Drevan gave a slight nod as Nielson released him and stood up. They saw he was wearing a black skintight uniform with an infiltration vest as he walked over to Dawson’s body and wiped the blade off on a pantleg. He then holstered the knife in his vest and looked from Asta to Drevan.
“Look at you two. You look like someone shot your dog. Oh, don’t feel sorry for those dregs you hired! Did you see where they lived? It was barely more than a shack.” He let loose another chortle and held his arms out wide. “But you two! You two I see have exquisite tastes. Instead of living outside like animals, you live inside like reasonable folk. Or… did you tell them they couldn’t come inside? I dare say I wouldn’t blame you if that were the case. No, sir… …Ms. Lynch, you have a boob hanging out. I’ve got to say, I’ve never been much for tits.”
“Ah’ll bet…” Drevan muttered.
“Oh, don’t be jealous! You’re not quite my type, either. I need someone who can give just as well as they get. And you just don’t qualify.”
“Yer a dead man,” Asta said making no effort to cover herself.
He gazed up at her. “Now, don’t be like that. Maybe I’m a ‘dead man’, as you say, but not just yet, I don’t think. You two are a mess. I think I can trust you to go on upstairs and get dressed, yes? We got a long trip ahead of us. After all, we’re going into the Dustlands! You know, I once heard that the Dustlands (which is really just the blowback of those atmospheric scrubbers, right?), I heard that the dust and sand kicked up by the force can shred flesh right down to the bone. Amazing! Quite the place to dispose of a body, I would say.” He lifted a finger up towards the ceiling. “Our young hunter, Ms. Wilson, and our intrepid engineer, Mr. Weiss, have driven straight into that storm psychotically! And though Mr. Berricks is certain they’re nothing more than a fine powder by now, he’s not so certain as to not verify it. And we have to know if that book survived or not!”
“Don’ be stupid, ya fucktard,” Asta spat out. “We ain’ goin’ inta the Dustlands.”
“Now, Ms. Lynch, we have an accord here—”
“We ain’ goin’ in cuz it ain’ necessary,” Asta sighed and thumped her revolver against her thigh. “If’n ya was as smart as ya think ya are, ya’d have come ta the conclusion that Aidele and Weiss survived. More as like headed ta one of the Dustlands Sciences Research Stations towards the center o’the storm. Got ‘em every few hundred miles. Closest one’s jus’ outside old man Lester’s claim. There’s a tram network there that’d take ‘em up towards the train station up beneath the labs. Which she’d likely lie low in fer a spell.”
“Labs? What labs?”
“Yeah, ya miserable fuck. Professor Wilson’s labs. Din’t know ‘bout them? Guess ya right wouldn’t. Off the books’n known only by a handful o’folk. They’s up above the Crags.”
Nielson crossed his arms with a contemplative expression. “Professor Wilson had labs in the Wastelands? I thought he only worked out of Aquila Mons?
“How extraordinary!” Nielson snapped and waggled his finger towards Asta. “You see! I knew I was right about you!”
Asta didn’t reply. Only glared at him as if she was trying hard to make his head explode.
“Go on. Get dressed,” he teasingly soothed. “I’ll wait for you outside. You can fill my pilot in on our destination.”
Asta furrowed her brow and Nielson chuckled. “We won’t be using horses on this journey, I’m afraid. We’ve already wasted too much time already. And the I fear the gig is up nonetheless. The Council won’t be coming into the Wastelands, we don’t think. Not yet anyhow.” Nielson waved his hand at her in a ‘shooing’ gesture. “Well, go on. Get dressed! You can’t take on Ms. Aidele Wilson in nothing more than a silk nightie and your birthday suit!”
Nielson grinned and turned to leave. He whistled as he left Asta and Drevan to stare at one another with growing dread. The pain was evident to one another without having to speak a word. Drevan raised a brow and she nodded. Whatever happened next, they weren’t going to let anything happen to the kids. Wordlessly, Drevan stood up and walked up towards Asta. He placed a hand around her hip and the other around the back of her neck. Then leaned his forehead against hers. They remained there for a few moments before both looked at the two dead men. Movement in the other room drew their attention and then one of Nielson’s soldiers entered the family room and looked up at them menacingly. They silently turned and went upstairs.
ASTA AND DREVAN walked out onto the front deck a little while later. Nielson stood nearby looking out to the yard. A company of rough looking soldiers had surrounded the plantation. All heavily armed. Most wore dusters and Grey Lances. A few donned black leather combat suits like Nielson’s. At least half a dozen troopers guarded a small, boxy shuttle with a fully dropped landing ramp. There were just shy of twenty troopers that she could see, and others inside the house looking for anyone else who happened to be on the premises.
Asta shook her head as she walked towards the steps off the deck. Nielson was holding some sort of pad and he looked over to her, a gleaming grin on his face. It took every ounce of her will not to just pull her revolver and waste them all. Instead, she folded her arms and stared at all the activity, not so much as looking at Nielson.
“Y’know,” Asta began, “you Union boys are the most vile and disgusting pieces of tyrannical flesh ever yanked outta a wretch’s cooch anywhere in the whole system o’Sol.”
Nielson held his tablet in clasped hands and smiled pleasantly. “Why, you do flatter me so, Ms. Lynch. However, endearing platitudes will just have to wait until after our mission is complete.”
At Nielson’s gesture, a man walked over to them, taking the six steps two at a time, until he was standing before them. He wore an atmospheric jumper and held a helmet in the crook of his left arm. She thought that with his wispy brown hair and clean features he would be quite handsome. Were it not for his allegiance to the Union.
“Now, do please inform my pilot where we’re headed.”
She glared at him briefly then looked to the young man. “We’ll need ta hit the shuttle thoroughfare through the Crags wall ta access the lab’s hangar bay beyond the plasma shields.”
“What are the Crags?” the pilot asked.
“An intimidating wall of sheer cliffs and craggy stone that makes up the outer barrier to the edge of the Wastelands. They connect the shielding network to the Martian surface,” Nielson helpfully answered with a crooked smile. “I don’t recall any terminal station being on the maps near there. A train station, yes. But no shuttle port. Are you sure?”
Asta glared at him. “There’s a lot in the Wastelands ya won’ find on any map. ‘Sides, that terminal’s damn near fully automated now. Not many gov’ment folk are want ta come down here anymore.”
“Indeed. Can’t imagine why.” He made a motion to his men and they lined up near the shuttle. “If you’ll both join us in the shuttle, Ms. Lynch. Oh, and if you’ll please hand your weapons over to Lieutenant Thompson by the shuttle ramp, we can ensure there’ll be no incidents. Once we’re done, you may have them back.” He quirked a brow at Asta’s raged induced grimace. “What? You didn’t really think I’d allow you to remain armed during our journey, did you?”
Asta scowled as she and Drevan complied and the group headed into the spacecraft. Within minutes, the vessel whined as it lifted into the air, retracted its landing struts, and darted off into the night.
CHAPTER TEN: STATE OF AFFAIRS
SENATOR ELIEN SONOROS stood looking out his window taking in the view of Aquila Mons. It was the largest city anywhere on Hinon and, in Elien’s opinion, the greatest. The skyline was filled with towering spires full of shining windows and smooth glistening exteriors stretching dozens of miles in every direction. At night, the cityscape was ablaze in neon colors making it appear as a manic casino of bustling activity. During the day, these stoic monuments to the spirits were silver needles and structures in a variety of shapes and sizes. All of it nestled within a massi
ve, dormant volcano (what once was known as Olympus Mons—the largest and most ancient volcano in all of Sol), hollowed out long ago during the first colonial efforts.
He sighed and sipped from the cup of tea in his hand. His tanned lips parted as a long, deep breath exhaled. Thirty years since the end of the war and we gained our independence. And are we any better off? Rampant crime, endemic unemployment, a crumbling infrastructure… Hell, if we can’t do something about the trading deficit, we won’t be able to acquire the already lacking resources to maintain the biospheres! Spirits, if a support column were to collapse… We’re in dire straits, on our own, and the Council can’t be bothered to take decisive actions to fix it.
The scowl on his visage grew as he growled inwardly. The regional governors are helpless to solve the issues on their own! If not for the blasted Supreme Chancellor vetoing that last vote, we might’ve already secured an alliance with the Union. Have the aid we so desperately need. Pathetic! Not even the chaos in the Wastelands is garnering their attention!
He frowned. The Wastelands were a huge swath of territory in the central section of what was once called the Valles Marineris. When the Union had been in charge, it’d been known as the Atlantus Clutch. The Chuhukons, upon winning the war, changed it to Hinon Pride. However, the lawless residents who grew ever more criminal took to calling it the Wastelands. And Elien had no reason to argue with them on that score. The Wastelands were a blight and a lost cause. even when under Union control, there was barely any movement on the terraforming efforts. And what little effort there was, was constantly stymied by roughnecks and thugs. A failed colonial experiment at best. Glaring black eye to Hinon at worst. Efforts to introduce law enforcement to the region had largely failed as well. With the lawmen put into place often becoming as corrupt as the rest of the scum.
What had drawn his attention back to the repulsive domain was the sudden surge in outlaw activity. Disruptive activities throughout the domains. And, of course, the Council was reticent to tell the domains how to handle their business. More appalling, none of the governors seemed intent on asking for a vote on martial law until the matter could be resolved. Mostly they just feared an uprising from the populace. Last thing they wanted to do was make the strife worse. Which he could understand to a degree. However, were the Union still in charge, the hooligans would have been put down in a matter of days. If even allowed to get to be such a pestilence to begin with. What was really riveting about all of it was the manner in which the unrest was being carried out. He recognized its brazenness. Because he was the one that came up with such a plan.
It’d been in his youth (he’d been around twenty-five) and still a fresh-faced senator serving the newly formed Hinon Confederation of Colonies. All the senators had previously served in the Union and so should have had a firm grasp on governing. However, with the inexperience of the new Chuhukon Council (Foolish that they were allowed to come to such prominence!) and the incompetency of the emplaced governing body led by the new Supreme Chancellor, it soon became apparent how poorly the new government was managing the world. And it appalled Elien to see how bad it was getting.
It was then that he started developing a plan to restore the Union to power. Ten years would pass before the opportunity would reveal itself to put his plans into motion. Since he’d been recognized as a senior senator, it was his responsibility to sponsor any associate out of the Aquilan Sciences Division. A young man by the name of… (What was his name, again? Oh yes…) Cooper Wilson, a professor of engineering, had been recommended to him by a colleague.
‘One of the best and brightest!’ his colleague had said. ‘Graduated from the Academy with the highest marks in his class, completing his mastership in under five years!’
‘Impressive,’ Elien said giving his most sincere smile. Which was to say, none at all. Just a polite twitch of the lips.
The very notion of ‘sponsoring’ a young up and coming scientific mind had been the brainchild of some senior Chuhukon consular some years earlier.
‘It’d boost morale,’ she’d said. ‘Give Hinonites encouragement to pursue advanced degrees in the sciences knowing they could head major technological endeavors.’
Rubbish! Or so he’d thought. In truth, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The young man in question they wanted him to sponsor was tapped to head up the Hinon Defense Force’s research division. This news encouraged him quite a bit, the plan formulating into something workable. As sponsor, he’d have some measure of oversight for whatever team this Professor Wilson put together. Then, it’d only be a matter of reaching out to the Union and providing them with the information so that, when they were ready to retake Hinon and the colonies, they’d be ready for whatever awaited them. Maybe even developed superior firepower as a result. Therefore, he went about putting his idea into motion.
First, he’d need a center of operations. Someplace he could encourage Wilson to send members of his team to work in isolation, to keep the research within easier reach rather than right under military noses.
‘Is that really necessary, Senator Sonoros?’ Professor Wilson had inquired when broached about the subject. ‘I mean, there’s a perfectly fine lab downtown. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your sponsorship and the funds you’ve gotten for us!’
‘Nonsense, Professor. You’re neglecting the bigger picture. The defense of Hinon is of upmost importance! A more private lab with more operating space will make it even more difficult for spies to get ahold of what you’re working on, and keep sensitive technology away from prying eyes. Our media loves exposing state secrets.’ Elien retorted.
‘Hmmm. I guess it makes a certain sense. But, is that really an issue? Does that really happen so much?’
‘If you only knew. Put together a team of twenty. Should you need more, I can get you funding. If you insist on keeping a small group in the ADF research labs, so be it. But it would be more reasonable to have larger labs and equipment at your disposal.’
Professor Wilson had acquiesced easily enough but had still brought it up with the Sciences Ministry. For their part (and Elien’s great relief) they found it a good idea as well. Which meant there was the little matter of discovering a good location for his base of operations. Given the lawless nature of the ‘Wastelands’, he decided that would be a good theater of operation. However, it couldn’t be something too obvious and had to be off the books (as well as the maps).
What he’d found was an office complex for middle level management overseeing the transit system into the Wastelands. On the site, were the train network, tram systems, and shuttle thoroughfares. Those were built into the stony walls of cliff making up the western edge of the geographical region known as the Crags. Rising up out of the Crags and above the surface (and offering quite the view of the surrounding regions), was a massive building complex holding offices and businesses culminating in a fancy trio of structures rising out of the ground and overlooking the Plasma Shielding Network covering the Wastelands proper like rippling glass. These structures were designed like old castle towers, cylindrical and merged into one another making them look fused. And capped off with elegant sloping rooves encircling the building pinnacles.
These will serve my purposes well. After a thorough retrofit, of course, he’d thought after a tour of the premises by the management team. What he was really interested in were the summit towers. They had three floors and were accessible by all three modes of transportation, even having its own shuttle bay. The businesses and offices located lower down inside the craggy stone were becoming used less frequently since, as the management told him, the transit systems into the Wastelands were becoming more and more automated. So, he arranged to outright purchase the whole property and encouraged the remaining tenants to move their endeavors elsewhere.
After copious amounts of paperwork (and a careful shifting of funds that might draw too much attention should it not have been through competing banks), he went about arranging a redesign of the towers’ interio
r. All-in-all, it took no more than a few years to get everything up and running and Wilson’s chosen research group in place. Then, he needed to establish a network to carry his plans out. One that was deeply involved in smuggling and the movement of elicit goods. Not likely to be noticed by the government even if the local lawmen thought something was fishy.
All the while, he continued to put up with the foolishness of the Council, bearing witness to the degradation of conditions worldwide. Growing inequalities, poverty, the lack of movement on any of the ongoing terraforming projects, all combined to bring him into scathing anger every time he had some alone time. When in the presence of governors (Incompetent boobs!), other senators (Lackadaisical halfwits!), or the Council itself (Traitors to your own kind!), he kept a straight face and a smile forced. Making contact with the Union was the only sane option left to him. Fortunately, a Union ship had eventually entered orbit. Its registry was that of a diplomatic cruiser. Apparently, some envoy was meeting with the Council to discuss trade routes. He took that opportunity to arrange a meeting with one of the ranking bridge officers, a Sergeant Sam Berricks under the command of a Colonel Eldridge Lee. Aboard their cruiser, he spoke privately with them about his hopes. He’d brought with him two associates he’d made the acquaintance of. Both Wastelanders, but trustworthy enough and on board with his plans.
“Aren’t you a Chuhukon? Thought you people were all on the same page,” Berricks growled.
“I may be Chuhukon, but this government is hurting our world. We were better off under the Union’s banner. Sure, my people often suffered in the Atlantus Clutch, but all too often that suffering was of their own making. Never attempting to better themselves. Take advantage of the opportunities available to them!”
“You’d be labeled a traitor if discovered,” Lee said from where he sat regally, back straight, hands clasped on the table.
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