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Posted: 3/5/2015 4:16:36 PM EDT
[#1]
Chapter 1
Fallen Reprise The Rocky Mountains of Colorado were quiet in the first winter of the New Era. The peaceful ways of nature were interrupted by the sounds of armed men who ascended the terrain before them. A maimed officer named Samze Reyborse climbed the mountain trail before him. Two loyal raiders in body armor struggled to keep up behind him. Further back from them several others followed on sluggishly. Off to Reyborse’s left was Elisha Garcia, even she, his scout and confidente, was starting to lose hope. It had been three days following the defeat at Tonswater. The failure to take the town had cost them dearly, all Reyborse's plans were in tatters and now he had to face the music. His ruined arm had been bound tight but with a broken-bone it was unlikely to mend properly, not unless he could find help. The raider city of Redmond most of his force hailed from was in disarray. Charrak, their original leader was dead, most of his army had been slain or badly wounded and there was nothing left to hold them together. Like a pack of rabid dogs tearing at a corpse the city descended into familiar anarchy. Reyborse and his companions drove around the city and carried on south until the gas tank was nearly empty. Leaving them all behind he ascended the top of the hill. Once there he opened up his back-pack awkwardly with his good hand. Removing a special item he felt the glass gingerly. He only had one chance to find the hidden tunnel entrance but the map-glass effects would only last for a few minutes. Removing his helmet and sub-machine gun he sat down cross-legged. Then, facing the higher snowy peaks to the west and the imposing sun, he smashed open the lay-glass. The two liquid compounds mixed and mingled giving off a lurid vapor. He inhaled the fumes deeply several times. First there was a pinging pain from his skull, followed by a descending numbness throughout his body. As the lucid effects began to take root his mind and conciousness began loosen from the pain of his injuries and bonds of the flesh. He ascended a few feet saw the multi-dimensional landscape to the west giving him clues and pointers. Within thirty seconds he saw the signs he was looking for and found the underground passageway signs. It wasn't far from Crescent Peak and only half-way up the slope with a deer-trail leading there. Flying along towards it he plotted the passage-route required to get to the entrance. As his life-force swam out the scent of revenge lingered on and on. Those who had defied him would pay eternally alongside his hated foe the Soliters. He'd previously watched from afar as the siege of Tonswater ended with the deaths of both his most prized assets; Shieda, his warrior-mistress and Zeneth a Diresyn warrior. A little ways down below Elisha Garcia, the raider lord's former mistress, could hear the mutterings of the other Wolfhound raiders. Not all were ‘marked’ and sworn and since her lord's death their loyalty to Reyborse, who some saw as only an advisor, was stretched to the point of mutiny. A few minutes passed. Quin Algerson, an 'unmarked' warrior could take no more waiting and began ranting. “This is fucking stupid! What has he brought us to the mountains of nowhere for?” He ranted obnoxiously. “Redmond is ripe for a takeover with Charrak dead. But he drags us here so he can get high!” “You watch your tongue Quin. Remember who the master is around here,” Garcia said coldly to him. “Well baby, I never took a stupid mark-chip and neither did Pottar!” Algerson said gesturing to his buddy who nodded defiantly. “And I think with that shot-up arm of his and getting stoned up on a hill it's time for a new leader around here,” Algerson spat. He turned back to look upwards again just in time to see the Isier coming down towards them. The barrel of the sub-machine gun was aiming right at Algerson. Reyborse's Jatimatic spat lead and his target’s head and neck were shredded apart instantly. As Algerson’s body crumbled it rolled down the hill in a flopping fashion. Before the receding corpse was even halfway the Isier slung the weapon as if he'd merely plinked a few tin cans from a fence in boredom. A few of the wavering ones looked down at the ugly red smear in the gry grass and at the human wreckage now at the bottom of the hill. “Follow me or follow him,” he said bluntly to the others. Not a man dared speak out now. He looked at Garcia. “Elisha bring up the rear, we have a trek ahead of us.” With any notion of mutiny or uprising quashed the eight men and woman moved into the mountains towards the direction of Crescent Peak. Reyborse moved with a smile on his cruel thin lips, he was a patient man and revenge was a slow business afterall. One way or another he’d be back to avenge his defeat at Tonswater. It had taken another day to get from the mountain opening to the tracked Underways deep underground. By then they were all hungry and their water supplies were low. Only he and a couple of others had torches which revealed a featureless and endless blackness. A partially cleared cave-in from a side-tunnel was the marker-zone Reyborse was looking for. He managed to get his force through without too much hassle. On the other side was the beginning of a high-grade railway track. Reyborse set off his Sleuth-Beacon — a pre-programmed transmission device designed for underground retrieval. It sent a radiating signal towards the Saken Base Rock miles away to the east. It first struck an outrock-relay, then another and another before finally being answered. For nearly eight hours they waited and the grumbling complaints from Pottar was beginning to return. Two of the torches were almost out of batteries and the dim glow from the beacon was not much better. “What are we waiting for?” he complained and whinged. Reyborse was almost ready to cut him down when a distant whine became noticeable. Base Rock Gammertron had answered his call. The pitched noise of a large machine soon reached them fully. Its light appeared, heralding the actual sled-train full of Craiven and Sindle troopers. A fellow Saken that Reyborse knew commanded the force, Weel Kandas was a deputy Isier that was like a brother to him. Upon the locomotive grinding to a halt the officer jumped down to face his old friend. “Weel! It's good to see you!” Reyborse said in the Saken language. They gripped shoulders in the Saken fashion. “Greetings Samze! This is unexpected, I was just transferred in from Spektra. Do you have the Artifacts?” he responded. Reyborse hesitated not wanting to speak of his failure. “Where's Zeneth and Shieda?” Kandas asked expectantly looking warily at the armed men and woman behind him. “Both slain. The mission was a failure, the town was under Soliter support from the mountains. I must deliver a report about the whole mess.” “Soliters!? Are you sure?” Kandas said stunned. “Of course. They had a sky-carriage and their own private army. I barely got away with these ones you see now,” Reyborse said gesturing accidentally with his wrecked arm. He seethed in pain faintly. “Climb aboard then Samze, I must tell you though, we have a new Lord posted to Gammertron. It won't be easy on you if there's a trial...” “What do you mean? What happened to Eezkcaron?” Reyborse said with a start. Eezkaron was a familiar Saken commander; one he would be more than comfortable delivering his report to. “He's been summoned to Eurasia to bolster the UNAS forces. All of the big leaders are there now with the Glorian and Typhon. We have Lord Juberon from the Southern Fringe instead,” Kandas spoke with shades of the negative on the last part. “Juberon?! He was a reject Isier. Lower in status than you or I only a year ago!” “I know it, but he's promoted now on the whims of of Overlord Typhon, thanks to the war-effort I suspect.” “Dusted tails! Juberon is normally in charge of punishments and playing god with Negro and Kaslar slaves!” Reyborse exclaimed. He was rattled and worried at the news - Juberon was infamous as a brute and bully. The last he's heard the Saken was down in the Base Rocks of Africa. This was partly to keep him out of the way from the more serious-minded Saken out to conquer Terra. There was also the matter of his legendary excesses, even by Saken standards. “Like I said Samze, it won't be easy on you if you climb aboard and return with us...” Kandas said. Kandas felt for his old friend. He was half-tempted to have his Craiven re-supply Reyborse from the Sled Train's supply catche then return empty-handed to the Base-Rock. He knew it would raise suspicions though. The Sleuth-Beacon Reyborse had triggered was signature-marked to him and was already logged-in at the Base Rock. Any return empty handed would surely be open to question. The Craiven that were with him were loyal-enough but the Sindle infantry were a newer element. They’d travelled with Juberon from the east, some even knew Juberon casually. Of those no doubt a handful would be hoping to advance in rank by snitching on him. Reyborse read his mind and shook his head. “We both know it will cause grief if we play at telling tales to a Lord. Even one such as Jube.” “Climb aboard then before I change my mind,” Kandas said. “Before I do, watch over me, there are a couple of defiant wolves among these men. Neither are they marked,” the Isier cautioned. “Which ones?” asked Kandas and Reborse told him, as well as those that were to be trusted. After some orders in Saken were passed to the Craiven and Sindle troopers they suddenly trained their weapons on the suspected ones. “Don't make a move or they'll cut you down!” Reyborse warned. “Now remove your weapons and pass them to me. We're going for a ride.” “What's going on? I thought you said you were getting help?” Asked Pottar, one of the rebellious men, he was one who had not been marked and still objected to things. “This is help. We're going to my base where we can fight on against those that stand in our way.” “Where is it?” “Near to the eastern ocean, under the Ozark mountain range,” he answered. “Fuck that,” Pottar said turning around and began walking away. Kandas looked with a sideways glance to Reyborse for a response, but he said nothing but watched Pottar carefully. Instead he turned to the others, one of the other doubtfuls made a hesitant move in Pottar’s direction. “Are you sure you want to follow him?” Reyborse said with a sadistic grin. Biting his lip the man stepped back and handed over his weapon which was taken by a Saken infantryman, then the others did likewise. Pottar was almost at the barrier-point when Reyborse pointed to him and nodded at Kandas. “Hey Pottar!” Reyborse shouted. As he half turned there was a roaring blast. Reyborse and the Sindle platoon shot as one. In the confines of the tunnel the weapons were deafening. Obscure and strange calibers tore into Pottar, tossing him across the barrier in a grotesque fashion. The Saken on board made a space for the newcomers on the sled. It would be a cramped ride but Reyborse faced his fate knowing that no matter what happened, he'd have have a chance to make things right. The failure at Tonswater burned in him, fermenting to the extent that he would avenge the humiliation, no matter what the cost! Copyright - Tyler Danann |
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Posted: 3/6/2015 12:42:38 AM EDT
[#2]
Chapter 2
Mountain Meeting An afternoon-sun melted down on the snowy mountainside. It was the end of spring and like many summers previous the snow was reluctant to fully-melt at the high-elevations of the Rocky Mountains. A wending highway cut across the spine of the White peaks like a lazy-serpent. Twenty armed-men from the Mountain Hold waited at a certain point. Above them, adjacent to the highway an observation tower that looked west down the highway. The look-out signalled down to them. As promised the convoy from the ISTAR faction was on time, it could be seen from miles away up there. Nuge, the peered back to it, trying to estimate the convoy's speed of travel. The east-western highway ran past part the Mountain Hold road. Formerly this had been impassable due to felled trees. Indeed nearly two years had passed since Leyson had felled the trees blocking it off. Now it was clear again for the dwellers of the Hold to come and go as they pleased. A great gate of logs and beams was now in its place, set slightly back from the highway, allowing easier access, providing it was not snowed-in at winter of course. Two hotchkiss machine guns manned by Range-Warriors projected out. The emplacements were part of the gateway and built up on the walls, there were embrasures of wood and steel projecting out from a pair of elevated towers. They wooden bastions and a deadly pair of defenses many hoped not to need. To Mike Oakley, leader of the Mountain Hold, the arrival of an outsider faction meant their time of near-absolute isolation from the world was at an end. First chaos had come to Terra, then the frantic actions of defense followed by a settling of the ways. Now they were at the settling phase, what this would go into next was anyones guess. Seemingly reading his mind Alexander Barber went over from the tower towards the leader. Like Oakley, Barber was tall but was a broader and more powerful build, like that of a panther. He was younger, the lead warrior of the Oakley’s Rangers and had a great respect for his actions in combat. Some had said that Barber would make a fine leader one day but leadership was not something that appealed to him. Oakley had the mantle of rule, not he and unless it was thrust upon him he was just a Range-Warrior. “I guess this means we're part of the Republic now Mike?” Barber said to him, referencing the ISTAR republic. By now the coalition was spreading from the edges of Wyoming, into Utah up to Idaho and into part of Montana. “We're our own Republic Alex. This place will always be the Mountain Hold, even if it has ISTAR territory around it,” Oakley said. “Now remember, if there's any shooting we move back to the gateway into cover and the let the hotchkiss-crews do the rest.” “It won't come to that Mike, the Lore-Saints are good folks, men of their word. Spencer did well setting it up on the secure-Nex without prying eyes learning of it.” “We'll let soon see,” said Oakley, checking his ancient revolver out of habit. Satisfied he re-holstered it. “I'll wring his neck afterwards if it goes wrong,” he jested. Oakley felt the ache of old wounds nag occasionally yet stood tall and ready. It had been one and a half years since the Battle of Tonswater. Following this he'd ushered in a frugal flowering of cautious expansion in his territory. Keeping on good terms with the town of Tonswater to the east had been no problem. The victory his people had helped to win therer had been a double-edged sword though. While it had stymied raider-activity and secured their lands from harm, great attention and renown had spread across to the ISTAR lands. Tonswater had at least stopped making overtures for colonizing the mountains but now came the Lore-Saints. Duke Nikolai Wynter of the ISTAR Lore-Saints now approached with his vanguard of humvee's. Some called him 'The Lorien' or 'Lore-Master' due to his supposed illuminated knowledge. Others, mostly of the raider disposition, howled and raved of him with the less savory title of 'La Duque De Sangre' or 'The Blood Duke.' Oakely had initially declined the overtures from his advisors to open a communication channel to the mystery faction, yet many others of his faction persuaded him to hear them out. Be that as it may, Oakley was wary, distant factions he preferred to be kept at a distance. He also typically disliked royal titles and fancy names. Such things did not cut much ice with him, for a man earned his place in the world with a firm will and a driving heart, not a landed-title. The convoy of three bearing the one who was called 'Lorien' now stopped in front of them. The Duke's colors, in muted green ,blue and grey tones were on the sides of the first vehicle. Setting it apart from the other two that black and white, along with green also. Barber thought it was a bad tactical move highlighting a vehicle from the pack. Duke Wynter stepped out alone and faced Oakley's Rangers without a shred of intimidation. He was a tall man of over-average build, fair eyed and with trimmed sandy-brown hair. A fiercely intense demenor matching Oakley's own marked him apart from most men, for he was like that of a benevolent warlord. A fine fellow in friendship, but a terrible adversary in war. He showed no fear and stepped forward so he was level with the hood of the Humvee. More men now exited their humvees. Unlike Oakley and his followers the Duke did not wear camoflage or outdoors clothing but a matt-grey uniform. The ones who now assembled behind him could be seen in a similar uniform but some wore a beige-brown and the remainder a charcoal black. They wore no body-armor, and presented no intentions of an offensive nature. Aside from shouldered carbines the others looked friendly enough. The Duke's advisor Elias Meander moved around to be near him. Meander was Greek with a darker complexion than most of the others. Amber eyes and his unassuming demenour missed few details. As a former intelligence captain the darkest and deepest of secrets could be safeguarded with him. He wore beige-brown like the others. The Duke unclipped his belted and holstered pistol. He then passed it to Meander who took it wordlessly. Wynter scanned their faces, and took in their measure. “So these are the famed Oakley's Rangers?” Wynter mused cooly to himself and those closest. Most of the Rangers were bearded and grizzled, others less so. All had the semi-barbaric looks of those who were lean, sharp and hardened from years of wilderness living. The Lore-Saint fighters tended to be more the homesteaders and townsman than raw survivalists and viewed the rangers warily. A pantherish-looking one stood out among them along with a few others that clustered close to the oldest one of them. Oakley boldly stepped forward from his own ranks and did the same ritual, passing his .22 revolver to Barber. Both leaders faced-off. “Duke Nikolai Romanov Wynter of the Lore-Saints and the Northern League,” Wynter said declaring himself fully. “Mike Arthur Oakley of the Mountain Hold. Welcome to the White Mountains,” Oakley responded gruffly. A man was near to the Duke and he was no doubt his advisor, like Barber was to Oakley. He now spoke in the Dukes ear. Who nodded then shook his head. Somehow Oakley instinctively knew the advisor wanted the Duke to do something against his nature. Perhaps warning him? The outsiders looked very clean and somewhat professional, almost too smart for his bones to be comfortable with. Oakley spoke first. “As our guests would you wish to be hosted inside our Hold, it's better than standing exposed on the highway. Our venison is fresh and the mead is fine and waiting.” “Well met!” The Duke responded heartily. “Against that I cannot argue.” They approached one another to close the distance. They began talking back and forth. A Ranger leaned in to Barber. “Mike’s changed his tune,” he said quietly. “Leaders and their whimsical ways brother,” he responded with a sly look. The two groups walked off the highway and into the private road that led to the gateway. Wynter left three of his men with the vehicles to park the transport outside the gateway and the others unloaded their carbines at Oakley's request. Then they were shown into the depths of the Mountain Hold. A vast cabin reminiscent of a Viking long-hall, functioned as a venue for the Lore-Saints. Recently built it was lit by two roaring wood-burners making it a welcoming place, well served to relax the visitors. Food was prepared and mead served. Such things were far from what the Duke was expecting, he'd heard tales of Oakley's faction being feral barbarians; crazed by their isolation and as predatory as the raiders they'd defeated. The Mountain Hold was far from such gossip and nonsense. The people were healthy, family-orientated and a true thriving mountain community. After the dinner was over both leaders let the more routine conversations fade as the more serious faction-talk got underway. “We now must move forward, the time for expansion is now Mike. It will be dangerous but word has reached me that your faction can make the impossible happen.” The Duke looked at Mike for his response carefully. “This is moving forward for us, slow but sure like our trees,” Oakley said throwing back the suggestion and remaining aloof. “Don't be so humble Mike. We all heard about the raider-siege. We all expected Tonswater to fall and Stellfeld to follow. I know we made harsh terms that were rejected by Tonswater’s sheriff, but we were on the verge of being ready to mobilize. We had plans to send a frontier force to wage guerrilla warfare. Then we heard you and the town decimated Charrak and his army, that’s something that took balls.” “It was mostly the town defenders and their tower that did the real fighting and dying. My folks provided some support at the end was all,” Mike said downplaying he and his rangers role in the fight. By Wynter's frown he could tell that the ploy wasn't working though. “Alright I'll cut to the chase. The Battle for Tonswater has put you on the map whether you like it or not. We hear on the Nex-traffic that raiders are running scared, not even daring to move north of Colorado.” “You cutting to the chase Nick?” Oakley said with a joking grin. “Hear me out now Mike. The ISTAR, partly thanks to you and Tonswater have held the line, but we need to do more than that. We have to establish an outer-frontier forward of this one. Now the way I see things the raiders are no longer on the prowl like before. They stay in their cities and the Raiderlands to the south, some will die off within a year or so more as their resources run thin. The remainder that are less harsh will be like chieftans and warlords, we can deal with them one at time in later years. In the meantime we can see to the the upper-mid-west and help bring them into the ISTAR fold...” Oakley listened and his fears of imperialist overtures from the Duke rang like bells. “You risk over-extending the natural borders, this mountain range is our rock. Also I don't like the sound of 'bring them into the fold' either.” “I hear you on that, just think now. We keep the core of ISTAR territories close to hand. The defensive border of the ISTAR can extend to your Mountain Hold lands, then outside of that to the east up to the Great Lakes of Minnesota we have an outer territory. Think of it as a satellite of the Northern League. A bread-basket of agriculture. A distant cousin for trade. I have no intentions to force anyone to join us under duress.” Oakley nodded. He was open to alliances, but the devil was in the details. “I wish you luck Nikolai, but here at my Mountain Hold I don't know what we can do for you? My people only number perhaps one hundred. We are self-sufficient, this last winter we got through with only a few minor problems. I don't want to be a part of any big imperial scheme, the last time we had that it didn't go too well for the country, even before the Blue Sun hit.” “It's nothing like that, I give you my word of honor. All I want for the ISTAR is a solid front for our people so we can get back on our feet and be safe.” “Ok so what do you want?” “The Independent States And Republic stands for what the country didn't have before the fall. You consider yourself ISTAR don't you Mike?” “I consider this land the Mountain Hold and it holds true to the ways of the Republic. If this is the ISTAR to you that is not my concern.” “Join us,” he said with hand extended “Not like a union or federation where we're stitched together like entangled idiots, or a mob-democracy led by idiots but as a league. A Northern League making up all of the ISTAR territories! From the Pacific North West across to the slopes of Montana, from the Utah lands across to the Wyoming frontier.” Wynter spoke with an inspired wordage and voice that could not be ignored easily. “We'll still be the ISTAR individually but in a cohesive, greater territory. Presenting a solid front to others,” he added. Oakley hesitated; he'd have to talk such a thing through with his people first. As he brooded Wynter added sweetener-words. “The Talon-Wolves have already agreed brother, as have the Kinswarriors. They have joined together to form the Kinslanders, they're with us now.” “A wolf should be kept in the wilderness, not brought into the hearthroom. Indeed I have enough quarrels at the Hold between the Heathen here and those who are not...” Oakley said letting his words tail off. “The Kinslanders are kept on a tight chain and they've held the line well in eastern Oregon and upper-Idaho earning my trust. You were not the only faction fighting raiders you know.” Oakely look mildly surprized, figuring them to be strictly partisan. “Yes they too have won victories. Besides which...” Wynter paused before smiling. “Since you decimated Charrak's war-tribe eighteen months ago there have been similar words spoken of your faction.” “What words?!” Said Oakley intrigued to hear what his enemies spoke of him. “Raiders we've captured talk of you as the 'Blood-Hawk'. A mountain king with blue-eyed devils capable of vanquishing them with an airborne war-machine. There's a heavy price on your head, your bodyguards and that of the sheriff down in Tonswater.” Wynter spoke with a banterish laugh that was joined with by Lore-Saint and Ranger alike. Mike chuckled and smiled. Deep down he knew, no matter how hard he tried, it was hard to keep a lid on their mountain flying machine, especially in a largely grounded world. “My eyes were green last time I checked! It's strange how rumors take hold,” he retorted. “Those raiders have really gone soft if they fear-up so easily.” “Of course, the raiders are no match for the northern factions such as we I think.” Wynter said haughtily. “There are those that call you the 'Blood-Duke' you know?” Oakley spoke lightly in response. The Duke did not seem too bothered but Meander raised his eyebrows, wondering what next in the game of brinkmanship between the two. “Yes, yes, I've heard it all already. My people and I supposedly dance about drinking the blood of my slain enemies in dark caves underneath the Lore Temples in Utah.” The Duke rolled his eyes. “All factions have their detractors, for better or worse.” “Alright let me understand things first, then I'll give you my answer,” Oakley said shifting the subject away. Oakley raised his hands in neutrality. “Why join you when the ISTAR factions can independently thrive.” “Two reasons. Firstly for trade with the other parts of the landmass. The Northern League can pull in resources of oil, timber, crafts with the other factions.” Mike nodded at this, he had to admit that part made sense. “And the other reason. Other factions to the eastern parts of the country and doing the same as what I propose. The league will give us what AmEliasa never had - A genuine citizen-army that can fend for itself. If we don't have a Northern League someone else will do what Charrak did and with a lot more than armored-cars and foot-soldiers.” Oakley took in a deep breath, his fear of a militarized force seemed ever-present. The Duke seemed genuine but roads of betterment and glory could easily lead to tyranny. “We already have citizen armies, you have yours, I have mine plus the other ISTAR factions have their's also.” Oakley responded. “I don't mean to sound blunt Mike but things have been going on in Eurasia. There's a big faction forming there, like an empire that will soon be as big as the Asian Empire of Jade.” “That's interesting.” Said Oakley, remembering his distant vision so long ago. “I've a few contacts on the Nexus that keep me informed and the word is this new faction has been expanding and expanding, building a war-machine. Until last month they were getting a few of our fellow Europan's, 'Rabians not fighting the Blue Star and even a few Africans to join. Immigration controls were thrown up. No-one knows how they are doing it. Anyone who joins them doesn't get to leave. They exercise absolute control. And they came out of nowhere north-east of the Caspian Sea, some are saying it's fulfillment of the destruction-prophecy.” “Now do you remember the Valley-Forge prediction they taught at school?” “I do,” said Oakley. “Well if they move east or west we need to be ready in case it becomes so. It could be five, maybe ten years down the line but for the long term we must form a league.” “I hear that, but Europa's still on it's feet though Nikolai, a lot can happen then and in the far-east the Ch'in family have overthrown their communist government.” “Indeed, they've re-declared the long-lost Jade emperor found. I'm all for traditionalist ways but the Jade folks aren't going to cut it against this new faction.” “What's this new danger-faction called anyway?” “No-ones sure, it's like how our ISTAR has an acroynm standing for something, they have one similar. I think it's the 'yunnes', or 'oonus'?” The Duke turned to Meander with a puzzled look, searching for a clarification. Before Meander could refer to his notes a cut-glass male voice spoke. “The UNAS,” said the man in a distinct accent. He was stood off to one side from Oakley and with him was a woman of haunting beauty. “It stands for the Union of Nations and Sectors.” “That’s it! How do you know such a thing, being up here and so far removed?” the Duke said warily with a grin. “I have my agents and means Nikolai.” “This is Oscilon, my adviser on all things far-off and technical.” Oakley said with a smile. “I see that,” The Lore Saint said with an enigmatic look at the man. “Now if the UNAS move east it will be bloody war with the Jade folks and if they win there it's a backdoor into Alaska. If they move west it's our folks in Europa. We've got time to prepare and that means the Northern League has to be ready. Either way they move.” “They could move south,” Barber said frankly. “They could, if it was worth their while, but apparently they are trading with the Rabians, refined oil for parts, mercenary troops and so on. They won't want the south though, it's a deathtrap of desert Kaslar armies and strife best left alone. It shames me to say it my gut feeling is they'll got for the soft-targets of either the east or the west in the northern hemisphere.” “Now.” He said decisively. “What say you Mike Oakley? Will you join the Northern League and battle against any Valley Forge? I want the greatness of our land back, our republic to be realized and for us to be a part of that city in the sky?” “I'm open to it,” said Oakley harshly. “But why are you so keen to make big plans with my tiny faction of one-hundred.” “House Soltier Artifacts,” he stated with a knowing smile before looking to Oscilon. “Isn't that right Oscilon of House Soliter?” he asked with a smile. Artifacts and House Soliter were faction-secrets and surely only their sworn enemies the Saken could know? Oakley tensed and had a hand to his Ruger revolver, ready for foulplay. Several Rangers looked wary now, themselves almost readying weapons in an echo of Oakley's mind. Before anything terrible could transpire Oscilon shouted out. “It's ok Mike! They are not Saken! He is of Soliter lineage. I should have told you sooner but was waiting him out.” “Let me explain,” Wynter said. “I was born into a Lore-Saint family, I have no accent unlike your Navigator, but I am part of the Soliters through an ancient lineage and calling. These nine men with me are my hand-picked trusted bodyguard. Outside of my family and Seekers my faction are mostly unaware of the Soliter allegience. I am truly Nikolai Wynter, elected to Duke following the defense of the Lore-Saint capital in the Blue Sun chaos. Oscilon was not to know until I came into his sight.” Oakley breathed deeply and brought his hand back up onto the table. “Why the pretence, why not tell me sooner when we were on the highway.” “You don't enter a hallway to dance, unless those within are found trustworthy,” he said, invoking a Soliter saying. Both Oscilon and the Duke laughed at this and the mood lightened again. “Definately House Soliter,” McKaiser said laughing. Oakley and the Rangers laughed also, still half-amazed at the revelation. The Lorien extended his hand, Oakely looked first to his Rangers who nodded in agreement then he shook it with vigor. “Do you still have the Artifacts entrusted to your fore-father Duke of Lore Saint?” Oscilon asked curiously. “Absolutely, they are safe in my base at Salt Lake. With what I have in mind, we’ll hopefully have many more like them.” “You can’t craft Soliter Artifacts Nikolai.” Owesion said almost smugly. “No, but I may be able to make surface-lander Artifacts Navigator,” the Duke responded with a grin. The talk resumed until finally an alliance was made and the Northern League was complete. Copyright - Tyler Danann |
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Posted: 3/6/2015 7:16:10 PM EDT
[#3]
I began reading of the "Mountain Hold " when Gault was its leader, story was interesting, compelling even. I seem to have missed much. Alas, I will again embrace the Soliters. Their story has merit it seems.
BLG |
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Posted: 3/8/2015 4:59:05 PM EDT
[#4]
Hey BLG!
Had to change the original character name, I didn't want to be aping Ayn Rand too much on that one. :) Here comes Chapter 3: Chapter 3 Rube’s Key Ruben Cohen breathed in the air of the coming summer as a new day in Stellfeld began. The day-traders were setting out stalls to entice any visitors and the distant roar of a Northern League tanker was approaching. In his comfortable home it felt a world away from the events of earlier times. Looking down from the second floor he passed his gaze south, taking in the outer perimiter, the long straight road and the hilly boundaries. Beyond them was Tonswater, the town that had left an indelible imprint on him. Not even death could swerve it he felt. For it had been a long recovery from his grevious wounds at the Battle of Tonswater. It was colder but a bright day, one full of clashing conflict as the siege reached its deadly climax. He remembered vividly seeing the northern redoubts of Tonswaters in battle and being overwhelmed by the strange super-animals. His vehicle was a lone pick-up with only himself and a Lore-Saint mercenary. Part of him, his calculating side of caution and analysis, whispered to wait for the slow-moving convoy to catch up. Another part of him, from where he could not tell, shouted 'Attack!' and attack he did. The lucid moments revisted him like a vision. He'd sent the diesel-engined machine ramming two of the over-dog things clean apart and a third went sideways. This took the initiative away from the beasts as he slammed on the brakes to reverse his way back through them. “We should stop and—” the Lore-Saint mercenary had started to say. “If we stop to shoot we're dead!” Cohen interupted with a hiss. They were all over the vehicle seeking ways in. He'd engaged reverse and ploughed over another two and less than a dozen remained. He stopped again but as he did one of the creatures leapt on the hood obscuring his view. He shook left and right with the wheel but somehow it had either caught or locked its claws on. His mercenary let off shot after shot through the windshield, but the thing had a death grip and clung on another two sprang on board. More firing, more swerving, then they were off the road and rolling down into a ditch. When the world stopped turning around it went dark, not from him passing out, but from the shear number of Night Crawlers blocking out the light. Grunts and snarls were in his ears along gunshots from the Lore-Saint who fired off a few more times, then somehow the beastlings dragged him out through the passenger window horribly. They were coming for him next but it was too tight and confined in the cab to bring his battle-rifle to bear so he had to make do with his trusty .45 Springfield Defender. His vision was swimming thanks to the concussion from the crash but he remembered stopping them getting in through the passenger side. Then the sunroof burst in and one got in amongst him. His body-armor alone had spared his body from being gouged apart. Yet his arms and face were not spared the talons of the fearsome Night Crawlers. He lost an eye as he blasted away with his side-arm. Then in it's death throes his head was dashed hard against the 'A' pillar and he lost conciousness. He was saved from death though and recovered back in Stellfeld, the siege was lifted and Tonswater had it's victory. Cohen had not returned to Tonswater since that day, he was semi-retired as a trader now and saw little desire to revist the past. Three ragged scars down his head and cheek and an eye-patch covered the empty-hole. He could barely lift his right arm fully and the cold aggravated it even further. Now his only son carried on in his footsteps and was rarely home. His wife had long since passed away and Cohen was given to great moods of melancoly. He was about to move away from the window to resume the chores of the day when he noticed a humvee approaching the outer-gates. It was dark blue and green and he saw it had the proud yet vibrant sigil of the newly formed Northern League. The former trader had mixed feelings and regarded the newcomers with a critical eye. They passed through the outer gates and Cohen could tell this was no casual visit, a VIP presence seemed to be about them for the mercenary Lore-Saints were saluting and radioing ahead. Eddy Hogarth, the garrison commander had gone to the inner-gateway area and leaned in to speak with the passenger in the vehicle. He nodded a few times and pointed towards Cohen's house. Inside the trader made pot of coffee ready and about three minutes later there was a knock at the door. It was Duke Wynter, Connarsby and and two men he'd not seen before. One was broad like an ox and unfriendly-looking, the other seemed more like a lean, grizzled wolf. Both were bearded. “Trader Cohen, I am Duke Nikolai Wynter of the Northern League.” The leader said extending his hand. “I ask for a few minutes of your time.” “Coffee's already on the boil, come on in, make yourselves at home.” Cohen said indifferently. As a trader and upper-merchant there were few things that phased him and Duke Wynter was not one of them. The unknown ones he did not recognize and arosed his curiousity. “This is Sheriff Connarsby who you've already met,” The Duke began. “And this is...” “Mike Oakley of the Hold?” Cohen asked speculatively at the lean man. His green eyes flashed in surprise. “Yes! Have you two already met?” Wynter said inquisitively. “No, but these are not casual times and it is wisdom for the leader of a rising faction such as yourself to have him as an ally.” Wynter nodded at the strange response. Cohen was indeed a sharp man with a sharper intellect so he didn't question the eccentic. Behind his passive and reserved ways was a brainbox of dynamic energy. “This other man is Wesley Millar of the Kinslander faction,” he explained, concluding the introductions. Cohen gave the giant the merest of cool glances. It was obvious he was not going to get a handshake. “I'll cut to the chase Ruben,” Wynter said plainly. “As I'm sure you've heard the ISTAR factions are uniting. The Lore-Saints I already command, Mike Oakley's Rangers from the Hold plus the Kinslander folk north-west of here.” “We've already heard,” Cohen responded reservedly. “You have a small empire stretching from the Pacific North-West down through Wyoming and up to Tonswater and here. Moving north-eastwards you have a safe or mostly safe road network going through eastern Montana, the Dakota's and to Minnesota. On Lake Superior the deepwater port of Duluth is your maritime link with the New England territories,” Cohen said smoothly. “And the answer is no,” the trader added. “I haven't even asked anything yet!” Wynter said with a surprised look to his eyes. “You're reason for being here is to entice my small town to join the Northern League. Although this place is a small town our trade-links, in one form or another, go all the way to the eastern-seaboard. I hold great influence on the town council for making such a thing happen.” There was a small silence and Oakley broke it. “I respect a man who wishes to keep his independence, but that isn't the reason we came.” Cohen's eyebrows raised up somewhat and he moved to pour the coffee. “You're a hero for what you did at that redoubt Rube!” Connarsby beamed. They'd all sat down at his lounge area. “You saved many lives with what you did! Not just at the redoubt either, I just want to personally thank you for that.” “I did what I had to, I could of held back but forces of the beyond pushed me onwards.” Cohen’s mind fluttered over the memory again. “I hear that,” said Oakley. “The main reason Nikolai is here is for advice. He's not after domination of everyone under a Northern League banner. Nobody is being forced to join either, my town of Tonswater isn't and nor would Stellfeld be.” Connarsby said. Cohen looked at the Duke who looked back evenly, he seemed a fair-minded type, if a little too much Germanic for his taste. “I'm listening Duke.” The trader said with a sardonic tone to the title. The Duke spoke. “Before fiat currency took over, the world had a balance of gold-backed currency. Many Lore-Saints had this invested with your people in the big city banks. Those in New York, New Jersey and so on. I want us to return to that system.” “So you wish to move the league from barter-trade to a precious metals-backed currency?” Cohen quizzed. “Yes, but to do that we need a large supply of gold that's decentralized. One that can encompass the Northern League and any factions that wish to trade with us. The Lakesiders to the east and the Westsiders in Oregon and Norcal are expressing an interest. Eventually I hope we can start trading with the outside lands like Europa and Asia.” The host made a face and looked high up into the air. Within cerebral variables, nuances and logic went into overdrive yet without all seemed normal. “I think it’s worth a shot Rube,” Connarsby said. “If we keep on with the barter system it's only a matter of time before someone who is sitting on a gold-horde starts churning out raw bullion. Or worse still it get's seized and falls into the wrong hands.” “It would be better if it's in our neck of the woods than a raider-force.” Oakley said. Cohen brooded on a while longer then answered. “Stellfeld doesn't have a supply of bullion, coins yes, items worth trading with cart folk. A majority of the gold and silver bullion is housed east of the Mississippi,” the trader said slyly. “Agreed. We just don't know where exactly,” said Wynter. “Our research has come up with two possible areas that could be the spot. One is at Fort Knox, which is still garrisoned by a general’s army. The other is in the form of city wealth from areas in New York State, New Jersey, Manhatten Island and so on. Since those cities are mostly no-go areas that gives us a problem.” “Right,” said Cohen being evasive. Wynter filled the silence. “We don't want to take it by force, we want to trade for it. It's simple, they have a lot of gold and little else worth trading in the world we're in now. You can't eat the gold, but you can make use of it as a medium of exchange. Out here the farms are coping, but starvation is getting worse further east of the Mississippi. We've got oceans of gasoline that's flourishing here but in the eastern areas it can't get through. By trading our excess gasoline, food surplus, parts, materials and so on for precious metals we can get a good thing going. It'll help set up the Northern League as an economic oasis and bring about a better world, even better than the one we left behind after the Blue Sun.” Wynter said. Cohen nodded but said nothing. “With your trade connections Ruben we were hoping you could give us some clues and references to how to go about this.” Wynter asked optimistically. “I can, but I don't know why I should.” Cohen said bluntly. “I don't have a problem any of you or your faction, yet having said that there are those who don't particularly like my Kaslar people.” “In what way?” Wynter asked carefully already suspecting what it was. In his minds eye he saw a house of cards and winds threatening to waver it before his eyes. “Stellfeld merchants were disrespected, insulted and abused despite being under a trade-treaty on Kinslander territory.” He concluded, almost with a hurtful undertone. He glanced at the bearded Kinslander who looked right back at him. Wynter inwardly knew that would be a sticking point. It was no secret the Kinslanders were unfriendly to the mercantile Kaslar but it took him aback all the same. The fact that the Northern League controlled the gasoline and refineries gave him leverage but the devil was in the details. Having the best warriors came with a price. The Duke turned to Miller. “Well?” Millar took a deep breath “Kaslar merchants from this town came to our lands last month. They made outrageous trade-terms despite us honoring the last lot. This time they tried meddling the timber and silver rates. One even tried to set up their accursed usury with our needy folk in Boise! Our mining guild found out and sent those lazy Kaslar scurrying to the border!” “Show some respect Kinslander! This is his house not a Heathen tavern!” Connarsby said sternly. “I know sheriff, but his folk started it! And he starts it again with his words I think!” “Don’t think they’ll ever return to your lands again Kinslander,” Cohen countered. “Gods, devils and everything of beyond, cease your noises men!” Oakley boomed at them both. “We might as well be back in the Old Era whining and shouting like those government idiots! Rube, there's a faction out there that hates all what we stand for, and it’s the one we all fought nearly two years ago.” Cohen looked startled, a rare sight indeed. Oakley calmed himself rapidly and suddenly before his voice took on a different aspect. “And if you want to know who that is Ruben, just ask yourself why you can't see out of your right eye anymore.” Oakley said. Cohen realized upon the mystery, like a puzzle finally fitting together properly. “Those creatures that I fought. They aren't just a random freak or genetic anomoly of the times then?” “If only, there's a deadly force behind them. During the siege we killed some of their human kind during the final battle.” Connarsby said. “They were lead by an officer who escaped,” said Wynter. “And that officer is part of the faction calling themselves the Saken, the ones that are behind it all. If we're not prepared and have at least one solid front to take them on they'll first destroy Europe and Eurasia, then your Kaslar homeland in the Levant. Eventually, one way or another we could see them come here. Maybe it'll be streaming over the Bering Straits or even from these Underways that run under the earth. Whatever the way, when that day comes I want the Northern League to be ready. That gold to the east is our gateway to being ready.” The Duke said letting it all sink in. There was another pause and silence, Oakley filled it. “I'd prefer to stay on my Mountain Hold and keep out of the way but it's shaping up to impact us all trader. I've seen the Saken hordes in a vision. I thought maybe I was part-crazy but a few other strange things happened and then all hell broke loose with Tonswater. Then we learn about this new big faction on the borders of Europa,” Oakley said. “We heard of a faction called the UNAS in Eurasia. Are these are the Saken you speak of Mike?” Cohen asked emotionlessly. “The UNAS are backed by the Saken but that's them to all intents and purposes. The UNAS are like the human face to the Saken monsters.” Mike responded. “It could be that the UNAS and Saken will be stopped by the Europan Factions or the Jade Empire but we can't afford to risk it,” Duke Wynter cautioned. “We have to be doing something, anything and if they make a move over the Bering Straits we have to be strong, even stronger than we our now.” “Gold does strange things to a man who can't handle it. There’s a lot of power, maybe too much even for one like you,” Cohen responded now up and pacing the floor and looking over at them with ice in his eyes. “The gold is for all ultimately and shall help usher in a new golden age. You have my oath on that and my blood!” Duke Wynter said boldly. Before Cohen could stop him he’d drawn a sliver of a cut with a folding blade to demonstrate his intent. Then with a fire in his eye that shook Cohen he spoke loudly. “Now what do you say man of Kaslar, will you join us in our battle and put aside ancient rivalry?” “I'll see what I can do.” Cohen took a deep breath and pulled up his Nexus terminal then unlocked it with the key cypher. It had been a while since he’d messaged his eastern contacts and he hoped they would still answer. Copyright - Tyler Danann |
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Posted: 3/10/2015 10:32:33 AM EDT
[#5]
I'm enjoying the story, keep it coming!
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Posted: 3/10/2015 4:51:07 PM EDT
[#6]
Thanks JRT.
Stay tuned for the next episode. :) |
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Posted: 3/11/2015 11:16:18 AM EDT
[#7]
Chapter 4
New Friends It was a warm summer’s day when the New England town of Adams welcomed its guests. Both messengers were dressed in plain-green attire bolstered by body armor. Helmets were gripped loosely at their sides and the uniform emblem common to the Northern League faction made clear their calling. Two more men from their faction waited in the Humvee outside, peering out intently. One of them was a tall, muscle-lean fellow in his late twenties called Ulrich Rheinlan with light brown hair. The other was Troy Brunswick, a shorter statured man. Troy was slightly younger than Ulrich and had a more easy-going demenor for one belonging to the hard-line Kinslanders. He was flaxon-blonde, no stranger to the women and had a light growth of a beard to over-age his youthful looks. Both their respective factions had recently amalgamated and joined with the League. Like Oakley's Rangers and the Lore-Saints, the Kinslanders kept their customs and practices. The room they were in was part of a town-hall annex. Out of respect to their host they'd left rifles in their armored humvee but kept onto their side-arms. They'd traveled far from their strongholds to the west; beyond the Great Lakes and into the Rocky Mountain borderlands. One looked out with icy-eyes and regarded their their vehicle parked there. Tomorrow, all being well they'd be heading west again ready to deliver their report of either success of failure. Alexander Barber was not keen on traveling so far from home-territory but Elias Meander, the ambassador he accompanied insisted on him coming. With one member from each tribe of the four factions that made up the Northern League they could be considered an embassy of sorts. Meander’s brown-hair, hazel eyes and olive complexion were a beguiling combination. He was slightly built compared to Barber's lean-bulk. Formerly of military intelligence the man made for a clever advisor but it was diplomacy that was his excellence. Before the Collapse and his military service he had been overseas educated in Europe giving him a polish and elan unusual back home. Being a Lore Saint and part of Wynter’s retinue his badge of arms was a cross upon a twin eagle with a yellow background. The difference between he and Barber could not be more contrasting. One had the warrior, the other the envoy. Meander was more of a calculating shark than a remora though, with his own brand of ruthlessness. He, like Barber had served in the military but with scant combat experience. Fading light from a cloud-ridden day entered the room, but the square building had electric power and this mingled with it slightly. The north-eastern areas of New England were largely unscathed from the apocalyptic effects of the Blue Sun but urban areas were the worst affected. Away from the wreckage and chaos of New York City were areas that still held the line. The faction-leaders now entered through a door opposite. Some of the men present had been the lucky ones who got out of the cities before the Collapse set in. Now they were in the New Era it was like a pseudo-normalacy was present, albeit contrasted with places riddled with horror. “Welcome to Adams and thank you for coming all this way from Northern League lands.” A grey-hairded and bearded man said to them. Bromsfield was an elderly, grandfatherly-type. He had the aspect of an elder. One who reminded Barber of one of the founding fathers from the previous age. “I am Mayor Bromsfield of the New England Coalition. Jed Bromsfield. This is my councillor and advisor Jerome Stevens and the other Coalition Fathers.” The mayor said waving his arm at the others to his side. Like the Mayor they were dressed casually. In the shortcomings of a post-collapse world there was little need for being overly smart and presentable. After exchanging greetings they all sat down at the conference table. Jerome Stevens, a lean and polished-looking character and originally a city-type survivor. Yet Stevens reminded Meander of a lawyer; with tricky ways and dark shifty eyes that wouldn't hold your gaze. Meander instantly recognized this man would be a rival, the real one to watch out for. “I understand that you, Captain Elias Meander, represent your faction-leader?” The Mayor began. “I do not speak for my leader but represent his wishes. I only hope that this meeting can result in a prosperous trade for the good of all in the ISTAR and those like you who reach out to us.” Meander responded. Using the term ISTAR was risky, not all factions in the land respected it, some were still staunch unionists. The mayor looked slightly offput but smiled with a nod. “The Northern League offers a great bounty,” Meander began with a decisive tone. “High-quality, gasoline and diesel that is freshly refined and ready for delivery, plus the ancillary goods requested. In exchange for gold, silver and precious stones at an exchange rate to be determined.” “That's correct,” the mayor said. “Do you have the means to transport the metal?” “We'll bring spare transport so there's no burden, we can't easily load tankers with metals now.” Meander said explaining the logistics jokingly. He glanced down at the proposed manifest showing this and passed it across the table. “You have fuel storage for the tankers? I did not see a large gas station at this location,” Meander now asked. There was a worried and uncomfortable look collectively from them as this. “To this location?” the mayor said with a puzzled way about him. “Oh I'm afraid there's been some mistake. The New England Coalition is only brokering the trade-agreement. The actual main trader is based further south. Babylon Island to be exact.” Both visitors looked at one another uneasily. Their mission was just about to get complicated indeed. “Babylon Island?” Meander asked almost in disbelief. He’d never heard of it. “’Rhode Island’ in the language of the Old Era.” “Rhode Island?” Meander said thinking quickly. It wasn’t too far away but his intelligence files knew little of what went on there. “Is Rhode Island part of your Coalition? We understood the exchange to take place here.” Meander countered swiftly, trying to change the direction. “Not exactly, they are an independent faction but allied with us. There is no way our New England Coalition could meet such a trade in the merchandise you requested.” “You tell us this now and not beforehand?” “It's only a short distance away and we can guarantee your safety.” “Even so middlemen are not our way of doing business. Who is in charge of the trade if not you?” Meander said bluntly folding his arms as he did so. “A patrician called Khagen Mordecai or Saul Mordecai to his friends. He rules what used to be Newport; a small island of the Rhode Island state before the collapse. Nowadays it's just called Babylonia or Babylon, after the city there.” The mayor said amiably. “So what did you summon us here for then? This Mordecai could have made it known sooner.” Barber said somewhat impatiently. “We wanted to see if all that was said of the League was true and you weren't some raider rabble out to work your way in. Now we've had a look at you we can relay word to him all is well and that you are willing to do business?” The councilman said amiably. Meander gritted his teeth, this was not going to be straightforward, he'd not heard of the Mordecai faction. “We don't know anything of this Khagen, my leader sent us to do business with you, not him or his faction.” He said bitterly. He had a different feeling entirely of this Mordecai Faction. Rhode Island was close to the old New York territory and worringly close to the hostile factions they wanted no part of. “We can vouch for him.” Bromsfeld said wisely. “He is no raider or federalist. Mordecai's an independent. He and his family helped the island greatly during the Blue Sun collapse. His faction did much to stop the lawless groups from taking over. When you contacted us with your proposal of fuel for precious metals we naturally contacted him for the size. He contacted Stellfeld, a town you've done thriving business with. Ruben provided a good reference. That’s when we got back to you for this meeting and here you are.” “Jerome here has dealt with Saul he can tell you of the man.” The Mayor said, gesturing to his chubby advisor to take over the talks. “Jerome Stevens. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Bromsfield's advisor spoke and moved to shake his hand. Meander shook it. He had a grip not unlike that of a clammy fuel hose. “He's not about the bullshit.” The advisor Stevens said, smoothing his dark-brown hair. “The surrounding areas can't support the island forever, there has to be a reliable and long-term supply for the infrastructure. He wants his faction to florish as I'm sure you want yours to.” “What about nearby factions that are south-west of here?” Meander asked curiously. “One of the reasons we agreed to this trade take place in Adams was its distance from the less friendly-factions. Rhode Island is a lot further south than we're comfortable with.” The advisor showed them areas on the map. “The raider factions are nothing for you to worry about. Mordecai is officially neutral, some minor trade with a lawless city but nothing open or binding. You'll be ok bringing in your main supply convoy to Adams then down to Rhodes on the eastern approach. Further south-west beyond Saul’s territory are the raiders, maurading nomads and then beyond them is a federalist faction called the FCN or Federal Collective Network. Their cities and territory begin at Philadelphia down to Maryland.” “We've heard rumors of them. Will they be a problem? Is the FCN tied-in with Rhodes?” Meander looked up and stared hard into Stevens hazel eyes. He met them only briefly then looked back to the map. “Like I said Mordecai is no federalist. Since the fall of New York City a buffer-zone of raiderfolk has helped keep the FCN from spreading out east. So ironically a hostile faction keeps another out. They effectively shield the New England Coalition from the Collective. New York City and the lower state area is unsurprisingly raider territory, a no-go zone.” “Good. Now what can you tell me about this island he runs?” Meander asked plainly. “Saul provides for all, his faction is loosely called The Rhodians. Everyone is fed, clothed and sheltered but law and order is taken very seriously. Anyone who wants to leave can do so, but few choose to.” “Why is that?” “It's safer on the island or with us to the north and east. Between us in the coalition, the Raiderlands and FCN further along the coast people have found their own level for the most part.” “Tell me more about this island?” “There are three ways in, from the east, to the west and the north. Coming in from the east is safer, to the west brings you close to lawless territory and FCN patrols although it's usually ok. From the north means going in by Providence city. That place is a deathtrap for any convoy.” He showed them the areas on the map. “What else? Indentured servitude is common, weapons are outlawed, unless you're part of the guard force or a citizen that is but there's only a few of those. On the other hand pleasure, vice and entertainment are encouraged and freely allowed. The best way of describing it is like a liberal-conservative marriage with strings.” Stevens chuckled. “Can Mordecai he be trusted? What's his track-record like with others?” Meander asked, surprising Stevens who was taken aback somewhat. He hesitated for a moment. “Tell it like it is councilor, we'll be bringing a lot of juice and I don't want a faction-war,” Meander said pointing his finger. “If you're straight with him, you'll have security, trust and guarantee's. But if you cross him or his family he'll be your worst enemy. Babylon isn't a bad place where they rule from, but they have some 'creative' forms of capital punishment and entertainment,” the councillor frowned. Meander took it all in and thought deeply. After a few moments the mayor pf the town spoke. “Is this proposal agreeable Elias? If it is we can let Saul know.” “I need a Nex-link to contact home with. This change is something I have to keep them in-tune with.” “Be our guest.” Bromsfield gestured to an office off to one side. Both men went inside, on the computer was the log-on codes and Meander took to getting the machine up-and-running. It was an old computer-system, using a CRT monitor. The Blue Sun effects of years past had partially affected the monitor as it showed a retarded screen-judder every five seconds or so. The CPU and hard-drive were less affected though, but even these seemed to whine and screech more than was normal. The envoy navigated using the tracker-ball to click into the necessary junction-link. Next he pulled out a notepad showing the address-script, contact protocols and access cyphers. He effortlessly made the Nex-work look easy, since the collapse the new-internet was much more keyboard interactive, and less seamless than its predecessor. “What do you think Alex?” Meander asked during a brief pause. Although Meander was a sharply intelligent man not at home with the rank-and-file types he respected Barber's common-sense ways. “Well, the New England Coalition is one thing but this Mordecai is like we're entering unknown territory.” Barber said, his twin-color eyes taking on a far-off look. “Then again at least dealing with either means they're far from our homelands if a faction-war breaks out.” “That's what the Duke said and I agree with him. Keeping trade-factions at a distance so we don't get entangled is important. Also remember trade is trade, if the New England Coalition can't meet the trade-request, we're stuck.” Meander surmised. “I know and if we don't trade with either the Coalition or the Mordecai someone else will.” Barber surmised. “Precisely. Better us than a faction like the Collective or a warlord from one of the big cities.” Meander went on. “For now it's up to the Duke, he makes the final call.” Barber had been recommended by Oakley who was now based with a few of his Rangers at The Mount in Salt Lake City. He could see Oakley was not wrong in Barber being a good right-hand man. Meander completed the data-indices and port-alignments. They had a link established and now he waited for the other end to pick up. They did and with an open channel he tapped out a few more lines of the message, then hit the send key and despatched the message. They waited for over an hour then the message came back from Salt Lake City. It was plain but open to interpretation; just how Meander liked it. 'Go to Babylon, liase and report back again. We are waiting.' The response said in green machine lettering on a black background. The Nikolai Wynter’s purposeful, date-coded signature block of the Romanov dynasty made no doubt as to who was the originator. He looked over at Barber. “South it is Alex.” He turned to the two Kinslanders, they were just finishing off a ration pack. “Men we're going to Babylon!” They drove out at first light in their Humvee, councillor Stevens traveled with them as a guide and liason. Stevens liked to talk and droned on about things relevant to the area. “New York City, like many of the big cities, is a complete no-go area. Lawlessness, ruins and wreckage are all over the place with feral scavangers picking through the scraps.” Stevens rambled. Meander listened and Barber drove as the speaker spoke on. “We hear on the radio-net there are a few redoubt areas holding the line though. During the collapse and die-off a few thousand managed to flee upstate to country homes up by Erie and a few small towns. Let's see, just neighboring Rhode Island to the north is Providence. Things are kinda rough in that city; there’s an outlaw presence of survivors and enforcers who are semi-friendly to trade. But don't even think of bringing the juice in through there, they are still gang outlaws who will take you for all you're worth. The indentured folks come in through them too.” “As slaves you mean.” One of Barbers men grumbled brusquely. “No, as servants,” he corrected. “They do their five years of service to Rhodes then they are citizens with full rights.” “What are the defences like?” Meander asked. “Babylonia is surrounded by water. On the outside you've got the garrison sentry-force. They take care of all three bridges onto the island, plus roving sentry patrols about the coastline.” “What about the interior?” Barber asked. “That's Mordecai's heartland. Wherever Mordecai goes his Kaslar bodyguard force, The Sohan, go with him. Most of Babylonia though is policed by Enforcers. Then of course there's a paramilitary force called The Drakes, they take care of the outer ring and the Irish quarter. It's a good defensive set-up.” Stevens said cheerily. “I don't want to put them down before even getting there, but calling their town Babylon is a bit like overkill isn't it? That used to be an infamous megalopolis in Mesopotamia, not what used to be a Rhode Island town.” Meander said negatively, he was quite the scholar of history. “Babylon was a model city!” Stevens said sternly. “It was a place many other cities nearby aspired to, a place of learning, culture and pleasure.” “Is that what this place is like?” Meander asked with a touch of hidden sarcasm. “Mordecai believes that with the fall of New York Babylon can rise up as a trading hub for the area and eventually the entire east-coast! Eventually perhaps New York can be cleaned-up too. Albany is just a city-state isolated from the Coalition but Babylon has opened its doors. Look at what we're doing right now?” “He's got a point, this mission will make both our factions stronger.” Barber said plainly. “Plus I'm sure you'll be getting a cut for your efforts?” He looked at the councillor. “Well...” He shifted and rubbed his hands nervously. “We are getting a small handler's fee in precious metals and the like.” “Some things don't change.” Meander chuckled. Copyright - Tyler Danann |
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Posted: 3/18/2015 2:53:35 AM EDT
[#8]
Chapter 5
Base Rock At the central spine of the Appalachian Mountains down below in the bowels of the earth the darkness and shadow of the subterranean Underways loomed in all directions. One of these led to Base Rock Gammertron, garrisoned by the Saken it was their only base in North America but a large one. Only recently constructed and almost certainly a mystery to most other factions in the Underways. In the deepest depths of the base, at the Lord's Quarter the lamplight was dimmed. The shades of yellow and blue gave only the indication of what Reyborse faced. He knelt before the nine foot giant now called Lord Juberon. Unlike Lord Eezkaron who was one of the Forsaken Old Ones, said to have been part of the great wars in pre-history, Juberon was new blood. Reyborse had already completed his imprisonment but the punishment of a Schrowing ritual remained. In some ways he was fortunate. Thanks to his relatively high rank his punishment was to be a private, and not a public spectacle before the entire Base Rock. The braze-whip was passed up to Juberon by a Kaslar body-slave who kept his head down. Unlike Eezkaron's taste in females Juberon was more tuned to that of males. He uncoiled the wire-bladed lash with an experts ease. The first crack of the wire-blade whip slashed at Reyborse's ribs and spine drawing a shout from the Saken officer. “That is for the loss of my two Diresyn operatives Isier.” “I am your servant Lord.” Reyborse said in response, as the ritual manner dictated. A second sting from the whip caused him to gasp and the Saken Lord grumbled with pleasure. “That is for your failure to secure the mountain artifacts,” soothed the creature. Reyborse repeated the same words before Juberon gave him one final blow than sent the victim reeling. “And that is for running back like a coward, if you had remained perhaps the town of Tonswater would have been ours!” “I am your servant Lord.” he uttered the words only just finding the correct syllables. Juberon passed the bloody weapon to the slave and took up a heavier, more deadly weapon from the rack. “Your pain-duty would be many more and with this chain-mace but for the council reducing it. Now stand!” The punisher ordered with a shout. Reyborse stood with difficulty, the braze-whip was no feather-light bondage toy. It was meant for maiming and killing at a Schrowing-ritual such as this one. Had his superior wished it and used full force the very bones of his body would be broken, requiring even more mending. For the bringing of the 'marked' raiders from the surface and his prior service record the Gammertron Council had spared him a real horror show. The raiders would now join the Saken ranks proper, as mere Sindle foot soldiers or body slaves he could not tell. His upper garments were passed to him by a Diresyn to his left and his holstered weaponry from a Craiven Elite warrior to his right. “Now your report submitted to the council says that Soliter technology, a strong militia force and possibly even Soliters themselves fought you and your raider-force off?” “That is correct Lord. They had flying technology.” The Saken officer responded. There was a silence as the inhuman intelligence of the Saken collective minds worked and plotted. The Lords of Saken being a great part of such doings. For Reyborse he had no access only the Lords had such a privilege. “Then it was a mistake of Eezkaron's to have us strike deep into the western lands of this territory. Although he disagrees the consensus is that in the north eastern-seaboard areas we must invest our forces. Let the Soliters over-extend themselves, it will do them no good and benefit us in the long term.” Juberon opened up a large data-slate that lit up with the eastern portion of Pennsylvania and areas the west. He pointed and gestured with big digits at the various shaded parts of the map. “My correction to Eezkaron’s strategy has drawn a small detachment of our forces to the Lakeside city of Detroit. The last Diresyn operative will work to raise a local faction; he will hopefully succeed where you failed in Colorado.” Reyborse felt insulted by that last comment, it was hardly all his fault the alliance in Redmond. Yet he kept his tongue silent as his master spoke on. “If we can secure a foothold from here to the east and at least begin a faction-takeover of the Coalition then things will become a lot easier for in the long-term. Yet our expeditionary force is few in number, no thanks to your failure in Wyoming. Most of our Bioneer beasts are dead and the factions we must overcome are many.” Juberon concluded his appraisal of the situation with a dim look at the officer. Reyborse changed the subject. “How is the main-army in Eurasia faring my lord? Do we move on Europa?” “The UNAS have already subjugated local Eurasian forces with our helping hand. Soon we will move onward, either east or west. Something only the Overlord can decide. For now we build up our forces there, invest our position and await the great leap onwards.” “What can I do my Lord? I accept my failure only to strive further and harder for House Saken.” “Your former-Wolfhound raiders are almost complete. Retraining them wasn't easy, their brains had to be corrected with biomelding and tank-fusing was required in a few cases.” “Tank-fusing can be unpredictable lord, especially for those not of Saken blood. I thought we were forbidden...” “Nothing is forbidden while I am in command of this Base Rock!” Juberon boomed at Reyborse. “Of course my lord,” Reyborse said bowing and lowering his eyes. “Now, once your men are trained and ready you will be given your new orders and lead them to victory.” “I will not let you down lord.” ““You will indeed win this next struggle or die trying Isier!” the tall being boomed. “Do NOT fail us Reyborse. You might think I am harsh compared to Lord Eezkaron but there were those pressing the council to have you Schrowed-apart and enslaved. But for Eezkaron objecting and my own mercy you might well have been,” Juberon said, surprising the officer. It was hard to tell if a Saken Lord was human anymore. Perhaps they once were but those days were long ago and now they looked twisted and warped. Almost like a mutation. Reyborse did not dare to look too hard at him. The gloomy light of the cavern would have given little detail away anyway. “How is your new limb?” Juberon asked of the officer. “If it was me I'd of thrown you into the punishment-zone with the ruined one. But Eezkaron likes you though, and insisted you be given a fighting chance.” Reyborse flexed the cybernetic appendage. It was well-made and stronger than flesh and bone. Responsive to neural-linked commands it could break and maim quite easily. A luckless drone-servant had already been tested to destruction during his imprisonment in the punishment zone. He had been both lucky and assisted by comrades so his eighteen months of exile were no great hardship. If you knew people and had connections the Saken Underworld, even the punishment-zone was survivable. “It served its purpose lord, as it will when I bring those who stand against us to their knees.” Reyborse drifted his thoughts to revenge and punishment of others. “Your men will be ready in a week. Until then you are free to return to base duties.” The Isier felt relieved to be finally off the hook. He went up to the main Underway-level of the Base Rock and entered his quarters. They were not just his private quarters though, since his absence a pungent-smelling Pathfinder had taken up half the room. Turning on the terminal table he opened up a keylocker nearby and removed the precious memory shard. It was this Garcia retrieved for him just before they exited the plains of Tonswater. A data-camera along with a relay-recorder had been set-up by him in expectation of victory. He didn't expect to see any of those who had defeated him on his next mission but nonetheless he would certainly make sure they were entered onto his data-logs. By inserting the shard the data transfer initiated. The images were zoomed in and fuzzy, but by clearing them up he had about two dozen faces to plug into the machine-feeder. It trundled and whirred and a spectrum-match to House Soliter was found on two of the images after a minute of crunching. “Ahh, so there are the Soliters!” He logged them in. One was a Navigator and a name match of Oscilon came back with a list of crimes against the Saken. The other was too unknown, probably one of their witch-women out on a jolly. The rest were defenders and rangers from either the town or the sky-machine. He focused on the latter and logged these in as well as any others that were clear enough. Then he fixated on them, plotting horrible ways of torture and revenge upon them should the opportunity ever arise. Deep down he knew it was vanity work, unlikely to come to anything. The picture quality was above-average at best. He hardly expected to encounter any of them again, especially since Juberon had reassigned him far from Wyoming. Nevertheless he compiled a hunter-report marking them as targets of interest. Next, he dispatched it to Kandas who, as his friend and duty Isier, relayed it to all duty stations in Base Rock Gammertron. From there it would be given to all Craiven and onwards to the surface. There hopefully they or their informants would send word if they saw anything. Reyborse leaned back into the chair and thought on other things for a while. The war on Terra would be a long one and who could tell where they'd end up in future events. Copyright - Tyler Danann |
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Posted: 3/18/2015 12:19:16 PM EDT
[#9]
OK I'm back on track. ( Didn't realize that "Gault" character was anothers). Good up date.
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Posted: 3/27/2015 10:02:06 AM EDT
[#10]
Chapter 6
Babylon Rises With the summer heat starting to wash over Babylon Saul Mordecai felt the new-dawn almost invigorating. From the dark days of the Collapse he, his family and friends had emerged well given the circumstances. On the island they were the de-facto rulers from the cliff tops of the south-east to the main city-town of Babylon and north to the farmsteads and marina's. The grand house he and his family lived in was plush and well situated, crimson red carpet and white walls gave a majestic elegance to the place. The fine furnishings, like many of the buildings nearby were untouched by looters and lawlessness. They'd held the line and weathered the storm where many others had failed. Thanks to Garth's rough-tough militia, the mercenary Sohan troops and being quick to response to the Blue Sun the islanders had prevailed. They rose up to blockade the bridges and keep order in the streets, the line had not broken. There had been much killing though and terrible anguish as there were those that protested and clashed erupted. After two weeks of this the forces of law and order had done their work. The island population had plunged from over eight thousand to less than half. Some were killed in the clashes as a draconian confiscation of weapons, food and supplies saw in the needs for the greater good Without faltering he ordered a ruthless follow-up with a long-term plan of not only recovery but long-term success and survival. As a former businessman he had a knack for trends, and thus oversaw indirectly the new paradigm that was settling into fruition. Mordecai was not a very tall man but flourished a slender, short figure and a velvet charm as he went. While not possessing winning features or pretty-boy looks there was a certain appeal that radiated on those nearby when he engaged them. The Mordecai family lived in comparative comfort against the coastline in a trio of mansion-houses. Forward of them were his closest supporters dwellings, then around Babylon's main commerce shops, stores were the rest. Elsewhere the island folk lived without starving or lacking for water. His even eyes of a greenish blue looked out to the south-west. The city of Manhattan that was once a thriving metropolis was now a horror-show it was said. He and his family had friends there. Sometimes when the hour was late and sleep fitful he'd see them in dreams dying and slain by the darker races. Then he'd remember the several Proving-Zones set up for the crowd’s enjoyment and his own retaliation against their sins. Raiders, the criminals and the rest all would pay for their sins there. It wasn't enough to keep the crowds minds fully sated though. Prostitution, gambling and entertainment zones with working equipment completed the bread and circus necessities of Babylon. Rhode Island was not quite self-sufficient though. The population was stable but the farms required critical parts difficult to source, gasoline was scarce as always. Hopefully that would soon change. Mordecai did not see himself as a king or ruler of Rhodes, more that of an overseer or neo-prophet. He was but humbly carrying out the necessary duties to see Babylon into the new age without falling. That did not prevent him from being called Merchant King by many islanders or the old Kaslar term for Overlord – Khagen. A velvet glove encasing an iron-hand where necessary could well be said of him. Ideally he saw his small domain as a cloak of protection and warmth for those that needed sanctuary from the stormy ways elsewhere. From there the olive seed could flourish into a tree once more. “Khagen Mordecai,” a voice called respectfully. It was one of Drake's militia-messengers. He stood before the Sohan Bodyguard that flanked him. Armed with a longer-barreled rifle and a stern look he was younger than most. “Yes what is it soldier?” He said impatiently. “Stevens from the Coalition is on-route. He travels with a Northern League embassy. They should be here in about four hours or so.” “Good, notify the garrison at Sloakon Bridge to expect them,” he ordered, “There’s no need for an escort, Jerome knows the island,” The militiaman departed in haste. Now it was time, now he could begin expanding and getting things going again. It was one thing to tentatively exchange goods at the northern bridge with the feral city-lurkers from Providence but an entirely new one to meet with a faction like the Northern League. He looked to Eyal Savinwitz his Sohan Chief. “Eyal, have Alderman Rooney arrange nightly entertainment at the best pleasure houses as well as lodgings. A suitable welcome for our guests is called for. Have Sunrise House ready as a day venue. I don't know what this Northern League has for entertainment but Babylon must not let them down,” he said with a cunning grin. Savinwitz smiled with a red-blooded look. Like many on the island he enjoyed the passion of the fight. “Soft or hard for the games Khagen?” “Bring out The Gholus,” he said with a sly look. “It will be so,” Savinwitz chuckled, hard games it was. The southern route to the island was a world all of its own. The long stretches of trees and foliage on either side gave way to the occasional deserted building. Once they caught a glimpse of a Coalition hunter force making their way from a hunting area, but most folks of the Coalition were further to the east and north. The journey pressed on. “Take this right-hand turn-off.” Stevens instructed Barber who did so. Now they were heading west the two bridges onto Rhodes lay ahead of them. Their side of the road flowed into the older, right-hand bridge which was open. The newer left-hand bridge was closed off completely by a high wall of concrete barriers. A wall of concrete barricades closed off the twin lanes into a single one. The opposite side of the road was the same. After another hundred yards long lines of vehicles took over the duty. They were arrayed hood-to-trunk on both sides so there appeared to be a long traffic jam. After a few dozen or so there was a concrete replacement barrier then it went back to cars again. It was the same on the other side. “Slow down here Alex!” Steven's cautioned in sudden realization. “There are militia folks watching us from the other side. See there up in that pylon! If we go too fast they might get trigger-happy.” Barber cut the speed by half down to about twenty miles-per-hour. “All those useless cars,” Meander stated at the sight. “Are any still working on Rhodes?” “A few, but not many.” They passed by the first of them. “Those vehicles aren't just there for island clearance,” Barber said with a grim laugh. “What do you mean?” Meander said. “There are claymores facing in on both sides. Any attacker force would be cut to pieces.” “How did you know that?!” Stevens exclaimed. “The lack of any outer defense-force, but mostly the cut-out sections on the doors. There's probably a sniper team on the pylon doubling-up as observers. If I really wanted to go all-in I'd probably have the bridge-wired to blow for good measure.” Barber summed up coolly. “Your bodyguard is no dummy Elias,” Stevens said respectfully. “He's not just my bodyguard; Alex is a representative of the Oakley's Rangers faction. As are Ulrich and Troy part of the Kinslander Territory,” Meander answered with a cool respect. At the Sloakan bridge Drake's Militia or 'The Drakes' made up some of the garrison along with the Enforcer police. A checkpoint on the island-side of the bridge housed the force. The militia were semi-professional in their bearing with hunter-camouflage making up their attire. Even their arms tended to be mostly hunting rifles and a few semi-auto rifles. The latter were in the black-uniforms and armed with MP5 weaponry. One of them was an unpleasant overweight woman called Michelle Nezza. After speaking with Stevens in an unfriendly manner about the sudden nature of their arrival she gestured to a militia man who jerked aside the spike-chain and the way was clear for them. “Quite the enforcer bitch that one,” Meander said brusquely. “She's always like that, we had the authority but Michelle, or Misha as she likes to be called, despises outsiders. Normally she is at the other bridge but it seems the Sloaken Bridge has her for now.” “She looks like one of those man-hating feman types,” Rheinlan said bluntly. “Before the collapse I heard she was just a security-guard at Walmart. During the collapse she got lucky and staked a place with bridge security. Normally you have to pay a bribe to pass through, or get kept waiting for several hours.” “What about those Militia? They seem tiny for such a bridge area.” Meander said. Some are here, others are at the Harrow Bridge which leads to Providence. The main garrison at Newport has a few but it’s mostly Enforcers there. Drakes men run the milita but most of them are at the western bridge and out of the way.” “Providence? That's the main city of the state and Newport is the island capitol?” Meander quizzed. His geography of the area was not perfect. “Yes and no! Newport is Babylon now and the island capitol. Don't get caught using that term in front of the islanders. Anything of the old-ways can get back to the enforcers who get funny about that.” “Why is that then?” “It’s something to do with it being part of the Old Era which is dead and Babylon being the new and taking its place.” Meander looked to his bodyguards in disbelief who in-turn shook their head also. “Now Garth's Drakes, the militia, don't really get on with the town enforcers that much, but Mordecai likes to keep them from becoming too powerful, hence only a few are in the main city .” As they left the militia garrison the vehicle passed into Portsmouth. This part of Babylonia had at least kept its name. “This is the northern trading area of the island. It deals with servants, trade goods and so on from Providence.” He said. Sure enough they passed through the trading area with stalls, and barter-exchange communities. The most noticeable area was the market where servants were being jostled around. No doubt being assigned their proper place at the whims of their new masters. A small urban area was ahead next then they were traveling through the countryside. The small farm-plots dotted the landscape, although there was much self-sufficiency for the island, it could barely carry the island’s population. “Alex, keep on this road it'll take us all the way south then westwards into Babylon.” “You know a lot about this island Jerome, were you born here?” I worked on the island as a salesman for a time. When the Coalition got founded I was in the right place and time to forge-ties with Saul.” At the forked intersection where they turned left Barber's keen eye picked up on the Sohan warriors that were present, off-duty, not in green uniforms but armed as ever as they went about their business. Two of them; a couple judging by their closeness and familiarity moved close to the curb waiting to cross the road. The man was tall, as tall as Barber but with a light olive complexion, gangly-frame and thick dark curls. The girl at his side was short in comparison, with slightly wavy hair of medium length. She was certainly not unattractive, with a proud-looking face and glistening eyes. The female had a pocket-hourglass figure and desirable bust making her quite the pint-sized catch. Even the ultra-folkish Kinslanders gazed with curious awe at the exotic sight. Compared to the other townspeople the mercenary folk were armed. The men bore M4 Carbines while the women had shorter Tavor bullpups. They both looked back as one at the Humvee going past and their relaxed way shifted. They saw the outsiders within and their atmosphere hardened, almost as if a feeling of the disparate ways between resident and visitor were exchanged silently. “Kaslar mercenaries. Sohan infantry,” Barber said in a summary fashion as they went past. “Probably household troops for a wealthy townsman.” “Indeed! A company of them came over from the Levant before the Blue Sun hit. They make up the back-bone of Mordecai's Sohan bodyguard. Your man has a razor eye.” The vehicle travelled onwards, towards the agreed meeting place. Driving through the main town small signs of a post-apocalyptic world were clear to them in places. Worn buildings, some with broken windows looked like they had seen signs of looting and were abandoned. Yet nearby were others less damaged. Unlike in the west where self-sufficiency tended to be the norm here it was heavily communal. The people queued for water, waited for food hand-outs and were largely reliant on the welfare structure. Waspish Anglo's displaced from their homes months earlier mingled with the enduring Irish, salt-of-the-earth Hispanics and a few impassive Africans. All queued as one in Babylon. Poor traders had spread sections of carpet out and on these were a collection of bric-a-brac, trinkets, with a minutia of random factory products. There was no shortage of what was left to scavenge since the great junk ships had stopped sailing across the Pacific. “We've seen the soldier, now we see the serfs and peddlers, I guess next is the king?” Ulrich Rheinlan said with grim Germanic fatalism. “No-one is a prisoner here.” Stevens said, almost in a harsh manner. “Yes, yes I hear you already.” Rheinlan said raising his voice a touch. “But this place has imprisoned their mind; they know nothing else and are frightened to even leave I think.” “Brother, we aren't here to judge how these folks do things.” Barber said turning to him. Ulrich Rheinlan was a combative and proud man but he knew his place. The Kinslander duo although an ISTAR faction did not enjoy the favor Oakley's Rangers did. Mordecai's cliffside mansion loomed up after a few more minutes of driving. Unlike the more ordinary houses of Babylon the cliffside ones were for the upper-echelons of the islands power hierarchy. They were ringed by a wall of fencing, partly incorporated by the existing mansions and houses. At the road junction the fence terminated for sliding gate-barriers then continued. Sohan troopers were housed nearby; they did not live inside the fence but outside, something that struck Barber as curious. Showing them the pass one pointed out where Mordecai was expecting them. A vehicle in front and behind escorted them onwards. “Remember men, no attitude or flippant words,” Meander cautioned. “We're all guests here to finalize the trade-treaty not judges. I don't want to have to explain to The Duke that the trade-embassy was a failure. So let me as envoy do the talking.” They all nodded except Stevens who felt exempt from the ultimatum. “I think you'll need to leave your weapons here.” Stevens said warily. “I can't say Saul will like it if everyone's armed around him and his entire family. Several groans of dismay went out from the others. “Tell me you're joking, because this isn't funny if it is,” Rheinlan said bluntly. “The Coalition respects the constitution but here in Babylon Saul runs a tight ship.” Stevens reasoned. “You're asking us to be disarmed among an unknown faction.” Meander said shaking his head, but for all that he saw it from Mordecai's point of view, yet wasn't about to give way entirely. “It’s better I say it than they do,” Stevens said neutrally. “Men, leave your battle-rifles,” Meander declared. Ulrich swore and the other glared at Stevens. “Elias if we can't defend you we've failed in our oath of protection.” He said harshly. It was a good point and Barber nodded. The Kinslanders were absolutely loyal and a bulwark of strength, if somewhat narrow-minded. “I know that man but while we're here we have to dance to another faction's laws. Keep onto your side-arms. Have them unchambered but loaded.” “Aye, just as long as we're not jumping to his tune for too long Captain,” Brunswick said staring at Stevens. Stevens was about to protest but Meander spoke over him. “Jerome, an envoy must have some privileges and that includes an armed bodyguard. The diplomats of old had this and I'm not changing the habits of a lifetime or the constitution. I'm sure Saul will understand that. The rifles go but sidearms can stay.” Meander said harshly. “Fine, fine,” Steven’s conceded. “If Mordecai causes a fuss I’m not responsible though.” Barber said nothing, almost fatalistic to the exchanges. He turned left and drove the Humvee directly onto the mansion grounds. At the entrance doors to a courtyard they saw another pair of guards. Unlike the outer-fence guards they wore no body-armor or helmets. One of them was lighting up a cigarette and both regarded them casually. Then the driver swung it around and reverse-parked it so they faced the vast building. Other vehicles we present but only a few looked like they were old enough to be in working order. The others were gathering dust and they parked outside the courtyard entrance. “This is Sunrise House!” said Stevens with realization and surprise in his words. “Is that an issue?” Meander said bluntly. “No, it's nothing like that. Normally it’s only reserved for when the private-games are being held.” “What games are they?” Barber asked casually. “Trial by combat for raiders or criminals convicted of capital crimes. If they defeat Mordecai’s champion they are granted their freedom.” A welcoming party had formed up and was making their way toward the vehicle. “Gladiatorial games eh?” mused Meander. “I suppose it's one way of keeping the masses and big-wigs entertained.” “Come on let's meet Mordecai and his family.” Stevens said exiting the vehicle before any more questions could be posed to him. Before them were a dozen or so members of the Mordecai family. The patriarch stood in the center flanked by two Sohan soldiers and his family. Of the group Mordecai stood apart from the others. At first glance he looked to be the type of man who would have sold you insurance or possibly handled a law firm. He wore a light-blue suit that fitted his short and thin frame well. Hair that was once dark now showed heavy greying along with a combed over bald-patch. Clear eyes that glittered with intellect regarded the outlanders that approaching him. To the Ulrich the Khagen reminded him of a tortoise, albeit a friendly-looking one. Meander took in as much as he could of them without glaring or staring. Ignoring the soldiers he saw a patriarch-class of man and two young females. By their looks no doubt either his daughters or nieces. One of them, the shorter of the two, regarded them all with rich velvet eyes that reminded him of a seductive, catlike predator, accessing distant prey. With an angular face that tapered to a rounded jaw she exuded danger, sexuality and a sly-beauty. The other female was taller, more passive and with a fairer, aloof manner much like a cat. An advisor-type also walked with the family, he was taller, with a stern, uptight attitude and tried to speak to Mordecai who brushed him off with a raised arm. “Welcome to Babylon! Greetings! Greetings! Good to see you back Jerome,” Mordecai said. He warmly shook their hands then faced the Northern League people. “I am Khagen Saul Mordecai of Rhodes.” Said Mordecai loudly with power radiating from harsh tones. To Meander his accent was upstate New York, or at least what was formerly that area. “Captain Angelo Meander of the Northern League.” Meander retorted as boldly as the Khagen. Mordecai gestured to the females. “My daughters, Niomi and Natasha.” He said with a warm but calculating look at them. Barber and the Kinslanders could see the daughters were indeed easy on the eye. The former girl had the aspect of a lunar temptress, the latter that of a sunnier, spritely form. “And my advisor Solomon Rodham.” He said introducing a grey-bearded, stick of a man. Taller than Mordecai and with eyes that were glassy. A more discerning intelligence was common which perused all they fell upon. “Was your journey long? I hope there was no danger?” Old Rodham asked with a peering query. No upstate accent but a local one to Rhodes. “It was fine, no dangers.” “No dangers? How was this possible?” Rodham said starkly fingering his beard. “We traveled by road to the Great Lakes, then by boat to the eastern shores of Erie and then again by road to North Adams and onward to here.” Meander said summarizing their travels. “I see, yes, yes, that is wisdom.” He said with cerebral insight. “The way eastwards at Illinois is said to be plagued with bandit-factions, highwaymen, scavengers and suchlike.” “They keep to themselves mostly, only bothering those that pass them by, now the southern areas are the real danger-zone though.” Meander said. “We've also heard from the town of Stellfeld, of the fighting at Tonswater! Here at Babylon there too have been troubles from raiders. Mostly skirmishes from the north and to the west before but nothing in comparison.” The advisor said prying for details. “Yes Tonswater held the line too as I see you've done so here also. The surroundings of this island are a wonder.” Meander praised. “You have a natural refuge, choke-points of each of your bridges.” “Come, come let’s step inside we have much to do.” They all walked inside. Some of the Sohan bodyguard regarded the sidearms worn by the Northern League folk with caution. Their master made no sign or issue of it though. Instead more small-talk flowed back and forth from the leaders. “Before we talk business I'd like to show you some of the entertainment that Babylon enjoys.” Mordecai spoke enthusiastically. “Since the Blue Sun took apart my corporate empire I've had to resort to more ancient ways of entertainment. It is natural that the masses crave distraction from the horrors of beyond, now more so than ever before,” the merchant leader said leading the way with his entourage. “Raiders ravage about in lawless places, reports reach us that brutality from the Federal Collective is commonplace. Worried minds are terrible for prosperity. Yet justice-violence solves it all!” Mordecai said happily. The surroundings were indeed opulent. The floors were carpeted, the walls were of a fine cream-white and antiques of every description were placed along the walls. Above them hung paintings of the pre-fall times stretched along at regular intervals. Originally a gallery mansion there was a rectangular ground hall flanked by an upper-balcony or gallery walkway on either side. The lower hall had been modified to restrict access by only two entrances, both of metal. One was at the far end of the hall the other at the opposite end. All others were nailed shut with wooden planks and boards. Unlike the scarlet carpeting up the upper gallery area only bare floorboards were present below. They showed bloodstains and unmistakable dark patches of faded gore. “Bring in Gholus and the condemned!” Shouted Mordecai. The sound of his voice echoed about the vast chamber with fine acoustics. By the time it had faded both metallic doors were thrown open and the show got underway. Gholus the giant was not about to let down his master Mordecai. Wearing stained and dirty shorts and a vest he was a weirdly grotesque specimen. Bulging muscles pumped-up like balloons spoke of both intense gym-activity and chemical-abuse. The creature’s neck showed rod-like veins that seemed almost hydraulic in operation. Taking in great lungful’s of air his chest expanded like a set of slow-moving bellows. Gholus had a slanted head showing very little neck but plenty of jutting jaw and it had a daunting effect on many. Pig-like eyes and brows contrasted a flattish nose and swarthy skin-tones. There was a strange, primordial intelligence at work in the brain but little showed itself beyond the glassy-brown eyes. Barber felt a sense of instinctual wariness, like there was a predatory threat that lurked within and without. He was not afraid like many were of such types, for death was no fear for him, but somehow the ranger felt a great inner-evil that radiated outward from the gladiator nonetheless. The two raiders, both pale and wretched faced the man-giant in the mansion arena with fearful looks and glances. One looked up at the newcomers then resumed his sizing up of their opponent. Gholus wielded a piece of thick rebar doubled over to form a four-foot steel weapon. As if this was not enough, part of a suspension-spring had been melted, pounded and welded to the end giving it the aspect of a massive cudgel. Only the strongest of men alive could wield it and the man-mountain did so with ease. He was at least seven-foot tall and flexed massive arms and shoulders. A reinforced bracer of thick Kevlar armor ran down one beefy forearm and the dark tan of his skin almost matched an unruly mop of greasy hair. “Gholus is my master champion of the arena.” Mordecai explained quietly to them. “When the prisons were opened he fought his way out of Providence, and took sanctuary here. He serves my family and the island well. Gholus is of limited intelligence but unparalleled strength. If by some miracle those that are put against him are innocent, then the outcome will be their defeating of Gholus. If not then justice is served as always.” Mordecai declared. “You have this practice in Northern League territory?” Mordecai enquired curiously. “Execution for capital crimes or exile where necessary.” Meander said bluntly. “Duke Wynter does not spare killing when it is needed.” “This is good; I do not wish to do business with shy-hearts. The new-age demands blood-for-blood like these two raiders being just one example.” He spoke clapping Meander on the arm. “Now to the business at hand.” He said before turning to the arena below. “Let justice be served.” Mordecai screeched to the three fighters. “Now Fight!” Both opponents to the giant were not brave, cowardly scavenging of bushwhacked victims was their style. Yet they outnumbered the giant and the promise of freedom if they could only slay him lent bravery to their bones. Both held five-foot scaffold-tubes and after a brandish here and a thrust there, they ran wildly at Gholus, hoping to catch him by surprise. Built for the kill Gholus brutishly parried a blow from the first and pushed back, causing the raider to blunder back into the second attacker, spoiling his swing as he did so. The sound of metal on metal cut about the mini-arena like a shriek. Before it had faded Gholus scooped up one man like a rabbit and hurled him with one arm headlong into the concrete wall. His skull impacted the wall with a fracturing rattle as the vertebrae wrenched aside in equal violence. The surviving raider cowered back and the shabby giant roared again. Barber watched the fighting intently. 'Thrust. Don't swing—keep your movements fast to dodge his power.' Barber mentally coached. His eyes saw openings, chances and gambits that others did not. No thoughts of this entered the prey of Gholus though. The condemned made a swinging attack that telegraphed his intentions to the giant. Gholus met the blow with his bracer again and easily parrying it, as the blow shivered the material the giant lunged. Off-balance his victim could not prevent a shovel-like hand from seizing about his throat. Gholus’ victim had time for a squawk-like gurgle then sank to his knees before being held aloft by the giant one-handed. A humane adversary would have let the man pass out before delivering the coup-de-grace but Gholus was not such a man. He battered the raiders head again and again with the rebar-club while still holding him upright by the throat. By the second meaty-whack the gore told its own story but the bloodlust and predations from Gholus was insatiable. Again and again he repeated the blows. “He certainly makes sure of things!” Meander said lightly. Both to show he was not phased or intimidated by violence. The beast of a man dropped the corpse-like carcass and he bowed his head to his master above. Mordecai applauded the fight, as he always did. Normally private arena contests were reserved for private wagers between the upper-class of Rhodes but for this he was happy to show off his stable of fighters, both resident gladiator and raider-captive alike. Gholus was kept alone in Sunrise House normally, with the other dozen fighters were locked-down in the southern fringe of Babylon. With the show over Mordecai led the group to the main hallway. Here there was a broad carpeted stairway in crimson and a room with an open door. It was large enough for them all with a dozen chairs around a richly varnished table but the merchant ruler stopped short in the hallway. “Now to the business of trade.” He declared ushering them towards a side-room that served as a conference center. “Only you and I for this discussion. This is... heavy-talk not for the rank-and-file you understand.” He explained with a polite frown. “My bodyguard can be trust...” Meander began to say. “Please Elias, I insist. None of my Sohan will be present either.” He smoothly responded and spoke a few words in Kaslar to the Sohan who nodded and departed from the hallway to linger outside. Meander sighed and nodded to Barber. “Have the men wait outside, with the Sohan.” Both men went in. Stevens closed both double-doors after them before sitting down with Rodham next to the central stairway. “Wait at the Humvee, I'll stick around here.” He said to Rheinlan and Brunswick. As both men departed Barber sat with his back at a corner opposite to Rodham's lavish rounded table. He was listening to their conversation when one of the daughters of Mordecai came over to him. She was short yet buxom and her movements showed shades of athletic prowess. Her rounded, wide shoulders and a peach-like rump displayed a somewhat pocket-hourglass of a figure. Her attire was somewhat provocative; navy blue slacks down to ankle-boots in black that concealed the flesh but in a clinging fashion. A contrasting dark green mini-skirt of about nine or ten inches showed a more extrovert-side to her. The loose summer blouse of cotton had stripes of more black and green. Post-apocalyptic fashion tended to be wildly varied with functional practicality taking center stage. For her though she presented the image of a girl still living in pre-collapse times. As the daughter of the ruler she was off-limits to all but the most reckless and dare-devil of the denizens. During the Blue Sun she had been kept safe from the butchery and rapine that was rampant elsewhere. Even now with the somewhat recognized territories now forming her father was taking no chances. Yet 'what the eye did not see' was her watch-word and on she strutted her ways. “Miss Mordecai?” Barber said neutrally taking in her measure. She oozed a kind of confidence and her glinting green eyes were set on sandy-haired prey. A part of him felt like rising to greet her but he fought down the intention. “Niomi Miriam.” She answered using her both first and middle names. Her voice had a mellifluous honey-like quality. She extended her small hand palm-down to him. “Alexander.” He responded, not wishing to use his surname. She looked expectant and he spoke on. “Alexander Matthews.” He said adding his seldom spoken middle-name. As he spoke he shook her hand in a moderate fashion, not too gentle, not too harsh. There was a fleshy, magnetic warmth from her that was hard but somehow yielding to the touch. Niomi felt a tingle of energy flutter through her, his hand was coarse, thick and hardened. For a shameless moment she imagined it entwined and locked about her dark hair. “You're one of the first ones from the far-west we've seen here in Babylon. So what faction are you then?” She asked looking at him. 'Be careful with this one, she's prying us no doubt,' his inner voice warned faintly. “I'm with the League. But my faction is that of Oakley's Rangers.” She pulled a chair up to his facing him, then folded one leg and sat under it expertly. “I read of the fighting you and that town did against the raiders. Ruben Cohen sent us a message all about that.” “I never met the man, but heard he helped out Tonswater.” “You're a killer aren't you?” She said with a whisper so Rodham and Steven's could not hear. “When I have to be.” He answered coolly. “So what's it like to kill a man Alexander.” Niomi purred to him. “The nature of the world is to kill or be killed oftentimes.” The Ranger said it with an icy glint in his eyes. “Life is a struggle when the time of destiny is as at hand like it is now.” If she was expecting a nervous man to her questions she was mistaken. Barber was as ruthless as she could ever be. “A philosopher as well as a warrior.” She said impressed at his response. Barber changed tack. “Your accent, Upstate New York but from the Crimea originally?” Barber said throwing a question out there. “Very sharp. Albany-raised, but I was born on Manhattan Island and before that it was Odessa. Yet half my family have always had a presence on this island, going right back to the late seventeenth century.” Niomi nodded. “And you, you're from the Midwest and very German!” She shot back with an emphasis on the last word. “Yes, Germanic with a bit of Celt thrown in!” He said suddenly causing her to recoil in a startled way. “From Hawthorne, Nevada. I've not lived there since boyhood though. I get around,” he said with a wiry smile. She started laughing at herself showing the sudden fright. “Anywhere special?” She smiled now seductively. “European places, the Orient, Asia...” Barber gave her a piercing look that caused her to shiver. “Even around your kindred’s neck of the woods.” “Really? Anywhere I'd know?” Niomi said with a velvet nervousness to her voice followed by a flashy smile. “You might.” Barber said and let the conversion drift along. Barber had a kind of mixed-impression of her. There was an attitude of the elites, yet one that bordered on incorrigible arrogance instead of aloof haughtiness. It reminded him of the Waspish aristocracy, albeit with a Kaslar tinge. Most folks elsewhere had to make-do with what they had and bartered wearing rags while striving to keep hunger at bay. While some parts of the world had seen a leveling of the playing field, some remained as far apart as ever before. The clothing and finery reminded him of the city-standards of the Old Era. Yet for all that he sensed there was a strange and desperate yearning in her. There was a smoky-sweetness to her voice with a seductive tilt of the head as she coyly engaged him. Deep eyes that were timeless for one so young seemed to take on a magnetic aspect, pulling him in if he lingered his gaze on her for too long. Such females would be utterly persecuted, ravished and enslaved in parts of Terra. The 'Rabians made no secret of it, being especially now open warfare between them and Mordecai's kin was rampant in the desert lands of the Levant. Indeed even parts of the Northern League were less than favorable. The Kinslanders, while not slavers or raiders, certainly had strict race-laws forbidding non-Europeans. For Kaslar merchants their movements were restricted the moment they entered their borders. Like Oakley though, Barber was indifferent to them. They were to be considered by their own merits, both as a whole and individually. Now though the dynastic ways of Duke Wynter were spreading wings and Rhodes was rising to be an unexpectant link in the web of fate. Inside the conference room heavy talk was taking place. While Mordecai was agreeing in principle to the trade there was disagreement about the amounts. “Three convoy shipments is a lot of juice, more than enough to run your island and trade to others.” Meander said. “And several thousand tons of gold and silver is a lot of metal. “The Lore Saints, before the collapse, invested much of their wealth into gold reserves controlled by your folk. These were scheduled to be transported west back to our homelands, but for the Blue Sun. The master-merchant said nothing but nodded slowly and Meander continued. “We are well aware it's a big step, coming after the collapse to resume this issue.” “In that case let's work some numbers then.” Mordecai said optimistically. He enjoyed the numbers part of a negotiation. The Khagen pulled out a sheet of written calculations he'd prepared earlier and made multiple adjustments based on what Meander had said already. Meander sighed inwardly he was not an accountant or a merchant. Minutes passed and the League officer was performing mental gymnastics in order to keep up with the leader’s explanations and riddles. Copyright -Tyler Danann |
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Posted: 3/30/2015 5:33:12 PM EDT
[#11]
Great update Sharkman !
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Posted: 4/4/2015 6:17:21 PM EDT
[#12]
Quote HistoryQuoted:
Great update Sharkman ! This isn't Sharkman BLG, it's Tyler Danann. :) |
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Posted: 4/5/2015 9:47:41 PM EDT
[#13]
My apologies. I'm evidently trying to keep up with too many stories. Reading is a hobby of mine, W/R. Thanks for pointing this out.
BLG |
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Posted: 5/10/2015 6:27:40 AM EDT
[#14]
Interesting so far, keep it going please.
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Posted: 6/10/2015 7:44:14 AM EDT
[#15]
Quote HistoryQuoted:
Interesting so far, keep it going please. Thanks, I can't do much more as it's about to be published and will trigger the risk of policy rejection at my end. Just for buzz though, here's Chapter 7. Chapter 7
Tribes & Boundaries Outside the two groups, Northern League and Sohan troopers, mingled apart some ways from one another. It was like an interlude, while their masters did the meddling those lower in the chain waited as equals. The Kaslar soldiers had stacked their Tavor carbines at the doorway which the League men respected. They did not know Eyal Savinwitz, the Kaslar commander seemed a decent sort by his command and manner. Ten minutes had passed and Barber was still inside with the Merchant Lord’s daughter. It was just possible to make out Niomi’s hair and part of her face, being blocked as it was Barbers bigger frame. “What is that fucking goy doing Eyal?” Noam Boose asked in the Kaslar language. He glared at Barber, then the other Northern League men. He was a tall, swarthy and volatile man, known for his explosive verbal outbursts. “It’s reckless to talk to the Khagan’s daughter like that,” the man said brusquely and with an ugly look on his face. Savin said nothing but went forward and around discretely for a better view. He took a little look through the side window for about two seconds then returned to the group. “It’s just curious-talk Noam,” Savinwitz said but Boose almost made a move towards the door. Savin’s arm shot out and gripped the disgruntled soldier. “I said it’s JUST talk.” He looked hard at Boose and pointed with a finger ‘Don’t push it!’ The League men by now noticed the stir and all eyes were on the group. Things might have gone no further but then Shalad, a rival to Boose spoke up. “Just admit it Noam, you just want to have a taste of Niomi!” Shalad said teasingly causing a few chuckles from the others. Impulsive hearts gave way to vicious words as Boose lost it and shoved Shalad hard enough to go flying backwards several steps. The Leaguers moved back onto the grass to give the two fighters space as they began to brawl. Boose went forward. Eyal made a grab for him but missed, allowing him to charge into Shalad with clouting swings and kicks. “Let them fight Eyal,” one of the other Sohan, keen to see fighting said holding an arm against him. “It’ll show the outlanders we don’t mess around. Those two hate each other anyway.” Reluctantly the Sohan commander stopped his intention and let the fight go on. Shalad was not an aggressive Sohan fighter though and nor was he a Krav Maga specialist. Noam was both and sent several quick blows that Shalad barely countered. He followed up by rushing in to grapple. A bold leg sweep sent Shalad down on his back and Boose’s onslaught paid now off, but he was unremitting. Boose was taking out his frustrated ways amid a mist of red rage that was unending. He put the boot in again and again as Shalad struggled to protect his head. A booted blow with full-force knocked aside Shalad’s arm guarding his head and concussive forces now shocked him to the core. Another strike sent him nearly unconscious. Rheinlan knew when a fight was over and his wasn’t about to see a defenseless man be kicked to death or maimed. Not even with casual killing ever-present in the land did it seem right. Savinwitz shouted for Boose to stop and went forward to intervene, but Rheinlan was closer and already in place. With his own roar of power the big Kinslander got behind Boose and seized the man up in the air, similar to a reverse bear hug. Boose knew the escape, he leaned forward in the clinch and swept his elbow back and up behind him. It would have delivered a stunning blow to Ulrich’s skull but, by his own skill, Ulrich leaned aside and the elbow barely nudged him. Then he tossed the Kaslar away sideways into the grass like a man casts a hammer. He bounced and tumbled three times heavily. Boose tried to rise and but only took to his feet in a dazed and staggered state to face Ulrich. “Never brutalize your kinsman when he’s down! Never!” Ulrich boomed. He pointed his finger in a hard manner. “You fight, but you never shame someone like that.” He was like that of a grim and angry deity. His voice was intimidating to those nearby but Boose was still with some rage to take on the Germanic one. Savin stepped between both Rheinlan as one of the Sohan made a run for one of the stacked Tavor rifles by the door. Perhaps he wanted to arrest Ulrich? Brunswick had a hand on his M9 Berretta determined not to take that chance. Just as things were on the verge of calamity Rodham burst out through the door, saw what was happening with analytical speeds then kicked the rifles aside in a noisy clatter. “Stop all this! Cease your fighting!” he said harshly. The first Sohan soldier almost colliding with him and Rodham pushed him back to the groups of others. He gestured, pushed and harried in a reprimanding way as Savin explained and played things down. After a few minutes of talk things were mostly calm. “Wrestling and sparring?” Rodham said shaking his head at Eyal. It was apparent by now that at least the Khagen had not heard the commotion, being in a deeper part of the mansion it was harder for noise to travel there. Stevens of course had seen it, as had the abstract source of the trouble – both Barber and Niomi. Rodham raised his finger to his lips in message to Stevens, so he knew to keep things quiet. The latter nodded. “Wrestling and sparring you say Eyal?” “It got out of hand then the Leaguer stepped in as did I.” “Don’t bullshit me Eyal, I know that talk.” “Prophus, it’s better to have Boose and Shalad fight with their hands than with bullets.” Rodham nodded. “Yet it nearly was bullets though Eyal...” He turned to the Sohan soldier Johnas who recklessly had made a run for the rifles. “You were making a run for weaponry, to threaten our guests or who knows what I cannot tell. But I’m glad I stopped you in time or we’d all be in a darker place than what it is now.” The man tried to protest but Rodham would have none of it. “Enough of your noise! You and Boose are now relocated from the mansion quarter. A month of guard at the western bridge-zone should give you the peace and quiet to calm down.” Rodham commanded, solving the issue. “Prophus, that bridge area is run by Garth and his Drake militia! We’d be the only Kaslar there. You humiliate us!” Boose argued. “Good! Then you’ll know not to cause such dangers again. If Sohan cannot get along we might as well have the island descend into anarchy again!” Rodham glared. Boose gave an angry look at both Ulrich and Shalad. Then the reprimanded pair picked up their gear and carbines to depart on foot. Now Rodham turned to the League men. “No more of your wrestling moves either.” Rodham said with a touch of humor to Ulrich, causing the latter to nod with a chuckle. Shalad, now on his feet but supported by some men, gave hand of thanks to Ulrich then the silence set in again as they waited for the heavy-talk inside to conclude. Meander hammered out the briefing he’d been given by Duke Wynter. He told of the UNAS, the threat from the east but withheld about the Saken faction. Just in case somehow they were allied. Mordecai listened with genuine alarm at the rise of the UNAS but the transaction was deadlocked. “I want six shipments not three.” Mordecai bargained. “Six?” stated Meander in disbelief. “The agreement was for three at fifteen thousand gallons per convoy.” “The agreement has changed. I have to be strong if your faction is to be strong” His opposite said. “The Northern League already is strong. We’ll be miles apart and no danger from border disputes.” “Well Angelo, your position is fortunate given the geographic displacement of how things are. Here in the north-east we have many more deadly raiders, federalists and lawlessness to contend with. This prevents us from thriving. Militarily I don’t doubt your strength or word. Economically you are already substantial. Giving away my gold and silver at fire sale prices is not going to happen. The Coalition might have made fancy promises that gold and silver is now cheap for gasoline. I do not share that view.” Mordecai carried on. “So my offer: six tankers of gasoline and diesel. That’s a hundred and eight thousand gallons of fuel in overall total. Half of which I want in diesel. In exchange for the precious metals as follows…” Mordecai viewed his own notes. “Here we are, two thousand tons of silver with the second shipment, two thousand tons of gold with the fourth. The plates, materials and machinery once you deliver the sixth.” “That’s too much Mordecai. It’s a risk enough making three trips past Detroit but six?” “I can throw in citizenship on the island for every man making the journey. That’s quite generous given that most of the League has closed its borders.” He smiled with a little glint. Meander took that last part as a joke given the servitude common on the island but said nothing. “The logistics are too demanding. Our surplus stock won’t be ready for that magnitude unless we make a winter convoy run.” “There’s no hurry is there?” “There is given the UNAS dangers threatening Europa and no doubt your House Kaslar territories here and in Albany. Who knows what else that might happen.” “Oh come on Angelo! You said yourself it would take years for any threat from UNAS forces to manifest, if at all. The last I heard they were nothing more than a city state in Asia. They are oceans away and may not even bother with anyone else.” “We differ on our views Khagen but I still must counter.” “I’m listening,” he responded. “Gold for the first fuel shipment, then silver for the second, then currency plates and machinery on the third convoy shipment. Both tankers are thrown in for free at the conclusion of the third. Do with them as you will.” Meander countered. Mordecai made a look of bewildered surprise. “Angelo I cannot accept that, why do you disagree with reason. I’m a reasonable man and you try changing that.” “What is reason then? The Duke and much of the Lore Saint people invested millions upon millions in gold and other precious metals. That was held in-trust by your big businesses, banks and corporations before the fall. Reason dictates you cut us a good rate of exchange for this in due recompense.” “I can only go so far with that, your leader was dealing with Bersonitz, a man I know to either be dead or missing. Yes he was north of here and part of the Coalition, yes I knew of him. He did mention your Duke a few times but this was informally, it was out of my hands and nothing to do with me.” “We’re aware of that, but he was a blood-tie to you which means, in the Lore-Saint code there can be mediation if a transaction loss is incurred.” “That was in the Old Era, before the Blue Sun!” Mordecai said sharply. “If it was a Lore-Saint sat before me now he would mediate.” “Bersonitz ran conversion into worldwide gold markets before the fall. Very little of it was even held on the mainland. I don’t know the exact figures but the holdings ended up spread about several European capitals. A small supply here in the US that’s mingled with other gold-reserves. What I can do for you is get you the hard-stuff; gold and silver that meets your requirements, this is reason Angelo.” “No, I’ll explain what reason is,” Meander spoke on. “We have to haul the merchandise you and the Coalition needs over thousands of miles, across waterways with raider-towns and cities staring us down, not least raider-infested Detroit. It’s a slight risk for you but a much bigger one for the League. There’s a good chance of us having run blockades and fight our way through, especially where the waterway narrows to less than a couple of miles. Or we end up with no trade and everybody gets nothing.” Meander had fought his corner and polished the offer but could do no more. The island leader made a few sideway nods, grimaces and gestures before taking in some deep breaths. He looked hard at Meander. “On one condition I will accept the counter offer of three shipments and half the gasoline of my original offer.” “Name it,” Meander snapped. “I wish to meet your leader in person.” A stunned pause of several moments began to settle. “Khagen, my leader is a busy man, I am his representative....” “IF Duke Wynter cannot meet with me here then I cannot agree to your counter-terms.” Meander was out of cards to play and hesitated. The Khagan looked onto a video monitor that showed the reception hallway. “Does the Duke have any children?” he asked curiously. Meander looked puzzled at the sudden change of direction. “He, he does. A girl and boy,” the envoy replied cautiously. “They’re welcome to come too, if he doesn’t mind,” Mordecai gleamed folding his arms. There was to be no more negotiating now. The verbal jockeying along with the cut and thrust of trade-diplomacy could do no more. It was either agree or reject the whole thing and write off the expedition a failure. “As envoy, I agree to the terms but I must contact the Duke to ask if he will honor them.” “I understand. Take your time, there’s a Nex console next door,” he spoke freshly. Meander went out through an adjoining door into another room. Mordecai called for Rodham and when he entered he gave him the details of the finalized-trade. “We’re about to rival the Coalition old friend. You know the agreement, seventy percent for us and thirty for them.” “That’s a lot of gold and silver we’re trading Saul.” “Yes but there’s plenty more where that came from.” The Khagen grinned. He looked into the room and watched as Meander composed a message on the Nex Terminal. “What do you think of them?” Rodham asked carefully. “I’ve not made my mind up yet.” Mordecai said with a frown. “You?” “Well apart from a near-brawl and gunfight outside they seem disciplined and capable enough.” Rodham responded. Mordecai looked mortified at the near-brawl mention. “What brawling is this?” “It was just a tiff between two of the Sohan, the Leaguers nearly got involved. Nothing to worry about,” Rodham said with a faint smile. “I hope so; you know what happens to those who cross us!” the Khagen warned. “Our hand reaches far, but the Northern League know this and aren’t stupid to test us,” Rodham said calmly. Copyright Tyler Danann |
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Posted: 6/10/2015 7:45:35 AM EDT
[#16]
Here's the Video Trailer for the upcoming book! :)
I put a lot of detail into it, which should make the viewing reader appreciate things a bit. :) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AebFtanz_pU |
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Posted: 11/1/2015 8:50:50 PM EDT
[#17]
Monday 10th November AMAZON DISCOUNT - DISCOUNT - DISCOUNT!
Get Golden Odyssey for JUST $0.99!!! Offer will rise by 15th November to $2.99 then by 10th November will return to the lake at $4.99. Available on Kindle and Createspace. |
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