Saxony - Chapter 4
Disclaimer - Yep I own the lot, oh, hang on, no, no I don't, just forgot there for a moment.
Hi guys, thanks for the reviews, they're keeping me going in these dark, cold nights!!!
:o)
=========
The old diesel truck shook the silence as it drove into the night, its lights splitting the gloom and creating bloated shadows. Buildings stood like ghostly spectres against the darkness, their skeletons twisted and deformed in memory of the sculpting fire that had destroyed them. Fortune had been kind to some who remained intact amid the rubble of their fellow structures and these carried the flickering lights of candles, glowing against the fractured and broken glass of the windows.
Most of the Kelownans, from this part of the city, had been relocated until their homes could be rebuilt. Their place had been taken by Tiranian and Andari workers, who were helping with the redevelopment of the city and were too scared to move into the camps, preferring, instead, to reside in the inhospitable shells left by the Goa'uld. These 'dwellings' were marked with an orange circle to indicate they were in the possession of immigrant labourers and so the City Guards could keep a watchful eye on the inhabitants.
Jonas watched the devastation file passed the window, wedged between the driver, Karajan, and a second man called Hawks. They had not spoken since the van door had slid shut and the engine had coughed into life.
Rain now hit the windscreen, like a swam of fat bugs, making it harder to manoeuvre the truck through the potholes and debris that littered the roads. Karajan worked his hand over the windscreen as it began to cloud up; still unable to see he craned his neck through the side window to get his bearings.
He slowed down and quickly wound the glass back into place as the headlights illuminated a tall, emancipated figure, drawn to the truck's sluggish progress through the streets. Hawks readied his weapon as the man stood in front of them, his torso naked and caked in city filth, challenging them with his fist while howling at the night sky.
"It's the Naquadria," Karajan explained. "It poisons the brain, makes them insane," he laughed at his own rhyme, "usually they're rounded up by a 'clean up' unit and shipped outside the city where they can be properly dealt with, I mean, fate forbid that they should start to contaminate us," Karajan's eyes glowed with malice and Jonas felt an unease settle within him.
The man continued his demonstration and Hawks aimed his handgun through his open window, "wait," Jonas cried, placing his hand on the other passenger's arm.
"It's okay, Ambassador," Hawks reassured, "I'm just gonna scare 'im a little," he realigned his aim and the gun flared in the darkness, echoing round the silent buildings like a freight train.
The man's eyes bulged with a sudden fear and he stepped back from the vehicle. Hawks let off another shot and the figure turned and scurried into the engulfing darkness, screaming in panic.
"See, Ambassador," Hawks offered, smiling at Karajan, "no harm done."
The truck resumed its course, the rain had stopped and the air became a mix of stale aromas. Jonas sat back in his seat and tried to relax but his intuition was yanking at the hairs on the back of his neck as he sensed both men were preoccupied with something other than the task ahead.
Karajan broke through his thoughts; "there's a lot of that kinda paranoid madness on the streets, it's the fall-out from the bomb. You must have seen it yourself, Ambassador, when you worked on the Naquadria Project?" He raised his eyebrows, innocently, at the younger man.
Jonas said nothing, thinking back to Doctor Kieran and the other scientist, he sighed and rubbed his forehead; the two other men exchanged looks.
Karajan turned his attention back to the road and suddenly stood on the brake. The truck slid to a lumbering halt, throwing the occupants towards the windscreen and then upright again, "shit," the driver hissed, looking ahead.
Jonas followed his gaze and saw their route was blocked by an array of twisted metal, "we're gonna have to move it," Karajan said, pushing the headlights to main beam, "be on your guard it could be an immigrant trap, to get the truck."
Jonas looked over his shoulder at the canteen, "they're just hungry," he offered.
"Yeah," replied Hawks, exiting the vehicle, "I'll remind you of that when they're smashing your face in with an iron pole," he spat onto the ground and huffed.
Jonas followed him and then stopped, his blood chilling in his veins as he tried to focus on the scene before him. To the left of the obstruction, hanging like washing drip-drying on a line, were six bodies on a makeshift gibbet. The wood creaked, eerily, as the ragged mobile swayed against the night and above them, on an unscathed building, a marble statue of Saxony, the ancient Kelownan Goddess of compassion, smiled benevolently down.
Jonas took a step towards the figures, his eyes widening in horror as they became distinguishable as men, women and boys.
"Tianian and Andari looters," Hawks enlighten, "caught stealing from Kelownan citizens. These bastards go through rubble, pocketing the valuables of the dead or selling them on." He spat again, "scum."
Jonas looked at the frail, threadbare beings turning on the ropes thinking they deserved a good meal rather than death, "but some are children," he said in accusation.
Hawks flicked his eyes over the bodies, "Yeah, well, boys grow into men and that's two less prospective foreign 'activists' for the government to worry about."
Jonas looked round at him, "the First Minister would never agree to this sort of action."
"The First Minister don't come down here, Ambassador, she wouldn't know what it takes to keep this scum in order. They don't think like us, see," Hawks replied pointing to his temple, "they don't understand rules and regulations, like civilized people, but this, this they understand!"
He grabbed Jonas's arm, "Kelowna can't afford to pamper to these inbred retards."
Jonas felt the pressure of Hawks' grip and sensed something else hiding behind his steel eyes. The moment froze and an ominous breeze circled around them, feeding Jonas's anxiety. He felt the man's heart beat within him and glimpsed the flicker of his inner mind as it processed its murderous ambition; they were going to kill him.
Jonas released himself from Hawks' grasp and stepped away. He looked between the two men and saw the intent burning in their eyes. The world slowed as if it was free from its axis and time was just a thing to be manipulated; that's when he sensed it, reverberating round the empty buildings, burrowing into his heart with claw like fingernails.
Karajan's eyes darted around the stillness as if he felt it too, a disquiet whispering in his mind and pounding his spine. He looked towards Jonas and his fingers went, instinctively, to his gun, never taking his eyes from his prey.
Jonas stepped further back, watching the smile spread on Karajan's face as he drew weapon, there was no need for pretence now, each of the players knew why they were there.
Something split the air, cracking the silence with its force of movement as it pushed its way through the empty space.
Karajan's neck snapped back, as if he was laughing at fate's interference and his blood flew into the night, hitting the ground like a spring shower. The gun tumbled from his hand as he slumped into the dirt, his face holding a last look of astonishment as the bullet channelling into his skull severing his thought process.
Hawks tried to react, turning into the darkness as he fumbled for his sidearm but the night was too quick for him and destiny's fingers seized his soul.
Jonas felt something warm flick across his face as Hawks twisted to face him revealing a violent bubble of blood escaping from his throat. The weapon Hawks was clutching dropped from his grasp as his hands went automatically to cover the seeping wound.
Jonas moved forward and tried to steady the injured man as he fell to his knees in a gurgled cry of pain unaware of the footsteps that approached them. Hawks looked at the younger man, fighting the clock for each breath owed to him while knowing it was pumping the life from his body. Jonas spread his hand over the wound, to try and stem the bleeding, but someone grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him to his feet.
"Leave him," came a gruff voice, directed at Jonas, "we have to get moving, a City Guard patrol will be here any minute."
Jonas turned to look at the speaker, "Ambassador Quinn, I am Colonel Milo Chufa of the 'disbanded' Kelowna Delta Militia," he held his hand out so Jonas could glimpse the gold and onyx band in the headlights, "my unit and I have been sent to escort you safely to our base and your contact there," he spoke quickly and was clearly irritated at having to explain himself.
Jonas looked back at Hawks, who was still hanging on to life, "we can't just leave him."
The Colonel signalled to another man who was half hidden in the shadows, a second slug thumped through the night air and buried itself into Hawks' cranium; Hawks became still.
Jonas looked at Chufa in disbelief but the older man spoke first, his tone stern, "we're at war, boy, this isn't some game, there is no time for misplaced sentiment. Do you think either of these, these carrion, would have shown you any mercy? They were going to kill you and they would have enjoyed doing it." He looked at the limp bodies dangling on the ropes, "save your protests for those who need it, the innocents caught in this vast web of political intrigue, they are more deserving, now please, we must get moving."
Jonas said nothing; instead he followed the Colonel into the night, taking a moment to glimpse back at the truck. Several ragged boys had appeared like phantoms from the twisted metal around them and were slowly stalking the vehicle.
"Night Fishers," one of the men from the unit informed Jonas, "Tiranian and Andari orphans, they live in the catacombs of the old city living off what they can find in the ruins." He drew Jonas's attention back to the gallows with a cock of his head, "dangerous living, though, the City Guards have stopped wasting their bullets on them. Last night they tried to burn them out, I guess they failed," he said with an ironic laugh, "they're a tough lot and a good source of information, cheap too."
"Jorn, less of the chatter, this isn't a social outing," Chufa reprimanded.
They cautiously picked their way through the remains of wrecked and burnt out cars and mounds of rubble, the Colonel keeping in close contact with his base on the radio. Several times the unit scattered, blending in to the surrounding area, poised for a fight when they thought a patrol was nearing their position but tonight they were lucky; it seemed the City Guards had other orders.
Their journey ended in a damp alleyway, whose entrance was being touted by a couple of dire prostitutes. Chufa nodded in their direction and they moved out into the street, keeping a close eye on the surrounding area while tottering about on dilapidated heels. Jonas then realise they too were part of this covert operation.
"After you, Ambassador," the Colonel said, motioning to an open manhole cover.
Jonas looked into the gapping hollow and started to descend the rusted ladder.
=======
;o)
Disclaimer - Yep I own the lot, oh, hang on, no, no I don't, just forgot there for a moment.
Hi guys, thanks for the reviews, they're keeping me going in these dark, cold nights!!!
:o)
=========
The old diesel truck shook the silence as it drove into the night, its lights splitting the gloom and creating bloated shadows. Buildings stood like ghostly spectres against the darkness, their skeletons twisted and deformed in memory of the sculpting fire that had destroyed them. Fortune had been kind to some who remained intact amid the rubble of their fellow structures and these carried the flickering lights of candles, glowing against the fractured and broken glass of the windows.
Most of the Kelownans, from this part of the city, had been relocated until their homes could be rebuilt. Their place had been taken by Tiranian and Andari workers, who were helping with the redevelopment of the city and were too scared to move into the camps, preferring, instead, to reside in the inhospitable shells left by the Goa'uld. These 'dwellings' were marked with an orange circle to indicate they were in the possession of immigrant labourers and so the City Guards could keep a watchful eye on the inhabitants.
Jonas watched the devastation file passed the window, wedged between the driver, Karajan, and a second man called Hawks. They had not spoken since the van door had slid shut and the engine had coughed into life.
Rain now hit the windscreen, like a swam of fat bugs, making it harder to manoeuvre the truck through the potholes and debris that littered the roads. Karajan worked his hand over the windscreen as it began to cloud up; still unable to see he craned his neck through the side window to get his bearings.
He slowed down and quickly wound the glass back into place as the headlights illuminated a tall, emancipated figure, drawn to the truck's sluggish progress through the streets. Hawks readied his weapon as the man stood in front of them, his torso naked and caked in city filth, challenging them with his fist while howling at the night sky.
"It's the Naquadria," Karajan explained. "It poisons the brain, makes them insane," he laughed at his own rhyme, "usually they're rounded up by a 'clean up' unit and shipped outside the city where they can be properly dealt with, I mean, fate forbid that they should start to contaminate us," Karajan's eyes glowed with malice and Jonas felt an unease settle within him.
The man continued his demonstration and Hawks aimed his handgun through his open window, "wait," Jonas cried, placing his hand on the other passenger's arm.
"It's okay, Ambassador," Hawks reassured, "I'm just gonna scare 'im a little," he realigned his aim and the gun flared in the darkness, echoing round the silent buildings like a freight train.
The man's eyes bulged with a sudden fear and he stepped back from the vehicle. Hawks let off another shot and the figure turned and scurried into the engulfing darkness, screaming in panic.
"See, Ambassador," Hawks offered, smiling at Karajan, "no harm done."
The truck resumed its course, the rain had stopped and the air became a mix of stale aromas. Jonas sat back in his seat and tried to relax but his intuition was yanking at the hairs on the back of his neck as he sensed both men were preoccupied with something other than the task ahead.
Karajan broke through his thoughts; "there's a lot of that kinda paranoid madness on the streets, it's the fall-out from the bomb. You must have seen it yourself, Ambassador, when you worked on the Naquadria Project?" He raised his eyebrows, innocently, at the younger man.
Jonas said nothing, thinking back to Doctor Kieran and the other scientist, he sighed and rubbed his forehead; the two other men exchanged looks.
Karajan turned his attention back to the road and suddenly stood on the brake. The truck slid to a lumbering halt, throwing the occupants towards the windscreen and then upright again, "shit," the driver hissed, looking ahead.
Jonas followed his gaze and saw their route was blocked by an array of twisted metal, "we're gonna have to move it," Karajan said, pushing the headlights to main beam, "be on your guard it could be an immigrant trap, to get the truck."
Jonas looked over his shoulder at the canteen, "they're just hungry," he offered.
"Yeah," replied Hawks, exiting the vehicle, "I'll remind you of that when they're smashing your face in with an iron pole," he spat onto the ground and huffed.
Jonas followed him and then stopped, his blood chilling in his veins as he tried to focus on the scene before him. To the left of the obstruction, hanging like washing drip-drying on a line, were six bodies on a makeshift gibbet. The wood creaked, eerily, as the ragged mobile swayed against the night and above them, on an unscathed building, a marble statue of Saxony, the ancient Kelownan Goddess of compassion, smiled benevolently down.
Jonas took a step towards the figures, his eyes widening in horror as they became distinguishable as men, women and boys.
"Tianian and Andari looters," Hawks enlighten, "caught stealing from Kelownan citizens. These bastards go through rubble, pocketing the valuables of the dead or selling them on." He spat again, "scum."
Jonas looked at the frail, threadbare beings turning on the ropes thinking they deserved a good meal rather than death, "but some are children," he said in accusation.
Hawks flicked his eyes over the bodies, "Yeah, well, boys grow into men and that's two less prospective foreign 'activists' for the government to worry about."
Jonas looked round at him, "the First Minister would never agree to this sort of action."
"The First Minister don't come down here, Ambassador, she wouldn't know what it takes to keep this scum in order. They don't think like us, see," Hawks replied pointing to his temple, "they don't understand rules and regulations, like civilized people, but this, this they understand!"
He grabbed Jonas's arm, "Kelowna can't afford to pamper to these inbred retards."
Jonas felt the pressure of Hawks' grip and sensed something else hiding behind his steel eyes. The moment froze and an ominous breeze circled around them, feeding Jonas's anxiety. He felt the man's heart beat within him and glimpsed the flicker of his inner mind as it processed its murderous ambition; they were going to kill him.
Jonas released himself from Hawks' grasp and stepped away. He looked between the two men and saw the intent burning in their eyes. The world slowed as if it was free from its axis and time was just a thing to be manipulated; that's when he sensed it, reverberating round the empty buildings, burrowing into his heart with claw like fingernails.
Karajan's eyes darted around the stillness as if he felt it too, a disquiet whispering in his mind and pounding his spine. He looked towards Jonas and his fingers went, instinctively, to his gun, never taking his eyes from his prey.
Jonas stepped further back, watching the smile spread on Karajan's face as he drew weapon, there was no need for pretence now, each of the players knew why they were there.
Something split the air, cracking the silence with its force of movement as it pushed its way through the empty space.
Karajan's neck snapped back, as if he was laughing at fate's interference and his blood flew into the night, hitting the ground like a spring shower. The gun tumbled from his hand as he slumped into the dirt, his face holding a last look of astonishment as the bullet channelling into his skull severing his thought process.
Hawks tried to react, turning into the darkness as he fumbled for his sidearm but the night was too quick for him and destiny's fingers seized his soul.
Jonas felt something warm flick across his face as Hawks twisted to face him revealing a violent bubble of blood escaping from his throat. The weapon Hawks was clutching dropped from his grasp as his hands went automatically to cover the seeping wound.
Jonas moved forward and tried to steady the injured man as he fell to his knees in a gurgled cry of pain unaware of the footsteps that approached them. Hawks looked at the younger man, fighting the clock for each breath owed to him while knowing it was pumping the life from his body. Jonas spread his hand over the wound, to try and stem the bleeding, but someone grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him to his feet.
"Leave him," came a gruff voice, directed at Jonas, "we have to get moving, a City Guard patrol will be here any minute."
Jonas turned to look at the speaker, "Ambassador Quinn, I am Colonel Milo Chufa of the 'disbanded' Kelowna Delta Militia," he held his hand out so Jonas could glimpse the gold and onyx band in the headlights, "my unit and I have been sent to escort you safely to our base and your contact there," he spoke quickly and was clearly irritated at having to explain himself.
Jonas looked back at Hawks, who was still hanging on to life, "we can't just leave him."
The Colonel signalled to another man who was half hidden in the shadows, a second slug thumped through the night air and buried itself into Hawks' cranium; Hawks became still.
Jonas looked at Chufa in disbelief but the older man spoke first, his tone stern, "we're at war, boy, this isn't some game, there is no time for misplaced sentiment. Do you think either of these, these carrion, would have shown you any mercy? They were going to kill you and they would have enjoyed doing it." He looked at the limp bodies dangling on the ropes, "save your protests for those who need it, the innocents caught in this vast web of political intrigue, they are more deserving, now please, we must get moving."
Jonas said nothing; instead he followed the Colonel into the night, taking a moment to glimpse back at the truck. Several ragged boys had appeared like phantoms from the twisted metal around them and were slowly stalking the vehicle.
"Night Fishers," one of the men from the unit informed Jonas, "Tiranian and Andari orphans, they live in the catacombs of the old city living off what they can find in the ruins." He drew Jonas's attention back to the gallows with a cock of his head, "dangerous living, though, the City Guards have stopped wasting their bullets on them. Last night they tried to burn them out, I guess they failed," he said with an ironic laugh, "they're a tough lot and a good source of information, cheap too."
"Jorn, less of the chatter, this isn't a social outing," Chufa reprimanded.
They cautiously picked their way through the remains of wrecked and burnt out cars and mounds of rubble, the Colonel keeping in close contact with his base on the radio. Several times the unit scattered, blending in to the surrounding area, poised for a fight when they thought a patrol was nearing their position but tonight they were lucky; it seemed the City Guards had other orders.
Their journey ended in a damp alleyway, whose entrance was being touted by a couple of dire prostitutes. Chufa nodded in their direction and they moved out into the street, keeping a close eye on the surrounding area while tottering about on dilapidated heels. Jonas then realise they too were part of this covert operation.
"After you, Ambassador," the Colonel said, motioning to an open manhole cover.
Jonas looked into the gapping hollow and started to descend the rusted ladder.
=======
;o)