Bulletfoot One

by Marshall Rust

  After a relatively short walk, they reached the general population area, and one of the guards moved forward to unlock the solid steel door and let him into a chamber.

  Although chamber wasn't quite the right word, he mused. It was easily one of the largest rooms he had ever seen in his life. It was a cavern, that much was clear, but the roof stretched almost a hundred meters above them. Nuclear-powered lanterns were visible at the top to simulate sunlight in the massive cave that looked, he decided, like a hangar bay, only many, many times larger than any he'd ever seen.

  It almost felt like they were out in the open. He could feel a breeze, although that could only be the result of air being pumped in from outside. Even a place this large wouldn't have a natural source of wind.

  The door closed behind him as he stepped into the general population area of the prison. A large group of inmates milled about. The secured area itself only took up a small portion of the larger cavern and it was directly adjacent to FEMA City itself. It was an impressive sight, even in the light of the lanterns above them.

  Chain-link fences separated it into blocks and heavy assault mechs painted dark-blue patrolled between the fences. Escape wasn't really an option, not while they manned the area.

  The prisoners, alerted by the door opening and closing, looked around to stare as Hammerhand walked toward them. He searched instinctively but could see no familiar faces among them. It was a little disheartening but he hoped it meant the rest of his people were in one of the other blocks and not that they still rotted away in a solitary cell—or worse, were buried under the city.

  As he approached, he noticed all the signs that a scuffle was about to break out. Tensions were high already and thankfully, not directed at him.

  A larger man with a scar that started at the crown of his bald head and ended under his jaw lurched forward. He was surprisingly fast for someone that size, and a smaller man tried to beat a hasty retreat.

  He wasn't quite fast enough, and his adversary launched his attack. Protein-patty-sized fists drove powerfully into the smaller man's jaw.

  Hammerhand sighed softly. Getting involved would only make things worse for himself, but it wasn’t in his nature to sit around while someone was beaten to death.

  "Enough of that!" he declared authoritatively and tried to use the tone of voice that usually drew the focus of his Knights.

  Sure enough, it worked. He had the attention of the large scarred man, who straightened, fixed him with a glower, and uttered a low growl. "Enough of what?"

  The situation struck him as decidedly odd. He was used to usually having at least a size advantage in any one-on-one fight. Still, he wasn't about to back down despite the fact that the man stood almost a head taller than him and rolled his broad shoulders slowly and with obvious menace.

  "Why don't you fight someone your own size?" he suggested. He regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth as they appeared to trigger the huge fist to swing toward his head.

  Thankfully, while the scar-faced man was fast on his feet, the punches were predictable and Hammerhand was able to take a step back and lean a little more to avoid a blow that could have dealt significant damage. His assailant attempted an uppercut next but put a little too much power behind it. When it missed, the prisoner stumbled forward a step or two but enough for his opponent to gain the advantage.

  Hammerhand stepped forward and his foot flicked out to catch the other man on the instep and force him further off balance. He immediately pushed closer again but knew better than to hit someone in the face with a closed fist. Instead, he jutted his elbow out to catch the man on the cheekbone.

  It was enough to draw blood, and he followed it by quickly putting one leg behind the man to flip him over his hip. The prisoner landed hard and kicked up a cloud of dust. The shouting and cheering prisoners around him fell silent and the large man looked a little dazed and winded. He stared at the distant ceiling.

  "Had enough, bigʼun?" Hammerhand asked as his opponent wiped the blood from his cheek.

  He nodded slowly and looked a little confused as the knight offered his hand to help him up. The smaller man scurried to the other side of the yard as his erstwhile assailant lumbered to his feet.

  "Why didn't you finish me off?" the scarred man asked.

  Hammerhand shrugged. "I assumed you had a reason to attack the other man but not enough of one to kill him—which, from what I saw, you could easily have done. I have no quarrel with you, so there'd be no point. Do we have a quarrel?"

  The large man shook his head and gingerly touched where he had cut his cheek. "I don't think so, no."

  "Excellent. I'm Hammerhand."

  "Why'd they call you that?"

  "Long story. What do they call you?"

  "Scar."

  "I guess I don't have to ask why they call you that."

  The man chuckled and touched his scar lightly. It appeared he was a little self-conscious about it, and Hammerhand made a note not to make mention of it again.

  Shouting from the other side of the yard instantly caught their attention and he turned as ten guards entered through the gate he had used earlier. They carried assault rifles and these didn't appear to be loaded with non-lethal rounds.

  His theory was confirmed as every prisoner in the yard immediately adopted their best behavior, lowered to their knees, and put their hands behind their heads. Their reaction was one of instant and long-practiced compliance to an order they knew would come, even before it had been uttered.

  It was clear that when the guards were in the yard, they were the primary threat and none of those present would cause any trouble.

  Hammerhand didn't like it, but he settled slowly onto his knees and put his hands behind his head before the order to do it was shouted into his face with a gun barrel pointed between his eyes.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  The day went about as well as Hammerhand had expected it to. The tense atmosphere among the prisoners remained. None of them appeared overly trusting of the others and they moved in well-coordinated groups that assiduously avoided one another. If one group came too close, they tended to fling insults but they never allowed it to reach actual violence at any time.

  He assumed it was because they knew it would result in the yard being invaded again.

  Otherwise, the prisoners were mostly left to themselves, although some of them were led out and put to work in some of the fields nearby, likely to grow food or clean drainage pipes. From what he could see, it was usually anything that would allow them to work with minimal supervision, as it seemed the prison was mostly self-sustaining. It made sense since he doubted they would all be held and maintained as a drain on resources that brought no benefit to the rest of the city.

  For the moment, though, he wasn't given any work, which forced him to stay in the yard with a handful of others.

  Despite his irritation at the forced inaction, he didn't particularly mind. He didn't want to work for the people who had incarcerated him and being out in the open, more or less, was something of a relief compared to however much time he had spent in the dark little cell. It was good to be able to stretch his legs, at least.

  The lamps at the top of the cavern moved in a way that mimicked the sun's trajectory outside and drew across from what looked like east to west. He was interested to see the whole process play out. From the fact that they had them at all, he could tell FEMA City was unlike any other bunker he had seen. Maybe there were more of them out there.

  The size of the city itself certainly played to the concept that there were too many people to feed from what they could grow. The other bunkers were rigidly contained and controlled and the population was strictly monitored for that very reason. Maybe they had decided to lift those restrictions.

  When the replica suns reached the top of the cavern and hung directly overhead, the steel gate opened once more. A group of prisoners pushed a large wheeled table carrying a huge steel pot with a steaming liquid inside, likely the
same kind of stew he had seen in every other bunker. Beside it was a stack of the protein patties and what looked like loaves of bread sliced for the prisoners who pushed forward to eat.

  It seemed as though the people in FEMA City ate better than most of the other bunkers, most probably the benefit of their raids on the surrounding countryside for provisions whenever they needed it.

  Hammerhand joined the others and collected his food on a tray. He wasn’t surprised that it smelled much better than anything he had eaten in any of the bunkers he had visited in the past.

  The table he had chosen appeared to be avoided by the other prisoners, some of whom elected to eat standing up rather than sit beside him.

  Once again, he didn't particularly mind being left on his own. He wasn't really in the mood to interact. People who wanted him to talk usually waited for orders or something like that, and he couldn't help but think that he needed time to get back into that frame of mind.

  Besides, he had a feeling that if he attracted too much notice to himself, people he didn't want to watch him would, in turn, pay more attention to him.

  He wanted to be alone for the moment. It had been a long, horrifyingly bad few days. Hell, weeks, he supposed. Ever since they had abandoned their search for Citta Del Mar and decided to help the people of Auburn, things had gone from bad to worse. Every decision he had made for the Knights had ended with them in deeper shit than before.

  "Are you all right?"

  Hammerhand looked up and realized that he had been in something of a reverie. He turned, a little surprised that someone had joined him at the table. It took a moment for him to recognize the smaller man he had saved from being beaten by Scar.

  Well, saved from a worse beating than he would have otherwise received. There were still bruises across his cheek and his left eye was a little swollen and darkening quickly.

  "Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered. "Why do you ask?"

  "Because you've sat here without touching your food and I'm fairly sure you've bent your spoon out of shape. The guards don't like that."

  He looked down and sure enough, the metal spoon in his hand was bent into a ninety-degree angle. Quickly, he reversed the damage. "Huh. Right you are. I guess I must have been lost in thought."

  "Well, you'll want to eat that food. If the guards see anyone wasting it, they take it out on the rest of us. Sometimes, they don't feed us for a couple of days."

  He nodded and began to half-heartedly eat the mostly cooled stew. "Thanks for the tip."

  "Given that you saved me from almost certain death, it's the least I could do. Hammerhand, right? I'm Luther17. You're one of the fighters they brought in, right? The ones they caught in the tunnels trying to attack the city?"

  The Knights’ leader narrowed his eyes at the man. "You sure know a lot about what happens around here."

  Luther17 smirked. "That's me. I get my ass beat and I know things I shouldn't."

  "Is that why you ended up here?"

  "Well, that had less to do with my knowing things and more about me spreading them among the general populace. You know, back when people still used to have a problem with the coup that was carried out by the militant faction. After they started throwing objectors in here, they told the guards to be a little more violent than before. To the point of killing any folk who don't toe the line all proper-like."

  "You didn't approve of the coup, I take it?"

  "Nope, and they took offense to that. In fact, most of the fuckers you see between these fences are those who didn't approve of the coup. I’d say they account for over two-thirds of the current population. Folks like Scar were in here before and they didn't like to share their little kingdom with intellectuals."

  "How long ago did this coup happen?"

  Luther shrugged. "I’m not sure, honestly. It’s been a while, though—long enough for folks to start accepting the status quo. Until you rolled into the area, that is."

  "How is it that you know enough to be locked in here with the rest of us ignoramuses?"

  The other man tried to keep a smug smirk from touching his lips. "I worked intelligence. Of course, that was back when it was mostly making sure no one took too much food or catching someone trying to score extra canteen by peddling fuel to the people who came to buy at our gates. I learned a thing or two about this place, and that knowledge helps keep me informed. It can be useful to stay a step ahead of trouble but sometimes, trouble has a quicker step. I never was much of a fighter."

  Whatever else he wasn’t, he certainly was a talker.

  "And why is it that Scar wanted to beat the absolute living shit out of you?"

  "I found out how he got his scar. He told everyone when he got in that it was when enforcement beat a confession of stolen goods out of him. Later on, though, when he was a little off his rocker, he mentioned that he actually got it long before. He drank a little too much stuff he was caught brewing, went to work, tripped on a shovel, and landed face-first on the blade."

  "And you shared it?"

  "Well, I told him I know and hoped to score some points by not spreading it to the other prisoners. He took it as a threat, though—like I tried to force him into something."

  "You're not much good at this kind of thing, are you?"

  "I usually only gathered the information. It was on others to use it."

  "And you shared it with me because…"

  "I feel I don't owe the fucker anything now," Luther17 said and scratched the brown bristle on his chin and ran his fingers through his long hair. "At the same time, I feel I owe you for keeping him from killing me. And I think someone like you might have a use for someone like me. I have ways to find information from the different blocks of the prison, given that's where the rest of your outsiders are being held."

  He nodded. "I don't suppose I could cash in on that favor already and ask you to get word out to those folks who came with me. Maybe find out how many of them are still alive."

  Luther17 nodded as Hammerhand began to eat with a little more enthusiasm. "I can do that. Is there anything else?"

  "I think I'd like to have a word with Scar."

  "You don't think he's likely to kill you after you put him on his back like that?"

  After a moment’s thought, he shook his head. "I think he's likely to think twice about making the attempt but he'll consider it unless I reach out to him first and make sure he knows there's no bad blood. Besides, I have to take a chance on a big lifer criminal like him having a little good in him someplace."

  His companion stood, already finished with his food. "I'll see what I can do. But try not to get your hopes up too high."

  Hammerhand didn't want to tell the man that he was already working from the dregs of his hopes at this point—from desperation, really. He didn't seem like the kind of guy to share something like that with. He wasn’t Tinker.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  As the suns moved toward the western end of the cave, they became a little dimmer and the odd effect of them lighting the roof gave the impression of a sunset as well. It was a strange sight, not quite as gorgeous as the real thing and definitely intentional but still beautiful in its own way. The people who had designed it had put in a little extra effort to give the people below a nice show.

  Another table was wheeled out and the same type of food as before was handed to the prisoners. They were all eager enough to partake, and Hammerhand felt something like an appetite returning. He took a tray again and sat at the same table.

  Once again, it looked like the other prisoners had no real desire to interact with him. They moved to the other tables and threw dirty looks at him as they passed. Or maybe it was their regular looks. He couldn't tell and honestly paid no attention.

  At least this time, he noticed when someone joined him at the table, but it wasn't Luther17 like he had assumed it would be. The smaller man was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the considerably larger Scar now sat across from him.

  "The little mouthy man told me you wanted
to have a word with me."

  Hammerhand took a deep breath. He certainly didn't want to keep talking to people. He felt like he needed time to himself to collect his thoughts. But people still needed to talk to him, and he still needed to talk to them. There was no time to gather himself, and there certainly was no time for him to settle in. He was in captivity, after all, and every waking moment needed to be spent trying to find a way out for himself and those of his people who had survived.

  "I did. I wanted to make sure there wasn't any bad blood between us. I wouldn't want to make an enemy out of you if I can help it."

  "You have no need to worry, Hammerhand," Scar replied in a subdued tone. "I know who you are now and the fact that it is in your nature to help the less fortunate. In fact, there is a great deal that I've come to learn about you. None of it was really what I expected, given how you fight, but I'm not the kind of man to judge too much."

  He raised an eyebrow. The word had spread already, likely thanks to Luther17, although he wasn't quite sure how they would have heard of his reputation. While they had made a point to spread the word that the Knights Mechanica were there to help people in need and it had certainly come to this area, what were the chances that it would make it into a prison?

  Either the word of the Knights Mechanica had spread more than he could have ever hoped for or the other Knights who had been captured with him had talked. He wasn't sure whether to feel annoyed or pleased.

  "Well, I'm glad there's no intended violence between us," Hammerhand said, leaned forward, and rested his arms on the table. "I have the feeling that could end very badly for me,"

  "You and me both," Scar muttered and chuckled. "I'll have the pretty little keepsakes you gave me for a while. And I’ll wear them every day too."

  "That was because I had surprise on my side. You didn’t expect a fair fight from the likes of me. It seems to me that would change if we ever came to blows again."