Brewing

(In the same world as 'Caedca's Last Mission'.)

Song took his commander’s silence as his cue that their meeting was over. He downed the last of the alcohol in the small glass, and set it down again.

“That was a good blend, Sir. Thank you.” He stood.

“Glad it was enjoyed. Take the rest of the bottle,” said Zinc, gesturing absently. He looked to have retreated into his thoughts again, like a moment previous.

“Surely it’s yours, Sir? It’s hard to find –” Song tried to insist.

“Take it, Song. Go see to your duties.”

Song fell quiet, and grabbed the half-full bottle between two long fingers, slipping it off the lip of the desk. This wasn’t like Zinc at all – he smuggled liquer in for himself only, and it was rare to even be offered a nightcap much less half a bottle – but the roamer hacker felt Zinc wouldn’t hear him, even if he did object again. As Song turned and left the darkened office, he added it to the list of evidence that all was not right with their commander.

The bottle was held close to his side to help obscure it from roving eyes. He couldn’t have the dweller hackers seeing evidence of Zinc’s favouritism for the roamers, even if they all knew it was there. He passed out of the short corridor past Zinc’s secretary, then up a short flight of metal stairs, through another door into the main Via antechamber, where most of the dwellers worked on finding weaknesses in IREH’s defences. Song wondered idly how long it would be until the dwellers found another, and he, Close or Yokun were sent out to infiltrate. They’d only just got back.

He kept close to the outer wall, and kept the alcohol on that side. As he passed Close chatting to a friend, he pushed his arm with a hand to get his attention. Song didn’t have to say anything; Close just excused himself and followed his comrade.

“Is Yokun still getting patched up?” Song asked when Close matched his stride.

“No, he should be home,” said Close. “We need to talk?”

“Yes.”

Down the stairs, past the rudimentary canteen, a right turn, and they had entered the accommodation wing. It spoke grunge. The roamers’ quarters were at the far end down a long, thin hall with bare bulbs. While all dwellers had to bunk together, four to a room, five rooms had been set aside rotationally for the roamers’ individual use whenever they briefly came back. Two of these had been permanently assigned to Rhea and Nitrus, before they were transferred, but no one felt quite capable yet of breaking their respect and taking them over. Yokun’s current room was sandwiched between the two, like a no-man’s land.

Song knocked. There was a thump, a curse, and some muted voices. When Yokun opened the door, they could see a woman pulling a shirt over her head in the background.

“Hey guys, wasn’t expecting you, sorry, um –”

“Back on form already eh, kid?” Close chuckled. The woman recognised them and grinned as she slipped out the door, Close’s eyes watching her rear. “Sorry to interrupt…”

“We need to talk? Is that alc–”

“Yes,” said Song.

Yokun held the door open wider and let them through, closing it and switching on the single light – a long panel ceiling to floor on the right-hand wall, beside a half-open wardrobe with more weapons and bullet-proof armour than clothes. Song snagged the one chair and propped it back against the desk, placing the bottle on the corner, while Close took one half of the tousled bottom bunk, leaning against the ladder.

“What’s going on? Did Zinc say we did something wrong?” Yokun asked as he took a seat at the head of the bunk. His young eyes looked longingly at the bottle glinting in the turquoise light.

“No, this is nothing to do with the mission. First, how’s your arm?” Song nodded at him.

Yokun held up his right, handless arm and examined the stump. “All right. Still stings occasionally, but they said the laser did a good clean cut, as it were. They’ve offered to get me a fakey but…dunno.”

Song made a noise of acknowledgement, and uncorked the bottle. He took a small mouthful, and passed it to Close, who did the same. As Yokun took it in his remaining hand, Close warned, “Small swig, Yo’. It’ll dissolve your teeth otherwise, and you won’t have a smile to catch the women.” Yokun looked at the amber liquid in appreciation for a moment before doing as instructed. “Plus, doubt you’ll get this like again.”

“Was it Zinc’s? Did he give it to you?” Yokun asked Song as he wiped his mouth with a wrist and passed it back.

“Yes. Very odd.”

Close and Yokun waited for an elaboration, but none came for a minute or two. The older, angular face of their captain stared at the light, making his unusual almond-shaped eyes glint as much as the bottle perched on his knee. They knew better than to disturb him. He was almost like Nitrus in that respect. After a moment he placed the bottle on the table, and turned his head to look them each in the eye in turn; checking something, it seemed. The light seemed to be absorbed by his black hair, except in the premature silver starting to show above his ears. Half his face was a cyan moon, stark, cold, but wary.

“Via is in danger,” Song said.

“When isn’t it?” Close resettled.

“What? IREH?” Yokun’s left hand went unconsciously to his wrist-stump.

“No, from within. No doubt you’ve not missed the agitation going round about Zinc, and how odd he’s acting lately. Via never sleeps, so the words never sleep. I’m afraid it might eventually evolve into dissent.” He paused. “So the question arises: what are the roamers to do?”

“Well we can’t exactly deny that Zinc’s scaring the crap out of the underlings by moving everything around, preparing for some attack or drastic situation that even the dwellers can’t see or predict,” said Close. “He’s turning into a bit of a paranoid loony, if you ask me. I wouldn’t be surprised if people mutinied.”

“It’s only a matter of time until somebody decides he’s unfit to command, and locks him up,” said Yokun.

“Or kills him,” added Close.

There was uncomfortable quiet for a moment. The prospect of one of the largest bodies of resistance against the common enemy…falling, all because of one man, was frightening. If Via fell, there would be little left.

“Do you think he’s losing it, Song?” Yokun asked.

“Matters little what I think,” he said. The bottle was passed round again.

“I think he is,” said Close.

“It matters little what we think,” Song repeated implicitly. Close scowled for a moment but not for long.

“The others are gonna look to the roamers for what to do, you realise?” said Yokun. “They’ll be expecting us to do something, if it gets much worse. What happens then?”

“I don’t know,” Song admitted. “We’re not leaders. Even if we had to be, we’re not. But the others don’t understand that.”

“You could be,” Close suggested.

“No. Not like that. A situational captain and a commander are two very different things.” Again, the awkward quiet. Song brought the chair back down, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “What are the roamers to do…” he said to himself.

“Well, we’ll have to do something,” said Close. “What about Nitrus and Rhea? And Black, for that matter? It’s hard to figure out if we’re not all here.”

“Black’s on radio silence until further notice,” said Yokun matter-of-factly.

Song turned the matter over in his mind’s hands. Close was right; something would need to be done very soon, at the rate they were going, and it was that much harder because they stood divided. Not what they needed, and it seemed like that fact alone showed Zinc’s strange negligence. Or genius – it was difficult to tell at this stage. There had been so many signs that something odd was brewing in Zinc’s mind, undisclosed, but still Song felt like there needed to be something else still before they seriously had to consider what to do.

Yokun had also been right – normally, Zinc would have two sub-commanders, one of which who would take power if necessary. However, Zinc did not have those, and as a result, although it wasn’t official, it appeared as though the roamer hackers were next in line, such was the amount of respect and awe they were held in. And with Nitrus and Rhea, their cream of the crop, sent to Tulorn…

“Let’s see what Rhea thinks. Maybe she can suggest something,” Song sighed. “I’ll message her.”

The other two men nodded or made a noise of assent, making themselves comfortable with the bottle as Song took out the small bar-like communicator from his pocket. To his surprise, there were two messages waiting for him. One from Rhea, coincidentally, reading:

‘Song, why did Caedca go with you and your team? I was sorry to hear about the others.’

Caedca. That was another tally-mark on the chart against Zinc’s rationality. Why send a mentally- and physically-injured young girl on a suicide mission into the very place where even the most able can be crushed? It was a waste, and every person counted in this day and age. He couldn’t believe he’d nearly forgotten about why his team had gone shell-cracking in the first place. Nevertheless, he replied to Rhea, and then checked the second message. His frown deepened.

“What?” asked Yokun.

“It’s from Zinc,” Song said.

“What?” Close gave out a brief huff of laughter.

Song read, “‘That bottle is the last blend this place will see. Do not let Rhea or Nitrus come back here. They must live.’”

Song looked up, and found a perplexed, almost disgusted Close, and a confused-verging-on-frightened Yokun. He didn’t know what to say to them. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if doing what was right could even apply anymore.