EPISODE 6: PART THREE
Together they walked the night streets of New Pallas City. Jay set a brisk pace and Cass could tell that unlike her he was not looking for a frivolous adventure this evening. Whoever Jay really was, he needed to find this mercenary Washington in a hurry.
“Where are we going?” Cass asked, keeping up with him.
“New Pallas Square. It’s open 24/7, and there’s bound to be a tourist booth nearby.
New Pallas Square was the lifeblood of the city, its many shopping malls, theatres, and museums bringing in half the city’s income. All day and night New Pallas Square was alit with multi-storied video screens playing advertisements, trailer for local films, tourist information, and all other kinds of broadcasts. Neon signs permeated the square at street level, always proclaiming “OPEN” as these shops never closed. The tourism industry was spreading rapidly in New Pallas. As Jay had mentioned, the restaurant he and Cass had met at used to be a small local secret, but now attracted the wallets of both tourists and locals who could afford it. Crime, both small time petty theft and big time racketeering remained a constant, however. The city’s government was working hard to change that.
Even at this hour the crowds in the square were impenetrable. It was an entirely pedestrian zone, surrounded by skyscrapers. Jay stopped on one of the sidewalks leading into the square, the flow of people moulding around him like a river around a rock. Cass stopped beside him. They could see into the square from where they were standing. Above the heads of the pedestrians they could see a fountain and statue dedicated to the first president of New Pallas, depicted in stone, dressed in a suit and top hat, leaning on a cane and staring wistfully off into the distance. Across the square from the statue stood a pole, attached to which was a sign adorned with a glowing “T”. Jay offered Cass his hand, and she accepted. The two of them waded into the crowd, salmon swimming upstream.
Cass was jostled to and fro as she moved through the throngs of bodies around her. Faintly she felt the tug of Jay’s hand. People of all forms flowed around them, going about their business. At this moment, hundreds of human lives had converged in this square, each with their own plans and intentions. Cassiopeia reflected – how many lives had she taken, during the course of her own? If every one of those men and women were here today, would they fit into the square? She glanced at a face and saw Katherin Alley – at another and there was Harry Tambe. Looking all around her she saw the people of New Pallas, and within them, the walking dead. Of course, every one of these humans would die some day, but did it really matter when or how? What, in the face of humanity’s insignificance to the enormity of the universe, did one life count for? And who knew what, if anything, there was in the afterlife. Thoughts like these turned some to religion – to Cass, it justified her profession.
She was awoken from her philosophical revelry by another tug on the hand. She found herself outside of the square, Jay’s smirking face level with hers. He leaned back, shaking a map in his hand.
“That’s that.” He said. “Let’s get moving.”
“Are we going to walk there?” Cass said, expectantly. Perhaps some trouble would find them on the way.
“Hell no, are you crazy? I’m not planning on getting mugged tonight. We’re talking a cab.”
Cass pouted.
Landover stared out the Burning Eagle’s temple’s window at the raging dust storm outside. He hated this place.
The cab ride to the warehouse was largely uneventful, Cass further telling Jay about her exploits as a Wheel assassin, and Jay scoffing in disbelief at what he believed were fantastical stories. By the time the cab dropped them off at the ancient, rusted warehouse in the north of the city, he was thoroughly sick of it.
“That’s not a healthy fantasy to have.” He scolded, handing the fare to the cabby, who promptly sped away. “Most girls your age dream of more pedestrian careers.”
“It’s the truth!” She barked. “I’ve been telling you about it for the past 20 minutes. Why would I make up that much stuff?”
“I don’t know.” Jay shrugged. “I think if you were a real assassin you wouldn’t tell me about it.”
“I’m not here to kill you.” She grumbled. Jay rolled his eyes.
“Okay, fine. D’you mind if I test your assassin skills?” He said, mockingly.
“You want me to kill someone?”
“Nothing like that! I’ll throw a punch at you, you dodge it. Any assassin worth her salt would know how to fight.”
“That’s fine by me.” Cass said, taking a fighting stance. She thought she looked somewhat silly, fighting in a dress, but sometimes the situation called for it. Jay took a similar pose, their impromptu arena lit by a solitary street-lamp in front of an eroded warehouse on the outskirts of town.
“Ready?” Jay asked, cocking a fist. Cass nodded.
Jay threw a punch aimed at Cass’ collar, which she dodged easily. It was painfully obvious he wasn’t moving at a fraction of his full strength.
“Lame!” She said. “You punch like someone who’s just fallen off a six floor building.”
“That’s oddly specific.” Jay replied. “But okay then, round two.”
Jay punched again, this time much quicker. Cass’ head darted to the side as she simultaneously grabbed Jay’s arm. Twisting on her heels, she easily picked up and launched the much heavier man over her shoulder, bringing him smashing down on the ground. She let go of his arm, letting it fall bluntly down.
“Damn.” Jay groaned, leaning upwards and looking up at Cass, who stood triumphantly above him, hands on her hips. “What the hell was that?”
Cass brushed her hair out of her eyes, beaming.
“Well, if anything…” Jay said, getting up and brushing himself off. “This proves you took some self-defence lessons.”
If he was hiding shock, he was hiding it well. Cass was about to reply when a voice was heard from the warehouse.
“Hey!” A man’s voice called. “What the fuck is going on?”
Jay and Cass turned to the voice’s source, which soon came running out towards him. A well-built man, shaved entirely balled was jogging out towards them, wearing faded jeans and a plain wife-beater. One of his pockets showed a noticeable bulge.
“What are you-“ He began to say, but stopped when he noticed Jay.
“Holy shit.” He continued, squinting at the man in the cream suit. “Jersey?”
Jay nodded.
“Ohio.” Jay said. “Fancy meeting you here. Is Washington in?”
The man named Ohio looked from Jay to Cass, and back to Jay.
“Who’s this?” He asked, sticking a thumb at the girl. “Your brought a girlfriend, Jersey?”
“She led me here.” Jay explained. “I thought she was making it up, but I guess not.”
“I’m Cassiopeia.” Cass said, giving a light curtsy. “Nice to meet you.”
Ohio examined her closely.
“I can’t let her in.” He said. “Washington’s inside.”
Jay turned to Cass.
“I think that’s alright.” He said. “She can take care of herself.”
Cass nodded. Jay again offered her his hand, which she shook.
“Nice to have met you, Cass.” He said. “See you later.”
“See you later.” She answered. Jay left with Ohio.
“Welcome home, Jersey.” Ohio said, clapping Jay on the shoulder. Cass was left there, standing alone in the light of the streetlamp.
Ivan Ripsicke took a deep breath, taking into himself the scents of his youth.
As the senior engineering officer of the DSCS-Pretoria, he didn’t often get the chance to visit his parents, who lived a quiet life in the village of Barellia, some 200 kilometers from New Pallas City. It would soon be time for them to retire; luckily, he had been putting a way a portion of his rather generous salary each month to ensure they could live in comfort.
He’d been born and lived in Barellia for the first 18 years of his life, at which point he left to study at NPCU, New Pallas City University. The village seemed frozen in time – it had been thirty years since he first left, and two since his last visit, yet barely anything had changed. The late autumn fields were being harvested, the villagers going about their work dutifully. The woods skirting the edges of the village had shrunk, but only ever so slightly. He had mixed memories of the place of his youth. Being born with bright red hair, as opposed to the dark brown that was usual in the area subjected him to teasing, and not a little of it either. But still, he had preserved, made friends, and even married a girl from the village, who now lived with their two sons in West Pallas, on the other side of the continent. After he was done here, he would hit the road. His work left him away from home and he was anxious to see the other part of his family.
For now, however, he enjoyed the moment. He stood, continuing his slow breathing rhythm, at the edge of Richard’s Cliff, a beautiful spot overlooking the ocean named after one of the village’s early residents. He had often played here with friends in his youth, daring each other to step closer and closer to the edge, to stare down at the serrated rocks at its bottom, buffeted endlessly by the waters of the ocean. Those games had become so common that his mother had forbidden him from going near the place, but he made a habit of coming back every time he came to visit. Ivan closed his eyes.
He breathed in through his nose: out through his mouth.
He breathed in through his nose: out through his mouth.
In through his nose: he felt a hand on his back. Then, another. His eyes shot open
Before he could react, he was pushed, falling headfirst down to the rocks below.
Cass wiped her hands on the sides of her coat. She stepped to the edge of the cliff, quickly glancing behind her to make sure no one was waiting to deliver her to a similar fate. Satisfied at the area’s desertion, she peeked over the edge to make sure the job was done. Giving a quick nod of approval to the mixture of red and blue at the bottom of the cliff, she spun around on her heels, walking slowly, with her hands behind her back, back to the village.
Wahlbert and Godfried watched with grumpy expressions as Landover paced through the halls of the temple of the Burning Eagle.
“Damn it, Wahlbert.” Godfried grumbled, motioning with his cane. “How long’s that fool going to keep that up?”
Wahlbert smirked, twirling his moustache and leaning over to his comrade. “Longer than you can keep it up, you old fool!”
Godfried launched into a tirade of profanity; Wahlbert chuckled merrily. Landover looked over at the two of them, wondering what was so funny.
Senior Communications Officer Warren Menoff drove his car like a madman, swerving from lane to lane. Beside him sat Senior Weapons Operator George Slovens, gripping his armrests with white knuckles. Two spots in the backseat sat Petty Officers Ai-Lun, a young stone faced Asiatic man, and Ellie Lunet, a nervous, bespectacled woman coming up on her 35th birthday.
“Slow down!” She yelled over the noise of the Trans-Continental highway. “Why are you driving like this?”
Warren didn’t answer. Sweat poured down his forehead, matting his long black hair to his face. He was the only one in the car dressed in his military uniform.
“At least tell us what’s going on!” Ellie yelled after receiving no answer. Warren ignored her. Ai-Lun crossed his arms. George continued holding onto the armrests, whispering something to himself.
Eventually, the happy quartet came upon a traffic jam – all four westbound lanes of the TC-1 grinded to a halt.
“Fucking shit!” Shouted Warren. “Bullshit!”
“What’s going on!?” Shriked Ellie. “You grabbed me from my room in the middle of the night, dragged me into this car, and now you’re flying at the speed of light down the highway! Tell me what’s happened?”
Ellie looked at the rest of the crew. George was slowly rocking in his seat while Ai-Lun sat, still as ever.
“Look at George! He’s scared out of his mind.”
Warren twisted around, staring bug-eyed at Ellie.
“Watched the news recently?” He asked.
“No!” She answered. “What? What’s happened?”
“Murders.” Grumbled Ai-Lun. “The bridge crew of the Pretoria is being murdered.
“What!?” She yelped. “Who?”
“We’re the only ones left.” Warren said. “I’m getting us out of the city. I don’t know who’s killing us or why, but… I don’t know how it took anyone so long to realize!”
“So why are you driving us out here? Why not call the Pretoria?”
“Every second we spend in the city is dangerous. I’m taking us all to West Pallas… we can get picked up from there.” He twisted around back towards the front. “If the highway started moving! Fuck!”
“We could have taken a shuttle!” Ellie said.
“Whoever is killing us has great resources.” Ai-Lun said. “They obviously have a great degree of control over the media, to keep these stories down for so long.”
“Fuck! Finally!” Warren blurted as the highway began moving again.
“It’s probably the mafia.” George blubbered. “The mafia wants us dead!”
“That’s stupid.” Warren stated bluntly. “If the mafia started killing DSC crewmembers, the DSC would notice, and they’d crack down hard.”
“That is true.” Ai-Lun nodded. “The mafia’s best interest is its own survival. These murders are against the mafia’s interests.” He thought for a moment. “However, because of these assailant’s control over the media, the mafia must be involved in some way. We can only assume someone is forcing the mafia to act against its best interests.”
“Who?” Asked Ellie. “Who could do that?”
A blue and white road sign proclaimed 3500 kilometers until West Pallas.
“I don’t know.” Ai-Lun shook his head. “We must hope their grasp doesn’t extend to West Pallas, and should get off the planet as soon as possible.”
Warren’s rented car exploded, lighting up the night in a stunning fireball. The combusted wreckage flipped over, skidding upside down across the highway. The cars behind it swerved to avoid the wreckage, some crashing into guard rails, others crashing into eachother.
Cass stood on a hill half a kilometer away, watching the scene through binoculars, these ones equipped with night-vision. She held a detonator in her right hand, a tracking device on the ground beside her.. It had stopped broadcasting after she flipped the switch, which, admittedly, she could have flipped at any time after she had installed it two weeks ago. She had been getting rather bored on New Pallas, though, and decided to think up a way to remove all her remaining targets at once. Her plan had worked, and she’d have to give many thanks to her contacts in the New Pallas underground.
She picked up and threw the tracker up, caught it, dropped it, then crushed it with her boot. The detonator she stuck into her pocket, leaving the binoculars hanging on their straps around her neck. It was time to get to Extorris, and report a job well done.
“What is it?”
Lieutenant-Captain Murovyov stumbled into Stefan’s quarters. His irises were shrunken, his face the image of total despair.
“They’re dead, Captain.”
Stefan stood up from his desk.
“Who’s dead? What are you talking about?”
“Everyone, Captain. Everyone is dead.”
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