“Looks to me like people are doing our job for us,” Laura shrugged, “if it keeps me from being shot or blown up again. Have I ever told you how much I hate being shot and blown up?”
“Might be ill-advised for them,” I said, “I’m still not sure how the Anonymous Knights have gotten intel on where the trafficker’s hideouts are located, but they’re definitely the ones posting the information.”
“Maybe they want those houses taken care of before we get there,” Laura said.
“Why would they want that?”
She shrugged, “maybe they know where the hideouts are because they knew where they were before all this.”
“That’s…I don’t know, maybe,” I said.
I would have said the AKs are too pious to get involved in human trafficking, but they did try to get people hooked on Shift down in Mexico.
“How did the traffickers fare?” Laura asked.
“All dead,” I said, “apparently tortured pretty badly before being killed.”
“No tears from me,” Laura said.
“I saw just this morning that the AKs posted more locations for houses,” I said, “We can probably expect more vigilantes.”
Laura said nothing as we continued walking. The Anonymous Knights had recently taken to posting the locations of the trafficking houses online, as well as the pictures and identities of people they believed involved. I figured they were following our movements, or that they had hacked into LoC Security’s network, but Colonel Reynolds swore they hadn’t had any breaches. Akira confirmed.
Meaning Laura could be right…
The first time the AKs posted a location, there was an attempt at a rescue by vigilantes from the LoC. They were successful, which the anarcho-capitalists in the LoC touted as how justice is supposed to work. The second attempt ended up getting several people who were not involved in the human trafficking killed when bad information was leaked online by someone other than the AKs. That stirred up a hornet’s nest of controversy. There were calls in the LoC for more oversight. For a government.
“It’s an interesting argument,” I said as we slowly approached the small downtown area of Cortez.
“What’s that?” Laura asked, only giving me a quick glance before putting her gaze back down to the road, pushing her hair back as it fell in front of her face.
“About whether to bring the government back,” I said, “the Liberation of Colorado has been an interesting experiment.”
Laura kicked a pebble some ways down the road, “governments are just a fiction we all believe in.”
“Exactly,” I said, “in all of my lifetimes, there was always something like a government. Way back there was a leader – a patriarch or strongman that everyone rallied around. Things got bigger we started farming and we became sedentary. But there was always this implicit assumption that someone had to lead.”
“Even here there are rules,” Laura said, “You just have to enforce them yourself. Or get your goons to do it for you.”
“Yes,” I said, “but rules aren’t just about fear of reprisal.” I shook my head. “People invest themselves in the institutions behind the rules. Those institutions become part of people’s identity. I’ve seen this all throughout history. When people say they love their king or country and will die for a higher cause, what they’re really talking about are those institutions. Humans like to wrap things up in philosophy, but they need to rally around institutions in order to feel whole.”
“You think this experiment will fail.”
I exhaled slowly. “This human trafficking ring seems to be shaking some people’s faith in the thin veneer of their philosophy. A lot of the podcasts now are people debating whether to setup a new government in the LoC. They demand an institution to give direction to their righteous anger.”
“Chances are if they don’t make a government themselves, one will be ‘given’ to them,” Laura said.
“Probably,” I shrugged, “they’re debating whether it would be best to start enforcing U.S. laws again or if they should make their own minarchist government like The Republic.”
“The U.S. government?” Laura said, glancing to me again, “isn’t that the same as having none at all?”
I grunted, “People need someone to tell them what they should want. Or at least that what they do want is good.”
“And what is it you want?” Laura asked.
“How do you mean?”
“All this shit we’re doing started because you wanted the future not to suck for you and Sachi,” she said.
“What are you getting at?”
“Is Masaru right?” she asked, “that you just don’t want to be alone anymore?”
“You’ve heard about that…”
She shrugged.
“Is that what you think of me?”
“I don’t know,” she said, looking away, “but I wouldn’t see that as such a bad thing. Not wanting to be alone.”
“You’re saying that that would be a good motivation for doing what I’m planning to do?”
“If someone’s motivation is even capable of being good,” she said.
“You don’t think there is a good or bad way to go about this?” I asked, “there’s no different between the way I want to do it and the way Sachi wants to do it?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “I don’t think about it that much.”
“Then…don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you here?”
She looked over to me. “Revenge.”
“Sovereign…”
“And you’re going to help me.”
“I want to do what I can to-”
“Because we lo- because we’re friends,” she said, “that’s why I’m here.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out.
“I think your mission will be good for you,” she said.
“For me…”
“I see nothing wrong with that.”
“It’s…it’s not all just about me,” I said, “even if it just so happens that everything in the world can affect me at some future point. And this…my plan is the only thing that will stop the continuous revolution. One system is put in place, it quickly corrodes, and then it needs to be torn away and replaced. Usually with something idealistic but ultimately worse.”
“Immortals will be immune to this,” Laura said in a way that I couldn’t tell if she meant it as a question or a statement.
“It’s just…what needs to change is that everyone has to understand that they have skin in the game,” I said, “they have to care about the future…or at least realize that it’s possible for the future to affect them. That way, even if there is constant revolution, it’ll at least be in the right direction.”
“You want them to be able to think like you and Sachi.”
I gave a slight grin, but said nothing. As usual, it was difficult to tell what Laura was thinking, her expression only betraying drowsiness, eyes fixed on the ground in front of her.
“So, what is it you want?” I asked.
Laura glanced up to me for a moment before looking back down and shrugging. “You know what I want.”
She wants you, Evita said.
“Yes,” I said, “you want Sovereign. For ruining your life with sleeplessness.”
“They ruined my death,” she said, pushing hair from her face.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”
“Every waking moment.”
“No,” I said, “I don’t mean revenge fantasies. I mean, logistically speaking, how do you plan to get at them?”
“I would say my ambitions are much smaller than yours,” Laura said, a hint of defensiveness underneath her usual monotone.
I said nothing for minute, just listening to Laura’s feet scrape lazily over the dry pavement. She stopped walking and I turned to face her.
“I saw the way you looked at me when I killed that AK in the tranny club,” Laura said.
“I j
ust-”
“You wonder how it’s so easy for me,” she said, “but I’m not afraid of death. I don’t want to die like you do, but I’m not afraid of it. I’ve actually been there. It doesn’t bother me to see people die, because I know what happens to them when they do.”
“Are you trying to say that-”
“I don’t want to kill the people that did this to me,” Laura said, her bloodshot eyes locked onto mine, “I want to make them suffer. That’s the part of me that should frighten you.”
She lowered her gaze and continued walking, shuffling past me. I turned around and caught back up to her. We both walked in silence for a while as we slowly made our way into the small downtown area of Cortez. The sun sat far above the peaks of distant mountains, shining down over draught stricken land, solar panels silently feeding off its energy. The sound of birds chirping was only interrupted by the whir of electric cars driving by. Pedestrians were sparse, most people preferring to stay inside during the sun-parched daylight. It was early April, but already the temperatures were reaching into the eighties Fahrenheit. The air seemed to-
“We should do something fun for a change,” Laura said.
“What?”
“Something fun,” Laura said, toneless, “all we do is work.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know,” Laura said, “kid stuff. Let’s get drunk.”
“But we look like kids.”
Laura shrugged, “no laws here.”
I wanted to come up with an objection, but I didn’t have any. LoC Security was still doing reconnaissance. There weren’t any meetings with our clients or collaborators for some time. Akira was taking a shift working on the chromosome treatment, and she would be ending with a sixteen-hour cell growth. Masaru was on his way back from a podcast in Cheyenne with Regina.
“Why not?” I said.
To this Laura turned, giving me a mischievous grin.
In midday, there were not nearly as many people outside selling their wares. Most of the booths were packed up and stowed away somewhere. And the ones that were still out sold less illicit products.
“Let’s try this place,” Laura signaled to a bar, “Masaru and I have talked with the owner there a few times. He’s usually drinking himself.”
We crossed the street and walked into the building – under protection of The Cortez Crucible.
“Weapons,” a man in camouflage holding an M4 Carbine said as we neared the door. His camouflage fatigues had a Cortez Crucible Gadsden patch on one arm and a III% patch on the other.
I peered behind him, seeing two more men in in the same camouflage outfits with their M4s hanging at their side as they sat in a booth.
“No one who ain’t in The Crucible’s allowed ta carry inside,” he explained.
Laura pulled the 3D printed 9 mm from her holster and held the grip to him. I did the same with mine.
“You can get ‘em back when ya leave,” he said.
Laura and I entered. There were only a few patrons at this time of day, exclusively Cortez Crucible members. They sat eating greasy food and drinking beer as they watched TV screens showing sports games. Most games were local, as the devolution led to the collapse of national sports leagues. I knew Cortez Crucible had its own football team in an LoC wide league, containing only eight teams. They had a game coming up later in the afternoon.
The guy standing behind the counter was a stereotype of the people in his gang. He wore a cowboy hat, short stubble on his chin, and the Gadsden symbol on his armband. I spotted the Cortez Crucible style of 3D printed M4 carbine on a holder behind the bar, an M320 grenade launcher module attachment next to it.
Laura and I approached the bar, the bartender glaring at us the whole time.
“Vodka,” Laura said, pointing to a bottle of cheap vodka behind the bartender, saying in English with a thick German accent, “I veel take two shawts oave Vodka.”
“And a glass of your single malt whiskey,” I said, pointing to a more expensive bottle, “on the rocks.”
“Yer kiddin’ me, right?” he said in a gruff voice.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, taking a seat.
“I ain’t servin’ a couple teenagers,” he said, “specially ones that ain’t even with The Crucible.”
“Vee are owld,” Laura said, talking even slower in English, “Mah-sah-ree-stahz. Geene doh-peeng. Varry sod.”
“Bullshit,” he said, “you ain’t even Mexican,” he looked to me, then back to Laura, “buncha foreigners. Get on outta here.” He pointed to the exit.
Laura and I exchanged glances. She shrugged and headed toward the door. The guard returned our weapons as I followed Laura out of the bar.
“Guess that was a bust,” I said, putting the small pistol back in my holster.
“We’ll find somewhere,” Laura said, checking to make sure the bullets were still in the magazine before holstering.
“Why don’t we just head back to the house,” I said, “I’m sure we can find something to do-.”
“Not yet,” Laura said, “there,” she pointed to another bar not far down the street.
I opened my mouth to protest, but said nothing and continued to walk next to her.
“You enjoy fancy drinks?” Laura asked, her gaze lifted, staying on the bar a few buildings away.
“Depends what my intentions are,” I said.
“To get drunk?”
“I wasn’t planning on getting drunk,” I said, “but to have a drink.”
“Does it even work if you don’t get drunk?”
“Work?”
“The cleansing properties,” Laura said, “of alcohol.”
“It doesn’t really work as a cleanser when you drink it,” I said, “we use it to clean off lab eqauipment, but…drinking it is just…well, it’s poison.”
Laura said nothing as we neared the bar. This one had the symbol of The Crusaders in the window. Nobody stopped us to take our weapons.
Laura led the way in. The lights were brighter than the previous bar, floor somewhat cleaner, a large crucifix near the wall. An overweight middle-aged woman with her hair in a ponytail tended bar. There were a few more patrons in this one, all part of The Crusaders. Except us.
“Let me order,” Laura said quietly before turning to the crucifix, bowing her head for a moment as if showing deference and gratitude to the Lord, making sure to hold the position so that others would see her. She gave me a sideways glance, grinning.
I followed suit before joining her at the bar.
“Two vodka shawts,” Laura said, holding up two fingers.
The woman stared at her for a moment and then looked over our heads. We both turned, seeing three men climbing out of their booth and walking toward us. One was a short man with a buzz cut wearing a greasy blue uniform from the auto repair shop across the street, an M4 strapped around his shoulder. The second man stood taller, wearing cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, a revolver on a holster at his side. The third, a portly man, sported well combed hair and a gray suit, his hand resting on a pearl handled pistol holstered at his side.
“Afternoon,” the short man said as he approached us, “I know you two from somewhere?”
I exchanged a quick glance with Laura before saying, “we’re fairly new in town.”
“I see,” the short man said, glancing left and then right at his men, “then allow me to introduce us. This here is Sean Rodham,” he pointed at the taller man with the cowboy getup, “and this here is Isaac Cooper,” he pointed to the preacher, “and I’m Terrence Biggs, but folks usually call me Big Terry.”
“Laura and Eshe,” I said.
“What brings you kids to town?” Big Terry asked.
“Work,” I said.
“Not with the sodomites and wreckers of the temple,” Isaac said accusingly.
I cut Laura off before she could speak, “we’re not prostitutes or drug dealers. We’re looking to do construction.”
“And yet here you are,”
Big Terry said, “at our bar, in the middle of the day. Shouldn’t you be at work?”
This time Laura spoke first, “vee did-unt vawnt to mees ze uh-mar-ee-con footbawl gaym,” she signaled to the TV behind the bar.
All three of them laughed at this.
“What accent is that, girl?” Sean asked.
“Sounds German to me,” Big Terry said, “you come all the way across the pond to work construction in Cortez, girl? Not enough lebensraum back in the vaterland?”
“Is there some kind of problem with us being here?” I asked.
“Nah,” Big Terry said, “it’s a free country. So ta speak. Just curious why you chose our establishment. Don’t LoC Security have several under protection?”
“Probably,” I said, “but like she said, we wanted to catch the football game.”
“Uh-mar-ee-con footbawl,” Laura insisted.
“Well, I’m sure your money’s good here,” Big Terry said, “you rootin’ for the Crusaders?”
“Of course,” I said.
Big Terry smiled, “good.” He looked over to the barkeeper, “Gracie, why don’t you get these two what they want? First round’s on me.”
“Appreciated,” I said.
“We’ll be seeing you folks around,” Big Terry said, “God bless.”
The three of them walked away, exiting the bar. Laura looked to me, a smirk on her face. The bartender set two shot glasses down on the bar and filled them with cheap vodka.
“To American football,” Laura said, lifting her shot glass.
I grabbed mine and lifted it towards hers, “to American football.”
“But that’s the problem with any hypothetical about this,” I said, “there just ends up being too many things that would have to go right…or wrong, in this case, just to get there.”
We were both six shots in after only an hour. This young body wasn’t used to so much alcohol, leaving the room spinning. I could only imagine what it must be doing to Laura’s even smaller body. The football game had started, but neither of us were paying attention.
“You’re not using your imagination,” Laura said, the alcohol adding more pep to her inflection than usual, “how the situation comes about, that’s not important. What’s important is what you think about the situation when it actually gets there.”
Incarnate- Essence Page 23
