by Glynn James
The two nearest Hunters raised their weapons and aimed them at him. There was a moment as he sat there, mouth wide open, unable to speak, and then he heard the sharp crack and felt a jolt in his chest. He looked down, frowning, and saw a dart sticking out from where his heart was.
It’s not that bad, he thought. Not so painful. Just a wasp sting. But then his vision began to blur, and the room started to spin, and he felt a rush of tingling spreading through his limbs and his cheeks.
And then came darkness.
The Pits in Chaos
Years before…
Jack huddled in the pitch black of the Subtrans station with his back against the crumbling concrete wall. A cold breeze blew down the dark tunnel, and it carried a musty smell that was both old and unpleasant, reminding him of hidden places where things that should no longer be alive dwelt. But there were few noises from the tunnel. The only sound was the quiet moans and whispers of others who had sought refuge in the depths.
From where he hid, Jack could see a dim light coming from the stairwell that had led him down into this dark place. Minutes before, dozens of others had clambered down those stairs with him, jostling each other, panicking to escape the chaos above ground. It had seemed pitch black, as he had stumbled with the others, but now, after he had sat for a while, getting his breath back, his feet trying to find something stable to stand on, he could see that the sunlight from above had managed to creep its way down to the platform.
He had tried walking along the track, into the darkness, hoping to discover some other way to leave, maybe miles of underground tunnel to escape along and find some way back to the surface. There were ruined Subtrans entrances all over, and he had thought he could make his way to one, but he’d tripped over some rubble and fallen. He knelt there for a few minutes, feeling his way around, before he decided that the tunnel had collapsed, and he headed back once more to find a spot on the track among the other escapees.
There were a lot of people huddled there, afraid, and the noise that came from above did little to allay those fears. As Jack looked around him, he noticed a familiar face in the dim light, that of the slave girl he had seen in the building with the cages. There were other faces too, some that he vaguely recognised from the cells he had opened.
At least some got out, he thought, sighing deeply. But it will all amount to nothing if the Hunters come down here.
He clinched the machete at his side, vowing that if they did, he would take at least one of them with him.
Who are you kidding? If they do come down here, chances are all those hiding here will be taken or killed.
But an hour passed, and the sounds of gunfire and shouts from above ground ceased, and then, just as he was thinking that it may be over, a tremendous gust of wind blew down the stairway into the station. The people gathered in the darkness cried out in fear, and Jack wondered for a moment if some new and terrible weapon was being used, but then he recognised the wind and the noise.
The dropship.
A deep humming, rumbling sound came from above and then the wind ceased. His ears popped as the dropship sped away, the air in the Subtrans being sucked up the stairway as the dropship rocketed into the sky. He felt the breeze along the tunnel increase and saw a rush of dust billowing out of the tunnel behind him as it was sucked up the stairway.
And then silence.
Nothing, not even a whimper from those around him. After a few more minutes, Jack finally stood up, climbed back up onto the Subtrans platform, and edged his way through the shadows towards the bottom of the steps. He looked up the stairs, squinting in the bright daylight. No movement. No shouts. No noise.
Nothing.
He began to slowly make his way back up the stairs.
“What are you doing?” asked a voice from the shadows.
“I think they’ve gone,” said Jack.
“You’ll give us away,” whispered another voice.
“No,” said a different voice. “He’s right. That rush of air. That buzz. That’s them leaving. They’ve gone. Maybe.”
Jack paused at the foot of the stairs.
“But Jagan’s men may still be up there,” another voice called.
Jack coughed. “Then stay down here, in the dark, if you want to hide,” he said, and then he started up the stairs.
He emerged to a changed landscape. Where once there had been huts and shanty buildings dotted across the entire area, now there were only collapsed ruins.
More ruins to match those across the entirety of the Outer Zone, Jack thought, as he stood at the top of the stairs and scanned the vast area. Not a single human being stood as he made his way through the camp. He found some of Jagan’s men, lying dead in the dirt, and quickly stopped to strip them of weapons, valuables, clothing, and armour. Most was burned beyond use, charred by the blasts of the Hunters’ rifles. Soon the slaves that had escaped, and whoever else had been hiding down in that tunnel, would be up here, and he did not want to be around when they started fighting over the spoils of the dead.
I need to get away from here, he thought. Get away while I still can.
He stood for a moment, scanning the horizon, trying to get his bearings from several larger ruins in the distance, all landmarks that he knew. It had been weeks since he had walked free, weeks stuck in those pits, and it would take him time to re-adjust.
Time to go, he thought, and started off in the direction of The Crossing.
Jagan’s Tale
Years before…
Jagan cursed as the Hunters pushed him roughly to the ground. He was ready to stand up, bellow at them, and fight. Every part of his soul wanted to tear them to shreds with his bare hands.
But you can’t, he told himself, taking a deep breath. Keep control, he thought. Keep control.
He slowly raised himself from the ground, squinting around the huge open space. Nearby, a dozen other captives struggled to their feet, and twenty feet away another group was emerging from the back of an armoured vehicle. More vehicles poured out of the massive dropship, which now took up half the space in the vast yard. As his eyes adjusted to the light, Jagan saw that he was in some sort of industrial facility that was surrounded by tall buildings with glass windows. Real glass windows.
He got to his feet and stood silently, watching the Hunters as they pushed and manoeuvred groups of captives out of the armoured trucks, herding them onto the ground where they were ushered into small groups. Jagan’s gaze stopped at a man in the group next to his. Two of the Hunters were speaking to him, and Jagan recognised him as his own lieutenant – Leon. He couldn’t hear the conversation, but Leon was looking around the crowds as he spoke to the Hunters. Paranoia brought many thoughts to Jagan’s mind, but the most prominent was his lieutenant was stabbing him in the back. They were searching for him, now that they had destroyed his army. So far, his feeble attempt at a disguise, just rags and a short haircut, had worked. Why the Hunters that found him hadn’t killed him, anyway, he didn’t know.
They had been in a hurry, he thought. They’d dragged him out before retrieving their dead. They hadn’t been interested in the supposed slave they found.
Jagan took two steps to his left and edged behind two taller captives, his nerves twitching. He was not only surrounded by any number of his own men but also countless slaves. Any of them could recognise him. He crouched to the floor, grabbed some dirt, and rubbed it on his face and his hair. No one seemed to be paying much attention to him at that moment.
But that could change, he thought. He needed to look as different as he possibly could. Other than the fact that his hair was now gone, it was difficult. He was a large man.
To Jagan’s relief, the Hunters moved on to another group, passing him by.
How it’s Going to Work
Now…
“All you have to do is swallow the chip,” FirstMan said with a smile. He and Jack sat in one of the larger side rooms in FirstMan’s compound up on the hill. The room was filled with tech salvaged from t
he ruins, stacked high on shelves and littering the workbench in front of them. Three of FirstMan’s troopers stood in the room, but they were busy tinkering with tech that Jack couldn’t identify, and he wondered if they were even listening. A fourth man sat at the table opposite them.
Jack frowned. “Just swallow it?” he asked. “Surely it’ll just come back out in a few hours?” He cringed at the thought.
FirstMan shook his head, stood up and turned to man sitting on the other side of the table. “This is Hyde. He’s one of my tech guys.”
The man nodded at Jack. He was short and stocky, and his beard was thick and wiry. On the table between them was a drone. It was much smaller than Jack had imagined.
“Hyde has been working on getting the drone functional,” said FirstMan. “And now, thanks to the new circuit board, we have it working. But we need someone to go in there and act as a guidance for the drone. I want that to be you.”
Jack peered at the drone with uncertainty.
“Let me explain about the chip,” Hyde said, scratching his beard. “When you swallow it, it will activate and attach itself inside you before it reaches your stomach.” He pointed at his throat, and then traced a line down his chest to just above his stomach. “Then it sits there and waits until it picks up the transmissions constantly buzzing around the facility. There are computers using wireless connections and radio communications – everything. It all has a signature that is specific to the Recycling Facility and is basically what we use to encrypt everything.”
“Encrypt?” asked Jack, puzzled.
“Disguise,” said Hyde. “It means that anyone listening to radio transmissions at the facility, unless they know the encryption codes, would just hear garbage. We, of course, know those codes. As soon as you are within range of the systems the chip will detect its location and reactivate and send a pulse signal to us.”
Jack didn’t understand a lot of what the man was saying, but he understood the need to swallow the chip. When he was picked up by the Hunters he would be searched, possibly interrogated. Any kind of tracking device would be confiscated, but not one that was hidden inside him.
“I know how the detection systems work,” said the man. “So, I’ve programmed the chip to avoid them. You’ll be able to go in there, and they’ll probably lock you in solitary in the detention centre. That’s standard procedure. That will put you in the building right next to where the computer suite is. In fact, it’s just thirty yards away. That computer suite handles all the security systems, including those in the solitary cell block where you will be. The chip will activate, and it will open a relay that we can use to target a missile that will take out the perimeter defence system and the drone defence system that protects the base.”
“When that happens,” FirstMan interjected. “We can hit it.”
“Yeah,” said Jack. “That. That’s the bit that I’m not so sure about. This chip, you say, acts as a beacon for some nasty explosive?”
FirstMan shook his head. “Yes, sure. It’s an explosive. But not the kind you’re thinking of. This is a pulse weapon. The most damage it will do to a person is stun them or knock them out. It’s an electromagnetic charge. It will temporarily knockout electronics and computers, and therefore take out the perimeter fence, which, as I explained before, is electrified.”
“Then you can make your move and raid the facility.” said Jack.
“Yes,” said FirstMan.
Jack sat staring at the table. The chip was small, no bigger than a fingernail. He picked it up and turned it over. “Okay, let’s get this done,” he said.
“Excellent,” said FirstMan. “Good man.” He smiled, stepped forward, and held out his hand. “Welcome aboard.”
Muster
Now…
Ryan hurried through the open gates, the bundle bound for the school thrown over his shoulder. If there was one thing he didn’t mind doing it was being a carrier. He didn’t like being stuck in somewhere, unable to move around, and taking on the role of a carrier, delivering small stuff from place to place for anyone who needed it and would pay a fee, was the ideal choice for him.
But as he moved through the warrens of Junktown, heading towards the school building, he noticed an increase in activity.
There were a lot more people rushing about than usual. And many of them were armed.
He stopped in the middle of one of the busiest thoroughfares of the hidden junk city and looked around, watching those hurrying about him.
Three men passed by, all carrying long, sharp halberds built from metal scrap. One of them was trying to strap armour pieces to his shoulder as they walked, and he struggled to keep up. Across from the three men, an older man – one of the smiths that usually spent most of their time building doors, braces and other structural metal objects from scrap – was hammering out what looked like it would be a shield.
Another group of warriors – three women and a younger man – rushed by, heading in the direction of the town’s centre.
Ryan frowned. Something was kicking off already. Something important was happening, and he wanted to know what it was.
This is bound to have something to do with what FirstMan wanted Jack to do, he thought. It has to.
He turned away from the path to the school and followed the group of women and the younger man, trailing them through the crowds of people. They headed directly through the busy town centre, avoiding the usual traders and market folk, and climbed the walkways that led to an area called The Moot.
Ryan turned a corner, edging around a large group of warriors mustering at the entrance, and saw the gathering. FirstMan was standing with a group of his troopers, surrounded by a large number of Junker warriors, and next to him was RightHand. Jack was nowhere to be seen.
Ryan moved through the crowd, heading as directly towards FirstMan as he could until a hand grasped his shoulder. He turned to see the face of Ruben, the old warrior that lived in a warren house at the foot of his own home. The man was a friend of their teacher and often looked out for the school.
“No place for young ones today, boy,” said Ruben. “You need to get off back to your work, away from here.”
Ryan frowned, trying to think of an excuse he could use, but came up with nothing. Just as he was about to give up, a voice interrupted them.
“It’s okay.”
Ryan turned to see FirstMan standing next to them. The tall leader nodded, and Ruben let go of Ryan’s shoulder and took a step back.
FirstMan turned to Ryan. “But he is right about this being no place for young ones, Finder. What is it that brings you here?”
“Jack,” said Ryan. “Is he… Where is he?”
“He left for the facility already,” FirstMan said. “They went earlier today, to get a head start on us, so that Jack is in place, where we need him, when the time comes. We’re joining him very soon.”
Ryan didn’t register the words for a moment, and just stood there, silently trying to get his head around it. Jack was already gone. He had already left. When they had spoken earlier…that had been Jack’s version of ‘goodbye for now’. And all he had done was act like a spoiled, stroppy child. He hadn’t thought it was going to happen this quickly. He’d thought he had time, weeks, at least days.
“I can fight,” said Ryan.
FirstMan smiled. “I know,” he said. “But you’re too young for this mission.”
“But—”
“And too valuable,” interrupted FirstMan. “I can’t have my best finder being at risk. I need you for a great many other jobs, Ryan.”
“I can help, though.”
“Not this time,” said FirstMan. “I know you want to, but the best thing for you is to stay here and be ready when it’s over. We’ll need all the finders we can muster when we take control of the facility.”
“I can—”
“No,” said FirstMan, his voice changing, gaining a sharper and more commanding edge. “This is not the time.”
Ryan sighed, n
odded, and turned and headed for the school.
Jagan’s Tale
Years Before…
Governor Jackson scratched his head and stared at the screen. He leaned forward, tapped the keyboard a few times, shook his head and turned to face the man in the seat opposite.
“Eight different incidents,” Jackson said, chewing his lip. “Eight in just two months of being here.”
The man in the seat sat in silence, staring back at him. The prisoner was immobilised, his hands and feet bound with pulse locks set to stun him if he moved too quickly, or if Jackson decided to press a button on the device in front of him.
“Just eight months,” Jackson continued. “It’s a problem, don’t you think?”
The man continued to stare at him for a moment, then grinned. “What do you care what I think?” he replied, finally.
Jackson, stood, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, it does speak. It can communicate in ways other than with its fists. I was beginning to wonder.”
“Screw you,” said the man.
Jackson shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think you’ll be doing any such thing anytime soon.” He stood up and paced the floor, glancing at the screen every few seconds, mumbling his thoughts to himself.
“Jagan,” Jackson said, his smile widening as he noticed the surprise on the prisoner’s face at his mention of the name. “Not a common name. And it would seem you were something of a leader, prior to coming here, and something of a troublemaker.”
Jackson paused, looked at the man, expecting another retort, but he was disappointed when Jagan simply stared at him.
“I could order you killed, you know. From those eight incidents, I’ve had four guards injured, twelve workers also, and finally the worker you argued with this time is now dead.”
Jackson waited again, but there was still no reply.
“Out here, I’m in charge. The rules, and the punishments for breaking them, are dictated by just myself. If I ordered one of my guards to take you outside and put a shot through your head, they would do just that. No questions.”
