This Machine Kills

by Steve Liszka

  Taylor guessed he was referring to ClearSkies.

  “We realised that for this revolution to work, we needed someone who could unite our two worlds, not to mention one with inside knowledge. That’s why we chose you and Dyer. You’re both successful SecForce officers who came from the Old-Town. People here would be willing to follow you.”

  Taylor saw a sly smile come to Jacob’s destroyed face, “And of course, we were extremely pleased when we found out it was you who withheld the information. Nothing against Dyer, but you’re much higher profile. And don’t think it hasn’t been noticed that you always treated us fairly on your patrols. People don’t forget things like that.”

  Taylor raised his voice as he spoke over the other man, “Let me just stop you there Jacob as I think I need to make something very clear. I have no desire to lead you and I am not the fucking Shepherd. Understand?”

  Taylor heard Christopher muffle something under his breath behind him.

  Jacob’s voice remained patient, he had obviously been expecting resistance to his proposal.

  “Don’t you see?” he said, as if there was no reason why he shouldn’t, “It makes perfect sense. Think of the effect it will have on the Old-Town when the people see one of Milton’s poster boys turning against him; a warrior coming back to fight for his own people. They would follow you right into the heart of the City.”

  The sound of Milton’s name made Taylor’s limbs stiffen.

  “We don’t want to destroy the place,” Jacob continued, “all we want is a share of what they have… of what is rightfully ours. Is that so wrong?”

  Jacob started speaking again before Taylor had time to answer. “If you were to lead us, we could minimise the bloodshed. When your men see you fighting for us I guarantee they will break ranks and come over to our side.”

  Taylor’s laugh was cruel, “Now I know there’s something wrong with you. It was my men who were trying to kill me when your boys turned up. My men hate me, they’re not got going to help you.”

  “The young one didn’t,” Jacob countered, “he was willing to give up his own life to protect you. That doesn’t sound like hate to me.”

  Taylor shrugged, “Well perhaps he’s just too young and stupid to know any better.”

  Jacob shook his head, “He saw the same qualities in you as we do. That’s why he was willing to take a bullet for you.”

  “Maybe,” Taylor said, “ but it’s still not going to happen.”

  “Why not? You’ve got no family or friends in the City. What’s the worst that can happen, that the people you grew up living next to will no longer be slaves?”

  Taylor sighed, “Let me be honest with you Jacob, and I mean painfully fucking honest. The reason I have no intention of leading you is that I don’t give a shit about you and the rest of these people. I couldn’t care less what happens to you. And whilst I’m being honest, I might as well say it, the whole lot of you make me sick. You’re fucking pathetic.”

  He couldn’t tell if it was shock that he was now witnessing on Jacob’s scarred face.

  “I’m sick of them standing in the food lines with those miserable looks on their faces and never having the balls to do anything about it. If they didn’t like living in the Old-Town, they should have got off their sorry asses and done something about it years ago, just like my father made me do. I worked my ass off to make sure I got inside the City. They could have done the same thing.”

  “You were lucky,” Jacob said, ‘you had a skill they considered valuable. Most of us weren’t blessed with such gifts. They would have never made it into the City, no matter what they did.”

  “Then they should have torn the fences down years ago,” Taylor snapped, “not waited until the wall was up. It’s fucking typical that you leave it until now before coming up with some bullshit scheme to get inside. The best thing you can do is tell those stupid sons of bitches to forget the whole thing, otherwise a whole lot of people are going to end up dead.”

  Jacob attempted to laugh but it came out as a painful rasp that ripped through the tender flesh of his throat.

  “You really are a mass of contradictions aren’t you Taylor? You say you hate the people here, yet you’re concerned they could end up getting hurt. I don’t believe you for a minute, I think you care about what happens in the Old-Town. You can’t turn your back on what you are.”

  “You can believe whatever the fuck you like,” Taylor replied, “but I am not going to lead you. Now either let me go or kill me. Either way, I’m too tired to give a shit.”

  Jacob bided his time before he spoke again, “I guess it looks like Ben was right about you. He said you were only interested in looking after yourself.”

  Taylor reached forward and grabbed Jacob’s collar, pulling him close, so their faces were inches apart.

  “Don’t even mention his fucking name. You know nothing about Ben and you know nothing about me. Got it?”

  Before Jacob could answer, Taylor felt a gun pressing into the back of his neck.

  “I got it,” Christopher said, “now let him go unless you want to see what you brains look like.”

  Jacob raised his hands, “It’s ok Christopher.”

  As Taylor released his grip, so the bodyguard slowly lowered his weapon. Jacob calmly adjusted his cloak as if nothing had happened.

  “If you’re not willing to do it for us,” he said, when Christopher had retreated, “then do it for yourself.”

  Taylor’s voice was calm again, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I understand that Milton has wronged you.”

  Again Milton’s name made his teeth clench.

  “How would you know?” he asked.

  “I make it my business to know what’s happening on your side of the wall. How do you think we knew where to find you?”

  Jacob left a sufficiently long pause before speaking again, “If you can get us in to the City, I’ll make sure you get Freddie Milton. What you do with him is entirely up to you.”

  Taylor mulled the proposition over in his aching head.

  “There may be a way,” he finally said.

  Jacob stared at him for a long time before giving his response.

  “You must be tired,” he said, without any hint of satisfaction, “why don’t you get some sleep and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  He nodded at Christopher then turned and slowly made his way to the door.

  “Jacob,” Taylor called out, stopping the man in his tracks, “I’ve just realised where I know you from.”

  Jacob swallowed hard, “Really?”

  “Yes,” Taylor said, “you’re Billy Nothing.”

  Chapter 23

  Taylor slept through the next day and most of the following morning too. It was only the faint smell of food that finally awoke him from his epic slumber. His ribs still hurt like a bitch, but he felt infinitely better than when he first became Jacob’s guest. The growling sound he heard coming from his stomach indicated to him that that his body was on the mend. After slowly prising himself off the rock hard bed that had done nothing to impede his sleep, Taylor pushed at the door of the tiny, bare room. It was open. Whether this made him a free man or a prisoner he was unsure. With the aroma of food growing stronger, he followed his nose to more fertile ground.

  At the other end of the decrepit building, he walked into a spacious, run-down hall that was being used as a canteen. Opposite him, a white haired woman dished out a bowl of soup to a grateful young man. A large wooden table with benches on either side was situated in the centre of the room with a dozen or so surly looking men seated around it. They momentarily looked up at him from their meals, then just as quickly, lowered their eyes back to the food without the slightest acknowledgement of his presence.

  Even without their weapons, Taylor instantly recognised them; these men were Jacob’s soldiers. They may have been lacking the muscle and firepower of his own team, but he had no doubt that the gaunt, serious-looking men in fron
t of him would follow Jacob to hell and back.

  When the young man who had just received his soup turned and saw him, his face lit up.

  “Hey Taylor,” he said, beckoning him over, “come and get some food, you must be starving.”

  Grateful for the invitation, Taylor walked over to his new ally, who had turned his attention to the woman brandishing the large metal ladle like it was a deadly weapon.

  “Maggie, give Taylor a bowl of the good stuff will you?”

  The woman filled a bowl with what looked like a watery version of vegetable soup and handed it over.

  “The best soup in the whole of the Old-Town,” the smiling man said, winking at the blushing woman.

  As they walked to the free seats at the end of the table, the man leant across and whispered into Taylor’s ear,

  “Shame the same can’t be said for these,” he held his bread roll up for inspection, “it’s like eating rocks.”

  After putting their food on the table, he offered his hand to Taylor, “I’m Tom, good to meet you.”

  They ate in silence, with Taylor returning for two extra bowls. The soup may have been thin and only very lightly seasoned, but the vegetables were exquisite. The problem of the rock-hard bread had been solved by soaking it in his soup until it was completely saturated. He hadn’t tasted anything so good since his mother had returned from her shopping trips on Jubilee Street. There was a gritty, earthy texture to the food that had long since been eradicated from the products served in the City. The taste evoked feelings in him he couldn’t even begin to explain.

  Tom’s eyes searched Taylor’s face for signs of contentment, “Good, wasn’t it?”

  Taylor nodded enthusiastically.

  “And all grown right here,” Tom pointed at the floor, “in the heart of the Old-Town.”

  “If SecForce haven’t already found the co-op that grew them,” Taylor said indifferently, “it will soon.”

  Tom responded with a mischievous grin, “Your bosses don’t know as much about this place as they think they do.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah… and that’s just the way we like it.”

  Taylor laughed. He wasn’t used to seeing such cockiness in the Old-Towners. He liked the boy’s attitude.

  “Taylor!” a voice behind him called out.

  It was Christopher, standing in the doorway with a grim look on his face,

  “Jacob wants to see you. Now!”

  Taylor turned to Tom, “Is this guy always such an asshole?” he asked, loud enough for Christopher to hear.

  As he got up, he patted the smiling man on the back, “Thanks for making me welcome, I’ll see you around.”

  When they got to the room Jacob was residing in, Christopher let Taylor pass, then grabbed his arm and pulled him back,

  “Jacob may trust you,” he said quietly, “but I don’t. You try anything and I’ll be waiting for you. Understand?”

  Taylor looked down at Christopher’s hand until he relaxed his grip, “Touch me again and I’ll rip your arm off. Understand?”

  “Come in,” Jacob said from inside the room, bringing an end to the confrontation.

  The men shared a last stare before Taylor did as he was asked.

  Jacob was kneeling on the floor with his back to the wall. His body was leaning towards a small statue that Taylor couldn’t quite see. As he entered the room, Jacob slowly rose to his feet in the strained, uneasy fashion of an arthritic elderly man. Knowing that he was only a few years older than himself, Taylor could only imagine the pain he must have been in. It was hard for him to believe this was the same lithe young man, full of boundless energy he had watched thrash around the stage on the first night of the Uprisings.

  “How was your lunch?” Jacob asked, still managing to smile despite his discomfort.

  Taylor patted his stomach, “Better than I’d imagined.”

  “Unfortunately we have to keep our gardens small, otherwise they get discovered by your satellites. If it wasn’t for that, we could feed everyone in the Old-Town.”

  Taylor nodded, without really listening to anything that had been said.

  “Listen Jacob, I need to speak to Lennox. I want to see how much he knows about what happened to me.”

  Jacob sighed, “Unfortunately that’s impossible.”

  “Really?” Taylor said, then looked back to the door he had just entered, “If you want me to help you, I think you’d better start helping me first. If not, I can leave.”

  “Your man is dead,” Jacob said, “he died in the night.”

  “Shit,” Taylor muttered, “did he say anything to you?”

  Jacob shook his head; “He was in an awful lot of pain. He just kept repeating a name over and over again. Skinner, I believe it was.”

  “He was the one your men killed,” Taylor informed him, “the two of them were very close.”

  He didn’t want to say too much about their relationship, he didn’t think it appropriate to gossip about the dead.

  “Warfare often does that to men,” Jacob said, needing no further explanation, “it brings about the strongest of emotions.”

  Taylor resented being told about the effects of war by a man who had never fought one.

  “Did you know,” he continued, “that it was compulsory for Spartan warriors to take a male lover? They reasoned that a man would fight to protect someone he loved with every last breath in his body. Whether it’s true or not I couldn’t say, but there are few who would argue what an effective fighting force they were.”

  “You should have told me before,” Taylor said, again ignoring Jacob’s words, “I could have spoken to him first.”

  “There was no waking you, I thought you were dead too at one point.”

  Taylor looked down to the floor at the statue Jacob had been staring at. He saw a small, wooden cross next to a picture of a caring-looking woman in a long, blue gown, fondly gazing at the baby she cradled in her arms.

  “I never had you down as the religious type,” he said, resisting the temptation to pick up the cross with the emaciated man nailed to it.

  “I wasn’t,” Jacob replied, “I used to be your old-fashioned anarchist, atheist punk rocker back in the day.”

  Taylor could relate to this part of Jacob’s history, at least the atheist bit anyway. When the depression hit, many people who’d had no interest in God were suddenly turning to whichever religion they felt offered them an answer to their problems. Some even started their own religions, or cults as his father had called them, if the organised ones could not provide them with the desired solutions. His father was having none of it. He had been vaguely religious before his mother died but after they lost her, the man had forsaken what little faith he’d once had.

  ‘How can there be a god,’ he had calmly told his son at his mother’s funeral, ‘when fucked-up shit like this happens?’

  He may have been a hard drinker but it was the only time his father ever swore in front of him. Taylor had seen nothing since to convince him the man was wrong.

  “Yes, I suppose you could say I was about as far from God as anyone was going to get,” Jacob went on, “but that was before the fire. The fire helped me to find him.”

  Taylor knew he shouldn’t have said what he was thinking but couldn’t help letting it out.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I would have thought what happened to you would only have confirmed your views on religion.”

  If Jacob was shocked by his comments, he didn’t show it.

  “No. Whilst I was laying there; trapped in that building in the worst pain you could ever imagine, I was ready to give up. I would have rather died than endure any more. But just when I’d lost all hope, that’s when he came to me. That’s when he spoke to me and said that I would make it, that he’d keep me alive until they found me. I didn’t realise what it was at the time but he said he still had work for me to do and that I couldn’t die until I’d done it.”

  Taylor tried to hid
e his cynicism but Jacob must have seen it.

  “I know you probably think I was hallucinating; that it was the pain that made me think I’d seen something but it’s true. I saw him; he spoke to me… He saved me.”

  “And you think this is what he wanted you to do?”

  Jacob nodded, “Yes I do. I think that my job was to help the people get back into the City. It’s your job now too.”

  “Maybe. But I’ll be doing it for my own reasons,” Taylor looked down at the cross, “definitely not for him.”

  Jacob smiled, “It’s doesn’t matter who you’re doing it for. What matters is that you’re helping us.”

  “And what exactly are you going to do if you get into the City?” Taylor asked, “What’s the big picture here Jacob?”

  The scarred man laughed, “And that’s the million dollar question isn’t it? They have some truly wonderful things in the City, they really do. The buildings, the technology, the medicine that the children born out here have never had access to. But there’s so much wrong with it too. All that waste and the compulsion to own anything people can get their hands on, regardless of the consequences. I know they look at us and think we’re savages and they’re right, some of us are, unfortunately that’s what happens when there’s not enough to go round… But the thing is Taylor, there’s so much good here too. I’ve seen the way people help each other, how they’re willing to give to others even though they’ve got nothing themselves. Poverty breeds cruelty, but it also breeds goodness, and an ingenuity that far surpasses anything used to create that shiny world you live in. I’ve seen the way people here waste absolutely nothing, the way that everything they have has a use and a meaning.”

  The speech had triggered something off in Jacob. He began pacing the room like he was preparing to go back on stage once more.

  “What I envisage is a world where we can take the best of the Old-Town and combine it with the best of the City. Somewhere we can turn our backs on the greed and ignorance that has held us all back for so long. I just want to live in a place that puts as much value on our neighbour’s wellbeing as it does on our own. After all, it’s in everyone’s interests.”