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 Damn that man! It was an effective plan, I have to admit. Make me look bad, get Jurgen pissed off with me and get himself in the clear. Oh yes. Very clever, Halls. And he's 'done with the case'? So kind of him! Did it never occur to that 'Cleric' that I have better things to do with my time than chase after his leftover cases? Halls isn't the only one who got everything he needed from that visit. It just occurred to me that this book-supposedly an 'insight into life here in New Libria'-has been little more than a rant against Cleric Halls for the last two or three (oh, alright, or nine or ten) pages. Problem is, there isn't much else I can write about. I'm starting to understand why so many pre-Librians did this; it's an effective way to let off smoke. Or is that steam? I've never been that interested in ancient phrases, for all that Richardson keeps trotting them out at regular intervals. I wish there was a way to get the message across that I don't care. Get that, Richardson? I. Don't. Care. Short of blasting it into the walls of the Archives (which, I have to admit, is getting more and more tempting every time I see the man) I'm somewhat flummoxed. I also took the precaution of shooting out the lens in the security cameras throughout the apartment earlier on. I really don't like the idea of Halls hacking into them and watching my every move. They were only really put there for convenience' sake after all, so Jurgen or I could see where people were if we needed to get hold of them. Speaking of Jurgen, I could have gladly shot him today! Him and Cleric Kevin bloody Halls! First time I meet someone who doesn't want to kill me or hide from me and those two come along and spoil the whole thing! I didn't even get her address, either. All I know is that she lives somewhere in Corridor 9, and given that's approximately five kilometres long, it might take me a while to find her exact location, short of spying on her on the cameras, and I'm not too keen on that thought. Question: if I hate Halls so much, why am I trying to team up with him? Answer: Christ knows. Though I suppose it's because I need someone and both Rossiter and Richardson are out. It's those old lessons in the monastery again: I must have somebody as back up (and frankly, I'd rather lose Halls than either of the other two, annoying as they are); I must have a contingency, a 'fall guy', if you like; I must be part of a team if I want to have any chance of succeeding. I must be out of my mind. -John Preston, Grammaton Cleric First Class There was a loud noise from inside. It sounded very much like the kind of noises Animal made, only a lot deeper and a lot louder. Preston found he was edging away slightly and, furious at his weakness, forced himself to stand fast. After a good few minutes had passed, Preston decided that Halls had to still be asleep (though how anyone could sleep through that racket was beyond him) and pressed the buzzer again. The noises intensified. "I'm coming, already!" A gleam appeared in Preston's eyes. Pissing off Halls before he even got through the door...yep, this meeting was going to be a good one. He could feel it. After another two minutes had ticked off Preston's chronometer, the door opened to reveal a dripping wet Halls, a towel wrapped around his waist. "A little out of uniform, aren't you, Cleric?" Preston said, a slight smirk on his face. Halls narrowed his eyes. "Ha frickin' ha," he informed Preston coldly. "You know, when I said you know where to find me, I didn't mean for you to come along when I was in the damn shower!" "You didn't?" Preston affected surprise, an expression that was belied by the glint in his eyes. "I'm sorry. You didn't specify." Halls put a hand up, shading his eyes against the corridor light, squinting at Preston, then he sighed. "Alright. What do you want?" "Mind if I come in?" Preston said, shouldering past him into the apartment. "Make yourself at home," Halls muttered. A peculiar light came into his eyes as he added, "and be careful of the animal; he doesn't take kindly to strangers." A sudden loud snarl followed by a thud and a fluent string of choice expletives which would make a sweeper blush told Halls that Preston had just discovered this fact for himself. The Cleric paused, then shut the door and turned around leisurely. "I tried to tell you," he drawled. "Oh, thankyou very much!" Preston grated from underneath the dog, which was growling at him, lips skinned back to reveal teeth he couldn't help noticing were of exceptional dimensions, even for an animal that size. "Now will you get this thing off me before I shoot it?" A slight smirk appeared on Halls' face and he snapped his fingers. The dog looked up at him as if to say Must I? then sighed and moved away enough to let Preston up. The Cleric got to his feet, glowering at it. "I'm beginning to see why we had orders to destroy those things," he said acerbically. "It's nothing personal," Halls said calmly. "Oh good," Preston retorted, as scathingly as he could manage. "I would hate to think that this animal's attack and subsequent attempts to tear out my throat was anything personal!" "You just alarmed him, that's all." Preston's mouth opened and closed for a few seconds, but no sound came out. Finally he managed: "I alarmed him? What the hell d'you think he did to me??" "You have a dog of your own, Preston. I thought you'd know a little more about them than to go barging in like that." Halls raised an eyebrow. "After all, if a complete stranger suddenly marched into your apartment, you'd have something to say about it, wouldn't you?" For that, Preston had no answer. "So." Halls sat down on a chair, absentmindedly scratching the dog's ears. "What do you want?" "I'm surprised you don't know," Preston said bitingly. "You want my help to go into Old Libria and search for your daughter," Halls said. It wasn't a question. Preston stared; this was a little more knowledge than he'd banked on. "Yes," he said. There was no point denying it. "And to see if you can work out who's behind the Matthews murder." Preston hesitated. Then, "Yes." "And...why do you think I'm going to agree to this madness?" "I've heard you're one of the best." "I am," Halls said matter-of-factly, with no trace of conceit. "But that doesn't make me insane and it doesn't answer my question either. Why should I agree to risk my life for someone I've never even met?" "Your agreement isn't required," Preston said, the barest hint of a threat in his tones. At Halls' feet, the dog stirred slightly, lifting its head enough to glare at the Cleric. The faintest hint of a bass rumble began to emanate from its throat. Preston shifted his gaze to it. He wasn't afraid as such-he knew he could have half a dozen bullets in its head before it even began to spring-but something about it made him hesitate. He hadn't been so effectively rendered helpless since that training incident in the monastery, when he was thirteen years old. And the idea of killing the beast was somehow...repugnant. "Oh yes it is," Halls answered impassively, clearly not worried. "I'm a Cleric, same as you, Preston, and if I decide I don't want any part of this crazy scheme of yours, how are you going to change my mind?" "That's the third different word you've used to mean 'insane'," Preston said, for no better reason than to gain time. "I know," Halls said coldly. "I'm banking on the probability that one of those words is going to actually mean something to you. Do you know what you're suggesting, Preston?" "I wouldn't be here otherwise." Preston narrowed his eyes slightly. "Do you think this is easy for me?" There was a hot, angry silence, Halls still regarding Preston steadily. Without the dark glasses he always wore, his eyes looked to be a peculiar kind of slate grey. They were the kind of eyes you kept looking into, if only to ascertain whether or not they really were that colour, and Preston found he couldn't tear his gaze away. He wished Halls would at least put a light on, or uncover the windows, or...or something. His eyes were adjusting to the semi-gloom of the other Cleric's apartment, but it was still a struggle to make out any details. He also had the annoying feeling that Halls could see, if not perfectly, then a frig of a lot better than he could. "Look," Preston said finally. "Rossiter-for all that he outranks you-is no damn good to me since he doesn't breathe without written permission from whoever he's working with at the time. Richardson...I leave it up to your imagination what Richardson would be like in a combat situation. That only leaves you." "Oh, I see. So I'm the best of a bad lot, is that it?" "Your words, not mine." The two of them glowered at each other. "Look," Preston said again. "I...can't do this on my own. I might have been able to before, sure, but I wasn't the most hunted person in Old Libria back then. I need your help." Halls shrugged. "Okay." Preston blinked. "That's it?" "What do you want me to do? Rent advertising space on a blimp?" "No, I just didn't expect you to agree that suddenly." Halls raised his eyebrows. "I could, of course, change my mind, refuse point blank and force you to waste precious time attempting to persuade me." "I've already wasted too much time," Preston said flatly. "And if you are going to change your mind, do it now and I'll go get Rossiter." "Cleric, I imagine you'd shoot Rossiter in frustration before you got halfway to transport," Halls said lazily. "Alright, Richardson then. He's a Cleric, after all." "I'd team up with DuPont before I teamed up with Richardson," Halls retorted. "Care to explain why?" Preston said icily. "Gladly," Halls said calmly. "He's on Prozium." Preston had prepared himself for a number of possible answers. That wasn't one of them. "Have you lost your mind?" he said flatly. "Well, he's either on Prozium or exceptionally incompetent." Halls pulled out a printout containing two single lines of text. "He gave me this yesterday evening." "I'm very happy for you." Halls sighed. "Just read it, Preston!" Preston glanced at it. "The results from that blood test you had him do. What was the point of that, anyway?" "To find out if Richardson would make an accurate report." Halls smiled slightly. "He didn't." "What makes you so sure?" "The fact that Richardson's passing them both off as O-positive blood group." "And you think they're not." "I know they're not, Preston. Look. This one-" Halls tapped the top line "-is the blood I took from Matthews' apartment. The other..." He shrugged, then turned his other hand over to reveal a deep cut across his palm. Preston stared. "You sliced your own hand open?" "Only for a few drops, it'll heal in time and it's completely irrelevant anyway. I needed the information more than I did the blood. Richardson thinks this is O-positive. It's not. My blood group's K-Zero." "There's no such group," Preston said flatly. "Oh, there is, but it's damn rare. Only about three people in the whole of Libria, myself included, have it." "If it's that rare, then Richardson might not know about it. He's a Cleric, not a medic." "True," Halls said with a shrug. "You know the law about blood donation, though." Preston nodded. "Of course. Half a litre per person per fortnight. Per week if it's a rare blood group. What's that to do with this?" "Everything, I think. I knew Matthews a little; he was in my donor unit. He was AB-negative, if I remember rightly. That's pretty rare too, but not so rare that Richardson couldn't have identified it. At the very least, he'd have known that we had two different blood groups, so why the hell would he put two the same? Not only the same, but one of the commonest groups that even he wouldn't have had any trouble identifying." "Maybe he just wants to save face." "Who are you trying to convince of that, Preston? Me or yourself?" "I find it very hard to believe that Richardson's working for the Tetra Grammaton." "No you don't; you just don't want to believe that I'm not." "If this...unfounded accusation is true," Preston said tightly, "then why haven't you reported it?" "Because it is unfounded, just like your suspicions about me. And I'm not stupid enough to bring a hunch up without any evidence to back it up." "What do you call that, then?" Preston nodded towards the printout. "I call it chickenshit," Halls said succinctly. "This could have been created by anyone with a printer." "Then maybe it's an attempt to discredit Richardson." "An angle I've considered, certainly, but there's nobody except you and I who knew I was after identification." Halls stood abruptly. "I'm telling you, Richardson's dosing." "Where are you going?" Preston demanded, half rising. A smirk appeared on Halls' face. "As you so kindly pointed out, Preston, I'm somewhat 'out of uniform'. I draw the line at leaving my apartment wearing nothing but a towel. I'm going to get dressed." "Oh right." Feeling faintly foolish, Preston sat down again. "So..." he said, more to break the silence than anything, "if Richardson is dosing, there must be proof somewhere. Where's he hiding his Prozium?" Halls' voice drifted out to him. "I don't know. Why don't you go search his apartment? You're good at that." Preston grimaced. Well, he supposed he'd walked into that one. It took another ten minutes before Halls came out in his uniform, complete with dark glasses. "Do you have to wear those?" Preston demanded. "Unless you want me to spend the next two hours throwing up every time I open my eyes, yes," Halls answered implacably. "They're not regulation." "So report me," Halls drawled. "C'mon boy." Preston shot him a startled glance. "I beg your pardon?" "I was talking to Klondike," Halls said, not without some asperity. "You're not taking him!" Preston said incredulously. "It's that or leave him behind. If Alex was still around, I'd consider it, but then, if Alex was still around, it's a fair bet you'd be trying to rope him into this instead of me." Preston hesitated, then gave in. "Alright. Fine. Bring the animal. But at least get rid of those damn glasses! I thought you said you had some contacts." "Correct. I also said they irritated my retinas, so again, unless you want me stopping every five minutes to rub my eyes, it's this or nothing." Halls spread his hands out to the side mockingly. "Your choice, Preston." Preston narrowed his eyes. "But choose quickly," Halls added. "I don't think we have much time." There was a hot, angry silence. Finally Preston said, "Come on, then. I suppose it'll have to do." "You're too kind," Halls said lazily. "Really." "Are you armed?" "Now what kind of question's that to ask a Cleric?" Preston narrowed his eyes slightly. Damn the man! There was something about Halls that seemed to wrong-foot him at every opportunity. Maybe it was because he didn't trust him as far as he could throw him. "Never mind," he said curtly. "Let's go." "Are you planning on us walking there?" Halls demanded, an hour and a half later. "No," Preston said bitingly. "I thought we'd hijack a blimp." "Uh huh. Well, in that case, you have fun, Preston." "Where are you going?" Preston demanded, as the other Cleric turned. "To call in a favour. You may want to walk, but I'd like to arrive in good time and not so shagged out I can barely stand, if it's all the same to you." "That's not answering my question." Halls turned back, irritation plain on his face. "Fine. I saved this guy's ass back before you even joined the Resistance. His name's Alvaro Rodriguez, he's an ex-sweeper and he owes me his life, so I'm going to cash in. You can handle a motorcycle, right?" "Of course," Preston said flatly. Clerics, like everyone affiliated with the Tetra Grammaton, were instructed in the use of most road vehicles. "Good." Halls spun on his heel and walked off down the corridor, Klondike trotting beside him. Preston hesitated, then told himself what the hell and started to follow. "Cleric," someone said. Preston stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, it's you." "Yeah, it's me," Rossiter said, stepping out of the shadows. "I wanted to ask you something." "Ask. Quickly. I'm in something of a rush." "Do you find anything…unusual about Cleric Halls?" "You mean besides the whole photosensitive eyesight thing?" Preston said, not without some sarcasm. "You saw what was on the wall in the Archives." Preston hesitated, then shrugged. It couldn't hurt to play along, and if Rossiter had some snippet of information that could get Halls effectively removed from New Libria, Preston wanted it. "The duty roster for the week," he said. "That's how Halls knew what Robbie was supposed to be doing. He read it." "Yes, and don't you find that odd? That Halls can read a sign from across a brightly lit room when he claims his eyes work better in darkness, yet he failed to notice the blood in a corridor with half the bulbs blown out?" Preston considered. It did seem a little strange, now he stopped to think about it, but he was damned if he was going to let Rossiter know that. "Yeah? So?" Rossiter held up his hands placatingly. "Nothing. I just thought I'd point it out. It's been worrying me for some time." He lowered his voice slightly. "And if I'm not mistaken, you don't like that man any more than I do." "No, you're mistaken," Preston informed him, the statement making up for in conviction what it lacked in honesty. Rossiter appeared somewhat doubtful, but wasn't stupid enough to argue. "If you say so, Cleric." Preston nodded abruptly, then turned and walked off. "What kept you?" Halls said. He was knelt down by a heavily built motorcycle, the kind favoured by sweepers. "I was stopping someone attempting to shoot you." "Oh, you shouldn't have," Halls said mockingly. "But thanks." "Don't mention it," Preston said tightly. "Ever." Halls glanced up, a smirk on his face. "Understood. And you're just in time." He nodded to a heavy-set man standing by the bike. "Thanks Al. This looks perfect." "We're quits now, right?" the man called Al answered. "Absolutely," Halls assured him as he swung his leg over and started the engine. "And I never saw you." "Understood," Halls said again, as Preston took hold of another bike. "Are we going to ride or talk?" he said. Halls spread his hands to the side. "Up to you, Cleric." Preston narrowed his eyes, then abruptly opened the throttle and roared off. Some four hours later, the pair of them drew to a halt. The Tetra Grammaton was just ahead of them, a few streets over. Neither of them could be seen from their current location, yet it gave both Clerics a commanding view of the building. "Could you go any slower?" Preston demanded. "I happen to have a dog with me who, multi-talented as he is for his kind, cannot run at ninety miles an hour," Halls answered with icy sarcasm. "This was a mistake," Preston muttered. "Amen to that." Halls started to turn around, but Preston caught hold of his arm. "Hold it right there," he said. "If I'm going in, I'm taking you with me." He glanced down. "And your dog too." There was a silence, broken only by Klondike's feverish lapping at a nearby puddle. "So what were you planning on doing?" Halls said eventually. "Well, I thought we could go up and knock on the door and ask politely if anyone has any idea who might be a murderer in this place and if they've seen Lisa," Preston answered, with a lot more sarcasm than coherence. If he was honest, all his energies had been focused on reaching the Tetra Grammaton. What was going to happen afterwards wasn't something he'd really dwelt on. "…Yeah," Halls answered. "Or I tell you what. Why don't we use a piece of wire, two bits of plastic and a bolt of lightning to phone up the Vice-Council and ask if he wants to buy a pair of slightly used motorbikes in exchange for answering a couple of questions? Because that has about as much chance of working as your plan and it's just that little bit safer." Preston frowned. "Who is the main Vice-Council now DuPont's gone?" "Last I heard, a guy called Hagon," Halls answered dismissively. "What's that to do with this?" "Hm? Oh, nothing really; I was just curious." Preston hesitated, then sighed. "Alright." "What?" "Out with it," Preston said heavily. "I know you've got some kind of idea, and short of blasting our way in and out, I'm dry." "Simple." Halls held up a keycard of the sort used by Clerics to gain access to the Tetra Grammaton. Preston stared at it. "Where—" "Not all Clerics in New Libria are on the Tetra Grammaton's most wanted list," Halls said with a smirk. "I check in here from time to time, keep an eye on things, report any problems." "You're a spy." Halls affected a hurt expression. "Preston! Please! I prefer the term 'information dealer'. We can sneak in the back way." Preston struggled inwardly with himself for a few seconds, then gave up. If this was even going to have half a chance of success, stealth was more important than bravado. "Where does this go in?" he said. "Don't you know?" "Funnily enough, I never thought I'd have to break into the Tetra Grammaton," Preston said in arid tones. "I graduated from the monastery, I was assigned my first partner and it went from there." "Uh huh." Halls glanced around rapidly, then, satisfied there was nobody around, moved forward. "Well, now you're going back to the monastery, Cleric. This is the back door, if you like. Very few people ever use it." He stepped up to a small door, held his keycard up to the scanner that was built into the wall beside it and smirked slightly as the door clicked open, revealing... "The laundry room, Halls?" Preston said bitingly. "We have to start somewhere." Halls started to step out into the corridor, but Preston grabbed him and yanked him back. "Are you insane? There might be someone out there!" "There might easily be," Halls answered, clearly unperturbed, "but we're Clerics." "We're sense offenders," Preston corrected him in an undertone. "The cadets probably don't know that." Halls shook Preston's hand off and stepped out. Preston hesitated, then shook his head and followed. "Damn you," Halls heard him mutter. "You have no idea how often I hear that," he drawled. "Quiet!" "Oh, very witty, Preston. What next? You going to-" "I'm serious!" Preston clamped a gloved hand over Halls' mouth. "I can hear footsteps." Halls jammed a knuckle onto the back of Preston's hand and with a wince and muffled expletive, the Cleric let go. "Patrol," he said. "Follow me." Halls shrugged and did so, ducking after Preston through a plain metal door. Patrols in the monastery were all too frequent; more to guard semi-trained cadets from Resistance fighters who might decide to reduce the number of future Clerics than anything. "Nice one, Preston," Halls said as soon as the sound of footsteps had passed and died away into the distance. He looked around. "Now what?" Preston was too busy studying the room to answer. The two of them had ended up in one of the cadet dormitories. Mattresses-no blankets or pillows-were arranged with mathematical precision on the bare floor. There were no windows. The only light came from a single lightbulb in the ceiling, which illuminated posters of various Gun-Kata stances. "God, this takes me back," Halls muttered. "Baking in summer, freezing in winter and lucky to get more than six hours sleep a night." Preston stared at him. "You were raised in the monastery?" A twisted smile appeared on Halls' face. "My parents were arrested and processed for sense offence when I was three years old, Cleric. Since my training had already begun, there was really only one place I could go to." You too, Preston thought. Aloud he said, "You had no other relatives?" "None that I know of. No…wait…I think I had an aunt. Then again, they burned her not six months later." Halls shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I don't really remember much about any of them. Why do you ask?" "No reason," Preston said evasively. "I was just—" The door to the dormitory opened suddenly, revealing four or five cadets standing there. Halls, who had had his guns tucked away for most of the previous dialogue, snapped them out. Preston started to follow suit, then hesitated. Killing Sweepers and Clerics was one thing, a necessary evil. But kids…no. No way. There was a slight pause. "What are you doing?" the oldest said. He looked to be about thirteen, and the unofficial leader of the group. "Routine inspection," Preston said. The cadet looked at Klondike, who was standing rigid at Halls' side. "That animal is not regulation," he said shortly. "Nor are those glasses." "Special dispensation," Halls said shortly, one of his guns now pointing directly at the boy's face. "Medical reasons. Now stand aside, cadet." "Your partner is feeling." "He's not my partner," Halls and Preston said simultaneously, the latter wondering why the youth had picked up on his offence and not Halls'. Unless... ...unless Halls was on the dose. This could quite easily be nothing more than a huge set-up. After the incident with Brandt, Preston was exceedingly suspicious of such things. The Cleric began to wonder if he might not have made a very serious mistake. "You arrested him?" "Yeah," Halls said. "Him and his dog." "Then you can put the animal down here. There's no need to bring it further inside." "I have my orders," Halls said flatly, "and they included bringing this animal in alive." "I'm countermanding your orders. Do it." "Who are you?" Preston said, not able to keep the incredulity out of his tones. Cadets ordering sweepers around, yes, that was fine, but no cadet would ever dream of attempting to give orders to a full-fledged Grammaton Cleric. "We're Clerics," another answered. Preston shook his head. The whole thing would almost have been insulting if it wasn't so damn pathetic. "You're Clerics?" he echoed, then glanced at Halls. "D'you believe them?" Halls scratched his cheek thoughtfully, pretending to consider. "I see no reason why they shouldn't be," he said, playing along. "Well, there's an easy enough way to find out," Preston answered, his voice and manner relaxed. "All Clerics are masters of the Gun-Kata, aren't they? So all we need to do is open fire on them, and the ones that are still alive at the end are Clerics." Halls nodded, then let his gaze travel over the five, sizing them up. Or at least, that's what Preston thought he was doing. It was so damn hard to tell with those glasses! "I like it," he said, coolly approving, then cocked an eyebrow at Preston. "Do you want to do the honours, Cleric, or shall I?" "You can. I'll watch." Preston made a show of settling himself comfortably. Halls had got as far as snapping the safety catches off his guns and starting to raise them before the group scattered. He turned to Preston. "Well, that was easy enough." "Too easy," Preston said flatly. "Come on." Halls hesitated. "Now what?" Preston said sharply. The younger Cleric shook his head. "You're right. It was too easy. I don't like it." "Seeing shadows now, are you?" Preston shook his head. "Dammit, Halls, move! How long do you think we have before they tip someone off?" "That may not be of any concern," Halls answered composedly. "They may not recognise me, even if they know you." Preston stopped, closing his eyes, fighting to hold onto his temper. "How many Clerics with sunglasses and a large dog do you see on a daily basis in this place?" he asked, with biting sarcasm. "Ah." Halls grimaced. "Good point." He hesitated. "This doesn't feel right. It could be a trap." "Quite possibly. However, unlike that group back there, we happen to be fully graduated Clerics," Preston reminded him tersely. "Roughly speaking, Halls, what do you think the odds are of us being captured like a pair of raw cadets?" There was a whirr of hydraulics and suddenly, in front and behind them, the vast double doors shot across into place, effectively trapping the two Clerics. Halls, his guns already in his hands, shot a quick look at Preston. "Getting better all the time, I'd say." Chapter 7 >>> more Equilibrium Fan Fiction