Legacy

by Travis Brett

  “From us,” Sparks repeated, barely believing it.

  “Yep.”

  “And how often do we have to . . . give them power.” Sparks shuddered at the thought of going back to that machine and its black wires.

  Bruise scratched his chin. “Depends. Each of us gets a turn once every couple days. They like to use the ones who last longer.”

  “Last longer?”

  “Sure. There’s only so much you can take before your body shuts down and deactivates itself. Then they have to put someone else on.”

  “So the power cuts in the city, they happen when—”

  Bruise nodded. “Happens when someone’s had too much and passes out. If you’re really lucky, it kills you.”

  “I’ve never been a fan of luck.” Sparks examined the steel bars. They weren’t the usual rusted metal that was common in Legacy. These were new. Recently wielded. He would have to be activated to bend them enough to slip out. “I don’t suppose you have a genius plan of escape?”

  Bruise laughed. “I’ve been stuck here three years, never had even the slightest chance to getting out.”

  Sparks looked over Bruise’s withered skin and gaunt limbs, wondering if that’s what he would look like after three years here. He didn’t want to find out. “It can’t be impossible. Candle did it.”

  “Candle? You mean that guy who the scientist released? He had help, so it doesn’t count. Believe me, kid, no one’s coming to get us. We’re stuck here ‘til we die. I just hope you killed as much of those fuckers as you could before you got caught. That’s what I did.”

  “I don’t plan on dying here.” Sparks moved to the bars and looked down the hallway. A militia patrolled between the cells. He was young, probably just a little older than Sparks, with blond hair. “Okay,” Sparks said to Bruise. “I’m going to taunt the shit out of this guy. When he comes over, I’ll grab him and pull him against the bars, and then—”

  “Won’t work. Nothing works.”

  “Well you’re no help at all.”

  Sparks stuck his face between and bars and shouted, “Hey cocksucker. Yeah, you with the potato nose. You wanna know how many of your friends I killed today? I’ll—”

  The militia turned and walked away. He’d barely even glanced at Sparks.

  Sparks’ shoulders slumped. He moved back to the wall, rubbing his hands up and down over his shins, trying to keep warm. “It might work on a different guard,” he said, not believing it.

  Bruise shook his head. “Juliette trained them. They never talk to us. Or look us in the eye. A couple years back, there was this guy, he threw his own shit at them. After that, they sent him to the metal bitch three times a day. He never tried it again.”

  Sparks couldn’t stop himself from shivering. “I can’t do this. I just can’t.”

  “But you will.” Bruise spat a wad of phlegm into the corner of the cell. “You ain’t got a choice in the matter.”

  “I’ll get out. I’m the best fighter in the city.”

  “That don’t mean shit down here.”

  “But—”

  “Get used to it, kid. You’re trapped here like the rest of us.”

  Sparks hid his face behind his knees. He didn’t want Bruise to see him, not right now. He thought back to Burrstone, and how he had killed himself before Roman could bring him to the Ministry. Burrstone had it right: better to die than to live here.

  “So, what’s your name?” Bruise asked.

  “Sparks.”

  “Well, welcome to my cell, Sparks. There’s a shit bucket in the corner, and we get fed twice a—”

  “Shut up.” Sparks’ voice came out as little more than a whimper. “Just . . . shut up, please?”

  Bruise did, disappearing back into the shadows, and leaving Sparks alone, cowering against the wall, doing his best not to cry.

  * * *

  Roman marched down the centre of the street, jaw set, shoulders pushed back, spine straight. Ahead, the towers of the Ministries rose in front of the rising sun. He felt an odd sense of calm. Like this was all inevitable. After all, he had always wanted to kill Juliette, and now he had a fucking good reason to.

  The streets were quiet but got busier as they neared Reformation Square. Roman, Ruby, Caleb, and Candle had stopped at the first merchant selling clothes. Roman waited while the other three each chose hooded cloaks – just a precaution, in case Juliette had sent militia searching for them. When the vendor had tried to haggle the price, Roman pulled open his own coat to reveal his pistol.

  “I’m an honest man. You can’t just threaten me,” the vendor said hotly, folding his arms. “I’ll call the militia. Let’s see how you react when—”

  “I’ll do you a favour and call them for you.” Roman snarled. “We just happen to be on our way to pay them a visit. Understand?”

  The merchant opened his mouth to retort, but Candle stepped forward and pushed back his hair to expose his tattooed neck. That had put the vendor in a more charitable mood.

  As the crowds grew denser Roman moved to the edge of the street, keeping his hood up and his head down. His team did the same. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the suspicious glances people gave them, but those people just shuffled their feet and turned away, looking anxious to be anywhere else. Anyone Caleb’s size tended to inspire that response from people.

  Roman’s sense of calm began to fade when they were just a block away, and completely disappeared as they turned into the street which ended at Reformation Square. His fingers fidgeted in his pocket, itching for his gun. When they were just a hundred yards from the Square, Roman ducked into one of the few towers that didn’t have a guard outside.

  It was a cobbler’s shop. A handful of wooden tables lined the walls, covered in leather shoes. Good quality ones, by the looks of it. The shop’s owner — an older man, bald, with a well-trimmed moustache — sat behind a desk, working on a shoe. He held a tiny hammer in one hand, an awl in the other. He squinted up at Roman. “How can I help you today, sir?”

  “You can’t, but your roof can. I’m sure there’s a beautiful view from up there. I’d love to see it.”

  “The upper levels aren’t safe. It’s not—” The cobbler’s brow furrowed as Ruby, Candle, and Caleb stepped inside. His gaze lingered on Ruby’s bow. “I’m under the ministries protection. You can’t just—”

  “We can.” Roman turned to Caleb. “I have the suspicion our friend here is considering slacking off from his sacred work. Do you mind watching over him and making sure he stays put and dutifully earns his paycheck?”

  Caleb closed the door and planted himself in front of it, arms folded. The cobbler paled, but went back to work, muttering darkly under his breath.

  Past the second floor, where the cobbler obviously lived, the building was empty. After a dozen flights of stairs, Roman, Ruby, and Candle came to the roof. They avoided the cracks as they moved to the edge and looked down on Reformation Square.

  “Well, shit-fuck,” Ruby muttered.

  Roman nodded in agreement. “She knew we would come for her.”

  Juliette hadn’t wasted any time in hiring more mercenaries. The square was crawling with men — some of them in the black amour of militia, but many more wore civilian clothes and wielded makeshift weapons. There were at least fifty down there, and no doubt more waited inside the Security Ministry.

  “I’m a good fighter,” Candle said, “but that may be too many for me.”

  “Agreed. We’re not getting past them like that.” Roman turned to Ruby. “We need a distraction. Someone to lead them away.”

  “Don’t get any ideas,” she said. “I’m coming with you into the Ministry. That’s final.”

  “No. It’s not.”

  Ruby glanced at the street far below. “I’m getting a strange urge to give you a hard push, if you get my meaning.”

  “Listen, Ruby, how useful do you think a bow is going to be once we’re inside? Face it, you’re better suited to staying out.”

&n
bsp; “Don’t give me that shit. Don’t pretend you aren’t leaving me behind to keep me safe. Because in case you’re too thick to realize it: trying to distract a whole army isn’t exactly safe either.”

  Roman understood that all too well. “Caleb will stay with you. Candle and I will sneak in by ourselves.”

  Ruby folded her arms. “Because two against half a hundred is far better odds, right?”

  “It’ll still be safer than following us inside. Out here, you have the entire city to escape into. But once we get inside and head down to the machine, there’s only one way out. I’m not going to risk—”

  “So it’s okay to risk your life, but not mine?”

  Roman shrugged. “Yeah. That’s pretty much it.”

  “Well, that’s bullshit.”

  “We need a distraction. It’s the best plan.” Roman knew he had her. But, of course, she would be defiant to the end.

  There was a long silence, after which Ruby pointed to a tower adjacent the Ministry of Agriculture. “That’s where I’ll set up. It’ll be a good vantage point. From there, I can get their attention and draw them away.”

  Roman nodded. “They’ll swarm the building.”

  “I’ll need a rope. Once they’re inside, Caleb and I will hold them off as long as we can. Then we’ll climb out the back of the building.”

  “And you’ll get the hell away from here.”

  Ruby didn’t answer.

  “Promise me you won’t try anything stupid.”

  Ruby sighed. “Fine. I promise.”

  “Ruby, if you—”

  Candle grabbed Roman by the shoulder and pulled him back towards the stairs. “She promised, so it’s settled. Now let’s go. I’ve waited a long time for this chance. Far too long.”

  Frowning, Roman followed him back inside and downstairs. He glanced back at Ruby. She didn’t meet his eyes. Whatever sense of calm he had felt on the way here was now so long gone he barely believed he had felt it.

  It doesn’t matter how pissed off she is at me, Roman thought glumly. As long as she lives, it’s worth it.

  Back downstairs, the cobbler glared at Roman, still muttering to himself. Caleb was finishing a smoke; he snuffed out the cigarette on his palm and tossed it to the floor. “How was the view?”

  “Wasn’t pretty.”

  “Few are.”

  The others stepped outside first. Roman was halfway through the doorway when the cobbler raised his voice enough to be heard. “Bunch of muties, the lot of you. I hope your—”

  Roman stepped back inside. The cobbler’s expression quickly switched from irritation to panic. Roman was tempted to grab the miniature hammer out of his hands and see how effective it would be on a skull rather than a shoe. Instead, he strolled over to the nearest table and, after a brief search, selected a pair of boots that looked roughly the right size for him.

  “I’m taking these,” he announced.

  It was petty, he knew that. But the look of indignation on the cobbler’s face was worth it.

  * * *

  An hour later, when Ruby headed back towards Reformation Square, she had her bow strung over one shoulder and a length of rope coiled around the other. A quiver of arrows was strapped to her back, as well as her usual quiver on her hip. Beside her, Caleb had his pistol in his coat, a machete hanging from his belt, and a half dozen knives hidden amongst the rest of him. Ruby wasn’t sure that they were ready for what they were about to do, but at least they were armed for it.

  They approached the tower she had marked; a back entrance allowed them entry without being seen from the militia guarding the square. The bottom floor was an upper-class pub, almost entirely devoid of customers. Behind a well-polished bar, a dark-skinned man took one look at them and scowled. His hand reached beneath the bar.

  “We’re not here for trouble, love.” Ruby held out her hands in a non-threatening gesture. “The Captain’s hired us. We’re meant to keep a lookout from upstairs.”

  The barman paused, eyes narrowed, then he shrugged and withdrew his hand. “The first six floors are rented space, the rest are empty and I wouldn’t trust them if I were you,” he said, motioning to a set of stairs behind the bar. “If you ruin anything, you can explain to the Captain that she’s fucking paying for it.”

  “I’ll pass the message on.”

  Ruby led the way to the fifth floor. “This’ll be high enough,” she said.

  Caleb stepped past her and drew his machete. The main space of the floor was taken up by a large room, bare except for a couple desks, an overturned steel cabinet, and a pile of broken glass swept into one corner. Along two walls were a dozen windows, where the morning light streamed in. The other two had a handful of closed doors. Caleb kicked the first door open. “Get the fuck outta here. The Captain’s orders.”

  “I wasn’t told anything about—”

  “I’m telling you now. Fuck off.”

  A man with a thin goatee, clutching a stack of papers, stormed from the room. If he had any further comments, he thought better of them when Caleb raised his machete meaningfully. He quickly disappeared down the stairs. While Caleb cleared the rest of the rooms, Ruby moved to the window and looked down at Reformation Square.

  It was as good a vantage point as she could have hoped for, all things considered. The Ministry of Agriculture blocked half the square from her view, but there were still plenty of targets to choose from. Ruby’s hand twitched towards her quiver. Now that she was here, she was eager to get started.

  Caleb moved upstairs, clearing out that level as well. Ruby spared a thought for the militia down in the square. More than a few would have her arrows through their necks soon enough. How many of them knew what Juliette was doing beneath the Ministry — what they would be dying to defend? Probably only a handful. Ruby had been a militia just like them. Would she have deserved to die for serving Juliette?

  Probably not. But Tan didn’t deserve what he got, and Candle didn’t deserve to be locked down there, tortured just so the Captain can keep the lights on. We don’t get what we deserve. We get what we get. Simple as that.

  Caleb returned with the last of the inhabitants of the building, who cursed loudly as they left. No doubt more than a few would go to the militia and complain. That would raise suspicions. But Ruby planned to announce her presence first — and shooting someone would raise a hell of a lot more than just suspicions.

  Caleb moved to one end of the steel cabinet. “Give me a hand?”

  Together they pushed the cabinet until it blocked the bottom half of the door to the stairs. Ruby winced as the effort hurt her injured hand.

  “You reckon you can still aim straight?” Caleb asked.

  “I don’t miss, remember?”

  As Caleb began moving the two broken desks to their makeshift barricade, Ruby stepped inside the room closest to the stairs. It was bare except for a desk covered in papers, and a chair. She briefly glanced down from the rooms single window. It was a long way to the ground, but the rope would be long enough. Hopefully.

  Caleb stepped into the room, cigarette in his lips, as Ruby was finishing knotting one end of the rope around a desk leg. “Once we get down, I’m heading straight to the Ministry,” he said. “I don’t like the idea of being left out of the action.”

  Ruby nodded. “I was thinking exactly the same thing.”

  “I thought that might be the case. You don’t mind disobeying Roman?”

  “In this situation, fuck Roman.” Ruby checked her knot, then double checked it. She stood, pulling her bow off her shoulder and checking the string wasn’t frayed. “All right. We’re ready.”

  “I’m not.”

  Ruby tapped her foot impatiently.

  “Have some patience.” Caleb drew a deep puff and blew out a smoke ring. “This might be my last cigarette. I reckon I might as well savour it.”

  “Well how about sharing that savouring?”

  Caleb offered the cigarette to Ruby. “As long you promise to appreciate it
properly.”

  “I swear.”

  The bitter taste of rado-weed bit at Ruby’s throat. She didn’t hate the flavour as she knew Roman did, but she couldn’t deny it tasted like shit. Regardless, she took a second puff before returning it. “Thanks.”

  Caleb shrugged, offering his usual grunt.

  “But really,” she continued, “thanks for . . . all of this.”

  “Don’t have to thank me. I’m not doing this for you.”

  “I know, but still . . .” Ruby paused, trying to figure out what she wanted to say. She felt she needed to say something meaningful. In case they both died. But no inspiration came to her, so she settled with saying, “You’re a good man, Caleb.”

  He shook his head. “You know what I’ve always admired about you? You’re honest.” He finished the cigarette and squashed it beneath his boot. “So don’t ruin my good opinion of you by bullshitting me now. We both know that I’m as much of an asshole as anyone else in this city. Even more of one, really. I’m just, for once in my life, pretending not to be.”

  “Well, that’s . . . good enough.”

  He shrugged again. “I’m sorry Ruby, I’m not really one for deep words. I’ve had my smoke. Now I’m ready to kill some bastards. Shall we get this started.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Ladies first.”

  Ruby moved to the window that had the best view of the square and drew her first arrow. She chose her target: a mercenary, holding an axe in each hand. She nocked the arrow, took a slow breath, and pulled the bowstring back.

  True to her word, she didn’t miss.

  40

  Roman heard the first scream, quickly followed by panicked shouts. It was time.

  He sat in the gutter, Candle beside him, both doing their best to look like beggars as the last of the morning traffic moved past. No one had offered them anything so far, and, now that everyone’s attention was suddenly focused on getting as far away from the screaming as possible, Roman didn’t think that was going to change.

  He watched the dozen militia who guarded the end of the street. After a brief discussion, most of the militia ran into the square, leaving just four men blocking Roman’s path to the Security Ministry.