Black Legion: Gates of Cilicia (15 page)

The wall flickered to life as a number of presenters started to speak as if directly to them both. Neither was interested in what they had to say as the video streams told them the full story. An aerial view of the capital showed columns of protestors occupying the capital buildings, and a great number of fires were burning throughout the streets.

“How did this happen so quickly?” asked Xenophon.

“Listen, I don’t think you realise quite how hated the Thirty are. With the military protection of the Laconians gone, it’s like the victims of murder and rape now have access to the prisons. They want vengeance, and they aren’t going to stop, not for a while anyway.”

“I wasn’t one of them. I don’t understand.”

“You’ve said it enough yourself. This is now mob rule. Until democracy is fully restored, and order is brought to the streets, you can expect vigilante violence and hangings.”

Xenophon slumped back and watched out of the windows of the vehicle. They were moving at least ninety kilometres an hour, and scores of other vehicles were doing the same. The further they made it from the capital, the less of a military and security presence could be seen.

“This isn’t right. There should be city militia forces even out this far.”

“Xenophon, listen to me. With the Thirty gone, anybody with links to the old regime will be in hiding. Only a fool would stand at his post as the mob runs riot. This is going to get ugly before the end.”

“Before?” demanded Xenophon angrily. “My father has already seen the ugly end.”

Glaucon nodded in agreement.

They sat in silence and watched the live streams from across Attica as news of the departure of the Laconians spread. It started as a number of confused reports and quickly expanded into a vast story that engulfed the planet. Security forces melted away in a matter of less than an hour, and the two watched in amazement as every single major city was absorbed by public demonstration and celebration. It was the end of the oligarchy, and it couldn’t be long before the return of the vaunted democracy. After a journey that seemed to take a whole day, they arrived at the main terminal. They moved from the transit station as quickly as possible. They made it thirty metres before somebody in the crowd recognised the two of them.

“One of the Thirty! It’s the City Prefect!” shouted a woman. A man nearby reached out and grabbed at Glaucon. In one swift motion, he unhanded the man and threw him backwards.

“Keep off me,” snapped Glaucon.

“You, you’re helping him escape!” added the man as he staggered back. He looked to the crowd starting to gather near them.

“Traitors, both of them!” shouted a woman from the back.

Xenophon pushed past the people that were milling about near the entrance, dragging Glaucon behind him.

“Come on, we really don’t want to be here!”

They moved away and joined the masses of others who, for one reason or another, felt they needed to leave Attica, and fast. The crowds were increasing by the minute, and it was clear that at some point soon, the place would probably have to close, or at the very least restrict the numbers arriving.

“Is it me, or are there a lot of people who don’t want to stay?” Glaucon asked.

“We need to get to departures before it fills up!” said Xenophon.

They ran through the foyer but hit huge crowds for the local transport gates. It seemed most people wanted to escape to the moons or other planets in the system. The local vessels were by far the most common and also the cheapest. A ticket to one of the moons would cost the equivalent of one or two months’ salary. Any further, especially out of the system, could cost ten times more, and a price only the richest could afford. The place was overwhelmed.

“We can’t stay here. The mob will force this place to be shut down to stop anybody escaping. You need to get out of here,” said Glaucon.

“Me, what about you?”

Glaucon smiled, “Look, they want you, not me. I’m not the guy that colluded with the Thirty.”

“Colluded? I think you underestimate their capacity for anger.”

As if to emphasise the point, a group of four men moved in to block their way.

“What?” demanded Xenophon.

“The shortest of the group took a step closer and held up an identity card. We’re bounty hunters, authorised by the provisional authority to bring in former members of the occupation forces and their accomplices.”

“Like hell you are,” said Xenophon, who then tried to push away from them. One of the men grabbed his hand and tried to place a pair of handcuffs on him. Another stepped closer to Glaucon to do the same. Xenophon tried to struggle, but two more grabbed hold of him.

The first bounty hunter slipped the metal frame of the cuff around Xenophon’s wrist and continued speaking.

“We know who you both are. There’s a bounty out from the provisional authority already. Other members have already been taken into custody.”

“Yeah, buddy, it’s payback time,” said another.

Glaucon gave Xenophon a quick look, an almost pleading, questioning stare that only the two friends could ever have identified in such circumstances. They moved quickly into action. First Xenophon pushed the man backwards. As he stumbled, Glaucon flicked out his leg and smashed it behind his knee. The man fell flat on his back with a crash. The two then leapt on their attackers with a ferocity that was completely unexpected. They rained blow after blow on the men until they were on the ground or running. The fourth man fumbled with the baton on his belt, but it was all too late. In less than ten seconds, all four were unconscious and on the floor.

“We have to move. We’re attracting too much attention.”

“Where? This will take hours, and they’ll just come and drag us away.”

They moved from the scene of the fight and ran down the nearest flight of steps that took them to the older part of the terminal. There were less people there, but it was still crowded.

“Do you have any money?” asked Glaucon, panting from the exertion of the fight and from their running from the scene. They moved to the end of the corridor and took shelter near one of the many automated ticketing machines.

“One sec,” said Xenophon as he fumbled about in his pocket. For a second he thought it was missing, but then he found it.

He pulled out his wallet, a small and rather old-fashioned leather item now rarely used by citizens. All that was required these days was the ID card. It gave access to money, security systems and transport. Provided one carried the item, they could carry out all of their day-to-day tasks. Some people were being fitted with biometric chips in their bodies that were doing away with the cards altogether. Xenophon slid out the card and checked it was still in one piece after the scuffle. It was a small plastic device with a large holographic image of his face on it. He held it out and pressed his thumb onto a patch near the base of the card. It flashed three times, and then displayed a simple chart outlining his credit account.

“Yeah, how much did you have in mind?”

“A lot, come on, with me.”

Glaucon rushed off to the long haul shipping part of the terminal. It was a quieter area that was filled with a small group of men in suits, as well as workers for the mining stations and long distance freighters that travelled on yearlong expeditions. Glaucon moved past them all and towards the darkest part of the terminal. As they reached it, a guard stepped out and blocked their path.

“Sorry, this is for cryogenic long distance traffic only.”

“Yeah, that’s us.”

“Where are your papers?” he asked with suspicion.

Glaucon ran his eyes along the destination board along the rear of the desk. It showed a list of dozens of places. Only one was easy enough to read at a distance.

“We have urgent Alliance business on Tartarus,” explained Glaucon.

“Tartarus? We’ve only got one transport going there, and it leaves within the hour. I’m not showing any missing passengers.”

“You don’t understand. We’re survivors of the Attican government, and you must have seen the news. The city was hit by suicide bombers, and we have to reach the Alliance leadership that is in hiding before it is too late!”

The guard looked at them both. It was clear he didn’t buy their story at all, but he was also not sending them away. Xenophon pulled out his identity card and held it out.

“Look, you can see how many credits I have available. These funds are for our safe travel to Tartarus. Will you help us?”

The card and the projected credits now enthralled the guard. Xenophon watched with contempt as the man’s scruples faded before their eyes. He took the card from Xenophon, saying nothing, simply nodding to the desk behind him. They moved past him and to the desk where an automated booking system proceeded to arrange their trip.

“Tartarus, why?” asked Xenophon.

“It’s the only place I could read from there. Look, it’s either Tartarus, or you stay and take your chances here.”

Xenophon looked past the guard and to the crowds of people swarming about in the public departure area. He looked back to Glaucon.

“You do realise there is a reason they are all avoiding the long distance trip to Tartarus, don’t you?”

Glaucon laughed nervously.

“What, apart from the long journey, the price and the chance of being killed when you get there?”

Tartarus Trading Post, Neutral Space

Xenophon’s first impression of Tartarus was not favourable. In his mind, it would have been a cosmopolitan hive of traders and travellers from across the galaxy. The stories he had heard right from being a child was that it was filled with every possible colourful combination of strange and unusual. Tales of odd creatures, epic adventures and mysterious journeys often began at Tartarus. In reality, it was nothing of the sort, and Xenophon felt more than a little disappointed at what he found. The massive space station was little more than a hive of crime, drugs and as best as he could tell, prostitution. Bars and casinos filled the structure on every floor, and groups of armed men prowled the wide-open corridors. Tartarus was big, much bigger than anything he had been on before. Even the Plymouth Station was dwarfed by this metal behemoth.

What am I doing here?
He now felt completely out of his depth. Back on Attica he had been a reasonably wealthy young man with status, family connections and an official position. The more recent post of Prefect may have caused more problems than anything else, but it was nothing compared to his self-imposed exile on this artificial world.

This was a big mistake.

He stood in an open plaza that must have been large enough to land a star freighter inside. Trading stalls and dealers filled the area, and thick smoke ran from their stoves and pipes, making vision difficult. The busiest part by far was at the far end and the glowing red lights of the seedier part of the place. It was from that end that a dull throbbing thump of bass came from. Glaucon walked at his side. Any sign of the bruising and trauma he had sustained had now worn off from a mixture of rest and very high strength restorative drugs. He reached out and stopped Xenophon.

“What?”

Glaucon looked towards the less salubrious part of the plaza and leaned in closer to Xenophon.

“I’ve heard some pretty weird stuff about this place. Just remember, it’s independent. Alliance and League laws mean nothing out here.”

“I know, it’s not like we had much of a choice though, is it?

He was about to continue, but the slender forms of two automatons walked past them. These completely artificial beings were the pinnacle of engineering. Created to emulate human life, they were expensive, relatively unintelligent but completely loyal machines. On the outside, they looked like pale humans but slightly shorter and of a much thinner build.
 
Their somewhat ambiguous shape gave them a look that was neither male nor female. Xenophon gazed at the nearest one’s face as it moved away. The skin on the face was almost translucent with a pearl-like quality. He turned backed to Glaucon.

“Automatons. Have you ever seen one before?” he asked.

“There were quite a few on the Sarmatia pleasure ships, remember?”

Xenophon smiled, for a moment forgetting the perilous situation they now found themselves in. Pleasure ships, was something of an understatement. It was more a convoy of black-market merchants that trawled the shipping lanes between colonies. Unlike Glaucon, however, he had not opted to partake in the many opportunities the ships offered on their journey. He did recall the automaton dancers, possibly the most exotic and elegant dancers in the known galaxy. Xenophon shook his head, partially to try and remove the image of the dancers and also to convey that Glaucon has misunderstood him.