Ricohh continued with his meal, managing a snort at his brother's teasing. Food dominated his thinking while Mikkaill's thoughts moved to ones of the outside. Ricohh poured more champagne for both of them.
"If I come out of hiding down here, we're gonna be hard put not to cross paths more, Ricohh," He said, speaking past a mouthful of vegetables.
"Yeah, that's why I'll take some of the men to Perdoxx. That's across the ocean." He gave Mikkaill a reckless grin. "We'll play in the Church's sandbox a while."
"Awful close to Sidd, doncha think?" The brothers had taken to calling the leader of the Church of the Nuclear Messiah by his first name. The honorifics Sidd Neverr sported were too much of a mouthful and neither felt inclined to honor the man.
"They've been getting real cheeky here in Sabattann," Ricohh answered. "Think it's time to return the favor, don't you?"
"You know I do," came Mik's reply.
"More than that. That was a Crusader we captured -- dinky tank, but why waste a tank on guerillas?" Ricohh ate while he talked, using his chunk of bread to catch the cold drippings left by the canned bird.
"You know what else I think, too, one tank won't win a war," Mikkaill said. "Maybe get our hands on one or two more, then go to Perdoxx."
It was an old argument between the two. Ricohh invariably wanted to do things quickly, on the spur, off the cuff. Mikkaill preferred to wait, collect and gather, then strike with as much force as they could muster.
"We've always relied on being quick," Ric said. He took another swallow of champagne. How many cupfuls had he had? Two, three? He couldn't remember, but his blood was warm.
"You don't think he'll get brave enough to attack the hospital," Mikkaill conjectured. He too had been partaking heavily of the bottled bubbly. Ricohh continued to keep their mugs full.
"E-7's there. No way to attack without risking the machine. Infiltrate, maybe. The place doesn't have the best security."
"Or the sanest workers," Mik said. "Sidd could probably work his way in all to easily."
Ricohh shrugged. "I dunno much about the folks inside the place, except they're good with a needle." He leaned forward. "I have been sending heavier patrols into that sector."
"I'm surprised he hasn't done it yet," Mikkaill said. "E-7's valuable, useful. Won't heavier patrols make Sidd suspicious?"
Ricohh gave his brother a grim smile and refilled his mug yet again. "Only if he can see them."
That was truth of it. The CotNM tanks routinely patrolled the city and routinely came up with nothing but lone survivors, doing just that -- surviving. An actual fire-fight with Freemen was rare and deadly for the Churchmen, at least in New Rydynn. The Freemen had become adept at being rats -- ubiquitous yet unseen. And the Rangers were the sneakiest of all Freemen. Special Ops was good and there were other small special groups that did their part, but the Rangers could do anything, anytime, anywhere.
Ricohh stretched his arms wide and twisted. Several vertebrae popped and cracked against the sound of his brother's voice.
"The hospital heals even his people," Mikkaill said, sounding vaguely disgusted. He finished his portion of the bird, soaking up the juices with a mop of bread crust. He and his brother remained unaware of their mimicking. Ricohh leaned back against the foot locker, feeling stuffed and lethargic.
"They're neutral, Mik. Only way they can survive is treating everybody." Ricohh let loose a long breath. "Maybe that's why they are left alone. I mean, just think of what those folks could do if they were breached."
"Yeah, but for how long?" Mik pointed vaguely into the dark. "I gotta cot for ya, if you want to stay."
The offer made Ricohh stop his musings. He peered suspiciously into the dark while his brother gave him an odd look.
"Breached...They're still doing research, aren't they? The double meanings drifted through his words, reflective of thoughts and memories half brought on by gluttony, he was sure. Ricohh stirred uncomfortably. His own memories triggered by the dark, the underground.
"Yeah, they don't stop, Mik. They don't stop." Ricohh guzzled champagne straight from the bottle.
"We'll stop them," Mikkaill said, his smile crooked from the alcohol. "That's why we're here. And once their gone..."
Ricohh looked up. He had never thought that far ahead. "Yeah?"
"We'll open another bottle," Mikkaill said. His eyes were distant as he imagined the day.
Ricohh laughed. He sounded like the child he once was. "We'll have to find one."
"I bet Sidd has some..." Mikkaill had always imagined the Church as a hoarder, a thief. "We'll take it out from under his nose and toast the future while he burns."
"Freakin' church freaks. It's all their thoughts." The champagne was talking, using Ricohh's lips, his voice. It set his blood on fire. He fueled it with another gulp.
"Once the propaganda stops...the people will see...they'll know we're right. We'll fix things -- make it better -- maybe have kids. Gotta make sure Sidd never fires another shot. We gotta eliminate the competition for what's good in this world, Ric." Mikkaill eased back till he lay flat on his back. Ricohh hugged the bottle to his chest, nodding to his brother's words.
"Women are good," Ric said, nodding. In his fuddled brain a vision of a -- woman reared up and captivated him.
His brother laughed, a soft and sudden sound. "Repopulation via elimination ... Mmm ... Women are great." Ricohh literally shared his mental vision with his brother. Mikkaill frowned only slightly, adjusting her slightly. Ricohh had to agree with modifications and smiled with glee.
Mikkaill laughed again. "You know, trouble is, we find her, who gets her?"
"We share!" Ric beamed, thinking it the brightest plan he'd ever dreamed up. He flopped over onto the floor and crawled over to Mikkaill.
"Share?" Mikkaill thought about that as Ricohh spoke.
"Cut your hair, she'd never know."
"No good," Mikkaill said, smiling wickedly. "She'd still miss me when she was with you. I have more experience."
"Experience, my ass." Ricohh glared and grumbled and collapsed beside him.
"I am older," Mikkaill said imperiously.
"And I live above ground," Ricohh answered. "Well, sorta."
Mikkaill began to snicker, causing Ricohh to give him a wary glance. "You're around women all the time. H'come we don't already have a girlfriend?" Mik threw in the "we," liking the sharing idea, especially if Ricohh did all the footwork.
"They're always saluting me," Ricohh complained.
Mik propped himself on an elbow and poked his brother lightly in the chest. "You're supposed to 'salute' them." He snickered more, enjoying the blush rising on his brother's cheeks. Ricohh fell back as if the poke were a hard push.
"Dammit, Mikkaill. I can't talk to them. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Hey Sergeant, want to go out with the Commander tonight?"
"Regs against that," Mikkaill said. Ricohh groaned quietly and turned onto his back. A bad move since it allowed him to see the shadows above him. He could feel the chambers weight atop him. His stomach twisted into a knot and he feared if he moved, he'd lose his dinner.
"All right, what about..." Mikkaill stopped, feeling vaguely queasy himself. "Yer not gonna heave are ya?" He knew if his brother did, he'd wind up losing his own dinner and, dammit, it was too good.
"Not if I stay still," Ricohh answered weakly. The room spun around. He could feel it even with his eyes closed.
"Okay, don't move." Ricohh almost groaned again at that pertinent piece of advice. Mikkaill rolled onto his belly, then propped himself up on his knees. The act of getting to his feet had become a production of epic proportion. Once on his feet he swayed. He had enough control to shield his brother from the vertigo as he lurched to the cot.
Mikkaill returned with pillows and blankets and with a drunks gentleness spread the blanket over his brother before tumbling onto his knees. He was thankful no one knew the two were down in the DeepDark or how vulnerable they were.
"What about the med-techs at the hospital," Mikkaill suggested.
Ricohh curled into a ball against his brother, muttering "No, can't do that...don't go away." Mikkaill wanted to ask why he couldn't, but he was interrupted by a sudden sob from his brother.
"They killed her, didn't they," Ricohh slurred, in a drunken depression. "Macy...they killed her."
Mikkaill wrapped a protective arm around his brother, whispering his answer. "Yeah, they did. But we won't let 'em do it again."
Ricohh cried. He sobbed like he'd never, ever do sober or with anyone except Mikkaill. It was his brother's arm that kept the ceiling from falling in. And Mikkaill knew now why neither could go to the hospital staff to look for female companionship. The thought of Macy and what had been done to her brought that fact home. He whispered soft encouragements to Ricohh, yet his eyes remained oddly dry as the man who was himself in so many ways cried for the both of them.
