Book 2: Chapter 65: Rebellion

Book 2: Chapter 65: Rebellion

“Are you sure?” asked Carmen, looking around Easton. It had been months since the last time she had visited, and in that time, the city had once again transformed. It was difficult to believe that only a few years before, it had been nothing more than a sleepy suburb. Now, it was a walled city that had to house at least a hundred thousand people. Probably a lot more. “Because if you’re wrong...”

Colt nodded. “Sure as I can be,” he responded, his hand on the hilt of his katana. The duster he always wore had been pushed back to allow for easy access to the sword. Underneath, he wore a set of chainmail Carmen had made herself. It wasn’t her best work – she still wasn’t great with the delicate process of making that type of armor – but, as a low Simple-Grade item, it was head and shoulders above average. “Didn’t have a ton of information to go on.”

It would have been easy to take that statement as a reprimand for her actions regarding Verin, and in fact, she’d admonished herself enough as it was. Colt knew that better than most, and Carmen was well aware that he didn’t mean the statement as anything but informative.

Not that Carmen regretted her actions, per se. Verin had deserved to die. So did Roman. However, the timing could have been better. As it happened, her rash reaction to learning what had really happened in that tower had robbed her of the opportunity to learn more about the so-called rebels. So, after interrogating Verin’s squad – and to no avail – she’d been forced to send Colt to search things out. Fortunately, he had a background as a bounty hunter, which he was quick to point out was not as exciting as it sounded, so he was a natural choice as an investigator.

Still, she’d spent the following weeks on pins and needles as he’d gone back to Easton to investigate. When he’d returned with the identities of the rebels, Carmen had been relieved. However, when he’d revealed that he’d already set up a meeting, she couldn’t help but be a little suspicious.

That had followed her all the way back to Easton and to the tavern door in front of her. It was located in what had once been the least developed part of the city, and in a lot of ways, it still was. But as much as she had grown to hate Roman, she couldn’t deny that his policies were effective. Exclusionary and oppressive, but effective nonetheless. Because as far as she had seen, the city was incredibly clean, the people looked well-fed, and most of all, they were safe.

Of course, there were guards on every street corner, each one wearing blue and white uniforms and sporting decent levels, and someone had decided to get the propaganda machine going. Even in the small portion of the city Carmen had seen, she’d passed four statues in various stages of construction. Each one depicted Roman in some sort of heroic pose. More than that, she’d seen a host of banners and flags that reminded her of Soviet era propaganda.

And finally, she’d noticed more than one poorly disguised member of a secret police. If she’d seen that many, then she could extrapolate that there were far more scattered throughout the population. Easton had become a fascist police state in every way that mattered, but with that had come safety, which was likely the only reason anyone tolerated it.

At least at first. But after years, the pervasive propaganda had assuredly done its work. Carmen hesitated to call the population brainwashed, but they had certainly been manipulated. Even without that, though, the world was such a dangerous place that giving up freedom in favor of security was a valid option.

So long as you weren’t one of the undesirables.

There were plenty of those, too. People who’d only done the bare minimum. The ones who’d chosen a less-than-optimal class or archetype. The untalented. The lazy. The apathetic. The disabled. The list went on and on. For anyone who didn’t fit Roman’s narrow definition of usefulness, Easton was hell.

But at least they were protected from the monsters on the other side of the walls.

That was the first problem. The second was that anyone who was strong enough to be useful was well-treated and, as a result, had few reasons to buck Roman’s authority. Sure, there were likely a few people here and there who would object based on empathy, but from everything she’d ever seen of human nature, Carmen knew those would be the exception, rather than the rule.

That meant that any potential rebellion would already start from well behind, making its viability that much less likely. Carmen knew these things, and yet, she didn’t care. Roman needed to die. She was committed to that endeavor to such a degree that she was willing to ignore everything else if it gave her a chance to see it through.

“I wish I was wearing my armor,” she muttered. Indeed, it wasn’t uncommon for people to walk around Easton wearing armor or carrying weapons, but it did tend to get the attention of the guards. As she was trying to avoid such notice, Carmen had left her armor and hammer back in Silverado. She sighed. “You first. I’ll follow.”

Colt nodded, then opened the door. A cacophony of noise swept out of the building and overwhelmed Carmen. The tall Samurai stepped inside, and Carmen followed. Fortunately, the tavern, which was called the Flailing Fortune, was busy enough that two new entrants weren’t enough to garner any undue attention. The pair went straight to the bar, where they ordered a pair of drinks. Then, once the bartender served them, Colt said, “I’m lookin’ for somethin’ special.”

“Brothel’s down the street.”

“Not what I was talkin’ about. I hear there’s a special meeting downstairs. Real special, you hear? Be mighty obliged if you’d let ‘em know that Carmen Rodriguez is here, and she wants in.”

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Or like a little girl playacting as a dangerous fighter.

Perhaps he felt like a little boy playing cowboys, but she doubted it. Colt was a lot of things, but unconfident was definitely not one of them.

Either way, she followed him to the door, where they both descended a set of stairs that terminated in another door. Carmen could hear muffled conversation on the other side, but she couldn’t make out any actual words.

Colt led the way, pushing through the door. But the second he stepped through, he whipped his katana out and to the side. “Easy there, fella,” he said, circling so that Carmen could get through. Just then, someone moved across the doorway, but Carmen had expected it. So, she barreled into him – or her, she supposed – slamming them against the wall. Her hand found their throat.

“Like my friend said, easy. We’re not here to fight,” she said, finally taking in the attacker. He was average height, but with heavy shoulders. Out of the corner of her eye, Carmen saw that Colt had his blade against another, much taller would-be attacker’s throat. Behind her were three other people. Presumably, they were who she’d come to see. So, she said, “Now, I’m going to let this guy go. If he tries to attack again, we’re not holding back. Got it? We’re just here to talk.”

“Very well,” came a strong voice.

Carmen stepped back, releasing the attacker. He fell to the ground, gasping for air. Already, his neck had begun to purple. Meanwhile, Colt stepped away from his target as well, sheathing his sword so quickly that Carmen had trouble tracking the movement.

Trusting that he would watch her back, she turned to face the three people. There was one man and two women, though she didn’t recognize any of them.

“Are you here to kill us as you did Verin?” asked one of the women. She had close-cut gray hair and wore decidedly shabby clothing.

“Do I have a reason to want you dead?” she asked. Apparently word of Carmen’s clash with the healer had somehow gotten back to the city. Hopefully, it had yet to reach Roman’s ears.

“Perhaps,” the older woman stated, leaning forward. There was a table separating them from Carmen, but with her Strength, that wouldn’t be much of a barrier. The room was lit by a series of candles on the table, casting the entire area in deep, flickering shadows. “You are one of his lackeys, are you not? One of the founders of this city, in fact.”

“I am. A founder I mean. Makes it all the more difficult to see what it’s become,” Carmen stated evenly. “I’ll just come out and say what I’m here to say. I’m not one to dance around the facts. So, here it is. I know you’re planning some sort of rebellion or resistance. I want in. If you know who I am, then you know what I can offer.”

“Why?” asked the lone male across the table. He was tall, with an acerbic appearance. More, he was missing an arm, suggesting some tragic story that Carmen didn’t care about.

“Do I need a reason other than the obvious?”

“Yes,” said the woman. “The city isn’t much different than when you were assigned to the mining colony. Worse, perhaps, but not much. What changed, to set you on this path? And why did you kill Verin, if not to punish her for fomenting rebellion?”

“Because she helped kill the woman I loved,” Carmen answered simply. “Roman, too. And a guy named Trace. I don’t care all that much about your rebellion, if I’m honest. Sure, it’s sad, and it all sucks. But I can’t deny that Roman has given people safety when there wasn’t much of that available. I disagreed with some of his policies, and I argued against them when I was on the council. I was overruled, so I left it behind.”

She leaned forward, her hands on the table. The two fighters tensed behind her. “All I care about is killing Roman. And that little weasel Trace, too. You give me that, and I’ll make sure you have the best equipped rebellion in the world. So long as I get a chance to stand over him as he’s bleeding out on the ground, I’ll give you the means to accomplish your goals. That’s what I offer, and that’s what I want in return. So, are we on the same page?”

The woman glanced at her companions, then back at Carmen. As she did, she said, “I think we can work with that.”