“No problem. Take it away, fearless leader,” Letho said with a mock salute.
What’s his problem? He’s too jittery. Maybe upset about Zedock?
Just then Maka tackled Letho from behind, lifting him off his feet and pinning his arms to his sides with his massive arms.
“Put me down, you big lug!” Letho shouted. He could have freed himself, but he allowed Maka to hold him for a bit longer. At last the Tarsi put him down and Letho turned to face him.
“You be careful out there, Maka. Don’t be a hero. Come back alive. You, Bayorn, and I will have many stories to tell to the Tarsi when this is over.”
“Indeed,” Maka replied. “Be careful yourself, Letho. Today we fight in Zedock’s good name.”
“You’re damn right,” Letho said.
By this time, all those willing and capable of fighting had gathered, and all of the land and air vehicles, the few that they had, were lined up, ready to go. Saul hopped on top of his razorback and shouted to address the gathering of Eursans and Tarsi.
“All right folks, listen up,” he began. “We’ve been waiting for this for a long time, and I know y’all are probably feeling real uncertain about what’s gonna happen. That’s okay. Just remember that we each have a job to do. I want you to think about all the innocent folks in Haven. Everything you do today, every choice you make, must be to accomplish one goaclass="underline" ensuring those folks’ continued safety. Today we fight so that they can live without the constant fear that Abraxas is gonna come knockin’ down their door. Keep your head on a swivel, watch your buddy’s back, and we’ll get through this. Y’all hear me?”
A raucous chorus of shouting and fist-pumping permeated the air in the tin-can tunnel as people began to disperse, boarding ships and climbing inside armored trucks.
Letho and his crew took their places in the razorback. Gear was checked one last time; rounds were slammed into chambers with thick, satisfying metal-on-metal clacks. Letho placed his hand on the butt of his .50 caliber and closed his eyes for a moment. He thought about the citizens of his Fulcrum station, of his father. He thought of the innocent folks who had died in Alastor’s ship. His blood boiled, and adrenaline surged through his veins like molten steel. He felt like he could move the earth itself with his bare hands.
A cool hand enclosed his; a vision of Thresha had joined him in the razorback. She had connected to his mind again, across the vast space between them.
“Be careful, Letho.”
“I will. I love you,” he said.
She did not reply in kind.
“Please, I need to hear you say it,” he said.
“I—” she stammered, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“I love you too, Letho,” Johnny said, laughing.
Letho opened his eyes, suddenly all too aware of his surroundings. Johnny was looking at him as if he had lobsters coming out of his ears.
“Who are you talking to, anyways?” Johnny asked.
“Never mind, “ Letho replied, his face flushing.
The razorback rumbled to life, and Saul floored the gas pedal. The tires spun, struggling for purchase on the dust-caked steel floor of the tunnel. And then they sped off toward an unknown fate, the razorback’s halogens struggling to keep the shadows at bay.
****
Adum tapped the ring of ash off the end of his cigarillo. He enjoyed one last deep drag, feeling the oily smoke fill him with a brief respite from the drudgery of old Hastrom City. The inner workings of his mind were not elegant enough to put such a feeling into words, but he knew it when he felt it: when he stepped off the assembly line after a grueling day of work; when he lay with his wife; when his eleven-year-old son was able to scratch his first and last initial into the dirt floor of their hovel on the outskirts of town.
Adum gathered up his trade tools and began the long walk home. The biting chill of encroaching winter seared his aching bones, and the threadbare jacket he wore did little to help. He sidestepped a trash pile, then almost tripped on a thin leg that extended from it. The trash pile shuddered, and a head peeked out from beneath a tattered newspaper. A string of expletives sputtered from a mouth full of jagged black points that were once teeth. Adum only grunted and continued his trudge through the muck and mire, muttering to himself about drugged-out waste-oids.
He passed a boarded-up shop that had once been a grocery. He thought of how convenient it would be to go to such a place and purchase anything one might need, instead of haggling with the Mendraga overseers at the dispensary for items not on the approved necessity list. He imagined well-lit rows of goods with colorful labels, up for grabs for anyone with the credit. Like he had seen in a picture book once.
In front of the store’s entrance was a pile of mutant carcasses that someone had lit on fire. He thought about stepping toward the flames to warm himself, but damn did those things stink to high hell when you burned them. They were coming up through the sewer system more and more often, only to be put down by the Mendraga overseers. He had no idea why they came. Maybe they were hungry; seems like everyone was these days. Lots of mouths to feed, and not a whole lot of industrial food paste to go around.
As he continued his walk he passed a group of fellow tradesmen and a few Tarsi on a street corner. He issued a curt wave, but hoped to hurry past them. They nodded and beckoned him over. One of them had smarts, like him; Adum could tell because he used so many words. The way the man’s voice rose and fell from soft thunder to tumult mesmerized Adum, and against his better judgement he felt himself turning toward the gathering of workers.
The talking man was cleaner and better dressed than the men around him. His features were softer, yet still pronounced and hard-carved like his comrades’ in the working caste. It was his eyes that were different, striking. To Adum, they seemed to shine like polished metal. He wondered why he had not met this man before, who seemed so much like himself.
Adum knew that gatherings of more than a few people were forbidden, but still he could not turn away. A cheer was rising up from the Tarsi and the hammerheads. They were raising their fists in the air, pumping them in unison. Adum looked down at his own fists, the backs crested with coarse black hair, and found that they were clenched. He raised his own fist in the air and began to shout. The working men began to stomp and clap their hands together.
Then a low-pitched roar pierced the air, and the men froze. Their eyes rolled in fear and all display of bravado dissipated; in some cases it ran down their legs and puddled at their feet.
“Mendraga!”
Three roaring hoverbikes spun around the corner of the block, bearing down on the gathering of workers. Riding these great chrome and steel beasts were Mendraga overseers.
The overseers began to shout in their slippery, quick-tongued speak. The leader of the three dismounted and sauntered over to the gathering of terrified souls, brandishing one of the weapons that spit fire. He spoke to the smart one, and once again Adum found himself frustrated by his inability to understand all of the words they said.
But he knew that the overseer was berating the smart man. Impressively, the man who was standing his ground, giving as much as he was receiving. Adum looked over at the other two overseers. They were laughing; one was showing the other something on the little televisions they carried in their hands, completely oblivious to the kinetic crackle that was rising in the air.
The overseers and the smart man that was so like Adum continued to argue. Then, without warning, the overseer raised his metal stick and blew the smart man’s head off.
Immediately, a change came over the workers. The fear slipped from their eyes, and was replaced with rage—the kind that allowed a person to forget the idea of self enough to perform mighty feats in the name of his fellow man. The deferential downward tilt of their brows was gone as well; in its place they presented forward-jutting chins and set jaws. Adum saw one of the men in the back pick up a fist-sized rock from the ground.