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 "The chances of anyone coming down here are a million to one" he said. Yeah, right, Partridge! Thanks for that oh-so-|analytical insight! Let me remind you that the chances of someone being shot, incinerated and subsequently coming back to life again are a 'million to one'. Someone really ought to replace 'million to one' with 'dead cert'. So, Partridge is alive, and so's Kernachan. If I was superstitious, I might be halfway to believing those rumours about Clerics being invulnerable, if I hadn't killed both Brandt and DuPont myself. Partridge mentioned something about a traitor in New Libria. That figures; it's about the only way anyone could have got into Kernachan's apartment. The guy might not be a particularly good Cleric, but he is a Cleric, for all that. Not only someone he knew, but probably someone he knew well. Trouble is, that doesn't exactly narrow it down. Again, as Partridge said, Kernachan was particularly well liked, despite his being a Cleric. What am I supposed to do, arrest every New Librian on the basis that whoever instigated this affair is probably in there somewhere? On the other hand, maybe I won't need to do anything. After all, Kernachan killed his would-be murderer. Maybe it'll all stop there. And with regards to that message from the Tetra Grammaton, maybe I can go out there and negotiate with them somehow. Yeah. And maybe the moon's made of green cheese. Dream on, Preston. The only 'maybe' here is the question of your sanity if you think either Jurgen or the TG are going to even entertain such a notion. Of course, if you want to try, I'm sure you could take down Jurgen and even Partridge without any serious damage to yourself. No. That's absurd. I can't believe I'd even contemplate such a thing. But there is one other way they didn't seem to anticipate, one that I believe both Jurgen and Partridge might be persuaded to agree with. -John Preston, Grammaton Cleric First Class "No," Jurgen said flatly. Preston rounded on him. "What do you mean, no?" "Which part don't you understand?" Jurgen answered coolly. "You and Halls tried this before, and failed miserably, I might add, since Halls is gone and by your own admission, you barely escaped with your life. And if it hadn't been for that sweeper, you'd be lying dead or possibly insane in the Nethers." "I didn't have Partridge with me then." "There's no guarantee that you're going to have Partridge with you now!" Partridge retorted. "So you plan to just waltz back into Old Libria," Jurgen said bitingly. "The sheer stupidity of that action and the little fact that you're accompanied by a dead man might grant you a certain element of surprise, I admit, but what happens if you screw up again? What happens if Partridge ends up with Halls? What happens if you do?" "And what happens if I don't?" Preston answered tightly. "You're asking me to turn my back on my own daughter?" There was a hot, angry silence. "Yes," Jurgen said finally. "And you think I'm going to agree?" Preston shook his head. "I don't even know why I'm talking to you of all people about this." "You wouldn't care if it wasn't your kid out there," Jurgen pointed out. "I would." "Alright, maybe you'd care, but if it was just a Mr Smith from Corridor X who you'd never met, you'd have no qualms about writing them off to safeguard our security." "That's different," Preston stated flatly, aware even as he said it of how it sounded. "Why?" Jurgen wanted to know. Preston hesitated. 'Because Mr Smith from Corridor X isn't my daughter' probably wasn't the best answer he could give. "Because he wouldn't matter," Partridge answered for Preston. "His life wouldn't be worth sacrificing all this for." "Most of these people are drifters," Preston said. "Alone. The only family most of them have is back in Old Libria, and they don't dare to contact them. It wouldn't matter to them." "Everyone matters to someone, Preston," Jurgen said in a steely tone. "Do you really think for one moment that I don't know what you're going through?" Preston shot him a look that hovered somewhere between incredulous and murderous. "Yes. I do." "Then you're wrong." The Cleric opened his mouth to dispute this, then closed it again. Now that he came to think about it, he knew next to nothing about the man who had been his friend for the last six weeks (had it really only been that long?) He didn't even know Jurgen's last name. "Have you thought that maybe Lisa could bring the Tetra Grammaton down on us?" he said, changing direction. "Given I'm her father, I mean." "And do you sit down and discuss security, passcodes, access routes and defence systems with her?" Jurgen said, his tone carefully neutral. "Well, no, but-" "The answer is no, Preston. I'm sorry about your daughter-yes, I really am, believe it or not-but I will not allow you to risk yourself or Cleric Partridge on a suicide mission!" "Alright then, what about Rossiter?" "Preston!" "How long are they giving us to decide?" Partridge said suddenly. "Until six tonight." Partridge sucked in his breath sharply. "That's cutting it very fine, whatever we decide to do." Preston looked at Jurgen and opened his mouth. "No," Jurgen said before the Cleric had a chance to get a word out. "Forty minutes there on bikes, followed by a twenty minute walk, in, out and back," Preston said. "It's three AM now. I could be back by six, or seven thirty at the latest." "Or you could be dead, or in the Palace of Justice," Partridge retorted. "One of us could, perhaps," Preston conceded, looking at him pointedly. "Oh thanks, partner," Partridge muttered. "That's cheered me right up, that has." "I don't know why you seem so bent on discussing this, Preston," Jurgen said, a sharp edge to his tones that hadn't been there before. "The answer is no, for the fourth time. I won't let you kill yourself." Preston narrowed his eyes. "You can't stop me," he said coldly. "He can't." Partridge stepped between Preston and the exit. The other Cleric eyed him coolly. "And neither can you." "No," Partridge agreed unexpectedly, "but I can make it a lot harder for you than Jurgen can. You're not stupid. You must know the chances against you getting into the Tetra Grammaton and coming out again are astronomical." He snapped out a gun. "Do you really think you'd stand a better chance of pulling it off with a bullet in the leg?" he asked flatly. There was a long, long silence. Finally Preston said, "I really don't think that there's any call for that." "Neither do I," Jurgen said unexpectedly. "As I've told Preston countless times, Partridge, we've got few enough Clerics as it is, without shooting them ourselves." "Is that why you let Preston take Halls into Old Libria?" asked Partridge, who wasn't entirely without malice. "Look, for the last time, I did not give Preston the authority to break into the Tetra Grammaton!" Jurgen glared at Preston. "And I hope you have better luck coming to terms with that idea than he did! Look, Preston, if you want to do this damn stupid thing, don't do it this damn stupid way." "Meaning...?" Preston said, his tone a little too polite. "Meaning you're pushing your luck going back when you're fully healthy, never mind when you're so exhausted you're operating on pure adrenalin," Jurgen said candidly. Preston hesitated. That was a good point, he had to admit, but every second spent here was a second wasted as far as he was concerned. An idea crystallised in his mind and he nodded slightly. "Yes," he said to Jurgen. "You're right." He turned. "Where are you going?" Jurgen demanded, eyeing the Cleric with obvious suspicion. "I have to go and talk to an electrical technician about fixing the cameras in my apartment," Preston lied. "What, at ten past three in the morning?" Partridge said incredulously. "Forget it," Jurgen told Preston. "They've already been sorted." Preston stared at him. "What? When?" "Just after you left for Corridor 6. I sent someone along to replace them." "Why?" Preston demanded. Jurgen met his gaze squarely. "Because it would be a real shame if, in your distress, you accidentally sleepwalked out the window, climbed down the wall and inadvertently ended up in Old Libria, wouldn't it?" he said pointedly. "Partridge, for god's sake, will you do something about that cough!" Exactly how much Clerical ability did Jurgen have? Preston wondered. It wasn't the first time the other man had given the unerring impression of being able to read his mind. "Unquestionably," he said aloud, every syllable feeling like it was being dragged from somewhere deep inside. Still, he could probably get quite a long way from the moment someone saw him start to leave to the moment they arrived at his apartment. "You know, this could be a bluff," Partridge said, in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. He failed. "The Tetra Grammaton don't bluff," Preston said flatly. Partridge raised his eyebrows. "No? What about Brandt?" "He was off the dose!" "And I'd bet most of the Council still are as well," Partridge pointed out. "This might be...first warning or something." "Great," Preston muttered. "That would make me a lot happier if you could tell me how many warnings they were planning to give us before they decide we're not interested." "He does have a point," Jurgen conceded. "Thankyou," both Clerics said simultaneously. "I was talking about Preston. I think we have to assume that whatever we decide to do, this is deadly serious." "I-" Preston began. "You'll be no use to anyone until you've had at least eight hours sleep," Partridge cut across him. Preston glanced at his partner. "He's right," Jurgen said. "Like I told you, if you want to go in, at least give yourself half a chance of coming out again. You won't help anyone by going in and getting yourself killed because you're too tired to perform Gun-Kata." Preston dropped his gaze. That much at least was true. "Maybe someone should send a reply," he said suddenly. Partridge and Jurgen exchanged glances, both sharing the same thought. Someone shouldn't be Preston. "I think it can wait until morning," Partridge said. "It's morning now," Preston retorted. "Only in the technical sense of the word," Partridge answered, stifling a yawn. "You know what I meant." Preston paused, considering. "Right," he said abruptly. "In that case, if you'll both excuse me-" "Where are you going?" Jurgen said sharply. Preston turned to face him. "Back to my place for some shuteye. Since I don't believe we can achieve anything constructive here other talking in ever-widening circles, I may as well put the time to better use!" He whirled and stalked out, banging the door behind him. Jurgen waited until he was sure the Cleric was out of earshot, then glanced at Partridge. "Make sure he doesn't try and leave," he said in an undertone. Partridge nodded once, almost imperceptibly, then slipped out after his partner. Preston knew he was being followed the second Partridge caught sight of him. Well. Let the other man follow, if it meant that much to him. Preston wasn't going anywhere except back to his bed, which he privately wished he'd never left. He reached his apartment, opened the door, stepped in and glanced around. Every camera was in place, watching every inch of every room except the bathroom, and that had no windows. Preston slammed the door behind him. Wonderful. Now he couldn't even indulge in his emotions without being watched. He crossed into the bedroom, ignoring Animal, who was bounding around him excitedly, apparently in the mistaken belief that they were going out. Partridge was right about one thing; he stood far more chance in the Tetra Grammaton fully rested than he did half exhausted. Preston laid down, closed his eyes and was asleep almost instantly. "What do you make of it?" Jurgen asked. It was late the next morning and he'd managed to get Partridge to meet him in a rarely used canteen to talk over last night. He took a swig of coffee and almost immediately felt a little more human. "Very, very smart," Partridge said, studying the message through narrowed eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time, his own coffee stone cold and untouched. "If they'd just asked for Preston, he'd have gone in a heartbeat, either to attempt a rescue or to comply with the terms. But since they want both him and you..." The Cleric let the sentence trail off. "Where is Preston, anyway?" Jurgen frowned slightly. "In the Archives, I think." Partridge raised his eyebrows. Jurgen's instincts were almost Cleric like at times. "What's he doing there?" "Researching all aspects of Equilibrium and possible entry and exit routes into Old Libria," Jurgen answered. "He thinks I don't know." "Speaking of which-" Partridge began, but Jurgen cut him off. "Partridge, for the last time, we are not going to run any evacuation drills! There are just under two and a half thousand people who'd have to get in and out and if the Tetra Grammaton got wind of it, they'd pick us all off like flies!" Jurgen paused for breath, glaring at the Cleric. They'd had identical discussions countless times before, and every time it was the same. Partridge sighed, holding up his hands in surrender. "Alright. Your call. I just think there's no harm in being prepared." "We are prepared. The plans were circulated to everyone." One of the first things Jurgen had done was take steps to plan out each stage of evacuating New Libria, should such a thing become necessary. Partridge hesitated, trying to find a way to phrase this next sentence that wouldn't make Jurgen think he was worrying unnecessarily. "Jurgen?" "Yes?" "How much of the crap that's sent up to your office do you read?" Jurgen raised his eyebrows. "Since you helped me wade through most of it, that's something of a strange question, isn't it? I have lieutenants to deal with the more trivial matters." "Yes, you do, and everyone in New Libria has two lieutenants of their own to help them." There was a pause. "You're not coming through..." Jurgen said, eyeing him narrowly. Partridge sighed. It had been worth a try. "Namely the garbage disposal and the incinerator." He shook his head. "Jurgen, if the evacuation alarm sounds, what's the first thing everyone has to do?" Jurgen glanced around, searching for the printout. "Well, I...first of all...uh..." "You see? Even you can't remember, and you wrote the bloody thing." "What's your point?" Jurgen said testily, in the tones of one who already knows the answer but would die a thousand deaths rather than admit it. "My point is, if the Tetra Grammaton take it into their heads to attack, what are we going to do?" "Fight," Jurgen said simply. Partridge's eyebrows shot up. "What, against over two hundred Clerics? After you. Even Preston probably wouldn't stand much of a chance against those odds." Jurgen grimaced. "Speaking of Preston, I'd better go and find him before he does something stupid or fatal, or both." He stood. So did Partridge. "Yeah...I ought to be going as well," Partridge said. "I need to find a place to stay. I was sleeping in a derelict factory last night. Who's the accommodations officer?" "Teresa McNeil. Last I heard, she was with Rossiter in the medical wing. Those two have a thing going between them." Partridge raised his eyebrows. "That right, is it?" He suppressed a sigh. This Teresa McNeil wasn't likely to be particularly happy to help all the time her boyfriend was getting his arm stitched up. Maybe another night in that factory wouldn't hurt after all... Jurgen entered the Archives, nodding to Richardson as he passed. "Oh good, I was hoping you'd show up," Richardson said by way of greeting. "Any idea what this is?" "None whatsoever," Jurgen said automatically. "You didn't even look at it," the Cleric protested. "I think it's some kind of remote control...possibly one used for operating various EC-10 devices, or maybe it's a-" "I've really no idea," Jurgen told him brusquely, "and I'm in something of a hurry, so I advise you to get someone else to check it out." He strode past, not waiting for an answer. That was the thing about Richardson; if you didn't discourage him by the second sentence, he was almost impossible to shut up. Preston was standing behind a bare table which was now covered with several maps, aerial shots of the Tetra Grammaton and the Nethers, and what looked like statistics on every person in both Old and New Libria that had ever existed, at least if the size of the piles were anything to go by. The Cleric continued working, not bothering to acknowledge Jurgen's presence. "You know I won't let you go out there," Jurgen said quietly. Preston glanced up at him. "That's not actually why I'm here. I've been doing some thinking." "Right..." Jurgen wasn't entirely sure if this was good news or not. "You're worried about the constant risk of security, aren't you? About someone betraying your identity, about someone telling the Tetra Grammaton exactly how to get inside?" "Yes..." "Then perhaps you'd be so kind as to explain to me exactly how that communiqué found its way to you if the Tetra Grammaton don't know who you are?" Preston said politely. Jurgen stared at him. "See, the way I figure it is like this," Preston continued, not paying attention as he sorted through the stacks he'd accumulated. "Partridge thinks there's a traitor in New Libria and I suppose he could be right, except that Kernachan's would-be assassin failed miserably in his job." Jurgen sat down, hard. "Kernachan's what?" Preston glanced back at him. "What did you think Partridge and I were doing down in the mortuary?" "How should I know?" Jurgen said testily. "Some kind of strange Clerical exercises, perhaps? Halls used to go down there quite a lot." "Halls is an oddball, Jurgen, end of discussion. Oh, don't look at me like that; I know he saved my life, but he's still an oddball. Personally I'm not sure that he's firing with a full clip but that's beside the point." Preston paused. "Then again, I don't see why there has to be only one traitor, particularly given the attack on Rossiter." "The what?" Preston raised his eyebrows, inwardly enjoying himself. Despite being a Cleric, it wasn't often he got one over on Jurgen. "Someone came after Rossiter with a knife in Corridor 6. Slashed his arm up." "Why didn't he report it?" "Because no Cleric likes to admit to being successfully assaulted, particularly by a non-Cleric," Preston answered, a trifle absently. "The point I'm making is that they know your name and they managed to get a message to you, which makes it blatantly obvious to me that they've got someone planted here." "Who?" "If I knew that, I wouldn't be down here trying to work it out," Preston said bitingly. "I was checking to see if I could work out how they've been getting in and out so easily. People aren't usually allowed to leave New Libria without a permit, for their own safety as much as ours. So far the only ones with unrestricted entry and exit rights are you, me, Rossiter, Halls and Richardson. You and me we can rule out immediately, Halls is in the Tetra Grammaton and in any case, I doubt he'd plan the assassination of his own partner..." Preston's voice tailed off slightly, remembering Halls' reputation for short-lived partnerships, then shook his head irritably. "Rossiter, perhaps, but I doubt he's going to be doing anything for a while, not with that injury. Richardson we might as well forget about completely, since he's about the most un-Clerical Cleric I've ever seen." "That's an understatement," Jurgen muttered, then glanced up. "To be honest, I'm surprised the Tetra Grammaton didn't interrogate you while they had the chance." Preston gave him a somewhat twisted smile. "No point injuring a Cleric, is there?" There was a pause. "I'm not following you," Jurgen remarked finally. "They tried to dose me," Preston elaborated with a slight shrug, as if people tried to drug him on a daily basis. "What? You're...they didn't..." "Don't you think you'd know if they had? No, they didn't succeed, mostly thanks to Halls. But what if that's what they have in mind?" "What, they want a couple of fighters?" "I suppose," Preston said doubtfully. "But then why'd they ask for you?" "Thank you very much." "You know what I mean. They wanted me, yes, well, I'm a Cleric so I'd want me if there was going to be a fight, but instead of asking for another Cleric or even an ex-sweeper, they wanted you." "Maybe because I happen to be head of New Libria," Jurgen said, with no little sarcasm. "Yes, but so am I. There's nothing you know that I don't, except some names." "And several locations of EC-10 stashes," Jurgen pointed out. "Alright, and several locations of EC-10 stashes," Preston agreed. "But since anyone trained in the intuitive arts would find them eventually, that still doesn't answer the question of why they'd want us both." Jurgen raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps they wanted to make sure it was genuine, rather than have you just turn up on your own and say I sent you." Preston at least had the grace to drop his gaze. "Alright, you've made your point." "Are you saying this is all some kind of bluff?" "I'm saying that there's more to this than meets the eye. The terms, the threat...all that's fine unless you take into account-" Preston broke off suddenly, staring at the doorway. "What's wrong?" Jurgen said. Preston snapped out both guns and glanced at him. "Get out of here.  Now." Jurgen hadn't survived as long as he had by asking stupid questions.  He turned and bolted. Preston stepped out into the corridor, walking with a calm, measured tread, his mind already swathed in Gun-Kata. Somewhere, something had gone horribly wrong. Where was Partridge when you needed him? A door ahead of him was slammed open and two sweepers, dressed in the full armour of the Tetra Grammaton appeared. One caught sight of Preston and raised his gun to shoulder level. Without blinking, Preston opened fire, taking them both in the face. The proximity to the bullets pitched both sweepers back off their feet, carrying them a foot or two down the corridor before they slid to a stop on their backs. Neither of them moved again. Preston, already halfway down the corridor, didn't take much of this in and didn't care. The sweepers were no longer a threat, ergo they were of no further concern to him. He sensed motion behind him and whirled to find himself face to face with a handful of New Librians. "Get out of here," he said sharply. There was a silence, then one spoke up. "Where to, sir?" Christ, it's not enough that we fight for these people, Preston thought uncharitably. Now we have to think for them as well. "The Nethers," he said aloud, no hint of his thoughts showing in his voice. "Go. Now." The Nethers were a veritable rat-warren...surely they wouldn't chase them too hard in there. Or if they did, Preston amended, they probably wouldn't get them all. He broke into a run, heading for a lesser used exit. The best he could do now would be to secure a way out for anyone who chanced to come along. "Freeze!" Preston rolled his eyes. Damn sweepers. He turned, his guns already up and ready, then caught sight of the two Clerics standing there and rapidly rethought his strategy. Four sweepers and two more Clerics crowded into the corridor from the opposite end, blocking off the escape route. Preston hesitated for the barest fraction of an instant. The stakes had just gotten a hell of a lot higher than he liked to play them. Preston fired, taking the sweepers down. Par for the course. He'd expected nothing less. Now for the tricky part. Preston spun, firing simultaneously at both pairs of Clerics. Instincts and Gun-Kata pulled him sharply against a wall as bullets from eight guns flashed past him. He turned, ducked under another explosion of bullets, and squeezed off a second round, which missed the Clerics but hit a group of sweepers behind them, taking the first few down. He did have one advantage; namely that the Clerics were not only having to react to his own fire, but gunshots from the opposite pair as well. And narrow corridors didn't exactly lend themselves to optimum combat efficiency. Too little room to manoeuvre, even for a Cleric. Still Preston kept firing. He had little or no idea how many there were or how many he'd already taken down. All that existed was Gun-Kata, perfect, deadly, flawless. He spun around, ducking as a new explosion of bullets whistled over the space where his face had been not two seconds before, dodging sideways in the same motion. The noise, both of his enemies' guns and his own, was deafening in the confined space. Click. That was louder. Jurgen paused for breath, two things hammering at his mind over and over again. The first was concern for Preston and the second, driven home even further by the screams and gunshots he could hear from all directions, ran something like oh shit, Partridge is never going to let me forget this, is he? Well. If they made it out of this alive, Partridge could implement all the drills he wanted. Jurgen wouldn't complain, not after this. Dammit, what had happened? A full-scale frontal attack...they'd had help, that much was obvious. It had come straight out of nowhere. By the time the people on sentry watch had realised what was happening, they would already have been dead. The door opposite him was suddenly kicked open and two sweepers emerged. One look at their appearance was enough to inform Jurgen that these were not on his side. He spun. "Don't move! Don't move! Get down on your knees!" Jurgen hesitated for a fraction of a second, then reluctantly raised his hands above his head and dropped to the ground. The two things that had been reverberating in his skull had suddenly faded to the silent noise of a third, more important observation. Oh Christ, this time I'm really in deep shit. Another four sweepers appeared from the doorway, surrounding him. Jurgen froze (where the hell are the Clerics??)motionless. "Identify yourself!" "...James," Jurgen said. He hadn't used his false name in a while; there had never been any real need for it before. "James Marshall." "Where's Jurgen?" the sweeper demanded, still pointing his gun at Jurgen's face. "I don't know. They'll probably have evacuated him into the Nethers at the first hint of trouble." "The Nethers are being constantly monitored from vantage points within them," a different sweeper said. Are they now? Jurgen thought. That might account for one or two disappearances in the last few months. He made a mental note to get Preston or Partridge out to search for these 'vantage' points in the morning. Assuming they all lived through the night, of course. "Where is he? All people entering the Nethers will be summarily terminated!" "Then you shouldn't need my help to kill him, should you?" Jurgen retorted, regretting it instantly as the butt of an automatic rifle slammed into the back of his head, driving him fully onto the floor. The first sweeper shouldered his weapon. "Restrain him and take him to the Palace of Justice for clinical interrogation," he ordered, his words causing icy dread to trickle down Jurgen's spine, a sensation even more acute than the pain. Clinical interrogation, oh god, Preston, come on, get down here, you never obeyed me before and now is not a good time to start! Where are you? He attempted to move, to fight, to do something, but the sweeper behind him merely dealt him another crack with the gun and Jurgen collapsed into unconsciousness. Chapter 13 >>> more Equilibrium Fan Fiction