Crisis Memes - 19 & 20 - Sat 09 Aug 2256

19 - Sat 09 Aug 2256 07:48

Ben lifted another box of tinned fruit and passed it to George Ferguson, the first man in the long chain of passengers that stretched from the Deck Seventeen supermarket all the way up to the inner storage hold. The shouts and crude chants from further along the street were growing louder, and Ben felt the tension rising. The boxes were now being thrown along the line, and already three had been dropped. He looked up, and through the market’s open doors he spotted Will Chiton jogging past.

“Looks like proper trouble,” George said.

“Aye,” Ben said. “Can you take over here? Keep it moving as fast as you can. I’ll go and get an update from the military.” He ran after the young lieutenant.

17-12 Street was a straight, level thoroughfare that ran the whole length of the ship. Flanked by large shops and utility buildings, it had a wide pedestrian area down the centre with seating, enclosed water features and imitation plants and trees. This open area was overlooked by the mezzanine walkways of the two decks above and higher still, the day-lamps shone down from a height of over thirty feet. It was the loftiest area on the ship

Ben caught up with Will at the C Ring intersection, where he had joined Sgt. Youkana and fifty Marines, all armed with riot shields and sturdy hard-plaz pipes commandeered from the maintenance droids supply depot. At this point the open street was constricted into a number of alleys lined with restaurants and small specialist shops. Youkana had effectively blocked the ends of these narrow routes with makeshift barricades of tables and shop fittings.

Beyond, in Ring D, Ben could see a large crowd of looters milling around – many were climbing into smashed storefronts and collecting clothing, electrical goods, jewellery, and anything they could lift. A dozen men, all in white bandanas, were trying to organise a line of debris throwers opposite the Marines, but with little success.

“Where the hell did they come from?” Will was asking.

“The rear accommodation on Decks 15 and 16 I’d guess.” Youkana replied.

“York’s territory?”

“Officially, yes. Though I’m guessing he doesn’t have full control this far down. It looks they’ve all gone a bit crazy with cabin fever. They don’t seem to be a much a hurry to make a charge, though.”

“No, but if they work they way through the shops and into the adjoining sectors then they might come down this Ring on either side and outflank you. Have you requested that the Blast Doors be resealed?”

“Yes, sir. Nothing has happened so far, and if it takes as long to close them as it did to open them we’re pissing in the wind anyway.”

Will turned to Ben. “I see you’re trying to get the food into safe storage. How much longer do you need?”

“Another hour at least.”

“Then we need to hold the line here. Reinforcements are on the way – Bruce should be here shortly, and then we’ll get this lot under control. Sergeant, do you have any info on the people in the bandanas?”

“Nothing other than what you see - they’re trying to organise the whole thing, though they’d have more success herding cats I would say. No sign of any discipline – bloody amateurs!”

“They must know our weapons have gone.”

“It would seem so, sir. It’s hard to keep a weird thing like that a secret.”

A ragged line of rioters was now starting to hurl an assortment of missiles at the barricades. Glass paperweights, vases, ceramic plates, and clocks were landing with increasing accuracy on the Marines’ position. The troops raised their shields and made no reply.

“Get a dozen men together Sergeant, we’ll go out and see how many of the bandana team we can snatch up. Mr McLaren, you should move back and prepare to get your volunteers evacuated.”

Ben looked at the Marines holding their positions. They seemed no more than kids to him, and some of them looked nervous - no doubt real action was the last thing they expected on a routine space flight. Then he thought how it would look to Bruce if they passed each other, going in opposite directions. How dangerous would it be to remain here?

“Send one of your lads,” he said. “And get him to tell George Ferguson that you could use a volunteer or two over here.”

Within a few minutes he was watching the Marines snatch-party charge into the crowd. Cracking heads with their pipes and pushing people to the ground with their shields they soon had the crowd and the organising agitators on the run. Will was spreading panic swinging his sword, although it seemed mostly for affect.

But as the troops advanced further into the crowd, heavier pieces of furniture started to fall from the walkways of Deck 16. A falling table shattered a ten-foot tall water-filled tower, causing hundreds of gallons of blue stagnant liquid to surge across the floor.

Will brought his men back without taking any captives. “Well, at least that should have bought us ten minutes,” he said.

Ben noted that he was breathless, but he was also twirling his sword and wearing a huge grin.

“Maybe not quite ten minutes sir,” Youkana said, looking over the barricade.

Amid the shouting, a deep resonant chanting was taking shape.

“The coward believes he will live forever
If he holds back in the battle,
But in old age he shall have no peace
Though spears have spared his limbs.”

Ben and Will stood up and looked out towards D Ring. A solid mass of thick set, bearded, blond Scandinavians were advancing along the street.

“Oh crap,” Will said. “Not the damn Vikings!”

20 - Sat 09 Aug 2256 08:15

“Mr Lieutenant! Mr Lieutenant!” called a small voice.

Waiting for his swords-men to form up at the base of the stairs, Bruce turned and scanned the gathering crowd of civilians. The diminutive shopkeeper from ‘Merry’s Memories’ stepped forward.

“You all look absolutely splendid,” he said. “Nice choice of weapon! I’m just on my way upstairs to watch the battle and wanted to wish you good luck.”

“For Gods sake man, this isn’t a freaking pageant!” roared Bruce, causing several onlookers to take a step back.

“Oh no sir, I understand that. Even so, I wouldn’t want to miss it. I mean it’s likely to become a legend isn’t it?”

“Bugger off,” shouted Bruce.

“Indeed, yes, I will. Just one more thing though. I was looking forward to seeing the battle-axes, but your men don’t appear to have any. Is there any reason why you aren’t using them?”

Bruce stepped closer and looked down at the little hobbit look-alike. “Axes? What bloody axes?”

“The Dwarfish double headed axes. Two hundred of them. Next to the spears? Well, maybe you didn’t see them.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Oh well, I’ll just move along now. You really should go back for the axes though – lovely craftsmanship. Later, obviously. After you win.”

More Marines were pushing down the stairs and the area was becoming crowded. Bruce estimated he had eighty soldiers with swords and perhaps twenty more with spears, whilst on the walkways above, men with crossbows were gathering.

“Madras!” he called as the corporal came down the stairs. “Hold back for a few minutes, and then form up as a second wave.” Then pulling his claymore up and over his head, he moving to the front and shouted: “The rest of you, move out!”