Ties that Bind 5: Patch
06 Nov 2017Tarm Wallunga
5th November, 3303Deciat 6A – Farseer, Inc.
The facilities at Farseer, Inc., were almost lavishly luxurious compared to the cramped confines of Wayfarer’s bunk, so much so that I’m willing to overlook the fact that I’m still breathing canned air. Its different canned air, and so far as I’m concerned, it could be the freshest, purest air straight from Earth at this point. But at the same time, I can only lay in bed for so long. I’m home and I’ve much to do – too much on my mind – to sit idle.
The bar isn’t much to look at it, but it does offer a view of the canyon upon the crest of which the base rests, so it’s got that going for it, if nothing else. Checking in with the doorman, I realize that I was expected. Instantly the little hairs on the back of my neck spike; I haven’t been very secretive about coming here, but I still am not expecting anyone to be out here. And after that incident near the Core, it’s probably fair to say that I am neck deep in some paranoia right about now. Not so much to prevent me from getting a drink, mind you, but definitely enough to be sure I’m up on all my toes at the present. I tip the doorman a few hundred credits – I’ve got plenty in the bank already from the exploration data I’ve already sold to Farseer, and the ship’s computer says I still got plenty left yet to sell, so a few hundred in a tip isn’t shit to me right now – and he points me to a medium sized round table near the back wall. I see a few huddled figures sitting around it, but no one I recognize. Not from the doorway, that is.
I try to be casual on my approach to the table, trying to be the usual confident, nigh cocky bastard that I am, but truth is, I’m a more than just a touch apprehensive. I brush the edge of my coat to one side and rest the palm of my gun hand on the grip of the Sigmund 580 on my right thigh, mentally kicking myself for not strapping both on. As I draw closer I see one figure nod to another, and then a tall, lanky looking man stands up to his full height of just over 2 meters and come out from between the table and the back wall. His arms raise and I can’t help but notice immediately that they’re empty, open, even. What the hell?
“Tarm goddamn Wallunga!” the man exclaims with what must be the widest and stupidest looking grin I might have ever seen. “Christ it’s been too long, eh?” he says as he crosses the last few meters and wraps his skinny arms around me. The voice is what seals the deal – I remember now that its Johnny Hermes, my supposed inside contact that had, until only very, very recently gone completely dark on me.
Three blind mice lost their way, and were never seen again.
I return his embrace, but not nearly as jovially as he offers his. He finally let’s go of me and motions for me to sit at the table with them. I take the seat that was empty – one that intentionally was set with its back to the wall so I could see everything in the bar. Before I can fully sit down there’s a beer in my hand and a smoke lit and passed to me. It wasn’t tobacco, either, I notice by the time I inhale the first pull. What is this shit? Why are they sucking up to me so much, and who the hell are they??
I sit there and sip my beer and puff the O while I wait for someone to start spilling it – and finally Johnny opens up with a round of introductions. “This here is Luther Reid,” he begins by pointing at one man of medium build and thick but short dark hair. He has beady eyes that seem to never stop moving, always looking for some boogey man to pop out of the shadows. “He’s the one that managed to get the names and whereabouts of those blind mice of ours, not to mention a few other things that we needed to take care of the…. Rodent infestation.”
Luther sticks out a hand with short stubby fingers for a shake, and I just offer a set of knuckles to bump. Johnny moves on to the other man at the table. “And this is Sigurd McCaulley. Don’t mind that funky necklace of his – he worships that Digimanus.” Johnny makes some sort of dismissive gesture with the same hand he just used to point to the man. “Some sort of techno-digital god, or some horseshit like that, anyway.”
I offer the same knuckle-bump to the religious man. Personally, I don’t have time for any of that nonsense, and it never seems to work, anyway, but I won’t begrudge someone for being more religious than me – as long as they keep that shit to themselves.
“And lastly is the Shield Maiden,” Johnny says, pointing to the waifish looking little lady seated next to him. “Britta Zielinski. Don’t let her size fool you,” he smirks, “as she’s easily four times as mean as her looks and twice that in accuracy with just about any gun you can put in her hands.”
Judging by her size, she’ll have to be able to handle that gun, I bet. I shift my smirk to a smile and nod to her. Despite her rather petite size she’s not bad looking. She smiles back, and suddenly I can’t tell if it’s because of the O, the long time alone, or her simply being an attractive woman, but I suddenly feel very un-gentleman like. I take a long pull on the beer to try to hide any betrayal my facial expression may offer, and then turn to Johnny.
“So, what is this, then?” I ask him. He smiles in return and waits, probably for fucking dramatic effect, I’m sure – he was well known for all that kind of thing when we were in the service together.
“We want in,” he says plainly.
“In what?” I counter.
Johnny face shifts a bit, scantly and briefly, but I see it. “Those rats – that was us, you know. We did that for a very good reason.”
What is this, hero worship or something? I nod, not knowing what else to do or say at this point. “Okay,” I start after another drink and another solid puff of the O. I then pass it on to Luther before continuing. “So what is it you think I’m about to do that you want in on?”
Johnny snorts. I can tell he’s starting to get agitated, but I really don’t know what he’s expecting of me, here. He takes a deep breath before giving up the ghost on his answer. “I think you and I should talk a bit more extensively, in private, when you’re ready. But, here’s the short version – I know, and we all know,” he says, waving his arms to indicate his three friends with him, “that you’re about to do something ….drastic. I also know you know it was your father that did some pretty horrible shit, and you’re gonna rectify some of that. Truth is, you’re not the only target of some of his horribility, either, and we want in on whatever you’re about to do. We can give you whatever support you need, and when you’re done, we wanna come with you.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Is this guy seriously offering to throw in with me on taking down Wallunga Tower? I don’t know what say to that. Never in a million years would I have expected anyone to understand anything I’ve been feeling for the last several months, let alone actually side with me on it. But I’m wary; however good this sounds, and for whatever its worth, I’m not about to get burned. No. I have to be careful. I have to be smart.
I lean back in my chair and kill the first beer. Before I can set the empty down, just like some damn magic or something, another one appears next to it. Greedily my fingers wrap around it. I kill the neck on that bottle quickly, then set the bottle back down and relax into my chair. The O comes back my way and I don’t waste time with it, dragging deep before knocking the ash off and passing it along again. “Alright,” I finally say. “Sounds good to me. Only,” I lean forward and look Johnny dead in his stupid brown eyes - I too can play dramatics, and this is not my first rodeo either, “what's the cost to me for all this …stuff you can do?”
Johnny smirked, locking his gaze with mine and not backing down a damn bit. He moves suddenly and before I realize it, my hand is undoing the safety clasp on the holster to draw my pistol out. It’s only then that I realize he was only reaching into his jacket – stupid brown leather duster that reached all the way to his ankles – to pull something out and toss it onto the table. I look at it as I relax that fight or flight reflex: it’s a patch, the kind that would take up the whole of someone’s back if sewn onto their jacket. Two rockers – Galactic Gunslingers on the top piece and Pegasi Sector on the bottom. Some old school gunslinger type figure in the middle. Some other shit I don’t recognize.
“What is this?”
“We need a fifth member to make this real,” Johnny said. “You join us, we help you. We all watch the towers come crumbling down.”
I’m a little confused, to be honest. But whatever. And I can’t tell you if it's the O again, leading me down this path and decision, or if it’s just because I know I’m gonna need help to do the things I wanna do.
I take a few minutes – an eternity or an instant, I can’t tell with the beer and O and no food in the belly – to think it over, and then I close my fingers around the patch. “Fuck it. I’m in. I wanna see shit burn.”