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 Jay. A very interesting character. I wonder how much of what she said last night was accurate. I suppose there'd be no real reason for her to lie to us; she was scared of something, that much is plain, and if it had been us, she'd never have just showed up like that. I have to say, I admire her guts, if nothing else. Not many people would just turn up uninvited in the dead of night to meet with strangers, particularly Cleric strangers. I wonder what she meant by 'evening up the odds', though. If she knows a way to negate Gun-Kata, or at least work around it, maybe I could interest her in a little sparring. It's been weeks since I had a decent match. On the other hand, my authority could take something of a nose-dive if I get the shit kicked out of me by the likes of Jay. As I understand it, she's not especially high ranking in her society. One thing I would like to do when all this insanity reaches its conclusion, though, is explore. I wonder if Prozium exists in the other regions. --John Preston, Grammaton Cleric First Class "What's out there?" Preston said suddenly. This question had been burning in him for a long time now. "What's beyond Libria, and the Nethers?" "Well-" Jay scooped something out of the pan and flicked it into her mouth, crunching loudly "-that depends on which direction you travel in." "Yours," Preston told her. He glanced into the pan and caught sight of several multilegged creatures there. Jay followed his gaze. "Sorry, did you want some?" "No!" Preston said, then coloured slightly, realising how vehement he'd sounded. "No, I, uh, already ate." "It's alright, you don't have to pretend. More for me, if you're sure you don't want any." "I'm sure," Preston said fervently. It didn't help that a few of the creatures in there still seemed to be alive. He wasn't sure why, but looking at them sent a shiver down his spine. "Joking apart, what are those?" Jay looked astounded. "You've never heard of them? There's plenty around, Cleric, if you know where to look." "I...studied them in textbooks," Preston said. In fact there had been one paragraph, and that was only because it contained original examples of Clinical Interrogation. Stripping your subject naked and allowing about a hundred of these creatures to run all over them was, surprisingly, often more effective than actual physical torture. He was ninety nine percent sure that it was spiders Jay was cooking if only because he was also fairly sure that most other eight-legged creatures had either pincers or beaks. "Never seen one?" Jay grabbed another and snapped it up in a couple of bites. "No," Preston said shortly. He was trying not to think about Jay's meal, and not succeeding very well. "Resistance fighters never seemed so determined to defend them," he said. "Don't blame 'em," Jay said easily. "Spiders're an excellent source of protein, but not to everyone's liking." "You could at least kill them first," Preston said. His stomach did a roiling flip-flop as he watched a slightly fatter, hairier specimen curl up on its back. "That...it's...oh Christ, it's..." "Disgusting? Yeah, I know. Funnily enough, Cleric, you'd be surprised what people will eat when they get hungry enough." "Forget eating," Partridge said bitterly. He pushed his own scant meal away. "Seeing that, I don't think I could keep down a glass of water." "You don't?" Jay said eagerly. She nodded towards the blue-green fungus in Partridge's lap. "You gonna eat that then?" In spite of himself, Partridge stiffened slightly. "Well, actually-" "Oh, for fuck's sake, Partridge, give it to her!" Preston said fervently. "Anything to stop her eating those things!" Jay favoured both Clerics with a wolfish smile as she took the (somewhat reluctantly) offered fungus. "Thanks." "So what's in-where do you come from?" "D'n in..." Jay swallowed. "'Scuse me." She glanced around, more out of habit than anything, then reached down to draw a crude but surprisingly accurate map of the world in the dirt. "Right about here," she said, drawing a circle around a roughly continent-sized archipelago that was about four hundred miles southeast of the Librian coast. Preston and Partridge exchanged looks. "Xylyx?" both said in unison. They'd studied other regions in the Monastery, and it was generally held that even the Resistance wasn't stupid enough to go there. Jay shrugged. "Dunno what you call it, Cleric. Among us, it's known as Gehenna." "The valley of the damned," Partridge murmured. Jay shot him an appraising look. "Yes. Three or four hundred years ago, a hundred years after the Last War, it served as the dumping ground for all undesirables. Rapists, murderers, lunatics, they were sent there since Gehenna was the most inaccessible place. There was little or no chance they could get off to cause problems again." She snorted. "Unfortunately, there was little or no chance that those of us unlucky enough to already live there could escape. There's nothing there but rocks, forest and the law of the jungle. I couldn't tell you who my parents are, because I never knew them. I have no idea how old I am, and all I can tell you for certain is that I'm the daughter of two very hard, tough, ruthless people." "What makes you so sure?" Preston said. He half knew the answer, but he felt he needed it to be confirmed. "Because, Cleric, compassionate, kind, merciful people in Gehenna don't usually live long enough to have kids." Jay shrugged. "What can I say? We're mostly loners. We live off the land." "What about cities?" Preston persisted. "Or...hell, even buildings." "Yeah, we got some o'them," Jay answered around a mouthful of fungus. "Most are no more than overgrown ruins now. When the Last War broke out, the cataclysms sent a series of mega-tsunamis crashing into our land. There were other effects too, but those were the most shattering. A few of us made it to the mountains, high enough to be safe. Most didn't. The water destroyed the majority of our cities, crippled our power sources and left us stranded. All that's left is a series of rocky islands spread out over four hundred miles. They're close enough to swim between, since there's so many of them, but-" "Swim?" Rossiter echoed, unsure of the word. Libria was in the centre of the Nethers, and living at least four hundred miles from any large body of water with no need for recreational sports meant that very few Librians had even heard of swimming. Jay shot him a look. "Uh...swim...travel in water?" She shrugged. "Don't matter much, anyway. It's not like there's much call for it here." There was a silence. "There must be other places," Preston said. "Oh, there are," Jay said blithely. "I've never been there, but they're there. That's what Merston was doing; she led a group of us off the islands in search of these places. You have to understand; we have no maps and no means of obtaining them either." She caught sight of Preston's sharp glance at the map on the floor and waved a hand impatiently. "Okay, okay, so we remember what the world looks like and whereabouts in it we are, but that's about it." "Then-" Preston began, but Partridge dropped a hand onto his shoulder. "Wait a minute," he said very quietly. "I heard something." "Only now?" Jay said, raising one black eyebrow. "You need to work on your senses, Cleric. You wouldn't last five minutes in Gehenna. Someone started approaching ten minutes ago." "You didn't say anything," Preston said flatly. "You didn't ask." Jay shrugged. "I'll go check it out." "Wait!" Preston shot to his feet but Jay was already out of reach and accelerating. "What's your problem?" Partridge asked Preston quietly. "How do we know she's not going to just up and leave?" Preston demanded, not bothering to lower his voice. "Why should we care?" Partridge countered. "The Tetra Grammaton have a good idea where we are, and there's nobody else we really need to worry about. Besides, she's not a prisoner here." "I still say someone else ought to go," Preston said. Jay glanced over her shoulder at him. "Cleric, I've been here for over twenty four hours and haven't had to fight for my life in all that time," she said with disarming honesty. "I'm not thinking about bloody leaving! I'm perfectly happy right here, thanks! It's good to relax." Preston tried but could find no hint of sarcasm in her voice or expression. Well, he reminded himself, this was someone who had moved into the rougher areas of the Nethers to be safe. There was a tense silence. "D'you think she's alright?" Partridge asked eventually. "If she wasn't, we'd have heard the gunshots," Preston pointed out. Partridge grimaced. "That isn't very-" A yell of alarm from Jay's direction cut him off abruptly. Oddly enough, it hadn't seemed to come from Jay herself. Preston and Partridge exchanged a look, then both were on their feet and running towards the sound. When they reached its source, they discovered Jay was standing easily, holding onto a Grammaton Cleric as if it was nothing. "What...?" Preston began. For once, he couldn't think of anything to say. "Richardson?" Partridge said incredulously. "Partridge." Richardson's voice was somewhat muffled. "I don't want to complain, but would you mind telling the nice lady to let me out of this goose-lock before she breaks my wrist?" Both Preston and Partridge shot Jay an incredulous look, more due to Richardson's appellation than anything. "He's on our side," Preston said pointedly. He was fighting an inexplicable urge to laugh. Jay blinked. "Really? Oh, right." She released Richardson and nodded to him in a friendly fashion. "My mistake, Cleric." "You're alone?" Preston said. "Yes," Richardson said. He was bent double, panting for breath. "Even Rossiter managed to get some people out." Richardson managed to straighten up enough to glower at Preston. "Well, excuse me for coming to help you! It was all I could do to get most of the Archives in that truck!" He nodded towards one of the few sweeper trucks belonging to Old Libria. "Maybe I'll go back to that damp hole I spent the last night or two in." He glanced around, looking for Jay, who appeared to have vanished. "Who, er..." A clump of fungus hit him in the shoulder. From somewhere above he heard Jay say, "Sorry." The three Clerics craned their necks back. Jay's dark skin and darker clothes made her hard to see, but they were fairly certain they could just about pick out her form above their heads. "What are you doing?" Preston demanded. "Getting food." Another clump of fungus sailed down and almost hit Partridge, followed by Jay saying, "Ooh. I thought I'd eaten all of those" and a crunching sound. "Jay," Preston said without parting his teeth, "I am not, generally speaking, a squeamish man, but I really, really, really wish you wouldn't do that." Above him, teeth flashed white in the darkness as Jay grinned. "Sorry. But hey, look on the bright side; all the time I'm eating these, that means more fungus for you and your mates down...there..." Her voice trailed off. "What is it?" Partridge said, after a few minutes had gone by. There was a scrabbling sound as Jay climbed higher, seemingly staring at something that only she could see, followed by a sharp intake of breath. "What?" Preston demanded, exasperated at being on the edge of understanding. "There's a snowstorm coming!" Jay yelled. "There's no need to shout," Partridge said acerbically. "We're right beneath you. What were you saying?" Jay twisted around, hanging easily from one hand. "I said there's a snowstorm coming, Cleric. You know? Ninety mile an hour winds, snow, wind chill factors?" "What does that mean in real terms?" Preston said, somewhat testily. Like most of the people there, he'd never spent a winter in the Nethers and when he'd gone in on enforcement related business, he'd never gone so far north. Jay dropped neatly onto the ground. "It means you better find something to burn, Cleric, and fast. And build up the food stores, 'cause once that thing comes in, there's no going outside until it's finished." Preston looked around. He had to admit there was a definite chill in the air that hadn't been there before. He and Partridge exchanged glances, then simultaneously both turned and walked towards the truck Richardson had brought. "No!" Richardson, seeing what they were going to do, rushed to intercept them. "Stand aside," Preston said. "No! I won't let you do this!" "Try and stop us," Partridge told him, pushing past him. He grabbed a box of books and strode back to what he was already starting to think of as the main base, Richardson trailing in his wake. "It goes against everything, Partridge!" "So does freezing," Partridge retorted. He was beginning to find Richardson a serious annoyance. Next to him, Preston deposited his own box. "You can't be serious!" Richardson protested, now appealing to Preston. "It's that or hypothermia," Preston retorted acidly. "But it's...it's...it's what the Clerics do!" Preston and Partridge looked at each other, then at Richardson. "Yes...?" Preston said, in the tones of a man waiting patiently for the punch line. "You know what I mean! I mean it's what the Clerics at the Tetra Grammaton do! It's barbaric!" "If you want to freeze to death, feel free," Partridge said tartly. "Otherwise, we're burning them." "Not that one!" Richardson grabbed the book which the other Cleric had started to reach for. "I don't have a duplicate of that one!" "There's precious few we do have duplicates of," Partridge retorted. "Cleric, this volume is a valuable insight into pre-Librian art and science, not to mention culture and natural history! It's a one-of-a-kind, in-depth, educational artifact!" Partridge pushed the book upright enough to read the cover. "The Far Side Gallery, Richardson?" "It contains several educational and scientific diagrams and notations," Richardson said, in a tone that would have been sulky in anyone except a Grammaton Cleric. There was a silence. "Alright," Preston said resignedly, "we'll save it for the minute." He picked up another book and handed it to his partner. "How about that one?" "American Psycho," Partridge read. He raised his voice. "Does anyone here object to our burning American Psycho?" "Wait," Rossiter said quickly. "Give me page 316 first." There was a pause while Partridge flicked through the book, Rossiter and Preston both looking over his shoulder. "There." Rossiter pointed. "That part." There was a longer pause while Partridge and Preston read the part in question. Both of them looked at each other, then at Rossiter. "That," Partridge said flatly, "is sick." "Psycho," Rossiter reminded him, indicating the title. "Oh fine, if you want it that badly." Partridge ripped the page out and handed it to Rossiter, who folded it over and shoved it into a pocket. "Thanks Cleric." "What's wrong?" Preston asked Partridge, who was squinting at the cover with a slightly bemused look. "Hm? Nothing, it's just this guy on the front looks a bit like you, that's all." Preston took it from him, studied it with a frown. "I don't see the resemblance." "You probably would if you held it up next to a mirror," Partridge said. Preston glanced at him. "Do we have a spare copy of this?" "Oddly enough, yes. It seems to be fairly popular. I'm not sure why." "Good." Preston threw it onto the ground. There was a scuffling sound and Jay dropped next to them in a crouch. "I, uh, found this nearby," she said, a little too innocently, depositing a good armful of kindling onto the ground. "How nearby?" Preston said sharply. "Nearby enough," Jay answered. "Some dickhead left some rotting desks in that building. It should be dry enough to burn." "How did you slice it up?" Preston demanded. "You don't have any weapons." "Yeah, I do. You just can't see 'em." Jay shrugged. "Look, take it or leave it, but them books aren't going to keep you warm for long, Cleric. Actually, the best thing for that is some kind of physical activity." "Like what?" Preston said, somewhat sourly. "Do you want us all to do jumping jacks? What?" this was to Partridge, who had just thrown a not-so-subtle elbow into his partner's ribs. "Not quite," Jay said lightly. If she was offended by Preston's tone, it didn't show. "Then what?" Jay rolled her eyes. "Do what us non-Clerics do! Brush up on your combat skills, weapon maintenance, shit like that." Preston glanced at her. Jay's comment about combat skills had nudged something in his mind. "You mentioned something about evening up the odds between us and the Tetra Grammaton, didn't you?" "Yup." "I don't suppose you'd be interested in elaborating on that, would you?" Jay raised an eyebrow. "I'd be interested in a trade, Cleric." "What kind of trade?" Preston said warily. Jay shrugged. "You teach me Gun-Kata, I'll teach you some of my tricks. Deal?" "You want me to..." Preston hesitated. "Something wrong?" Jay said, in a tone of voice which said she wasn't interested one way or the other. "No, it's just...that's what Kia wanted me to..." Preston's voice tailed off slightly, then he glanced up sharply at Taselli, who was listening intently. If anyone knew, it would probably be him. "Did you-" "I saw her, yes." Hope jolted through Preston. "Where??" "Back with my unit. The Tetra Grammaton had her under heavy guard," Taselli said. "I overheard Chast talking about her. She's due to be taken to the Palace of Justice for processing." "Processing?" Partridge echoed. He glanced at Preston. "You know, I'm beginning to see a pattern in the women you date." There was a silence, then Preston glanced sharply up at Jay. "Alright. You're on." He nodded towards a fairly empty section of the building. "Over there." Next to Partridge, Al raised his eyebrows. "This I have to see." "Me too," Rossiter said, not quite under his breath. "Go ahead. Turn her into a Cleric. Do the impossible." "Do you have patrol duty, Rossiter?" Partridge said pointedly. "No." "Do you want it?" Preston added. Goddammit, if Rossiter hadn't been a Cleric, he'd have kicked the kid out a long time ago. "No, Cleric," Rossiter conceded. "Then shut your mouth." Preston looked at Jay, who was waiting patiently. To her credit, she wasn't smirking, but this must have taken a respectable amount of willpower to achieve. "Alright." Preston examined her critically. The girl's stance was actually pretty good. Some kata moves seemed to be universal. "Raise your left arm a little. Good. Now, close your eyes and take a deep breath in." "Deep breath in. Okay. I can do that," Jay said, and did so. There was a pause. "Feel free to exhale again at any time," Partridge prompted finally, after about a minute had passed. Jay let the breath out with a whoosh and glared at him. "I don't get it," Rossiter admitted candidly. "How can you have taken out Clerics when you've got no knowledge of Gun-Kata?" Jay simply looked at him for a few minutes, then spun around so fast Preston barely saw her move, unfurling one leg and snapping it out to connect with Rossiter's midriff. Taken completely off guard, the Cleric literally flew through the air, twisting to roll with it and coming up lightly onto his feet again. "Like that," Jay said to Preston. There was a silence. "Yes, alright," Partridge said at the end of it. "But if you could refrain from incapacitating the few people capable of defending all the rest-" "I pulled the kick, didn't I?" Jay said easily. "I don't know," Partridge said candidly. "Did you?" "No she bloody well didn't!" Rossiter grated. "I did," Jay said. "What makes you so sure?" Jay looked Preston squarely in the face. "He got up again. Usually when I kick someone in a fight, they stay kicked." Richardson stepped into the middle of the discussion, absorbed in what looked like a flat metal ring. "Any idea what this is?" Jay looked around. "Yeah. It's mine." She glanced down at the chain link belt around her waist and grimaced. "Damn. I really need to get the hooks fixed on this thing!" "Yours?" Richardson didn't seem inclined to dispute the claim; instead he held it out to her. "Oh right. Here. What is it?" Jay took it somewhat gingerly, as though she thought it might explode. "It's called a chakra, Cleric." "And what does it do?" Jay shrugged. "You throw it at people, things, just about anything really." "And then what?" Richardson said curiously. Preston and Partridge looked at each other and rolled their eyes simultaneously. "She really should've shut him up when he got to the first 'what'," Partridge murmured very quietly. "That's...about it," Jay said. "It's probably the most effective non-firearm around where I come from." Preston pricked up his ears. "Can you use it against the Tetra Grammaton?" "Course," Jay said airily. "How'd you think I lasted this long against them?" "You're kidding," Rossiter said flatly. "Why would I kid about something like that?" "Right." Rossiter shook his head in disgust. "The Tetra Grammaton have guns, flamethrowers, grenades, and what have we got? A goddamn Frisbee!" He spun on his heel, reaching up for some fungus. The chakra flashed past his head, embedding itself in the wall between two of the Cleric's fingers. There was a long, long silence. Rossiter was frozen in position, not daring to move. "Alright," Preston heard himself say, his heart thudding painfully fast in his chest. The mock-attack had been completely silent and so fast there was no time to even think of dodging it. "While I appreciate your...feelings, I think an advance warning might be in order next time you plan to demonstrate your, ah, skill." Jay shrugged. "Okay." "In writing," Partridge added, eyeing the chakra somewhat sourly. "Sure." Jay tugged the weapon out, hitching it back onto her belt. "From the other side of the Nethers." "Uh huh." There was a pause. Then Partridge took the chakra from Jay and weighed it thoughtfully in one hand. "So tell me," he said, in a I'm-only-asking-out-of-interest tone, "how exactly d'you use this thing then?" "What do you want now?" Halls said. Vice-Council Hagon regarded him coolly. "Hardly the most civilised of greetings, Cleric." "Oh, I'm sorry," Halls said mockingly. "I've just spent the last couple of days in a cell freezing my butt off. Forgive me if I seem to be anything less than perfectly courteous." "This false bravado does you no favours, Halls." "Just as well it isn't false then, isn't it?" "New Libria is destroyed." "And?" Halls said automatically. Hagon regarded him contemplatively. "Where's Jurgen?" "Who?" The Vice-Council sighed. "You may as well cooperate and save yourself the pain of clinical interrogation. We'll find all of you eventually, including him." "You think so?" Halls smirked. "Let me tell you a story, Hagon-" "Verbal communication of EC-10 rated material is strictly prohibited by the doctrines." "News bulletin, buddy; you've already arrested me," Halls drawled. "What more, when you get right down to it, can you do?" He raised his jaw slightly. "Besides, if you've kept up your Prozium doses like a good little megalomaniacal power-crazed dictator bent on subverting all New Librians to your cause and to the old ways of Prozium and brutally eradicating all who oppose you-" he took a deep breath "-then you should be able to hear what I have to say without incident, shouldn't you?" There was a silence. "We will find you, Cleric," Hagon said eventually. "Hardly a challenge, Hagon, considering I'm standing two metres away from you," Halls pointed out reasonably. "Anyway, as I was saying. There was a city once, on a long forgotten island that I think sank during the Last War. In that city was a street where all the undesirables hung out. Hookers, drug-dealers, hitmen...guys like that." "The very people that Prozium and the Council have managed to remove," Hagon answered, face impassive. Halls waved a hand. "Whatever. People who wanted trouble, or wanted to talk business with these people, went to this street. Everyone else stayed away. The system worked perfectly; the law enforcement didn't worry too much other than making sure the law breakers stayed where they could see them. Then this new guy came along and took charge, and sent all the enforcers to that street with the idea of taking them all in." "A worthy goal." "Yeah, yeah, applause, parades, give him a fucking medal," Halls said dismissively. "These people basically scattered, though, and this city was exactly the same as all the others. Nobody knew where the trouble was anymore, nobody knew where it was safe and where it wasn't." There was a pause. "Are you going somewhere with this?" Hagon asked, almost politely. Halls smirked. "Oh yeah, Hagon. You've done the same thing. Now, instead of knowing exactly where your rogue Clerics and sweepers are, instead of knowing exactly where to find almost every single rebel, you've scattered them so far and wide you've lost all hope of wiping out New Libria completely." His smirk widened. "You never did find the Underground, did you? So what now? Am I supposed to crawl back into my cell like a good little Cleric?" "'Cleric'? You are nothing more than a spy and a traitor," Hagon said. "If you think I'm going to lower myself to your level by stooping to petty name-calling, you can think again," Halls answered, and then added, "you bastard." "I am not an unreasonable man, Halls," Hagon said icily. "Since you yourself went quietly, and since things have changed somewhat, I am willing to negotiate." Halls raised a dark eyebrow. "Oh really? Negotiate what, precisely?" "Do you recognise this man?" Hagon gestured to two sweepers who dragged Jurgen's limp body into the light. Halls looked at him for a good few minutes. Dried blood caked one side of the man's face, gumming his hair together. One eye was swollen almost completely shut, and blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth. Although the injuries were very real, it was obvious-at least to Halls-that the man wasn't as dazed and helpless as he was leading the sweepers to believe. Something caused Halls to shift his eyes down to Jurgen's hands, the fingertips of which were nothing more than a bloody mess. "Yes," Hagon said, following his gaze. "He told us his real name when the technicians ripped off his seventh nail, and they tore off the remaining three to check his honesty, but he wouldn't change his story." Halls didn't wince as such, but a flicker of something passed over his face. "Do you recognise him, Halls?" "No." "Really?" Hagon glanced off to Halls' left and nodded slightly. A sweeper who had been standing in the shadows stepped forward and cracked the Cleric across the back of the head with his rifle. Halls dropped to his knees, the sudden pain momentarily dazzling him. "How about now?" Hagon said calmly. "No," Halls grated through clenched teeth. Another nod. Another blow from the gun, this one sending him onto his side. Halls could feel blood trickling down the side of his head, behind his ear. It itched like hell, but with both hands cuffed in front of him there was little he could do about it. He glanced up just in time to get the full force of the sweeper's foot in his jaw. The Cleric's head snapped back, slamming into the black floor with an audible crack. "And now?" Halls shook his head, too dazed to speak. This time the kick came in his ribs, and was much harder. Agony shot like lightning up his side and through his arm. "You're not going to get any fucking answers if you knock me out," Halls said, thickly but clearly. He spat blood onto the floor. "If you answer now, we won't have to," Hagon said implacably. "Do you know this man?" "No," Halls said for the third time, curling his body around slightly in preparation for the sweeper's next kick. "Strange. He knows you. He named you." "Lots of people know your name, but have never met you," Halls said, slightly incoherently. "True," Hagon agreed, as if they were discussing the weather, "but clinical interrogation revealed this man's identity to us. We have reason to believe he's telling the truth." "Then why ask me?" Halls demanded. The sweeper moved in to kick him again, but this time the Cleric was ready for him, jack-knifing his body and swinging one foot into the man's knee with devastating force. There was a soggy snap and a scream of pain from the sweeper, who lost all interest in interrogating Halls and promptly collapsed. With difficulty, Halls got back onto his feet. Breathing sent a stabbing pain across his chest and he thought sourly that the bastard must have cracked at least one of his ribs. "All we want to know," Hagon said, as persuasively as he could, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one of his bodyguards was lying on the floor with a snapped leg, "is if this is the head of New Libria...what's his name...Jurgen?" "No," Halls lied smoothly. "No, Jurgen looks a lot older than that." Jurgen glowered at the floor, not daring to say or do anything more obvious, inwardly cursing the Vice-Council for giving Halls the opportunity to score a point. "Interesting," Hagon said slowly. "That's not what he said under clinical interrogation." Halls' heart stood still. "He was probably lying," he said, no hint of his nervousness showing in his voice. "Not many people have the willpower for such a feat, Halls. You know that as well as I do." Halls, who had suffered clinical interrogation from a Resistance unit some fifteen years ago and managed to remain silent throughout, shrugged. Willpower was what you made it, in his opinion. "What did he say?" "He said he was head of New Libria." There was the briefest silence, then; "You bloody idiot!" Halls exploded, seeming to take even the Vice-Council by surprise. "Loyalty only has to go so far, you know! What the hell possessed you to do such a thing?!" Jurgen raised his head with difficulty and fixed Halls with a penetrating stare. "Why don't you tell me?" he said, somewhat thickly. Halls shook his head in disgust. "This man isn't who he said he was. He's an engineer who's been with the Resistance for even longer than I have. Someone-Christ only knows who-gave orders that Jurgen was to be protected at all costs and this bloody idiot appears to have taken that to extremes!" "What are you saying?" Hagon said sharply. "I'm saying that this dickhead obviously decided to tell you he was Jurgen to stop you ripping the Nethers apart looking for him." Halls snorted. "And personally, I wouldn't have said Jurgen was stupid enough to be taken prisoner," he couldn't resist adding. "I understand he usually relies on Clerics to help him, or at least the ones that aren't crazy enough to try storming the Tetra Grammaton singlehandedly," Jurgen said, with an emphasis that promptly evened the score between him and Halls. Hagon studied Halls through narrowed eyes, searching for some hint of deceit. There was none. Halls was too good at it, and he had-broadly speaking-told the truth. "What did he say, anyway?" Halls said. "Why should I tell you?" "I..." Halls paused as a crazy idea occurred to him. "I want to defect." "You what?" Jurgen and Hagon said simultaneously, but for very different reasons. "You heard," Halls said calmly. There was a long, long silence. "I'll prove it," Halls said. "Give me some Prozium." "You'll dose?" "Of course." Warily, suspecting a trick, Hagon pulled out his own Prozium canister and handed it to a sweeper. "Inject him." Halls made no move, offered no resistance as the man slid the needle into his neck and depressed the valve, sending the golden liquid into his veins. "Thankyou," Halls told him, then glanced at Hagon. "Sir...?" He held out his hands, which were still cuffed in front of him. Hagon crossed over to him, took out a small key and unlocked them. "Thankyou, sir," Halls said again, massaging his wrists. "And my sidearms?" "Can wait a while yet, Halls," Hagon answered in a tone of steel. Halls considered, then shrugged. "Alright. No matter." He spun around, seized the assault rifle from the sweeper he'd just downed, and squeezed the trigger, taking down three of the guards in the first rain of bullets. "I'll just use his," Halls added conversationally, as the men dropped to the floor. Time seemed to crystallise for a second or two, then reality crashed back in to fill the gap. The two sweepers holding Jurgen released him simultaneously in order to bring their own weapons around to bear on Halls, who ducked out of the way, whirling to blast both through the window in a shower of blood and glass. Dropping to the ground, he swung one leg around, knocking the last remaining sweeper off his feet and bringing the gun whistling down overarm to smash into the man's skull with an impact that not even the protective helmet could dull. The sweeper went limp, either unconscious or-more likely-dead. Halls didn't know and he cared less. He straightened up, focusing all his attention on Hagon, who seemed as completely and utterly shellshocked as anyone on the dose could get. "How...what..." he managed. "That shit doesn't affect me, Hagon," Halls said very quietly, with an almost regretful nod towards the Prozium canister. "It never did." The Vice-Council appeared to find his voice. "Impossible." "Improbable," Halls corrected him. "I don't know. Maybe it's something to do with my rare blood group. Some kind of biological quirk in my system. A geneticist could probably tell you more than I could." Hagon opened his mouth, but Halls silenced him with one well-placed blow of the rifle. As the Vice-Council folded to the floor, the Cleric looked over at Jurgen. "Can you walk?" "I can limp," Jurgen answered, managing to prop himself up on his elbows. "Good enough." Halls glanced over at the Vice-Council's desk, then crossed over to it and yanked the drawers open. He didn't think that Hagon was an offender-or that he was stupid enough to leave EC-10 material in his desk-but it never hurt to look. "Halls?" Jurgen said, his tone deliberately neutral. "Yeah?" "Do you mind if I ask you something?" "I never minded before," Halls pointed out, checking the other drawer. Nada. Oh well. It had been worth a try. "...Older?" Jurgen said icily. Halls smirked. "Well, I had to say something convincing." "You couldn't have gone in on the 'he's better looking' angle?" "Given how you look right now, I don't believe that would really narrow it down." Halls reached down, gripped hold of the chain between Jurgen's wrists and used it to haul him one-handedly to his feet. "I don't know about you," he added, "but I'd like to get out of here right about now." "Right behind you," Jurgen assured him. "Good. Can you-" Halls hesitated, looking from the gun to Jurgen's hands. "No, you probably can't, can you?" "I'd stand a lot more chance if you'd unlock me," Jurgen said, somewhat bitingly. "Sorry," Halls said, smirking slightly. "No can do. All the time you're looking like that, we might be able to fool anyone watching into thinking I've arrested you. Or that I've defected." "They'd have to be damn stupid to believe that, Halls!" "Agreed. Well, in that case we could tell them that I'm a rogue Cleric and you're joint head of New Libria and head of the whole fucking Resistance." There was a pause. Then Jurgen said, "Let's stick with the defection thing." "I thought you'd say that." Halls grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and half shoved, half threw him through the door, keeping a firm hold on him all the time. "If you could try not to kill me, that would also be a very good thing!" Jurgen added waspishly, keeping his voice low. "I'll try, sir." "Don't call me sir," Jurgen said automatically. "Yes sir." Jurgen eyed the Cleric somewhat sourly. "That joke is so old by now, I don't know why you bother." "Maybe I'm just a sentimental sap," Halls answered lightly. He was in a rare good mood, and thoroughly enjoying it. "Like I told you, Clerics have to have someone in authority to respect. In the absence of any real military person, you'll do." "You're too kind." Jurgen shook his head. "May I remind you that when you told me that, you were a cadet? Cadets need someone to look up to, I agree, but Clerics-" "Even Clerics need someone to give the orders occasionally." "That's all very well," Jurgen said out the corner of his mouth as the pair of them slowed down long enough for Halls to flash his ID at the sweepers on guard, "but you never follow them!" "Of course not," Halls said in a somewhat supercilious tone. "You want blind obedience, get a damn sweeper!" "Speaking of sweepers, I wanted to talk to you about Al." Halls shot a look over his shoulder. "Is now really the time?" "Yes," Jurgen said frostily as the lift doors slid closed behind them. "We're unobserved and we can't be overheard. Is it true you were behind the attack on that guy on Prozium?" "I was nowhere near that man when the incident happened." "That's not what I asked. The man gave a description that seemed to fit that sergeant of yours." "Of mine?" Halls feigned astonishment. "Jurgen, Al is a free agent! He spends most of his time in the Nethers, he watches over the other ex-sweepers and manages security and he does-" "-what you tell him," Jurgen cut across frostily. "Even Preston's given up trying to order him around." Halls didn't answer. "That man was in hospital for a week with four broken ribs!" Jurgen said. Halls turned to look at his friend. "Jurgen, I can honestly say that I did not order, instruct, tell or even ask Al to break any of the ribs in question." Jurgen eyed him suspiciously for a few seconds, then nodded slightly, apparently satisfied, and returned his gaze to the doors in front. There was a short pause. "I told him to rupture his diaphragm," Halls added. "It's not my fault he never studied anatomy." There was another, slightly longer pause. "You're incorrigible," Jurgen remarked, with little or no real anger in his tone. "Oh, I do hope so," Halls quipped, smirking. The lift doors opened again, revealing the main entrance to the Tetra Grammaton's cells. Halls raised his gun to point at the forehead of the one sweeper on duty and fired. The man dropped like a stone, spraying blood onto the console. "What are we doing here?" Jurgen said in an undertone. Halls favoured him with a wolfish grin. "Spreading chaos." "Your speciality," Jurgen muttered, in desert-dry tones. "Exactly." Halls flipped a few switches and pressed a button. There was a clanking sound. "What did you do?" "Opened every single cell door on this level." Jurgen glanced at the console, startled. "I didn't realise that was possible." "No? Think about it. If a patrol brought thirty rebels back here, it'd be no damn good if you could only lock 'em up one at a time. I've no idea who we've just freed," Halls added, "but hopefully it should keep the Tetra Grammaton busy. You never know, some of them might actually make it out." The tone of Halls' voice indicated that he couldn't give a shit one way or the other. Jurgen supposed he couldn't blame him. A high pitched siren started to blare, causing both men to wince. "Alarm!" Halls said. He had to shout to be heard above the noise. "You don't say!" Jurgen yelled back. "Come on!" Halls shoved him back into the lift and pressed the button for the main floor. That had gone a lot better than he'd expected. The doors opened, revealing a room in complete pandemonium, or at least as close as the Tetra Grammaton could get. "What happened?" Jurgen said, only lowering his voice slightly. They couldn't be heard over the alarm system. Halls gave him an innocent look that didn't fool the older man for an instant. "Well...there might have possibly been a gas grenade planted somewhere on this floor," he said. "What makes you think that?" "Just a guess." Two Clerics broke off from the main throng to approach them. Halls grimaced inwardly. Now for the hard part. Chapter 17 >>> more Equilibrium Fan Fiction