Chapter 2: The Crew
[Avalon, the last megalopolis on Gaia to survive the Collapse, consists of three levels, which explains not only its architecture but its socio-economic hierarchy as well.]
[First tier is, understandably, at the top and located 5,000 meters from Avalon’s lowest point. It is an intricate web of aerial highways twining through towering spires that sway slightly in the harsh winds of that altitude. Housed in these glass and plasticrene Valhallas are the members of the First Families: founders, leaders and controllers of Avalon. They are the last of the purestrain Empaths and these self-styled glitterati make the policies, administer justice and act as beneficent guardians of all. They are also known as aristos.]
[Cloaked in a sterile world and a blind belief in their own importance, most First tiers – or Firsters – do not realize that the almost feudal society they have erected is causing discontent and dissension among those below. History always repeats itself because people never take the time to learn. First tier’s Enclave Advocate is Giancarlo de Medici.]
[Second tier is located exactly 500 meters beneath First tier’s last bastion. Not as pristine or as manicured as its neighbors above, Second tier is nevertheless privy to certain amenities due to the service it provides. It is the heart of Avalon because this is where the Academy resides.]
[During the immediate years succeeding the Collapse, when martial law was the only chance for survival, many Firsters commissioned talented – if not purestrain – individuals to protect them from mutants and, as the case always is during times of upheaval, from each other. The Academy was created by the First Families to be a training center for their private armies. Eventually, as stability was regained and a truce among the Families was forged, the Academy’s function evolved into one less militaristic.]
[Today, it boasts 150 guilds. Students can specialize in myriad disciplines, from archeology to neuro-enhancement. In the Academy, democracy is encouraged and tier prejudice is not tolerated. However, it is still extremely difficult for Third Tiers to enter its hallowed halls. One has to be petitioned by an aristo to get in. That, or procure certain favors for the proper people. Nuada D’Argent is the Academy president and Second tier’s Enclave Advocate.]
[Third tier is located at sea level and some of it is actually underwater. This gives Third tier a distinctly memorable aroma. It is made up of the remnants of eras past and therefore has the look of an old woman trying on new finery. Flashing neoware and old-fashioned paper billboards vie for tourist attention. Concrete buildings are outfitted with the latest tech screens but still retain old-world plumbing. It is just as likely to hitch a ride on an automobile as it is to hop on a hover. Third tier is more commonly known as the City.]
[Third tier denizens are as diverse and contradictory as their surroundings. One can rub elbows with fallen aristos as well as cutthroat pirates in the same bar. That dashing young buck could perhaps be a slave runner in disguise. There are many stories ripe for the plucking in the City but they will remain untold because the City prides itself in its anonymity. Here, one can hide from a cuckolded husband, the law or one’s past with none the wiser.]
[Anything can be had in the City: a new plaything, a new deviancy, a new life. It’s all there…for a price. And, even though they are scorned and condemned by the upper echelons, City dwellers savor the irony of the slumming aristos or the wide-eyed Second tiers who grace their pot-holed asphalt streets every single night. Third tier has its own brand of justice. Therefore, its Enclave Advocate is Loki Swift, Thieves Guild master.]
[end of History sequence.]
Charybdis pulled the ‘trodes from his port and closed his eyes. Although the datastream had been amusing in its florid exposition and lapses into editorializing, it was more information than he had planned to upload. But once he’d started the sequence, it proved too absorbing to stop. Data overload, indeed. Still he had the presence of mind to cover his tracks and, after his brief rest, the catman’s retractable claws flew furiously across the keypad to erase all trace of his presence on the Hub.
The hover cab sped silently through the empty City streets. Third tier never really came to life until the sun went down. Charybdis smiled to himself. Daytime was the perfect time to access data; there was never very much traffic online before noon. And by plugging in while in a moving vehicle, it made it that much harder for Hub Guardians to trace him.
The catman briefly wondered if all this subterfuge was really necessary. After all, History sequences weren’t prohibited data, just restricted. His cadre would probably have advised him to worry more about the pride than lower level Guardians; several key pride members had already expressed reservations about his fascination with Avalon’s past. But Charybdis knew that information was the key to any successful venture, so he disregarded the suspicions directed his way and blithely went about his business. He had loftier goals than being a mere Shah of the pride, after all, and puling cubs were of no concern.
But today was not a day for intrigue and conspiracy. Today was reconnaissance. Charybdis had been witness to the altercation at Sartre’s the night before and he needed to see how it would all play out. He had a vested interest in Mitsu R’Ikeda and the catman always protected his interests. Still, it would do no good poking his nose into places that would put him at risk with certain people. He needed to ferret out information subtly and covertly. Which shouldn’t be too hard; it was what he did best. And he knew just the place to go.
Charybdis tapped at the keypad in front of him and alerted the hover cab driver of his final destination.
Sartre’s in the daylight looked nothing like its nighttime doppelganger. The neoware ad and its lurid glare were not in evidence and the building’s red brick façade, now devoid of the distracting artificiality, glowed warmly under the summer sun. From the outside, the bar actually exuded an aura of comfort and benevolence, a bit akin to sitting on a favorite uncle’s knee. However, as with some uncles and some knees, the bar had its secret seedy side and only the bold of heart or the stupid frequented the place with regularity. Chaybdis liked to think he fell under the former category.
The catman emerged from the cab, tipped the driver, and shrugged deeper into his voluminous cloak. Then he entered the club and made directly for the bar. Hypno handed him a drink, Sartre sat down next to him, and the three enjoyed a companionable quiet as they waited. They didn’t have to wait very long.
“Here they come. Right on schedule.”
“But without their beloved leader.”
“Ah, so you didn’t miss that little show last night?”
“Couldn’t help it. R’Ikeda was caterwauling his head off like a virj in a brothel.”
“Why didn’t you do anything about it?”
“It’s your club.”
“You’re his gokenin.”
“That’s never been verified.”
The club owner and the catman exchanged pithy looks over their drinks then dropped that topic of conversation. It was getting dangerously close to breaking the City’s unspoken Code of anonymity and laissez faire. Before the silence grew any more strained, Hypno refilled their glasses with his latest concoction. The bartender smiled easily, his golden reptilian eyes unblinking.
“I can’t believe you still let them in, after all the marks they owe you.” Hypno addressed his boss.
“Good for business.”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
“Nah. See here…they’re a bunch of toughs, right? And they do know how to brawl. I figure I keep them around, let ‘em slide on a coupla tabs and they come regular, stand around looking scary. Keep the rest of the customers either safe and happy-feelin’ or too scared shitless to make a fuss. Know what’m sayin’?”
“It’s your world, Sartre. We all just want to live in it.”
“Don’t you all!”
The diminutive club owner winked at his bartender and right-hand man who, in turn, finished polishing off the last of the shot glasses then looked resignedly to the entrance. The raucous revelry from beyond increased in volume steadily, and when the door finally swung open, Hypno and Sartre had the plastic smiles as befitted their profession firmly in place. Charybdis was expressionless but his catlike ears twitched in anticipation of the fun to come. One could always count on R’Ikeda’s boys to provide amusement.
“Hoi, Suka! I hope ya gots lots of marks, man. Coz I’m ready to drink this place dry!”
“Aye, red! Git your arse movin’! We haven’t got all day!”
“Guys? Is Suka buying today? Dat’s too sweet!”
“Hiro, whassup wit’ yo sib? He so good he gots to walk five steps behind us like some goddamn aristo?”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen! Here speaks the voice of reason.”
At this remark, a general hoot of good-natured derision ensued but subsided almost immediately. Holding his place as rear guard and dragging his feet slowly, Kazuya Hasukawa could almost imagine his damnable brother calming down the masses with his perpetually amused smirk. He hated his brother.
“As I was saying, my comrades, as the voice of reason in our merry band of misfits and miscreants, it is my duty to prevent dissension amongst the ranks by doing…this!”
Without further warning, Kazuya Hasukawa found himself plucked from the end of the line by a strong grasp to his collar and shoved unceremoniously into the dimly-lit depths of Sartre’s club. As his eyes adjusted from outside glare to indoor murk, Kazuya freed himself roughly from his captor and whirled around to face the lanky blond. Kazuhiro placed both hands on his hips and cocked a brow, waiting for the inevitable.
“Have I told you yet today how much I hate you?” Kazuya spat out.
“About fifty times. Isn’t that right, Rigo?”
“Ah, Kazuhiro, methinks ‘tis more like fifty-three.”
“And counting, I’m sure. Anyone want to place bets on how many times my little sib can serenade us with his loathing for me?”
“I’ll take that bet!”
“Hey, count me in!”
“Right here, pal!”
“What the hell – I need a new shooter cartridge. I’ll throw down!”
“Well, Suka. Looks like you’ve got the power to make me a very wealthy man today. Keep it up, sib.” Kazuhiro Hasukawa, crew medic and provisions specialist of the Moirai, chucked his kid brother under the chin with an affection that only he was privy to. Much as he loved teasing the boy, he truly harbored a deep love for the little brat.
“Not if I can help it, you old goat!” Kazuya shoved his brother with venom. A collective “oooh!” erupted from the onlookers. Kazuhiro grinned.
“I don’t know, fellows. I think that’s two. One for insulting me and one overt show of force. That brings our count up to…how many?”
“Fifty-two!”
“Rhys, you moron! Rigo just said fifty-three a sec ago. Can’t you count? Oh, yeah. You can’t. That’s why you’re just on cargo detail, eh?”
“Come closer when you say that, Raffe, and I’ll show you what kind of magic us cargo guys can do with our fists!”
“Bring it on, pansy boy! Let’s see what Sirenans are really made of!”
A brief scuffle ensued and Kazuya wisely stepped away from the larger men, making his way to the bar. He didn’t want to know the outcome of the tussle, wasn’t even interested enough to bet. He was just relieved that the focus was off him for once. Behind him, the redhead could feel his shadow tailing him once more. He ignored her, hopped onto a stool, hooked both feet on the bottom rung. Then he signaled at Hypno for a round of drinks and wearily reached into his pocket for a handful of marks.
Sartre stayed his hand. “Hold on there, young’un. This one’s on the house.”
“So soon? You don’t even have any customers yet!” Kazuya’s forehead furrowed in bewilderment.
“Oi, it’s getting to be so’s a person can’t do a good deed without havin’ his head bit off around here anymore!” The proprietor was jovial but could not completely hide the worry evident in his eyes.
Kazuya frowned. “What’s going on, Sartre?”
“You guys don’t know yet, do you?”
“Know what?” Kazuhiro asked curiously. The other crew members had finished with their morning exercise, a few of them a bit bloody and ragged for it and some of them a couple marks richer, and they crowded the bar eagerly. Gossip and a couple shots of Hypno’s secret recipe were always a good combination.
“You wanna tell them or should I?” Sartre cocked his head at the catman who had chosen not to make his presence known initially. Charybdis had an uncanny knack of fading into shadows when he so chose. It was what made him and his kind so successful as assassins.
“Char? Hey, sorry, I didn’t see you there! He’la!” Kazuhiro thumped his chest with his fist and Charybdis did the same. The others began muttering greetings of their own but Kazuya, as was his wont, interrupted them.
“Is this news gonna make me hurl? Coz I don’t need another ulcer, you know.”
He was immediately cuffed on the head by a random hand. The redhead yelped but subsided when he saw who had hit him. Next to Mitsu, Gunner Lao was the only other member of their crew who instilled a modicum of respect in the youth.
Charybdis settled on his stool, his cloak pooling around him, and he surveyed the men. He had gotten to know the crew of the Moirai intimately after that little fiasco in the Kuiper Belt two years ago and he knew they would not take the news well. He made bets with himself to see how each would react when he told them.
“They’ve got Mitsu.” The catman announced without preamble.
Chaos erupted.
“Holy hell!”
“Those motherlovin’ bastards!”
“Well, we’re done for now!”
“Shit, shit, shit!”
“We gotta go bust him out. Right, guys? Right? Huh, guys?”
“Shit, shit, shit!”
“Calm down! Stop yelling! Calm down, fellows! I said shaddup!” Gunner roared the last and was met with instant obedience.
“Thank you. Now, first thing’s first. When did this all go down?” The pilot eyeballed Charybdis who gave up the floor to Sartre.
“Last night. Some suit collared him in the stim room. A woman. Got past me using a holo, too, so I didn’t suspect a thing till it all happened. It was so damned fast! There was nothing I could do.” The club owner bowed apologetically.
“We’ll talk about that later, Sartre.” Gunner cut the proprietor off shortly.
“I think you should know, Gunn, that the woman was a Guardian. Private forces. First tier, if I’m not mistaken,” Charybdis offered up this bit of information with an inscrutable look on his face.
The ruckus that erupted upon this announcement was even more heated than the first outburst. Gunner raised his eyebrow at Kazuhiro who promptly took the hint. The two senior crew members grabbed a random man and proceeded to shake them silent, the hapless Kazuya one of the targets once again. After much yowling, order was restored and Gunner addressed the men with grim intent.
“Okay, guys, we’ve gotta move fast. If they got him last night, that means they haven’t had time to send him aboveside yet. The first chute doesn’t go active till noon. They’ll have kept him in the holding cells in Sector 4. That’s where we’ll go.” Gunner was talking so fast that Kazuya, who was closest to him, could almost imagine the pilot’s wetware frying at the speed of the synapses.
The others were not far behind. Already, Rigo was checking the level gages of his blaster and Rhys slid his claymore out of its sheath grimly. Raffe’s good eye narrowed and he touched his bandolier to affirm the readiness of his deadly knives. Kazuhiro shook his head, askance at the immediate battle-readiness of the crew, but set his face in firm resolve when he realized he couldn’t stop them. Brek grunted.
“Um, guys?” Kazuya held up a hand hesitantly. “We’re gonna fight, aren’t we? It’s gonna get messy, isn’t it? I should stay by the Moirai in case we need a quick getaway.”
“Idiot!” Gunner smacked at his head again. “We won’t need the ship. We’ll need bodies to fling at the Guardians. I guess your skinny ass will do just as well. You’re coming with us.”
“But…but…”
“It’s Mitsu.”
With that soft declaration, Kazuya’s protests died in his throat. Gunner was right. It was Mitsu. Their captain. And every single one of them owed him their lives. Now was as good a time as any to pay up.
“It’s settled. We’re off. Sartre, thanks for the info. Char, could you make sure Trout stays away? And we’d appreciate it is some of your pride could watch our ship. We’re in Docking Bay 5. I wouldn’t ask – don’t want to involve you further – but…” Gunner left the sentence hanging. Bushido was between the catman and his captain and was not transferable. But in a case like this, one could always hope.
Charybdis did not disappoint. “I’ll do you one better, Gunn. I’ll stand guard myself. And Trout will be by my side.”
The girl in question, the last member of the Moirai and the bane of Kazuya’s existence, bared her teeth but made no sound. She hadn’t spoken since the crew had found her a year ago on one of their runs to Atropos, but she was quite adept at making her feelings known. Usually, they were feelings of complete adoration for Kazuya, but her affection also extended to Mitsu. To be barred from rescuing him must have sat ill with the girl.
“Thank you, Char. A debt is tallied.” Gunner held out his left hand, palm up, in formal acknowledgement.
“And a debt will be repaid.” Charybdis completed the ritual by meeting the pilot’s hand with his own paw. “Now go! By the looks of his captor last night, he’ll be in a hell of a shape when you get him.”
“By the way, any clue as to who put the snatch?” Kazuhiro thought to ask even as he followed the crew to the door.
“I don’t know. As Sartre said, some woman. Short hair. Had one mean right hook. And the meanest green eyes this side of Avalon.” The catman called out.
Kazuhiro froze in his tracks and the others did the same. As one, they all swiveled and stared at Charybdis. Kazuya swallowed audibly. No one spoke for a moment, then Rhys screwed up his courage and asked the question:
“Did she have red hair?”
“Yes. Even wilder than Kazuya’s.”
A devastating sigh swept the crew.
“The Morrigu.”
“Shit, shit, shit!”