Saan and Nes’ suggestions really were always welcome. They were Dastou’s family, his closest allies; he trusted them implicitly. In this instance, however, just like leaving the meeting, every molecule in his body was forcing his decision. Maybe she wasn’t desperately needed, maybe she wasn’t as key to the situation as he was making her out to be, but that didn’t matter. All the Saint knew was that, in his head, a voice whispered keep her safe. Dastou’s comrades saw the look in his eyes, and knew he would not waver.
“Alright... alright,” Nes said. “So tell us the plan then, if you have one.”
Dastou shrugged. “You know me oh so well. Yeah, I’m making this up as I go along. First we’re going to head back to the capital and prepare. Once back in Davranis, Trenna will get a quick checkup at the Medical Plaza. Nothing overly complex since we won’t have much time, but she’ll be taken care of. Then, we take the people we gather in the capitol and head right back here – few delays beyond waiting for personnel.”
“And how quiet do you want this?” wondered Saan-Hu. “I assume you want to avoid telling the Stone-State Council.”
“And you’d be right. Small and covert is what I have in mind. The researchers for the tremor, a three-man squad for defense, and us. You, Saan, will stay behind to delegate for the DSF agents while myself, Nes, and Trenna go to the subway that the girl mentioned. Luckily we already revealed that we take records of these events for study, so the Council won’t find it strange when we return with another group. Like I said before, Tryst won’t like, but with proper security he won’t dare attempt to do anything about our presence. Are we ready to get going?”
“Sure, bossy-boss,” Nes said approvingly. “I’ll admit, this makes me glad I didn’t play sick for that shitty meeting earlier.”
“Me too,” said the Saint, happy to have an odd thing to figure out that wasn’t himself.
Chapter 4
In the pilot bay, Dastou enjoyed watching Trenna as Saan undocked the Caravan on his order. The big thump-clanks each of the four main mooring vices sent out as it was released made the girl laugh. Trenna was almost giddy with delight when the traveling headquarters’ engines whined on and colored status lights started blinking here and there. It was the same type of reaction a new recruit had when first introduced to the relatively insane technology of the Davranis Security Force.
The nature of the Caravan – a mobile administrative center, barracks, and research center – had to be kept from nearly everyone. Those that were allowed to know, such as the Stone-State Council, held the secret close. Trenna was witnessing something grand and barely disclosed.
After unmooring from the embassy and hooking into rail lines, Trenna was shown the barracks, next door to Dastou’s office, so she could clean up. She was nearly as impressed by the size of this space, which could comfortably hold three dozen agents in a pinch, as by the fact that the whole place could move.
Thankfully, her bandages were all waterproof, because she took quite a while in the shower, enjoying the warm water and good soap. And the shampoo, having used a third of a bottle for no good reason. Trenna was then allowed to raid the barracks for any female agent uniform clothing that fit her, which wasn’t much thanks to her slim, undernourished figure.
*****
It took a little over an hour for them to get back to Davranis, about 4,500 kilometers away. After docking in the capitol, Trenna Geil was given a short exam at the DSF Medical Plaza. Since Dastou didn’t need any help recruiting, he let Saan-Hu take the girl shopping while he prepped. Nes went with them, likely because Trenna was quite lovely when not covered in dust, dirt, blood, and grime – and because he’d be bored otherwise.
As the others took some time for themselves, the Saint was busy looking through his standard preparation scheme for this type of mission. He didn’t have to, really, but he was very excited about what was happening. Not the deaths or the tragedy, obviously, but just something new that was not easily controlled. He essentially wanted to be challenged, to be given a goal that needed achieving with hard work. Most Saints felt that way after a while, taking actions such as exploring uncharted territories or infecting themselves with a disease needing a cure to alleviate their boredom. It was a wonder they were worshipped far more often than shunned as maniacs.
Dastou was serious about keeping this mission as covert as possible, and hoped the Stone-State Council might be less inclined to kick out a bunch of trainees. With that in mind, he told his recruited agents to pretend to be low-rankers if asked about their duties. By the time the six assigned agents signed into the Caravan roster, Saan’s trio had returned, carrying far too many sacks of clothing to be just for Trenna.
The administrator and the new girl in town apparently indulged in some female bonding over sizes, shapes, and colors at every store they could get to in the time allotted. Not having to pay for anything thanks to an expense account was a bonus that took Trenna a little while to comprehend. Apparently Nes had given some good fashion advice, too, and when Saan said so openly the corporal puffed up his chest like he won some kind of contest.
Two hours after arrival, all the preparations were complete. With everyone in the Caravan, the Saint took the helm in the cockpit room above his office, set the destination, released the vice-locks, and activated the rail engines. Normally he let Saan or another soldier with specific pilot’s training take care of that, but this time he wanted to touch the controls himself. He had to restrain from smiling like a fool as he set the mobile headquarters back on course for Stone-State.
*****
Turn your head away from the Social Cypher only if you feel like missing out on a miracle.
That was an axiom within the Sainthood from long ago. It expressed how the machine efficiency of mass-hypnotism never ceased to amaze. By the time the Caravan docked at the embassy moor again, the afternoon was a little over halfway done, so there was plenty of daylight left. After Dastou shifted the polarity on his office window from opaque black to transparent – it was set up to look like shades being opened to further keep the not-quite-glass’s properties a secret – the scene outside was almost peaceful. The streets were clean and almost completely empty of people so that new concrete poured into damaged sections could dry properly. The damaged cars were all gone, replaced with new versions of the same, all parked in the same spots as earlier whenever possible.
The building that had its face blown off was being repaired, a time consuming task. Complex scaffolding was set up, and workers were operating proficiently, like hive workers in service of a terrifying, obsessive-compulsive queen. The less significant damage on other buildings caused by fast-flying debris was being handled by simpler scaffolding and a smaller workforce. The broken windows had already been covered with thin, weatherproof plastic, a common enough material that tons of it were easy to get a hold of. If past industrial accident patch-ups were any indication, glass would be brought in for the panes in a day or two.
As planned, Dastou left Saan-Hu in charge of the troops and science team. She was ranked as a Staff Sergeant, so she could easily keep the six agents in check with her signature combination of stern looks, grunts, and occasional threats. They would start by pouring over the embassy’s external camera data from the incident and ensuing repairs. Part of that task would be to delete specific chunks of footage from local servers once backups were established and encrypted. When the video manipulation was done, they’d get to their second job of doing geological surveys to study the volcano that the city was built on top of.
Trenna and Nes left the embassy with the Saint, the corporal carrying the same weapons and gear he grabbed as a precaution directly after the rocket blasts – assault rifle, marble ordinance, throat mic, and mini med kit. This time, Nes also put on proper black-and-vermillion battle attire, lined with filament armor, that allowed him to buckle his gun to his back. Trenna wore a new outfit comprised of a white t-shirt over a black one, dark blue jeans, and black running shoes. Saan-Hu was far showi
er than that, so the administrator was probably disappointed in what the girl decided to wear. Trenna’s jet black hair was pulled back into a stylish pony tail. The new eyeglasses were her own prescription, and she took pleasure in seeing everything clearly at great distances.
Dastou took only a throat mic package and a combat knife. He sewed the sheath into his waist-length leather jacket at just about the small of his back, concealing the weapon. It was the only time in his life he ever carried a weapon outside of a practice area or target range.
*****
The alley that the criminals used to flee led to a street parallel to the one where the attack took place, and Trenna had them cross to the other side of that road, too. She led Dastou and Nes north for four blocks to a stairwell leading down to the old subway system. There were other entrances nearby, but the girl said this was how she always got in and out of the subway since the others were blocked. A dust-covered sign, which mentioned the train lines that ran through this station and featured a detailed map, was the only really dirty thing at ground level. The cleanliness difference between this part of the street and the area where the attack happened, even after repairs were well underway, was striking.
Curved half-tubes of glass and metal ran along ran along the sidewalks on both sides of the street here. Those “windows” existed to save electricity, lighting the subways during daylight hours. Dastou walked past the stairwell Trenna led them to and tried to look into the station, but the knee-high glass was so gross on the inside that he could barely make out anything besides basic shapes.
“There’s nothing different about this place, as far as I can tell,” said Dastou.
“Trust me, sir, you’ll see when we’re inside,” Trenna responded.
The Saint looked towards something a bit further north of their location: a Mover’s Garden. Those areas were parks situated near large subway stations, the big domed glass ceilings of the main boarding area used as decoration. Mover’s Gardens were practically insults to the Cypher, taking advantage of something created strictly out of necessity to craft something of artistic merit. The dome ceilings were used by citizens to help design a park filled with artistic fauna layouts, running and biking trails, play spaces for children, and enough space for local birds like ducks to come for a little free food thrown their way. Those parks felt... free, whatever that meant.
The three of them went down the stairwell when Dastou came back to reality, into Stone-State Central Junction’s south end. After walking down steps that were far less dusty than they would be if the place was truly derelict, they were a story underground. The ticket office was a few paces ahead, the door wide open. Planks of wood that had barred it when the place was abandoned were placed neatly next to the wall. The turn-stiles were not blocked, but the gate in front of it was, making it easier to go in and out via the adjacent cashier’s station since it had a doorway.
The group walked through the ticket office, past a long wooden desk, drilled into the wall below a series of teller windows, three comfortable-looking seats, and three coin registers. The tills were an oddity: there was no such thing as paper money, but each register had five rectangular slots for the stuff, right above the coin sections. It was just a strange little tidbit about the world everyone accepted without complaint.
On the other side of the cashier station and closer to the boarding platforms, there was enough natural light entering from the glass tubing above them to allow for easy navigation. Dastou daydreamed again, remembering times when these places were actually in use. These rail systems were a beacon of human energy for about a century and a half, with eighty-five percent of all travel done by subway once the tunnels and trains were completed. The seven biggest hubs around the world were like miniature cities. The track paths were a beautiful, serpentine underground road, sometimes going above the streets or below waterways. Each ocean in the world had at least three two-way tunnels a few meters below the surface, an accomplishment that even the Saints didn’t fully comprehend.
When the trolley system was put in place about eight years ago, these tunnels were scavenged for materials, with many subway cars retrofitted to be made into trolley cars. Kilometers upon kilometers of steel tracks were torn up, smelted, and remade into parts for the new magnetic street-level railway. Upon completion of that new system, the underground hubs were deserted and closed off. From the looks of this space, though, a reclaiming was taking place.
Past the cashier’s station, the trio came to a short hallway that ended at a balcony. That balcony was half-a-story above the boarding areas, sets of stairs leading down to platforms on the left, right, and straight ahead. Trenna confidently led them forward, onto steps headed for the center platform. The living spaces of what she earlier referred to as “my people” were clearly visible as they walked down.
With every descending step, Dastou absorbed another detail about the space. Beds were lined along the walls of the left and right platforms, made of sewn-together fabrics placed on top of discarded cushions and, rarely, actual old mattresses. There were a couple dozen bed areas overall, and each could be made more personal by drawing curtains together. Those privacy shields were made of thin bedspreads, opaque plastic sheeting, table cloths and, rarely, actual old curtains. The “rope” the random stuff was hung on was simply good nylon string. Personal effects on makeshift tables – watches, keys, picture frames, jewelry, and the like – could be seen in most of the sleeping sections. A few spots meant for congregation or conversation featured tattered couches and chairs.
Dastou loved this place. Loved it. There was an appealing contrast against the nearly-always clean streets and more or less sterile architecture of most of the world. It also showed ingenuity and effort in the attempt to live someplace closed off to everyone else.
“I remember liking it here too, sir,” said Trenna, likely because she noticed the small grin the Saint couldn’t keep off his face when she glanced back to see exactly how far behind Dastou and Nes were. “We never took part in the infrastructure events and were ignored by them. It was liberating.” Her voice had a note of pride in it.
“Do you know how or when you all started getting overlooked like that?” asked Nes.
“No, not really,” Trenna responded.
Upon reaching the center platform at the bottom of the stairs, she turned left, hopped down onto the track gap, and kept walking towards a tunnel that would lead to the main boarding hub. The gravel under their feet echoed, creating a pattern that Dastou found pleasing. If the steel tracks were still here, he would have tried to make a more complex pattern by combining the gravel echo with reverberation from the metal. He laughed in his head at what Trenna would have thought after seeing the being she worshipped dancing like a child to funny noises.
After a few meters on in the gap, the nylon for the curtains crisscrossed above the travelers. Beaded bracelets of varying colors and patterns were strung up near where the girl jumped down, and Dastou had to stop himself from taking the pretty things and stuffing them into his pockets.
“It was like we woke up near here one day,” she added, bringing Dastou back from fantasy land. “A lot of us went back for mementos, pictures of family and stuff. It was bizarre. Our belongings were still there, but everyone acted like we were strangers if they saw us. Like we were, um...”
“Deleted?” suggested Dastou.
“Yes, sir, that fits I think. It was heartbreaking for some. The ones that couldn’t cope, though there were only a few, they...”
“Chose another way out,” said the Saint, interrupting the girl’s pause out of a sense of politeness.
Trenna swallowed to give herself a moment for composure. “Yes, sir.”
“How many of you lived here?” asked Nes, trying to keep Trenna from focusing on the negative.
“Thirty-one total as of the last time I remember being around, which was maybe last night, but I’m not sure how long I was knocked out. We were all close, some more than others. I think we had to b
e for survival. None of us could endure in the world without the help of the others. We shared responsibilities in getting food and other basic supplies, or to figure out where a group was being hypnotized so we could take advantage.”
“Take advantage as in steal everything you can, I bet,” said Nes in a light enough tone so it didn’t sound like an accusation.
“Yeah, that’s a big part of it,” admitted Trenna with no shame at all. Nes chuckled at her response.
“And I bet living in the subway made it convenient,” said Dastou. “A fast and easy to understand path to a lot of places that was also technically invisible due to being unused. Clever.”
“Uh... thank you, Mr. Dastou,” said Trenna, stuttering a bit after the earnest compliment.
The trio got to the tunnel edge and walked only a couple of paces before stopping to look around. Despite the grime on the inside of the glass above, a decent amount of light was coming from the dome ceiling windows of the place, where the Mover’s Garden was. It made nearly all of the open space clearly visible.
Just like the smaller boarding area that led them here, there were platforms for people to stand and wait left, right, and center. Sets of escalators flanked the large space, leading to and from the second floor. A pedestrian bridge was about thirty meters ahead and above them, used to link the upper tier and give a clear view of the entire station. A third set of escalators was dead center of that elevated walkway, serving the middle platform.
Long-ago-shuttered businesses lined the second tier on both sides, where people would socialize before their train arrived, sometimes long before. Dastou always guessed that maybe the people subconsciously understood they were being herded to work, and plenty of socializing made them feel better. Left-behind tables, chairs, and other amenities for the shops and restaurants littered that second floor. None of it was useful enough for the Social Cypher to recycle when compared to making newer items, so Trenna’s group will have scavenged it more deeply and more recently.
Saints of the Void: Atypical Page 5