Chapter 5 - Run with Vince
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Proxis 3 - Before Integration:
“Make them hurt, then run for home. No noise. No stragglers.”
I barely caught the tail end of the conversation over the wind as my head crested the lip of the ridge. My hand shot forward, questing for some kind of handhold in the shallow gravel only to find thorny hagbrush roots that dug into the tips of my fingers. Painful and irritating for sure, but at this point, I’d take anything to hold onto, exhausted as I was. I ground my teeth and used what meager strength I had left to haul myself into position on the lip of the ridge.
My payload, or more accurately, my pack stuffed with a pair of silicon promegel bladders, sloshed lazily with the motion of my body. All night, it seemed to randomly oscillate between trying to drag me back down the slope or press me uncomfortably into the jagged rocks. My torture was near an end, though, at least for now.
I puffed out a pair of preparatory breaths as I hung there, gathering my courage for the final effort.
Then it was time to pull, and pull I did. I strained my muscles hard, rising one tiny, excruciating, victorious inch at a time. My breaths came in shallow, strained gasps, and my pulse pounded in my head. Then my feet left the slope below, and for one heartstopping second, I dangled there, just my arm and a tenuously attached shrub root between me and a long fall. Eventually, an eternity later, my torso reached the tipping point. Then the laws of physics dictated I would now have my face pressed into the dirt as the promegel bladders flowed up to the top of my bag and transferred all of their weight to my head. My goggles ground into the tiny, jagged pebbles of the wind-worn mountaintop, every tiny movement scraping more of the protective coating off of the lenses.
My arm shook, and my legs still kicked at open air, but I was there. I’d made it.
On some level, I knew I’d arrive late to the party, outpaced as I was and burdened by my precious cargo, but in my heart of hearts, I’d hoped to at least be able to rise to the challenge and finish with the kind of stoic badassery you might see from the action movie stars of old.
Well, I made the climb. So there was that. As for the cool factor- I’d seen toddlers do this better, but still, I made it!
Someone must have noticed my struggle, because I was quickly hauled up on my feet, easily like I weighed nothing at all.
“You okay, Ryan?” Vince, my rescuer, straightened me up and put his hands on my shoulders. He had to hunch down slightly to look me in the face, although I use that verb loosely. Neither of us could see much more than vague impressions of the other on a night like this, dark as it was. Vince was an expressive guy, though, having inherited his mom’s high cheekbones and wide eyes and his dad’s generously proportioned mouth that only got more generous when we hit our late teens. I could see the pity in his expression and the guilt. He’d probably wanted to help me earlier, but he knew I’d wanted to do this on my own, if only to prove I could.
I nodded and shrugged off the bigger boy’s grip. “I’m okay,” I declared between gasps, standing up straight and pretending to feel better than I did. My legs burned like fire. They burned like I’d just run all night against the wind, over rocky, untamed wilderness and finished up with a near vertical climb 300 feet to our little mountaintop rendezvous, because that’s exactly what I’d done, what we’d all done. My arm throbbed in time with my pulse, and I felt the hot, bruising sensation of torn muscle fibers in my bicep. It was most likely turning an unhealthy shade of purple right now, but my jacket would hide my shame until it didn’t matter anymore. “Really, I’m good. What did I miss?”
Behind Vince, a dozen pairs of eyes, narrow and calculating, slid over me, probing for weakness of which they found plenty. I didn’t need a lot of light to guess the other boys’ dirty, wind-scoured faces were set in unforgiving scowls. The others lacked the patience and charity Vince harbored for me, but none of them had the inclination to voice their objections to my presence aloud. Instead, they gripped their weapons protectively with tattooed fingers, uncomfortable with the crippled heretic even laying eyes upon their blessed heirlooms.
At least I didn’t slow them down, not that they’d slow down for me anyway.
Vince scoffed in that way that said he knew I was lying, but he’d let it be for now. He grinned confidently, turning to make sure the other boys could see. “We were just waiting on the pyrotechnics to get here, cousin,” he said loud enough to be heard over the howling wind as he slapped me on the shoulder. Then he leaned in, his voice only for me this time. “Come on. I need your eyes.”
He didn’t wait for my assent. Instead, Vince loped forward, through the crowd of boys, slapping several on the shoulders on his way past, and then he disappeared into the dark on the far side of the ridge.The scrub brush parted for him the same way people did. It probably never occurred to him that I might not follow where he led.
Of course, I followed, or I tried to. My legs were already starting to stiffen up now that the climb was done, making my steps awkward and exaggerated. None of the Clan boys moved to let me pass. They didn’t even twitch. I wasn’t going to let them intimidate me, though.
As I wove through the center of the group, I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact. Instead I made note of what our little band would be using tonight. It was a who’s who of prominent warrior families and their signature weapons. I recognized Brendon as he cradled his father’s antique las-gun like it was a small child, all wrapped in furs and bound with leather cords to keep the worst of the weather from touching it. Pruitt by his knuckle claws. The others could have been from a handful of families with their spears, axes, and straight swords. Their expressions ran from absolute indifference to sneering contempt. To those, I was a stray dog begging for scraps from their tables. One of them spat. He had the good grace not to do it on me (I was upwind), but the sentiment was there.
No family heirloom rested on my belt, no specialized focus passed down to me from my parents. All that hung from my belt was a canteen and a multitool. Just seeing me try to wield any of the chosen instruments would send the more devout Clan elders into fits, offering prayers to Constance to intercede with the System on our behalf and strike me down so a more worthy heir could take my place.
My face grew hot, and my pace quickened. I reflexively angled myself to hide the side of my body that was missing an arm. It was always worse when they stared.
Vince had chosen our spot well. We’d come up on a saddle, a lazy dip in the ridge, out of the worst of the wind, creating a relatively calm spot for us to rest. The air howled overhead from the east as was so common this time of year, kicking up rushing plumes of dust and clumps of transient vegetation that floated and tumbled through the currents. Bristle-barked flycatcher trees with needle thin leaves grew nearly to the top of the saddle where their grasping claws caught unlucky wind borne whipnettle, imprisoning them there until they died. This cluster of flycatchers had thick, bushy crowns of debris that were just asking for a lightning strike to kick off the next big wildfire.
The night was as dark as Proxis 3 got. The gas giant that gave our little moon its name was currently on the other side of the planet, and we were on its dark side this week. That meant deep dark with the occasional magnetic flare-up in the atmosphere along with milder wind speeds, which suited us all just fine, but damned if it didn’t make following your best friend to the edge of a cliff an iffy affair. I reached up and wiped at the debris still on my goggles, but it was a meaningless gesture.
The scrub didn’t part for me like it did for Vince. I was forced to weave my way blindly in the general direction I’d seen him go and try not to stumble into something thorny or venomous. I squinted and shuffled my feet carefully, hoping to save myself a tumble if I accidentally walked too far. The promegel wouldn’t ignite when in contact with air like its gaseous cousin, but that didn’t stop my brain from conjuring images of my limp body tumbling down the slope as a fiery ball, going out like a true heretic should.
“Didn’t even have the good grace to die quietly,” they would say. “The boy was bad luck all the way to the end.”
I nearly tripped over Vince, accidentally kicking him and overcompensating to the point that my pack nearly tipped me forward as the tip of my leading boot caught nothing but air. My arm swung wide to compensate, and I let my knees collapse to bring my center of gravity down until I could touch the ground with my hand.
Vince waited for me to get my composure back before he spoke. “Well, here we are, cousin. Take a look,” he said, staring intently into the dark.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Below, I saw a valley, barely visible in the starlight, empty but for a shadowy ribbon of thick vegetation obscured by a wind-whipped cloud of mist over a body of water, maybe a river or a bog. I felt thirsty just thinking about it. When was the last time I had a full water ration? A week? I immediately regretted not bringing water extraction tools along, though I knew the feeling wasn’t rational. I’d need to get through the night alive, and that meant traveling light.
The water in the valley wasn't what Vince wanted me to see, though. That was further up on the ridge opposite ours a half mile away. Little pinpricks of light scurried over the far rocks, illuminating vague armored shapes, machines, portable habs, and rough faces.
Several men huddled around the warm glow of a firepit, bowls in their hands with not a care in the world. One man shone a work lamp into the belly of a hover bike’s atmo-propulsion cylinder where smoke billowed from the housing into the man’s face before disappearing into the wind.
I observed it all in my way, making note of the scale of things, the placement of machines and equipment, what was broken, what was functional, shaking my head as I did.
It all seemed so damned normal.
“So, this is them,” I stated flatly.
“Yes.” Vince’s reply was a hiss. No poetry in his words like with the others, not now.
“Now that I see them, it seems less real,” I said. “These people are the ones that burned us out and chased us for weeks, and they’re just…”
Normal.
“I know what you mean. The way our dads talk about them, it’s like they’re boogymen, but they look plenty mortal to me.”
That wasn’t what I meant at all. The way they moved, the way they worked seemed so relaxed, like cattlemen bedding down after a long drive. It seemed wrong that murderers and thieves got to live like this, while we lived in fear.
“So, what can you tell me?” Vince asked.
I frowned, thinking about what to state as factual and what to speculate upon. I went with what I knew. “They brought an expensive looking generator to charge their bikes, and the machines themselves don’t look like they’re in good repair. There’s lights in the habs. The amount of juice being used over there tells me they lean on that generator a lot. If we sabotage that, it might slow them down.”
“And?”
“And they look like they’re pretty fresh, still walking around this late at night like they are. It means they’re not straining to keep up with us. We’re all exhausted and barely on our feet. It means these guys could have caught us by now, but they haven’t.”
Vince paused at that, as if I’d given him something to consider. “Why do you think that is?” The question wasn’t unexpected, but I was hoping he wouldn’t ask. It made me uncomfortable to give the answer out loud.
I took a deep, fortifying breath. “Hard to say. Maybe they’re wearing us down, so they can swoop in when we’re at our weakest. That kind of tracks, considering the Clan’s reputation. Warriors of Constance and all that. But we’re getting close to the city now. Why not make their move before the Colony could send in air support?”
Vince nodded but waited for me to finish.
“They’re-” I cleared my throat and started again. “They might not want to catch us at all.”
There. I said it.
The burning of our settlements. The midnight raids. The murders. The endless chase across the System-cursed continent. Why were we being herded like cattle?
Vince nodded as if I’d confirmed his suspicions as well. Then he changed the subject.
“You think you can do this, Ryan?” he probed tentatively. It was an honest question, one I didn’t actually mind coming from Vince as opposed to almost anyone else.
Coming from anyone else, it would be meant to discourage me from doing something stupid.
With Vince I knew he considered me a friend, and he didn’t want to coddle me. He just wanted to know if I was capable of doing what needed to be done.
The thought of it made my empty belly churn. Things were dire. We were running on fumes. No food, little water, less sleep. I spent most of my nights fixing wheel axles and gluing aging combustion engines back together in preparation for the next day’s mad scramble. The warriors of the Clan had it even worse.
“I’ll be okay,” I lied. Fear gripped me in the most intimate of places, but I had to push through. I would have felt better had I been allowed a weapon, even if I hadn’t trained with it in the years since my accident, but I’d given up that dream a long time ago.
“You're sure? Out of all of us, your dad is going to come down the hardest on you.”
Apparently, I needed to be more convincing, or I needed dumber friends. “Even a dog can pretend to be brave if it’s backed into a corner, training or no.” The words came out much more defensive than I would have liked. I winced at that. “What good is it being the Headman’s son if you can’t disobey Clan decree every now and then?”
It must have been so easy for the rest of them with the full might of their families in their corner, mentoring them, cheering on their victories. Constance favored the strong, and these boys were the strongest. They’d take to this like fish to a stream. Me, though…
No. That wasn’t fair. We were all in over our heads. This was a plan born of desperation and an unwillingness to watch people suffer. It was the only plan, even if the Elders couldn’t see it.
Vince nodded again, accepting my words as true and slotting me into whatever strategy he had in mind. “Alright then. Chris is going to take out whatever lookout they post tonight, and Brendon is going to cover us with the lasgun while we do what damage we can. We’ll hit the generator like you said.”
Vince’s saber was in his hand now, working the honed blade back and forth, each stroke trimming the mountain brush down centimeter by centimeter with a rhythmic *wisk* *wisk.* The blade hummed in the wind. “Once I give the signal, throw your pack in the fire and run. Don’t look back until you’re with the Clan.”
“When you give the signal or…”
Vince hesitated but only for a moment. “Or if we get caught.”
“About that.” I had to know.
“What is it?”
“Why’d we bring the lasrifle? I understand all the other stuff, but that thing is a relic from Constance’s time. It’s practically a religious artifact. You’re not thinking of actually tangling with Barrow, are you?”
“No way,” Vince scoffed, a little too quickly, his eyes suddenly very interested in the ground.
“Because that would be stupid.”
“I know. I know.” Vince groaned. “I got it.”
When I didn’t say anything more, he nervously filled in the dead space in the conversation. “We can’t fight an Exotic, Ryan, I know that. We don’t even know what level he is. I just… I wanted a trump card just in case. He’s probably not even here. His goons probably do the chasing for him. An Exotic’s probably got better stuff to do, ya know?”
“Yeah. Probably,” I echoed, trying to sound confident. If Barrow was in that camp…
Damnit. There’s so much wrong here.
I blew out a breath through my lips, slowly emptying my lungs, hoping the lack of oxygen might slow down my brain activity and make me too stupid to have misgivings. It didn’t work, but I pretended just for Vince. “Either way, it’s got to be done right? We’re doing the right thing.”
We’re doing the only thing we have left. It’s either this or die tired in a couple days.
“I hope so, Ryan. I really do.” Vince sighed and let his sword hand relax and the blade’s point rest in the dirt. He turned to me, letting the mask of the leader slip from his face temporarily. “No matter what the others think, I’m glad you’re here.”
Now he’s just making this weird.
I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “Oh, do the other guys not like me? I hadn’t noticed,” I replied, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of my lip. “Just don’t go challenging an Exotic to a duel, alright? I’d have to step in and go full limit break to keep you alive.”
“You’ve been holding back, have you? ‘Limit break’ sounds like something out of one of your games.”
“Uh, yeah. It is,” I affirmed sheepishly. “You’d be surprised what Earth got right, even hundreds of thousands of years before the System.”
“We learned it in history class, Ryan. Together. At the same time.”
“I know. I know. Sorry,” I said. “Seriously, though. If you do something stupid: Full power. I’m a biter. Ask Bret Wains. We fought once.”
“He toyed with you then put you down hard,” Vince laughed, turning to grin at me.
I raised my eyebrows and gave them a waggle. “But I bit him.”
“You did bite him… He still has the mark.”
That was a scar that wasn’t going away. I’d left my mark on this world. “Don’t think he’s forgiven me, and the others haven’t forgiven me for being born.”
“Screw those guys,” Vince spat with a surprising amount of venom. “You’re playing a big role in this, even if they can’t see it.”
I didn’t answer that one. Vince was the only one who really saw who I was beyond the disability and the heretic label. The Clan as a whole didn’t deal well with the weak and infirm, even if they were happy enough to let me fix their tools for them. Vince had been my friend since childhood, and he was way too good to let something like social pressure keep him away from his friends.
Vince and I stood up together, taking one last look over the valley at our foes.
“Hey, we do this right, maybe the System will finally give us another Exotic in the family. We can’t let Constance be the only one,” Vince speculated as he stretched out his back, his confident grin back in place.
I rolled my eyes. “Way to keep your goals achievable, Vince.”
We wove our way back to the group, emerging from the brush side by side.
All eyes were on Vince, of course, the natural leader that he was, and a semi-circle coalesced around him as naturally as matter caught in a gravity well. I hung back a step to make sure he stood strong without the crippled heretic there to drag him down.
Vince’s voice rang out clearly above the wind. “Gentlemen, once they’re asleep, we’re going in. Our families are going to be pissed, even if we pull this off. If you’re not fully with us, the time to back out is now. No one will judge you.”
There were no takers.
Vince grinned and met each of their eyes one by one. “Alright. Rest up and be ready to move. May Constance and the System judge us worthy.”