31. Aron
ARON
Cheers erupt when I enter the room we use as our HQ room, men crowding me and patting my back. A glass is shoved in my hand, its contents the colour of diluted piss to match its smell. Clearly, we’ve run out of whiskey, and we’re now back to the home-brewed dregs. Damn it.
Tossing my head back, I down the drink, letting it burn its way down my throat without tasting it.
My mind is still on the visit I paid Attila down in the cave.
On the hatred burning in the swollen slits of his eyes when I told him that I was keeping him in the cage until the fractures in his hands healed wrong.
That he would go to his exile mute and maimed.
Even when he couldn’t speak, I could hear his thoughts, clear as day.
All this for a bitch you were meant to destroy.
If he doesn’t get that brute force isn’t the only way to destroy someone, then that’s on him. I have a plan. I always have a plan. He should have known that.
I try my best to ignore the tremors in my fingers as I pick up a cigar from the offered box.
I bite into it and light it, ignoring all the good to have you back’s—some sincere, some less so.
Everybody knows to let me be for a bit, to let the alcohol do its thing, to let me take a few drags on my cigar, before getting down to business.
“So ... let’s talk about the offensive?” Alex suggests tentatively, but I brush him off.
“No. Boring. Tell me about Reprobates first. What have they done now?”
An uneasy chuckle ripples through the room. Oh, like that, is it?
“They’ve gone a bit ... mainstream.”
More uneasy chuckles. A mosquito buzzes near my ear, and I catch it and squish it between my fingers, wiping them off on my T-shirt.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Distanced themselves from the original group. Now they call themselves a society,” Alex replies with a wry smile.
“Compounds, vegetable growing, public relaxation sessions, black robes, you name it. Fuck knows what really goes on under the lid. They’re a hit, recruiting new members by dozens a day.
” He pauses, cracking his knuckles, and taking so long to spit out the next part that he’s testing the last bit of my patience.
“Now the interesting thing is, they have compounds both within the Rifterland and the Continuum.”
I straighten and take a long drag on my cigar, letting the smoke linger in my mouth until my eyes water.
“That is interesting.”
“In case you’re wondering how that happened—”
“I am wondering that.”
I raise my hand with the empty glass, and Otto—skinny, young, smells like he doesn’t like to shower much—heads for the bottle to refill it for me.
“Daria Volker. Ran away from home and joined them. As a member. Very publicly, offering a ton of interviews. Since so many of them aired, I’m assuming Daddy Volker first found out on a TV screen like the rest of us.”
I whistle, downing my fresh drink in one large gulp, grimacing.
“Is she still in the Rifterland?”
I already know the answer, but fuck me, that would have been one hell of a hostage opportunity if we’d managed to get our hands on her.
“Didn’t even stay a full day before Volker whisked her away to safety.” Alex shakes his head.
“He wasn’t pleased, I bet.”
The day I sold my soul, my ass was up in the air, I was crying into the stinky old mattress, and Volker wasn’t looking at my face when we had that conversation.
Riley’s words echo in my ears, and I squeeze the glass so hard it cracks in my grip. My fingers slip, the sharp edge digging into the skin between my thumb and index finger. Blood wells and drips to the ground.
“Don’t fucking worry about it,” I growl when about ten Retrogrades jerk forward to rush to my aid. “Alex, keep talking.”
“No, Volker wasn’t pleased,” Alex confirms. “But the damage was done, and he had to act like he approved for the cameras. Backing Daria, like it’s been his intention all along, to publicly endorse Reprobates and grant them permits in the Continuum.
Word is this caused a pretty bad falling out between Volker and the other two Consuls. ”
“It would have,” I muse out loud. “The whole point of the Consular Triad is that three persons are meant to share power and make decisions together. But Volker keeps turning it into a one-man show. I bet he’s on thin ice.
Fat lot of good that will do us.” I set the fractured glass on the table, next to our map with chess figurines.
“There’s no good way for Anton and Gregor to get rid of him without making themselves look weak.
Pitfalls of joint leadership. Speaking of leadership, who heads Reprobates these days? ”
A few men shift their weight and clear their throats.
“Lars Krane. Doubt that’s his real name. He’s mostly holed up at the Solstice Citadel up north. But he’s often seen in Everrise too these days, buzzing around Volker like a fly around a juicy pile of shit.”
Scattered recollections flash through my mind. Jet-black hair, a beak-like nose, a trimmed beard surrounding a smirking mouth. Cunning blue eyes. A scheming face. A face you can’t trust.
“We sure I didn’t kill that one too?” I ask, ransacking my memory of the Crosses.
“Pretty sure.”
“Pity. Didn’t he have a son who was a bit ...” I trail off.
“Eccentric? Yup. That’d be Rafael. A gigantic mute redhead. Get this, they say he’s a prophet.”
A sound rips from my lips, something between a gasp and a laugh.
“You’re shitting me?”
“Nope. Apparently, he goes into these trances and then starts speaking. The word is a lot of the shit he predicts actually happens.”
“Fucking hell.” I slap the back of my neck, killing another mosquito.
“Do you want to do anything about them?”
I consider this before asking, “Have they hurt anyone on the outside? Kids, innocent people ...?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“All their members joined voluntarily?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Then I don’t give a shit about them.” I wave my arm, dismissing the subject.
It’s not exactly true. Krane is the type to have an agenda, the sort of person to be fuelled by nothing but ruthless ambition.
My bet is that he was a cutthroat executive—if not a politician—who somehow ended up on the wrong side of this mess and will do just about anything to regain influence.
He could be a formidable enemy or a powerful ally, depending on which way the wind blows.
But right now, he’s annoying the shit out of Volker—and for that, if no other reason, I’ll gladly let him live.
“Has Tristan been in touch? Or Phoenix?”
“Radio silence.” He shakes his head before reminding me cautiously, like he’s expecting me to bite his head off, “Should we discuss the offensive, then?”
I get it. We’re like cornered fucking dogs here, our asses pressed to the wall, just barking and lashing out to postpone the inevitable. I tend to lose it anytime someone dares remind me of that.
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, count to ten, all that crap.
Only then do I reply, “Yes. Here’s what I’m thinking.
Now they’re heading towards Revnik via the Magistrala because it’s the base closest to here.
But if we took Revnik out ... then they’d have to go to Fort Bayer. Via the Abyss Gorge route.”
The whole room lets out a tense breath.
“Narrow, funnel-like road that we can line with what dynamite we have left on one side and ambush them from above on the other. Unless they’re smart enough to call the air force in on their first attempt, it’s our best bet to hold them off.”
An uneasy silence settles over us like a net. Hold them off. Always just that. Draining their resources little by little, knowing it will make no difference in the long run.
“Take Revnik out how?” Alex asks.
“Poison their water supply. They get their water from an uncontaminated reservoir about a mile away. A concrete structure, not big, more of a basin really. I overheard them talking about a filtration issue while I was there, and that gave me the idea. The base is relatively small, the reservoir even smaller, barely enough to service them as is. Put the quality of the water into question, and they’ll send the incoming units elsewhere. ”
Sadly, their treatment unit will likely flag the issue before they drink any of it. But they won’t send new units to an already overcrowded base with a compromised water supply. And that’s good enough for now.
“With what? We don’t have any poisons or bacteria.”
“No.” I shake my head slowly, grimly. “But we do have scavengers and a shit ton of radioactive debris.”