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 Forty. Forty people out of the two and a half thousand that were in New Libria. And no sign of Robbie or Jurgen either. Or Kia. I hope they're okay. On the plus side, I've got Partridge and Al with me. To be honest, I'm not too sure that last one is a good thing, but he got all his guys out bar Caulson, along with a fair number of civilians. The guy's damn good. I'm beginning to see why Halls relied on him so much. There was one bonus(??); Rossiter turned up sometime during the night, accompanied by three other people. I think as soon as he got wind of trouble he bolted. Great asset in a Cleric. Run at the first hint of danger. Still, I suppose he'd have had a job getting himself out-never mind any others-with that injury of his. I guess I can't blame him. But it's still damn inconvenient! I think I'll have a little chat with Rossiter today, see if he can offer some explanation for his actions. --John Preston, Grammaton Cleric First Class When Preston woke up, it took him a good few seconds to realise where he was, then memory crashed down on him and he groaned aloud. For a minute he was sorely tempted to go back to sleep and refuse to wake up until everything went back to normal, then he shook it off and got to his feet with a sigh. It was still fairly dark, although someone had placed torches on one or two surfaces and switched them on. The result wasn't brilliant, but it was just enough to stop Preston tripping over his own feet, or over any of those civilians now up and awake. "How'd you sleep?" Partridge said from behind, making him jump slightly. "Badly," Preston admitted. "God knows how people live out here." He glanced around, catching sight of a new figure and stiffening. "He only got here three hours ago," Partridge said, following his gaze. "Why didn't you wake me?" Preston demanded. "And say what? Sorry to disturb you, Preston, but someone's just turned up and it's not someone who's going to attack us? In fact, it's not someone you need to worry about at all, so you might as well go back to sleep?" Preston shut up. For about two seconds. "It's all to the good. I want a word with him," he added. Judging from the Cleric's tone, Partridge doubted that word would be 'Welcome'. "Can't it wait an hour or so?" Partridge said, as Preston stalked over to Rossiter's sleeping form. Preston rounded on him. "No it damn well can't! He fucked up, Partridge, plain and simple, and now he's going to pay for it!" "The kid's exhausted, Preston," Partridge said sharply. "You're not going to do any good yelling at him when he's too tired to take it in." The two Clerics glared at each other. "Oh, alright, alright!" Preston said testily, finally looking away. "I'll wait until he's awake. Then I'll lambaste him! Is that acceptable to everyone present?" he added with heavy sarcasm, looking around at those people awake and watching. There were a few scattered nods. Nobody seemed to want to look him in the face. "Good." Preston unclipped his guns and handed them to Partridge. "Hold these for a minute, would you?" he said. Somewhat nonplussed, Partridge took them obligingly, watching as Preston stalked over to a civilian who was attempting an early morning shave, reached down and grabbed the half-full basin of rainwater he was using. "Hey!" the man protested, then saw who it was and coloured. "Sorry sir, I didn't realise it was you." Not bothering to reply, Preston walked back to where Rossiter was sleeping and unceremoniously upended the basin over him. The Cleric jerked awake, spluttering. "What-" "Right, he's awake." Preston reached down, gripped Rossiter by the front of his uniform and hauled him to his feet. "You've got some explaining to do," he informed him through clenched teeth, then became aware of the looks. "Oh, I'm sorry. Does anyone have a problem with this?" Al opened his mouth but Partridge, with great presence of mind, clapped his hand over it. "Not at all," he said. "Good." Preston shoved Rossiter roughly across the room, sending him sprawling. "What the fuck happened back there?!" Rossiter picked himself up with difficulty-he'd landed on his injured arm-and fixed a cold look on Preston. "What do you mean? The Tetra Grammaton attacked us." "And who let them in?" Preston demanded, his tone now deadly quiet. Rossiter stared. "What? You think I'd do something like that?" "It would explain a hell of a lot," Preston said flatly. "Like what happened in that canteen. Maybe someone found out and didn't want to say anything for fear of what might happen to them, so decided to take matters into their own hands." "You know I'm off the dose." "No I don't. I know that Jurgen thinks you're off the dose. I haven't worked with you long enough to form my own opinion yet. And now I find you might easily have been the one who let the Tetra Grammaton in!" Rossiter was feeling somewhat dazed by both his earlier experiences and the treatment he was suffering now. It can be the only reason why he made the mistake of trying to argue with Preston. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was in the mediwing. You can ask Allan if you don't believe me." "You were also, according to several people, overseeing sentry duty after discharging yourself from the mediwing," Preston said, his tone dangerous. Rossiter hesitated. "Alright. So I did discharge myself. So what? You did exactly the same thing." "Goddammit Rossiter, just nod and look ashamed," Partridge muttered. "It's about the only chance you have of getting out in one piece." "I spoke to at least four people on my way home," Rossiter went on obstinately. "You can ask them yourself if you don't believe me." "I would, but there happens to be one small flaw in your reasoning," Preston said tightly. "Most New Librians now happen to be dead or in the Tetra Grammaton!" "I don't see how that can be my fault. I was excused duties on medical grounds. You signed the order yourself, Preston." "Really," Preston said, his voice dangerously soft. "I saw it, Preston, so don't try and tell me otherwise," Rossiter said sharply, ignoring the signs Partridge was frantically trying to flash him from behind Preston's back. "Really," Preston said again. "What's wrong, Cleric? All that shooting dull your hearing?" Partridge gave up. He'd done everything in his power to warn Rossiter. Whatever happened to the younger Cleric now was not his fault. Preston closed his eyes and counted to ten. I'm drowning in frustration, and this kid's handing me anchors! he thought bitterly. Aloud he said, "You're on quarter pay for the next three months." Rossiter's jaw dropped. "What? Cleric, you can't-" "You want to shoot for four?" Preston said, his tone and expression deadly. Rossiter hesitated, then looked away and muttered something. "I didn't hear you," Preston said. "No Cleric," Rossiter said, meeting Preston's iron stare. "I...my apologies." Preston continued to hold his gaze with narrowed eyes before saying abruptly "Get out of my sight, Rossiter," and turning away. "He's innocent," Partridge said quietly, as Preston drew level. The Cleric stopped and stared. "So? So what? He may well be innocent but if it was him that was supposed to be overseeing the sentries, it's him that screwed up and it's him who can damn well take responsibility!" "He got three people out, Preston." "Great. Go him. Shame about the other two thousand five hundred, but that's life, right?" "That's not what I meant and you know it," Partridge said coldly. Preston hesitated, then let out his breath in a long, drawn out sigh. "I know. I'm sorry. If-" He broke off suddenly as a scrabbling sound drew his attention and he was hit in the back of the knees by what felt like a small furry cannonball. "What the-!?" "You have a visitor," Partridge said, keeping a straight face with a supreme effort. Preston turned, a feat made all the more difficult by the fact that the visitor in question now seemed intent on trying to clamber up his legs. "Animal?" Animal yapped once, tail wagging so hard his entire back end was moving. Next to Preston, Klondike opened his eyes, flicked an ear as if to say Pups!, yawned and went back to sleep. "Are you going to just lie around all day?" Partridge demanded, not particularly severely. Klondike looked up at him, then got to his feet, deliberately turned his back on the Cleric, stretched and flopped down again in a way that said Yes. Preston glanced around. "If Animal's-" "John?" Preston turned, came face to face with Robbie and a weight seemed to roll off his shoulders, one he hadn't even been aware of until it was gone. "Are you alright?" "Fine," Robbie said, although there was an ugly cut across his forehead and he was limping slightly. "I got Animal out. I..." He hesitated. "Speak," Preston said calmly. "I saw Jurgen as I was leaving." "Where is he?" "By now, I think he'd be in the Tetra Grammaton. He was out cold and I saw some sweepers throw him into the back of one of those trucks." Preston stared, feeling as though he'd just swallowed broken glass. Oh Christ, not Jurgen as well. "Don't mention this to anyone," he instructed in an undertone. "The last thing any of us want is a panic. And if-" "Sir!" Preston glanced around, irritated. "What now?" he said tersely. The man who'd spoken stood with both hands braced on his knees, gasping for breath. "Iwasonsentrydutyn-" "Alright, alright, slow down," Preston said, relenting. "Thankyou sir." The man took several deep breaths and managed to straighten up. "Sir, there's a pair of Clerics from the Tetra Grammaton who want to see you." Preston blinked. "I beg your pardon?" "Clerics, sir. From the Tetra Grammaton. They say they want to see you." "Yes," Preston said slowly. "That's what I thought you said. But who-" "They say they don't want any violence. They want to know if we're willing to discuss this like civilised people." "Civilised," Partridge muttered. "The Tetra Grammaton ransack our homes, force us to hide in the Nethers, scraping for food and warmth, take the rest of us to the Palace of Justice for clinical interrogation and subsequent processing, and on top of all that they have the nerve to call us uncivilised!" "Are you going to accept?" Robbie asked. Preston was silent. "Maybe they want to negotiate an armistice," Partridge suggested. "You don't negotiate an armistice with people you've just beaten the shit out of," Preston said bitterly. "Maybe not," Partridge conceded, "but surely it can't hurt to listen." "Can't hurt us, maybe. It's them I'm concerned about." Preston looked around at the civilians. "We didn't come this far just to invite the Tetra Grammaton into our midst." "We have to give them an answer, sir," the man said. Preston glanced at him, wishing (not for the first time) that he had Jurgen's knack of remembering names. "Tell them..." Preston hesitated. "Tell them we agree, but only if they leave their sidearms behind." That was no guarantee of safety either, but it made it a little easier to stay alive. "Uh..." The man seemed a little hesitant. "Me tell them, sir? Don't you think that, um, someone else might be more suited for the task?" "Like who?" "Well, someone who stands a fair chance of surviving any potential attack, for starters," Partridge muttered, not quite under his breath. "Good point," Preston conceded, glancing around. "Rossiter!" Rossiter glanced up from his conversation. "Yes, Cleric?" "Someone wants to come see us. Go tell them it's alright so long as they hand over their weapons, will you?" Rossiter hesitated, then shrugged. "Sure." He turned, glad of the chance to get away from Preston. Damn, but the man was like a thunderstorm; awe-inspiring, deadly and like most storms, best viewed from as far away as possible. "You didn't tell him they were Clerics," Partridge said, almost accusingly. Preston blinked, feigning surprise. "Didn't I? Oh. Must have slipped my mind." It took about ten or fifteen minutes before Rossiter finally came back. With him was a Cleric who was about Preston's age, and one that looked like he'd never been outside Libria before. Hell, Partridge thought, given his age, he probably hasn't. Looking at the junior Cleric, Partridge felt slightly sorry for him. The kid was as close to scared shitless as anyone could be on Prozium, and it was plain that the only thing keeping him there was iron discipline. The Cleric suddenly glanced around, sensing Partridge's attention. His gaze met the older Cleric's and he went as white as a sheet. They still think I'm dead, Partridge realised, with a kind of wry humour. He hadn't been as well-known as Preston in the Tetra Grammaton or Monastery, but he had earned a fairly prominent reputation of his own. Preston was one of the very few people who could defeat him in combat, armed or not. The senior Cleric came to a stop in front of Preston. "Cleric Preston." It was hard to tell if this was a greeting or a summons. "Cleric...Chast, isn't it?" Preston said, regarding him thoughtfully. "You do remember me, then. Vice-Council wasn't sure if you would." "You know this person?" Partridge said incredulously. "Of course," Preston said evenly. "We were yearmates in the Monastery." He raised his eyebrows at Chast. "Are you the only one left of that group?" "Of course not." "Right. It's just you, ah, didn't exactly distinguish yourself there," Preston said smoothly. "How many units did you retake? Twelve? Fourteen? I hear the Council had half a mind to keep you down a year." A muscle twitched in the other man's cheek. "Statistics show that eighty seven percent of set units are retaken," he said stiffly. "Yes, but not usually by the same person," Preston couldn't resist saying. He'd had a tough morning and he could almost have thanked the Tetra Grammaton for sending him someone to vent his frustrations on. Next to him, Klondike rolled onto his feet and padded over to sniff at the new arrivals. Chast automatically drew back a foot. "Touch that animal and I'll kill you," Preston said unsmilingly. Reluctantly, Chast subsided, standing stiffly as Klondike subjected him to a full and enthusiastic olfactory examination. "I am here from the Tetra Grammaton to negotiate-Preston, does this animal have to stick its snout there?" "Of course," Preston said evenly, as though he was an expert on dogs, while Partridge tried not to grin at Chast's expression. "Just ignore him and he won't bite you." "As I was saying, I am here from the Tetra Grammaton to-" Chast broke off as Klondike jumped up in an attempt to sniff his face, bracing both forepaws in the Cleric's stomach. "Preston! Either call this animal off or I'll have it put down!" "You won't," Preston told him, face impassive. "You'll stand there and ignore him and be thankful he's being so friendly. Those things can attack at a second's notice, Chast. What do you want?" Judging from the look on Chast's face, what he wanted was to kick Klondike away from him as hard as he could, but he restrained himself. "I am here from the-" "D'you have to go through that every time?" Partridge demanded irritably. Chast broke off for the third time, eyes narrowed. "I would be grateful, Cleric, if you and your partner would at least attempt to be rational about this." "And I would be grateful if the Tetra Grammaton would piss off and leave us in peace," Partridge said flatly, "but it doesn't look like either of us are going to get what we want, does it?" "I was sent to deliver terms," Chast said impassively. "And these are...?" Preston prompted. "If all the Clerics and sweepers among you agree to come quietly to the Palace of Justice, the rest of these people will be left in peace." "For how long?" Preston shot back, not missing a beat. "Until you get bored? Or until the Vice-Council decides he wants to finish what he started?" "This lack of cooperation does you no favours, Preston." "You want us to be subjected to clinical interrogation and processing?" Partridge said. "What's in this deal for us?" "Vice-Council is a forgiving man, Cleric. Those among you that agree to go back on the dose will be spared on the condition that they tell us everything they know." "Fuck you," Rossiter said suddenly, abruptly. "Your Vice-Council's as much of a sense offender as we are, at least, DuPont was. I didn't risk everything in coming off the dose just to trot meekly back to the Prozium now." There was a murmur of agreement. "What do you think, Partridge?" Preston said. "Difficult," Partridge said, playing along. "Either we surrender and die, or refuse and live." He shook his head. "It's a tough choice, right enough. And even if we were stupid enough to agree, once we're either dead or on the dose, what's to stop you from killing these people as well?" "Your answer, Cleric?" Chast said. "You don't...have...much..." His voice trailed off and he looked down, an expression of disgust on his face that even the Prozium couldn't dull. Klondike lowered his leg again, wearing a very satisfied expression. "I'd say that pretty much sums it up," Partridge said conversationally. The corners of Preston's lips twitched once or twice, but he managed to keep his usual impassive expression. "That...thing...just...pissed...on...me..." Chast managed. There was a ripple in the watchers, each one desperate to keep from drawing the Cleric's attention to them, but also finding it incredibly hard to choke down the laughter. One or two snickers escaped from the people gathered there, snickers that were hastily turned into coughing fits. "Good job," Preston said to Klondike, who pricked up his ears. Dogs don't have the necessary facial muscles for smirking, but somehow Klondike managed it. "You're a traitor and a sense offender, Preston, and you'll burn like one," Chast said abruptly. "I may be a traitor and a sense offender, but at least I'll never end up as a messenger boy for a hypocritical piece of shit like the Vice-Council," Preston said deliberately, then unexpectedly smiled. "Go take our answer back, Chast. I won't blame you if you don't want to deliver it word for word-" Preston shifted his gaze pointedly to the other Cleric's pants leg "-but you came for it, you have it and I see no reason for you to remain. Get out and take the rookie with you." The rookie in question shifted slightly. It was a pretty good rule of thumb that if a Cleric sense offender smiled at you, it either meant that he liked you or that he was about to kill you. And it wasn't the kind of mistake you could make twice, particularly not with someone like Preston. Chast continued to stare at Preston for some time, as if he could hypnotise him into agreeing, then abruptly spun on his heel and started to leave. "Chast!" Preston said suddenly. The Cleric stopped and turned. "Yes, Preston?" Faster than anyone could follow, Preston dropped to the ground, seized Chast's ankles between his own legs and twisted hard. Taken by surprise, the Cleric went down, and Preston flipped over, taking his weight on one hand and lashing out with both feet. The kick not only connected with Chast's collarbone, it carried him a full nine feet through the air before he slid to a stop, cracking his head on a pile of rubble. "You never learn, do you?" Preston said flatly as Chast got to his feet, wincing. Partridge wasn't sure where the applause started, but it spread like wildfire through the group. "That was a dirty trick, Preston," Chast said coldly. "We're off the dose, Chast, and dangerously unpredictable," Partridge said. "At least, we are according to the crap they fed us at the Monastery. And no, I'm not talking about that mystery food every Thursday, either, although I suppose the same description could apply." There was another slight ripple of laughter, followed by a cold silence. "Someone go with these two and give them their sidearms back," Preston said crisply. There was another silence, during which everyone endeavoured to look busy and avoid catching Preston's eye. Finally, Rossiter stepped forward reluctantly with a curt nod in Chast's direction. "This way." As the three of them left, there was an awkward silence. "Well, that probably could have gone better," Partridge said under his breath as Rossiter returned, gave Preston a look that said clearly that he felt he'd worked off a sizeable chunk of his debt, and settled down in a corner. "What did you want me to do, accept?" Preston said bitterly. "Actually, I was referring to Klondike's, um, contribution." Unnoticed by anyone, Al grinned broadly. Trust Klondike. A sound outside, possibly made by someone trying to move quietly, drew his attention and he got to his feet and slipped out, glancing around. Nothing. Must have been his imagination. "Hey, uh, you." Al turned irritably, then froze as he came face to face with the younger Cleric. There was no sign of his partner, but that didn't matter; the kid was more than capable of taking the ex-sweeper out in a heartbeat with or without weapons. "What do you want?" he said, hoping like hell none of the fear he was feeling betrayed itself in his voice. "Forget something?" "No. I mean, um, I told my partner I did and he sent me back to sort it." The Cleric, feeling that he was losing the initiative in this conversation, rallied. "I want to talk to that Cleric again." "You do, do you?" Al was, against his own instincts, starting to relax slightly. Sweepers were not trained in the intuitive arts as a rule, but they weren't stupid either. This kid was safe. "Yes. Um. Preston, that's it. Cleric Preston. I want to talk to Preston. Go and get him." Al pretended to consider. "Generally speaking, Cleric, it's not...how can I put this? It's not prudent to say things like 'come' and 'go' to Preston, particularly when he's in one of his moods. If you want to end your life so badly, you've chosen a bloody complicated way of going about it, but I don't see why I should let you drag me down with you, especially since I appear to be one of the very few people he's not pissed off with at the minute." The Cleric took out a gun. "I don't want to have to kill you," he said warningly. "Fine by me," Al told him unsmilingly. The gun was now pointing at his forehead. "Do it. Now." The sound of footsteps drew his attention to the left slightly. "That's it!" Al said loudly. "Take the bastard from behind!" It was the oldest trick in the book, and no sweeper or Cleric worth his salt would have fallen for it. As it was, the Cleric glanced back at him sharply, then spun around. A piece of brick cracked him squarely across the back of the head. "How the fuck did your guys ever take New Libria?" Al said disbelievingly as the Cleric dropped onto his knees on the floor. Al glanced around, catching sight of a welcome figure in black. "Partridge!" Something in his tone must have filtered through to the Cleric as Partridge snapped out his guns and turned, ready, as the younger Cleric got drunkenly to his feet. "Stand aside," Partridge said to Al, who didn't need telling twice. Partridge cocked one of his guns. "No! Wait! Please!" The kid threw both his sidearms onto the ground and held his hands out to the side, empty palms facing upwards. "Look, I...I need to talk to Preston. Please. It's important." Partridge stared at him for a minute, then relaxed his stance very slightly. "You're feeling." The other swallowed, then nodded, glancing over his shoulder. "Yes. I would have warned you about the attack, but I couldn't. I...did what I could." "The dead Clerics at the exit," Partridge said suddenly. "That was you." "Yes." Partridge continued looking at him, then abruptly snapped his guns back into their wrist holsters. "Who let you in?" The Cleric shook his head. "I don't know, and that's the truth. We just entered through one of the side doors. The sentries were already dead, but I never saw who did it. I swear." There was a silence. "Why did you come here?" Al said. "To join you. That's what I wanted to talk to Cleric Preston about." There was another, much longer silence. "It's going to be a little awkward if you just turn up," Partridge said eventually. "You'd do better if there was someone who could vouch for you." The Cleric shrugged. "I was yearmates with someone who's on your side. He was the one who accompanied us; Cleric Mark Rossiter." "Don't mention that," Partridge said quickly. The stranger blinked. "...Alright." "Rossiter's...how should I say this..." "He's in really deep shit with Preston at the minute," Al offered succinctly. The other hesitated. "Um. Yes. I, uh, I did hear Preston had a bit of a temper." "Well...that's one way to put it," Partridge said delicately, while Al snorted. Saying that Preston had 'a bit of a temper' was like saying that pointing a loaded gun at your forehead and pulling the trigger might prove slightly hazardous to your health. Partridge glanced at the Cleric. "Who are you?" "Grammaton Cleric Taselli, fifth class," Taselli reeled off glibly, then stopped, confused. "I mean, uh..." Partridge overrode him. "Right. Wait here." He glanced at Al. "If he moves, shoot him." "With what?" the ex-sweeper demanded caustically. "Improvise!" Partridge shot back over his shoulder. "Use what comes to hand!" "Oh sure," Al muttered, scanning the rubble on the ground. "That'll work. A Grammaton Cleric attacks me and what am I going I do? Throw bleedin' pebbles at him!" Partridge, already back inside the building, didn't hear any of this and wouldn't have cared if he had. Clearing a path through the people by the simple process of shoving his way through, he came to Preston and sat down next to him. "I was right," he said, by way of greeting. Preston glanced at him. "About what?" "About that Cleric in the Tetra Grammaton. Remember I said there might be another sense offender there?" Preston raised his eyebrows, a half smile creeping over his face. "About time we had some good news," he said. "Who is it?" "That kid with Chast. What's his name...Taselli." Rossiter reacted. "Taselli?" "You know him?" Preston said sharply. "Oh yeah," Rossiter said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He was in my year at the Monastery. Ranked tenth out of twelve." "Well, at least he wasn't last," Partridge remarked, his tone so even that Rossiter wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not. "He probably would have been," he said candidly, "except one of our yearmates broke his arm and the other lost three fingers in a raid. Neither of them managed to make the final tests." "Can we trust him?" Partridge wanted to know. "Who, Taselli?" Rossiter hesitated, then shrugged. "I don't know. Without a polygraph or blood test, I've no surefire way of telling if he's safe, any more than you have. I do know, however, that if I was the Vice-Council and had every Cleric in the Tetra Grammaton to choose from for a mission like this, I wouldn't choose Taselli." Preston wouldn't have chosen any Cleric from Rossiter's year. There were failures in every class; the Tetra Grammaton chose fifty new cadets every year to attend training at the Monastery, and by the time graduation came around there were usually only about twenty left. There had been thirty two in Preston's class, and that had been considered excessively large. Twelve graduates, barely more than a twenty percent pass rate, was pretty crappy by anyone's standards. And Preston knew for a fact that Rossiter had been ranked first out of those twelve, and his skills weren't anything spectacular. "He seemed okay," Al said. "And there are enough of us here. We could probably take out one Cleric together, if he did turn out to be trouble." "Yeah," Partridge muttered. "That's probably what DuPont told Brandt." Preston hesitated, then sighed. "Alright. Fine. Let him come, but tell him he's to check his sidearms in. The last thing we want is any more problems." He glanced around. "Rossiter, take charge of him." Rossiter nodded once, curtly. "Another Cleric," Partridge said easily. "If we get many more, we'll be able to fight the Tetra Grammaton on their own terms." "Or get ourselves killed, more likely," Al muttered under his breath.   Chapter 15 >>> more Equilibrium Fan Fiction