Industry & Intrigue

by Ryan McCall

  The others ran for the exit and opened the doors. Atria had recovered and gained back her wind. She took careful aim with her shotgun and aimed for the beast’s neck. Falco still had his metal-fingers there but shotgun pellets wouldn’t damage them.

  She fired quickly, emptying the last remaining rounds. All of them hit the creature’s throat and red blood quickly poured over Falco’s hand. The deepone tried to howl, but the damage to its throat prevented it. What came out sounded like a cat with a giant spitball, blood poured from its mouth and over Falco.

  Even as mortally wounded as it was, it continued trying to attack him. Its jaws still snapped as if it did not feel pain. There was little more she could do. She could try and attack it with her own claws, but that would be as useful as scratching a rock.

  The deepone swiped one of its front claws and caught in Falco’s internal mechanics. It tried to unsuccessfully howl again, clearly it had no idea its throat was so injured. It pulled back with its claw and there was straining sound, then a sudden snap and Atira saw pieces of metal fly out of Falco’s chest.

  His flare-rock powered heart fell out and he slumped forward, pushing the deepone back further. The beast tried to back away but it now appeared to be caught under the weight of Falco. Both he and the beast toppled over. It was caught under his arm and furiously struggled to get out.

  Now was her chance. She leapt forward with her agorid speed and unsheathed her own small claws. The beasts head was protruding from under Falco’s arm. She drew her arm back and slashed down. Her claws raked into its damaged throat, finishing the job her bullets had begun. It was still alive, so she pulled her arm back and slashed again. Then again and again, until her hand was coated in gore from its throat. The deepone finally stopped moving, its head still, blood leaking over the floor.

  The energy of the fight and the smell of the blood had excited her senses. She had heard tales of her species undergoing bloodlust in battle. She resisted the urge to lick the blood on her hand, her father had raised her to be better than that.

  She walked outside. The three survivors were still waiting. The carriage was gone, but there were still horses in the nearby stable. If they hadn’t trampled each other to death in fear already.

  Atira was unsure if Falco was dead or not. She hadn’t exactly been sure if he had even been alive in the first place. She didn’t know how her father had saved him last time, but Varko Kulthon was not a man who appreciated waste. He would not want his most loyal fighter left here.

  “One of you fetch the horses, you other two come with me.” She saw their hesitation. “The beast is dead, relax. But we have to bring Falco with us.” They nodded and did as she commanded.

  It took every ounce of strength all three of them had to drag his body outside. Atira also made sure to gather whatever pieces had fallen out of his chest. They then arranged a large piece of wood, to function as a sleigh that the horses could drag behind them and pulled Falco’s body onto it. They only had to reach the outskirts of Crean and from there they could rent a carriage for the rest of the journey to Alkos City.

  Many faithful followers had died tonight and she had not obtained the device her father had been seeking. They could have stayed and tried to find it, but without the site experts and their reduced numbers it could take them days. More than enough time for the custodians to send a force to investigate.

  She fingered the book that she had found. It had not been a total loss. Based on what little she had read, her father would be eager to read the book. He would also want to know who it had belonged to. Like her, the staff and students would be making their way back to Alkos City. She would determine the book’s owner when they returned.

  Chapter 52

  Victor Shepard respected Patrick Culvern a great deal, but that respect was drying up in the face of Patrick’s inability to speak to the crowd of angry workers. Victor stood at the edge of the stage, waiting for the Alkos City councilor to finish. The crowd was full of working men and women, many of whom were members of the LRC or other unions. With the slaughter at the house, Victor was now their main representative. This meeting at a hall in Locluth district had been called in the aftermath of what many were calling the Labor Massacre.

  The unions represented here ranged from the dockworkers to farmhands and they had all looked up to the LRC leadership. The watch had been of little help. They sent men to the house, but could not determine a suspect. With war beckoning, the case had been sidelined.

  Patrick Culvern was the sole voice these workers had on the Imperial Council. He had become known as an aggressive reformist in his first political term and for the last ten years had been working as hard as he could to improve the rights of unions and laborers. Everyone here voted for him in the Alkos County council seat race each year.

  He had made small progress, it was a difficult fight. The Imperial Ministers were concerned with preserving the status quo and were financially invested in looking out for the interests of the business elite.

  “I urge all of you to exercise calm and restraint during this difficult time. Many friends and colleagues were killed in this terrible crime, but we do not know the identity of guilty party or their purpose,” pleaded Patrick to the crowd. They did not appear partial to his suggestions.

  “Their purpose was a direct attack on our leaders by one of them crooked corporate barons, Typhon or Green River!” shouted out a man at the front, below the stage. There were yells of agreement. Patrick was losing them.

  He was a good man and done what he could for them over the last ten years, but they had their blood up and didn’t want to hear words about patience. They had seen the government and the corporations squeeze them for far too long. He needed to do something before Patrick pushed them away and they started to think Robert’s tactics were the way to move forward.

  Victor shook his head when he thought of his friend. Where are you now Robert? I hope you realize the folly of your path before it is too late.

  Victor stepped out and walked over to the podium. Patrick was still trying to placate the crowd, with little success.

  “Patrick,” he said quietly. “You should stop. Let me speak to them.” Patrick looked over. His black hair was streaked with grey and made him look older than his forty four years. Victor suspected the stress of his position had advanced his aging. Patrick shoulders slumped and he let him take the podium.

  Victor spoke and loud and clear as his voice would allow, “All of you here know me and what I represent. My whole life has been dedicated to fighting against everything the big businesses stand for. Patrick is correct. We cannot meet violence with violence. It would only give them the excuse they need to come after us with impunity.

  But, there is an important point on which he is wrong. This is not the time for reservation. My fellow revolutionary members, men and women who have struggled against the corporate barons were mercilessly killed within the safety of their own home and it cannot go unanswered.”

  Victor paused. The crowd were agitated and keenly following his words. “Councilor Culvern has been our only ally in the government for a long time, but I say that it is time to change that!”

  A tremendous cheer rang out from the crowd. “We number far more than any other group in this city, or the entire empire. We are the backbone upon which it is built; farmers, builders, factory-workers, smiths, miners, ship and dock workers, rail workers. We are part of what sustains the greatest empire in the world, yet we have the least say in our affairs. I say this is not right!” Another cheer, louder this time.

  “We must elect and vote for more candidates to stand alongside Councilor Culvern and help make our voices heard. And if they still refuse to listen, then we will do what we must. We will refuse to do the jobs they need us for. We will strike and bring everything they take for granted to a grinding halt until they hear us!” He was practically shouting now and the crowd erupted with applause and cheers.

  Patrick was smiling at him and walked over to the p
odium. Once the noise of the crowd had died down, he spoke, “I sense that this plan is agreeable to you all and I think Victor is right. It is past time we elected more representatives for our cause into government. And I think the best place to start is right here.”

  Victor looked at him, curious as to what he meant.

  “I nominate Victor Shepard as a candidate to run in the election for the city’s Locluth district.”

  Victor looked at Patrick in shock, he hadn’t expected this.

  One man threw up his hand and in a deep voice said, “Seconded!”

  The crowd gave their approval and chanted, “Victor! Victor! Victor!”

  He didn’t know how to react. Clearly they wanted him, it would be selfish to refuse.

  Patrick laughed at the look on his face. “Don’t look so surprised Victor. They adore you. Who else would they want representing them?”

  “But I don’t know anything about being in office, or even running for office,” he said.

  “You’ll learn, all politicians must at one point. As for the running part, I don’t think you’ll have problems there,” and he gestured at the chanting crowd.

  My whole life fighting against the government only now to join it. His mind made up, he held out his hands until the crowd had quieted down. “Since you appear to be in favor of supporting me, I accept.”

  Before the crowd could respond there was a loud clapping to the left of the stage. Everyone looked. Standing there was Robert Argyll and behind him were several other young and aggressive LRC members. Robert stepped up to the stage and walked towards the podium, still clapping as he did so.

  “What are you doing here Robert?” asked Victor. He suspected he knew why, but he wanted to hear it from his friend directly.

  “I want to offer my congratulations,” replied Robert. Victor could hear the sarcasm in his voice. “You’ve won over the people and are now selflessly going to run for office, where you will endeavor to work for the cause.”

  Robert then turned to the crowd and shouted, “Is this what you want? More of the same? You may get a few more officials on your side, but it will not amount to anything in the face of the long tradition of oppression the upper classes hold over us. No matter how many representatives we elect, they will never give up the riches and prestige they have.”

  Robert had revealed his intentions. He was here to recruit soldiers to his crusade. Victor wanted to stop him, but best to let him say his part. If they didn’t hear it now, Robert would make sure they heard another way.

  “So I offer each and every one of you another path. A real way to make changes. I intend to bring the corporate overlords and their government toadies to their knees. We will strike without them knowing when or where it will happen. They have offered us violence and death, innocent people whose only crime was to stand against industrial tyranny. So if it is violence and death that they want, then I say we give it to them. No revolution is worth anything unless it can defend itself. Let them see what happens when they treat us like slaves and drive us into a corner. They will beg for mercy and do anything we ask. Who here among you wants to be part of the revolution? Not in the future, but right here and now. We will do what we must and make this nation better for it!”

  His speech received a few shouts of encouragement, though nowhere as much as Victor. It was the younger ones in the crowd, those who had not seen the changes and improvements slowly come. They were the ones most eager for violence.

  Victor stepped forward and spoke before Robert’s words could sway them. “My friend Robert is a good man, and is passionate for our cause. But he allows his passion to overcome good sense. His argument sounds persuasive, but if we turn to savagery it will not help us. Those in power will brand you as criminals and traitors, they will hunt you down and arrest or kill you. You will tarnish our cause with violence and only diminish what support we have.”

  Robert spoke again, “We have all the support we need. We are the workers of Alkos! We built this empire with our own hands! They will not be able to find us and they will not risk bringing down what they have built. We will never be given socialism on a golden platter by the exploiters. It can only be achieved with struggle. A struggle that begins here and now! Follow me now and we will start the revolution together!”

  He jumped off the stage and walked back to his comrades. He was followed by a small, but cheering and yelling group that had split from the crowd. Those who had decided to join him. They exited the hall chanting.

  “Revolution!”

  “For the workers!”

  Victor looked at the crowd. He estimated ten percent of those who had been present had left with Robert. It was not many, but he had not wanted to see anyone join the man. His way would lead to nothing but death for anyone who followed.

  He felt Patrick’s hand on his shoulder. “Most of them were young with heads full of notions about how they think the world should be. Robert can be charismatic, but I wouldn’t worry about it. Once they realize they’re in over their heads, many of them will jump ship and return.”

  “I hope you’re right Patrick. For those who don’t, Robert is leading them down a dangerous path,” replied Victor.

  “He is, but in a way we need them.”

  Victor’s face twisted in confusion. “I ‘m not sure I understand what you mean. They don’t want to do it our way. Robert won’t be satisfied unless he creates something as big as the Peasant Uprisings of the 1480s.” The Peasant Uprisings of Alkos were a series of massive revolts at the end of the fifteenth century, brought about by several harsh winters and a deep economic recession. Half the countryside of Alkos had risen up against the landowners and the revolts had ended with thousands dead on both sides.

  “With them showing their teeth, the government and big business interests have a choice. They can deal with us and negotiate, or they can deal with Robert and his followers. By comparison it makes our movement look more appealing, at least in terms of getting them to the table. I know it sounds coldly pragmatic, but it’s the truth.”

  “You’re right,” said Victor in agreement. “From that perspective we do need them.”

  “All large social changes have a radical element. Robert is ours,” said Patrick. “We only have to make sure he doesn’t take this too far.”

  “How can we do that?” asked Victor. “You saw the look on his face. He despises me now. If by the slim chance I get elected, I’ll be part of the system he hates.”

  “There are ways. Our movements still have similar goals, even if the methods differ. Robert may be full of anger now, but he’ll come to his senses. Give him time.”

  Victor wasn’t convinced. He may have gained support here but he felt that it had cost him his closest friend. Robert would never view him the same way again if he was in the government. Despite his outward appearance for Patrick and the crowd, inside he was grieving for the loss of his friendship and the comrade. The man who had been by his side since he first joined the social revolution.

  Chapter 53

  The bell in the highest tower of Rampart was ringing. It was an old, huge thing of burnished bronze and the noise carried into the stone building where Lawrence was eating lunch. He swallowed the tough beef he was chewing; there was only one reason that bell would be sounding. The Galrian delegation had arrived.

  Lawrence set down his utensils and stood. His personal guards stood ready at attention as he did so. He turned to his head guard, Flint McLaren. “The Galrians are here, I’m going to greet them.”

  “As you wish, Your Imperial Majesty.” He didn’t look happy about it, but Lawrence wasn’t surprised. Flint had a deep mistrust for the Galrians that Lawrence had only noticed in the last week. He wondered if Flint thought they would not forgive Rossiv’s murder.

  “Fetch Minister Siobhan and the other officials. I want them to welcome the Galrians,” he ordered a servant. The man nodded and quickly exited the room to fetch those officials who had traveled to Rampart with him.

&
nbsp; He made his way out of the building, his guards close behind. Flint stayed at the front to open doors for him and also to jump in front, should an assassin try anything.

  Flint opened the main doors of the building and stepped into the town square, Lawrence close behind. Lawrence positioned himself in the middle of the square, his guards taking formation behind him, while Flint stood to his right. A minute later, Siobhan and the others came out of the building and lined up alongside him.

  The bell finally stopped ringing and the huge, metal gates opened. Behind them stood a contingent of Royal Galrian Army soldiers, their silver and green uniforms so bright that they shined. They marched through the gate in perfect rhythm to the sound of drum beating. Behind them came several steam carriages, the engines making chug-chug sounds and large smoke blooms exiting the exhaust pipes on top.

  Lawrence guessed they were the Mark Five Tusk carriages. He wasn’t as familiar with the Galrian designs as the Alkon ones. The Galrian carriages trended to bulky sizes and a blown out look that reminded Lawrence of a puffer fish. This meant they could carry much more and use heavier metals in construction.

  By comparison the more sleek and thin Alkon models were smaller, but they made up for this in speed and simplicity. Alkon carriages were easier to construct than the more complex Galrian models.

  The carriages passed through the gate and stopped behind the soldiers. The soldiers moved aside and stood at attention as the smallest cart continued on, moving through the space they had created for it. The vehicle stopped at the front, and its noisy engine turned off.

  Lawrence noticed this carriage had a different design. The other carriages were grey metal with the green and white diamonds of the Galrian flag decorating the sides.

  The smaller one had gold lines and intricate Galrian characters on its sides. His Galrian was not as strong as he would have liked. He didn’t know the meaning of the words.