Jace took a deep breath.
And then another one.
And one more just in case.
A hand slapped him on the back, surely knocking all of that air out of his lungs, “Come on Jace, we can’t hide from bad news forever.”
It was Lionel, the high commander of Atlantis. ‘He was tall and imposing’ is probably the stereotype for people in his position, but Lionel was a meek man with a stooped back and neck. He had a few good sets of bags under his eyes and extremely pale skin, probably a few dozen times lighter than Jace’s. He could usually be found in his bathrobe more often than in his actual uniform, and most people on base agreed he never left. There was a bit of a bet on whether or not he was just a clever ghost haunting the place.
The automatic doors hinged open once Lionel swiped his lanyard. Jace, with his deep and calming breaths knocked out of him, reluctantly followed.
The table was small, and the ceiling was low. Not exactly the war room one would expect. However, the walls, floors, and most objects were plastered with diagrams, maps, and obvious marks of frustration (namely: bright red curse words on the more damning reports).
Callista, who was already seated, nodded at him, but otherwise didn’t react. Although the muscular, deadly, and deadpan woman was Jace’s work buddy, work was probably the one place where they didn’t have much to do with each other. Jace wished they were out drinking at their usual place. Her personality changed a bit when she started drinking. Jace liked that version of her.
The few other individuals in the room were either owners of major businesses or politicians. Jace took his seat across from Callista and started to thumb through one of the printouts that had been laid on the table.
His hands were shaking.
Callista noticed.
Jace chastised himself for getting so shaken up, but his body just wouldn’t listen. It was just one battle, literally his job, and yet his body and mind felt so… so distant after everything. He couldn’t quite understand what this mixture of emotions really meant. There was fear and horror, there had to be, but underneath it all it felt like there was a different emotion… he felt like he needed to put a name to it, but he couldn’t.
Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this.
Of course, it was a bit too late to submit a resignation letter.
Lionel stood at the front of the table and coughed, less for appearances and more so due to his general sickliness, but it caught everyone’s attention all the same, “Well, we’ve figured some things out.”
A few moments passed before one of the business owner’s spoke up, “And?”
“It’s all there in the handout. Once you’ve all read it, we can discuss the… uh, the issues at hand, I suppose.”
A politician thumbed through the pages, clearly not taking in any information, “The short version?”
“That is the short version.”
“Dammit Lionel, just tell us what’s going on?”
Clearly Jace and Callista were the only one’s bothering to read the thing. Maybe because their lives would be the most impacted.
Lionel squeezed his eyes shut and sighed a bit too loudly, “Considering the fact that the fate of the city is being called into question, I would highly suggest reading it. This is one of those rare disasters that you should really be fully aware of.” He pointed at the map behind him, which was one of the documents liberally plastered with expletives, “The enemy MAC was a mass-produced model from the west, likely from The Alley.”
“Warmongering bastards…”
“Yes, they are a bit, and it appears that we’re next on the chopping block. They have a ground force centered around two mobile citadels. We don’t know the exact model, but each one could carry anywhere from fourteen to twenty MACs. Their conventional weapons are nothing to ignore either. Quite frankly, we’re outnumbered and then some.”
“What’s Atlantea’s position on all this?” Callista finished the document and looked more than a bit distressed. Jace was starting to think he’d feel the same if the next few pages said what he thought they would say.
“Atlantea is in negotiations. They’ll probably agree to cede their territory.”
“Just like last time…”
“Exactly. Unless they can get the support from the resistance in Old Mexico or the Union up north it will most likely be exactly like last time.”
“So we’re just switching up leaders then? That makes it easy, no need to fight! I’ve heard The Alley is a dream come true for anyone looking to expand operations.” The businessman pushed back his chair and started to gather his things, “Let’s just hurry up and meet with their people and get things finalized.”
“Well I’m not signing a damn thing! You think they’ll just let us continue to govern ourselves? They’ll bring in some new foreigners to run the place!” The politicians of the room were clearly unhappy about being replaced.
“Oh calm down. The ‘campaign contributions’ our company has given you should be more than enough for you to live out a comfortable life.”
The two continued to bicker back and forth; the businessman trying to leave and the politician holding him back. Lionel let them continue for a while, clearly too exhausted to bother with them or any of the other now-bickering participants.
Finally, the businessman shouted as he took a step out of the room, “Just be glad you’re not getting hanged you cockroach.” It was quite the heated argument.
The ensuing silence was enough for Lionel to step in without having to raise his voice, “Actually, that’s the sticky bit.” All eyes were on him, “The Alley, though they do a decent job of hiding it, has quite the history of… well, of genocide.”
The room froze. This was the part of the handout that really broke Jace and Callista down: no reinforcements, an enemy that dwarfed them, both MACs damaged severely, and a nearly certain chance of mass murder. Although the city wasn’t surrounded yet, Jace doubted anyone could evacuate faster than The Alley could blow them to pieces.
The argument had now shifted more toward desperation and fear. Nobody was happy about this news.
Of course, the argument meant nothing. The Alley was the winner here. There was no debating that. They will be the ones making the decisions when all of the bodies are piled up. Jace gave Callista a bit of a nod and they excused themselves from the meeting.
The door shut behind them, silencing the endless back and forth between the hopeless idiots inside.
“Drinks?” Callista had only one way of communicating: through a bottle.
But, with Jace’s head still filled to the brim with horrid, nightmarish, and complicated thoughts of his last battle, a drink or two… or a few dozen might clear up all this fog that he can’t seem to get away from. Or maybe fog things up enough that he stops thinking about it all.
~~~
They exited the squat, five story building. It was a simple concrete block with windows. The low height was the only differentiating factor from the rest of the city, standing out amongst all the skyscrapers that seemed to line every street. A hallmark of modern cities was a skyline consisting of purely concrete, steel, and glass. Housing and factories were all located within these hundred story spires.
Callista loosened her tie and undid the first few buttons of her shirt, though she didn’t take off her overcoat. She never complained about the heat, but the way her red hair was darkened from sweat made it clear that the sun was not her friend. She started walking down the usual street and Jace followed along.
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Jace, on the other hand, didn’t try to hide his hatred of the blazing ball of fire, “It’s hot. Always hot. Too hot.” But Callista had heard this all before. A thought occurred to Jace as they continued to walk and he continued to stain his white dress shirt with never-ending sweat, “Maybe it won’t be so bad when The Alley wipes us off the map. Maybe they’ll put in a climate regulator for the new guys who move in.” Jace continued thinking about this for a few moments, about being wiped away and replaced by settlers from a foreign country. The thought really didn’t ring deeply with him; his mind was still far too consumed by his battle. His stomach lurched this way and that as his head threw him into that situation over and over again. As the signs of vomit and a strange euphoria started to show themselves, a hard slap hit his face.
Callista, normally without emotion, slapped him right before a crosswalk.
Slapped him hard, actually.
Very hard.
Jace fell back after spitting out a slightly embarrassing yelp.
“Don’t…” Callista was trying to communicate an important thought, which she normally didn’t do unless drunk, so the words came out in bits and pieces, “don’t talk about us… about this city… as if we’re already,” if Jace was a more observant man, he might have noticed the slight glisten in her eyes, but Callista wasn’t the type to cry, so Jace ignored the signs. She coughed and turned away, walking across the street while the light blinked red. She said, though it was almost too quiet to hear amongst the city’s sounds, “We aren’t dead yet.”
Jace tried his best to ignore this comment.
Quite frankly, his mind just didn’t have the spare space for it.
He’d defended cities from missiles and drones plenty of times, but never from another MAC.
Swatting missiles and drones out of the sky was child’s play. There was no challenge and no…
well,
no death.
But here, with this? There was a dead pilot somewhere under a pile of rubble. Dead, at least partially, by Jace’s hand. He knew that what he did was to defend the city, but he didn’t have a real attachment to the place. They were just the ones that hired him. He killed someone simply because he was getting paid.
It, amongst the other horrors of that battle, seemed to be stuck inside him. Something about that idea, the idea of killing a fellow human being, was firmly lodged in his soul now. No matter how he poked and prodded that corner of himself, he couldn’t quite figure out what was going on inside.
He hoped copious amounts of alcohol would change that.
It didn’t take much longer for Jace and Callista to enter their bar of choice: a nearby and fairly unpopular bar named Solace. It served its own food and drink which were both average at best. This meant finding a place to sit was never an issue, and with the way they drank, all forms of alcohol would taste the same soon enough.
Callista nodded to the man at the front desk and continued on to the usual table.
Jace and Callista took their seats, opposite one another, and didn’t say a word until the waiter came.
The usual order of the ‘food for drunks’ platter arrived. A couple of pitchers of their watered-down beer were set down as well with a promise of more on the way.
Callista immediately downed her first glass of mediocre beer and Jace followed suit. Usually they started a bit slower, but tonight was different. Of course, the issue with starting early is that they run the risk of starting their impromptu karaoke night while the place still had other customers.
This was problematic since the bar did not have karaoke.
The owner usually let them get away with anything, but if they chase off what few customers this place actually has, it won’t be long before they get thrown out for the night.
Jace made a good dent in his second glass; deciding that, ultimately, it didn’t matter. Not like he’d be able to visit bars much longer. In fact, Jace thought, the bar itself may not be around much longer.
Solace had a few dim lights and a few more dead ones. The lighting only barely managed to hide the endless cloud of dust that seemed to be yanked straight out of a western flick from way back when. Other than a couple booths with battered and torn seats, metal folding chairs were the main seating options. Jace wouldn’t have been surprised if this place was only cleaned every other decade. He was half-sure the floor was actually just a layer of bodily fluids and grime due to the slight shine of the supposedly wooden boards.
But it was comforting. This place was basically a home for Jace, Callista, Guinevere, and even Lionel when he actually put down his work.
Jace had probably spent more nights in this miserable place than in his own apartment. Drinking away his worries, getting advice from his betters, or just wiling away the hours with mindless conversation.
He began to fill his third glass while Callista focused on eating and drinking for now. She would be talkative soon enough.
But the silence was getting more and more unbearable. The longer Jace’s mind sat, the more it tried to think about that battle and all the knots of emotions around it.
If Jace was planning on surviving this invasion, then maybe that could be a good thing. He could think through his trauma, confront it, and maybe make it out the other end a better soldier. But if he’s going to end up dying in this hopeless battle, which was very likely, he’d rather not go through all the trouble of healing and acceptance and what-not.
“Well Jace,” Callista’s voice, now invigorated by alcohol, burst into his thoughts, “how does it feel to be a killer?” Her sunset-tinted, augmented eyes were as clear as could be; no drunken haze quite yet. She was still focused on the meal in front of her, and when she spoke she didn’t look at Jace.
Jace had been drinking buddies with her for quite some time now, long enough to know this was a bit early for her to start making conversation. Especially the kind of conversation that’s going to be oozing with emotional issues.
Jace wanted a distraction, and conversation would work, but not conversation about the thing he wanted to be distracted from, “Yeah, I mean that was one hell of a MAC huh? I was thinking maybe an upgraded model 2 variant or something. I mean, holy… just thinking about that cannon and the way it filled my head to the brim with that blast. I’m surprised I can still hear. No way that thing comes standard issue. That pilot or The Alley or whoever paid for that cannon has got to have some deep pockets, that’s for sure.” Callista loved to talk about MACs. It was usually how at least half of these nights went: Callista and Guinevere talking shop while Jace listened politely and accepted the free drinks gratefully.
She rubbed her prosthetic arm, “I love my machine.”
Jace was fairly certain that meant his distraction had worked. Since Callista was a woman of few words when sober Jace had to learn to fill in the blanks of what was going on in her head. “I mean obviously our MACs are the real winners, I’m just saying I’d like a big cannon too. You have to admit, pulling that trigger would be one hell of a rush.” All things considered, Jace liked talking about the metal monsters as well. Ever since he saw the news coverage at that nuclear facility… Jace couldn’t deny that that feeling may very well have been love.
And then, as if Callista could read Jace’s mind, she spoke again, “Do you love your machine?” Her eyes, her hauntingly beautiful, augmented eyes, now stared directly at Jace.
Eye contact was not normal for Callista.
Jace realized this. He also realized how abnormal it is for her to completely ignore a conversation about large weapons on giant robots. But these were simple observations that happened in the back of his mind. Her question had only one answer and Jace didn’t need to think it over, “Yes.” Why else would Jace have chosen to shorten his lifespan through augments just so he could pilot the things, “Of course.”
“Then why are you so afraid?”
Jace felt as if he’d been punched in the gut… repeatedly.
“Just because you killed someone? Is that all?” She took a long and somewhat aggressive drink and focused on refilling the glass, “Listen Jace, I’m not going to sit here and tell you how many people I’ve killed and that you should just be like me. Idiots talk like that. You aren’t me so my advice is worthless. You’ll have to figure it all out. It sucks, but that’s just how these things go.” Once again she turned her eyes on Jace, burrowing into him, “But still, what I can say is this: MACs are machines of war. They were made to kill. Love isn’t always easy Jace, you have to work at it. That means finding love even in the ugly bits. If you really love your machine, then you should damn well love what it can do. And if you can’t do that, at the very least you can learn to stomach it.”
Jace didn’t think this was fair. What gave her the right to lecture him? And what kind of lecture is this? Only crazy people… warped people could love killing, could love such insane destruction. Jace wasn’t like that. Though, for some reason, there was some piece of Jace deep down that reared its head.
Jace was horrified at what he did. But… but that part of him almost seemed to, to enjoy it…
No, Jace was certain that it was just some kind of misinterpretation.
Jace wasn’t a monster.
He tried very hard to shake these thoughts out of his head before responding. If things are going to end soon enough, he didn’t want to end things on bad terms with Callista, “I don’t know. I don’t know much about any of this. It’d probably help if I had some time, but that’s obviously in short supply now. The only thing I do know is that I’ll be in my MAC when everything starts falling apart, maybe literally. That’s what they’re paying me for after all.”
Jace wanted to reassure Callista she wouldn’t be fighting alone.
But he didn’t think it worked.
Callista stood up, “This city doesn’t need cowards. It doesn’t need half-assed protectors. It needs warriors.” She walked to the exit and Jace followed her out.
He turned her to face him and quickly caught a fist to the face. She had great reflexes. Jace was used to this though; Callista loved drunken brawls. “What the hell do you want from me Callista. You said it yourself: I’m not you. I mean, this is ridiculous in the first place. It hasn’t even been a day since I… since I killed that pilot.”
“Jace, we don’t have time for you to come to some sort of epiphany. We’re in the business of making quick decisions. So you either need to decide or you need to stay away from my battlefield.” She said the last bit a little quieter, keeping her gaze firmly on the ground.
But Jace didn’t notice. Just like earlier, he didn’t notice the signs. “Alright Callista. Die alone.” The words almost physically hurt Jace to say, but he was drunk and couldn’t stop them. His brain caught up a few seconds later and his chest went hollow.
Callista turned and walked away. Her back, normally a beacon of power and surety and comfort, was slightly slumped. That back that boasted dozens of victories suddenly looked fragile as it faded away into the city’s fog-stained streets.
Jace didn’t know what to do, so he stumbled home.