Chapter 4 – Ignorantia
May 25th, 2545 (12:55 Hours – Military Calendar)
Epsilon Eridani System, Tribute
Planetary Capital of Casbah
:********:
Aegis Material Acquisition and Defensive Delivery Services, or AMADDS, was an organization whose roots and strength were ostensibly the obscurest part about them. At least it appeared that way to Duncan.
For the most part the other AMADDS were sharp and reserved characters that didn't pay him much attention or answer questions. Quinn and Haskin were among those that kept to their own, ignoring when he asked about the organization and how big it really was.
As it turned out, even O'Reilly didn't like to answer questions beyond a simple "Not that many" or "We're all over the place." It wasn't clear whether anybody knew how big the service actually was or if they knew and didn't care to tell him. The second option made the most sense since Stewards had made it clear from the get-go that he didn't trust him. That was fair. After all, he did just join their ranks. They wanted to test the waters with him first before divulging too much. But for him, he wanted to test the waters as soon as possible. Getting his feet wet with the info he needed would let him know if this whole venture was really worth it, if they had the means to protect families like his own should things ever hit the fan. A general refusal to give that information though was enough to shut him up for the entirety of the shuttle trip.
The very day after his arrival at their hotel room, Captain Stewards had the entire crew move out. The group of some 20 men and women, or 'Gypsy Platoon' as Duncan learned was their official call-sign, packed their things that night. Then they headed out in the dawn on a small convoy of taxis to the local starport. Thankfully, Stewards and O'Reilly arranged for another electronic ticket for himself during the drive.
They got through starport security with little problem and no one in Gypsy making any nervous indications that there should be one. They were surprisingly calm, more so than Duncan would be knowing he had something to hide. Their civilian appearance ultimately helped seal the deal on their normal impressions. Quinn tossed his duffel bag into a special container and onto the conveyor belt for an X-ray. Haskin had no troubles walking in his socks through the gateway of the body checker as a security guard gestured him forward. Even Al, when pulled aside for an additional body search, didn't show a hint of worry. None of the others were concerned about him either except for Duncan of course. It would make sense that the kid might have a slip-up since he seemed so inexperienced, being fresh into the whole adulthood thing. The result was that he was quietly shocked once Al underwent the pat-downs and directions without so much as a worry line or nervous grin. He had to accept then and there that the guy's appearance of being a novice, in this case, really was deceiving.
Everyone got to Gate-4 at Terminal A with no problems. A casual chat in the food court and an early morning fast-food breakfast passed before their flight arrived. Again, the boarding was no problem, as was the following 5-hour intra-system flight across Epsilon Eridani. To Duncan, it felt like things were going too smooth.
Even the descent through the noon-lit skies of Tribute felt too disconnected from the normally rough entries that he had grown used to. The same applied to the disembarkation process all the way to their drive through the streets of the planetary capital of Casbah that ended at its southern suburbs.
Gypsy disengaged from their taxis to head into what initially looked like a simple, L-shaped motel. It was an old, rundown place that would only appear as just that to the uninitiated. To anyone who knew better, as Duncan ultimately would, the building was actually a safehouse.
Stewards indicated that much by issuing room assignments to everyone in Gypsy then following it up with orders to 'get dressed' before their departure at 1300 Hours. Not surprisingly, Duncan discovered his room assignment with O'Reilly and two others on the second floor.
Their room met his expectations almost to the letter. There were four beds, each pierced all over with the inner springs that jutted out from the frame like a medieval torture bed. Spots of dark mold had made their abodes on the walls of the bedroom and bathrooms. The empty toilets, tubs and sinks were not so empty, being the long-established homes of brown hooded roaches that scurried down into the piping whenever they were discovered.
"This definitely isn't like that place you guys had in Alexandria." Duncan noted. "What, did you throw all your creds on a couple of nights there?"
"Don't worry about all that." O'Reilly said. "It's just a safehouse, and we're not staying here. The one thing we need is the gear." With that he proceeded to pull up one of the beds. The other two did the same. They hefted the springy frames against the walls. Ignoring the roaches that scurried from their compromised hideouts, the three bent down and pulled at small seams of fabric that blended along abnormally sectioned parts of the carpet. They slipped their fingers into the seams then pulled them back, revealing a hard wooden surface. That too was pulled up to expose rectangular, metal safes with old-fashioned combination padlocks.
Duncan started figuring out what they were up to and lifted the last bed. He ignored the roaches and occasional centipedes, pried back the carpet and wooden flooring to find another safe waiting below. It was roughly the same size as himself.
"The code's 45741." O'Reilly said as he finished unlocking his own.
Duncan carefully rotated the knob on the padlock to the numbers. The mechanism clicked and he pulled the door open by its rusty handle.
Inside was a cushioned interior of styrofoam holding the recognizable leg, arm and torso pieces of a Marine battle dress uniform. Nestled next to them was an MA5B assault rifle accompanied with a few clips of ammo and a utility belt.
"Suit up, boyo." O'Reilly said, slipping the lower parts of his BDU into place. "We've only got about 5 more minutes before the flatbeds show up."
A good deal uneased by what was going on and secretly curious as to how they got their hands on the equipment, Duncan dared ask. "Why do we need this?"
"You're a rather nosy guy, aren't you pal?" One of the others in the room, Thurston asked back. He was a lanky guy with shaggy dark hair and the smirky disposition of someone who was half-drunk. Even now he was smirking at him while clipping his belt into place. "You keep asking all the wrong questions, my guy. Start looking at the bigger picture. Why are we here at all? You know, something like that."
"Okay then," Duncan busied himself with slipping on the leggings. "So why are we here? I know this can't be the spot you guys talked about as your real hideout."
"Oh really, and what made you figure that?" The last guy asked. "Was it the fact that we're still on the UNSC's front porch or that we have to wear Marine BDUs that gave it away?" He was a broad chested man with prominent cheek bones that become most pronounced when he talked. His hair was dark like Thurston's but straightened, his skin a deep tan though not black or Hispanic but something closer to what were once known as Pacific islander features. Palakiko, or Kiko for short, shook his head at Duncan while he finished putting on his arm bracers. "Listen newbie, real questions or not, they can wait. What we're doing now is too important to be stressing the minor details." He finished up to grab his MA5B. He slammed a fresh clip into the weapon and wracked the first round into the chamber. Satisfied, he hefted it over his shoulder and made for the door with his duffel in the other hand. "And no, I'm not giving you zip about this op until either it's done or the cap says otherwise."
Duncan watched him walk out the door. O'Reilly, now finished and having spotted his friend's visible confusion, came to his side holding his own rifle. "We don't mean to leave you in the dark, Sunny Jim. I wouldn't either if it weren't for the fact that this is how we do things."
"Keeping people flying blind?"
"Only the newbies. They did the same to me when I first joined; telling me what to do and when to do it but nothing else. Pretty soon though I showed them that I'd be sticking around for a while longer and could pull more than my own weight on the team." He flashed a grin and headed for the door, grabbing his own duffel. "It's all about the trust-factor, Duncan. I already know I can trust you. Now show them what you already showed me at Ravenport."
The mention of the old ODST camp cleared Duncan's mind just a little bit more. He had to work hard to survive there, yet alone to pass each of Dalton's tests day by day. He realized it was about to be a great comparison since he was expected to do the same thing here. This was his first test, his first training exercise in the field of these mercenaries, a world he knew next to nothing about. And he would to need to pass it with flying colors.
While donning the last of his gear he saw Thurston pick up his things and make for the door. The man stopped at the threshold to peer back at him, his awkward and non-sobering smirk increasing in mirth. "Oh, and by the way, last guy out has to put everything back the way we found it."
It took two seconds for the reality to sink in. Duncan was about to protest but Thurston raised a finger, shifting it left to right with each syllable. "Ah-ah-ah, if you got the hot potato...?"
Duncan hated that he knew what he was inferring with the old rhyme. He watched the merc leave, laughing at the misery of the newest addition to their team. He slowly looked around to the open safes, the trashy beds leaning against the moldy walls, the many roaches now coalescing on those walls and felt himself throw up a bit in his mouth.
:********:
After gearing up, Gypsy assembled outside in the motel's parking lot. Apparently, everyone else already knew what their objective was in coming here. Duncan was the sole black-sheep since he was following blindly after them. Plus, he was starting to think that perhaps that was exactly what Stewards wanted from; blind faith or blind obedience.
The same minute that they finished their pre-mission equipment checks, their rides arrived in the form of three heavily armored flatbeds that rolled into the lot. Their olive, juniper and sage colored aluminum armor was lightweight yet sturdy enough to probably survive a pair of SPNKR rocket impacts. However, it made them seem like they had more in common with armored personnel carriers than actual trucks. Maybe that was the whole point.
Under Stewards' orders, Gypsy loaded up by squads onto the seating carriages of the front and rear flatbeds. The one in the middle already had its passenger section occupied with ten new arrivals. They too sported Marine BDUs like the rest. Even so, Duncan got the sense that they were as green as he was in their current field. It registered in the uncertain looks on many of their faces while they waited for everyone else.
He made a mental note to ask about them if he could, to see if he wasn't the only fresh face in Gypsy.
Once everyone was loaded on, the drivers got them underway. They pulled out of the lot then navigated into the outermost of Casbah's suburban neighborhoods.
Having been assigned to Stewards' personal squad 'Jinx' on the ride to Tribute, Duncan was seated in the frontmost flatbed with them. Thurston and Palakiko sat on his right closer to the exit. O'Reilly and the captain sat to his left near the head of the vehicle. Sitting opposite to them was Quinn's squad 'Jester' which included faces like the auburn-haired kid he'd recently learned was named Aleczander, or simply Al.
No one moved to talk. Instead, they were quietly enjoying the ride to wherever it was they were going. Thurston notably enjoyed the journey by taking a swig of something from his flask that smelt less like water and more like the piney scent of well-aged gin. Duncan tried to think about other things during the ride, such as what the neighborhoods were like.
Most of the roads of Casbah's southern suburbia adhered to the gently segmented format of a computer chip. The houses themselves followed after a white or tan-brown theme with crimson or gray rooftops. The majority were of a two-story layout with a characteristically well-manicured front-yard, a dual garage system out of which cars pulled in and out as well as pools in the backyard of varying shapes, the water of which glittered in the afternoon sun. They passed a few middle schools in session and got to see kids moving about their business for what remained of their lunch hour. The same went for the smaller corporate offices they saw that hosted men and women coming from lunch, many carrying 'World Cuisine' paper bags in hand.
To the north of the suburbs stood a tall skyline of domineering skyscrapers, larger corporate offices and the likes that formed the heart of the planetary capital. They were part of what made this world what it was as one of humanity' major commercial hubs. And beyond that pinnacle of colonial civilization was an expansive sea that turned a few latitudes further up into Tribute's Northern Ocean.
Regardless of the scenery, the silence was starting to get to him. He tried focusing on other things, like the fact that, much to his surprise, he was now heading into one of the cities on his dream-list to visit. He felt strange knowing that after today he could finally cross it off.
Another fact was that Hector said he was from around here, or at least had done a lot of limousine chauffeuring on these streets during his civilian days. Maybe he had folks here? Also, a limousine wouldn't be so bad compared to the hard seats he was using now. The same went for a limo's air conditioning which was exchanged here for the open-air whistling through his helmet.
However, that thought only reminded him of something that he quickly wished to forget. Epsilon was back in Falchion by now. They would be looking for him, trying to figure out where he went or to get some idea about his whereabouts from Deaks and Erica. They would be just as equally clueless. The truth was that he didn't exactly know how he could face them when they ultimately found out what he'd done, if they ever found out. The thought of them discovering what he'd decided to do filled him with an ounce of dread balanced only by his regret.
He hoped they could forgive him for it, if that was even remotely possible.
A sound broke him from his inner gloom: the deep breath taken after a long drink. Next to him, Thurston took his lips off his flask for what might've been the first time since they left the motel. A mischievous glint flashed into his eyes as he spotted Duncan looking at him. "And how was it cleaning after us, Mr. House Maid?"
"I hate all of you." Duncan said under his breath.
Thurston cupped a hand to his ear. "What was that?"
"It was absolutely delightful, the most wonderful experience of my life."
"You're a good liar, Iris." Thurston laughed, patting him on the shoulder. "Keep that up and you might just come in handy."
"Well in that case then I like you and find you to be a very interesting and inspiring person; the world would be a terrible place if we lost you."
Thurston sighed disappointedly. "No-no-no, Iris, it doesn't work if you're telling the truth."
"Okay then I actually really hate you and think your personality is the sum-total of the average bottle of gin."
"Ah, there it is. See, you're getting good at this."
Duncan sucked in a cool breath to simmer his growing anger. An idea crossed his mind that made him take another look at the man. "Hey Thurston?"
Thurston finished what was a series of sips of the golden liquid in his flask. "What?"
"I know you guys have me in the dark on purpose, I can understand that. On the other hand, I'm in the dark about the people I'm working with, like you and Palakiko. So, why'd you decide to sign on with everyone else?"
Taking another swig, Thurston stopped to wipe his mouth. He moved to reply when his expression went blank. He looked momentarily lost as to where he was, only for his face to brighten again on the verge of a question aimed at Palakiko. "Hey, why'd I sign up again?"
Kiko shrugged. "Hell if I know. You were here before me and it's been too long to remember what you were thinking back then. What I do know is that I came for the score."
"Ah yeah, that was it." Thurston turned back to Duncan, grinning proudly. "One word, Iris. Loot."
"Loot?"
"Yeah, we acquire things, guard things, salvage things and do all kinds of things with things that people ask us to deal with. You know, that kind of thing."
"That's a lot of things."
"It certainly is." Thurston started to swish his flask around lazily as he spoke with a tongue loosened by its contents. "Listen, whenever we get a job done, we don't only get paid by our employers. We also take a cut of the spoil ourselves to make sure we're as well off as we can be on our own. That's how we got this here gear we're wearing. You can think of us like pirates, the difference being that we are the ship carrying the goods rather than the ones doing the raiding. It's easier that way." A memory came to Thurston's attention that caused him to grow evermore giddy. "We're a lot more like pirates now though after Stewards ran that op to steal the Mayweather. You know, we did that after we ditched you guys at La Grotte. You remember that, Kiko?"
The other mercenary next to him didn't reply but wore an alarmed stare. Thurston merely laughed it off as he returned to Duncan who by then was curious about the silence. "Don't worry about him. He knows what's up." He leaned closer in the thralls of a grin. "But you know who didn't know what was up? The crew. Man, I'll tell you what, they didn't suspect a thing. Because of that, they didn't have a clue what hit them until it was already too-..."
Duncan watched him trail off. He didn't realize why the man had stopped until he looked around. A few of the guys in both Jinx and Jester had overhead their conversation despite the rushing wind and were staring at them. Among them was Quinn and a very unusually stoic Captain Stewards whose smile was mostly diminished. For a man who smiled perpetually, Duncan wasn't sure why he found a lack thereof to be more unsettling.
At length, it was the captain who broke the silence. "Hey Thurston?"
"...Yessir?"
Stewards raised a single finger to his mouth where the smile was beginning to return. "Fingers on lips, okay?"
Thurston nodded hesitantly.
"And calm it down with that flask. You can do that when we're done. Right now, I need you sober, understand?"
"Yessir." With a palpable reluctance, Thurston capped his flask and put it back in his utility belt.
Stewards' gaze shifted to Duncan. "If you've got any more questions, you can turn them my way, and don't be afraid to ask, alright?"
"If you say so, sir." Duncan replied before immediately considering how he could test that.
"If you're thinking about hearing his life's story I wouldn't bother." Quinn grumpily remarked. "It's too early in the day and I'm not in the mood for someone else's depression."
"What?" Al protested next to him. "But I like hearing it. It's actually cool, unlike yours."
Quinn side-eyed him with such intensity that the young mercenary shuddered and looked away. "I mean; his is better than yours, sir."
The guys around the truck joined in a round of laughter at what the kid still didn't realize was his own oblivious, tone-deafness.
They gradually quieted to the point that Duncan felt comfortable enough to ask his actual question. "When I came yesterday, you said something about wanting ex-UNSC personnel to join your group because 'it proves your point'. What's your point exactly?"
Stewards mulled over a prospective retort in his head. Whatever he found, it made him nod in agreement. "In all honesty, and you should know I'm all about honesty, I think my own sentiments match those of everyone on this drive when I say that the UNSC, and everyone currently living on this planet are on borrowed time." He took in a contemplative breath and let it out. "The same goes for everyone on every world we visit really, well, most of them. Eventually the Covies are going to find this place, burn it and move on to the next." He stopped to point at a passing middle-school where kids were enjoying their break on a playground. "See them, they're having fun, aren't they? They look like it too. Sadly though, the reality is that they're all on borrowed time. Them and their parents. It may sound cruel to say. It doesn't change the facts. And the only reason they're so civil is the same reason why the UNSC keep getting fresh boots on the ground to fight this war. Want to know what that reason is?"
"I guess." Duncan said plainly.
"Ignorance."
The answer didn't register right away. Duncan took a few heartbeats to process it, then a few more to form the darkened look that slowly veiled his face beneath the brim of his helmet. He still asked the question that he thought he already knew the answer to, hoping that he would tell him something he didn't previously suspect. "What do you mean by that?"
"You know what I mean." Stewards said as a matter of fact. "I can tell you've figured it out for yourself, haven't you?"
Duncan didn't answer.
"Though we might not like to admit it, most people live their lives in-line with the phrase 'what you don't know can't hurt you'. They don't think it of course, but they act it out. A decent amount of them live with just the right amount of info pertaining to their own lives and little else. And can you blame them, what's wrong with knowing only what you need to know? It's a big world out there after all, and who really needs to have a solid grasp on everything?"
"You're saying people know too little?" Duncan asked, prodding at the suspected inference.
Stewards shook his head. "Quite the opposite. They know too much."
It wasn't quite the notion Duncan was expecting and he went quiet.
"While what you don't know can hurt you, what you do know can do an even worse number on you than what you didn't." He pointed to the passing neighborhoods. "All of this, everything you see right now is nothing but frogs slowly boiling in a pot that they don't know is getting hotter each minute, each hour, day and month. We've known the Covenant as a significant threat for years, decades even. But the problem with fighting a lengthy conflict or doing anything for a prolonged period of time is desensitization. And whatever you're desensitized to can blindside you if it suddenly does something you weren't expecting."
"Wait, you said ignorance was the issue. Now you're saying that it's knowing too much?"
Stewards pointed at him like he'd struck the right question at just the right time. "It's both, Duncan. Both are the problem."
Duncan's obvious confusion egged him on.
"Please pardon my preaching, but it goes an awful lot like this. People know too much about what they could know, not enough about what they should." He nodded at the passing traffic. "Ask anyone here; any pedestrian-crossing suburban house wife on her way to the grocery store, or any white-collar wearing husband on his way back home from work if they know where Actium is relative to this system. I bet everything on them not having a clue. They only know it was a colony that a heroic colonel and his whole division decided to make their last stand on."
"Today the enemy will hear the roar of humanity, and they will fear us." Palakiko said gallantly like he was quoting a legendary figure. "It went something like that, right?"
Duncan shriveled a little on the inside. He didn't appreciate the nonchalant way he referenced the message that had galvanized him and so many others during that final drive to retake High Mediolanum. Stewards' agreeing nod didn't ease the sensation either.
"That's what was said. Truthfully, the Covies don't have anything to fear from us. Especially not from..." he gestured to the civilians. "Them. The average person in the inner colonies hasn't even seen what a veteran soldier has. Same goes for the average solider fresh to the fight, mainly because they're normally killed in their first contact with the Covenant. They only know there's a war going on and then go out thinking they have a grasp on what needs to be done. They don't know how bad it's going because that was all the UNSC's upper echelon wanted them to be aware of. They don't want people finding out that Actium, a burned-out planet, is actually just a few days' worth of a slipspace journey away from where they're sitting in air-conditioned rooms watching movies, doing homework, sleeping in comfortable beds and living as a family. They don't publish casualty lists for what they call battles that were really one-sided massacres. They don't show accurate star-maps to help people realize that more than several centuries worth of colonization has already been undone in less than one-twentieth of that time." He tapped at his helmet in a thinking gesture. "They want them to know that there's a war out there that needs to be fought so that they keep fighting it. They don't want them to know how close they really are to losing it. Not until there's no way for people to ignore that there's suddenly sunlight at nighttime, only to come outside and see the glassing beams coming closer to their own neighborhood. By then though, it's already too late...but you already knew that." Stewards nodded at him. "I mean, that's why you're here after all. You figured out what most don't live long enough to guess at. Consider yourself lucky."
Whether he'd done it intentionally or not, Duncan was left dumbfounded by how accurately he captured many of his own thoughts. Then the captain exceeded them outright. Duncan had known the answer. However, Stewards had given it to him in a way that showed his own understanding to be inferior. It was clear that the man had thought about this thoroughly, so much so that he had a hard time finding any cracks in his logic at all. Those he could find came about from his own unconscious attempts to refute those points. Yes, he'd left the UNSC. That didn't stop his natural defensiveness to the cause. To say people like Harper, Joels, Reece or Mentieth died without a clue about what it was they were doing was an insult to their sacrifices. Then again, he couldn't help wondering if they knew what it was that Stewards was now making clear; that they decided to meet the inevitable on their own terms. Maybe it made more sense than he wanted to admit. Maybe the others who were still alive knew that too. How farfetched an idea was that? Deaks certainly knew it.
"I get all that." Duncan said. "Still, how does that cater to your whole point of ex-UNSC defecting to your side?"
"Come on, boyo." O'Reilly said from beside him. "You know why."
"I'd be surprised if he didn't." Stewards added. "Our point, Duncan, is that this whole enterprise is unsustainable. It's going to collapse and soon. That's why the AMADDS are here, to take what we can from the system before it falls apart. In doing so, we end up in the strongest position to survive when the Covies finally find Earth. You, Riley, Quinn, Al, Haskin, even Ambers, the fact alone that you're all here is proof. It shows that the UNSC's attempts to project appearances of stability and strength can't fool everyone. You've seen through the veil and got a glimpse of what's on its way, and you know it's not victory. We know they're going to lose; you've admitted they're going to lose by being here, and that's our point being made."
Was it really though, Duncan wondered? His attention turned upwards to the first of the skyscrapers that were now far closer than before, their glassy infrastructure nearly casting the traffic below in their afternoon shadow.
Stewards relaxed into his seat a bit more, cracking his neck from having to look at an odd angle. "Got any more questions left?"
"Just one."
"Alright, let's hear it."
"Mind telling me where we're going?"
A smirk tugged at one corner of Stewards' lips. "I do mind, actually."
"Hey, you asked."
"That I did." He scratched his beard thoughtfully as they turned a corner onto a busy intersection. Despite the blare of the clogged traffic, the clatter of the many pedestrians flowing down the sidewalks and the naturally clamorous ambiance of the city, Duncan was still able to hear him say under his breath; "Honestly, I'm still trying to figure that out myself."
:********:
Casbah's afternoon traffic was a nightmare to behold, and torment to endure firsthand. Throngs of AI-operated taxis combined with manned cars, trucks and vans created stagnant streets and highways.
The surrounding buildings were no less busy. Thanks to the transparent windows lining the many skyscrapers, it was easy to see the thousands of suit and tie wearing workers moving about dozens of individual floors. There were plenty of corporate and public access buildings as well as apartment complexes. They generally stuck to a kind of segmented architectural style that became more pronounced the higher they were built. Others were less boxy and slimmer with narrowing pinnacles or diagonally inclined tops. It was a noticeable pattern of those that possessed decorative slants to their central structures that made the otherwise unidimensional buildings bulge outwards like the gentle curve of a butter knife or inwards like a soda bottle. The differing tints of hickory-brown, light gray and turquoise glass windows, some sharing a tasteful mix of even more colors, made the city of Casbah feel like an artisan sculptor's paradise.
What added to the affect was the unending abundance of street art. On the walls of offices, restaurants, theaters and public buildings alike were what appeared to be the commissioned handiwork of artists. Paintings on the walls dominated the lower levels of structures and even on sidewalks. They captured highly segmented human-forms with differing dimensions of faces and bodies in-action. A nigh near unrestricted palette made itself known in the plethora of colors used to emphasize many of those dimensions.
Taking it a step further, among the crowds of pedestrians making their daily commutes were humanoid figures that didn't move at all. They were human-sized mannequins, models whose being was sculpted in that same segmented pattern and abundance of emotive color coordination, from sadder blue and gray hues to vibrant yellows and greens. They were in walking positions on street corners pretending to be about to use the zebra crossing with everyone else. Some were in well-selected, out-of-the-way locations such as sitting on benches and waiting for buses that they would never take. Others sat on sidewalks, offering a fake hat for receiving money with an instrument in the other hand. A good few of those type were even accompanied by living musicians playing real instruments beside them. They earned the mannequins a few delighted credit transfers as passerby held out their chips, giving credits to the transfer devices inside the mannequins' hats.
The effect was pretty novel but was at its most effectual when people stopped to wait for passing traffic. What ended up happening was that there were was virtually no-telling who was what. That is unless a person was close enough to see their neighbor's nose or ears were too high above their eyes.
Everything came together to make Casbah one of the major hubs of an Earth-related trend known as 'Historical Revivalism'. The inner colonies had been on the receiving end of it for the better part of a few decades now. The trend came in waves and different aspects of it were picked up more than others in varying places. It was the 20th century architectural style of pseudo-Art Deco that caught on the most in New Memphis on Miridem. It was 15th and 16th century renaissance styles of neo-Greco-Roman architecture that took hold in places like High Mediolanum back on Actium. Here, Casbah was the home of the newest iteration of an old art style from roughly the same historical neighborhood as Art Deco: Cubism.
It added a good deal of subtle personality to what might otherwise have been dreary office buildings and apartments. That, and the multitude of holographic displays mounted to those buildings portraying various upcoming events and locations, actors and their newest films, cosmetics and food cuisines. Cubism was the underlying foundation of it all.
However, it also was believed to be, in part, an attempt by the UEG to spread more of Earth's culture to the colonies. It was a common feature of colonialism for the dominant power to spread its civilizational traits in order to maintain control of smaller territories; from beliefs and identity to clothing and, in this case, art. One suspicion in the more conspiratorial circles was that it was part of a coordinated ONI psych op meant to try controlling the populace in the years leading up to the Insurrection. The idea was that colonies were becoming too individualistic in their identities and that the United Earth Government wanted to tone that back by increasing the amount of shared culture between them and their homeworld. That way the expected heat-up of planetary identitarian nationalism wouldn't flare up like it did during the interplanetary wars, just on a much grander, intersystem scale.
If that was the goal though then it failed spectacularly.
While some saw the art as a colonialist conspiracy, others just saw it as something pretty to look at. To each his own, Duncan thought. He was personally leaning more towards the second option. That didn't stop people like Quinn from pointing it out to persons like O'Reilly who debated with him about it. Everyone else mostly ignored the small yet increasingly disagreeable argument between members of squads Jinx and Jester. Instead, they looked out to the towering cubist paintings posing in intricate postures across the bustling downtown area.
"You know, I wouldn't mind living here someday." Al said in a trance-like state.
Quinn broke from his arguing with O'Reilly to nudge the smaller mercenary in the ribs. "Too bad you're not going to. You've got a job to do."
Al visibly deflated. "Dream-killer." He muttered.
"You're one to talk about focusing on the job." O'Reilly said. "Aren't you the same guy debating over whether Picasso should have a city all to himself or not? Seriously, why do you even care? This place won't exist soon enough. Let them have their art. We could use a bit of that back at base ourselves."
"No, we don't." Quinn firmly declared. "It's a dead fad that they decided to resurrect to keep people in-line. That, and It's a waste of time and resources."
"Okay, Mr. Art Critic. Let's see you do any better."
"Yeah, thanks but no thanks."
"Thought so."
The convoy continued through Casbah's heart, eventually coming to a spot where there was a recession of skyscrapers. Occupying much of that space was an urban sprawl of smaller buildings much like an open clearing. The urban shrubbery here surrounded a series of ten dark structures with domed roofs. Those in turn connected to a main building whose porcelain visage had an uncanny resemblance to a black-sheened conch shell. The main structure stood 300 meters above the others. It possessed heightened arches set over elongated passages that connected it to the smaller constructions on its perimeter.
Being roughly half the size of a football stadium, it was marked at key locations with the symbol of two stalks of golden grain encircling a crisscrossed globe. The symbols helped anyone passing by to immediately identify it as the United Earth Government's Consulate Building for Tribute.
It was reminiscent of the days when Tribute was merely a fledgling colony securely fastened under the hold of the UEG. Then, once it developed enough and the UEG's expansion concerns shifted elsewhere, the government passed over control to the Colonial Administration Authority for local governance. By proxy it was still under their influence of course. Nevertheless, even that slowly changed as the rising Insurrection of the late 2400s started making too many friends in the CAA. In response, the UEG made their hold on at-risk planets much more obvious and permeant with the use of consulate buildings on various inner colonies like Tribute. As consulates, they were theoretically meant to give consultation to the local CAA. That was the ruse. In truth, they operated functionally as the direct hand of Earth's power, purposed to make sure that they didn't lose control of major commercial centers. Then that too changed with the onset of the current war with the Covenant and the passing of the reins of power from the UEG to the UNSC.
Today, the consulate building was structurally imposing but politically a moot point, much like the organization it represented. When that might change was anyone's best guess.
Regardless of its own lack of any real authority, Palakiko saw fit to hock a loogie at the consulate's passing walls.
The flatbeds continued on through the city.
Eventually they turned a corner and came onto a long street. Near the end on its left side was a lengthy granite wall setup in a manner that gave the illusion of descending sections, like dominos stacked together on a staircase. The barrier was so tall that it blocked out much of the establishment on the other side.
They reached an off-shooting streetway on the left that let them drive off the main road. Quickly, the sidewalks were changed out for rectangular hedges. Said hedges framed the road all the way up to where it ended at the threshold of a large, iron gate.
In front of the gate stood a squad of 10 military police armed and decked out in Marine BDUs. One of them stepped before the convoy and held up a hand. The lead flatbed hissed to a stop, prompting those behind it to do the same.
Duncan tensed for the security check he knew was coming.
An MP who had the silver star of a captain on his shoulder walked up to their vehicle. He eyed them for a second and held up a hand. "ID and purpose of arrival, please"
Stewards had gotten to his feet. He pulled a small card out of his belt and handed it down.
The MP captain scanned it through the TACPAD on his arm bracer and read aloud the info provided by the database. "Captain Schmidt of the 42nd Reserves. It checks out." He handed the card back. "Purpose?"
"We're here to make the latest pick-up of Dr. Schonberg's equipment." Stewards said. "I believe we were scheduled-in already."
The MP looked to one of the two gatehouses where a man sitting at an inside desk quickly typed through a holographic interface. "Checks out. It's the 1340 Hour transit."
"Alright then." The police captain nodded them on. "Pull on up to Garage-B. I'll contact Resources to let them know you're here."
Stewards spared him a two-fingered salute as the gate slid open. The convoy continued on unabated.
What came next was a sight that stunned Duncan the second he laid eyes on it.
The road they were on was surrounded on either side by grassy gardens adorned in an array of bushes with red, yellow, white and purple flowers. The bushes formed neat islands of color or connected together to create long lanes of vibrant hues that ran along well-trimmed hedges. A few pine trees were spaced out around the place to give the outer grounds a sense of deep harmoniousness.
The further in they drove the more the foliage was peeled away to reveal the glassy structure lying at the heart of the grounds. Glassy because it was almost entirely made of blue-tinted windows on which sunlight glinted off like the surface of a rippling river. Because of its setup, it would probably look akin to the letter 'X' from above courtesy of its four split corners; a detail that became obvious as they drove around it. They had to pass by several smaller structures that through their windows looked a lot like laboratories. Circumventing a fully occupied parking lot, they came onto a roundabout that looped all the way to the front steps of the building. Above the revolving doors there was a sign Duncan could read plainly:
'Colonial Conservationist Society - Tribute Headquarters'.
He took it as a hint to what their actual assignment could be. His attempts to think about it and tie the pieces together didn't work out though. What in the world did a government-sanctioned nature conservationist organization have to do with mercenaries?
The convoy slipped past the front steps and down to the right wing of what was the building's northern face. They left the tarmac of the road for the gravel of an open yard area. There, they came across a row of towering garage complexes off to the eastern side of the main building, each of which had a similar appearance to storage units. Each had its automatic door marked with a white letter from 'A' down to 'K'.
Getting closer to them only put into perspective how large they actually were. Five-stories tall on average, an individual garage looked to be able to store a few Elephant assault platforms with ease.
The group halted in front of the one labeled 'B'.
"Setup a quick perimeter." Stewards ordered over their shared comms. "This'll take 5, 10 tops."
Five what? Ten what? Whose Doctor Schonberg? Duncan pushed the rising questions to the back of his mind as Gypsy disembarked their flatbeds. Squads Jester and Joker, led by Quinn and Haskin respectively, fanned out over the gravel yard to setup a perimeter. Joining them was the last team of Gypsy: Squad Jack. In keeping with the 'J-word' affiliations and mischievous characterizations, squad Jack was led by a woman owning amber hair that remained concealed within the confines of her helmet. It funnily enough made her name of 'Ambers' easier to remember. While having a rounded face, a petite figure and the bagged eyes of someone who used to smile a lot, she didn't smile at all now and her serious air made her seem older than she actually was. She was a decent deal more reserved even than her fellow squad leaders, commanding her team around with a few points of her finger instead of verbal commands.
The new guys that Duncan suspected to be more recruits like himself fell under the command of the brawny raccoon, the bronze giant and the anti-Mona Lisa. They swiftly heeded their orders to fan out to different positions around the yard.
As for Jinx, Stewards led them directly to the door of Garage B. Unlike everyone else, the smile on his face didn't so much as falter as the door creaked. The massive barrier groaned for a few seconds before slowly sliding upwards like a trembling boulder being pushed from before the entrance of a tomb.
Duncan straggled a bit behind the rest of the squad in walking over the threshold. Of course, he was wary of whatever it was they were going for. Unlike himself, Thurston, Palakiko, O'Reilly and Stewards looked indifferent to seeing the well-lit space awaiting them inside.
Garage B's interior was an obsessive-compulsive disorder's wet dream. From the sterilized floor and meticulously organized, room-sized storage units lining the walls to the four additional levels formatted perfectly like the letter 'U' up above. There were even more units on those levels with available catwalks and accessible elevators in the two farthest corners of the garage. The whole arrangement reminded Duncan of the very last training mission he did at Camp Ravenport when both Charlie and Lima raided a warehouse to recover a special cargo, only to get ambushed by Mahoney. It was that unconscious connection that made him keep his eye on the overhead crossbeams for signs of explosives. It became more real thanks to O'Reilly's presence after all these years. He couldn't help wondering if this would be the same case here. Whether that threat was real or imagined, he kept trailing after the rest of the squad, his finger hovering at the ready above the trigger of his MA5B.
Jinx headed towards an ordering desk on the other side of the garage.
Despite there being half-a-dozen seats and active holographic interfaces, there was only one person waiting for them behind the desk.
With their approach, the lone woman stepped out from behind her own interface and walked over to meet them.
Duncan took a good look at her. The lady had the bearing of someone's assistant. She had thin glasses, thin lips and a thin frame wrapped in a doctor's lab coat. Her dark hair was braided back into a tight bun that loosed off a few bangs which she had to push out of her eyes to see them. On her coat pocket he spotted the label: 'RA - L. Zakharov'.
Stewards hailed her. "Hey, you must be Lara. That is you, right?"
"Yes, that's me." She spoke with a subtle Russian accent that showed English was something of a second language. Since it wasn't as rough as Yuri's, she was already on the right track to full fluency in Duncan's private opinion. He saw her eyes light up with an excitement that looked to have been sitting there in secret. "You must be...Stewards, yes?"
"That's me."
Lara looked at the team as well as those outside. "I guess these are all your men. You're here for Dr. Schonberg's legacy, correct?"
"That we are. Gotta say though, it wasn't easy getting here and it'll probably get worse the closer we get to rush hour. I'll need you to help us double-time it out of here so we can catch our flight."
Flight? Duncan kept the question to himself.
Laura perked up. "Ah yes, no problem. Please, follow me."
They let her take the lead towards the elevator in the rear-left corner of the garage. Lara held out a hand, ushering in a holographic display that floated beside her. She straightened her glasses with one hand and typed out succinct commands on the interface with the other. By the time they reached the opening door of the elevator it was no longer the sole door activating for them. There came the mechanical thump of a storage unit coming to life on another level.
They took the short ride to the third floor. There, just several units further down was one that was gradually rolling open.
As they walked to it, Lara kept typing at the interface and simultaneously struck up a conversation with Stewards. "So how is Dr. Schonberg?"
Duncan swore that he saw the captain look back at him out the corner of his eye before answering. "He's alright."
"Has he been taking care of himself? Please tell me he's been eating. I know how he can be, overworking himself so much that he forgets to eat for days on end. We even had to force him to sleep a few times by slipping sedatives into his drinks when he was making his biggest breakthroughs. Those were better days, back when he was here anyway. Please tell me he's okay."
Perhaps without meaning to, Lara had unveiled a lot of information that Duncan wasn't sure how to process or to see where it fit in the overall puzzle. For now, he kept the pieces floating in queue while he waited to hear what else she would say.
Stewards kept looking straight ahead. "The last I saw of him he was having some of our guys working in the fields doing maintenance. He's a taskmaster in his own right when he's ready, but you can tell he loves what he does. We haven't had to drug him...yet. That isn't to say I'm never tempted to try though."
Lara put a hand to her mouth as she giggled, hiding a small blush. "Ah, yes, sounds like he's doing far better then."
"He's a healthy man. I pray he stays that way."
"Yes-yes-yes. And the tests? How are those turning out?"
Duncan saw Stewards' face turn ever so slightly so that despite that he wasn't looking back at him, he could see his reaction on his periphery. "They're promising to say the least. He's got the place looking a hell of a lot better than it did before he came. I can tell that much."
Again, Lara's face brightened excitedly. She couldn't hold it in and let her inner joy become known with a proud chuckle. "I knew it, I knew it would work, I-, oh, we're here."
Having been quietly entwined in their conversation, Duncan was caught off guard when they stopped in front of the open storage unit labeled 'B-37'.
In the middle of the unit sat three small, mobile cargo containers. They were cylindrical in length with octagonal diameters and a matt-black coloring. Their mass was roughly the size of a mongoose and each was fitted atop a raised, six-wheeled chassis like a lunar rover.
The group gathered in around them, Duncan quietly trying to deduce what about these things warranted a 30-man security detail just to transport them. Because that was obviously what they'd come to do, to transport these...whatever they were to...wherever they were going. The two clues that he picked up on as they examined them were of little help. The first was a realization that the cylinders' casings were made of Titanium A armor, the stuff they used on UNSC ships for battle-plating. Needless to say, it would require a massive amount of force to come remotely close to cracking them open, yet alone to reach what was inside. The next clue was by far the most obscure which helped confuse him more than anything. It was just a white-lettered labeling on the side of each case:
'Pele-5'
"Here we go." Lara said, typing in the last commands.
The response was a blinking of several red lights on the three chassis before the machines rumbled like burbling engines.
"There. I've locked them onto your bio-signature so that they'll maneuver under your personal direction, Captain Stewards."
Stewards peeked around the devices. He tested them with a step back. The chassis drove towards him at a speed that matched his own, stopping when he held up a hand. His honest smile became one of satisfaction. "Perfect. Duncan, you're helping Kiko with the hardpoints. Thurston, Riley, help me out. Let's make this fast."
"Sir." The squad replied in unison. Duncan's was palpably delayed. He accompanied Kiko to the right of the closest chassis. His fellow AMADD pointed to a bar on the side of the container. He whipped out a handle-bar of his own adjoined with several clamps. He proceeded to slap the device onto the bar and Duncan helped him screw the clamps down into a vice grip on the hardpoint. The others did the same on the left side of the first chassis then repeated the procedure together on the other two.
"Done." Kiko said.
"Same." Stewards echoed. "Come on, let's get these things moving."
They filed out of the unit with the containers in automatic tow. Stewards made sure to stay behind to keep them on his tail as they headed back to the elevator. They stayed to the sides of the lift to grant their newest cargo some room then crossed the bottom floor to the convoy.
Lara stopped at the threshold and waved at them. "Send my regards to the doctor for me."
Stewards gave her the thumbs up. "Will do."
There was a groan of mechanics as the doors of Garage-B started again, now descending. Duncan peered over his shoulder to see Lara walk back inside right as the giant door descended the last of the way to the ground. His eyes narrowed; his suspicions set on trying to understand the connections involved here. A blind pick-up. A flight. Maybe a delivery? For who? Where? Why? He kept the name 'Schonberg' in mind for the time being.
Jinx went on to take a set of several metal wires from a box in the back of their own flatbed. They first tied their ends to the rails of the truck. Then they approached the first chassis and inserted the opposite ends of the wires into magnetic ports in the clamps which immediately tightened the metal material. They did the same to the remaining containers by hooking them up to the last two trucks.
Stewards ran a few test-pulls on the wires to make sure they were stable. Content with their tensile strength, he called out on the comm. "Gypsy-Actual to all hands, our packages are secured. Let's roll out."
The rest of Gypsy stationed around the yard took less than a second to respond. Their squad leaders had them withdraw from their positions to reboard the flatbeds. It was a surprisingly quick, well-disciplined withdrawal, Duncan thought. If they were this well put together under no immediate threat then it certainly would be a sight to see them under fire.
In 30 seconds, the flatbeds were rolling out from the garages with their containers being pulled along behind them. The group passed the main conservationist building, through the gates and back out onto the streets of Casbah. All the while the MPs that watched them leave were none the wiser. They, much like Duncan himself, probably had next to no idea what had just happened under their own supervision.
:********:
Within an hour of urban travel, Gypsy's convoy passed through the gates of its last destination. It was a private starport a few kilometers to the northwest of the city. To get there they had to traverse an interstate highway that rounded the large bay between the downtown area and the western outskirts of Casbah.
There, stretching out over the sea, were manmade extensions of the natural land. These extensions were comprised of seaborne expressways connected to multiple landing pads like capillaries to individual alveoli. There were four of these extensions that went out on average slightly over a kilometer across the northern sea.
Sitting on the end of the longest extension was a ship that Duncan didn't recognize but knew from the others to be their ride off of Tribute.
He couldn't make out too much of its details or the handful of others taking off and touching down on nearby pads. The numerous ships parked around the place also made getting a good glimpse of their own nearly impossible.
The three flatbeds drove across the tarmac of the inner apron. They used pre-painted paths of egress to pilot around civilian workers on the runways, separate vehicles on the move and several maintenance hangers in their leisure drive northwest.
Last came the flash-light looking control tower that stood watch over the entrance to the seaborne channels. Al hailed haphazardly at several flight controllers watching them through the tower's windows. Quinn swiftly pulled his hand down and gave him a hard stare that squelched any desire to repeat the action.
They carried on down the highway of the longest extension which soon turned into a seaborne expressway. The water below was remarkably calm and the crest of each wave shimmered under the shining scrutiny of the afternoon sun.
The convoy passed a handful of freighters where crew were embarking or disembarking their cargo. Their open hanger bays hosted containers of varyingly hidden luxuries, visible encasements of sports cars and heavy-duty agricultural vehicles such as Jotuns. Whatever business they were running, the trade was obviously booming.
Soon they were close enough for Duncan to get a good idea as to the type of craft they were heading for.
It was a vessel around 200 meters long bearing the name 'Mayweather' on its portside. It had a prominent and distinguishable bridge atop an upper aft section with a trapezoidal diameter. A similar dimension applied to the lower section which elongated a good deal further into the forward section of the ship. Behind the stern were three coney fusion drives mounted above an equal number of additional exhaust outlets. The most notable aspect of the design was its bulbous midsection which was shaped like a sphere. That, he guessed, had to be its main rotating section for artificial gravity generation. However, he still didn't know how he felt about the bulge. That kind of design was unnecessary from a tactical standpoint and merely made the ship a much better target for pin-point laser fire from Covenant ships. Then again, freighters of this class hadn't been built with that kind of scenario in mind.
He figured it had to be a Parabola-class freighter which were pretty popular among independent merchants. They still were. However, nowadays they were seeing a bit more action, for example as a transport for mercenaries.
The convoy slipped below its upraised underbelly which was kept elevated by its landing gear. The ship's rearmost ramp was down. Whoever was expecting them had left the back door open.
One by one the flatbeds drove up the ramp.
Duncan took his last eyeful of the distant skyline of Casbah just as their truck left the natural sunlight of Epsilon Eridani for the artificial light of the cargo bay.
Inside was a basic setup of crates sprawled out over a large floor area. After the last truck parked in the bay, the rear ramp arose to clamp back into place. There was the familiar rumble indicating the ship's engines flaring. The very next moment the entire craft was moving upwards in its pre-flight ascent.
The AMADDS of Gypsy leapt down from their trucks and worked to anchor them in place using available tethers. Two tech-users with data-pads linked themselves to the three containers and helped deactivate them, enabling their teammates to tether them in place as well.
"We'll leave these here for now." Stewards said on the comm, patting one of the containers. "We can enjoy the rest of the ride back then roll them out later. Alright everyone, good job out there. Get some rest and chow."
The platoon of mercs disassembled tiredly across the cargo bay. Most headed off for the far doors that slid aside to let them deeper into the ship.
But Duncan was among those who didn't budge.
O'Reilly slapped him on the back as he left. "You did good for your first day, Duncan. Keep that up. I'm headin' to the mess for some lunch. You can tag along if you like."
"I'll be there in a sec."
"Suit yourself. You'll find out the hard way though that Hask likes hogging the quality grub to himself before anyone else can get a good look at it."
"No worries, I'll be fine."
Duncan watched him hold out two fingers in a 'peace-out' gesture as he left through the nearest set of doors. He was then free to face the last remaining person in the bay.
Stewards had made no attempt to move yet. He was still eyeing the containers. Duncan came to his side. "So how'd I do on my first day, sir?"
The captain remained fixated on the device but replied. "Oh, you're still here huh? To be frank, you did decent."
"Decent enough to warrant what I asked you about yesterday?"
Stewards glanced knowingly at him. "No, old boy, we'll still need you to do a bit more than that."
"But I-"
"This mission was simply a pick-up. It wasn't a hot extraction by any means. No one had to kill anyone. When I see how you perform under those conditions, I'll reconsider." Stewards patted him on the shoulder and started walking off. "Till then."
Above the many questions whose resolution had been thwarted throughout the day, there was one that had been festering on his mind since he first talked with O'Reilly at the café. He could feel himself ready to burst if he didn't ask it. At this rate he needed to. Too much was on the line now for him to just hold it in for one more day.
"Could you at least tell me the most important thing, sir?"
Stewards stayed the course for the nearest door. "Like?"
"I don't get it. I know you don't want to tell me where we're going and I've accepted that. But I'm not seeing something here. Why is it that you think wherever it is we're going to is so safe that the Covenant won't just find it and burn it like anywhere else?"
The captain stopped mid-step. He seemed to consider the quandary, examine it in all its fullness and casually cast it aside.
"Because they already found it." Stewards replied as the door slid open for him. "And they already burned it."
Ignorantia - Ignorance
