Equilibrium Fan Fiction by Judas Austin Taking Sides 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 Partridge is alive. There. I've written it down. Maybe that'll help me come to terms with it. Nope. No luck so far. I'd still like to know just what he meant by that comment! 'Taken it a hell of a lot better than he thought I would'? How did he think I'd take it? Am I the kind of person to open fire in a panicked frenzy? No! Am I the kind of person to go into a panicked frenzy in the first place? No! Am I the kind of person who would shoot my ex-partner (again) without waiting for an explanation, simply because I was so wrong-footed by his appearance? No! Am I the kind of person who systematically exterminates everything that seems to constitute a threat towards me? Well...yes. I have to hand it to Jurgen, though. I had no idea Partridge was anywhere around. Then again, I never had any reason to suspect such a thing! I mean, how many people would go around opening and shutting doors in case their dead ex-partner happened to be sitting behind one of them reading "War of the Worlds"?! (That reminds me; I must pay Richardson another visit. I've been after a copy of that work for a fortnight now). I guess I'm glad to see Partridge alive again, or at least, I will be once I get over the shock. Perhaps the nightmares I've been having about what went down in that damn cathedral will stop now. Speaking of nightmares, what am I going to do about Halls? Do I need to do something? After all, the man's a Cleric and therefore capable of taking care of himself. Unfortunately, so are the twenty or so people who are no doubt guarding him. And I have to say, much as we've had our differences, I feel more than a little responsible for him. If I hadn't persuaded him to come along with me, then...well, then I'd be the one lined up for clinical interrogation, but that's beside the point! Sod Halls, actually, what am I going to do about Lisa? Short of returning to the Tetra Grammaton-and even I'm not that impetuous-I can't think of anything. Halls might be able to do something, perhaps, but since he's a Cleric, I imagine he's under a shitload of sedatives and restraints right about now. I'd be very surprised if he can even tell what day of the week it is. And if he does somehow manage to get out, in all honesty I wouldn't blame him if he made tracks back here as fast as he could. So. My own daughter's life currently lies in the hands of someone who might be my enemy and then again might not but who I'd bet my next three paychecks is currently incapable of helping himself, let alone Lisa. And Partridge has just come back from the dead. The way my life seems to be going right now, I'll probably go home and find Brandt in the kitchen making a cup of coffee. I should have known there'd be days like this. -John Preston, Grammaton Cleric First Class Preston regained consciousness a while later, but kept his eyes firmly shut. He wasn't sure he wanted to see what else was in the room with him. There were some situations that your training just didn't prepare you for, and coming face to face with a partner you'd shot and subsequently seen incinerated was pretty much top of that list. "I should have told him earlier." That was Jurgen, sounding completely and utterly disgusted with himself. "Maybe," Partridge said doubtfully, each syllable in that simple word crashing down on Preston's head like a two-ton vehicle. Part of him just wanted to go back into unconsciousness until everything went back to normal, but this was fast overruled by that other, far more dangerous part of him that wanted to know what the hell was going on. He grimaced inwardly. Curiosity may well have killed the cat, to use one of Richardson's aphorisms, but that was nothing compared to what it did to the human. "There's no 'maybe' about it; I should have done." Jurgen sighed. "There's just been a hell of a lot going on, that's all." "Does this mean I can come out of hiding now?" Partridge said. He sounded faintly amused. "And give coronary failure to half of New Libria who firmly believe you're dead?" Jurgen paused. "Oh hell, why not?" he added, somewhat bitterly. "It'd solve a lot of my problems very nicely." "Does he know what we did?" "Nobody knows what we did; the security risk would have been far too great. Particularly given the little fact that he was partnered up with Cleric Brandt." There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like Partridge had just choked on a mouthful of liquid. "Brandt? Not Father's lapdog Brandt?" Preston forced his eyes open and came face to face with Klondike, who was sat next to him, panting. There are worse things you could come face to face with upon opening your eyes than the inside of a dog's mouth, but a surprising number of these require illegal herbage. "What. The. Fuck," he managed to get out. "Finally awake, are you?" Partridge said. There was the barest hint of a grin on his face. Preston fumbled for his sidearms automatically, then remembered he no longer had them, understanding now why Jurgen had insisted he put them out of reach. "That's no way to greet your old partner," Partridge said easily. Preston shook his head, not in denial but to clear it. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd heard sense offenders say things along the lines of "This can't be happening!" and it had always puzzled him since anyone with half a brain cell could see that it was happening, or had already happened. But now, face to face with an ex-partner he'd killed nearly two months ago, he began to see just where they'd been coming from. "I...no. No, this can't be real! I saw you die; I shot you myself, dammit! I saw your body just before it went in for incineration!" "And you don't seem too pleased to find me alive and well," Partridge said. There was an unmistakable edge to his tone now. "What are you planning to do, Preston? Kill me again?" Preston sat up slowly. He'd been put on Jurgen's couch, he noticed...and with a little more haste than decorum, judging from the way he was half on, half off. He turned the most compelling look he could contrive on Jurgen. "You have five seconds to explain," he said in a deadly tone. "After that, I really don't promise to be responsible for the consequences." "You never are," Jurgen remarked, clearly unperturbed. "Didn't anything about Partridge's death strike you as odd?" "You mean apart from the little fact that he's now sitting five feet away from me!?" Preston shot back, his voice rising. "I mean the fact that he gave in so readily." "He didn't give in; I shot him!" "Can we stop talking about my death like I'm not here?" Partridge demanded edgily. "It's making me uncomfortable." "He's uncomfortable," Preston muttered under his breath. "How the hell does he think I feel??" "Would you have just let yourself be shot in that situation, Preston?" Jurgen said. "Would you just die 'without incident', as I believe Father put it?" "No. Not without incident." The words had been Preston's, but it was Partridge who spoke them now. "Partridge knows pretty much everything I do about the Resistance," Jurgen said calmly. "Not to mention he's a Cleric. He was too valuable to lose." Preston focused. A mixture of both Cleric and common sense gave him the answer and he grimaced slightly. "You sent a double," he said hollowly. It had been a damn good one too, right down to that training scar on Partridge's forehead, now almost completely faded. "Who did I really kill that night?" "Someone called Manuel Thompson," Jurgen said. "The whole process took several weeks. We started putting it into effect the moment Partridge joined our team, in preparation for when you'd find out." "Don't you mean 'if'?" "No," Jurgen said simply. "You are-you were-the most intuitive Cleric in the whole of the Tetra Grammaton. We knew you'd find out about Partridge sooner or later." "You took a hell of a risk then," Preston said somewhat hoarsely. "What if I'd shot him when I first suspected him?" "That's not your style, Preston," Partridge said flatly. "It's not any Cleric's style, come to that. There might have been more Resistance fighters watching, ones who didn't know me. You remember the crap they fed us in the Monastery; the Tetra Grammaton had to present a united front against the Resistance. It would have put a bit of a hole in that theory if you'd shot me in full view of the sweepers, the police and any rebels that might have been hiding." "If there were rebels, we'd have sensed them," Preston said, but in the dull tones of someone who is temporarily running on automatic. "Possibly," Partridge conceded, "but that doesn't change the fact that you wouldn't summarily execute me in front of so many witnesses unless I'd started reading that book right in front of you. It was a safe bet you'd wait until you could settle it behind closed doors, as they say." Preston shook his head slightly. He was privately amazed at how well his partner had read him. "No," he said aloud. "I saw you. Sending a double...hell, that's the oldest trick in the book!" "Yes, because if you do it properly, it usually works," Jurgen retorted. "Preston, didn't you notice when you went down to Partridge's body that it seemed slightly different?" Well, yes, Preston supposed he probably had, but he'd been pretty upset at the time and Partridge had been dead and on ice for two days by then. Death and sub-zero temperatures could do strange things to a body. "How?" he said. "How could you-" "One of our people was a surgeon. We only had the equipment for one operation, and we'd been saving it in case we did get a Cleric on our side, and one that was senior enough to successfully assassinate Father." "And you didn't do it on Halls?" "Halls was only a cadet when he joined. That wasn't enough." Preston tried to picture Halls in a cadet's uniform and found he couldn't. His imagination rebelled. "Then where did I fit into all this?" he demanded. "Well, it would look bloody strange if I turned up at Equilibrium and requested an audience with Father three days after I'd died, wouldn't it?" Partridge retorted with biting sarcasm. "There were only four people who were in on this," Jurgen continued. "Myself, Partridge, Thompson and the surgeon involved. Partridge agreed to go into hiding; as you can see, I kept quiet about the whole thing, you killed Thompson and the surgeon was killed during a raid in the Nethers two days later." Preston shook his head. "No. I don't believe this." "Then what will you believe?" Partridge said. "That I have a long lost twin brother that just happened to come out of the woodwork when we most needed him? Or perhaps you'd have preferred me to have been a clone. Face it, Preston; the only thing you don't want to believe is that you fell for the ploy hook, line and sinker." "Let me make sure I've got this straight," Preston said to Jurgen, pointedly ignoring the other Cleric. "You genetically altered a Resistance fighter to resemble Errol Partridge?" "I'm not sure I like the tenor of that question," Partridge remarked, his tone studiously neutral. Jurgen silenced him with a look. "Yes, we did," he said. "Of course, Thompson looked startlingly like Partridge to begin with, otherwise it would never have worked. A little rhinoplasty and chin augmentation..." He shrugged. "You'd never know the difference." "Really," Preston said flatly. "Well, you didn't," Partridge pointed out. "And it was somewhat dark in that cathedral," Jurgen added. "Dark enough so you couldn't make Partridge out completely." That much was true, Preston thought, but it had damn well been light enough for him to recognise the other Cleric! "I saw you!" he said to Partridge accusingly. He hadn't the faintest idea what he was accusing the other Cleric of-almost giving him coronary failure, perhaps-but he was damned if he was going to change his tone. "We'd been partners for seven years! If you'd been different, I would have known!" "If the coroners had done a blood test or taken fingerprints, they would have known," Jurgen pointed out. "They didn't, for the simple reason that they believed there was no need. Large-scale duplicity doesn't exist among those on the dose, therefore it didn't occur to anyone at the Tetra Grammaton. The corpse looked like Partridge, it had Partridge's ID and personal belongings, they were expecting it to be Partridge and so to them, it was. The same was true of you. You were expecting to see Partridge in the cathedral, and so you did. You might have noticed he was acting slightly out of character, but then he was off the dose and as almost any Prozium junkie will tell you, people off the dose are governed by emotions, incapable of logical, rational thought. You chalked up any discrepancies in Partridge's behaviour to his lack of Prozium. The thought that it might not be Partridge at all in that cathedral never crossed your mind." Jurgen raised his eyebrows. "You thought he behaved oddly, almost like a different man. Of course he did. He was a different man." "It probably wouldn't have worked in broad daylight," Partridge said with a slight shrug of his own, "even though Thompson did look rather like me. But we needed a double pretty badly. Jurgen even said that he'd do it, if it was necessary. Luckily it wasn't." Preston stared at him. The resemblance between Jurgen and Partridge was a little like the resemblance between himself and DuPont-they had roughly the same colour eyes, the same colour hair and that was as far as it went. "How?" he said, this time addressing Jurgen. "How the hell did you...how could you..." He shook his head. "I must have been in here countless times and I never picked up on anything." "Oh, and of course, you're supposed to be omniscient," Partridge retorted. "Give me a break!" "Of course you didn't," Jurgen said composedly. "You were trained to find hidden rooms, Preston. If I'd concealed it behind a false wall, you'd have noticed. As it was, you seem to respect my privacy too much to go opening doors at random." He shrugged. "If you had, you'd have found Partridge right at the beginning." "Which would have been better all round," Partridge muttered. "Yes, yes, yes, alright! I take your point!" Jurgen said in the exasperated tones of one who's been hearing the same thing over and over for the last hour. He glanced at Preston. "Did Halls say anything to you just before this happened?" Preston frowned. He'd been operating almost on pure adrenalin; great for Gun-Kata and bashing nine kinds of hell out of anyone stupid enough to try and stop him, bad for any amount of accurate recall concerning anything besides the combat itself, not to mention the slight fogginess induced by the sedative. Whatever they'd pumped him full of back in Equilibrium had been some pretty powerful shit. "Not that we hadn't already said here," he said, more thinking aloud than anything. A memory seemed to leap out at him and even though it wasn't the latest one, he nevertheless latched onto it firmly with both hands. "I can just about remember him saying something earlier, something about his not being about to fall for my charms." Jurgen's expression froze. Next to him, Partridge accidentally sprayed his mouthful of water across the room. "Your...charms," Jurgen repeated, tone studiously neutral. He'd heard (and used) countless adjectives to describe Preston ever since the other had come over to his side, some less complimentary than others. But charming wasn't a word Jurgen had even thought about using or had ever heard used in connection with the Cleric. It just didn't fit. "More or less," Preston said. "It got a little blurred after that." Partridge raised an eyebrow. "How many bodies did you leave behind on the way out?" Preston shot his partner a look. "On the way out? None," he said truthfully. "Alright. How many did Halls leave behind?" "I'm not sure. I saw him kill a sweeper just before I left. He shoved me out and said he'd follow, then slammed the door. I assumed he'd made it. He'll probably escape," Preston added, not quite meeting either man's gaze. "Would you?" Partridge asked. Preston didn't answer. Privately he'd been surprised that getting out of the Tetra Grammaton had been so easy, but all that aside, if it hadn't been for Halls, New Libria could well have been destroyed by now. Preston would probably have led the attack himself; there was a certain irony to that which DuPont, had he still been alive, would have probably appreciated. "It's a shame it was Cleric Halls, though," Partridge said. There was a note of genuine regret in his tone. Everyone except me seems to think Halls is alright, Preston thought. Are they all crazy or am I? "You said I never asked you about Halls," he said suddenly. "Well, I'm asking you now. Is he insane?" "No," Jurgen said with utter conviction. Preston eyed him narrowly, then nodded. If Jurgen was lying, he didn't know he was. "Right. It's just...some of the things he did in there..." "He's had a lot longer to get to grips with feeling than you have, Preston." Jurgen shrugged. "If you want my honest opinion, I'd say that if everything he must have seen and done without Prozium hasn't driven him mad, I shouldn't think you'd tip him over the edge." Preston shrugged slightly. He had no real interest in Halls' life story. He'd got the answer he wanted. "Alright. My dead partner has sprung back to life again, my daughter is trapped in Old Libria somewhere and the local lunatic, aka Halls, is also there. Any more good news? DuPont dropped round for a cup of coffee, say?" "Funny you should mention that..." Partridge said, then held up his hands in response to Preston's look. "I'm joking! I'm joking!" "What's been going on?" Preston said to Jurgen, ignoring Partridge with a superhuman effort. Jurgen shrugged. "Not too much, to tell you the truth. It's been very quiet around here lately. Most Clerics and ex-sweepers are still working on that Matthews case, more through boredom than anything, if you want my honest opinion." "Matthews, huh?" Preston said. He'd almost clean forgotten about that little incident, he reflected as he stood up. He still felt slightly woozy, but he was almost back to normal. "Right. I think I'll go and see what I can-" "You are not going anywhere!" Jurgen told him forcefully. "Allan gave me strict instructions that you were to take it slow for the next day or two and for once-" here Jurgen's tone was grudging "-I agree with him." Preston glanced up and met Partridge's eyes. A brief-very brief-spark of amusement flashed between the two of them. Allan was supremely confident in his own job, almost to the point of arrogance when dealing with anyone who wasn't a Cleric, and Jurgen fell broadly into this category. "I'll take it slow," Preston said calmly. "You won't if you see someone doing something they shouldn't," Jurgen retorted. Preston raised his eyebrows. "You just said things were quiet," he reminded Jurgen. The other man looked at Partridge. "You talk to him." Partridge half choked. "Excuse me? I'm a Cleric, not a miracle worker." Preston shook his head. "This is getting us all nowhere fast." Without another word, he walked over to the door and pulled it open. "Preston, if you think-" The slam cut Jurgen off mid-sentence. He glowered at the door, as if it was personally responsible, then turned on Partridge. "Why didn't you stop him?" Partridge stared at him. "I like that! Why didn't you?" "If a Cleric, one of the Vice-Council and fifty sweepers couldn't stop Preston, I really don't think that I would have much of a chance!" Jurgen said testily. "I don't suppose you could convince him not to get involved," he added, not very hopefully. Partridge raised his eyebrows. "I doubt it. You might as well tell Preston not to breathe as not to get involved. He takes his job extremely seriously." There was a slight emphasis in that last sentence that Jurgen couldn't help picking up on. "What, and you think I don't?" "I wouldn't know," Partridge retorted, "since I've not had a chance to see for myself." Jurgen grimaced. Boy, did he walk into that one. "And since I'm your prisoner here..." Partridge let the sentence trail off. "You're not a prisoner," Jurgen said, startled. It honestly hadn't occurred to him to think of Partridge in such terms, not least because Jurgen was certain if push came to shove, no civilian could keep a Grammaton Cleric anywhere that the Grammaton Cleric didn't want to be kept. "Oh, aren't I?" Partridge got to his feet. "In that case, I'll see you later." "Wait; where are you going?" "To find a place to call home, to take a look around and to see if I can catch up with Preston at some point." "You can't-" Jurgen began, then broke off abruptly. "No?" Partridge said coolly. "Why not? If I'm not a prisoner, that means I'm free to go whenever I please, surely." Jurgen didn't quite meet the Cleric's steady gaze. "I think we both know there's little or no security risk any more," Partridge added, attempting to make his voice as persuasive as possible. He wasn't doing a very good job of it. Like most Clerics, Partridge subscribed to the school of thought that stated, 'if you have two loaded guns, why use your voice to make friends?' Jurgen hesitated, then gave in. He'd known this day would come, sooner or later. "Yeah. Fine. And if you should run into Preston-" "I'll stop him from wiping out half of New Libria, don't worry," Partridge assured him, in a somewhat long-suffering tone. "I'm more worried about him wiping out himself," Jurgen said flatly. "Since Halls is gone, we're running very low on Clerics. If Preston goes, we have you and Rossiter and that's it." "What about Richardson?" The two men simultaneously shared an image of Cleric Richardson. "No." "No," Partridge agreed reluctantly, then brightened, or at least came as close to it as a Cleric could actually get. Partridge was less restrained about displaying emotions than the other Clerics, but his training tended to hold fast most of the time. "Of course, in that case, I'd better get after him right away, hadn't I?" Jurgen opened his mouth to argue, purely out of habit, then closed it again. There really wasn't much point anymore. "Glad you see it my way," Partridge told him, then strode past him and out the door before Jurgen could utter another word. The reactions he encountered as he walked through New Libria could hardly have been more impressive if Partridge had pulled out his guns and started shooting people. Almost everybody was staring, a few people dropped whatever they were holding and one person actually screamed. Partridge, although he would have scorned to admit it, was thoroughly enjoying himself. Spotting a dark haired figure up ahead, he hastened to catch up. Business first, pleasure later. Shame, really. "Preston! Wait!" Preston stopped, but didn't turn around. "Well?" he said, as soon as Partridge drew level with him. "Well what?" Partridge demanded. "I've a right to be here as much as you have." "You're dead," Preston stated, in defiance of current evidence. "You have no right to be anywhere except a mortuary." "Oh, am I? Then perhaps you'd care to explain why I'm standing here talking to you." Preston opened his mouth once or twice but no sound came out. Finally he said, "Look...I'm sorry, alright? But you have to admit, I've had one hell of a shock." Partridge shrugged. There was a very un-Clericlike gleam in his eyes. "And you're loving every damn minute, aren't you?" Preston said, his own eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Not of your 'shock', no. I'm just enjoying being outside again. Jurgen's a considerate enough, ah, host, but his hospitality gets a little wearing after five or six weeks of it." "I don't suppose you'd care to leave me alone to do this patrol?" Preston said pointedly, having run out of tact some time ago. "'Don't suppose' is a very good way of putting it," Partridge shot back. Preston hesitated, then sighed. It wasn't that he wanted Partridge gone, as such, he just wanted an hour or two to adjust to his partner's unexpected reappearance. Still, it looked like that would have to wait. "Alright," he said resignedly. "Fine. What did I miss while I was away?" "Not much," Partridge said tartly. "Funnily enough, New Libria can function in your absence for a few days without self-destructing." He paused. "Someone kept hanging around your apartment, but other than that-" "If it's that son of a bitch who's been carving those words in-" "No, it was that woman you took down to Corridor 9." "Oh...really?" Preston said, a little too casually. "Did she say what she wanted?" "Maybe. I was watching on the security cameras." "How's Robbie doing? And Animal?" "Not sure," Partridge said, his tone slightly too even. "Someone appears to have destroyed all the cameras inside your apartment." Preston grimaced. "Ah. Well..." There was the sound of rapid movement and a group comprising of some half a dozen ex-sweepers suddenly passed them at the double. Preston caught sight of a familiar face at the head of that group, reached out a hand and collared its owner. Literally. "What's going on?" "A disturbance in the north of this sector, Cleric," Rossiter said, massaging his neck. He nodded respectfully to Partridge. One Cleric was very much like another to him, and he'd joined the Resistance after Partridge's 'death'. "Alright. Dismissed." Rossiter snapped momentarily to attention, executed a sharp about-face and strode on down the corridor. Partridge stared, turning his head to follow the other Cleric's progress. "Isn't he a little young to be a senior Cleric?" Preston snorted. "Yes, he is. Just after I joined the Resistance, DuPont took the top five graduates and shot them up through the ranks. My guess is that he was getting desperate." "Where-" Partridge began. "Where do you think?" Preston flung back at him over his shoulder. He was already halfway down the corridor and accelerating fast. "He'll bloody kill himself, going on like that," Partridge muttered irritably. "Preston!" He broke into a run, catching up with the other Cleric some hundred yards on. Preston had always been the faster of the two. Right now, his partner was being harangued by a middle-aged, balding and thoroughly unpleasant man who was wagging a finger at the Cleric in a manner which suggested he had no idea who he was addressing. "-stealing crates full!" he was shouting at Preston, who remained unmoved. "All civilians clear this area immediately," Rossiter ordered, to no effect. "You heard him," Partridge said sharply. "Move! No-" he caught hold of a woman who attempted to slip away with the rest, "-not you. You had something to do with this, and my partner and I want to know what." There was a scuffle as the man who'd been yelling at Preston tried to back off, only to be stopped by Preston himself, who prevented him by the simple process of pinning him against the wall with one hand, only releasing him when the corridor had been mostly cleared of onlookers. "You can't do this to me!" The man stepped up, almost into Preston's face, which might have been carved out of stone for all the emotion it revealed. "You can't do this! I know my rights!" "Really?" Preston said calmly. "What are they?" There was a pause. "...What?" the man said finally, in the tones of one who has had to suddenly throw their train of thought into reverse. "What are your rights?" Preston repeated patiently. "They're...well, they..." The stranger hesitated, then rallied magnificently. "Clerics are strictly forbidden to summarily execute suspects!" "I didn't ask you what my rights were," Preston pointed out. The man's mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a few minutes. "Cleric Preston will hear about this!" he said finally. "I've no doubt he will," Preston answered calmly. He found himself seized by an insatiable curiosity to hear what this man was going to say next. This was the first time he'd come face to face with someone in New Libria who genuinely had no idea who he was. "Sir," Rossiter said to the troublemaker, in an attempt to defuse the situation, "the man you're addressing is-" "Quiet," Preston ordered. This was too intriguing to stop it now. "Your name?" "Marsters." "Your rights?" "What?" Marsters said again. "I believe the question was simple enough," Partridge interjected, a note of steel in his voice. It was obvious from the man's expression that he was dredging the depths of his memory for the answer. "I have the right to remain silent." "No you don't," Rossiter cut in, "you've just been watching too many episodes of that old EC-10 series." "This is getting ridiculous," Partridge said flatly. He turned to the woman who'd raised the alarm. "What the hell's going on?" "He owes me four days worth of rations, that's what's going on!" Preston suppressed a sigh. Wonderful. New Libria was extremely tight on food, since there were only ten factories close enough to supply the inhabitants, and the Tetra Grammaton controlled eight of them. More violence and crimes were committed now for a plate of sandwiches than he privately thought had ever been done in the name of any other cause. "There is nobody called Marsters on the ration distribution lists," he said flatly. "Either he's lied about his name or he's lied about his occupation. Whichever it is, I believe he can tell the duty officer instead of the entire sector." He nodded curtly to Rossiter. "Take him out of my sight." Rossiter snapped to attention, ripping off a smart salute. Clerics did not usually salute in the normal course of things, but Preston thought he could let this one occasion slide... "Yes sir, Preston, sir!" ...particularly upon seeing the expression on Marsters' face. That made it all worthwhile. "You're Cleric Preston?" Marsters said disbelievingly. "Yes, I am," Preston said coolly. There was a somewhat scandalised silence. "Prove it." "Gladly." Preston snapped out his ID, showed it to Marsters, then flipped it closed and replaced it. "I...see." Marsters appeared to be swallowing air; his throat moved up and down spasmodically. Preston glanced at Rossiter. "Get him out of here. Now." "Whatever you say, Cleric. Come on." Rossiter stepped neatly between Marsters and those members of the crowd who still remained, steering him firmly in the direction of the nearest detention centre. "Well, that was an interesting diversion," Partridge remarked, to no one in particular. He glanced at the woman who'd started the whole incident. "You, take my advice and get down to your closest nutrition centre. And next time someone claims to be someone they're not, follow Marsters' example and demand an ID. It was probably near suicidal to say something like that to Preston," he added, more to himself than to anyone else, "but even so..." He glanced up at Preston as the other Cleric slipped past him. "Where-" "I'm heading back to my place," Preston said curtly. "My head's throbbing like hell. Allan gave me some painkillers before I left; I was thinking I'll take a couple and turn in early." "Yeah, alright. I'll see you tomorrow." "Will you?" Preston said, too startled to offer any other response. "I've spent over a month living in Jurgen's broom cupboard," Partridge said, somewhat tartly. "You don't imagine I'm going to go back there now, do you?" Good point, Preston thought wryly. He knew he wouldn't like being confined day in, day out. Clerics didn't take well to inactivity. "Understood," he said, with what might possibly have been the hint of a smile. "In that case...yes. I'll see you tomorrow." He turned and walked off, heading for home and-hopefully-sleep. Once back in his apartment, Preston thumbed the tablets out of their foil containers and dry swallowed two of them. The pounding in his temples eased slightly. He could think again. The phone rang at this point, cutting through Preston's head like a buzz-saw. He growled out a few choice imprecations he'd picked up from an ex-sweeper and snatched it out of its cradle. "Yes?" he said tersely. "Cleric Preston?" The voice was vaguely familiar. "This is Kia Tercheron; you probably don't remember me, but I-" "Oh yeah, sure." His head suddenly feeling a lot better, Preston straightened up almost unconsciously. "What can I do for you?" "Well...you're most probably busy...but I was wondering, there are one or two things I'm not too sure about; schedules and the like. I don't know if Jurgen said but I only recently came off the dose and I'm new to this kind of life. I was thinking...that is, if you're not too busy...maybe we could talk over a drink or something?" To anyone watching, Preston appeared to go from standing normally to being ramrod straight with no intervening position. "Yeah! Sure! I mean..." he felt blood rush to his cheeks, suddenly painfully aware that he had been too eager. "...I...well, that's fine," he finished, somewhat lamely. "I wouldn't want to inconvenience you-" "Oh no. No, no inconvenience at all. Really. Uh...where did you want to...?" "How does the canteen in Corridor 6 sound?" "You sound pretty good to me," Preston said, then ground his teeth in self-deprecation so hard they hurt. "I mean, it sounds pretty good to me." "Well...alright then." Kia sounded somewhat doubtful. "I'll see you there...if you're sure it's okay?" "Yeah, sure, fine, it's fine." "Well...alright," Kia said again. "See you later." Preston still heard the doubt in her voice. The Cleric couldn't honestly blame her; she'd just heard him having the verbal equivalent of a nervous breakdown. He grimaced inwardly. Why did his tongue have to tangle itself up whenever he heard Kia's voice? He'd heard that love was one of the 'dizzying highs of human emotion' that Father had always prattled on about, but the only time he'd come close to experiencing it had been with Mary, and that had been tempered with a mixture of guilt and pain. Preston didn't know for certain, but he hoped like hell that this particular dizzying high would be enough to make up for his vocal embarrassments. He put the phone down and went to get ready. Chapter 11 >>> more Equilibrium Fan Fiction