by DJ Molles
“No, I have what I need,” Sagum replied, quietly.
Lux finally looked at him. Gave him the barest of nods, and in it, Sagum was pretty sure he was forgiven. Maybe.
Still, he couldn’t quite get past the feeling that this was all a little ridiculous. Looking back and forth between these three powerful people, and he, the peon, seemed the only one able to see the reality of their situation. Life on the planet was being exterminated, and these three were still arguing about petty shit, as though they had all the time in the world to hunker down behind their bitterness.
For the first time in this whole strange journey, Sagum found himself missing Perry.
He scratched his temple, peering at Mala. “When is Perry supposed to return from…wherever he’s gone?”
Mala shrugged. “When he’s finished doing what he’s doing.”
“So…like…tomorrow?”
Mala’s face was deadpan. “He’ll be back when he gets back.”
Sagum smiled humorlessly. “Great. Thanks. You’ve been incredibly helpful.”
“Indeed,” Lux growled. “Come, Sagum. I think we’ve received all the help we’re going to get from these people.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JUNCTION CITY
As it turned out, accelerating to the equivalent cruising speed of a skiff was the easy part for Perry. Slowing down was the hard part.
As Junction City loomed its gray urban sprawl in the distance, Perry figured it would be best not to blast through their front gates like he’d been hurled out of a catapult.
At about half the distance between Karapalida and Junction City, Perry had found himself getting pretty tired and had tried to stop for a rest. His first attempt had ended with him skidding about fifty yards through hard packed dirt like a meteor that had come in at a sharp angle.
Yes, he’d managed to stop. And removed a solid layer of skin from his right side.
Now, oozing thin blood mixed with plasma from the mangling of his arm and leg, and coated in a fine layer of pale dust that made him look like he’d just emerged from a salt mine, Perry chose this time to gradually begin arcing himself higher and higher, so that his forward angle would not be so shallow when he tried to stop.
It worked. Kind of.
But it wasn’t until he was nearly on top of Junction City that he’d finally slowed his forward movement enough that he was able to gently alight on the ground, as Mala had instructed him.
His feet finally struck ground, feeling odd and tingly, and he extinguished his shield. The sensation of flying fast still clung to his innards and his eyes did strange things, making him feel like he should still be moving, when in fact he was standing still, legs wide, arms held out as though to balance on a narrow beam.
He shook his head, trying to clear it.
And only then did he discover a squad of legionnaires pointing their rifles at him.
“Oh,” was the only syllable that issued from Perry’s mouth as he stood there awkwardly, still in the stance of someone trying to maintain their balance.
He was much closer to the main gate of Junction City—which had gates, unlike Karapalida—and all around it, armored barricades had been erected, providing cover for the squad of legionnaires that now stared at him over the muzzles of their rifles.
An expectant hush claimed the air between them, as though both parties were waiting for the other to do something.
Perry’s hand, already held up to balance himself, waved lightly in the air. “Hey…gentlemen.”
As friendly as the gesture was intended, it snapped the moment cleanly in half.
“Don’t fucking move!” one of the legionnaires bellowed.
Perry groaned. “Gods in the skies, here we go.”
“Drop that weapon!”
Perry glanced at his longstaff in his left hand. He’d almost forgotten how threatening it could appear. And then he saw himself from the perspective of the legionnaires—seeming to drop out of the sky, bearing a paladin’s longstaff—and he realized he was quite threatening indeed.
Runts are not accustomed to being seen as threatening, especially by legionnaires.
Perry did not relinquish his longstaff. Instead, he stood up straight and hefted it in both hands.
Perry came to the rapid conclusion that the legionnaires were not a fan of this maneuver, as they all started shooting at him at once.
Though his heart took off at a sprinting pace, his mind remained calm, dipping into his clasp again and activating his shield in a wide disc in front of him as he began to stride forward.
The hail of incoming bullets sizzled and sparked against the shield. The disruptions to the surface of it sent little scrawls of electricity arcing across it and it rippled like water under a rainstorm.
“Stop that,” Perry called loudly, though he doubted they heard him over the chatter of their guns. “You should stop!”
Their faces became clearer through the disrupted energy shield as he drew within a few paces of them—the anger of someone in control of the situation rapidly melting into a sort of panic as they realized their force was not effective.
Perry halted there in front of them, letting them empty their magazines into his shield. He felt it weakening, but he had enough faith and experience in it now to know that it wouldn’t go out before they had to reload.
The second Perry found a break in the fire where his voice could be heard, he shouted loudly, “Stop wasting your ammo!”
Maybe they were shocked to hear him speak so authoritatively. More likely, they were still in the process of grabbing fresh magazines. In any case, the break in fire lasted long enough for Perry to lock eyes with the one he assumed was their decanus.
“How many more bullets are you going to piss away before you let me talk?” Perry demanded.
The decanus, himself in the midst of a reload, paused with the magazine halfway to his rifle. His eyes, at first widened with fear, now cinched down. In typical, bullheaded, legionnaire fashion, he slammed the magazine home and sent the bolt forward.
But he didn’t fire.
And neither did his squad.
Perry kept the shield hovering between them, but looked all across their worried faces, their squinted eyes sighting through their holographic reticles, muzzles aimed pointlessly at his face.
He took a breath, stilling his thundering heart. “That’s good. Ammunition is precious, and I’m not the one you need to use it on. Or do you have access to an ammunition factory I don’t know about?”
“Who the fuck are you?” the decanus snapped.
“I’m Perry.” He rested the butt of his longstaff on the ground and leaned on it casually. Just two guys talking. “Who are you?”
The decanus ignored him. “Aren’t you a little short for a paladin?”
Perry smiled in a longsuffering way. “Well, that’s because I’m not a paladin.” He held up a hand. “I know, I know. How am I using god tech if I’m not a paladin?” He shook his head. “How much time you got?”
The decanus, all stony faced, regarded him for a long moment. Then the stone veneer cracked a tiny bit as the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “I got all the time in the world, you cheeky sonofabitch. What I don’t have is interest. Now, what the hell do you want?”
“I’m looking for someone I think might be here in Junction City.”
“Gates are closed.”
Perry looked at the gates with mock surprise. “They seem wide open to me.”
The decanus shifted his stance, the muzzle of his rifle dipping just an inch or so. “They’re closed.”
“Okay, so they’re closed,” Perry sighed. “Can you open them?”
“Orders from the legatus. No one in or out.”
“Don’t you think this is kind of dumb?” Perry asked, scuffing a boot lackadaisically through the dust. “I mean, I’m not trying to sound threatening to you, but do you really think you could stop me from going inside Junction City?”
That seemed to give
the decanus pause.
“Look, I’m not trying to bust your balls here,” Perry shoved himself off of his longstaff, causing a slight stir amongst the legionnaires facing him. “I see you’re wearing blue sagums. Still loyal to The Light? Do you know Legatus Mordicus? He’s in Karapalida, where I just came from.”
“Legatus Mordicus?” the decanus echoed in a sort of toneless way.
Perry nodded. “Yeah. You could say he sent me here.”
For the first time the legionnaires and their decanus tore their eyes away from Perry long enough to exchange a series of glances amongst themselves. Perry didn’t care for the half-bemused manner in which they did it. Like there was some sort of inside joke that he wasn’t privy to.
The decanus finally returned his gaze to Perry. “Who are you looking for?”
Perry chewed his dry lips—gods, but they’d become chapped from all that flying through the dry air. “Let’s just say it’s an old friend of mine who I have reason to believe is in Junction City at this time.”
“If you don’t tell me who you’re looking for, I can’t help you,” the decanus said, in a sort of willfully stubborn way.
“Alright, fine.” Perry rolled his eyes. “His names Hauten. He runs a scavenging and reloading outfit.”
The decanus shook his head. “Sorry, don’t know him.”
Perry pointed a finger at him. “Okay, now you’re just being a dick. Is this really necessary? Because I can be a dick too.” He picked his longstaff up in both hands.
Grips tightened around rifles. Bodies shuffled. The decanus’s own rifle came up again.
“Really?” Perry scoffed. “Your answer to that is to shoot more bullets at me? We both know how that’s going to go. Now, I’m trying to make friends, but you’re being real fucking difficult right now. Can I make a suggestion?”
The decanus was tensely silent.
“Rather than you wasting more ammo, and me having to explode your squad into a bunch of sizzling chunks of meat, how about we both be reasonable human beings? You take two of your men—or the whole squad, I really don’t give a shit—and escort me to your legatus. You have my word I won’t be violent.”
The decanus spit off to the side. “Your word means fuckall to me.”
“Decanus!” a loud voice issued from behind the gates.
Everyone twitched, like kids caught by an adult.
The decanus’s eyes jagged off to the side, but he didn’t turn and look.
From inside of a half-toppled building, another legionnaire—this one slightly older than the others—stepped out. He wore no helm, and had only his pistol on his hip. His hands were occupied with a bowl and a spoon filled with what looked like boiled grains. He looked like the type of individual that had stopped giving a shit a long time ago.
“Centurion?” the decanus said, still aiming his rifle at Perry.
The centurion stuffed his spoon-load of grain into his mouth, eyeing Perry as he chewed. Then he spoke around the mouthful: “Let him through.”
The decanus immediately ported his rifle and took a step to the side, opening the narrow lane between the sets of barricades. He glared at Perry, but jerked his head, motioning Perry through.
Perry strode through, letting his shield reform into a tight dome around him. Best not to let his guard down just yet.
The centurion watched him intently as he walked through the gates. He spooned more grain into his mouth. Chewed in thoughtful silence.
Perry stopped in front of him.
The centurion looked him up and down, taking in the shimmering surface of the shield. He sucked morsels of food from his molars. Nodded at Perry. “That really necessary?”
“The shield?”
“Yeah, the shield.”
“I don’t know. Is it?”
The centurion shrugged. “I’ve given the order for them to stand down.” Another spoonful of grain. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter to me if you keep it up. Just don’t touch me with it.”
Perry stared at him for a long moment. True to Perry’s first impression of every ounce of body language that the centurion gave off, he safely concluded that this man gave no fucks.
Perry extinguished his shield.
The centurion gave no reaction to that. Just kept chewing his food. Added another spoonful.
Perry fidgeted. “I’m sorry, were you going to take me somewhere?”
The centurion pointed to his bowl with his spoon. “I’m eating.”
“I can see that.”
A nod, as though nothing else needed to be said.
The centurion tilted the bowl. Scraped the sides. Gathered up one final spoonful. Ate it. Chewed. Looked skyward. Sighed noisily. Swallowed. Then he turned his back on Perry and, grumbling something under his breath, sauntered back into the dark innards of the ruined building he’d come out of.
Perry stood there for a moment, wondering if he was supposed to wait or if this was some sort of dismissal. He glanced back at the squad at the gate. Only the decanus was watching him now, a smirk on his lips.
After a few moments of silence, the centurion emerged, a crested helm clutched in one hand, and a bottle of what looked like millet whiskey in the other. The centurion scuffed his way through the rubble that had fallen from the destroyed building, cursing and kicking a rock out of the way. He upended the bottle and took a long pull from it. Perry watched the bubbles rising in the glass, sparkling in the sun.
The centurion finished his drink, smacked his lips. Offered the bottle to Perry.
Perry smiled and shook his head. “You remind me of a good friend of mine.”
“Huh.” The centurion capped the bottle and tossed it through the air where the decanus at the gate caught it deftly. He hefted the helm and squashed it down over his head. “He must be a good looking man.”
Perry squinted at him. “Is it the legionnaire academies that make you all like this?”
The centurion shook his head, started walking. “No. It’s the never ending war. You coming?”
***
“Legatus Mordicus.” The tall man looked down his long, straight nose at Perry as he said it. Also, he said it with the same inflection one might use to identify a particular strain of dysentery-causing bacteria.
Perry winced at the tone. “I detect some dislike in your voice.”
This legatus—Gaius, as he had introduced himself—seemed the polar opposite of Mordicus. Where Mordicus was broad and rather stocky for a legionnaire, Gaius was tall and rail-thin. While Mordicus had cut off his sagum and refused to be identified as The Light, Gaius’s cape was pressed and clean and bright blue as though freshly dyed, and the chest plate he wore was enameled blue with a white, nine-pointed star. Where the loyalty of Mordicus’s men seemed to be almost religious, Perry got the sense that Gaius’s men only respected him because he would have them executed if they didn’t.
It wasn’t necessarily all bad, though. Mordicus seemed to have washed his hands of the general populace of Karapalida, while Gaius seemed to think it was his divine responsibility to keep them in line. Karapalida had turned into a volatile trash heap. Junction City, though it had obviously been struck by a Guardian, was shockingly ordered. No people scrabbling out in the streets looking for scraps. Legionnaires were posted at even intervals throughout the city, and Perry had observed no less than five checkpoints on his way to the municipal building where Gaius had set up his base of operations.
In response to Perry’s observation, Gaius’s nose wrinkled as though someone had opened a sewer grate nearby. “His men call him ‘Father.’” Dripping disdain.
“Well, actually, they call him ‘Daddy.’”
Gaius looked on the verge of shuddering. “Even worse. It is detestable for a commander to be on such familial terms with his men. A clear separation is necessary between the officers and legionnaires. Anything else is chaos.”
“Karapalida is a little chaotic,” Perry admitted. “But the point is, we’re all on the same side, aren’t we?
”
Gaius didn’t immediately respond to that. Which made Perry feel that maybe he didn’t see it that way at all. He had a pair of ice cold eyes that narrowed as he stared at Perry, as though he could absorb some elemental truth about Perry by how strongly he focused on him.
Come to think of it, he reminded Perry a lot of Paladin Lux.
“You claim Mordicus sent you here. That is unverifiable, and even if it were, it carries little weight with me. My centurion claims you can use this god tech that you carry about you. I have no reason to doubt his word, but I remain incredulous nonetheless. It is…obvious you’re not a paladin.”
“You’re right, I’m not.”
“And how did a peon such as yourself manage to learn how to use the god tech?”
“My biological father was a paladin,” Perry replied, trying to keep things as plain as possible. “The ability to use the god tech is called Confluence, and it is something I inherited from him.”
“Unlikely,” Gaius said flippantly. “Paladins do not lay with human women, and to say so is heresy.”
Perry felt himself bristle at the casually dismissive attitude. Almost as though Gaius expected him to be incapable of telling the truth and so was unsurprised when he lied—even though it was the truth.
“Well, maybe that’s why he tried to have me killed.”
“If a paladin wanted you dead, you would be dead,” Gaius said, matter-of-factly.
“Oh?” Perry shifted his stance, unable to keep the heat of anger from rising up the back of his neck. “Because it sure as shit seemed like he was trying to kill me. But then I killed him.”
Gaius’s eyes registered shock, but then went glassy and cold again. “Unverifiable.”
“Look,” Perry grated out. “Does it even matter? You’re not inclined to believe me. That’s fine. It’s neither here nor there. The fact remains, I have Confluence. Let’s move on.”
“Fine,” Gaius said, a bit snippy. “Move on to what? What is it that Mordicus has sent you to beg for?”
Perry rapped his fingers on his longstaff. A few deep breaths brought him back to a more reasonable place. “I’m looking for a man named Hauten.”