AN: Thanks so much to everyone who weighed in on the poll from the last chapter. I was actually kind of surprised by the answers I got, and vastly entertained :-) One or two were actually very close to what I had in mind to do from the outset, but the more I develop this story the more things shift around. It should be interesting to see how things fall into place. I can't thank you all enough for the AMAZING feedback I've been getting! That more than anything is driving me to keep pushing through each chapter. Hope you all continue to read and enjoy.
Marcus tossed the phone receiver back into the truck, cursing under his breath. His jaw was set, and his stance rigid. These were the times when Dom expected Marcus to haul off and punch the next person who spoke to him, but somehow the guy always restrained himself--no matter how ridiculously frustrating his next encounter. That quality unnerved a lot of guys, especially during the war. A soldier who lost it from time to time over small things was normal. A guy who kept it all inside got a lot of sideways glances. People wondered when he'd finally explode, and how much collateral there'd be.
"What'd he say?" Dom asked. He sat on the truck's tailgate next to Cole, lounging and watching the sun rise above the rooftops. For the first time since the previous fall, the outside temperature was actually pleasant early in the morning. The mild breeze flowing between the buildings brushed past them with hint of warmth instead of fanning the biting cold nipping at their exposed skin.
Marcus reached into the cab, fishing a map from among the numerous papers stashed in the passenger-side door pocket. Baird was reclined and dozing in driver's seat. All crews had been on ordered stand-still since they arrived on site. "Said they've got an irate former bank president there. He wanted his vault back for when they rebuild, and he's pissed we didn't make a recovery effort." Marcus turned so his back leaned against the fender panel, gazing across the huge pile of debris they'd created the day before while his fingers worked at unfolding the oil-streaked map.
Cole let out a big sigh, laying down on his back in the truck bed with his fingers laced behind his head, bending his knees so his boots rested on the very end of the tailgate. "Damon's right. They are starting to expect miracles all the damn time."
Most of the building was in the basement now, although there was a domed mound of broken plaster, girders, wood panel, and sheet rock marking the fallen bank's resting place. Every few minutes some of the rubble would shift, causing small cave-ins. That meant there were still pockets inside and it wouldn't be safe to traverse until everything settled. An early morning mist clung to the pile, slowly burning off as the sun inched higher in the sky. The imploding building had thrown a huge amount of dust into the air the day before, but most of it had blown out to sea except for a few wandering clouds of the really fine stuff. The vault itself wasn't visible. They'd buried it under thousands of tons of rubble.
"Did Richtner tell him the building had already collapsed before we got here?" Dom asked.
Marcus made a displeased noise at the back of his throat. "Doesn't seem to matter. They're moving us to a new site, effective immediately." The old paper crinkled in protest when he folded the map in half, his pale eyes studying an area located outside the city.
"But, we haven't even had a chance to go in and make sure everything detonated. There could be explosive left in there, and we know where we laid the charges. The construction guys won't know, and some Stranded kid might pick through the rubble and find that shit."
"As long as they blow themselves up and not us, I see no problem with that," Baird said, throwing in his two cents before turning onto his side and attempting to get back to sleep. "Natural selection," he mumbled.
Marcus scratched the back of his neck, nonplussed. "Well, if you like that part, you're going to love this. Richtner wants to send us out to one of the old imulsion drilling platforms. We're due there in an hour," he said, flicking the spot on the map.
"Man, most of those platforms are at least partially underground," Dom said, swallowing hard. His face had turned a bit gray. "I hate going underground."
Cole slapped him on the back, chuckling. "Look at it this way, man. No one's seen a Locust in years."
"Yeah. Let me check and see if that makes me feel better... Okay, no, it doesn't."
It took them a solid hour to make it out of the city and find the site. With the mist gone, it had shaped up to be a beautiful sunny day, but the boarded up imulsion refinery located above ground was still a dreary sight. Many of the peripheral concrete structures had crumbled, and while the main structure seemed mostly intact, the earth around it showed evidence of having been scorched. There had definitely been a major fire here.
A shiver ran down Dom's spine. He still remembered all too well the things they'd found at the last drilling platform they'd visited. Bodies, ripped apart by wretches with blood splattered and tracked on the walls, on the ceiling for fuck's sake. The blackened and blistered walls made this place look even more like a tomb than that place had.
"Yup, we're screwed," Dom murmured, gazing at the building out the passenger-side window.
In the driver's seat, Baird noticeably shuttered, but his memories were different from Dom's. "If the only way into this place is through a sewer, you clowns are on your own. I'm waiting in the damn truck."
That drew a chuckle from Cole. "Didn't kill you the last time, baby."
"I smelled like shit for three days in the pursuit of saving the human race. They should've given me a fucking medal, but nooooo. It was all 'Oh, Fenix. You're so brave. We should've busted you out of prison sooner!' Even Santiago got more friggin' recognition than we did. When I disobeyed orders they busted me down to private. I mean, when Santiago disobeyed orders, he went all out. He didn't just break a buddy out of jail--oh no--he broke out some crazy-looking bastard serving a life sentence in the Slab for desertion and dereliction of duty--no offense, Fenix.
"None taken."
"And instead of tossing Dom out of the COG for this infraction, they basically threw a fucking parade. All that, and neither of you guys had to wade through knee-deep shit!"
"Yeah, but we had to listen to you bitch about it." Dom reminded. "Besides, who had to deal with the Berserkers? Oh yeah, me and Marcus. Who had to kill Raam? Who nearly went down with the lightmass bomb?" It was worthless to argue with Baird, but sometimes Dom couldn't help himself. The habit was so ingrained it seemed weird when they did get along, which happened more often than he was willing to admit. It was a game and, like two children smacking each other with sticks, they both loved it until it got out of hand. Just that morning Dom had gotten pissed and uppercut Damon in the floating ribs. The younger man had remained silent until Dom started giving him shit on the drive to work, letting him know it was okay--no hard feelings.
"Who always had to fix the vehicles you idiots broke?" Baird countered.
"Enough. You were both contributing members of the team, and all that bullshit," Marcus said, apparently even his endless patience was wearing thin. Dom felt a stab of guilt. It wasn't fair, the way they let Marcus be the adult all the time. He was their Sergeant, still and always. He kept everything so tight to the vest that it seemed like he always had the answers, never faltered. With him around to provide oversight, it felt like it didn't matter if they acted juvenile.
Dom silently promised to pull his head out of his ass more often. Marcus always watched his back, but who watched out for Marcus?
That's your job, buddy, peace-time or not.
"I think I see some trees over there, boss man. We could still make that paddle," Cole joked, motioning to the wooded area off the driveway and snickering to himself. He reached up to patronizingly rub Baird's head with one gigantic hand. "Teach these two some manners."
"What?" Baird attempted to duck. "Hey, hands off! What's this bullshit about a paddle?"
"Maybe later, Cole. Someone's waiting on us." Marcus nodded toward twelve o'clock, bringing their attention to a company truck ahead of them on the driveway.
Baird pulled up alongside, rolling down the drivers' side window. In the other truck was a kid, late teens or very early twenties. He was skinny with dark hair and features. He'd seen his share of sun over the past few years, so he was definitely a working man, but Dom didn't recognize him.
"You guys Delta crew?" the kid asked.
"I'm not. These retards might be," Baird said, referring to the other guys in his truck. "I thought you guys were 'Crew 23' or something. Who's brilliant idea was it to call yourselves 'Delta?'" Even as he spoke, Dom, Marcus and Cole were bailing out of the vehicle.
Making his way around the truck, Marcus motioned to the kid to join them. Grabbing a bunch of files and a couple blueprint rolls, the kid hopped down, laying the paperwork all out on the truck hood so they could examine it.
"My name's Wes Kendall. I'm supposed to replace Chuck Leen on your team. I heard he retired."
Marcus raised one eyebrow. "Yeah," he said. "I guess 'retired' is one way to put it."
Cole leaned toward the Kendall. "Chuck had a little bit of a drinking problem. Crossed a couple wires and blew off a couple limbs."
"Oh," Wes said.
"We don't tolerate much of that bullshit anymore. Got it, kid?" Marcus asked, pinning him with a stare unnerving enough to make sure he'd never forget this moment, or the conversation attached to it. On his death bed, he'd still remember this moment if he tried hard enough.
"Roger that," Wes acknowledged, a bit unnerved. "Anyway, I've got all the blueprints and info on this site here with me."
"You new to this work?" Marcus asked, smoothing out the blue prints with sweeps of one large hand. It kept trying to roll back up on him until Cole finally pinned down the far edge with one finger.
"Yeah, I'm new. I mean, I used to work construction for a guy and we did some of this, so I've got some experience with demo, but I'm new to the company. Bender Fields did a wave of hiring this week. Pulled in some Stranded," Wes said, like it disgusted him. "Glad I'm not working with them. Some of those guys looked like animals. Stank too."
"The further we get from the war, the more Stranded are going to be part of society," Dom reminded, not like he had an opinion one way or another--just that it was part of life. Unavoidable, and certain. "It's so stupid, the way they act like we're the enemy."
Wes's left eye twitched, but he didn't comment. "They said this would be a viable entrance," he said to Marcus, pointing to a doorway on paper.
"Who said?" Marcus asked.
"Think his name was Richtner."
"Yeah, we've heard of him," Cole said. "Ass-ish looking guy. Has delusions of being in charge."
"Careful, Cole Train, he might kick you off his Christmas card list," Marcus said, drawing soft snickers from Dom and Cole. Wes didn't get it, but he pinned on a half-smile anyway, trying to get along with them.
It was an old joke. Richtner had been a big fan of the Cougars as a kid, before the war. He bugged Cole all the time, acting like they were such great buddies, and for the most part Gus handled it with grace. Then one Christmas, Cole received a Christmas letter in the mail from their boss. No one else beneath management got one. It had been too much. Cole read the pathetic letter aloud at home, and the ridiculous verboseness, grammatical errors, and gross self-aggrandizing had sent his roommates rolling on the floor in stitches. Even Marcus had cracked a smile that day.
"Baird?" Marcus called. "Your assistance?"
"Sleeping, Fenix," Damon called from his truck.
"Don't worry. A genius like you can do this in his sleep." Marcus was caustic and impatient. Dom couldn't tell if he was irritated with Baird, Richtner, or with the situation in general, but he sounded ticked.
With plenty of grumbling, Baird grabbed his keys from the ignition and climbed down, joining them in pouring over the plans. Within minutes he was in the midst of an animated conversation with Marcus, calculating the long odds of whether it was safe for them to enter based on the damage caused by the fire, the tensile strength of the walls, whatever.
Dom couldn't help smiling. Damon always made a show of dragging his feet, but when it came down to it, he was more than willing to play ball. In his early days with Delta, he'd just pushed buttons for the entertainment of testing everyone's limits, but over the years he'd developed enough respect for his former teammates to confine his sarcasm to mostly-appropriate times. When there was work to be done, he was all business. Even more telling was the fact that he didn't tolerate working with anyone else now that the war was over.
Dom wandered a few paces out, looking around. He missed the comforting weight of his Lancer. With no rifle to occupy them, his hands itched for something to do, so he stuffed them into his jacket pockets. Sans armor, he felt exposed, and chilled by the breeze coming in off the ocean. Not much wind got through that plate metal--not like what came through the jacket and cargoes he wore to work. Even his calf-high leather boots felt inadequate. This place was isolated. The sort of place he would've wanted to search during the war, see if Maria was there. Now he didn't want any part of it. There could be Stranded here, a left-over pocket of Locusts, anything. The whole place could collapse on them. Baird and Marcus would decide where they entered, if they went in at all. Dom would wait for the go-ahead, but in the meantime, he kept an eye out, looking for danger.
"Richtner happen to mention what he wants us to accomplish today?" Marcus inquired, flipping through every single page of available information. It looked like he was just skimming those pages, but Marcus could absorb information like a sponge. He only had to glance at it once and he knew it forever.
"Just an inspection for now, Sarge," Wes said. So the kid did recognize them.
Marcus grunted in negation. "You see a rank or a uniform out here, kid?"
"No, Sarge."
"That's right, you don't. Call me Marcus, or Fenix," he said, rolling up the blueprints and letting the rubber band snap loudly against the thick roll of paper. He made for Baird's truck, grabbing his duffel out of the back and pulling a sidearm from it. He checked the magazine, locked back the slide before slapping the mag back in and releasing it, putting a bullet in the chamber. Marcus used his thumb to depress a lever on the side of the frame, de-cocking the hammer. Apparently they were going in armed.
Glancing once more at the menacing facility they were about to enter, Dom decided it was a good call.
Baird fell into step next to the kid, who seemed chastened by Marcus's reprimand. "You can call me Corporal," he informed Wes. "Unlike some people, being a war hero doesn't give me a complex. I friggin' earned it."
"You were only a corporal?" Wes asked, unimpressed. "Man, who the hell did you piss off? I made corporal within a year."
"Sometime I'll tell you who I didn't piss off. It'll make a shorter list," Baird freely admitted, following after Marcus. "Besides, those idiots never rose above private," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Dom and Cole.
Dom waited for it, but to his credit, Wes kept walking, very carefully refraining from glancing at him or Cole. Dom remembered what the COG used to be like, before E-Day. If he'd seen a thirty-something year old private or corporal when he was a young man, it would've thrown up flags in his head too. Either something was wrong with a guy like that, or he'd fucked up, big time. He would've kept a sharp eye on that person. During the war with the Locusts, promotions had ground to a halt for the most part. Rank lost its luster as scores of men died. Sometimes squads were led by the most senior private, after the squad leader was killed.
Besides, Dom had forfeited any chance of promoting when he testified on Marcus's behalf. He was more loyal to his childhood friend, the last of his family, than he was to the COG and it ruined any potential he'd had. He was the last in a long line of Santiagos to serve. He'd always loved the army but, when he was about to lose Marcus, he had to face an epiphany that many soldiers never allowed themselves to have. Dom realized the COG couldn't love him back. No matter how much blood, sweat and tears he put into service, the COG couldn't sit down with him over a beer and remember better times, help him mourn his children, brother, parents, Maria. The COG didn't know them, and it didn't know him, either.
When the army was done with them, it was over. They were out, and if it hadn't been for Marcus, Dom had no idea what he would've done. Soldiering had been his only profession since age sixteen. The closest thing to an interview he'd ever had was walking into a recruiting office and signing his name to the dotted line. He could do some mechanics, but there were hardly enough cars working to make that a feasible occupation.
Lots of older Gears got out and just got lost, drinking themselves into oblivion or going homeless. Control had tasked them for so long, it was difficult to learn to task themselves. It was difficult learning to live with the ghosts. Marcus was one of the few who just transitioned. He was a Gear one day, and he was a civilian the next. Bam, no visible transitional period needed. It was Marcus who got them interviews at Bender Fields. With such a steady role model to follow, there was no way the four of them could've failed--although Baird and Cole had seemed better adapted to civilian life than Dom. They'd been drafted into the army. They had some concept of civilian life.
So yeah, Dom would've understood if Wes Kendall had looked at them funny. A kid his age would understand the scope of the war--there was no way he could've escaped it--but it might be harder for him to understand how bleak things had been on the front lines.
On the up side, at least things were going back to normal, even in the military.
"The main supports seem intact," Baird said, examining some of the reinforced concrete pillars deep inside the drilling compound. "Looks like the fire mostly did superficial damage. It must not have burned very hot, which means it was probably a failed arson attempt, or accidental." The glance he gave the rest of them was meaningful. Most accidental fires were the result of a camp fire getting out of hand, and most camp fires weren't set by Gears.
"Stranded have definitely been here, recently," Marcus determined, sweeping the basement with a flashlight.
The cement walls were a uniform wet-brown color, except where the fire had left black scorch marks. It was warm, but dank, and in spite of the vast colonies of mold overwhelming his sense of smell, Dom detected the faint odor of sewage. There was evidence that someone had bunked down in the lower levels during the winter. A couple old blankets piled in a corner, the occasional dull brass of a spent hammerburst cartridge, the red husks of similarly spent shotgun shells. There was a layer of dust on everything, but in some places it had been swept away.
Marcus leaned down, picking up a brass and noting the tool marks on it. "Looks like someone was trying to reload this ammo," he said. Then, to Wes, he ordered, "We're assuming there's armed hostiles in the area, so stay close to us."
"Yeah, sure," Wes agreed amiably, determined to please after his earlier faux pas. The kid was the only one of them not packing a sidearm.
The ceiling creaked and groaned above them, and Dom looked up, unnerved. "Man, this place is creepy," he said. At least they hadn't found any bodies--yet. The stench of burnt, decomposing human flesh hadn't assaulted his sinuses in years, and he'd like to keep it that way.
Marcus made for the stairwell leading out of the basement, soon disappearing behind an orange pipe large enough to fit a grown man inside. Coolant pipes, Baird had said when they came down. "Let's keep moving. It's going to take a long time to sweep this whole place for hazards. Better to get it done before dark."
"10-4, boss man," Cole said, moving to follow in Marcus's footsteps, his flashlight finding each shadowed corner ahead.
With Wes Kendall ahead of them, Dom and Baird brought up the rear, walking side-by-side.
"Why isn't COG Engineering Corp doing this job?" Baird asked. The two of them naturally fell into field-march sweeps, Dom checking his side for enemy contacts, and Baird checking his. It almost felt like being back in the COG. "Seriously, it would take work, but I think this place could be salvaged--for a few years anyway."
"It's technically a private facility," Dom said, but he agreed. This place could be a government asset, and it would be a way better idea to send a bunch of Gears in here loaded for bear than to assign the job to a private demo company.
Baird grunted. "Yeah, you think any of the executives survived the war? Who owns a company when the entire board and all the stockholders are dead?"
"Maybe they found some janitor who worked here, assigned him ownership."
"I can see that. Here you go, buddy. Here's a formerly multi-million dollar company. Now, could you write us a check so we can blow up one of your drilling platforms?"
Dom shook his head. "It's going to be a long time before the private sector starts playing by the rules, but what're you going to do? COG doesn't have the man-power to regulate everything yet."
"Just the things they want to," Baird muttered. "The annoying shit, like rations and copper wire and condoms."
"You seeing a lot of action these days with that copper wire/condom power combo, Baird?" Cole called back, chuckling.
Damon grumbled a few choice words under his breath. "More than you're getting," he called back. "You washed-up jock."
Dom scoffed, rolling his eyes. He'd known both these guys a long time. Baird was always at home fiddling with something in his spare time, and the closest thing he had to nightly rendezvous were trips to the junk yard, stripping the guts out of discarded COG vehicles, bots, whatever. He'd found the burnt-out skeleton of a Centaur there once, and they hardly saw him for a week.
"What?" Baird asked, almost challenging Dom to refute his claim.
"I'm trying to imagine you getting propositioned more than Cole and I keep hitting a wall."
"Well, what can I say? Chicks dig the goggles," Baird insisted sardonically, but he didn't press it. This more than anything made Dom wonder if there was any truth to Damon's claims. Typically he got all defensive over being at a disadvantage to a teammate in any category he deemed worth judging. Then again, perhaps Baird was disgusted with the game.
Dating wasn't what it used to be. These days relationships typically started with conceiving kids, and then in a few rare cases evolved into something real. Most available women were pushing hard for marriage, and when they didn't get what they wanted, it usually got ugly. It was a major turnoff for Dom, and perhaps Baird felt the same way--for different reasons.
He's not the type to settle down. He's like a kid. Give him the world's biggest Erector Set and get the hell out of his way.
Dom didn't even want to imagine what happened when Baird got his hands on his first chemistry set, assuming he ever had one. Dom didn't know the finer details of Damon's past, but from what he'd pieced together, he had a feeling it had been a strange parody of Marcus's childhood.
Marcus was a practical genius born to academic brainiac parents; they loved him, but never understood him, never considered for a second they should bend their lives to suit the needs of their child. Baird, on the other hand, came from a blue collar household where lowbrow was the currency. There was no encouragement of learning or self-improvement. Growing up, Damon's intelligence was both his curse and his saving grace. He never fit in with his family. Trading barbs was the equivalent of affection, and Baird had switched often between seeing his talent as shameful and lording it over the household. Most weekends, the rest of his family went out to parties while Baird tinkered with projects in the garage. When his family's spare cash got pissed away, it was Damon who fixed the car when it broke down. Much of his learning had come from such forced projects.
Damon wasn't lucky like Marcus. Marcus found Carlos and Dom when he was ten, and the Santiago family did their best to fix him. No one had ever made an attempt to fix Baird. If anything, the people who should've cared about him did their level best to break him down, so he wouldn't make them look bad. At least in the COG he'd found appreciation for what he could do.
Up ahead, Marcus and Cole started up the stairs, and then abruptly stopped.
"Shit!" Marcus growled. "Baird, get up here."
With a hesitant glance at Dom, Baird popped the strap holding his sidearm in the holster, then he jogged up the stairs, his hand never leaving the still-holstered stock.
"What's going on?" Dom asked.
"Door's locked," Cole called back. "We left it propped open, and now it's closed. Won't budge."
With trepidation, Dom asked the obvious question. "Do you think it could've been an accident? Maybe the wedge came loose?"
"Not fucking likely," Marcus grunted. "Someone locked us in."
"Yep," Dom said to himself. He let out a big sigh and found a sturdy beam to lean against. It was a smoke 'em if you've got 'em moment, and Dom didn't smoke. "I was afraid you were going to say that."
AN: Introducing new male characters is hard, especially when they compete with Delta for screen time. Right now I feel Wes is kind of a washed out character, or maybe just a kid out of his depth? Let me know what you think. I'm not sure yet if I actually want him to be liked...
AN2: If anyone has information about Baird's background, please let me know. I've found a scene in the second novel where Cole says something to the effect of: 'When Baird talks about his family, it's like a history lesson. His family did one thing, and he did something else. He remembers the things he built most fondly.' That's all I can find, so if there's more elsewhere a page reference would be REALLY helpful (I've seriously scoured the books). I've been told there MIGHT be something about Baird's family having money and forcing him to enlist in order to get his inheritance--would be good to know for sure ;-)