by E. R. Jess
They rested on the cliff's edge and watched the community from sunrise to sunset. There were no figures milling about the land, no soldiers stalking. There were, however, spots of green grasses and some living trees. Glistening ponds. A golf course stretching out in the canyon's north basin. They could make out a small airport to the far west. The community's buildings were in decent shape, at least the ones closest to them. It may not have been the promised land, but Makz and Alessa had not seen a more welcome sight in a lifetime between the two of them.
The pair made their way back to the group and got everyone moving. Eight and Vorn, waiting impatiently for news, had already began formulating a plan for a run north. Instead, Dernen's original plan was set in motion; move the group into Sacria's factory township and lie low. And everyone there knew that there was a hope that it might become home.
The debris storms had become dust storms. The journey was much quicker than they expected, and a feeling of relief replaced fear for many in the group. In the months before finding Sacria, their exodus had taken the pacifists through crumbled cities and along desolate highways long since untread. Through makeshift societies and homesteads where the hearty people of the wastes scratched a living out of the rust. The pacifists had walked through four old states, crossing worn borders without ever knowing it.
They reached the small desert that Alessa and Makz had scouted. The group's feet set them on once-fertile ground; the remnants of farmland in the midwest. The crops had turned to ash well before the wars, before the pestilence, long before Urban Population Control began building kingdoms in testament to order and the suppression of strife. Ages before the hemisphere was clouded with fumes you could cut with a knife. The crops that fed the country were crumbling to the dirt generations before the first pacifist put his tired feet onto those vacant plains. And they crested the hill overlooking the land. Sacria was covered in a soft mist and an ominous light. They made their way around the cliffs and down into the city streets.
They had walked for hours down eerily clean roads. The buildings were mostly collapsed and inaccessible, though from the outside they looked fine. The roads had been cleared of debris fairly recently. The sight may have been picturesque from a distance, but up close, Alessa and Makz mirrored the wary looks on everyone's faces. Something was not right.
Eight put his hand up. Everyone came to a halt. Everyone except Dernen, who did not notice the signal. Makz, who was behind him, tapped him on the shoulder and gave the old man a sarcastic look. Dernen grimaced.
Eight put on his pair of telescopic glasses and peered into the horizon. A cloud of gray dust was kicked up down a canyon of short buildings. He motioned for everyone to find cover. Alessa and Dernen went back through the line of people and helped them get into hidden, yet comfortable spots. As comfortable as possible, given the terrain. Vorn turned the UA-X down an alley that left the back hanging out.
Eight stayed put in in the road. Alessa called to him. Eight ignored her. “Eight, dammit, get over here,” she pleaded. She looked at Dernen for help, who displayed a stoic sadness.
Makz put his hand on Alessa's shoulder and whispered, “If that's trouble ahead, it's coming either way.”
Alessa whispered her protest as loudly as she could, “That's bullshit and you know it.” And Alessa stood up and got a few feet before Makz pulled her back into the shadows.
“Wait and see,” Makz said calmly.
Eight stood quiet and still. He took off his glasses when the dust reached him. And a slight murmur echoed in the streets. A mass of people were shuffling tiredly though the cold. Worn-out people. Broken people. They were their own funeral march. They walked around Eight as if he wasn't there. Staring at their feet. Walking in the wrong direction.
Alessa gasped and covered her mouth. She shot up and approached them. She fumbled for her satchel and produced a handful of bags of rations. Holding them out, she held her tongue and tried to remain emotionless. They kept walking. Eight walked up next to her and looked at one wanderer closely.
In the time it took one of the men to move past him, he had delved a few weeks of recent memories. He put his hand on Alessa's arm. “Alessa,” Eight sighed painfully, “It won't help.”
Makz walked up, “What does that mean?” He grabbed Alessa's food and shoved it in one of their faces, “Take it, come on,” he grunted in frustration. “What's wrong with you?”
Dernen said to Makz, “Sometimes people give up. Our way of life is not what was intended.”
Eight chewed his lip and shook his head. He started to explain, but he couldn't find the words. He tried to shake off what he'd learned. And he could feel more memories knocking at his door. Eight made an about-face and took one of the pacifist children by the hand, who was crouched down and frightened beyond belief. Dernen threw his bag over his shoulder and moved on without a word or another glimpse.
Makz grabbed a poor soul by the shoulders and shook until their eyes lit up. Nothing. He let them go and shouted, “What's wrong with you people, never been in the fucking wasteland? You dumb fucks, take the food!” Makz stumbled back out of their way as they continued marching. Hundreds passed, then a few thousand.
Eight had already started walking away when he spoke in a clear voice, “They are giving up. I don't think this place is paradise.” And he got back to his usual steady pace.
“They're going to take their own lives.” Alessa stated to Makz as it dawned on her. She got back on the path with an angry gait.
Makz swallowed. He stayed behind as the last of them shuffled off into the night towards the steely heart of the City-State. Makz watched them vanish into their own dust. All he could think about was stopping them and turning them around, but felt powerless to act. He pulled his gloves on and bundled up as he ran off to join Eight and the others. It was a very cold night and he didn't think that much could warm it up.
End of the Line
The buildings in the pacifist's path had become cleaner. The streets nearly free of dust and ash. And free of sound. The group remained deathly quiet. The sound of the UA-X's large tire treads pulverizing cobble stones sent shivers down every spine. Everyone felt the instinct to flee. Eight kept his body moving forward with hopes that there was some safety ahead. There was nothing directly threatening to cause the group's anxiety, but after trudging through the decimated ruins of a few cities and coming upon a neat and tidy ruin, Eight and the rest were quite disconcerted.
Alessa kept the children close. She walked with them in a semi-circle around the back of the UA-X where the older folks rode. Dernen stared firmly at the road flowing away beneath him. He swallowed hard and kept silent.
Eight walked back to Vorn, who had a white-knuckle grip on the UA-X's steering wheel. Eight said quietly, “I can sense everyone's wariness. It's pretty strong.”
“Is it justified?” Vorn asked.
Eight nodded, “Yes, I believe so. This is obviously someone's territory.”
“A warlord?”
“You know as much as I do. Unless you've been out this far and don't remember.” Eight responded.
“No, and if I did, don't remind me. This place is like a mockery of the past, like a well-tended graveyard,” Vorn added.
“We're turning around. If whoever is here doesn't kill me, the not-knowing will,” Eight joked uneasily.
Vorn put the UA-X in gear and began to turn the wheel.
Alessa told the children to stay out of the massive vehicle's way and darted up to the front driver's side asking, “Vorn, is something wrong?”
Eight answered for him, “Yes, we've got to go back.”
Alessa looked the road up and down and said, “Any reason?”
“I think we've learned over our travels that the path of least resistance is bad news. This place doesn't feel right,” Eight said in a low voice.
Alessa sighed and said, “I know, we all feel it. Eight, I can't tell caution from fear anymore. Are we running for the right reasons? These children might not gro
w up, they might not survive. How irresponsible is it of us to drag these families out here just to have them lose their lives in the dust?”
Eight said, “You know that it's not that simple. Under UPC, these families would have their minds wiped clean. No more individuality, no more humanity. And we didn't drag anyone anywhere. You and Kagan made promises that they wanted to hear, and they still believe it. I believe it. We can get free of all this,” Eight took her hand and squeezed, “Just not down this road, is all.”
Alessa looked at the inky skyline. It's twisted face was flooded with pollution clouds and jagged buildings. Light refracted around until the dull gray banished the most stubborn shadows. She looked at the pacifists; a row of expectant faces. Young and old people, families and rusters. Worn-out folk. Tattered clothes and gritty faces. In them, she saw hints of the death march of refugees they had encountered and it frightened her. Alessa nodded to Vorn, who nodded back and turned the vehicle one-hundred and eighty degrees.
“We'll find it,” Eight said with a light smile.
Dernen looked up and asked, “What's going on?”
“Detour,” She answered. Alessa did another head count and didn't stop until she was absolutely sure.
The sun rose in their faces as the pacifists worked their way back to the factory town's entrance. They were passing back through a suburban square when the UA-X screeched to a halt. A woman stood in the center of the road.
Meril, Mar's second in command, spoke loudly and evenly to the group, “Pacifists, you are in Preed, the city controlled by Mar. You are now his subjects. Come with us with no resistance to be processed in an orderly fashion.”
And rows of men with interlocking gas masks began emerging from between the buildings and from behind white picket fencing.
The pacifists closed in around the UA-X for safety. The children jumped in the back and the adults held their ground around the vehicle. Vorn put the UA-X in gear and gave a glance to Alessa, looking for a command to floor it. She said no with her eyes when she saw that the bulk of the group would be left behind.
Eight jumped off the vehicle and began walking toward Meril. Makz slid in his way and addressed him and Alessa, “If there ever was a time to break your adorable little vows, it would be now. These people obviously mean serious fucking business and I am not getting processed,” Makz turned his finger to Alessa, “If I hear one fucking whiny peep out of you for saving your asses my way...”
Alessa shouted back at him, “You can't win every fight, you can't win this. Anything you do will get us killed.”
Eight added, “I might be able to delve her. We can avoid a fight. A slaughter.”
Makz clenched his fists then loaded the guns he had swiped from the UA officers surreptitiously beneath his coat. “Fine,” he acquiesced, “but then it was nice knowing you fuckers.”
Eight laughed through his nose and nodded to Alessa, who checked on everyone. Mar's forces had made a circle around them and Meril stood patiently. Eight walked up to her with his hands out at his sides. Meril eyed him as he approached. Eight got within a few meters of her and began to delve as he spoke, “I represent these people. We are refugees of UPC. We are leaving the Free City and its outlying communities. We can offer trade for our passage.”
Eight tried to delve into Meril's memory. He saw only ash and fire. He saw war and death and atrocity condensed into tiny flashing moments. He couldn't read anything substantial. Eight couldn't delve her name. And then it was like something hit him. Eight was frozen, his body immobile and his mind foggy. Some kind of mental feedback from Meril stopped him and Eight crumbled to the ground.
Makz's eyes went wide. He burst out from behind the UA-X's door and began firing at Meril and the line of guards. Alessa called for everyone to dive for cover. Makz ran in an arc around the front of the UA-X, firing his riot pistol with his right hand aimed under his left arm. He emptied a clip into the row of guards and slid behind the vehicle's front tire. The guards shook and rattled with each bullet that hit them, but ultimately remained upright. Only one guard fell as his gasmask was shattered by a round to the eye.
The guards pulled energy weapons out from their coats and fired in unison, most toward Makz, and the rest in a barrage against the UA-X. The pavement all around them burst into the air where errant shots hit. Vorn dove behind the dashboard as his windshield glass was hit repeatedly and threatened to break under the stress. Alessa and the bulk of the group dug themselves in as best they could beneath the UA-X's drivetrain, or in weaker cover beneath the hand-pulled carts. A few pacifists were hit by energy bolts. Their skin burned and flared up. Some lost consciousness from the shock, others belted out screams of pain. The back door of the UA-X was closed just in time before a volley of weapon fire peppered it, leaving deep black scorches.
Alessa clenched her fists hopelessly as she watched her people get cut down. She had to fight the urge to run out and charge into the guards and fight them hand-to-hand. A sensation she was not used to.
Eight was able to roll over and see the situation. He saw Makz reload his gun and fire into the ankles of some of the gasmasked men, some of whom fell.
Meril stooped down to Eight's face as he tried to get up. She said, “So you're the other Delver. Funny, I didn't expect someone so weak. You have no idea what you're capable of, do you?”
Eight struggled to hoist himself up. His brain and body didn't want to communicate properly. He could barely move, much less fight her off. He wasn't able to read her memory, but for a moment, Eight could anticipate what she was going to do next, much like he could do expertly for Makz. There was not much he could do about it anyway. Meril hit Eight with her elbow, knocking him out like a light.
The Life Out of Me
Morgan and First Sergeant Cavel sat face-to-face, as did the rest of his team. Wires criss-crossed their bodies. They each sat in individual chambers. Sen, UPC's foremost Outernet expert, read diagnostic screens displaying the vital information of each soldier.
“I don't expect that you could explain why a couple of rusters beat all of you fine gentlemen?” Sen asked half-heartedly.
Morgan gave a humorless smile and tapped his finger on the metal hexagon that was implanted at the base of his sternum. He spoke with a raspy, worn voice, “Man's only as good as his hardware. Didn't you tell me that once?”
“Sounds like me,” Sen replied with raised eyebrows, “But no. I don't deal in cautionary anecdotes. At least I didn't until now. From what I can tell from the data you collected, one of those Redlisted targets you fought was conformed. Not conformed in the proper sense, in the obedient member of society sense, but conformed to be a weapon.”
Morgan grunted and said, “He was. Seemed like battle enhancements to me.”
Sen began rigging up more machines to the team's bodies. “And he was nine feet tall, right?”
“The evidence is all around you,” Morgan said and gestured to his injured men, “We have enhanced musculature, power armor, EM shielding and Outernet augmented reality. What we don't have is a force of will.”
Sen nodded his head and said, “In a way, you're right. There is one thing this pacifist has that you don't, he was dismantled and rebuilt. You and your team are simply augmented. If you want to stop him, well, it's already underway.”
Morgan looked at the display above his head showing diagrams of his heart rate and brainwaves. Something was not right. He reached for and grabbed Sen's shoulder and asked, “What are you doing to us?”
Sen shook free as Morgan began losing consciousness and replied, “You're being reset to factory standards, as it were.” He held up an implant, “They call it the Antikythera. It's the latest in conformity technology. With one of these, you will all be rebuilt in its image. It's the will of UCM and UPC. The directive came down from the top. UCM's elite strike teams can't be taking it on the jaw from apostles and rusters anymore.”
Morgan tried to stay awake as his vision blurred out. He felt his muscles go numb and fade. He
used his last breath to utter, “For all its good works.”
“Oh, this is good, indeed,” Sen said to the room of soldiers.
“Minister Elann, it's done,” Sen said into his comm-link.
She replied, “Good, retrain them as soon as is logical. I have a mission of great importance in the wings.”
Elann got out of her office chair, the chair that Revan used to sit in before his re-education, and injected a liberal dose of Pulse by the window. She looked at the sharp divide between the Free City and the walled City-State. She reeled back and nearly fell from the Pulse's effects.
Her android servant entered the room. “Ma'am, do you need a detox injection?” it asked stoically. It was covered in burgundy and brown plates, which was in style at the time.
“No, fuck off.” The words fell out of her mouth and the android glided away.
She went to her AR chamber and plugged cables into her data port, saying to the tube, “Outernet.”
She navigated ruins on the cusp of UPC's influence. Some areas of the recreation were low resolution or missing entirely. Elann swiped her hand across the sky from right to left and held her other hand up to a floating graphic of a sliding dial. She was rewinding time. After some tedious scrolling, she saw the images of a few people skitter by next to an old urban assault vehicle. She stopped the playback and walked around to one of the figures, a woman in her mid thirties. It was Alessa, in a scene recorded a few weeks prior by vector camera drones. Elann circled her and studied her face. “I have to be sure,” she said to the frozen Outernet recreation of Alessa, “I have to be sure or the same fate will befall me. Isn't that right?”