FollowThis multi-part story is set in the same universe as “The Things We Do For Family
Link to earlier chapters
It didn’t take long for Rick to begin getting on his wife’s nerves. The morning after that disastrous meeting, she shooed him out of the house. “Why don’t you go somewhere,” she snapped. “Between you moping around and all that mess on the feeds, it’s hard for me to get anything done around here.”
“Yeah, I guess I am bringing things down,” he admitted sheepishly. “I just feel… helpless. And, I don’t like it.”
She snorted. “Who does, you ninny.” He started to respond but she cut him off. “Just go. Visit one of your buddies or take a walk or go down the gym.” Then, she softened. “I love you, old man, but you’re getting on my nerves.”
He laughed. “Okay, message received.” He stood up and stretched. “You know, I’m going to be back out the rocks in a couple of months. I should probably get ready for that.” He paused for a moment. “And, I suspect that sitting around obsessing over our current situation isn’t good for my health, physically or mentally.”
“You think?” she said with a grin.
Saying that his exercise options were limited was an understatement. There was a “gym” on the ground floor his stack but it was a joke filled with hand-me-down junk from the executive spa and not worth his time. Instead, he decided to put in some time on the stairs, thinking a bit of cardio might be a good idea. After his visit to Davy’s flat last week, he knew it would suck but the only way to fix that was to do it. Consistently. Even if that was difficult what with all that was going on lately. He stepped into the stairwell, took a deep breath, and started climbing. He was halfway up the first flight before he remembered to start the timer on his watch. I’ll shoot for 20 minutes today, he thought. Probably won’t make it but I need a goal.
He was on his third circuit when his PDC began chiming. Ping after ping came in from different members of the pod, all asking if he’d seen “it”. He had no idea what “it” was and almost blew them off to continue his workout, but then he thought about the settlement’s current situation. “Have those asshole Radicals hung somebody else?” he muttered. He opened the message from Mondy and instantly regretted it. The Guards had arrived.
The moment he walked into the apartment, Marta confronted him. “I thought I told you to go for a walk. What are you doing back so soon?” Then, she noticed his expression. “What’s wrong?”
“They’re here,” he said.
“Who’s here?”
He looked at her for a moment before answering, “The Guards. Who else would I be talking about?”
“Oh.” Then, it hit her. “Oh,” she said, the pot lid that was in her hand clanging on the floor. “What should we do?”
“Us?” he said. “Or the settlement, in general?”
“Us. I don’t give a fig about the settlement.”
He nodded. “We, as in you, me, and Marcine, are going to hole up here and hope things smooth out quickly.” He looked around the flat. “With any luck, they’ll be content with stringing up the Radicals’ leadership and leaving the rest of us alone.
“Do you think they will?” she said.
“It’s a possibility,” he replied. “Not a strong one, but…”
“What about the twins? Do you think they’ll be okay?”
“They should be. The academy’s over in Crainberry and from what I can tell, the revolt hasn’t reached any of the other settlements.” He remembered his conversation with Janai a few days ago and hoped that her indiscretion had been forgotten. He did not, however, share that thought with Marta.
“What about the pod?” she said. “Are you going to check on them?”
“I want to get around to each of them, in person, but I don’t think I’ll have time for that. I just can’t see the Guards wasting any time dealing with this mess.” He pulled out his PDC. “I’m just going to send a group mail telling them all to stay off the streets until it’s over.”
“Good idea,” she said. “And, this way, you’re on record trying to keep a lid on things.”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Exactly,” she said, picking up the lid. “That’s why you keep me around. Somebody’s got to be the brains of this outfit.”
He’d just gotten up and poured himself a cup of stimmy before heading in to check the feeds to see what might have happened while he slept. When he turned on the screen, he was greeted with footage of a Guards convoy rolling into Mingo. This particular stream was on a channel still controlled by the company and the chyron beneath the image read, “Martian Guards Arrive to Put Down Insurrection”. He flipped over to the Radical’s feed to see what they had to say. They were running the same footage but their caption said, “Fascist troops Show Up To Continue Oppression of the Workers”. He turned up the sound but lowered it when he realized it was just more of their bullshit.
“Don’t know why I expected anything different,” he said, going back to the company channel. “A tiger can’t change its stripes.” As he said that, he realized he didn’t actually know what a tiger was. He was pretty sure it was some sort of animal and vaguely remembered something about it being extinct. He was pulled out of his reverie by the sight of the Guards rolling up on a line of protesters set up a block before the settlement’s main square. The personnel carriers stopped and disgorged their troops, then backed up and moved down side streets. Two stayed behind, lined up side by side across from the protesters. The anchors handed things off to a reporter at the scene. Then, a man appeared in the hatch of one of the armored vehicles and began to speak. The reporter went quiet and Rick could hear what was being said.
“…disperse and return to your homes immediately. This settlement is now under martial law. Any further disturbances will be considered hostile acts and dealt with accordingly.”
Rick heard someone from shout something but it wasn’t clear. Fortunately, the reporter stepped in, saying they had yelled, “Who the hell are you?” The officer’s response chilled him to the bone.
“Major Orion Greaves, commander 1st Battalion, 3 Guards Regiment at your service.”
Rick had known there was a Guards detachment on the planet—he’d told Davy as much the day the riot had broken out—but not this one. It wasn’t his first encounter with the 1/3 Guards. They were the unit that had done the company’s dirty work at Harland all those years ago. Now, here they were again.
The protester yelled something in response and the accompanying gesture removed any need for the reporter to relay it. The major said something to his men and the soldiers began to move forward, the personnel carrier right behind them. Rick noticed they weren’t in riot gear, they were fully armed and kitted out for battle. Just then, a brick came flying out of the crowd facing the soldiers. It glanced off the front of the turret and caught the officer in the face. He slumped down for a moment and when he came back up, the camera zoomed in on his face close enough that Rick could see the bloody gash on his cheek. The man wiped it away and spoke into his radio again. Without any warning, the soldiers brought their weapons up and opened fire. With the densely packed crowd in front of them, they couldn’t miss. As the protesters began to break, the heavy machine guns on the two APCs facing them opened fire, adding to the chaos. People tried to flee down side streets where the other Guards’ vehicles waited. As soon as they came into view, the APCs opened fire. The reporter said something about rubber bullets but Rick knew the Guards well enough to realize nonlethal force wasn’t their style. The blood that was visible pooling under a protester lying in the street before the camera quickly cut away attested to that.
He sat there, trying to process everything he’d seen, the feed continuing in the background. The talking heads were yammering away, obviously trying to distract viewers from the carnage on the screen before them. They were showing drone footage but the chaos on the ground was still visible. It wasn’t far enough, however, to keep the bodies littering the street from being identifiable as exactly what they were. He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there when he heard the doorchime. Why anyone would leave their home with things as wild as they were was beyond him. He pushed himself up from his chair thinking it must be serious. He walked over to the intercom. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Ylivea. Is Marta home?”
“Yeah, hang on,” he said, keying in the door code.
As it slid back, he caught a glimpse of mottled, reddish camouflage worn by the Guards before two very large men barged in and slammed him to the floor. The security man laughed. “I can’t believe you fell for that,” he said, replaying the false message recorded on his PDC. “They said you were one of the smart ones.” He tried to kick Rick in the side but also caught the Guardsman who was cuffing him. His partner got up and with a heavy open hand, knocked Corb back against the wall. “What was that for?” he yelled. “You don’t like me roughing up a commie?”
“I don’t give a fuck about him,” the soldier growled. “But you kicked my comrade. And, nobody puts their hands on a Guardsman.”
“Okay, sorry,” Corb said. “Get the cuffs on him and let’s get out of here before any of his crew shows up.”
“We ain’t scared of no maggoty miners,” the other soldier said as he and his partner hauled Rick to his feet.
Against his better judgment, Rick said, “Um, any chance I can put on some actual clothes. Don’t really want to go to lock up in my pajamas.”
“What you’re wearing is the least of your worries, Quentan. We’ve got you on video, collaborating with the seditionists.” The man fastened the cuffs on his wrists, setting them extra tight. “Let’s go,” he said. “I can’t wait to see what the interrogators do with him.”
