CHAPTER FOUR
Cornelius slowly became aware of pressure on his midsection. He wriggled until the pressure subsided, and was about to close his eyes and drift back to sleep when he noticed the air of tension around him. Luther was standing stock still, glancing around him warily, and all means of escape were blocked by a large group of aphids and caterpillars that surrounded them. The battle-scarred gang hemming Cornelius and Luther in was nothing special, a standard street gang, armed with a variety of nasty looking weapons and dressed in army surplus, hastily and crudely adapted to bear passing resemblance to the uniform of the Banderas rebels. Banderas were a group of aphid freedom fighters who had taken over the city of Longmere and were seen as a great threat, especially in cities like Miller's Rest. Cornelius on the whole agreed with the stance of the Banderas, who had risen from virtual slavery to running the Longmere economic and social politics with more sense than Caterpillars ever had. Cornelius also knew that the Banderas and their followers specialised in swift, silent and forceful take-overs, and had almost equal quantities of fear and respect for them. At this precise moment, however, fear had a distinct advantage.
Luther was as scared as Cornelius, this was all he needed! Not only was the plan shot to ribbons, but there was a good chance that he could get killed here. Luther had spent some time in the Longmere area, and knew how real Banderas acted very well. This gang he was facing now was almost definitely not Banderas, the gangs Banderas dispatched assimilated towns or villages to their cause by the will of the population, not the use of terror tactics. More likely, this was a group of copycats, a normal street gang using the image of Banderas to give themselves street credibility. Whilst Banderas were on the whole opposed to killing, and tried to make what revolutions or battles they had as bloodless as possible, this gang would have no qualms whatsoever about killing Luther and Cornelius. Luther tried to think as quickly as panic would let him, how could he get the two of them away safely....? Then it hit him. For a moment he couldn't believe how stupid he had been. He didn't have to get Cornelius and himself away from this gang, as they would most likely do his dirty work for him if he could only get himself away. This was the tricky issue, how would you get away from a gang without revealing to your friend that you're leaving him behind?
As the gang closed in on Cornelius and Luther, one of the aphids began to walk ahead of the rest. This aphid seemed to be little different from many other aphids of his kind, except for the fact that he held a T/S 1500 Tazer4 rifle with considerable confidence, and probable expertise. From the way the other aphids acted towards him, he was obviously the leader of this gang. This observation seemed confirmed by his stance, although he was physically small, this aphid held himself like an emperor, relaxed and commanding. He cleared his throat and spoke to the two caterpillars,
"Greetings, citizens," he saluted the pair in a jolly voice, but one which had a hardness behind it, as if to confirm that the speaker could become nasty without too much effort, "I am Lieutenant Gali of the Aphid Liberation Army, popularly known as Banderas, I am looking for your contributions to the furthering of the aphid cause."
"If you think you can threaten us into giving you money....", Cornelius shouted, sobriety having hit him like a Juggernaut hitting a rabbit.
Lieutenant Gali raised one arm,
"I assure you, dear sir, all donations you may choose to present us with will be totally voluntary."
"Well-" began Cornelius
"And your tragic demise should you make the totally free choice not to give us any money, that will be totally voluntary as well." continued Gali, not put off by the interruption.
Cornelius seemed lost in thought for a second, then he walked slowly over to Gali, and reached into his back pocket.
"Well" he mused, "If you put it like that..."
As Gali carefully watched the arm going to the pocket, he didn't notice the other arm snaking behind him and pole-axing him with such force that it nearly cracked the protective chitin shell under his flak jacket. As Gali reeled from the sudden blow, Cornelius's left leg swept beneath Gali's feet, knocking him over. Cornelius's right hand, shot out of his back pocket, into the holster at Gali's side and withdrew, clutching a dull grey sock-shaped piece of metal-cloth with five short extensions at the end. Cornelius slipped this over his right fist and pushed a stud on the palm. Instantly electricity from hidden batteries blazed through the glove, causing a discharge of light. The glove glowed like the Holy Grail. From his days in the Miller's Rest Justice Department, and a certain amount of less formal training, elsewhere, Luther recognised this as a Power Glove, a tool normally used by construction workers for the movement or destruction of debris, but also a formidable street-fighting weapon, the electric charge running through it was capable of knocking a man unconscious after half a second, and killing him after five5. Cornelius turned to his shorter companion and yelled, "Go! Get out of here while you still can!", before turning back to the advancing aphids, knowing in his heart that he could take out any of them.
Luther retreated into the shadows, this was excellent! Not only was Cornelius signing his own death warrant by attacking this gang single handed, but there was no way that Luther or the Society could be connected to it. The gang would have reacted like this to any passers by, and Cornelius would have reacted like this to any attempt at street crime. Best of all, Cornelius had just told him to get out of the area, and to save himself, therefore he could not be accused of abandoning his rash young friend. Things, thought Luther, could not really go wrong from here. All the same, he had not counted upon Cornelius being able to make use of the Power Glove that the Lieutenant carried, the only people who normally used such devices were the adepts of Tadeka, the martial art which used the powerful tools as weapons. Unfortunately, Cornelius was a novice of this particular martial art. Luther decided to hang around and make sure things went his way. Even a Power Glove was no defence against a well aimed shot of morphine in the small of the back.
Even those he was fighting would have to admit that Cornelius was making a good show of it. Instead of merely wading in and beating up his enemies, he was blocking, ducking, selling dummies to the attacking aphids, which they were more than willing to react to. In a very real sense, Cornelius was showing the Aphids up, seeming to taunt them, that this supposedly crack fighting group were being panelled by a drunk who had been wandering the streets before they had seen him. Cornelius was well aware that this would make the attacking Aphids even more angry, but also knew that when they were angry they had little thought for defence. Even in the hands of a novice like Cornelius, a Power Glove was a weapon it was almost impossible to defend against. The Glove would shoot down, stunning the aphid he was fighting, but then quickly swing backwards, deflecting the fighter who was leaping at his back. The grace and ease of movement which possessed Cornelius as he swung from victim to victim put Luther in mind of a ballet dancer, although very few ballet dancers deliberately hospitalised their audience6. As Cornelius moved on to the last few members of the gang, Luther realised that it was time for action, he had to down Cornelius now, or there would be no other opportunity.
Luther raised the tranquilliser pistol, which was loaded with a dose of morphine which would put an entire office block under for a month, and aimed at the tiny sliver of exposed flesh between Cornelius's neck chitin and his chitinous chestplate. It was this type of accuracy that had led to his being hired by the Society, this was sneaky and slightly unpleasant work, which was handled best by sneaky and slightly unpleasant people like himself. True, he hadn't counted on the target being this close to home, but you couldn't have your cake and eat it. In a very real sense, Luther thought of himself as saving caterpillar-kind by his actions. His finger pulled the trigger and the Hypo-dart shot out of the gun. The Hypo dart was a clever choice of weapon, as the darts were a similar type to the syringes used by the city's addicts, and morphine was one of the most used drugs in the city, coming second only to such household favourites as Happy-gas and alcohol.
The needle struck home into the chink in Cornelius's natural armour and discharged the near lethal dose of the drug. Cornelius felt the stabbing sensation in his neck and pulled the offending object out. He wasn't quite sure what it was. It appeared to be some sort of syringe, but his eyes wouldn't focus on it, in fact his eyes were stubbornly refusing to focus on anything, Cornelius chuckled involuntarily, bad eyes. Cornelius's head suddenly felt like it was spinning, his hands felt numb. A gentle thus sounded as the power glove slipped off his hand and deactivated as it hit the floor. The needle dropped from his limp fingers and clattered against the pavement.
Seconds later, so did Cornelius.
Gali's vision slowly began to return. He had had such a strange dream. In his sleep, his gang had cornered two caterpillars, and demanded a "Contribution" from them, but one of the caterpillars refused, and beat the living tar out of the gang with Gali's own Power Glove, which he had acquired when the gang had "Liberated" a demolition company. Gali began wondering how much Happy-gas he'd taken, and then looked around him at the shattered remains of his gang. He leapt to his feet in cold fury and saw the retreating form of Luther heading towards the town. Too groggy from the blows to the back and head to follow, Gali instead concentrated his fury on his prone enemy.
"Think you can take my Glove and beat up my gang do you?" he snarled, his cool eloquence now a thing of ancient history.
"Wha?" mumbled Cornelius, the morphine rendering him only barely conscious.
"Let's see how you like it, you big bastard!" yelled Gali, straight into Cornelius's stoned face, slipping the glove over his right fist and turning the "Power" dial up to full.
Gali's fist shot out and gripped Cornelius's face. Cornelius jerked and convulsed like a fish on a line. Gali held the glove on his face, discharging the deadly, high voltage electricity for five seconds........ ten seconds........ A full fifteen seconds passed before Gali dropped Cornelius's body into the gutter.
Rodriguez, Gali's second in command tapped him on the shoulder and informed him that someone had called the police. Sirens could be heard in the distance.
"Let's get out of here, boss!" Rodriguez urged, his voice rising over the sirens
"Stupid boy! Leave the body out here? The police will link it to a gang like us in no time." retorted Gali, his voice having re-gained its original composure and majestic timbre after losing the regal edge in its anger, "If the real Banderas are suspected of having murdered a prominent citizen in Miller's Rest, they aren't going to look to kindly on people like us, who rob in their uniforms."
Gali grabbed Cornelius's singed body and dragged him towards a storm drain.
"Besides" he continued, the brutality sneaking back into his tones, "I want to be sure this bastard's really dead."
Gali pulled the cover off the storm drain, with the help of Rodriguez, and thrust Cornelius into the dark oubliette. A rainstorm on higher ground than Miller's Rest had meant that the water table had risen to a level where Cornelius's broken form could be thrust in, but held where it was, beneath the water. Gali pushed the body into the water, and held Cornelius's head beneath the cold, dark liquid for a full two minutes after the last bubbles had escaped from the broken lips before releasing his grip, and watching the still, dead weight of Cornelius float away, drawn by the currents until it was out of sight.
"There," Gali announced, in satisfied tones, standing up and drying his hands on the seat of his combat trousers, "That settled him"
Gali turned to leave, but then saw something on the floor, glinting in the morning light.
"What the hell?" he muttered as he reached down and picked up the syringe. Gali examined it for a few seconds before reaching to his side, pulling off his empty water canteen and gently depositing the syringe inside it.
Gali and the remnants of his gang ran off, back to the cloaking darkness of the Ghettos.
Remiel's legs trudged onwards, through the slowly filling streets, apparently of their own free will, no signal to the contrary having been received for at least half an hour. Remiel's body, moving on Autopilot, managed to get him to about two streets away before Remiel's mind was raised from the bath of alcohol it was pickling in to face a problem. Remiel's brows knitted in confusion as he realised that something was not quite right in the situation he was facing, he went through all his senses trying to find the problem, "Let's see," he thought,
"Hearing: Nothing special, the usual early morning noises, that is not many, maybe a little bit of crackle on the edge of hearing, but nothing to worry about.
"Taste: Nothing out of the ordinary, but that thirty-fourth drink is beginning to make its presence felt, and at some point in the night something must have died in my mouth.
"Touch: Naah, nothing wrong with cobblestones or walls, they're a bit warm, but it's rather warm today.
"Sight: Everything seems pretty normal, bit of smoke from over the hill, the Chlorophyll plants, probably, or one of these new foundries.
"Smell...", and at this point, a slight smell in the air, notable mainly by its subtlety permeated Remiel's nostrils, forming an image in Remiel's mind of an event several years before the current storyline.
Copyright 1999 Ian Rennie, for Remiel Productions.