There was a long discussion. Landis was orchestrating a plan to take the Temple down, he said. He and a few rebels in Abramov's group had managed to smuggle explosives into the Temple, gaining entry as construction workers. There were quite a few set around the building, disguised as TMA boxes and other mundane objects.
Bradley liked the plan. He and Kelley escorted Landis back to Abramov, would inform the rebel leader of the plan to walk Lionel into Detroit. Once they returned, the group know how soon their own plan could be put into action.
Lionel slept again, because he didn't feel like spending the last few moments he might have keeping Sue and Jesse company. They were clearly interested in other activity, which only made him feel worse. Jeremiah and Amos had gone off for food, so he really didn't have much choice but listen to the teenagers on the rock wall, until he couldn't take it anymore and laid on his right side with his shirt wrapped around his ear holes.
Even if sleep brought nightmares, it wasn't like he enjoyed his waking world.
"Phaeton walks," Jesse told the group of dirty children who had gathered in silence to watch Sigma lead Lionel through Detroit. The children looked up at Lionel with wide eyes, and he bared his teeth and snarled. They scattered like radroaches. Jesse chuckled stupidly.
"This place is downright awful," he said, to Bradley. "How does anyone make it to adulthood in Detroit?"
"Lower your voice," Bradley said. He looked down at the ground and stepped around a pile of dirt. "It used to be much nicer," he added. "Less industrial waste. More sun."
"That's about all that's changed," Lionel tried to joke. Even after sleeping so much, he was dog tired. His calf still hurt from the shotgun wound. He felt all the eyes on him, people watching him walk through the streets. Made his heart thud dully in his chest. It was almost over.
"You'll have to tell me about it sometime," Jesse said.
"Nah, kid," Lionel pulled up his foot and hopped over a pile of what he hoped wasn't sewage. The place stunk like smoke and shit and a nasty chemical taste in the back of your throat. "I'm going down swinging," he said, and cast his eyes up to the sky.
"Hell of a way to think," Jesse said. "...I got your back."
"Let's keep it quiet," Bradley said. He grabbed up Lionel's elbow and directed him through an alleyway.
They walked through the terrible mess of a city. The waterfront had been blown to hell, all remaining features a scabbed reminder of the impressiveness of Detroit. Lionel hadn't had much opportunity to visit, but his aunt had lived here, and he recalled the buildings that nearly touched the sky. He also recalled it was a good deal more cheerful being in Aunt Ruth's kitchen than at his father's house.
Everything in Detroit was painted with toxic dust. In the distance the loud machinery of the plants could be heard, a slow beat to a dying city. Lionel saw men with missing arms, like himself, and for once he was grateful that he had lost it through old fashioned chicanery, not in a stamping press or a roll former.
Bradley led them on a zig-zag pattern through the streets, avoiding the biggest debris. He was purposely staying away from anyone, even though he said they would not be stopped. Lionel suspected Bradley didn't trust him to stick to their plan.
What plan? he thought to himself. Bradley said they'd kill the bastard and get out, as quickly as possible. The quicker they killed him, the quicker he'd get her back; but Bradley couldn't give any advice on what would happen once they entered the Concourse. It was an unknown he hadn't resolved, along with the possibility of brainwashing.
"When we get there," Bradley was saying, "everyone should be quiet unless necessary. Don't speak until spoken to." He turned to Jesse. "Act like you couldn't care less."
"Mayer was pretty chatty," Lionel said.
"Not when he was on contact point," Bradley replied. "Then he was moody and quiet. Yes, sir; no, sir."
"It's so fucking hot in this armor!" Jesse moaned.
"Mayer took a dive off a bluff out by the west shore of Lake Michigan. I think it destroyed his internal heating coil control." He looked to the side quickly and gestured for them to follow. "It never got fixed. He also did something to his helmet's exhaust module. That's why it echoes."
Jesse laughed, and Lionel was suddenly taken back to that day when Mayer was taunting him, insinuating he was with Celia. His missing arm felt weird.
Maybe she'd been right about showing too much attention. Mayer might not have stomped so hard on his arm, if he hadn't been so passive and allowed her to act like she did. ...He wished he'd done better at making her feel better, then.
He grabbed at the stub of his arm and set his face into a grim expression. No, it wasn't her fault. He wouldn't think of blaming her.
"I could have stopped him," Bradley said, quietly. "I chose to ignore it. I could have broken conditioning."
"Remember that," Lionel growled. "You won't die easily."
"What breaks it, anyway?" Jesse asked.
"Fear," Bradley said. "Pure, unadulterated fear. That is why so many of the people realized after a nightmare."
Jesse stepped past a flaming barrel, and stopped. "Hang on," he said, sounding strained. "Gimme a minute, this armor is chafing me."
Lionel watched people lingering by the buildings, saw Paramount soldiers taunting them. One soldier had a metal pole and was thrashing a man with it. "How come these people haven't broken?" he asked.
"Detroit's population has the benefit of being subjected to constant exposure to the music," Bradley said. "You can't hear it?"
Lionel rubbed his left ear hole and looked away. Well, if that was something that saved his life, he felt even with Mayer for volunteering to die, robbing him of his revenge. Jesse held out his arm and Bradley adjusted the metal plate around the padding against the kid's skin.
"What made you break it?" Jesse asked the soldier.
Bradley stood up straighter and stopped mid-action. Slowly, he re-latched the armor pieces and shot Lionel a glance. "He calls her Eve."
"Who's Eve?" Jesse asked, confused.
"Celia." Bradley kept Lionel in the corner of his vision. Lionel knew what it meant, him watching him like that. He doesn't want me to get angry and blow our cover.
That made him angry, anyway, and he clenched his fist, staring at the soldier with as much spite as he could muster. This was good―he wanted the hate back, he needed it. It was much better than moping about, or feeling tired.
Bradley saw this, and faced Lionel. "She's been conditioned. I watched him order her to shiver in a hot room," he said, "and to undress without unease. He plays with her, like a child with a new toy. The control is absolute, and that is terrifying."
Lionel turned, violently kicked the barrel beside Jesse, and stalked away from them. He was furious, now, the anger was riding through his head like a goddamn big headache with spurs on. Good! he thought. He won't have her for very much longer, he told himself. I'll make sure of that.
She's mine.
Fingertips dug into his palm, for lack of fingernails. How dare any motherfucker try to lay claim to her!
The street was on fire, now, fist-sized pieces of Brahmin shit burning in a line where the barrel had rolled away. Bradley took Lionel by the elbow again and walked him quickly out of the street and into another alley.
"You need to control yourself," Bradley said. "Save it for the High Ferrule."
"You can't tell me shit like that," Lionel hissed, jerking his elbow away from him.
"I regret that we were ever at odds, Lionel," the old soldier said. "That she has been treated so poorly by myself and others."
"At odds?!" Lionel turned and grabbed the front of his power armor, staring at him with every ounce of hate and anger he possessed. "The minute you laid your hands on her, you were dead!"
Bradley didn't respond. Jesse watched them silently. Lionel did not want to let go of the soldier. He wanted to kill him, right then and there, to smash his face in with a piece of asphalt. He wanted to feel his hand on Bradley's neck again, and this time he wouldn't let go.
"Hey," Jesse said, his voice concerned. "What if she tries to attack us, to defend the High Ferrule? If she's under his control..."
"It's possible he'd order her to attack. I hope that Lionel gets a hold of her before that happens," Bradley said, his voice ever irritatingly calm.
Lionel loosed Bradley with a shove and turned away from the two. The anger stayed, but was diluted with pain. "She's not very strong," he mumbled, and the pain turned into a spike in his chest.
"We need to keep moving," Bradley said.
"I'm gonna send a message to Amos," Jesse said. "I think I can see the Temple."
Lionel saw what he meant. A large radiation-stained building rose from the train tracks, lit up like a Christmas tree. He didn't think it was particularly impressive, compared to the ruins of the taller skyscrapers in the distance. Those buildings were dead shells; a bustle of activity was going on in the Temple yard, people in gray robes moving around, and patrolling soldiers with dogs. Scrap metal, rebars and corrugated metal sheets were being carried into the building.
Bradley dictated a message for Jesse to send to Amos and Sue, telling them about the conditioning being broken by fear.
"Is this the construction you said?" Lionel asked, gesturing to the work.
Bradley examined the scene for a moment. "Yes," he said. "Building the array on the Concourse roof."
"Are all those people going to get ki―" Jesse started, but Bradley cut him off.
"For what we are doing right now," he said, "any amount of casualty can be expected. It is probable that there will be more enemies than we anticipated, however." He sounded regretful.
Lionel cracked his neck, and made a fist. "Sounds like fun," he said, smiling grimly.