The Mercenaries’ Tale – 2.03 Clandestine Meetings
Doug and Blaise don’t even need to know, reasoned Gratin as he hovered over the rooftops, peering occasionally into the streets below to find his bearings. The untrained acolytes of the Galactic Finders had been fairly active in their hunt for Gratin in Galmanoc, but he’d quickly noted that they weren’t posting men up on the rooftops. As long as he didn’t levitate over the middle of the street and drew attention to himself, he doubted that anyone would take much notice. It’s not surprising how little people look directly upwards while trying to push through a crowd.
The fact that they had known that he had not only arrived in Galmanoc but would be staying here for a prolonged amount of time was worrying. It had been a long time since he had last ran into a member of the monastery so for them to turn up out of the blue like this was alarming. He was in need of answers and so had once again ventured out on his own to find them.
The only activity up on the roofs were from cats, children and the occasional Official City Guardsman, all of which regarded him with apathy, awe and mild confusion as to the trespassing laws in that specific order1 That’s not true in all cases, there was at least one imaginative child who had been completely indifferent to Gratin floating by and at least one cat that had purred and meowed in its own attempt to inquire as to exactly where the law stood on people standing above one’s building without actually touching it, and whether a fine of fresh tuna would make for adequate compensation. In the latter case, it had found its legal quandaries satisfied by a tickle under the chin from Gratin. That’s not true in all cases, there was at least one imaginative child who had been completely indifferent to Gratin floating by and at least one cat that had purred and meowed in its own attempt to inquire as to exactly where the law stood on people standing above one’s building without actually touching it, and whether a fine of fresh tuna would make for adequate compensation. In the latter case, it had found its legal quandaries satisfied by a tickle under the chin from Gratin.. Gratin waved at a pair of giggling children running across the roofs as he flew by. In his excitement, one of the children lost his footing on the tiles and slipped, prompting Gratin to swoop in, grab the kid by the scruff of his clothes and deposit it back on a flatter spot of roof.
“Be more careful,” he warned, patting the kid on the head,” I probably won’t be here to fly in and save you next time.” The pair thanked him and ran off away back over the roofs towards a balcony, presumably home. Gratin smiled and continued his relaxed float over the city.
He promptly arrived at his destination and took up position behind a large air duct, peering out from behind and down into the square below. He waited there for a few minutes and watched the people below milling around, a great flowing waterway made of people. A peopleway, if you will.
Gratin was lurking on a roof overlooking Galmanoc’s mage quarter once more. He had kept coming back whenever he had a moment alone to try and spy the men in the bomber jackets again, their appearances fleeting. They were looking for any signs of him and his friends, he was sure, as he occasionally spied them patrolling areas he and his friends would be likely to frequent such as the market and various gun shops.
There were also, a number of acolytes staying in the Tserulian hostel next to the Elementist temple. They could be seen around the markets or heading to the lunchtime mass for prayer. As time progressed and the Bomberjacket Men sightings became more elusive, Gratin had slowly lost interest in the Bomberjacket Men and had instead turned his attention onto the student mages. He stood by as they loitered about, trying to eavesdrop on their conversations in a bid to learn if they had discovered the location of his friends or to gauge how much danger their little group was in. There was no mention of Abaddon, or if any of the other Finders had been sent after him. Most of the gossip the acolytes talked of focused on the search for a scientist a different pair of Finders were engaged in. There was a betting pool on how long the scientist would stay on the run for before the Finders caught up with him.
***
It had taken just over an hour, but between them the market stall mechanic and Doug had managed to jolt the mangled arm back to life. Some work involving a spare and completely incompatible bionic arm, a hacksaw, some beers, a blowtorch, a heavy mallet, a screwdriver, a heavier mallet, another different broken robot arm and finally a sledgehammer had taken place, and the arm now sat amongst the debris of DIY mechanics. Some onlookers had gathered to watch them work, mostly out of boredom.
“It’s beautiful,” said Doug, pretending to wipe away a tear. The mechanic in the deerstalker just shrugged.
“It’ll do ya, but I’d keep a look out for a replacement. I reckon the bodge job’ll keep it going for another few months yet.”
“A glowing endorsement of a guarantee,” replied Doug. “What’s the damage?”
“Considerin’ you did half the work, I’ll just charge you for the parts mate. Make it 45Krz and leave me the bits left over and we’ll call it quits,” said the mechanic, wiping the oil off of his hands with a damp cloth and dabbing pointlessly at some of the black patches on his jacket. Doug made a great show of one-handedly fishing the money out of his wallet (which he noted was getting emptier by the day) and slapped the notes into the man’s palm in a handshake.
“Much appreciated, squire,” said Doug.
“Any time, thanks for the business. You’d better try it on for size, make sure it’s working ‘fore you toddle off.”
Doug enthusiastically unwrapped his stump and leaned in towards the arm laying on the stall, the remains of his limb poised over the shoulder piece of the arm and the connection rods concealed within. Carefully, he slid the rods into the corresponding holes embedded within the flesh of his truncated appendage. He grinned as there were several audible mechanical snaps and crackles as the arm made its connections with his body. He could feel the arm now, insofar as he could register the sensation of a new set of fingers. It was like a phantom limb manifesting itself even stronger. He gave the fingers a try, and found them all clacking responsively as he waggled them.
Hefting it up off of the table, he gave the arm a few warm-up rotations. Up, down, left, right, all working fine. The forearm made a bit of a whine as it span 360 degrees around, but then it had never been perfect when he first acquired it.
“Looking good,” said the mechanic.
“It’ll do. Couldn’t let it go, I’m a bit attached to it,” punned Doug with a cheerful laugh. “Cheers!”
He strolled off, content with his appendage. They’d even welded on some extra armour plating and replaced his three digit hand with a five digit hand. It just felt more natural and he didn’t mind the fact that the arm now looked like Frankenstein’s weekend project; it had a lot more character now. More surprises had been added too. Love to see that Fucked-Up-Faced-Arsehole handle this baby now, Doug thought to himself, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
Food, an arm and a shortage of cash, he was feeling more like himself by the minute.
It dawned on Doug that he’d been so busy with his arm that he’d forgotten all about Blaise, who hadn’t shown her face for the entire hour. He couldn’t see her distinctive red hair or broad hat anywhere in the crowds, so he figured he’d just wander around a few nearby streets until either he found her or he found something else to do.
It transpired that something else found him before he found Blaise.
A sharp tap on his shoulder caused him to glimpse behind him, into the impish face of Harper. She grinned at him, showing teeth.
“I thought I saw you back there! Fancy that!”
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
The Monkey’s Jewel was a lesser known establishment tucked away down a side street. It was a ramshackle place, any paint left on the woodwork was cracked and peeling, the windows were caked in fine dust kicked up from the street and letters were missing from the sign above the door, so the name actually read “Mokey’s Jeel”.
Blaise stared at it for a good ten minutes from the shade of a shop front down the street, wringing her hands as she observed the patrons coming and going. Her mind was cast back to a couple of weeks ago, to when they had first arrived in Galmanoc…
“What is our plan now?” the question came from Gratin as he and Blaise carried the unconscious Doug through the busy streets of Galmanoc. The two gangsters were long gone, Benny and Burt having left to call their friends back home and find transport to the City of Light just as they had planned to do.
“We need somewhere to lay low and Doug needs medical attention. We can’t go to a hospital though – we’re not exactly friendly with the law – and most places with rooms to rent are probably going to ask awkward questions…” she trailed off, a frown set into her features as she tried to think of ways to fix their problems. Gratin lowered his head solemnly.
“You are worried about pursuers?” he hazard, referencing Abaddon and his acolytes. It was clear he felt somewhat guilty for bringing danger to his friends, even if it were inadvertently.
“We don’t know how your buddies back on the cruise ship found us. I don’t want us risking another attack with Doug in his current state…” she glanced down at the unconscious form of Doug, his head limply swinging from side to side as they walked, drool running down his chin. Blaise tried to shift his weight across her shoulders to better distribute it. Benny had been right; Doug was heavy and his bulky bionics weren’t helping. Doug had never taken to civilian cybernetics, carbon fibre limbs not packing anywhere near as much of a punch as the ones he had cobbled together from old robot parts. His combat arm might have lacked dexterity but it certainly could dish out damage. Unfortunately, it was currently 50 pounds of dead metal and the only function it was capable of serving was to give Gratin better leverage to aid in transporting Doug. It was currently glowing green, Gratin using his powers to help ease the burden on his shoulders.
“I believe dragging a clearly injured man through the streets may be drawing attention to us,” Gratin pointed out. He was right of course, several groups occupying the busy streets having stopped to stare at them. Blaise was at a loss as to what to do though. It had been a long time since she had last stepped foot in Galmanoc and she wasn’t too sure where the best place to stay would be other than what was known as the “Old Quarter”. The Old Quarter covered most of the highest section of the outcrop of rock the city was built on, which covered a good five miles of land. Simply saying “oh, we’ll stick to the Old Quarter” wasn’t particularly helpful.
She didn’t get much further with narrowing it down as a voice sent her train of thought straight off the tracks.
“Well, well, well! If it ain’t Katie O’Donnell as ah live and breathe!” a thick Texan drawl announced. Blaise’s usually somewhat ruddy complexion drained of all colour as the stranger spoke, Gratin becoming aware of his friend’s sudden change of mood.
A well manicured hand clasped itself onto Blaise’s arm, Blaise’s eye line following the arm it was attached to up to a pretty face caked in make-up and surrounded by blonde curls. Recognition dawned, Blaise swallowing hard.
“A-Annie? What are you-? Why are you here?!” the red head came to an abrupt halt forcing Gratin to follow suit. He stared between the two women, confused. Annie beamed at Blaise with a 100watt smile, clearly not put off by Blaise’s demeanour which was projecting an air of panic. Instead, Annie’s other arm snaked itself around Blaise’s waist to give her an awkward side hug, her head coming to rest next to the red head’s.
“Same reason as you ah believe! Ah thought ah spied you at that meeting back in the City! Ah was so hoping me and the boys would run inta you!”
“Th-the boys?” Blaise stammered before spotting said boys hanging back a little ways behind the blonde woman. There were three of them; a big man covered in scars and wearing a tattered lab coat; a lanky man clad in black and shades of very dark grey – an item of which included a black fishing vest – and was carrying a large case; and finally a skinny man wearing a snide expression with a black cigarette hanging from his mouth. The last man sidled up to Annie and embraced her from behind, casting his eyes over the trio of mercenaries in front of them.
“Youse seem to be in a spot of bother. Need a hand?” He asked. His voice had a greasy feel to it that made Blaise’s skin crawl. It was the kind of voice you would expect a used car salesman to employ when trying to sell a battered old car up on blocks for the price of a brand new Ferrari.
She recognised the other members of Annie’s group. The big bald man was Tupper; a mad bomber and general explosive fanatic that had the temperament of a hyperactive ten-year-old. The lanky man was Parkinson; sniper by trade who generally looked like he’d be more comfortable if he could watch you through his weapon of choice’s scope several miles away. The thin bloke was new and Blaise eyed him suspiciously, something Annie noticed quickly.
“This here is mah fiancé. He joined our squad fairly recently,”
“They call me “the Gentleman”,” he offered a hand to shake, Blaise ignoring it.
“What happened to Jamerson?” she asked.
“Sadly he’s no longer with us,” Annie replied.
“Bad case of food poisoning,” added the Gentleman.
“Shame, I liked Jamerson,” Blaise stated bluntly, eyes narrowed. If she had hoped to be intimidating, it failed as the Gentleman merely laughed at her.
“You were right, she is stand-offish!”
“You don’t know the half of it, Sugar. For Katie, this is down-right pleasant!” a grunt from Gratin’s direction indicated he was becoming uncomfortable with the current situation. He could sense his compatriot’s mood, his empathic senses having them manifest to him like a dark storm cloud beginning to engulf his friend. It was more than a little worrying.
“Who are these people and why are they referring to you as that?” he asked.
“Sorry Gratin, this is Annie. She’s an old… acquaintance.”
“Just an acquaintance? Ah’m hurt!” the Southern Belle feigned being offended, finally removing a hand from Blaise’s person to clutch at her chest. She couldn’t hold the expression though, laughing at Blaise’s increasingly sour mood.
“Make that an old friend who’d quite like a word. Private-like,” The Gentleman interjected, smiling a well-oiled smile. Blaise glanced at the other two boys, Parkinson having moved his fishing vest aside just enough to show the pistol holstered within. Blaise’s expression darkened further.
“Do I have a choice?” asked the red head. Annie continued to laugh.
“’Course ya gotta choice! We just want a friendly chin-wag is all! What’s the matter, don’t ya trust ya old pals no more?” Blaise sighed heavily in defeat and turned to address Gratin.
“I’ll try not to be long. Can you watch Doug?” The mage surveyed his friend, taking in the bad mood that was engulfing her psyche and merely nodded. Blaise stepped away from her friends and found herself being steered into a nearby alley by the Southern Belle and her mates.
Once around the corner, Parkinson climbed a nearby fire escape so he could act as a lookout and Tupper stayed at the mouth of the alley to prevent anyone from wandering down it. Blaise was now alone with Annie and “The Gentleman”.
“What do you want, Annie?” Blaise was in no mood to beat about the bush and her posture reflected that, her arms folded across her chest and a glare was present on her face. Annie raised her hands defensively.
“Hold up there, Kate, ah’m just being friendly! Ah just wanted to check up with you! Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of you since ya disappeared three years ago!”
“You could have checked up with me in front of Gratin,” Blaise pointed out.
“Maybe, but it doesn’t take a detective to work out your little pals ain’t aware of your past,” The Gentleman was the one to respond, casually taking a drag from his cigarette as he took to leaning against a skip. “I’ve read up on you, Katie, and I know full well you shouldn’t be within spitting distance of this place, let alone doing a job for Salmanic of all people. I’m guessing Dougie-boy dragged your ass out here,” Blaise raised a brow suspiciously.
“What do you know about Doug?”she asked, the Gentleman merely shrugging.
“Like I said, I read up on you. Your pal too. That bitch Lucretia read the most interesting bits of his profile out at the meet, there weren’t much more to learn outside of it. Didn’t know about the robed guy though, he a mage?”
“What’s it to you?”
“That kinda depends really on how helpful you’re gonna be to us. I notice Dougie’s feeling a bit under the weather, there much of a story there?”
“Not one I’m going to tell you. Why are you here? New Dawn 2doesn’t normally send its operatives out to do its enemies dirty work for them…”
“We’re here to make friends and kick ass!” announced Annie proudly, “Or rather, let the bad guys think we’re friendly sorts, then see what kind of damage we can do from the inside,” she winked. This didn’t sit well with Blaise.
“Really? And they sent your squad in for this infiltration job? You guys?”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Ah’ll have you know we’re just as talented as your old squad! We might not’ve earned as much applause over the years as your lot but we have just as many successes!” argued the Southern Belle.
“I wasn’t saying you lot aren’t good at what you do, you’re just suited to a different kind of work. My old squad was tailored to sneaky, backhanded infiltration work. You guys were always a lot…louder. I mean, just look at the Peterson job!”
“What about the Peterson job? We got it done! We escorted the informant to the safe house!”
“You turned him into a quadriplegic!”
“Well if he couldn’t use his hands responsibly then he didn’t deserve to have them, now did he?” Blaise rubbed her face in annoyance.
“Annie…”
“’Sides, what business is it of yours who gets which job? You left! You ran out on all your friends! They were like family to you! Al was devastated!”
“Don’t you bring Alex into this, he knew why I left. They all did. I gave them the chance to come with me and they threw it back in my face.”
“Vince threw it back in your face, Al would’ve followed you to the end of the gods damn universe! You were the little sister he never had!”
“Then why didn’t he?” Blaise stated coldly. Annie sighed and shook her head, turning back to her fiancé and settling down next to him on his leaning spot.
“That’s a conversation to have with him, ah’m just the disgruntled ex that had to pick up the pieces,” she stated sourly. The Gentleman glanced between the two women and cleared his throat.
“You know, it’s kinda interesting that you’re all up in arms over our deployment when the Commander that sent us out here was your other ex-bestie…” this caught Blaise’s attention.
“What? Miho’s your boss now? Miho Tanaka? Our hacker Miho who preferred partying to doing anything even remotely considered responsible? That Miho?”
“Yeah, curious ain’t it? The woman who used to put the rebel in rebellion got so inspired by her best friend runnin’ off that she went and buckled down, becoming the commander of the biggest and arguably most important cell in the whole organisation. I hear Vinnie was pissed, he only managed to get put in charge of some back-water dump down South somewhere. Whatever you found three years ago musta really been something to shake everything up so much. Care to share?”
“…I’m not about to put myself on New Dawn’s radar by spilling all their secrets. Especially as I’m not sure if you’re loyal to the cause or the ruling Council…”
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes, a big one,”
“Well ain’t that mysterious. Guess it’s like you said, you lot were tailor made to be all secretive and back-handed,” The Gentleman laughed, causing Blaise to glare at him. He ignored her.
“Anyway, as nice as it’s been shooting the breeze with you, I think we better get to talking shop. I see McCracken’s in a bad way, you got a way of helping him? Or even a place to set up as a base of operations…?”
“…We’ve literally just arrived. We haven’t had a chance to scope out the lay of the land yet…” The Gentleman nodded and scratched his chin as he contemplated this.
“We can get you in contact with our liaison. See if he can’t get you hooked up with what you’re in need of,” he offered.
“What’s the catch? I’m not rejoining New Dawn-”
“Don’t be getting all hasty with the speeches, doll. I know you got that grudge going on but ya gotta think about it, right? Doug’s got a rap sheet about as long as my arm and you? You used to be a damn terrorist! Respectable people ain’t gonna touch you with a barge pole! Even with your new identity – Blaise was it? It won’t take alotta diggin’ to find out the truth about you, lady, and it ain’t rosy, capiche?”
“So what do you want for this generosity?”
“Hey, you don’t have ta be so suspicious all the time! We’re just trying to help!” He raised his hands defensively.
“Dougie probably won’t get the help he needs without us, sugah. Our liaison- a guy by the name of Manford – is pretty darn knowledgable about the area and he can get just about anything we ask for. He’s got contacts all over the city!”
“All we ask for is that you scratch our back in return. You come across any juicy info on the people we’re all here to kill, you share it with us,”
“You get a tip off on where they might appear, you invite us along,”
“If we need a bit of extra man power, you step up to the plate,”
“We ain’t asking you to sign back up, just that you give aid for aid,”
“I’m sure Dougie-boy’ll appreciate knowing you did your best ta look after his dumb ass,” the couple flashed her a smile like they were sharing a joke.
“’Course telling him who we are is off the table. He ain’t a member and lets face it, the PSF and New Dawn ain’t always seen eye ta eye. Heck, you yourself have helped to pinch valuable intel right outta the PSF’s hands and you’ve hurt plenty a people doin’ it to boot! Who knows how he’s gonna react when he finds out who you really are!”
“Though sayin’ that, he is a pissed off veteran who’s no-doubt been shafted by the powers that be just like all the others so maybe he’ll be sympathetic and wanna join up?” interjected Annie as she put her arms around her partner. The Gentleman responded by embracing her and chuckling.
“Maybe! But I know those PSF fly-boys are all one big happy family. It don’t matter if he quit, those idiots all stick together no matter what. ’S all one big fraternity of brothers. I wouldn’t tell Doug a thing if I was in your shoes, lady,” he laughed again.
“But take our offer seriously all the same, Sugar. Doug’s good health might just depend on it!”
“…I’ll think about it,” Blaise reluctantly said. This seemed to appease them, the couple stepping away from their leaning spot.
“You do that. We’ll be in touch ta hear what you decided. Nice meeting ya, Katie,” He put extra emphasis on her real name, just to drive home the point that he knew everything about her and that there wasn’t any hiding from him.
And with that, they left arm in arm and disappeared into the busy street beyond, taking Parkinson and Tupper with them. Blaise watched them go, fists clenched at her sides as she replayed the whole meeting again in her head, eventually uttering a single word to sum up the entire encounter.
“Shit.”
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
Blaise didn’t like the idea of getting involved with New Dawn again, especially with “The Gentleman” calling the shots. Annie she could predict but the Gentleman was something else. As for New Dawn, they were rarely satisfied and always looking to push their luck. Thinking that she could just leave was optimistic of her. If she didn’t play this carefully, everything she had worked so hard to build for herself could come crashing down around her, taking her friends with it…
Finally, she took a deep breath and made her way across the road, taking up a position in front of one of the filthy windows. Parkinson was already perched there against them, still clad in black and grey. He glanced both ways down the street before speaking.
“Why does the mockingbird sing to the east?” he asked in a hushed, low tone. Blaise rolled her eyes.
“Don’t be a pillock, Parkinson. You know who I am,” she scolded him.
“It’s protocol. Don’t get funny, just answer the damn question,” he snapped back. Blaise scanned their surroundings, checking the coast was clear although Parkinson suspected she was doing this less to triple check that they were safe and more to make sure no one was around to take the piss out of her for reciting something so inane.
“…so the raven can seek its redemption. Are we doing this or not?” she asked, foot tapping impatiently. Parkinson nodded, satisfied.
“Come on, the others are waiting inside,” he said, leading the way down the back alley which led to the rear of the building.
“You know it’s been three years, I’m surprised the passphrase hasn’t been updated,” Blaise remarked.
“I think the council has had more important things to worry about than what nonsense they can get us to spout at each other,” replied Parkinson.
“Right. That new world order won’t create itself. How’s that going by the way?” Blaise asked, a hint of sarcasm to her voice. Parkinson ignored her, entering the building via the back door. The landlady was waiting for them inside. She wordlessly kicked aside a rug to reveal a trapdoor in the centre of the building’s kitchen, which she then opened for them. Parkinson nodded to her in thanks and led Blaise downstairs, the landlady closing the door behind them.
The basement was dingy. A single bulb lit the centre of the room, the light too weak to penetrate the edges. The basement was commonly used to host various gambling nights, a poker table taking up the majority of the space under the weak bulb.
The table was currently covered in various maps of the desert, a blonde woman and a slim man wearing a fedora were pouring over them. The blonde had a marker in hand and was marking off some coordinates.
The slim man was supping at a flask as he suggested further coordinates to consider marking. Behind them, rocking on his chair, sat a bald and heavily scarred man in a torn lab coat. It was the bald man that noticed their entrance to the basement.
“Parky’s back!” he chirped. The other two looked up, the blonde breaking out into a grin.
“Kate! Ah wasn’t sure if you were actually gonna show up!” she said. Her accent had a thick Texan3 drawl.
“Annie. You know I don’t mind you calling me that in private but you really should stick to ‘Blaise’,” Blaise corrected as she approached the table.
“Right, wouldn’t wanna blow your cover,” Annie said with a cheerful amount of cynicism.
“Yours as well. We wouldn’t want Salmanic questioning why you were able to identify the infamous Katherine O’Donnell, right?”
“Pfft, you ain’t that infamous,” the bald man pointed out, smirking.
“Maybe not, but then you lot were able to recognise me,” Blaise shrugged.
“You ain’t even famous, let alone infamous,” said the bald man, distractedly. The others ignored him.
“Yeah, but we only recognised you because Annie rolled with Alex Garcia for a while. It really doesn’t count,” Parkinson added. He pulled a chair up to the table and sat down, Blaise following suit. Annie watched Blaise carefully.
“Ah managed to check in with our command back in the City. Tanaka was pretty interested in the thought of you runnin’ around out here.”
“…Oh,” was all Blaise could say, withdrawn.
She took to staring at the map in front of her, and guessed that the different marks were various sites the terrorists had attacked within the Salmanic pipe network. There were more marks in a second colour which she assumed were where Annie was expecting further attacks to take place.
Annie and the slim man glanced uneasily at each other, the slim man cocking an unimpressed eyebrow as he chewed on a toothpick. The bald man, however, was frowning now and was clearly off in a world of his own, staring off a thousand miles into some event horizon only he could see.
“I mean, I think I’m infamous. Do you have to be ‘in’ famous to be famous? How far in do you have to be? What’s the yardstick for this?” he said aloud, directed at nobody in particular except for himself as he was the only one listening.
“I think Tanaka misses you,” said Annie, before the bald man could talk again. “Not that she’d admit it…she wanted to know how you were. I bet she’d pass on a message to Al if you wanted-,” Annie started, only to be interrupted by the bald man much to Blaise’s relief.
“Mad bombers are infamous, right? Because that sounds negative and I’d rather be a famous mad bomber if it shows me in a positive li-”
“Give it a rest, Tupper!” growled Parkinson. The big bald man shrugged.
“Just make sure they get my good side,” Tupper concluded, folding his arms in a decisive manner. Pausing to make sure he wasn’t going to say anything else, Blaise swept her hand over the map.
“Have there been any new developments with this?” she asked.
Annie sighed and allowed the slim man to answer, through the corner of his mouth
“There was a fresh attack last night. The cyborg group have been all but wiped out,” he stated. The slim man dressed neatly in what he probably considered to be ‘practical business attire’, somewhere between a suit and a combat jacket. His fedora only served to highlight his shaved head, a military-grade cut offset by the distinctly civilian hat. Although he was tidy, his clothes displayed the ruggedness of a man who gets his hands dirty, and yet he was the only one in the room who looked as if he didn’t want to be there. He also walked with a cane, and Blaise took a guess that this was not due to any kind of limp or disability but rather because it concealed a blade. She couldn’t quite get a handle on the man, but Annie kept shooting him the concerned glances that are reserved for significant others so that was grounds for trust alone.
“Am I right in assuming we still don’t have any kind of visual on the terrorists?” Blaise asked.
“Pretty much, the cameras were knocked out again. It’s like we’re fightin’ ghosts,” Annie stated.
“Although there was one thing…” added Parkinson ominously. “One of the cyborgs survived.”
“Now there’s a first,” Blaise conceded, perking up. So far anyone who had stumbled across the terrorists had been slaughtered. With the cyborgs gone, Blaise and her friends were the only ones left from that initial debriefing in the warehouse from so long ago.
“He’s awake as well,” Annie continued, “he’s in the hospital in desperate need of getting stuff sown back on but he’s able to talk, which is a miracle in itself. And that’s not the best bit…or worst, depending on how you look at it.”
“What is it? What did he see?” Blaise shifted her gaze between Annie and Parkinson, her interest peaking. Annie was practically bouncing in her seat, enthusiastic over the thought of their mission actually showing signs of progressing. Parkinson was more sombre, leaning forward and rubbing his jawline as he considered the best way to describe what he had heard.
“Well we had already guessed that they had some kind of computer hacker in their group as every piece of technology from the lights to security cameras turn themselves off just before an attack. Then we figured they have to have at least one demolition expert to handle the explosives. The cyborg reckons there were at least six in the group total but only four were really doing any fighting while one of them was sorting out the explosives,” he said.
“…What about the sixth?” Blaise asked uneasily.
“Apparently she was stood at the back, singing.”
“Excuse me?”
“Singing. The cyborg didn’t recognise the words but the terrorists were hell-bent on protecting her. And while she was singing, all her mates were invulnerable. They kept shrugging off whatever was thrown at them. The cyborg swears he broke one of their arms only for it to fix itself, as if by magic,” Parkinson finished.
“A white mage4. Shit,” summarised Blaise.
“Exciting stuff, huh?” said Annie, grinning. Blaise did not share her naive enthusiasm.
“That’s one way to put it. What about the explosives being used? Has Tupper had any thoughts on that yet?” Blaise asked, turning to the bald man. He was miles away again but promptly shook his head out of his daydreams and resumed the conversation back on planet Lusinia with all the other people.
“No. Whatever they’re using has got to be easy to transport considering the amount of travelling they’re doing and it has to be potent considering how thick the pipes are. Heck, they’re thicker than I am!” Tupper patted his stomach, laughing, “I’d love to get my hands on the stuff and have a good play-”
“-Yeah, we’re in a real hurry to see that,” Parkinson said sarcastically. The group laughed.
“Anyway, all these developments brings us to why we wanted you to come down here today,” Annie started. She hesitated and looked to her other half, already anticipating how Blaise was going to react to what they were about to request. The slim man sighed and got to his feet to address Blaise bluntly.
“Rumour has it that you have been travelling with a guy who can fight these people on their own terms, if you catch my drift.”
“You want to borrow Gratin,” Blaise pieced together instantly.
“Yeah, well mages are supposed to have a way of sensing when magic’s been thrown about so we thought maybe he’d be up for going to the latest attack site and seeing what he could sniff out,” Annie explained.
“He’s not a sensor; he doesn’t light up and go ‘ding’ if magic’s afoot,” said Blaise haughtily, brimming with sarcasm.
“We know that-”
“-You also know that I don’t want the boys involved with this. They’re off limits.”
“We’re not tryin’ to recruit them or take them away from you. All we want is a favour,” Annie insisted.
“Right, that’s how it normally starts,” replied Blaise, bitterly.
“Kate. Gratin’s the only chance we have of findin’ these people right now. He doesn’t need to know who we are or the crap you used to get up to for the cause; as far as he’s concerned we’ll just be a bunch of mercs you’ve befriended,” said Annie. Blaise sighed.
“I still haven’t shaken the last merc I befriended,” she pointed out. She smiled briefly, lost in thought.
“Well you do have a way of attracting strays,” joked Annie. Blaise was staring at a point on the map again, a distant look in her eyes.
“Probably because I used to be a stray myself…” she muttered. Annie’s smile faltered. She climbed to her feet and made her way around the table, embracing Blaise from behind in an act intended to comfort.
“I know. We all were,” said the Texan. Blaise glanced at the blonde and patted her arm in a reassuring manner. She stood up, out of her chair, leaving Annie to stare after her. Blaise rubbed her face and took a deep breath, making up her mind.
“I suppose we better get your cover story straight then-”
Shuffling and the sound of muffled shouting from upstairs stalled the discussion like a sack of dusty bricks to the face. The group exchanged cautious glances as they all strained their ears to work out what was happening on the floor above. There was a loud bang and more shouting. Each mercenary reached for a weapon – Blaise’s hand gravitated to a pistol, Annie unclipped a steel fan from her belt, the slim man thumbed his cane so that an inch of blade was bared for the world to see, Parkinson grabbed a pistol of his own and Tupper selected a grenade from his bandolier. Everyone turned to glare at Tupper and his attempt to arm himself. Tupper muttered under his breath and put it back with an expression on his face similar to a guilty child standing over a broken vase after being told not to play ball in the house.
Parkinson edged his way up the stairs. The trapdoor opened before he reached it, the landlady peering through the opening.
“We need help up here! Mad Dog’s got Mrs Mendoza!”
“Shit!” the sniper exclaimed, peering back at the group.
‘Mad Dog’ was a nickname given to one Raulo Delgado due to his habit of becoming incredibly hostile and/or randy towards anything he didn’t like, and Delgado didn’t like many things. He and his gang were local boys that had been hired a week before the City of Light mercenaries had been and under similar circumstances; they too had been briefed in a disused warehouse along with twenty other mercenaries and ne’er-do-wells. The initial Galmanoc group had been whittled down to just one gang in the meantime. Mad Dog’s gang consisted of himself and five other men with a love of violence and less brain cells than the total sum of their members. They had also been the other reason the number of mercenaries had dropped so dramatically. Only hours into the job, Mad Dog had come to the conclusion that they were more likely to receive the reward if there were less competition and so his gang had taken to relieving other mercenaries the burden of the Salmanic job by hospitalising them.
The group hurriedly made their way upstairs to the general hubbub and commotion of the restaurant.
Dinner service had stalled, Mad Dog’s crew having spread themselves around the room and had busied themselves by looking menacing with whatever weapons they had to hand. Most had knives of varying sizes, some were merely pounding a fist into the flat of their palm and at least one person was idly swinging a chain around.
Mad Dog was a big bastard in every sense of the word. He was unshaven and decked out in leathers, his gang styling themselves in a similar fashion. He stared out at the world with a permanent angry squint, which focused on Blaise the moment she emerged from the back room with the others. The gang leader raised a dirty finger at her, pointing accusingly, his other hand currently pinning the landlady to the wall by her throat.
“You! Yer the chick with the magic man!” he proclaimed, a mouthful of thick slobber parting from his mouth and dribbling down the sides of his chin in a bid to escape his face. Blaise groaned inwardly.
“I guess everyone’s heard about the cyborgs,” Tupper observed helpfully. Parkinson slapped one of Tupper’s hands, which was absent-mindedly playing with the ring of one of his bandolier grenades.
“I’m assuming a ‘fuck off, I’m not in the mood’ won’t convince you to drop Mrs Mendoza and leave?” Blaise hazarded, pinching the bridge of her nose in her annoyance.
“That’s real cute. Braaaaaave, even. Where is ‘ee?” demanded Mad Dog. He began advancing forward, giving Mrs Mendoza to one of the thugs whilst the others followed suit, doing their best to look as intimidating as possible. Mrs Mendoza struggled against the thug’s grip and tried to yell for the mercs to kick his ass out of the pub, the thug putting a hand over her mouth to silence her as he pulled her away from the others, sensing the beginning of a brawl in the immediate future.
Blaise lowered her hand and attempted to stare Mad Dog down, which was difficult as he possessed the kind of crazy-eyes that refused to settle on one point for more than a second out of sheer stubbornness.
“He’s not here,” Blaise stated coldly.
“Ah kin see that!” shouted the gang leader. His large strides saw him cross the room in a matter of seconds. He loomed over Blaise, a wall of muscle. Blaise didn’t so much as flinch.
“Oi! Back off,” Annie stepped in front of Blaise, a steel fan out and spread so that light glinted off of the metal. The slim man joined her, brandishing his cane. Blaise quickly realised that all of the other mercenaries were surrounding her in a bid to help fend off Delgado’s advances. Mad Dog peered down at the 5 mercenaries in frustration as he came to realise none of them were the least bit threatened by him. He let out a low growl.
“So you lot think yer tuff, eh? Fine. Mah boys will just have to force the information I want outta yoo!” he proclaimed, waving his fat hands at the collection of miscreants behind him. The other patrons of the restaurant, realising that a good reliable pub fight was about to start, made their decisions whether to reach for a weapon or head for the door.
“Here we go again,” Blaise muttered to herself as all hell broke loose around her.
- That’s not true in all cases, there was at least one imaginative child who had been completely indifferent to Gratin floating by and at least one cat that had purred and meowed in its own attempt to inquire as to exactly where the law stood on people standing above one’s building without actually touching it, and whether a fine of fresh tuna would make for adequate compensation. In the latter case, it had found its legal quandaries satisfied by a tickle under the chin from Gratin. ↩
- New Dawn is a group of militant activists known for wanting to topple the capitilistic society of Lusinia and replace it with one better geared for serving the people. They have agents around the world who specialise in stealing blackmail material on important figure heads in government and the world economy, conduct assassinations and in extreme cases, enact demolitions on what they describe as “temples of capitalism and material wealth” ↩
- Space Texan, obviously. ↩
- The light and dark elements are also known as the master elements, their gods being known to rule over the other four. Light is associated with Fire and Air as they help the spread of Light, and Earth and Water are linked to Dark as they both impede Light in some way. Light and Dark magic both have a “sub-element” attached to them, which includes types of spells that don’t generally connect with a specific element. Light has White magic (spells known to protect and restore), whereas Dark has Black magic (spells known to corrupt and control). White magic includes healing magic, shield spells and any kind of magic designed to fend off Black magic’s corruptive influence. ↩
Post by Sam | February 1, 2014 at 2:48 pm | The Mercenaries' Tale | No comment
Tags: Allan Parkinson, Annie Stone, Blaise, Doug McCracken, Flashback, Galmanoc, Gratin, Jessie Harper, Kate, Mokey's Jeel, New Dawn, Thad the Gentleman, the Mercs, Tupper