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 So what happens now? What happened then, if it comes to that? The sentries should have given notice, there should have been a warning or...or something. The Tetra Grammaton have never attacked like this before. Even if one of the sentries is a traitor, the others should have picked up on it. I can't believe they're all working for the Council. That attack...it seemed to come from all sides at once. Someone should have warned us. Who the fuck was overseeing sentry duty??? Whoever it is, when I catch up with them, they're going to wish they'd died in the attack. -John Preston, Grammaton Cleric First Class Preston hesitated for the fraction of an instant. No ammunition, and no way to reload either. Sensing his sudden wariness, the Clerics to the right moved closer. They did so cautiously; even an empty gun in the hands of a Grammaton Cleric would be sufficient to deal with them. I can grab one of their guns, Preston thought, use it to take them out. If I'm fast, I should be able to do it before their friends down there work out what's happening. Those two are ranked second class, after all. "Cleric John Preston, drop your weapon and get down on your knees," the more senior Cleric instructed, tone calm and level. "You are under arrest." Besides, their Gun-Kata will probably distract the other Clerics, Preston mused, not paying any attention. "I repeat, get down on your knees. Failure to comply will result in your subsequent termination." And if that happens, I can break out past them and face them together. Hardly ideal, I suppose, but at least there's less risk of any nasty surprises coming from behind. "Cleric, did you hear me?" Preston hadn't really. Something about knees. "You leave me with no alternative," the Cleric said crisply. "Put him down." His partner brought his guns around to bear on Preston. There was a sudden snarl from behind, and the Cleric suddenly found himself flying forward, the guns knocked from his grasp. Preston snapped out a hand, adroitly fielding one of the weapons for himself, spun his other gun over and smashed it into the temple of the other Cleric, who dropped like a stone. "Leave him," he said to Klondike, whose teeth were now attempting to find their way into the younger Cleric's throat. To Preston's surprise, Klondike glanced up at him, then jumped neatly off and returned to sit by his side, a warning growl issuing from his throat. "Don't move," Preston instructed the Cleric, who was still lying prostrate on the ground. Blood seeped from the man's upper arm where Klondike's teeth had found their mark. "That animal should be-" "-destroyed, yes, I know." It wasn't hard for Preston to sound bored. Next to him, Klondike gave him a look that seemed to say Ingrate! "Who let you in here?" The Cleric lifted his head. "Nobody." "You're lying." Preston cocked one of the man's guns. "One more try." The Cleric glanced at the other two, who had frozen, not wanting to hit the wrong person. "What are you waiting for? Put him down!" The two exchanged glances, then both brought their guns around to bear on Preston. There was a sudden flurry of movement, then both Clerics dropped quietly to the floor. "Thought you might need a little help," Partridge said crisply, stepping into view and slipping the prongs back into the base of his gun. Preston let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Yeah. Thanks." Next to him, Klondike pricked up his ears, tail wagging as Partridge came up to them. "That's Halls' dog, isn't it?" Partridge said, staring. "You know him as well, do you?" Preston said, somewhat tartly. "Thought everyone did." Partridge reached out and rubbed Klondike's head. The dog permitted the attention, flattening his ears ever so slightly. "Have you seen Jurgen?" Preston said. Partridge stared at him. "I thought he was with you!" "The operative word being 'was'." Preston glanced around. They were, for the moment, unobserved. "See if you can get some of the others into the Nethers." "What about you?" Preston shook his head. "I'll be fine. You better worry about yourself." Partridge raised his eyebrows but refrained from comment. "Alright. I'll meet you outside at some point." "Yeah." Preston glanced around, then busied himself with stripping the ammunition from the Cleric on the floor and slapping it into his own guns. Where the hell were the others?? A faint chatter of gunfire served to partially answer that question and he turned and darted towards it, firearms out and ready, Klondike keeping up easily as Preston came to the end of the corridor, skidded around the corner too fast and almost lost his balance, slipping in a pool of blood.  The sound of gunfire grew louder. Several bodies lay in the passage ahead.  Preston could put a name to most of them, and the three he couldn't had been blasted so far beyond recognition that the only real hope of identification lay in fingerprints. He caught sight of one body in particular and slowed.  Lieutenant Caulson lay there, eyes wide and staring and almost...surprised.  There were three gaping holes in his chest. For a minute, Preston felt sorry for him, this ex-sweeper who had saved his life and managed to get to New Libria, only to die less than twenty four hours later. "Sir?" Preston whirled, coming face to face with three civilians. "I told you to get into the Nethers!" he barked, only too glad to have someone to vent his emotions on. "It's blocked, sir. We can't. There are at least twelve sweepers guarding the closest exit." Preston had a sudden and extremely satisfying vision of smashing this man's head against a wall. "You know, just once, can't you think for yourself?" he said tightly, under his breath. "I'm sorry, sir?" "Oh, never mind." Preston shook his head. It was playing out pretty much like that raid he'd done with Brandt, right down to the sense offenders standing there looking around like sheep. "Goddamn you," he muttered. "Get behind me." He stalked down the corridor, the others trailing behind him. A sweeper stepped out and Preston shot him through the chest without breaking stride. Ahead, the sound of gunfire abruptly stopped. Preston broke into a run, already dreading what he was going to see. He stopped abruptly outside the doors to the Archives. Both had been wrenched from their hinges and the room beyond was nothing more than a chaotic shambles, although given the normal state of the Archives, this hadn't made too much difference. It was the blood spattered up the walls and on most of the EC-10 objects that spoiled it. Richardson was standing in a typical Gun-Kata position, both guns out, surrounded by the bodies of eight sweepers. For a minute, Preston was too astounded to do anything except stare. The sight of Richardson with guns out and ready was so completely alien that for a moment he wasn't sure whether he ought to commend the man or disarm him. "You don't have to look quite so surprised, Preston," Richardson said, the barest hint of frost in his voice. "I am a Cleric, remember?" "...Yeah," Preston managed at last. "Uh. Nice work." "Thank you." Richardson glanced around. "I'm afraid they destroyed a vast amount of EC-10. Still, I was able to salvage some of it." He nodded at the room around him. "Sir?" Preston had almost forgotten about the people behind him. "Sir, shouldn't we be getting into the Nethers?" "They're right, Cleric," Richardson said. "What about you?" "I'm going to see if I can get some of this in a truck. Don't mind me; I imagine I'll be seeing you soon enough." Richardson glanced around. "Now, where'd I put that box thing...?" Preston heard him mutter, more to himself than to anyone listening. And that's it, Preston thought. From cold killer to harmless eccentric in a matter of nanoseconds. He shook his head. There was something almost chilling about such a rapid transformation. A thought occurred to him. "Richardson?" "Hm?" Preston nodded towards the far end. "Do you need that wall?" "What? Oh. No, I suppose not." "Good." Preston pointed both guns at the wall in question and opened fire, moving them in a roughly circular pattern, then broke into a run, changing this into a flying kick in one fluid move. The shock of impact slammed up his body so hard it almost caused him to drop his guns. Preston dropped to the ground, wincing. "Well, if I'd known you were going to do that-" Richardson began, somewhat peevishly. "Quiet." Preston snapped onto his feet. The main problem with trying the door kick on a wall was that at least a door was designed to open. "Are you alright?" Richardson said. "Fine," Preston lied. In fact, he felt like his legs would never support him properly again. "Preston!" Preston glanced up, coming face to face with Partridge. The other Cleric looked at him, then at the wall. "You bloody idiot, Preston." "Nice to see you too," Preston said bitingly. He glanced past Partridge to see some twenty or so people, most heavily armed and pointing their guns at him, the walls and in two cases, each other. "And for Christ's sake get those guns away from these people before they shoot themselves in the foot!" "These people were working in the armoury," Partridge said, the barest hint of reproach in his voice. "I told them to grab as many weapons as they could carry and come along." "Did you also think to tell them not to use them?" Preston shook his head. "Never mind now; let's get out of here." The two Clerics broke into a run for the nearest exit. It wasn't too hard to find; evidently other people had had the same idea. Several bodies lay there, mostly sweepers but a few civilians and, more surprisingly, Clerics, were among them. Preston glanced at the dead Clerics, then up at Partridge quizzically. "Don't look at me," Partridge said. "Rossiter?" "He was in the mediwing. I don't doubt he could have got out, even with only one arm, but the mediwing's on the other side of New Libria. Maybe there's a sense offending Cleric hiding in the Tetra Grammaton. One who decided to finally leave and join us instead." Preston raised his eyebrows as he half helped, half shoved a hesitant civilian through the opening. Someone had evidently come to the same conclusion he'd reached back in the Archives; a door was nothing more than a hole in the wall and, rather than risk any more conflict with those agents of the Tetra Grammaton so intent on keeping it, had blasted their way out. If Partridge was right about that other Cleric, then that had to be the best news he'd had all week. There was the sound of faint shouting from behind them, and Preston hesitated. "Come on!" Partridge said, already half through the hole. "There's nothing more we can do!" Still Preston hesitated, then took half a step away, back to New Libria. Partridge looked at Klondike. "We don't have time for this." Klondike seemed to shrug, then trotted past Preston, turned and rushed straight at him, leaping to hit him between the shoulder blades and knocking him practically into Partridge's arms, sending them both outside in a shower of plaster and rubble. "Yes. Well," Partridge said coldly. He picked himself up, dusting his clothes off and examining a nasty graze on the palm of his hand, which he'd scraped on a particularly rough chunk of stone. "That wasn't entirely what I had in mind, but I suppose it worked." Preston glowered at Klondike, who was sitting with tongue lolling out and looking very pleased with himself. "I'll deal with you later," he muttered. Klondike broke off panting just long enough to yawn, then stretched, got to his feet and padded past the Cleric to lap at a puddle. "Yes, alright," Partridge said sharply. "Right now, unless you plan to stay here and die, we need to get into hiding, and quickly." "Fine." Preston strode past, breaking into a jog and heading for a small, derelict building across the road. The second he looked inside, he realised it was too small and damp for him or the others to spend any length of time there. It took three and a half hours before they found a building that was something approaching suitable. Some four miles away from New Libria, and banked by steep rubble and debris on two sides, it would do. "I told him, how many times?" Partridge said bitterly, looking around at the building. "We needed to implement evacuation drills!" "Alright, you've made your point!" Preston said testily. He didn't know how often Partridge had mentioned this idea to Jurgen, but he'd repeated it seven times in the last hour by Preston's count, and the Cleric was getting more than a little tired. He looked at the people in front of him. "Does anyone have any idea how this could have happened?" There was an outbreak of murmuring, then someone stumbled forward, almost as if he'd been shoved by five pairs of hands, Preston thought with a touch of grim humour. "They, uh, they came in through sector 9, sir. At least, we think they did." "And...who was overseeing sentry duty in sector 9?" Preston said tightly. "I believe Cleric Rossiter was, sir." "Rossiter?" Partridge echoed. "You mean he's out of the mediwing?" "Kind of, sir. Cleric Rossiter said he didn't want to wait around if he didn't have to, and he was damned if he was going to let some quack experiment on him, sir. Allan said if that's what he wanted, that's what he could have, but Rossiter wasn't to come crying to him after he'd dropped down dead. Uh. Especially after he'd dropped down dead, sir." "Where's Rossiter now?" "I don't know, sir. I think I saw him leading a group of people out into the Nethers, but I couldn't tell you any more than that, sir." "What about Jurgen? Has anyone seen him?" The man shook his head. "No sir. The group I was with went through sector 2 and out the back exit to sector 1, though, and we didn't see him anywhere there." Preston sighed inwardly. Damn the man! He'd thought Jurgen could at least get out without incident. "Alright, what about any of the others? Did you see them?" "I think I saw a group heading in the opposite direction, sir." There was a silence. "You're in command," Partridge said eventually. "What do we do?" "We wait," Preston said, then, with a certain amount of vindictive malice, he added "After all, Jurgen said that I wasn't to attempt a rescue under any circumstances and I believe I should follow his orders." "You never worried before," Partridge said, with a little more forthrightness than Preston would have liked, particularly in front of so many witnesses. "First I'm told to sit tight and let the Tetra Grammaton do what they want with any prisoners, now you're telling me to ignore that?" Preston said sharply. "Look, Partridge, either back me or back Jurgen, but make up your damn mind!" "Cleric Preston!" Preston jerked involuntarily and turned to see Al picking his way down, closely followed by three other ex-sweepers. For the first time since they'd met, Preston was glad to see him. "Where the hell have you been?" the Cleric demanded, relief making him sharp. "Saving them," Al answered, jerking a thumb in the direction of the civilians. Well, fair point. "How did you get out?" "Same way we got in. Some of those ventilation shafts are a fair size, Cleric." "You used the air ducts?" "Yeah. It's hidden, reasonably secure-" "Traditional," another ex-sweeper offered helpfully. "-trad...no!" Al glared at the offender, then looked back at Preston. "What about you?" "I had a little help from Richardson." Preston glanced around, wondering what had happened to the other Cleric for the first time since escaping. "Richardson?" Al said sharply. Preston grimaced. "Oh. Right. Don't tell me. You suspect him of betrayal because Halls does." "Halls suspects just about everyone bar Jurgen and yourself of betrayal," Al said coldly. "I'd be bloody surprised if he hadn't kept a close watch on me and my men ever since we joined." There was no trace of resentment in that voice. Suspicion was a part of everyday life. Hell, Preston thought, Al had probably set some of his boys to watching Halls in turn. Something Al said jarred Preston's memory and he frowned. "Me?" "Yes, you. Even the Tetra Grammaton wouldn't field a double agent that took out Father. I found several Resistance agents before I came off the dose. It's easy enough when you know what to look for." Preston raised his eyebrows. "And what's that?" "Procrastination." It wasn't the answer Preston had been expecting. "I'm sorry?" "You, Partridge, Rossiter and just about everyone else in the Resistance are up for pretty much anything. Want someone for a kamikaze mission? No problem. Looking for a person crazy enough to break into the Tetra Grammaton? There's one in every unit. Since double agents want to do the most damage to us with the least possible damage to the Tetra Grammaton, they'll find ways of not cooperating in a cooperating kind of way." "You want to run that by me again in Librian?" Preston said bitingly. Al grimaced, wishing-not for the first time-that Halls was around. "Okay. Look. Let's play pretend. Let's pretend you're a double agent for the Tetra Grammaton. Let's pretend that absolutely nobody in the Resistance or New Libria suspects. Let's pretend that someone like Jurgen gives you an order to go in and kill a sweeper unit." "And let's pretend that given how stressed out he is, if you don't start making sense soon, Preston is probably going to hit you," Partridge said in an undertone. Al sighed. "Just...bear with me, okay? So. As a double agent, you really don't want to decimate your own team, but refusing is likely to cause suspicion, right? So you hedge, evade the question, and volunteer to...I don't know, go out and find some supplies or something. Since both the Resistance and New Libria need supplies, nobody's going to argue with that. You're free from suspicion, haven't had to turn on your own side and you can continue in your work." Preston shook his head. "I understand what you're saying, but I don't agree with it if you're suggesting Richardson is using the Archives as a kind of...of smoke screen." "Why not?" "Because I saw him cut down eight sweepers to save the lives of two people and get them out to safety." Preston raised his eyebrows. "Is that really the behaviour of an enemy?" "It's the tricks of an enemy," Al retorted. Partridge stepped between the two men. "Look, we're not going to do any good standing around bickering. We have to get under cover, and quickly. Clerics or not, we're sitting targets out here." Preston glanced at him, took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. Alright. Any idea where?" Partridge looked at Al. "You're the one who's lived out here." Al glanced over his shoulder. "The rest of my boys are in there," he said, nodding towards a large building that was in surprisingly good repair. "It's pretty large, easily large enough for all the ones you have here. We got a few people out as well." Preston looked at Partridge, who shrugged. "It's got to be better than this place, and it's not too far away. I say we go." There were one or two groans from the assembled civilians, but Preston pointed out sharply that if they didn't like it, they could always go back to their places in New Libria and wait for the Tetra Grammaton to evict them. Al hadn't been wrong. The walls dividing the building into rooms had been knocked down, resulting in one single room about the size of the training room at the Monastery. There was more than enough space for them, even with the people Preston and Partridge brought with them and Al's... "A few?" Preston said, looking around at the assembled group. There had to be at least fifteen, counting the ex-sweepers. "Comparatively speaking," Al said flatly. "We used to stay here, when we stayed anywhere in the Nethers. It's pretty secure." "I'm sure," Preston said evenly. "But I think a sentry would be a good idea." "I'll take watch," Partridge said flatly, before Preston had time to volunteer. Preston opened his mouth to argue, but somewhere along the line this turned into a yawn. "Alright," he said instead, and headed over to find an empty patch of floor to lie down on, still wondering how things could have gone so horribly wrong in the last twenty four hours. Three or four hours later, the building was silent except for the sound of rhythmic breathing, and the odd snore here and there. Partridge moved around, more to keep warm than anything. Temperatures in the Nethers at night had a tendency to plummet into the negative figures. What happened? he wondered. This was the question that had been pounding in everyone's mind. How could New Libria have been so effectively decimated? A noise caught his attention. He glanced around and his gaze met Al's. So he can't sleep either, Partridge thought wryly. Either that or he thinks I'm going to murder them all. He shrugged inwardly. Well. Let Al keep watch too, if it made him feel better. Actually, now that Partridge thought about it, two people doing sentry duty probably wasn't a bad idea. Besides, he'd been hoping to talk to Al alone about something. Partridge moved slightly away from the main group. Responding to an unspoken signal, Al crossed to join him. "Why didn't you tell him about that group?" Partridge demanded very quietly. He'd picked up on the presence of strangers almost immediately after Preston had fallen asleep, and the way in which Al kept looking around him told the Cleric he hadn't been the only one. The burly ex-sweeper regarded him steadily. "Why didn't you?" When no answer was forthcoming, Al shrugged. "I know that particular group. They're no threat to us." "Yes, but look, I know them as well-" "Then you must know that they're a lot more wary of us than we are of them. Why should we worry? We've got nothing they want." "Do they know that?" Partridge shook his head. "What do they want?" Al raised his eyebrows. "What do you think?" Partridge shrugged. "If I had to take a guess, I'd say EC-10 material." "EC-10?" Al snorted. "You sound like Preston. After a few days in the Nethers, you don't give a shit about that stuff. The two things that matter out here are food and warmth. Warmth's not much of a problem, particularly in summer; you can usually bundle up or start a fire, or if you time it right, you can use a building that the Tetra Grammaton have just torched. But food's another matter." "Then-" Partridge broke off, his Cleric-sense informing him that three people-strangers-had just appeared at the far end of the street. "Oh bloody hell. Better get Preston." Al caught hold of his arm as he went past. "There's no need. They just want to have a look at us. There's no reason for them to attack." "Like I said, do they know that?" Al rolled his eyes with the special contempt reserved by NCOs for all military and law enforcement personnel above the rank of sergeant. "Look. They know who I am. They might not know you or Preston, but they know you're Clerics, and if that wasn't enough, we happen to have a fair few people. There's three of them and about forty of us. Even if they're hostile-which I doubt-they're not suicidal." He shrugged. "Just ignore them. They don't attack unless provoked, or unless you have something they want and they outnumber you at least two to one, and they won't bother raiding us. There are far easier targets out there." Partridge risked a glance up. The three hadn't moved. In the darkness, it would have been easy to mistake them for debris, or even to miss them completely. "Whose side are they on?" "Their own. They don't care about the Tetra Grammaton, any more than they care about us. As far as they're concerned, if we want to blast each other to pieces, that's our affair." "Who are they?" Partridge shook his head. "I think I've seen some of them in and around the Underground, but not for a good few months." "They're known as the Renegades. Whether that's a name they were given or one they took for themselves, I don't know." Partridge caught the lie in the last words, but decided against saying anything. The last thing anyone needed was for their little band to be split down the middle. Besides...he'd met one or two of these 'Renegades' before. Yeah, a small voice inside him said, but that was in the Underground. Right now, you're on their turf and if Al's even half accurate, they've been surviving raids by the Tetra Grammaton for some months. I imagine your little group wouldn't be much shakes by comparison. Partridge leaned back against a wall to keep watch, a germ of an idea growing in his mind and the faintest hint of a smile on his face. Jurgen looked at the man in front of him, a man who looked like he bench-pressed his own weight in both hands just to keep in shape. He wasn't unduly worried yet. All prisoners of the Tetra Grammaton were questioned by the Vice-Council before clinical interrogation could commence. "Do you know who I am?" the stranger said. Jurgen shrugged. "Some guy in a suit?" It wasn't an unreasonable answer. No trace of emotion showed on the other's face. "I am Vice-Council Hagon of the Third Councilliary." "Oh right. You took over from DuPont, you mean. Are you off the dose as well?" Behind him, Jurgen felt the sweepers move slightly, as if to strike him, but Hagon made a negating gesture and they dropped back again. "If you're attempting to discredit me, you may as well stop," he said calmly. "These men won't listen to your lies. As I was saying, I am Vice-Council Hagon, currently serving as the voice of Libria." "I'd say it's a pleasure," Jurgen said, "but I was brought up not to lie." "Hm. Yes. I'm sure you were, Marshall." What did he mean by that? Jurgen wondered, then shrugged it off. It was probably coincidence. "This can go one of two ways," Hagon said impassively. "Either you cooperate and tell me what I want to know, and I tell the sweepers to give you a quick death, or you can persist in refusing and tell the technicians at the Palace of Justice." "'Justice'?" Jurgen echoed derisively. "What goes on in there is a travesty of the word." "Then I imagine you'll be cooperative." "Do you have any idea what that word means?" Jurgen said, more like he was talking to himself than anyone in the room. "'Imagine'? It's not something anyone on the dose has much skill in." "How many in your cell?" Hagon said. Jurgen blinked. "You should know," he said, more to gain time than anything. "You're the one who's going to shove me in there." "I was referring to your group." Jurgen was well aware of this, but shook his head anyway. "I don't get you. There are no groups in the Nethers." "And what about the so-called 'New' Libria?" Hagon persisted. "What about it?" Jurgen said, keeping his face and tone carefully neutral. "How many in your cell there?" Jurgen straightened up almost unconsciously. "Seven million," he said, "and they're all called Smith, which makes finding people a real bastard of a job." "How many?" Hagon repeated, as if the question had never been asked. "Four, besides myself, and we tend to do nothing but hang around playing poker with one person fetching the drinks and snacks." Jurgen pretended to consider. "Of course, that job goes to the poor guy who won the night before, so nobody wants to win. Some games have been known to last for days. We've had to convince people from the other cells to come and carry on, just so we can get some sleep." "One more try," Hagon said, and there was a menacing tone to his voice that hadn't been there previously. "Two hundred and thirty one," Jurgen said, and this might actually have passed muster had he not added, "that's two hundred and thirty eighteen year old female supermodels and one very happy guy." Hagon sighed. "I can't," Jurgen said flatly. "You couldn't either, in my position." The Vice-Council sighed again. "Have it your way." He nodded to the sweepers. "Take him away. See what the technicians can get out of him." Jurgen shook his head. "Fuck you, Hagon. I didn't tell you and I'm not going to tell them." "Oh yes you are," Hagon said, already sorting through some of the papers on his desk. "You'll tell them everything you know about New Libria. Then you'll tell them everything you know about those boltholes your Jurgen has scattered throughout the Nethers. Then you'll tell them things that, frankly, will be of no interest or relevance whatsoever, but you'll tell them anyway because by that stage you'll say anything to stop the pain." "And on that day," Jurgen said evenly, "the city furnaces will freeze over." "Which will be a lucky escape for you," Hagon said implacably. He glanced at the sweepers. "I told you to get him out of here. Take him to the Palace of Justice." Jurgen was seized roughly by the arms and hauled from the room. Palace of Justice. Even those Librians still on the dose usually felt a twinge of something upon hearing those words. "Oh shit," he muttered, too low for the sweepers to hear. Now it was probably safe for him to worry. Several floors underground, in a small cell and completely unaware of the drama that was currently being played out above him, Halls wished he was dead. This wasn't an entirely new state of affairs for him-when he was a cadet, he'd twice tried to end his own life and failed both times-but he hadn't been incarcerated in the Tetra Grammaton before. Pain was throbbing in his ribs and shoulders, pain that was nothing but a whisper compared to the sick agony that felt like it was ripping his mind apart. "Are you awake?" someone said from off to his left, causing Halls to wince as the speaker's voice screeched through his tender head like fingernails on a blackboard. "No," he said hoarsely, then wished he hadn't. His throat felt like it had been scrubbed with sandpaper. "And keep your goddamn voice down." There was a pause. Then the speaker said, "Why are you here? Are you off the dose?" Halls snorted. "Off the dose? Yeah. I suppose you could say that. And the Tetra Grammaton aren't too happy with their own people taking sides, particularly if the side in question is the opposite one to them." "Their own people? You mean you're a Cleric?" "Yeah," Halls grated, arm still across his face. He didn't dare move it until he was absolutely certain he could open his eyes without throwing up. "Grammaton Cleric, second class." "Good." Complete and utter surprise caused Halls to drop his arm, and a fresh wave of dizzy nausea to sweep through him. He gritted his teeth hard, trying to concentrate on something other than the increasing urge to vomit. "'Good'?" he echoed, as soon as he thought he could open his mouth without losing his last meal through it. He'd had a number of responses and comments to this statement in his life-once about his sexual preferences-but that was an entirely new one on him. "If you're a Cleric, you must know your way around 'cause the Resistance don't train Clerics, the Tetra Grammaton does." Training Resistance Clerics, Halls thought grimly. Why the hell hadn't anyone come up with that idea before? "So you can get us out of here." The speaker sounded like she had complete, irrevocable faith in him. How? Halls wanted to scream in frustration. How the fuck am I supposed to get us out of here when those bastards know all they have to do is shine a torch in my face and I'm finished! What made it worse was that he knew full well they hadn't known about it before. The Cleric's use of the torch had been pure coincidence, and pretty damn obvious when you stopped to think about it. Except you didn't stop to think, did you, Halls? No, you just rushed off on a fool's errand with Preston, and why? Because you thought he could be a useful ally? Because you thought you could make a difference, help him out? Wrong on both counts and look where it got you. Halls lay there, unmoving.  He was tired, and not just in the physical sense. "Are you still awake?" his cellmate said. "Fuck off," Halls grated. Since when did the Tetra Grammaton put two people in one cell, unless the others were completely packed out? "Was that a yes or a no?" There was a pause, then, "Don't I know you from somewhere?" "No," Halls said automatically. "I think I do. Your voice sounds familiar." "No. You don't. I'm not the kind of person a prisoner of the Tetra Grammaton would know." "Can you get us out?" "No," Halls said for the third time. "I can't." "Can't or won't?" Halls risked moving his arm and found the worst of the danger was past. Thank god the Tetra Grammaton kept their cells completely lightless! "If I'd meant 'won't', I would have said 'won't'," he answered tersely. "This isn't exactly a picnic for me either, in case you hadn't noticed." He cracked his eyelids open the barest slit and, when the room failed to spin around him, opened his eyes fully. He could just about make out his surroundings; a larger cell than average, with no windows and no way out except the door. And even that wouldn't be any good all the time there was any light stronger than a match out there. He frowned. "Aren't you a little young to be a sense offender?" he said, before he could stop himself. "I'm New Librian." There were times when the intuitive arts really were a nuisance, Halls thought grimly. The pieces were starting to fall into place, and he didn't like the picture they were making. "Who are you?" "Lisa. Lisa Preston." "You're-oh. Oh wonderful. That just puts the icing on the fucking cake, that does!" Halls snorted. "If I didn't know better, I'd say Vice-Council Hagon actually had a sense of humour, or at least of irony." "I do know you, then." "Doubt that. But I know you. It's your fault I'm in here." "How can it be if I don't know who you are?" Lisa said. "Like I said, I know you. Preston dragged me along to try and get you out, only we screwed it up. End result, I'm here, he's back in New Libria." "He'll try again." "I doubt that," Halls said again. "I imagine Jurgen will have slammed him under house arrest or something similar the minute he clapped eyes on him. Our little excursion wasn't exactly authorised." Lisa pondered for a minute. "If we can get a way out-we can't be overheard in here, can we?" "No." "Good. So...if we somehow manage to break out, you can kill all the people out there, we can get out and go back to New Libria." "Just like that," Halls said tonelessly. "And what makes you think I'll be going back to New Libria, even if I was crazy enough to listen to you?" Lisa stared. "You can't want to stay here!" "Here, no. But I don't particularly want to go back either." "It's your home." "It's a shell to keep the rain off. That's all." Halls shook his head. "Look, kid, I'm twenty five years old, I feel like ninety, everywhere I go in New Libria I'm under a fucking microscope just because I wanted to stay alive, and I'm sick of it, alright?" "Jurgen won't let you leave." "Jurgen understands why I'd want to. We've been friends for almost eleven years now. I saw him rise to the top of the Resistance, he watched me graduate from the Monastery. And like I said, I'm so tired of the way people treat me." "Then why don't you do something about it?" Lisa said, with maddening smugness. "Like what?" "Getting us out of here would be a good start." "I agree. It would be a wonderful start to a very, very short career." Halls shook his head. "Out there are at least twenty sweepers and, last I heard, eight Clerics." "You're a Cleric." "Yeah. So was Preston, and he couldn't do a goddamn thing to get you out." He heard Lisa catch her breath sharply. "He's...he's not dead, is he?" It says something for Halls' discomfort and irritation that he seriously considered saying yes, if only to shut the girl up. He fully intended to do so, and was surprised to hear his voice say, "No, he's not. He got out okay. The Tetra Grammaton got hold of me instead." He grimaced. Just when being a bastard might actually stand him in good stead, he found he couldn't do it. "Who are you?" Halls hesitated. Answering her question would either shut her up or encourage her to ask more, and he really didn't want that. Still... "Halls," he said finally. "Cleric Halls. Now shut up, kid. You got what you wanted." "'Halls'?" "Yeah." "The one who murdered all his partners?" Halls gritted his teeth. "Look. I did not murder all of them, alright? One was transferred, one died in a cave-in and one was arrested for sense offence." He could just about make out Lisa's outline as the girl tipped her head on one side. "Okay. What about the other fourteen?" "Didn't your father ever tell you it's dangerous to know too much?" Halls shot back. "No. He always said it was more dangerous not to know enough." Halls concentrated, cutting right to the heart of the girl's incessant questioning. "You're worried I'm going to kill you." There was the barest hesitation. "Are you?" Halls gave a hollow laugh. "News bulletin: I can barely stand. If I wanted to kill you, right now the only way for me to do it would be if you agreed to stand still while I snapped your neck. And I'm not even sure I could manage that," he added, more to himself than to his cellmate. Lisa sighed. "Are you going to get us out or not?" "Now how do you expect me to do that?" Halls demanded sharply. "Let me tell you something, kid, there's only one way that any sense offender ever leaves the Tetra Grammaton, and it's not through the door." He shook his head. "Sorry. Can't help you. I can't even help myself." "You can try." Halls shook his head again. He wasn't used to such dogged persistence. "How stupid do you think I am?" "You said you agreed to break me out." Well, that answered that question. "I mean, if you try to get out and fail, you'll probably get a quicker death," Lisa added, in the tones of one playing her trump card. "And if we get outside, they might let us go. I mean, we're not that important to them." Halls snorted. "They might let me go, though I doubt it, particularly since they know I'm New Librian. But do you really believe they don't know who you are? You've been here some time and you're not even touched." "Why not?" Halls sighed. Had he ever been this naïve? If he had, thank god he hadn't known about it. "Haven't you figured it out, kid? You're a bargaining piece. I imagine they've sent a communiqué to either Jurgen or Preston demanding one or both of them in return for you." "They won't agree." "Jurgen wouldn't," Halls said dryly. "I imagine Preston would be down here in the blink of an eye." There was a nervous silence. "I've seen the Clerics on guard," Lisa said abruptly. "They're only second class." "So am I." "Then why are you wearing the uniform of a senior Cleric?" Lisa said, in the confident tones of one who believes they've caught the other person in a lie. "Because I was in training for first class, that's why," Halls said testily. "I had one more qualifying exam to go, then I joined the Resistance and pretty much jeopardised my chances of promotion. Now, for the last time of asking, will you shut up and let me get some sleep!" Perhaps something of his anger showed in his voice, for Lisa fell silent and didn't speak for several hours. The quiet did no good to Halls, however, who was now wide awake and couldn't have gotten back to sleep without a pill. Damn that kid, he thought bitterly. This is all her goddamn fault. Next to him, Lisa sighed, either bored or asleep. Lucky her. Halls rolled over on the hard floor in the vain hope that one patch might be more comfortable than the other. No such luck. If he could get to the Nethers, he mused-and was surprised to find himself actually considering her suggestion-he could probably find a place to stay. Him and Klondike. Yeah. A place as far away from either Old or New Libria as it was possible to get. Halls smiled slightly, closed his eyes and for once, didn't dream. Chapter 14 >>> more Equilibrium Fan Fiction