from me. But I can still see Peace, pushing for the canal, and so I follow her. The mob surges around us. Then a slaver jumps into my path, swinging a blackjack down at my head. I grab the haft with my human hand, and punch him in the temple with my prosthetic. The blow caves the side of his head in. He falls away and I stumble onward, staring down at my robotic limb. I don't see the second slaver until he's bearing me to the ground. I land with my composite arm against his stomach. Without thinking about it, I make a fist and pull. A bleeding chunk of flesh and muscle comes away in my hand. Then I'm up and running: away from his screams and toward the freighter.
Up ahead, Peace has reached the canal bank. Delez is watching the battle, and doesn't seem to notice her. She grabs hold of a mooring rope and starts to climb across. I'm not sure whether to intervene, but the decision won't be mine to make anyway. The battle is shifting, forcing me away from the ship, and there is nothing I can do but go with it.
The auctioneer, meanwhile, has decided to narrate the battle. And it sounds like he's rooting for the slaves. So either the man has lost his marbles, or he thinks we stand a chance. But he may have chosen sides too soon, because hundreds of Hornets are streaming into the crater now. The security forces smash into the workers in a black and yellow tide. Three of them home in on me, guns raised. The closest man fires. I sidestep smoothly, delivering a straight punch to the chest that fractures his sternum. I steal the truncheon on his hip as he falls, and break it over his friend's head. The third Hornet fades back into the melee. Bending down, I take the first assailant's weapons.
I turn back to the canal just as Peace gains the freighter's deck. The Null are busy casting off, and don’t notice her. She approaches Delez. And although battle rages all around me, I can’t take my eye off them. When she is just a few paces away, he spins around - and stops short. Peace rushes forward and wraps her arms around him. And he... returns the gesture. Oh my god. Then Delez kisses her on the lips, and begins to speak. But it's impossible to hear what he's saying - and not just because of the auctioneer and the battle noise. A new sound is drowning everything else out, and it comes from the sky.
When the first spitfire carves a path through the blue, I let out a cheer. Then the fighter plane looses a four-missile volley that soars in low over the crater, heading for the freighter. Delez reacts instantaneously. Lifting Peace over his head, he steps to the ship's railing and jumps overboard. The missiles scream over the canal and slam into a guard outpost just upslope of the Sun. It dissolves into a mushroom of flame.
More spitfires join the first, swooping in over the pyramid's outer wall. But instead of missiles, these planes drop paratroopers into our midst. One of them lands not far from me. His armor is burnt gold, as is the assault rifle he carries. In what feels like another life, I fought these mercenaries in the flooded streets of Opacity. But now, I couldn't be happier to see them. The paratrooper presses a button on his chest, and his chute retracts into a backpack. Then he preps his rifle and storms into the fray.
When he's gone, I return my attention to the canal. The freighter is chugging away, and my friends are nowhere in sight. Then a blonde head breaks the water, followed by Delez's dark one. He looks to be unconscious. Grabbing hold of him, she swims toward a stairwell that descends from the crater down to water level. She climbs out first, dripping and shaking. Then she hauls Delez onto the bottom steps and collapses beside him. I can't believe it: she actually rescued him. This changes everything.
“Anex.”
Turning, I find Peppin standing a few paces away. He is bent over and sucking wind, but doesn't appear to be injured.
“Who are these golden fellows?” He wheezes.
“Friends, more or less. You shouldn't be out here, though. Why don't you hide inside the Sun until this is over?”
“I think not!” He says indignantly. “I will remind you that my clumsiness was just an act - one that allowed me to penetrate a heavily guarded floating fortress. I can take care of myself.”
“Right, sorry.”
“It is forgotten. And you are correct that I am no fighter. But there are other ways to make myself useful.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I will go to the entertainment quarter, and convince the slaves there to join our fight.”
I glance around the crater. It is in a state of total chaos. Some of the factories are on fire, and workers are spilling from them, armed with industrial tools and stolen guns. Spitfires are tearing through groups of Hornets, who must be cursing their high-vis uniforms right about now. Calendo's paratroopers are going toe to toe with Vorashia and the slaver crews. As for my friends, Peace and Delez are safe for the moment, and the others could be anywhere. The best way to help them is to end this quickly.
“Great idea.” I say to Peppin. “Mind if I tag along?”
“I would be honored. And to tell you the truth, I don't fancy my chances of making it there alone.”
We set off across the crater, circling around pockets of fighting where we can. The auctioneer is still narrating the battle, and his voice keeps us company along the way.
“... don't know where these beige guys came from, but they're dynamite. Three of them are going after Vorashia, and - ooh, that didn't work out for them. I'm telling you, that bitch is impossible to kill. Did you see how she leg-swept all of them at once? Overall, I'd say this contest is a dead heat though. Hey, I said stay still, you dirty fucks!” And then, “For anyone wondering how I'm managing to stay on air, I've got a couple of shareholders held at gunpoint up here. Man, did all of this escalate fast! But I've been sick of hating my
self for a while now, so this is really doing it for me. Whoa, there goes another factory, up in flames! Hope all the slaves got out in time. Wait, should I still call them slaves? But that's probably a question for another day...”
The auctioneer's voice fades as we near the crater's edge. Its main entrance lies just ahead of us. There are a few Hornets in the vicinity, but they have yet to organize. I pass Peppin my truncheon, and we continue on. When they see us coming, the security forces start to fire wildly. They're out of bullets in no time flat. Taking careful aim, I hit one of them in the shoulder. The others scatter, and we run past them into the high ceilinged corridor.
We're about halfway to the engine room when we see a mob approaching from the opposite direction. Peppin pulls up and looks around. But there are no side corridors, no places to hide.
“What should we do?” He asks.
“Be ready to run.”
The actor swallows. “I have an alternate suggestion. Why don't we actually run instead of just preparing to do so?”
“Because I want to see what we're up against first. I've only got one eye, though. Can you see who these guys are?”
He squints down the corridor - and curses under his breath.
“Well, who is it?”
“The entertainment quarter slaves. They have come of their own accord.”
“Then why do you look so angry?”
“Because Datsel Lima is with them.”
“Oh crap. Look, I know he's your nemesis and all, but could you wait until after this is over to confront him?”
Peppin turns to look at me. “If you meet Vorashia on the battlefield today, will anything keep you from facing her?”
“Probably not. But it's worth mentioning that she is on the other side. Whereas it looks like Datsel is helping us.”
The entertainers are close now. In addition to Datsel, I also see Belinda and a host of her fellow acrobats. Others, I recognize from the Gamehouse. But most are strangers, and there are lots of them. If I can defuse this situation with Peppin, these people could turn the tide.
At first, it looks like the entertainers are going to roll right over us. Then they recognize me, and the stampede comes to an abrupt halt. Datsel has lost a lot of weight, and is clearly still recovering from the wound Sipholo gave him. Belinda has a triangular gouge carved out of her cheek. Looking closer, I see that most of the entertainers are carrying injuries of some kind. Keeping the Hornets out of the quarter has taken its toll.
“Datsel Lima!” Peppin calls across the gap between us. “I take it you know my true identity now.”
“I do.” The man replies. “You are Peppin, brother to Cary, who was once an acrobat in my employ.”
“You admit it then. That you enslaved my sister.”
“Yes, I admit it. And my only excuse is that I treated her well, and respected her, just like I did all of my staff - many of whom you see before you.”
Peppin is shaking now. We really don't have time for emotional confrontations at this juncture. But nothing I can say will speed this up, so I stand back and let it play out.
“Why are you still with him?” Peppin asks Belinda. “This man treated you like property.”
The tightly muscled woman steps forward out of the crowd.
“You're wrong. Datsel isn't perfect, but he always treated us like human beings. Like colleagues.”
“Like colleagues who could never leave his employ though, yes? I think you suffer from a condition known as stockholm syndrome. It is the urge to protect your abuser even after being freed from their control.”
From the back of the crowd, someone yells, “Can we please knock these two out and get moving? The factory workers need our help.”
“No!” Belinda shouts back. “This man deserves to be heard. You may be right.” She continues, speaking to Peppin again. “I am no psychologist. But we are all products of this broken system - him as much as anyone. And he did his best by us within the rules of the world he knew. Your sister included.”
“You knew her?”
“She was one of my best friends. Her death was a tragic accident. A mid-air collision between her and another acrobat. She died instantly, and felt no pain. Datsel was a wreck for weeks afterward. We all were.”
I have an idea what Peppin is going through. To sustain yourself on the hope of revenge for so long, and then to have it tarnished at the last moment... I'm not sure if I could accept it. But maybe I can get him to try.
“Come on Pep, you lived with these people. Datsel may be deluded, but he isn’t evil.”
The actor looks to the other acrobats. “Do all of you feel this way?”
There are nods from the crowd. Peppin bows his head - and then rushes Datsel. His truncheon swings down. The slavemaster makes no effort to avoid the blow, and it takes him in the shoulder. He falls into Belinda's arms. Peppin looks at the damage he has inflicted. The truncheon clatters to the ground, and he closes his eyes, waiting for the acrobats to strike him down.
But no one lifts a finger.
“Just get it over with!” He screams at them.
“We're not going to hurt you.” Belinda says quietly.
“Why not?”
“Because none of us would ever punish a slave for seeking retribution against their master.” She glances at Datsel. “Also - and I'm sorry if this bursts your bubble - I don't think you hurt him that badly.”
Peppin heaves a sigh of relief, and then bursts into tears. Taking his arm, I steer him off to one side of the corridor. The entertainers stream past us, eager to join the fighting.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He sags against the wall, emotionally and physically spent. It's bizarre to think that not long ago, I thought he was mentally challenged.
“I will be.” He replies, and I believe him. Closure can be found in failure as well as success. “And now it's your turn.” He adds.
“What are you talking about?”
“Vorashia. My monster turned out to be false, but yours is the genuine article. So you must kill her - for your own sanity and the greater good.”
“Vorashia used to be a slave, you know. She’s built an entire worldview to insulate herself from the shame of that fact, and it requires her to hate what she once was.”
Peppin studies me carefully. “Does that mean you will spare her life, given the chance?”
“Hell no. That bitch has built a career out of torture and slavery just to make herself feel powerful. My only concern is that she also happens to be an unstoppable killing machine. If I go up against her, I'd give myself a 20% chance of winning. And that's without her armor on.”
Peppin strokes his chin. “That is quite the conundrum. Have you considered shooting her in the back?”
“That wouldn't be entirely sporting.”
He shrugs. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
CHAPTER 22
When Peppin feels ready, we return to the crater's entrance. But that is as far as we go together.
“When I embarked upon this quest,” he says, “I didn’t expect to survive long enough to find out what happened to Cary. And now that I have, I would like the chance to grieve properly. So I'm going to find somewhere safe to hide, and wait this thing out.”
I shake his hand with my real one, and we part ways - hopefully not for the last time. The entertainers are well ahead of me, streaming down toward the canal where the fighting is thickest. Spitfires still roam the skies. A rocket shoots up from the ground, striking one on the nose. It spews smoke and trails away into the distance.
I guess I should be getting back in there. Kick some slaver ass and all that good shit. But my adrenaline has faded, and a nap sounds more my speed right at the moment. But that's life, I suppose. Time to kill Vorashia or die trying. I check my stolen gun. It has one round in the chamber and four in the clip. Not a huge arsenal, given the circumstances. But it'll do. I break into a steady lope.
As I descend into the crater, the smell of death grow
s. The heat escalates too, until sweat is running down into my eye. I reach the edge of the fighting. There are no battle lines here, no cunning stratagems or maneuvers. It’s every man and woman for themselves. And with friend and foe packed so tightly together, guns are of little use. Which is a shame, since a gun is what I have. I could rely on my prosthetic to get me by, but I still have Nem's warning in my head. What has been given can be taken away... So I wait.
Presently, one of the slaver crews breaks free of the melee. Conveniently, there are five of them. I have shot quite a few people in my life. Some of those shots were pretty good. But this is a definite highlight of my career. Five bullets go into five heads. Wham bam, end of story. And I don't even have to feel bad, because these bastards truly are the scum of the earth. It's nice to see in black and white now and again.
And thanks to my crack shooting, I now have a tremendous assortment of hand weaponry to choose from. After some deliberation, I take a matte black sword with a blood red grip. A line of red lights blinks along its length. After putting my hand near the blade, I realize that these lights are not ornamental, but to show that the weapon is turned on. As an experiment, I press the blade to the arm of its former owner. The corpse’s flesh sizzles and pops. Jesus. Whoever made this thing had serious problems... but I kind of like it anyway. I take a few exploratory swings, and then it's into the melee I go. Suffice to say, my adrenaline kicks back in pretty quickly after that.
Over the next few minutes, I gather something of a following. The acrobats are the first to glom onto my blinking black banner. But the Gamehouse playing pieces are close behind. Soon, all of the entertainers are fighting at my side. As it so often does, my world shrinks down to the next enemy, the next foot placement and sword thrust. The Hornets fall to our advance, and die in droves. Blood fills my eye and mouth. On the elevated stage, the auctioneer is wrestling with Dr. Alan and two shareholders, while still managing to get a sprinkling of commentary in. Bruin is nearby, pummeling his opponents with composite fists. The crews are backed up against the Sun's bay door now. We're winning.