Chapter 2: The Crew
[Avalon,
the last megalopolis on Earth to survive the Collapse, consists of three
levels, which explains not only its architecture but its socio-economic
hierarchy as well.]
[First
tier is, understandably, at the top and located 5,000 meters from Avalon's
lowest point. It is an intricate web of
aerial highways twining through towering spires that sway slightly in the harsh
winds of that altitude. Housed in these
glass and plasticrene Valhallas are the members of the First Families:
founders, leaders and controllers of Avalon. They are the last of the purestrain Empaths and these self-styled
glitterati make the policies, administer justice and act as beneficent
guardians of all. They are also known
as aristos.]
[Cloaked
in a sterile world and a blind belief in their own importance, most First tiers
– or Firsters – do not realize that the almost feudal society they have erected
is causing discontent and dissension among those below. History always repeats itself because people
never take the time to learn. First
tier's Enclave advocate is Giancarlo de Medici.]
[Second
tier is located exactly 500 meters beneath First tier's last bastion. Not as pristine or as manicured as its
neighbors above, Second tier is nevertheless privy to certain amenities because
of the service it provides. It is the
heart of Avalon because this is where the Academy resides.]
[During
the immediate years succeeding the Collapse, when martial law was the only
chance for survival, many Firsters commissioned talented – if not purestrain –
individuals to protect them from mutants and, as the case always is during
times of upheaval, from each other. The
Academy was created by the First Families to be a training center for their
private armies. Eventually, as
stability was regained and a truce among the Families was forged, the Academy's
function evolved into one less militaristic.]
[Today,
it boasts over 150 guilds. Students can
specialize in myriad disciplines, from archeology to neuro-enhancement. In the Academy, democracy is encouraged and
tier prejudice is not tolerated. However, it is still extremely difficult for Third Tiers to enter its
hallowed halls. One has to be
petitioned by an aristo to get in. That, or procure certain favors for the proper people. Nuada D'Argent is the Academy president and
Second tier's Enclave advocate.]
[Third
tier is located at sea level and some of it is actually underwater. This gives Third tier a distinctly memorable
aroma. It is made up of the remnants of
eras past and therefore has the look of an old woman trying on new finery. Flashing neoware and old-fashioned paper
billboards vie for tourist attention. Concrete buildings are outfitted with the latest tech screens but
still retain old-world plumbing. It is
just as likely to hitch a ride on an automobile as it is to hop on a hover. Third tier is more commonly known as the
City.]
[Third
tier denizens are as diverse and contradictory as their surroundings. One can rub elbows with fallen aristos as
well as cutthroat pirates in the same bar. That dashing young buck could perhaps be a slave runner in
disguise. There are many stories ripe
for the plucking in the City but they will remain untold because the City
prides itself in its anonymity. Here,
one can hide from a cuckolded husband, the law or one's past with none the
wiser.]
[Anything
can be had in the City: a new plaything, a new deviancy, a new life. It's all there…for a price. And, even though they are scorned and
condemned by the upper echelons, City dwellers savor the irony of the slumming
aristos or the wide-eyed Second tiers who grace their pot-holed asphalt streets
every single night. Third tier has its
own brand of justice. Therefore, its
Enclave advocate is Loki Swift, Thieves Guild master.]
[end
of History sequence.]
Charybdis
pulled the 'trodes from his port and closed his eyes. It was more information than he had planned to upload but once
he'd started the sequence, it proved too absorbing to stop. Data overload, indeed. Still he had the presence of mind to cover
his tracks and, after his brief rest, the catman's retractable claws flew
furiously across the keypad to erase all trace of his presence on the Hub.
The
hover cab sped silently through the empty City streets. Third tier never really came to life until
the sun went down. Charybdis smiled to
himself. Daytime was the perfect time
to access data on the Hub; there was never very much traffic online before
noon. And by plugging in while in a
moving vehicle, it made it that much harder for Hub Guardians to trace him.
Several
pride members had sniffed disdainfully at his fascination of Avalon's past, but
Charybdis knew that information was the key to any successful venture. And he had loftier goals than being a mere
Shah of the pride.
Today
was not a day for intrigue and conspiracy, however. Today was reconnaissance. Charybdis had been witness to the altercation at Sartre's the night
before and he needed to see how it would all play out. As a catman and Third tier citizen, he had
no access to direct aboveside data. In
fact, the History sequence he had just uploaded was a hacked file. Still, there were other places from which to
garner information. How convenient it
was that one of these places happened to be the scene of the crime.
Charybdis
tapped at the keypad in front of him and alerted the hover cab driver of his
final destination.
Sartre's
in the daylight looked nothing like its nighttime doppelganger. The neoware ad and its lurid glare were not
in evidence and the building's red brick façade, now devoid of the distracting
artificiality, glowed warmly under the summer sun. From the outside, the bar
actually exuded an aura of comfort and benevolence, a bit akin to sitting on a
favorite uncle's knee. However, as with
some uncles and some knees, the bar had its secret seedy side and only the bold
of heart or the stupid frequented the place with regularity. Chaybdis liked to think he fell under the
former category.
The
catman emerged from the cab, tipped the driver, and shrugged deeper into his
voluminous cloak. Then he entered the
club and made directly for the bar. Hypno handed him a drink, Sartre sat down next to him, and the three
enjoyed a companionable quiet as they waited. They didn't have to wait very long.
"Here
they come. Right on schedule."
"But without their beloved leader."
"Ah, so you didn't miss that little show last night?"
"Couldn't help it. R'Ikeda was caterwauling his head off like a virj in a brothel."
"Why didn't you do anything about it?"
"It's your club."
"You're his gokenin."
"That's never been verified."
The club owner and the catman exchanged pithy looks over their drinks then dropped that topic of conversation. It was getting dangerously close to breaking the City's unspoken Code of anonymity and laissez faire. Before the silence grew any more strained, Hypno refilled their glasses with his latest concoction. The bartender smiled easily, his golden reptilian eyes unblinking.
"I can't believe you still let them in, after all the marks they owe you." Hypno addressed his boss.
"Good
for business."
"You've
got to be joking."
"Nah. See here…they're a bunch of toughs,
right? And they do know how to
brawl. I figure I keep them around, let
'em slide on a coupla tabs and they come regular, stand around looking
scary. Keep the rest of the customers
either safe and happy-feelin' or too scared shitless to make a fuss. Know what'm sayin'?"
"It's
your world, Sartre. We all just want to
live in it."
"Don't
you all!"
The
diminutive club owner winked at his bartender and right-hand man who, in turn,
finished polishing off the last of the shot glasses then looked resignedly to
the door. The raucous revelry from
beyond increased in volume steadily, and when the entrance finally swung open,
Hypno and Sartre had the plastic smiles as befitted their profession firmly in
place. Charybdis was expressionless but
his catlike ears twitched in anticipation of the fun to come. One could always count on R'Ikeda's boys to
provide amusement.
"Hoi, Suka! I hope ya gots lots of marks, man. Coz I'm ready to drink this place dry!"
"Aye,
red! Git your arse movin'! We haven't got all day!"
"Guys? Is Suka buying today? Dat's too sweet!"
"Hiro,
whassup wit' yo sib? He so good he gots
to walk five steps behind us like some goddamn aristo?"
"Gentlemen,
gentlemen! Here speaks the voice of
reason."
At
this remark, a general hoot of good-natured derision ensued but subsided almost
immediately. Holding his place as rear
guard and dragging his feet slowly, Kazuya Hasukawa could almost imagine his
damnable brother calming down the masses with his perpetually amused
smirk. He hated his brother.
"As
I was saying, my comrades, as the voice of reason in our merry band of misfits
and miscreants, it is my duty to prevent dissension amongst the ranks by
doing…this!"
Without
further warning, Kazuya Hasukawa found himself plucked from the end of the line
by a strong grasp to his collar and shoved unceremoniously into the dimly-lit
depths of Sartre's club. As his eyes
adjusted from outside glare to indoor murk, Kazuya freed himself roughly from
his captor and whirled around to face the lanky blond. Kazuhiro placed both hands on his hips and
cocked a brow, waiting for the inevitable.
"Have
I told you yet today how much I hate you?" Kazuya spat out.
"About
fifty times. Isn't that right, Raffe?"
"Ah,
Kazuhiro, methinks 'tis more like fifty-three."
"And
counting, I'm sure. Anyone want to place bets on how many times my little sib
can serenade us with his loathing for me?"
"I'll
take that bet!"
"Hey,
count me in!"
"Right
here, pal!"
"What
the hell – I need a new shooter cartridge. I'll throw down!"
"Well,
Suka. Looks like you've got the power
to make me a very wealthy man today. Keep it up, sib." Kazuhiro
Hasukawa, crew medic and provisions specialist of the Moirai, chucked his kid brother under the chin with an affection
that only he was privy to. Much as he
loved teasing the boy, he truly harbored a deep love for the little brat.
"Not
if I can help it, you old goat!" Kazuya shoved his brother with venom. A collective "oooh!" erupted from the
onlookers. Kazuhiro grinned.
"I
don't know, fellows. I think that's
two. One for insulting me and one overt
show of force. That brings our count up
to…how many?"
"Fifty-two!"
"Brek,
you moron! Raffe just said fifty-three
a sec ago. Can't you count? Oh, yeah. You can't. That's why you're
just on demo detail, eh?"
"Come
closer when you say that, Rigo, and I'll show you what kind of magic us demo
guys can do with our fists!"
"Bring
it on, happa! Let's see what simians
are really made of!"
A
brief scuffle ensued and Kazuya wisely stepped away from the larger men, making
his way to the bar. He didn't want to
know the outcome of the tussle, wasn't even interested enough to bet. He was just relieved that the focus was off
him for once. Behind him, the redhead could feel his shadow tailing him once
more. He ignored her, hopped onto a
stool, hooked both feet on the bottom rung. Then he signaled at Hypno for a round of drinks and wearily reached into
his pocket for a handful of marks.
Sartre
stayed his hand. "Hold on there,
youngun. This one's on the house."
"So
soon? You don't even have any customers
yet!" Kazuya's forehead furrowed in bewilderment.
"Oi,
it's getting to be so's a person can't do a good deed without havin' his head
bit off around here anymore!" The proprietor was jovial but could not
completely hide the worry evident in his eyes.
Kazuya
frowned. "What's going on, Sartre?"
"You
guys don't know yet, do you?"
"Know
what?" Kazuhiro asked curiously. The
other crew members had finished with their morning exercise, a few of them a
bit bloody and ragged for it and some of them a couple marks richer, and they
crowded the bar eagerly. Gossip and a
couple shots of Hypno's secret recipe was a good way to start the day.
"You
wanna tell them or should I?" Sartre cocked his head at the catman who had
chosen not to make his presence known initially. Charybdis had an uncanny knack of fading into shadows when he so
chose. It was what made him and his
kind so successful as assassins.
"Char? Hey, sorry, I didn't see you there! He'la!" Kazuhiro thumped his chest with his
fist and Charybdis did the same. The
others began muttering greetings of their own but Kazuya, as was his wont,
interrupted them.
"Is
this news gonna make me hurl? Coz I
don't need another ulcer, you know."
He
was immediately cuffed on the head by a random hand. The redhead yelped but subsided when he saw who had hit him. Next to Mitsu, Gunner Lao was the only other
member of their crew who instilled a modicum of respect in the youth.
Charybdis
settled on his stool, his cloak pooling around him, and he surveyed the
men. He had gotten to know the crew of
the Moirai intimately after that
little fiasco in Sector 7 two years ago and he knew they would not take the
news well. He made bets with himself to
see how each would react when he told them.
"They've
got Mitsu." The catman announced without preamble.
Chaos
erupted.
"Holy
hell!"
"Those
motherlovin' bastards!"
"Well,
we're done for now!"
"Shit,
shit, shit!"
"We
gotta go bust him out. Right,
guys? Right? Huh, guys?"
"Shit,
shit, shit!"
"Calm
down! Stop yelling! Calm down, fellows! I said shaddup!" Kazuhiro roared the last and was met with instant obedience.
"Thank
you. Now, first thing's first. When did this all go down?" The medic
eyeballed Charybdis who gave up the floor to Sartre.
"Last
night. Some suit collared him in the
stim room. It happened so fast. There was nothing I could do." The club
owner bowed apologetically.
"We'll
talk about that later, Sartre. Men,
we've gotta move fast. If they got him
last night, that means they haven't had time to send him aboveside yet. The first chute doesn't go active till
noon. They'll have kept him in the
holding cells in Sector 4. That's where
we'll go." Kazuhiro was talking so fast that his brother, who was closest to
him, could almost imagine the medic's wetware frying at the speed of the
synapses.
The
others were not far behind. Already,
Rigo was checking the level gages of his blaster and Rhys slid his claymore out
of its sheath grimly. Raffe's good eye
narrowed and he touched his bandolier to affirm the readiness of his deadly
knives. Gunner cracked his knuckles,
the only weapons he ever needed. Brek
grunted.
"Um,
guys?" Kazuya held up a hand hesitantly. "We're gonna fight, aren't we? It's gonna get messy, isn't it? I should stay by the Moirai in
case we need a quick getaway."
"Idiot!"
Gunner smacked at his head again. "We won't need the ship. We'll need bodies to fling at the
Guardians. I guess your skinny ass will
do just as well. You're coming with
us."
"But…but…"
"It's
Mitsu."
With
that soft declaration, Kazuya's protests died in his throat. Gunner was right. It was Mitsu. Their captain. And every single one of them owed him their lives. Now was as good a time as any to pay up.
"It's
settled. We're off. Sartre, thanks for the info. Char, could you make sure Trout stays
away? And we'd appreciate it is some of
your pride could watch our ship. We're
in Docking Bay 5. I wouldn't ask –
don't want to involve you further – but…" Kazuhiro left the sentence
hanging. Bushido was between the catman
and his captain and was not transferable. But in a case like this, one could always hope.
Charybdis
did not disappoint. "I'll do you one
better, Hiro. I'll stand guard
myself. And Trout will be by my side."
The
girl in question, the last member of the Moirai
and the bane of Kazuya's existence, bared her teeth but made no sound. She hadn't spoken since the crew had found
her a year ago on one of their runs to Atropos, but she was quite adept at
making her feelings known. Usually,
they were feelings of complete adoration for Kazuya, but her affection also
extended to Mitsu. To be barred from
rescuing him must have sat ill with the girl.
"Thank
you, Char. A debt is tallied." Kazuhiro
held out his left hand, palm up, in formal acknowledgement.
"And
a debt will be repaid." Charybdis completed the ritual by meeting the medic's
hand with his own paw. "Now go! By the looks of his captor last night, he'll
be in a hell of a shape when you get him."
"Who
put the snatch?" Kazuhiro thought to ask even as he followed the crew to the
door.
"I
don't know. Some woman. Short hair. Guardian uniform. Had one mean right hook." The catman called out.
Kazuhiro
froze in his tracks and the others did the same. As one, they all swiveled and stared at Charybdis. Kazuya swallowed audibly. No one spoke for a moment, then Gunner
screwed his courage and asked the question:
"Did
she have red hair?"
"Yes. Even wilder than Kazuya's."
A
devastating sigh swept the crew.
"The
Morrigu."
"Shit,
shit, shit!"
