“Can we help you, son?” the standing man said to him in a
deep, kindly voice. He was short and thin with graying and thinning hair. His
most remarkable feature was his bright blue eyes that seemed to radiate light.
Damon stood awkwardly without answering. He couldn’t make
sense of anything he had seen tonight, and this current situation was the
strangest yet.
“Son?” the man repeated and slowly moved toward Damon,
showing no sign of fear.
In fact, he was acting as if he didn’t want to scare Damon!
This was too much, and Damon no longer trusted his eyes.
There must be a
malfunction in my operating system that’s affecting my brain.
“Just stop right there,” Damon said loudly and deployed a
single Trip-PC trained on the man’s face. The weapon hummed quietly and the
distinctive green glow began to suffuse the barrel and his arm. Many in the
audience gasped and scrambled away from Damon, but the man never flinched.
“I’m not going to hurt you, son. No one here will try to
hurt you,” he actually chuckled as he continued, “and I don’t think we could
even if we wanted to, judging by what I see.”
“What . . . what are you doing here?” Damon asked,
still flustered and disoriented.
“Why, we’re simply worshipping our Lord. Would you care to
listen in?”
Great!
Damon thought,
religious fanatics! Just
what I need.
“No thanks, father,” he said sarcastically and retracted the
cannon. “But you need to get out of here, far away, because I’ll be destroying
those factories next door very soon, and this whole place will go with them.”
Why am I telling them?
Damon panicked when realized
he was casually giving away tactical information.
I have to kill them all
now,
he thought for a moment, but rejected the idea. They were obviously
innocents and he didn’t want their blood on his hands. He realized that was what
made him warn them, he wanted them to be clear of the destruction.
“I’m sorry I reacted like I did,” he said to the whole
group, “but you must believe me and clear out of here—now!”
“Why destroy them? What have they done? They’ve never
bothered us and they‘ve even made some donations to help us with expenses and
missions.” Some of the crowd began murmuring their agreement with what their
leader said.
Damon was feeling even more ill-at-ease, he didn’t like how
this whole scene was playing out. He should be in control of this situation,
but he couldn’t get his bearings. Everything seemed to be working in concert to
disorient him; the disconnection with the communication system, the mysterious
gigantic factory with its inexplicable complex of passageways, and now a group
of people worshipping deep underground who were not afraid of him.
“Look, I’m trying to save your lives! If you don’t want to
be saved then stay here, I don’t care!” Damon was yelling by the time he
finished, even though he knew his reaction was unwarranted.
“You don’t understand, son, we are
already
saved.”
Damon shook his head and stomped out of the room, and
mumbled “Crazy fanatics!” as he left, still not sure why he felt scared.
“Feel free to come back if you want our help!” the man yelled
after him.
Damon started to run, determined to find the quickest way
back to the surface.
**** ****
Damon sat at a table on the sidewalk
outside of a small cafe and ate a leisurely lunch. The cafe was located near
the Ruins, but far from the marketplace he had visited before, so he would not be
recognized. A few days had passed since his reconnaissance mission and he was
still slightly shaken by it. He had submitted his report to Gregor, but
carefully edited out the encounter with the religious group. All he could do
now was wait.
After almost two days on the ship, Damon decided to go back
down to the planet in order to stretch his legs.
He hadn’t told Ken about the people he found and he wondered
why he didn’t want to talk about it. He ran through the scene over and over,
using his own memories and the actual transcript from his system store. Nothing
new caught his attention, which was no surprise since he’d already been through
it at least a dozen times. Damon sighed and turned off the playback, wishing he
could think about something else. He had a gnawing feeling that he shouldn’t
let them die in the attack, but his thoughts returned to his often-repeated
question:
I tried to warn them, I told them to leave, what else can I do?
Absorbed in his thoughts, Damon didn’t notice the man
approaching from behind, and his HUD didn’t identify a hostile target.
“Mind if I join you, son?” a man said from right next to
Damon. He nearly fell over backwards in his haste to stand up, the chair
crashing metallically to the sidewalk. He started to deploy weapons, but
stopped in time to avoid notice. Standing there was the man from the religious
group, the leader who was not afraid to face down the Trip-PC.
“Well, may I?” the man asked as if nothing unusual had
happened. Nearby diners took notice of the awkward moment, but soon resumed
their meals. The man pulled out the other chair at the small table and sat
down, motioning Damon to sit back down. He gathered up the chair, smiling
sheepishly to anyone looking his way and joined the man at the table.
“Leland McKrae,” the man said holding out his hand to shake.
Damon hesitated, feeling completely disoriented again.
Finally, he came to his senses and grasped the man’s hand. “Damon,” was all he
said.
“Pleasure to meet you, Damon. I wish you hadn’t disappeared
the other night—you’ve been a hard man to track down.”
“How did you find me?”
“Ah,” Leland laughed easily, and his piercing blue eyes lit
up with the sound, “I’ve got lots of friends, and you’re fairly easy to spot.”
He laughed again. His mood was infectious, forcing Damon to smile along with
him.
“But, why?” Damon found he was having trouble putting
sentences together, much less his thoughts.
Leland leaned forward slightly, “I could tell,” he said, his
eyes lit with excitement, “that you needed to talk to me.”
Damon realized he must have a stupid look on his face and
Leland smiled at him. “I don’t understand, why would you think that?”
“I’ve been a pastor for a long time, son, I can see when a
person is carrying demons.”
Damon flinched at the inadvertent use of his nickname. “They
call me that now. Demon.” he said quietly, “Actually, it’s a name I’ve had for
a while.”
Leland nodded, downplaying Damon’s reaction, “I think you
need a little of what everybody around here needs.” He paused, drawing the
other man into the conversation.
Damon complied with “And what is that?”
“Hope. Everybody needs hope. Today’s world is crazy, life is
difficult, and the powers-that-be make it downright miserable. People are lost,
they need help and they need hope. Hope for something better, a new life, a way
out.”
Leland leaned back again in his chair and signaled the
waiter to come over. After ordering an iced tea, he turned back to Damon, the
laughter on his face replaced with a pensive look. “Why do you need to destroy
the factory?”
“What?” Damon had been thinking about hope and the change of
subject threw caught him off-guard.
Why did I tell him about my mission?
He glanced around nervously and activated the combat mode in his HUD.
“Don’t worry,” Leland reassured him, “there’s no trouble to
be had here, and believe me, we have nothing that could put a scratch in that
armor of yours.” He reached out and patted Damon’s forearm.
Once again, Damon gaped, open-mouthed and mentally
off-balance.
I have got to get away from this guy,
he thought, but made
no actual move to leave. “How—”
Leland waved him off before he could finish the sentence. “It’s
really not important. Just rest assured that we know we can’t hurt you and we
don’t intend to try. However, I did want to warn you about the factories. I
don’t really know what they’re making there, but I don’t think it’s anything
that warrants destruction.”
“Not my choice.” Damon replied matter-of-factly.
Leland merely looked at him for a moment before continuing, “But,
there have been men and equipment moving into the area recently. They’re
bringing in some heavy weapons and extra personnel. For whatever reason, you’ve
attracted a lot of attention here.”
Damon thought about the last few days spent waiting for a
decision from the Council. Why has there been a delay? We’ve never had a delay
like this before; a few hours maybe, but never days.
“I can tell you one thing,” Leland continued, “these guys
deploying near the factories, they’re new. They’re not from around here.
They’re outsiders, and no one seems to know why they’re here.” He paused,
watching Damon for his reaction, and seeing none, continued, “I, of course,
have a pretty good idea why they’re here.”
“Of course you do,” Damon replied.
Leland exhaled a short grunt of laughter and looked up as the
waiter delivered his drink.
After thanking the waiter, Leland continued “I think it’s
obvious you’re being set up. It’s a trap. It’s a trap set specifically for you.”
“I don’t know why you would think that, and besides, I’m
pretty much up to the task of breaking through anything they can throw at me.”
Damon thought for a moment, “But why do you say it’s a trap in the first place?”
Leland sighed and said, “Look, we know the factory guys real
well. After all we’re neighbors. We do some work for them, they watch out for
us. We
know
them, personally. These new guys, nobody knows them. The
normal factory guys don’t know who they are or why they’re here. They’ve been
told to keep working, but many have been skipping work because they’re uneasy,
they can tell something big is happening.” He paused to take a drink before
continuing “I just thought you should know.”
Damon looked at him, unsure how to respond and confused as
to what to make of the situation. Everything felt strange and off balance,
nothing about this mission was normal.
Just then, Ken opened a channel and piped into his ear, “What
are you doing? Who is
that
guy?”
Damon sent back a non-verbal signal that he couldn’t talk
right now, but he allowed the channel to remain open. He decided it was best to
have Ken involved and get his opinion.
Leland finished his drink in one big, long swallow and rose
to leave, dropping archaic credit tokens on the table. He leaned toward Damon
to emphasize his words. “Son, I don’t think you should go back there. Call it
off. Don’t destroy that factory, you’ll be killing a lot of innocent people
along with it.” He put a hand on Damon’s shoulder and squeezed lightly, as one
would with a good friend, and then turned and walked away.
Befuddled, Damon called after him “Get them out of there,
I’ll do what I have to do!” He looked around guiltily as the other patrons
heard his outburst and turned his way to see what caused the commotion.
Quickly, he stood and hurried off in a different direction.
“What are you doing?” Ken demanded. “Would you like to
advertise the mission to the whole city? I can get you a spot on the newscast
if you like!”
“I don’t know, Ken. That guy makes me crazy!”
**** ****
Damon decided it would be best to
wait it out on the ship, rather than risk another encounter with Leland McKrae.
He was not in a talkative mood, however, and Ken quickly gave up trying to
engage him in conversation. Left to his own devices, Damon immersed himself in
his roiling thoughts. He kept replaying the conversations with McKrae, trying
to figure out exactly who he was and what kind of a threat he presented. Again
and again, Damon came up with nothing. He did not let Ken review the records;
each time he considered it he rejected the idea.
I don’t even know what’s
bothering me about this, what would I ask Ken to do?
He thought he knew what Ken would say anyway—‘
Why do we
have to destroy the factory?’—
and he didn’t have an answer. He thought
about following orders and doing what he was told, and how he had always done
just that throughout his life.
Back in 4C, no one questioned the direction from Michael or Andrea
or any of the other leaders in the Family. Everyone did what they were told or
the whole Family could die.
Now I’m killing innocent people from the Ruins. Maybe
it’s not
my
Ruins, but it’s essentially the same thing.
The image of
Shrigauri Krych came to mind, as it did so often, repeating the words Damon
could not strike from his memory:
. . . Why do you align
yourself with the super-rich? . . . You come from the streets. I bet
your family was poor . . . am I right? . . . You realize,
don't you, that you’re killing your own kind? By following their orders and
hitting the targets they give you, you are killing your own family. That's
right, Demon, you're working for the bad guys—you are killing the other
downtrodden street folks, the ones just like you. . . . You are
killing your own people. Imagine . . . those were your own gang-mates
out there that you slaughtered.
It’s not true!
Damon put his
head in both hands, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, gasping for
breath. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could, but the images wouldn’t
stop. His pulse hammered in his ears. He ground his fists into his closed eyes
trying to stop the images.
First he saw Krych’s guards lying dead on the ground where
Damon had cut them down, he saw them in ever-widening pools of blood.