A Friendly Rendezvous
The shaggy-headed and ragged man in the withered slave tunic leaned himself against a support beam. He stood there looking out at the busy activity of the Circle Junction Colorado Sector streets during the midday shift change. There was still several minutes before he needed to start heading to his assigned workstation when the slave with the grey hood took his place on the other side of the same support beam and spoke inconspicuously to the ragged man on the opposite side,
"You see they've been rounding everyone up?"
The two watched a crowd of other slaves take their seats against the wall behind them as they watched the streets fill up even more with new slaves leaving their workstations for the brief rest. The shaggy-headed slave responded with a slight shake in his voice, "Fuck man, of course I did why do you think I been out these past few days? I had to make a break for the Utah sector. Thank the gods I know a guy over there who could get me out."
The hooded man said, "Good, that's what I heard. I was a bit worried they might have got you, especially since I'm sure you heard..." He paused, letting his brother in bondage respond with the news he already knew;
"The super talked... I heard about that as well. Forge here has been closed down since."
The hooded man replied, "He talked, now it's only a matter of time before we're all screwed... You ain't thinking about turning over yourself, right?"
Still looking out at the street, the shaggy-haired man wanted to beat the hooded slave even for the question itself, but knew better than to make eye contact as a patrol of legionaries passed by. When they were far enough away and merged with the crowds of slaves exiting their stations, he said to his hooded accomplice;
"Of course not, I know they just rewarded the super for show. He'll be killed just like everyone else involved. Fuckin Interfector just thinks he can incite more traitors with the amount of gold he's throwing at those fuckers."
Immediately, the hooded slave said, "Exactly, that's why I got this..." The hooded slave then took a step forward and ever so subtly revealed a small handgun tucked into his coat. Probably a 9mm, noted the shaggy slave. Returning back to his incognito spot against the post, the ragged slave watched his accomplice and said;
"I thought they seized all the guns after the water tower was locked down. I thought they said all the guns were destroyed after they found our cache near the forge. Where can I get one? The Interfector has my name if the super talked, and now I'm just waiting for them to call my ticket. I'm fucking fucked, man."
The shaggy-haired slave's voice was getting more and more frantic with each word as he knew what kind of menace was coming his way since the collapse of their operation. Just then, the hooded slave calmed his partner with the words, "Quit your worrying and quit talking so loud, you'll be fine. They managed to get one crate out of there before the lockdown. Just try to find Marco when you get a chance-"
His partner interrupted, still slightly unnerved, "Well, what's next then? The operation's fucked and they're on to everyone. I feel like they'll bag us on shift at any second and I can't take it anymore."
The hooded slave was quiet for a moment, letting his on-edge partner collect himself again before saying, "In my opinion, there's no recovering this one. I say you got two choices: You can either find Marco and take as many of them down with you when they get around to your name, or you can be like me and do what I'm figuring."
"And what are you gonna do?" asked the shaggy headed slave, slightly more collected.
"I'm getting the Hell out of here," said the hooded accomplice.
"Alright? When and where?" asked the other.
"In about 30 minutes actually. Pretty much as soon as this shift change ends."
The ragged slave nearly laughed out loud, "Oh yeah? And how you gonna do that?"
"See that man across the way over there? The one eyeing us?" asked the hooded slave. His partner looked across the street and beyond the moving crowds of transitioning slaves. There he saw a man leaning against a post as well, and occasionally glancing their way.
"That's 'Philemon'," said the hooded slave.
For a second, the ragged slave was taken aback, "Wait, The Philemon?"
"Not so loud." snapped the hooded slave, louder than his partner ever spoke, and still barely enough to pierce the noise of the crowds. The hooded slave continued, "He's our ticket out of here. You want in or out?"
"I don't have a weapon or anything?"
"I'm afraid this is a take it or leave it situation now. Find Marco and wait till they call your number or get the Hell out of here with me and Philemon. He got himself transferred to Circle Junction just to get us and whoever's left of our movement out if shit hit the fan, which it did. He's been laying low for weeks, but he's seen what's been happening in this sector and is ready to get whoever he can out... He's coming over to grab me any minute as soon as the station switch ends and apparently has a way out of the city from some secret tunnel under the sector's smelter house."
"Well, how do you know you can trust Philemon? For all we know he's taking us to that tunnel where the Interfector is waiting for us." asked the ragged slave.
The hooded man responded, "Why do you think I got that piece? Philemon is a legend, but if somehow the Interfector or even that fucking super got wind, I'm more than ready to blast either of those fuckers on our way out, preferably both of them... Philemon too if his escape tactics and legendary rep are from the Frumantarii."
The shaggy slave pulled on his hair nervously and scratched at his arms, obviously still unnerved, but he still replied to his accomplice, "... Alright, fine. I'm with you. Making a break for it seems better than waiting for them to fucking grab me. I can't fucking take this anymore."
Both men were silent for a while as the slaves around them began standing up and filing towards their workstations as the shift change drew to a close. As one more patrol of legionaries passed, the man across the street named "Philemon" pushed himself off the wall with his shoulder ready to make his way towards the man he tasked himself with liberating, as well as the additional insurrectionist. The hooded slave then pushed himself off the beam as well and his partner continued to pull at his hair and scratch his arms, still terrified about the sudden new plan.
"Oh man, we're never getting out of here." muttered the ragged slave to himself as Philemon took his first step onto the ashy streets.
"Lose the attitude, we'll need good ones and for you to act natural if we're getting out of here," snapped the hooded slave.
"Have you ever met the Interfector? He isn't one to let anyone like you or I escape, let alone let a man like Philemon into the city," said the ragged slave in nearly a cry, before adding, "He's probably watching us right now. I don't trust Philemon" in a frantic tone as his nails tore more into his arms.
"Quit your whining! And when the Hell did you meet the Interfector?..." said the hooded slave to his nervous colleague, letting that question hang rhetorically before focusing on his real determination, "I'm actually praying I see that fucking Elite at the end of the tunnel. Been wanting to let him know what I think of him since I started this movement, but right now Philemon is our ticket and if the Interfector found out, I'll be more than happy to put a bullet in his head."
Philemon was halfway across the rapidly clearing streets when the shaggy-haired slave collected himself in an instant and said to his accomplice ever so cooly, "I'll be sure to let Lord Interfector know your true disposition towards his leniency..."
The hooded slave froze in place as Philemon continued his approach. As the words of the ragged slave entered the ears of his "Accomplice", he immediately turned around to draw his gun. However, the slave he thought to be unarmed proved to be anything but that as 3 shots were put into the hooded slave's side within half a second. Before Philemon could reach them, or process what happened right in front of him, 3 more shots rang out and the bullets entered the escape specialist's chest.
The streets were mostly clear by this point and those few outside were rushing into the nearest buildings at the sound of those gunshots while legionaries from across the Colorado Sector ran towards the sound. Before anyone could arrive, the ragged slave turned over his collapsed friend in the hood and found the man coughing up blood while the side of his tunic grew redder. He began sifting through the pockets of his hooded accomplice, and there he saw the man still alive. Upon seeing the victim's rapidly whitening face, the hooded man sputtered the words,
"You too, huh?"
The ragged slave stood himself back up, looked down at the man he'd known oh so intimately over the months, and replied without emotion, "Never was, friendo."
Dalton slicked his shaggy slave hairdo over to the side and pressed it down with his palm, leveled the handgun, and emptied the rest of it into the hooded slave's head. As soon as the gun locked back, he tossed it onto the body and calmly got down onto his knees with his hands behind his head. As soon as he interlaced his fingers, a swarm of legionaries kicked him to the ground, threw a bag over his head, and dragged him away.
The Interfector stood in the Interior Fortress plaza with the rest of his staff and looked up at the large neon sign he had placed over the giant train accommodating doors. He angled his head and asked his Senior Staff Friend;
"I did tell the craftsman to make it say 'Interfector's Palace'? Not 'Interfector's Place', right?"
Aleron responded to his Primus, "I believe so, Lord Interfector. I would say the sign still looks quite nice."
The Interfector angled his head the other way and considered how nice the sign looked despite the error;
"Yeah, it does, but 'Place' sorta makes the Interior Fortress sound like a hip new hangout spot. Sounds like a place you might go to smoke fresh cigarillos and listen to some newly recovered tunes on a jukebox, not a 'Palace' that honors the strength of Caesar's Elites and exemplifies the worthy subjugation of the worthless... I was really hoping to have the thing ready for our next auction..."
"The craftsman got the color scheme right?" said Aleron in an appealing manner.
"Mmhmm" muttered the Elite, still disappointed despite the pretty color scheme of yellow and red neon.
"Shall I have the craftsman brought before you for judgment, Lord Interfector?" asked Aleron.
The Elite thought for a long moment, angling his head to see the sign in different ways and possibly grow to like it;
"Perhaps, hold that thought though. We have plenty to do before the auction and I'll want time to determine whether or not that error was a simple mistake on mine or his part... Still, see if you can't have some of the boys get up there and maybe throw a spare 'A' from the scrapyard between the 'P' and 'L'... It won't look right, but it'll at least show Caesar I'm not complacent if he happens by."
"Noted, My Primus," said Aleron before he grabbed up six passing child legionaries and gave them a brief order on what to fetch from the NM Sector scrapyard.
The Interfector studied the sign again for a moment and turned back around to his now 12 man personal staff, "You all are dismissed. See to the stage prep if you haven't been given any tasks for the day."
The gaggle of legionaries dispersed, many of them heading towards the stage where a couple dozen slaves and child legionaries were busy constructing it. Meanwhile, Aleron stood beside his Elite, always at the ready, and the duo surveyed the Interior's plaza, watching the setup for tomorrow's big auction. Suddenly, a centurion approached the duo and placed his fist over his heart as he addressed the Elite, "Ave, Lord Interfector. True to Caesar."
The Killer turned his head towards the officer and returned with a "Hail Caesar, Cassius. What's up?", his mind more focused elsewhere.
The Centurion replied straightforwardly, "My Lord, there was a gunfight between some slaves in the Colorado Sector an hour ago that led to the deaths of two and one survivor who says he'll only speak to you. The slave has withstood all interrogation methods currently used and we're requesting permission to start removing appendages."
"That's what that sound was?" asked the Elite, thinking about those unusual gunshots he heard in the distance around an hour ago. "I thought it might've been more rabble-rousers... Where did the slave get a gun?"
The Centurion responded, "That is unknown to me or Decanus Aurelius who's leading the interrogation. Your directives currently state your direct handling of insurrection activity in that sector, so I offer your presence in seeing to the matter."
"Lead the way," said the Elite as he motioned for Aleron to follow him.
The three approached one of the interrogation chambers underneath a barracks within the Interior Fortress and across from the "Interfector's Place." Outside the door, the Elite saw a simple man in slave rags with shoulder length hair hung down over his face. A rather normal sight for a person in such a predicament, but still ugly to look at for a man like the Interfector. The man's face still concealed by his long hanging hair, the Elite entered the room as soon as the decanus across the slave delivered another punch to the grody personage.
"Enough with the tough stuff, Decanus...?" questioned the Elite after the directive.
"Aurelius, Lord Interfector. Decanus Aurelius of Phoenix" responded the decanus with a salute.
"That's right, fantastic title by the by, you'll have to tell me about it sometime, but quit hurting my poor little servant right now."
"Of course, Lord Interfector," said Decanus Aurelius of Phoenix before stepping out of the room at the Interfector's sweeping gesture.
When all but He, Aleron, Centurion Cassius, and the three customary veteran guards were alone with the slave, the Elite began, "You know, I've read that this land used to have a law or rule that allowed just about every Tom Dick and Harry to have themselves a good ol firearm. That law doesn't much apply to these lands under this banner, so I'm curious... Where's this time machine you stepped out of?"
The slave still hung his head low and remained silent. This wasn't unusual since the Interfector wasn't like other Legion interrogators. The Interfector continued, "It would appear that a slave with a gun missed his target. I'm assuming you had a motive to kill some of my boys in red, or even me for that matter, given what's been happening in your sector as of late."
The slave mumbled, "I wouldn't hurt one hair on my big boy's precious head."
"What!?" shouted the Interfector, bewildered that a slave would say words even close to those, especially to an Elite like himself. As the Elite contemplated how and where to harm the slave, Aleron drew his blade ever so slightly, ready to begin removing fingers when the slave looked up with the widest grin;
"Hey, Killer."
"Dalton!" screamed the Interfector, his scowl instantly turning into glee. Dalton tossed his hair to one side to better reveal his face as the Interfector continued, "Dalton! My word! How've you been? Aint seen you in what? little over a year?"
The Interfector ordered the legionaries in the room to unbind Dalton and Centurion Cassius was briefly updated on who the "slave" was. The Interfector asked Dalton if he wanted reparations for Decanus Aurelius' interrogation, but the man declined, saying he was used to a bit of torture. The Interfector dismissed the soldiers who brought Dalton in, and together the two friends and Aleron exited the interrogation room, up the stairs of the barracks, and across the busy plaza back to the Interfector's Place.
Aleron and the Interfector immediately headed up to the Elite's abode while they gave Dalton time to clean himself up. It was there that the two were occupied with papers like they've been so many other times when Dalton returned. Upon Dalton's return in Legion attire, he began telling them about everything he's been up to since leaving for the Frumantarii and how he was recently "captured" by the Legion.
Little did Aleron or the Elite know, Dalton was sent to Circle Junction around four months earlier to track down and investigate a slave who went by "Philemon." The slave never drew any attention from anyone other than who he let, but wherever he was sent within Legion territory, the number of escaped slaves in that area increased. Although, it was at Circle Junction that Dalton found the budding insurrectionist movement and though Philemon wasn't hard to find according to Legion ledgers, getting proof of the man's involvement with escape activities was something that needed to be earned through trust from those even in the slave ranks. Dalton essentially had to prove that he was a slave who opposed Caesar.
Dalton earned this "audience" with Philemon by helping out the insurrectionists in whatever way he could but always with a caveat. Dalton was too low on the ladder to be a prime suspect within that movement even after the Slave Supervisor talked, but when enough info was leaked to the Interior Fortress, and after the Interfector took appropriate lockdown measures, the movement fell apart. Only Dalton and a few other conspirators were left when the organization came crumbling down, and those few like the nameless "Hooded Slave" were urgently seeking their one way out, through Philemon. With the location of the remainder of the missing weapons to arm the slaves, and with knowledge of men like "Marco" who'd been hiding them, the jig was up, and Dalton ended the last leader of the Colorado Sector movement, as well as his initial target, the captivity escape artist named Philemon.
All this said, the day itself was one for celebration for the legionaries of Circle Junction. The Elite and Aleron thanked Dalton for essentially wrapping up the Circle Junction Praetor's biggest headache, and there was still so much to talk about.
"... So you didn't have any trouble taking out the Brotherhood at the Maxson Bunker?" asked the Elite of his friend.
"I already told you, the Circle of Steel wasn't any issue after getting the Brotherhood's help in the matter. As for the Brotherhood itself, I for sure left my true allegiance out of all the negotiations, before erasing them."
"So, once the Circle was dealt with, how did you deal with the Brotherhood then?"
"You already forget why you sent Me to the frumantarii? I mean, no offense to Aleron, but he wouldn't be nearly able to grasp the kind of tech that the Brotherhood has. Hell, even I barely could. For helping them deal with the Circle of Steel raiders, our common enemy, I was good pals with the BOS. Can't say they made me a 'Paladin' for that, haha, but they let me in their bunker. From there it was just snagging a few keys and initiating the silent self destruct. Luckily the kind of mainframe in that bunker had similar encrypted security measures to the old Enclave ones I remember. So from there it was just a little trial and error until all those Brothers of Steel were buried alive Haha!"
"How long did it take for you to do all that?" asked the Elite.
"The whole operation took about?... The COS was handled in about a month and?... from there, the BOS was wiped out in about?... I don't know, probably 3 or 4 days. So probably a month or so to take out both, this was almost immediately after the Frumantarii training as well."
"Caesar definitely knew I'd send the right person for that job, haha, can't thank you enough Dalton..." said the Murderer with pride in his friend before asking, "And then you came straight here? Also, Aleron and I saw your name in a Palatii report around 2 weeks ago? What's up with that?"
"Sorta..." replied Dalton, "Frumantarii status has me free as a bird for the most part provided I'm still working a mission. When I'm not under order however, it usually isn't too long before a courier finds me and gives me new orders or updates. I was seriously in the middle of the woods on my way back to Flagstaff to report in with the Palatii there since I had no idea who I was supposed to inform about my completion of the Brotherhood mission. Swear to God, I was who knows where in the woods when a random waster approached my fire who turned out to be another frumantarius who tasked me with the Philemon assignment. Sorry, I didn't tell you I was in town by the way, but I was on mission and didn't wanna blow my cover. Still, I was overly set on making a trace with everything I did for those insurrectionists, so thankfully your patrols were able to report the movement's activities to you. From there it was just dominos falling into each other until here we are."
"But what about the Palatii? Dinero says you're still there in Flagstaff."
"Fuckin Dinero haha. You'll be pleased to know he hasn't changed a bit" said Dalton before adding, "Frumantarii are always technically still at the Palatii, just like Caesar, but 90% of those 'Potential Praetorians' are just frumantarii agents... You didn't hear that from me though."
"So did they make you a Vet Dec out of the school?" asked the Interfector.
"Of course, but assignments can take me anywhere under any alias or rank."
The Murderer's grin widened, "So the Palatii won't mind if I make you my part-time Senior or Optio when you're in town?"
"Provided I'm not stepping on Aleron's shoes..." said Dalton as he caught the eye of Aleron and gave the man a wink, "Congratulations on the promotion by the way, Aleron."
Aleron nodded at Dalton with a smirk, "Thank you, Frumantarius. And of course not, you wouldn't be interfering as my Senior in the slightest. It's a pleasure to have you back."
"You earned it, Aleron. From everything I've heard in the slave sectors, 'the Interfector's second' is a real bastard, Haha. You can always tell if you're doing your job correctly by the amount of inferiors you piss off..." said Dalton, a statement all in the room agreed with through experience. Dalton continued, "... But I'm back at least until I get a new assignment, so I'll be your Optio at least for now, Killer."
The Elite's words were full of pride as he said to Dalton, "Welp, welcome back buddy. 'At least for now.'"
The two officers still worked on their administrative reports while Dalton made himself comfortable at the table with his company before saying, "So, looks like you're putting on another auction. What's the occasion?"
"Yep, it's been a while, and we're looking to make the local settlements buy what they can and hopefully get our hands on some good deals from all the local suppliers for the big Colorado Push. From what I heard, it sounds like Graham finally squashed those 'Guerreros of the Institute' or whatever, and Caesar is mobilizing everyone he can across the territory for that big push." said the Elite as he was writing out a long manuscript.
"What about the Twin Mothers? Are they still around?" asked Dalton.
The Elite stopped his writing and thought for a second about that minuscule "back-burner" issue he'd all but forgotten to address in weeks. "Aleron? What's the current word on the Twin Mothers tribe?"
Aleron stopped his own writing and searched his memory for the recent status on that tribe east of them. "Far as I know they're still under auxilia status? Although Caesar did tell us to keep them in mind before?... You know, I'm honestly not sure what Caesar and Legate Graham wanted us to do about them since the report didn't ask for anything other than a map of Mesa Verde and what little territory they got in NM proper."
"And we sent that map?" asked the Elite.
"Yes, Primus. The map was sent over three weeks ago, no news since," replied Aleron, assured of the task's completion but also curious about the reason for the request in the first place.
All of them thought for a moment before the Interfector said idly, "Sorta weird having women warriors at our backing. Pretty much all of New Mexico is ours now save for their little slice, certainly not too many auxilia tribes out that way, but..." The Elite trailed off, but returned his focus on the most relevant action needed regarding the Twin Mothers footnote, "... I guess we'll just follow up on that demand. Caesar is a busy man, so I'm sure it just slipped his mind..."
He stopped before adding, "Aleron, would you kindly write a quick letter to our lord and master asking what he wants us to do about that Twin Mothers reconnaissance... No rush or anything, just wondering if he thought about them before the Colorado Push... Mesa Verde could be a decent staging area? Anyway..."
"I'll write the letter immediately, Lord Interfector" assured Aleron in his usual tone before the Interfector finished thinking out loud.
Aleron began writing on a new sheet of paper bearing the sigil of the Office of Circle Junction's Praetor and the Interfector resumed his work on that previous manuscript.
Dalton asked casually, "So what are you jotting down, Primus?"
The Interfector kept working, "Just the official list of properties to be auctioned off tomorrow... Meant to have it done earlier, but I keep getting pulled different places due to that Colorado Sector nonsense."
"Not anymore" said Dalton with another wide grin.
The Elite smiled in return as a child legionary accidentally knocked on the Interfector's large window. As the three men's attention turned to the noise, the child soldier standing on the ledge by a rope harness saw the occupied room, gave his salute to the three officers inside, and a giant scrap metal "A" was hauled up into view by a crane.
"Good work, boys!" shouted the Elite through the glass, and the child soldier was joined by another who mounted the high ledge. Together the boys guided the scrap metal "A" into its spot in the adjusted sign.