Hundreds of steps made their way up the stairs of the metro underground. In a mad dash to reach their own destinations even one step ahead of others, even if in the grand scheme of things such a headstart would give them no real time advantage.
But through that sea of people a particular figure stood out like a sore thumb. Somewhat tall, broad man in a greyish coat. The clothing itself wasn’t that jarring, but the man underneath it garnered attention. His thick grey beard looked like wool, covering the bottom half of his pitch-black face. Even if his eyes seemed somewhat calm, he intimidated people with mere presence, making them a bit less willing to thrash and push in his general vicinity. He paid them no heed, his mind was drifting.
It has been long. Way too long since he last felt the breeze that lacked the taste of salt. Thirty five days, twelve hours, eleven minutes and fifty seconds to be precise, with a two minutes margin of error.
The tour that just ended wasn’t a specifically long one. The man himself would say it was average. But each time he came back, he couldn’t help but notice the world change around him ever so slightly. It certainly could be attributed to feeling home sick, but having images this vivid of the world waiting for him on the dry land gave him perspective.
New city infrastructure. New barriers on street crossings, changed brands of the street lights. Neon lights advertising welfare products that didn’t exist before his leave. New patriotic sayings and quotes printed on banners, attributed to people he never heard of, from conflicts he didn’t partake in.
A few days ago he wouldn’t really make much of it, a nice reminder of what he was sailing for.
But after the charity banquet, all those views started feeling bitter, gripping something in his gut. He was a patriot. A proud citizen of the Empire, a model one at that, according to his Captain.
One who earned his titles and benefits through hard work and the sweat of his brow, entitled to every last drop that came down the grapevine. So why did he feel so… wronged?
Not by the people, or the ideologies that he relied on. For both these things, he’d lay down his life without a second thought. The like-minded men and women that he served beside for years were like extended family for him at this point, while the acts on which the Empire was built were second for him only to the Almighty.
Alas, were it truly so, would the words he heard from Heavenly General Cicada affect him this deeply? Seeding the doubt in his heart.
The man cussed under breath, spooking a stranger that stood next to him at the crossing.
He didn’t notice him, focused on his internal debate instead of the world around him. Despite that, when the light turned golden, he began to walk just like everyone else. Walking by, he could easily peek above the crowds at the shops that surrounded him.
In just over a month, two old confectionaries closed down and government-ran replacements took their place.
Too bad, from what his wife told him, their daughter enjoyed their sweets. They had that genuine taste you don’t really get from store-bought substitutes. There are simply things in life that advanced machinery can’t replicate.
Such a thing wasn’t uncommon in the Empire, after all, the higher-ups were really adamant about managing every bit of space within the capital. It served to display the proactiveness of the “Wellness Control Bureau” and their commitment towards the well-being of citizens in every aspect of both public and private life. But the detractors said that it was nothing but a show of soft power. An attempt to monopolize every product and little thing the citizens could have access to. Detractors like General Cicada.
Detractors like himself.
Or rather, a would-be detractor.
That night at the banquet hall, when he substituted Heavenly General Murena during a charity ball, still haunts him. The topics he touched upon with Heavenly General Cicada, the unveiling of their little clique. Up until that day he would have never thought that conspirators could have been lying in wait so far up the chain of command.
It was treason of the highest order. Or would be, were he to follow through with aiding them.
After all, there was still wiggle room left for him. He wasn’t in too deep, he simply listened and read so far. If Cicada was to be believed, the nanites injected into his bloodstream could still cause enough of a shock to his hippocampus to erase his memory of the last week. The sailor himself wasn’t smart enough to understand the ins and outs of the procedure, but the brass tack was the seven-day deadline. After 168 hours, there would be no venue of escape for him. He’d be branded a collaborator if the knowledge of him taking part ever came out.
His life, no, the life of his whole family, would be over. There were still 72 hours left for him to make up his mind. To judge the people he thought of as his comrades for the longest time.
‘Father who art in heaven, give me strength to endure the serpent’s poison’ - the man thought, slowly steering right through the deluge of people. - ‘Send me angel Metatron, allow his knowledge to wash over my eyes so that no falsehood can hide from me.’
He looked up at the glowing neon sign overhead.
‘Nico’s Bowling’
He arrived at the designated spot. Where he would again meet with the very people who had seen faults with the current world order.
As conspicuous as this place was, there was no better way to arrange meetings like that but in a public place.
- Amen. - he murmured, stroked his lush beard, and stepped forward, prompting the door to slide open.
That's when the first peculiarity hit him. There was no one inside the building.
For an arcade-like place, it wasn’t right, not during the middle of the weekend.
The second came from the fact that the building didn’t have any plaque announcing a break in the opening hours, nor any type of malfunction with the equipment.
Which could only mean one thing.
- There he is! - an easily recognizable female voice caught his attention.
A few dozen meters away from the entrance, in a section filled with tables and chairs, a mid-point between the entrance/locker room and the bowling area, sat a woman wearing very feminine casual clothing. Her hair was long and artificially blue, entirely swept to the side, and her pitch-black scleras were twinkling like that of a child.
The strange woman kept waving towards him with one arm, despite them already locking eyes. As immature and off-kilter as that behavior of hers was, that certainly was Veronica Blaz he remembered.
‘Despite everything, some things remain constant’ - he chuckled and shook his head from side to side.
- Took you long enough! Thought I’d die of boredom. - she declared, getting off the chair, tightly screwed to the lacquered floor.
- That would certainly be an occurrence for the ages. - the man smiled, even if his lush beard obscured most of the notion. - An improbability of such magnitude would shake the world at its core.
- But it would certainly be a nice gut punch to the good ol’ ‘Dokie’.
- Ha, still calling him that, are you? No respect for the dead?
- More things change, the more they stay the same.
With that morbid joke out of the way, the duo embraced each other, or more like the large man enveloped the woman in his trench coat.
- Silvers ye salty dog, trying to suffocate me from the get-go? - the muffled voice of Veronica tried to parody a stereotypical pirate.
- Now don’t get too excited you landlubber, I am greatly weakened this far from the sea. - Silver Winslow released the woman from his vice grip. - But if you were to join me on my next tour aboard the Leviathan, things might be different.
- Yeah, hard pass on that. my dear seaman. - the way she enunciated the last word made it clear to both of them what she was actually trying to say. - I get seasick very easily.
- You may think you’re sly.. - the dark skinned vice admiral exhaled heavily. - But your eyes are betraying you.
- Whatever you say. - she waved him away while heading back towards the table. - Sailors and their spiritual mumbo-jumbo. Anyway, want a drink? Soft, hard, thick, thin?
- Is there even a barman still in the building? On that topic, did you buy a whole bowling alley just for our friendly catch-up? - the man kept looking around, but despite all lights and bowling machinery being powered, he couldn’t see a single soul beside them.
- Silly, I didn’t do it just for us, I brought a date with me after all. - the secretary of Heavenly General Hyena turned towards the sailor with a pair of large bowling shoes in her hands. - But I bet you already know the guy. He’s pretty famous in our circles. - with that she nudged her chin in a direction behind her comrade. - “Diesel” meet Vice Admiral Silver’s Winslow.
With these words of introduction, a cold sweat ran down the seafarer's neck, even if his stalwart posture did not change. He turned around and started nervously inspecting the whole room.
That’s when he finally noticed him.
The hulk of a man. Bodybuilder extraordinaire, shaped like a statue of old, casually looking over the selection of bottles in the open bar. His open linen shirt fluttered freely, showing off his impressive build in an almost provocative manner.
Veronica wasn’t wrong.
There wasn’t a single man in the Empire’s military that wouldn’t know about the “exhibitionist weirdo” that walked around Heavenly General Hyena during his public appearances.
- Vice Admiral Silvers Winslow, meet Sergeant Second Class “Diesel”. - Veronica continued unabated. - He’s gonna be making drinks for us this time around. I personally vouch for their quality. They’re pretty alright, just don’t hit him with any “Ramon Gin Fizz” or “Commonwealth Drink”. He ain’t on that level yet.
- It’s “Ramo’s”, not “Ramon”. - Silvers corrected her while receiving the bowling shoes. - I think our acquaintanceship was limited to mostly rumors and distant sightings. - the man subconsciously expanded his vocabulary, not being aware of this nervous tick of his.
To the uninitiated the presence of Diesel might have not meant much. Just a work colleague bringing another unannounced work colleague to the meet-up. Things like that happened, no skin off anyone's back.
But that was not how connections in hierarchy focused environments worked. Diesel was Hyena’s right hand man, his attack dog. He only answered to the General himself, being his eyes and ears within the rank-and-file environment. Bringing him here was dangerous in the best situation and catastrophic in worst. Not to mention that on top of it all a certain recent occurrence made this powder keg even more volatile.
His not-so-willing indoctrination into the “Wine Cellar”.
The sailor looked at Veronica, searching for an answer. But she simply looked at him with an expression of obliviousness that felt smug beyond words.
She knew perfectly well what she did. This whole setup was a volatile concoction, so perfectly measured and stirred by someone who knew risks way too well and relished in their presence.
He expected nothing less of her. So all he could do was scoff.
- I’m more of a straight-drinker myself either way. - he grabbed the bowling shoes extended towards him. There was no turning back now. - Anyway, let us address the elephant in the room.
- We just did. - Veronica smiled.
- I am talking about the venue, girl. Why did you empty the whole bowling alley for our meeting? That must have cost a fortune.
- It most certainly did. But it didn’t cost me a penny.
- What are-
The sailor stopped, realizing the meaning of her sly smile and the words accompanying it a second late.
- You paid for this outing with taxpayers’ money? - he couldn’t believe the words that escaped his mouth. - That's embezzlement, girl. They could lock you up for this. - he added in a half-whisper while leaning in towards her.
- I have no idea what you are talking about, Mister head engineer. - the woman passed him by. - We’re simply here to check the building in which a private arcade named “Nico’s Bowling” is situated, as customers reported dangerous cracks across the elevation. Those in turn roused suspicion of WCB concerning the status of the building. So it had to be temporarily shut down and inspected by your crew.
The degree to which the young looking woman before him was manipulating the system frightened the salty dog. He had spent many more years within this power structure, yet compared to her, Silvers simply followed the current, while Veronica Blaz built dam after dam to reach the inflows that suited her fancy.
- Well, I’ll be damned, what happened to the little beastie that referred to itself as “Subject 4”?
The woman in question simply walked towards the bar, where Diesel must have heard her approach and turned around.
- She went and got dusted somewhere around City-1. - she exclaimed nonchalantly while reaching the destination.
She ran her finger across the bar-top while slowly walking towards their temporary bartender, who was attentively following her every step in absolute silence.
- From her ashes arose a nasty bitch that is currently milking the cozy position given to her for all it is worth. - despite talking to Silvers, her eyes were fixated on the idle special forces soldier. - Riding this high until the pearly gates. Metaphorically of course.
- Slay, queen. - said the black man with a smile.
The room fell silent for a time that lasted longer than it comfortably should have.
- Excuse me? - she was shaken by the man’s words.
They were so out of place. So uncanny to hear from a man of his stature and background that she looked at him as if he shared with her the secret of the universe. Being very much aware of that, the man began to belly laugh.
- Oh, how I wish you could see your own face, girl. - he chuckled. - I heard my daughter use these words when talking with her friends, I presumed it would fit right in within this whole empowering spiel of yours.
- You sly motherfucker, you. - Veronica propped her lower back against the bartop, leaning against it, defeated. - You got me good there.
- Should I add that I have no clue what it actually means?
- Don’t rub it in. Diesel, honey? Could you hit me up with a “New York Sour”? - she looked towards Silver’s, questioning.
- Double aged rum, straight.
- Leaning into the stereotype much? - despite Veronica’s comment, Diesel got to work.
- Nothing wrong with stereotypes if something just tastes good. Being contrarian for the sake of it doesn’t amount to shit. - the sailor said just as he finished putting on the bowling shoes.
- I feel personally called out by that statement.
Both of them laughed, as the ebony giant made his way to the bar.
- Do we plan to actually bowl some, or did you hand me those sneakers for the heck of it? - the man couldn’t help but follow the movements of the soldier behind the bar.
They were quick and precise. Almost unnaturally well measured. Despite his massive frame, Diesel didn’t brush against a single object while moving about.
Grabbing the glass, taking the shaker, putting the bottle back onto the rack. Nothing Diesel did looked very fancy, but none of it seemed sloppy. Just enough strength to twist the cap, just enough of a swing to move the bottle precisely where it stood before he grabbed it.
As if the man himself remembered precisely where everything stood before he began moving it about, to the last minute detail.
- That’s some spatial awareness. - he couldn’t help but voice his amazement aloud, inadvertently switching topics before getting the answer from Veronica.
- Yeah, I always like to watch him work. Tickles the same part of my brain as seeing a master painter doing their thing.
- Is that your special talent or something? - he asked the man in question.
Diesel didn’t seem to hear him, or chose to ignore the sailor. The latter turned towards his old friend, somewhat puzzled. She waved dismissively.
- He doesn’t like to waste his breath. - the secretary said, talking about the man in question openly. - Very much a no-nonsense fella.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
- I see. Is he…
The sailor gesticulated near his own temple.
- Not as far as I can tell. Knew him since Hyena took me under his wing, so for quite a while now. Doesn’t seem to be anything wrong “under the hood”, but the Heavenly General holds his documents, so until I get access to them can’t say anything for certain.
- I see. - talking behind someone’s back so openly felt very weird to the sailor, but there was nothing to be done about it.
- But I bet he appreciates the compliment, that much I can tell you.
The older man sure hoped so, as it didn’t take much imagination to figure out that being on the bad side of someone like Diesel didn’t bode well. Just as that line of thoughts of his concluded, two glasses appeared before them.
Just like they ordered, one glass of rum for him, one glass of New York Sour for Veronica. There was nothing really special about those glasses, but they were spotless and that was all that really mattered.
- Thank you. - Veronica said, pulling her drink towards herself.
- Cheers. - the sailor raised his glass towards the fellow member of the Empire's forces in turn.
With their drinks in hand, they returned to the original topic that got pushed to the wayside.
- Bowling? - Silver asked, while sipping.
- Mayhaps. - the lady secretary sipped in kind.
- Making me drunk won’t improve your odds of winning.
- Aww, that’s disheartening to hear. Good thing then that I asked Diesel ahead of time to spice up your drink with pure ethanol.
- Sure you did.
- You think I’d be above such a trick?
- No, I watched the whole process, you cheeky tart.
He wouldn’t have minded the rest of their meeting continuing in this cordial, jovial manner. Just two friends meeting up face to face after a long while. Unfortunately, that was not why he came here, and the young lass knew it. So all their jokes and acts of folly only delayed the moment in which the ball would drop.
It was necessary to intertwine work with pleasure due to the positions which they both held. The one thing about holding a dull rank of a simple grunt he genuinely missed were all the days he could idly chat away with Miln, without a worry in the world.
It sometimes felt dull, repetitive and menial, but that peace of mind would have really served him well these days. Especially while working under General Morena.
- Oi, you good? - Veronica’s voice pulled him back to the waking world. - You looked as if you were dozing off.
- Because I was, my bad. - Silver sipped the stiff drink to jolt himself awake.
- Don’t sweat it. I’ve got something that will straighten you up, more than a 40-proof juice.
- Yeah? What’s that?
She put both of her arms into the air and looked him straight in the eyes. Without turning away for even a moment she sat on a nearby bar stool and slowly reached behind her. Veronica’s body began arching inch by inch, to a position that would make most people lose their balance. The older man had no idea what all these theatrics were for, but they certainly grabbed his attention. Then, something shuffled near the ground.
With suspense hanging in the air she swung back like a loose spring, causing her drinking buddy to shudder.
Once she stabilised her sitting posture, Veronica brushed her fringe backwards and raised a large plastic briefcase into his line of sight.
- Wh– Where did you hide that?
- Secretary magic. - lady grinned while opening the mysterious item on the bartop.
The sailor sat on the nearest stool next to her. He noticed that the barkeep was no longer standing in his place of work. He looked around and found him pretty quickly this time. Diesel moved to the area closer to the main entrance, standing there like a guard dog, with a strange water bottle in his hand.
Did he move to guard the entrance? Or did he try to avoid eavesdropping on their conversation? Maybe he didn’t have a high enough clearance to hear what Veronica was about to unveil before him.
Having a closer look at the man’s full body, he couldn’t help but notice that despite the casual nature of their meeting, the Sergeant had two large holsters fastened to his thighs. They were both way too large for handguns.
Large semi-straight handles were sticking out of both cases. Their shapes alone gave away their nature as butts of smaller size ordinance. Having two rifles that small defeated their purpose as effective range and spread would simply make them obsolete on any range when compared to simple handguns. There was only one projectile weapon type utilized by the Empire's military left that would fit the bill.
“Is he carrying two shotguns with himself?” - Silver’s thought before turning away and focusing on an opened briefcase before him. What he saw before him seemed to have supported his previously raised clearance theory.
Many of the sentences and words were redacted within the papers brought by Veronica, which told him well enough that those weren’t the secret documents that the “Wine Cellar” wanted to use to open his eyes.
Just a sit-rep of what was happening in their country beneath a few dozen different layers of misinformation and information control. The yolk to which only those within the power structure had access to.
- A briefing? That’s what’s supposed to wake me up? - he asked, somewhat disappointed.
- Did it work?
- Unfortunately so.
- So let us get to it, shall we? - Veronica clasped her hands together.
That loud clap signaling the end of their friendly banter.
- What was the last divulged information brief you saw dated at?
- 12th, I think.
- 12th of two months ago? - with that, she began sifting through documents.
- A month ago. - he corrected her. - Just, don’t give me any info below priority 2, okay? I won’t be able to do anything with it.
- Morena? - she raised her eyebrow.
- Morena.
He didn’t need to say more. That simple word carried enough emotional baggage to fill any holes that one could ever find in Winslow’s approach.
- Okay, so the first thing you need to know is that the oil-rig contract between The Empire and Kintsugi Union has been signed by both sides. - her tone suddenly shifted into a more professional one. - The working name is “Sonne-Kreuz”, it's gonna be standing around the north-west side of the Indian Ocean.
- Did we get any building time estimate?
- One and a half years, but the two years version is being peddled to the public just in case.
The sailor shook his head knowingly.
- The Kintsugi Union also requested that after the construction is complete, Leviathan should patrol the area for at least the first six months.
- Hah, that’s sly of them.
They didn’t really care about any joint-effort cautionary measure, Silvers was sure of that. The “Kins” simply wanted to displace Leviathan from its current stomping ground in the Atlantic Ocean.
“That’s daring of them” - the sailor stroked his thick, lucious, grey beard. - “While not even trying to hide their talks with the Anglosphere”.
- Moving on. - it would appear that despite her usual demeanor, Veronica wasn’t too keen on bantering about that issue.
“She probably wants to get this over with. Can relate.” - Silvers took a sip and simultaneously frowned, looking at the next paper.
The logo of Ouroboros corporation was printed on it, but not a single line of text was readable. Paragraph after paragraph, all of them were redacted, forming nothing but giant blots of printer ink upon the pages. Silvers didn't really know what she meant by showing him that, but then she took a ballpoint pen and began clicking it repeatedly.
The sailor frowned in response.
Nevertheless, that was quite like her.
- There were some larger than usual movements of Ouroboros corporation merchandise across multiple cities. Those included…
She began to enumerate pointless information that actively went against what the salty dog requested of her before she began the sitrep. He wanted to interrupt her, but that was when he noticed something.
That annoying clicking…
It had a rhythm.
Click, hold, click, click.
Click, click.
Dot, dot, dot.
Dash.
Dot.
Dash, dot.
She truly knew how to surprise a man. Guess old General Cicada didn’t pick her out of pure happenstance.
Not to mention that she couldn’t have picked more of a perfect way to communicate with him without using words. This type of code was the “lingua franca” of the sea. Silvers wouldn't even need a piece of paper to write it all down as they began to speak in his native tongue.
In response, Silvers started tapping the bar top with his index finger ever so audibly, letting Veronica know he caught up.
Thanks to her constant talking, there was no way Diesel would be able to hear their wordless exchange.
Their facades continued blabbering about non-issues of the state, while underneath they focused on more pressing and imminent matters.
There were many things for them to discuss, and she didn’t hold anything back. The actual situation of the Imperial treasury and all the different cities - their squalor and the lies they were fed. Everything was somewhat vague, but it gave him a broad understanding of the place where they all stood, as citizens of the Empire. He would need more time to collate a definitive standing of his own, in light of it all. Still, one thing he could say with certainty is that if everything she said to him was true, this wasn’t a country he wanted his child to grow up in.
Once that was out of the way, she moved onto the real rundown of last month. But she honored his request this time around, concerning the quality of the information.
Silvers was somewhat surprised that the situation of the rig wasn’t a lie. Empire really got into a non-forced cooperation agreement with Kintsugi Union, which looking at how sheer fear of open warfare with the Imperial Army and the defense network held up by “The Spires” was what kept other powers in check for years, the sudden tune change towards any type of alliance felt bizarre to put it mildly.
Cicada was still investigating what actually led to this initiative from the side of Kintsugi Union, but at the moment his sources were inconclusive. With that, they moved on to more important topics, according to Veronica at least.
Which in itself made the seaman somewhat nervous. He couldn’t really imagine something more important than an international incident in the making.
Yet again, to squeeze as much suspense as she possibly could, she raised her empty glass up and turned to where Diesel stood.
- Oh, Mr. Barkeep, another round please! - she yelled towards him.
The soldier turned around and returned towards the bar without a single word of complaint. Silvers considered his behavior strange to say the least. This man didn’t talk, followed orders without questions and executed them with inhuman precision. Just looking at his face allowed him to say that without a doubt this man was pretty young. Early 30’s at best, maybe late twenties.
His coordination, build and position were all unnatural for that age. Either the man was a savant among savants or…
But he didn’t have enough knowledge on the man to assume such things with certainty.
- You can refill me, too, while you’re at it. - the sailor pushed the glass towards the barkeep, who was already working on Veronica’s drink.
- So as you can see, not much is really happening this month. - the woman began a little smalltalk as their conspiratory talk had to wait.
- I noticed. By the way, why are you even hanging out on weekends with Heavenly General Hyena’s right-hand man? - to satiate his curiosity, Silvers opted to squeeze as much information about the strange soldier as he could.
- Cuz it’s a day off.
- No, I mean, isn’t he supposed to be by the side of the General himself, not yours?
- Oh, no, not really. Ajax can handle himself just fine. - the sudden shift to the General’s first name made the sailor’s face twitch. - Don’t look at me like that, it’s not like he can hear us. Diesel left his helmet in the car after all.
- Wait a minute, you’re telling me he has a remote connection to that gaudy helmet of his?
- Whoops! - the secretary put both her hands over her mouth, quite theatrically. - Can’t tell ya, it’s classified.
The sailor couldn’t help but look at her like a disappointed father. In normal circumstances, spilling information like that could lead to someone being court-martialed. Which begged the question how the man would react. Diesel simply chose to push their respective glasses towards them and then turned to leave the bar.
The power dynamic between these two and their superior made no sense to him. On the other hand, what did he expect? It was somewhat par for the course with Hyena and his impact on the Empire at large.
He followed the silent soldier as he returned to his post before turning towards his friend again.
- Before we start. - he stopped her with a measured whisper. - Lemme ask you something important, girlie.
- Oh? Shoot. - her expression didn’t hide her surprise.
- What is your relationship with that man?
Maybe asking such a direct question wasn’t the best thing to do. But he couldn’t help himself. After all, he had quite a history with Veronica, as brief as it might have been. He simply worried about her well being.
- We’re very good friends. - she answered without delay, albeit quite vaguely.
- Like work buddies, or…
- Nah, in general. I pick him up before work, we spend the breaks together, I sometimes stay over at his flat after work.
- Wait…
- Yes, dad.
She looked him straight in the eye.
- We watch TV shows reruns together. - with a chuckle, she waved him away. - Now can I please go back to talking to you about work? If you want to hear about my bedroom adventures, we can do it after we’re done with important things, m-kay?
- I’d rather not.
- That will entirely depend on you. - her mouth stretched into a wicked grin. - If you interrupt me again, I’ll force that knowledge down your throat.
- I concede. Take it away. - the Vice Admiral shook his head and took a hearty sip.
- What do you know about Ouroboros medical company?
- They hold an almost absolute stranglehold on the pharmaceutical market across the continent of Eurasia. Did their stock crash or something?
- Nope, they’ve been driving across the Empire’s cities recently with their blood-buses, giving out free vaccines.
- That’s weird, is it some marketing shtick?
- According to the newspapers–
That was when her pen clicking returned. It was quite rapid, with intervals between sentences becoming much smaller than ever before. Nothing to throw Silvers off his game, but it was enough of a signal to garner his full attention.
The more words he deciphered, the more confused he got. Sentence after sentence. What he was hearing became more and more outlandish.
“Are they insane? No, no, they can’t possibly hope for this to work” - he really wanted to say this aloud, but the relative passivity of Diesel could reach its conclusion the moment he noticed any type of treachery.
He knew quite well how fanatical the Empire’s denizens were deep in their hearts.
“But, but, there is no way this will work” - he couldn’t believe what he was deciphering. - “How did they even… where did they get the money? Someone is backing them? No, no if they were backed they would… Dear God, have mercy on this land.” - his hand instinctively moved towards his chest. - “The repercussions if anyone gets solid evidence of it all. How could they? Cicada is the leader of the Wine Cellar, so they are already handicapped…”
Thoughts kept swirling and writhing in his skull, like a school of fish, fighting for bait. Whole trains of thoughts disappeared as quickly as he formed them after being supplied with more and more information by the ruthless broker sitting across from him. He instinctively reached towards his chest. Underneath the thick fabric of his sweater was a cross, Silver felt it out ever so slightly. He certainly needed its aid to digest what he was learning.
The sailor looked at Veronica as she kept on talking about buses while “clicking” away the most unbelievable bundle of information he ever had to decode.
She was grinning, with rosy cheeks. The behavior was very much suited for her, but seemed inhuman when juxtaposed against what her pen was saying.
- But that’s all hearsay. - she finished the tirade about Ouroboros vaccinations, while bringing an end to the pen abuse at the same moment.
Silvers Winslow couldn’t help but chuckle at such an abrupt end for both topics.
- Yeah, I bet. - the mariner ran a hand through his curly hair. - Then why are you sharing it with me? Isn’t this supposed to be a strictly professional brief?
- I’m keeping you on your toes, so you don’t fall asleep on that stool. - such a response was cheeky beyond belief when taking into consideration what she just told him.
- Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be sleeping tonight from all this excitement. - the man added under breath while getting off the chair.
- What’s wrong? Your joints locked up?
- A bit, but I have also noticed you ran out of paper to read to me.
- Oh really? - the head secretary looked towards the open briefcase, not even hiding the fact that she didn’t care about what she printed out to begin with. - Gee willikers, you’re right, old boy!
- What are you? An Anglo hillbilly now? - the mariner chuckled at her impersonation.
- I was aiming more for that old ruling class from those areas, ya know? Those with tophats and crazy mustaches. - she jumped off her stool, nailing the landing. - Diesel, we’re done here, wanna bowl with us?
For the first time since the moment Vice Admiral Winslow arrived at this establishment, he saw Diesel do something else than follow orders.
The man nodded twice.
Reveling in his obliviousness.