Founder’s Mercy

CH01

 

The steam whistle finally blew out its shrill screech, marking the end of another long, boring laundry shift. That annoying sound couldn’t have come soon enough for Adan. He’d just finished folding and stacking the last of the thin, starched bed sheets into the rolling hamper. His back hurt so much that his already heavy canvas apron felt like it was made of lead. And the foul-smelling fumes from the cleaning fluids had given him a pounding headache. For the past hour, he’d hungered to be back outside, drinking in the cool, damp air. More often than not, that last hour was always the toughest part of his shift.

Adan reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Then he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window of a nearby washer. He frowned. His shaggy, black hair was matted down to his skull with sweat. His normally warm, olive-brown skin looked ashy and dull. The whites of his dark brown eyes were more red than pale. And he was definitely still too skinny, even after a season of hauling around heavy bundles of linen.

“Get that cart over to the docks, Testa!”

Startled, Adan turned to see Ulla, his shift foreperson, looming over him like a storm cloud. He sighed and grabbed the edges of the hamper. “Right away, boss.”

Ulla growled. “Don’t ‘right away’ me, Testa. Just do it.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Thankfully, Ulla didn’t stick around to see his order carried out. Adan had never worked for someone as unpleasant as him before. Nothing seemed to bring his foreperson any joy, not even the end of the shift. If anything, that seemed to make Ulla even crankier. But Adan was stuck with him. He couldn’t even go to the Labor Bureau and request a different work assignment. He was only sixteen and unqualified for anything beyond manual labor. Working the laundry plant was the best he would get compared to his few other options.

So Adan hustled the heavy cart along as fast as he could safely manage, cutting a path through the other workers as they left their own hampers behind. Only one or two had to angrily jump out of the way to keep from being rolled over. As Adan shoved his cart into the nearest open space, he heard the unmistakable sound of his best friend

Bo calling out behind him.

“Incoming!”

Adan looked back to see Bo charging along behind his runaway cart with an almost feral grin. Even after a long day in the laundry, Bo somehow still managed to look good. His chunky black hair had a spring to it that refused to let it lay down no matter how much he sweated. His golden-brown skin never looked pale or dull. His deep brown eyes always sparkled. Add in the fact that Bo was taller and more muscular than Adan, and it was clear which of them was the pretty one. He shook his head and stepped back as Bo, carefully judging the basket’s angle of approach, piloted his hamper into the space next to Adan’s.

Adan heard the raspy growl of someone clearing their throat behind him. He turned to see Jurda, another first shift worker, spit a generous glob of mucus onto the floor. “Another hard day’s work for the good of the Union, eh, Testa?” Jurda asked before lifting his heavy, sweat-stained apron over his head. The old citizen was a lifer. He’d been working in the Union laundry plant since before Adan had been born. But Jurda was ideally suited for it, with a strong back and an easy-going temperament. Sometimes the Union job office was a little too on the nose.
Adan smiled at the old-fashioned refrain. “All work is worthy, Jurda.”

“Yeah,” Jurda replied, nodding, “that’s what they say. Big plans for yourself this evening?”

Adan pulled his own apron off, then shook his head. “Not really. Just house chores, and maybe a few games of Tik-Tix.”

“Don’t listen to him, Jurda,” Bo advised. “Adan will be out dancing the night away like he does after every shift.”

Jurda barked out a hearty laugh, which quickly turned into a heavy, wet, coughing fit. Bo frowned out of concern and glanced at his friend, but Adan shook his head. Jurda had already made it clear that his chronic lung condition was a forbidden topic of discussion. But it was also an excellent opportunity to break away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jurda,” Adan called out, then grabbed Bo by the arm and pulled him away. Jurda, hunched over with his hands on his knees, still managed a meager wave.

“That cough sounds really awful,” Bo whispered as the pair walked past the stark rows of giant industrial washers and dryers toward the workers’ locker rooms.

Adan sighed. “Yeah, it probably is, but he doesn’t like people talking about it.”

Stories like Jurda’s were all too familiar among the workers. Despite the Bolvar Union’s promise of guaranteed healthcare, a lifetime of working around the toxic chemicals in an industrial laundry had its price. Just like everything in Bolvar did. The Union provided its citizens with food, shelter, education, and protection. And all it asked for in return was a total devotion to the State.

Bo nodded. “That’s alright. We’ve already got plenty to talk about.”

Adan smiled. “We sure do. Like, the way you almost killed me with that damn cart of yours.”

Bo scoffed, then put his arm around Adan’s shoulder. “As if you were in any danger. That part is yet to come.”

Adan forced himself to grin. He’d been putting on a brave face ever since Bo had proposed his big idea. Then he made a sour face and ducked out from under Bo’s arm. “Right now, the only danger I’m in is passing out from your stench.”

Bo frowned and lifted his arm to smell underneath it. Then he made the same sour face. “Damn, you’re not kidding. Okay, first, showers. Then danger.”

Adan’s stomach growled loudly enough to be heard over the noise from the shift change. “First, showers, then food,” Adan suggested with an embarrassed grin. Then he laughed.

Bo laughed along with him as the pair ducked into one of the locker rooms. It was brighter than the dreary surroundings of the main plant, even if the muddy yellow wall tiles sucked most of the life from the room. The showers were a big perk of the work assignment. Few jobs had them available, but the laundry plant’s chemicals made it a must. Since the group home where Adan and Bo lived had frequent and seemingly random water shutoffs, the end of their shift was sometimes their only chance to shower for the day.

The showers were also a good place to talk. The high humidity levels made it less likely that there’d be any listening devices. And the constant sound of running water would confuse any that might be there.

The two of them quickly found their lockers, stripped out of their coveralls and underclothes, then tossed the dirty uniforms and aprons into the laundry bin. After grabbing clean towels, they walked over to the crowded showers and found a pair of empty nozzles.

Adan slapped the push valve and stuck a hand under the stinging spray. But after a few moments, the water still only came out lukewarm.

“Boiler’s down again,” he muttered as he stepped into the water flow. It felt positively frigid on his overheated body, but at least it cooled him down right away.

Bo grimaced, then stepped under his own spraying nozzle. “Balda’s great brass ass! How can they run a damn laundry and have no hot water?”

Adan grinned. “The Union provides.”

Bo rolled his eyes. “All hail the Union.” He grabbed for the bar of soap perched on a nearby ledge and started lathering himself up. “So, we’re still on for tonight, yeah? I’m sensing some uneasiness from you.” Then he handed the soap to Adan.

“I mean, I can’t think of any way around it. So, yeah.” Adan soaped himself up, too.

“Around what? We’re just scouting tonight. That’s no big deal.”

“I know, but it puts us one step closer to the real thing. It’s one thing to plan something like this. It’s another to pull it off.”

“You know why we’re doing it, right? It’s this or a lifetime of blissful servitude to the glorious Bolvar Union. You can’t tell me you’re okay with that. We’ll be serving our five before we know it.”

Their five. As in their five years of mandatory service in the Bolvar Union Defense Force, which every able-bodied Bolvaran served as soon as they turned eighteen. And it was less than two years away. Adan sighed, then forced himself to smile. “Yeah, I know. But what if we get caught?”

“We’re not gonna get caught. I mean, we won’t even be out after curfew. For all intents and purposes, we’re not doing anything wrong.”

Adan laughed and set the soap back on the ledge. “Intents and purposes? Are you a Magistrate now?” He pushed the shower valve to restart the water flow then rinsed himself off.

Of course, Bo was right. He was always right. Bo was the most cut out for service of the two. Adan wasn’t sure he’d even survive one year in the Gray Coats, let alone five. Part of him suspected that was the real reason Bo had insisted on their joint escape plan. To protect his friend. But that was only paranoia. Just because Bo was more physically capable didn’t mean he was any more cut out for service than Adan was. And the two of them had discussed their plan at length and worked out as many angles as they could think of. After all, they’d been at it for a year.

Adan finished rinsing himself off just as the water cut out again. He immediately started shivering. The icy water had done its part to cool him off a little too well. He reached for his towel and started drying himself off before he froze.

“So,” Bo said as he reached for his towel, “we’re good

Adan nodded. “Yeah, we’re good. Sorry.

Bo flashed him a sunny smile. “No worries, friend. Now, let’s get dressed and get out of here.”

The pair of them hustled back into the locker room to retrieve their clothes. For Adan, that included a pair of thick, dark, denim trousers and a sweater that one of his former housemates had knitted. On top of that, he wore an old Utility Bureau jacket that he’d had to patch up at the elbows. And he had his boots, of course. Since his feet had finally stopped growing, it was the first pair he had that he’d really been able to break in instead of bust through. Once he slipped them on, Adan stood back up and grabbed his jacket from the locker.

“You know,” Adan said as he stuck an arm into a sleeve, “you’re–”

A klaxon suddenly blared, and Adan froze. Unlike the shrieking steam whistle, this was a rarely used alarm. Adan hadn’t heard it since they’d done drills back at the Instruction Center. And, unless it was another drill, it could only mean one thing. A flux storm was coming.
Everyone in the locker room stood there, dumbfounded, for a moment. Then their years of drilling kicked in, and their stillness quickly transitioned into smooth-flowing chaos.

Bo looked at Adan in a near panic. “Do you think that’s real?” he called out, struggling to be heard above the commotion.

Adan shrugged his other arm into his jacket. “I don’t know. Let’s just get to the shelter. If this really is a flux storm, I don’t wanna get fried.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right.”

Adan grabbed Bo’s jacket, handed it to him, and then grabbed his arm. “Come on.”

Adan led his friend out to the corridor to join the flood of people hurrying off the plant floor. They had two minutes after the alarm started before the shelter doors were sealed. If you were caught outside the shelter after that, you took your chances. But no one ran, shouted, or shoved. Every one of them had been drilled and drilled on what to do in the event of a flux storm, a rare but dangerous fluctuation in the planet Neska’s already strong magnetic field. Normally harmless to people, the field’s strength was still troublesome for unshielded electronics and wireless transmitters. But, during a flux storm, the local disturbances in the Neskan magnetic field could be seriously harmful or even fatal. Or not. You never knew until it happened, and it was better to be safer than sorry, right?

There were flux shelters all over Bolvar. A big plant like the Union Laundry had two, each large enough to hold at least half the staff on duty. Adan and Bo were assigned to the Number Two shelter, so Adan directed his friend into the opening on the right side of the corridor. They filed in behind the people before them and took their seats on one of the long benches lining the chamber walls. Then a bell started clamoring. That was the final warning before the door closed. The door had to be closed and the chamber entirely sealed when the flux storm hit it. That was the only way to deal with magnetic radiation. It penetrated even the tiniest opening and, if it was a harmful level, everyone inside would feel it.

Adan felt the pressure change inside the shelter as the door swung closed. Then there was a dull, loud thud. The bell stopped ringing, and the lights all went out. After a moment, battery-powered emergency lights flickered on. Everyone sat calmly and quietly, controlling their breathing as best they could. The chambers weren’t ventilated, so the air inside was all they had until the door opened again. Everyone had heard stories about shelter doors failing, turning the chambers into giant tombs. Adan knew that’s what Bo was most worried about. He’d struggled with a fear of enclosed spaces for as long as they’d been friends. It was one of the few times Adan was the more confident of the two.

Bo’s breathing was already swift and erratic, and there was no telling how long the flux storm would last. So, Adan reached over without looking and took his friend’s hand. Bo immediately squeezed his grip, almost to the point where it hurt Adan’s knuckles. But Bo’s breathing slowed down and became more regular. And everyone sat there, in silence, waiting.

They were lucky to be in there at all. If you found yourself too far from a shelter during a warning or, worse, if there was no warning, you took your chances. Most of the time, there were no issues beyond damage to any poorly shielded electronics or unsecured magnetic metals. That was the thing with magnetism. Most of the time, it was harmless. Until it wasn’t. But it was why things were the way they were on Neska.

Stories of the First Explorers would have you believe that the tech they possessed was wondrous. At least some of them had to be true. After all, the First Explorers had journeyed all the way to Neska from a distant star. And Adan had taken the well-guarded tour of the Union’s Old Tech Museum. It displayed recovered, nonfunctional items with lengthy, printed signs describing what those items had once done. But devices that literally took apart the tiniest pieces of matter and knitted them back together to turn one thing into another just didn’t seem believable to Adan. They’d called that one a Printer. But Adan had also seen an actual printing press, a giant machine that didn’t take anything apart or put it back together.

Bo’s hand had grown uncomfortably warm, and Adan could feel his palm start to sweat. He kept holding on, though. That’s what you did for your best friend, no matter how bothersome it got. It was strange, being irritated by holding Bo’s hand. There was a time when Adan had longed for a chance at physical contact like that. But that was before they’d really grown close at all. Bo was like a brother to Adan now. And Bo would never be interested in anything more than that, anyhow.
The bell eventually sounded again, startling the quietly waiting crowd. Then the door unlocked with a loud clunk and began to swing open. Adan had no idea how long they’d been in there. Several minutes, at least. But it could’ve been longer. Time passed differently in a sealed space like the flux shelter, as if shutting the doors somehow blocked the proper flow of time, too. As the door slowly opened, Adan felt the incoming flood of cool, fresh air right away. He quietly chuckled at the sensation. Only spending time stuck in a flux shelter could make the laundry plant air seem fresh. Adan was glad they’d had time to shower before the storm alert. The person sitting to his left clearly hadn’t.

Bo gave Adan’s hand a final squeeze, then let go. “What’s so funny?” he asked as he stood up.

Adan shook his head as he stood. “Nothing, just some stupid thoughts in my head. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Since they were already dressed and ready, they could head straight for the exit back out onto the street. The talk Adan heard on the way out of the plant was that the flux storm had only been a minor one. At least in their district. The news broadcasts on the wireless the next day would praise the city’s orderly response to the storm alarms. Sadly, there was one fatality, but it was due to negligence and not the storm itself. A citizen who’d been asleep when the alarm sounded tried to slip past the closing door of their shelter and got crushed. Thankfully, the citizens already inside that shelter were unharmed during the storm. More thankfully, the door still opened afterward. But Adan didn’t want to imagine stepping over the dead citizen’s mangled corpse to get out.

By the time Adan and Bo were outside, Bo seemed to have gotten his spirit back. He was smiling, which made Adan smile. The chilly autumn air was crisp and fresher than usual in the Lowers, the Bolvaran district that was home to the laundry plant and many other Union industrial facilities. Shutting the whole city down, even briefly, had given the night air a short reprieve from all the belching smokestacks.

Their walk took them up busy Bartok Street. It was the main road through the Lowers, so traffic was a mess. Between shift changes and the flux alert, the streets were jammed with delivery vans, and the Union Transit trams were packed full. But Adan enjoyed the walk anyhow. The sidewalks were lined with licensed goods outlets, Guildhalls, and public houses where Bolvarans could gather for food and drink. Neither was usually very good, at least not in their district. But it was nice to come together with friends and neighbors for a little while anyway, swapping stories, singing songs, and catching up on the latest gossip. And the street was well lit, unlike some of the smaller roads and lanes in the district. So, it was crowded and lively, especially with all of Bolvar recently emerging from their storm shelters.

If you went far enough up Bartok, you’d reach the Public Square where Bartok crossed Daigur Avenue. The Square was closed for public festivals twice a year–in the summer on Landfall Day and in the winter on Founder’s Day. Otherwise, it was a confusing confluence of tram tracks, traffic, and the giant bronze statue of Balda Tomari, the first Chairperson of the Bolvaran Union Committee. It was well known amongst citizens in the Lowers because some quirk of its orientation meant that Balda’s rear end had been windblown shiny and smooth. It was rumored that a citizen could be blinded on particularly sunny days if they looked right into the glare of Balda’s ass.

Adan’s favorite part of the Square was the spectacular view he got of the grand government houses and stately mansions up the hill in Gallur Heights. The dark, snow-capped eastern peaks of the Osbaks rising in the distance perfectly framed the scene. Adan sometimes imagined what it would be like to live up there, where the air was always fresh and the views unobstructed. To never worry about the power going out or the water shutting off. To have someone making delicious meals for you every day and ensuring your clothes were always mended, clean, and pressed.

Most people, Adan included, just took it as a fact of life that the powerful and prestigious government officials, industry leaders, and Union Committee members were given better treatment than the average Bolvaran was. The Union may have promised everyone a place to live. But they never guaranteed that it would be nice. Most people thought the Union placed the Public Square where it was to offer that particular view. Some would say it was meant to remind the citizens in the Lowers about the rewards of hard work. But most people, like Adan, figured it was meant to remind citizens like him of his place.

As they approached the turnoff for the group home, Bo abruptly halted. “How about we stay out and get food somewhere? I’m not sure I feel like going home yet.”
That was an excellent suggestion, even if it was out of the blue. “Sure, why not? Is everything alright?”

Bo nodded, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his old timepiece. He’d found it as a child, broken and discarded in the street. Then he spent literal years figuring out how it worked and how to get it working again. Adan had been seriously impressed with his dedication. “Sure, everything’s fine. It’s just, we’ve still got a few hours before our little project, and I’d like to stay out for a while.”

Maybe Bo was still shaken up from the storm shelter. That would explain things. “I think Mother Agra is serving tonight,” Adan shared.

Bo smiled and nodded. “Yeah, that’s perfect! Let’s go there.”

Adan laughed and looked up at the street signs on the corner to orient himself. Then Bo put a hand on Adan’s shoulder and started to lead him back the way they’d come from. They only had to backtrack a couple blocks, then cut across Bartok and head down toward the river. Mother Agra’s was a public house squeezed between an old warehouse and the hydroelectric plant at the Lower Falls. It was an odd location, off the more well-traveled paths, but it had an unbeatable view of the Daralsha River. And Mother Agra was one of the best cooks in the Lowers. She could work magic with leftovers and scraps, which was a good thing since that was what she usually ended up serving.

The pair of them wandered down the brick-paved laneway leading off Bartok, then crossed over Renming and continued until Adan spotted Mother Agra’s. All the lights were on, and the front door was wide open, which meant she was serving. Best of all, there was no line to get it. The flux storm must’ve sent many people running home, cutting into the crowds that usually gathered there.
After climbing the front steps, Adan and Bo went inside.

The main dining room was warm and homey. Its old-fashioned gas lamps cast a flickering, golden glow on the dozen or so tables and the diners sitting at them. Mother Agra was setting some mugs of beer on a table when she spotted Adan and Bo. The older citizen had aged to the point where it was near impossible to pin down how old she really was. Her long, patterned skirt and thick, cable knit sweater didn’t offer any clues. Neither did her long, silver hair, artfully braided and bundled up under a red kerchief.

“Come on in, citizens,” she called out, then waved at the empty tables, “and grab a seat anywhere you like.”

“Thanks, Mother,” Bo offered in reply. He looked toward the table in the back with a window facing the river.

“How’s that, Adan?”

“That’s perfect.”

Adan slid between a pair of occupied tables and took one of the empty seats at the table Bo had chosen. The sun had already fallen well past the western Osbak peaks, blanketing the city in dusky rose shadow. But the lights from the hydroelectric plant shined brightly, dancing off the rough surface of the river as it gathered at the Lower Falls.

Mother Agra shuffled over to stand next to them. “Welcome again, citizens. I’ve got a lovely Marsh Pig Stew with roasted vegetables, dark bread, and beer.”

Bo smiled and batted his long eyelashes at the older citizen. “Only beer? Got any bashki?”

The curtains of Mother Agra’s wrinkles spread wide across her russet face as she smiled. Then she smacked him on the back of the head. “As if I’d serve bashki to a child! You’ll be lucky if I don’t bring you dishwater.”

Bo bowed his head respectfully. “Sorry, Mother.”

She shook her head, then turned to Adan and smiled.

“Nice to see you as always, Adan.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Then his stomach growled loudly. “If that’s the stew I smell, I can hardly wait.”

She smiled even more broadly. “I’ll bring you an extra-large helping.” Then she looked back at Bo and scowled before wandering off toward the kitchen muttering about bashki and children.

Bo chuckled as soon as she was out of earshot. “I thought it was worth a try.”

Adan shook his head but smiled. “You should’ve known better. She’ll have us washing dishes if you’re not careful. Besides, if you really want to get your hands on some bashki, you just have to wait until tomorrow.”

“That’s true. Assuming everything goes according to plan.”

“Assuming?”

Bo chuckled again. “I mean, of course, everything will go according to plan.”

Adan still wasn’t convinced. “Maybe we should go over the plan again. Starting with tonight.”

Bo nodded. That was another reason the pair liked Mother Agra’s. She had no love for the Union and made sure the wireless was always playing loudly. That, plus the loud conversations from the other diners, made it safer from listening devices and eavesdroppers than most public places they could go.

Later that night, Bo explained, they would meet up with Min Silta, a friend from his childhood that he’d recently reconnected with. Min had agreed to lend them their delivery van the following night. They would show the two where they parked it overnight and where they kept the keys. When they took it, it was important that Min wasn’t directly involved. If Adan and Bo got caught with it, Min could claim that it had been stolen. As long as they returned it before dawn with a bashki barrel in the back, everything should be fine.

“They get a barrel?” Adan asked. “So, then how many do we need to get?”

“One for Min. Calin doesn’t want one.”

“Calin? Who’s that?”

Bo sighed, frustrated at the interruption. “Calin Dambolen. She’s the forger.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“So, one for Min and six for the Thatcher.”

Thatcher, as in thatch rat. The notorious, six-legged vermin had once infested the thatched roofs of early Bolvaran houses before the days of the Union. They’d long ago migrated to the sewers and were a constant nuisance to any Bolvaran with a basement. But Bo wasn’t referring to the small, scaly pests. He meant the person who smuggled Bolvarans past the wall. That was another condition of living in the Bolvaran Union. You could only leave with permission, which required an approved reason. Scouting for resources was the most common reason for leaving the city. And scouts were always accompanied by Gray Coats from the Defense Force to protect them from raiders who lived past the mountains. There was no way Bo and Adan could pass themselves off as scouts, and the whole reason they’d come up with their plan was to avoid their mandatory five years of service as Gray Coats in the first place.

Still, seven barrels was a lot for just the two of them. Bashki, the Bolvaran liquor distilled from sorghum, was stored in great, heavy barrels that needed at least two people to lift. They only had a short window to make their stop at the distillery, so they’d be cutting things close under even the best of circumstances.

Mother Agra soon reappeared with a tray in one hand. She scooped off the bowls of steaming stew and set them down on the table between Bo and Adan. Then she added a basket with rough, dark buns, a pair of spoons, and two mugs of beer.

“There you go, citizens,” she said proudly.

“Thank you, Mother,” Bo replied respectfully.

She glanced at him, then nodded. “Just so you’re aware, we won’t be serving any food tomorrow during the Glories. But I’ll have the beer taps open for anyone that wants to come by and listen on the wireless.”
Adan picked up his spoon. “That’s good to know.” Then he dipped it into the stew and took a careful bite. It was so delicious his eyes nearly rolled back into his head. “Founder’s grace.”

Mother Agra smiled proudly, and the gas lamps caught the rosy glow in her cheeks. “I’ll leave you both to eat.” Then she turned to greet another set of newcomers that had just walked in.

Bo took a bite of his stew and closed his eyes with pleasure. Adan smiled and took another bite. It was basic fare, but it was warm and hearty in a way that suggested it was made with love. He got a chunk of marsh pig in his next bite and savored the way it almost melted on his tongue. Aside from several local varieties of fungi, marsh pig and ridge fowl were the primary protein sources in the Bolvar Valley. Once native to the marshes around the banks of the Daralsha, most of the marsh pigs in the city were now raised in giant Union facilities. They were easy to care for and grew fast, so their meat was an everyday staple at Bolvaran tables.

“See,” Bo said between bites, “even Mother Agra is taking the night off of cooking for the Gories.”

The Glories, or the Gories, as Bo put it, were the Duels of Glory. Those were heavily hyped, monthly arena contests where people convicted of crimes against the State were paired off to fight to the death for the right to have their citizenship restored. Civilized folks like Mother Agra usually referred to them as the Glories. Adan didn’t know many civilized folks. Most of the people he knew called them the Gories. But they were also the key to any chance of success with their plan. Most of the city shut down for the Gories, either to listen to them on the wireless or, if you were lucky enough to have tickets, actually watch them. That left Adan and Bo with a window of opportunity where the bashki distillery upriver from the Lowers would be almost totally unstaffed. There would be a minimal staff on hand to watch the place, but they would almost certainly be listening to the Gories on the wireless. Hopefully, that meant they wouldn’t waste any time verifying the forged order forms Bo and Adan would present to them.

“Where are we supposed to be delivering all this bashki anyway?” Adan asked.

Bo smiled mischievously. “Here.”

Adan nearly choked on the sip of beer he’d just taken. Then he laughed. “That’s why you asked about the bashki before? You’re such an ass.”

Bo smiled and made a slight bow. “You’ve got to admit, it’s a brilliant plan.”

Adan didn’t know if he’d use the word brilliant to describe it, but he was willing to admit that it was a pretty good plan. The forged papers meant that they even had a chance to talk their way out of trouble if they were stopped and questioned. A small chance. Maybe.
Once they’d loaded up the van, the pair would deliver six barrels to the Thatcher then return the van with the remaining barrel to Min before the clock struck thirteen. And after they brought the barrels to the Thatcher, they’d find out how long they had to prepare for their journey west.

“Okay,” Adan said after he took the last swallow of his beer, “so, then tonight we just go see Min.”

Bo nodded. “Yeah. They want us to wait until their partner is asleep. Their partner works an early shift, and they’re usually asleep by ten.”

Adan glanced over at the large clock hanging on the wall by the door. It was almost nine, so they had another hour before they had to be there. That was plenty of time for another beer if Mother Agra had enough. Adan was about to ask Bo if he wanted more when he caught some movement outside the open door. Several dark figures were striding up the front steps. Then Adan noticed the shape of their silhouettes.

“Bo,” Adan murmured. “Clubbers.”

Bo turned toward the door just as the black-uniformed group stepped inside, their ever-present clubs in their hands. Adan’s heart sank as the possibility that they’d been snitched on came to mind. He shifted restlessly in his seat, but Bo turned to him and put a hand on his, then smiled and shook his head.

“Relax,” he whispered.

Adan inhaled slowly, then nodded.

“Your attention, citizens,” announced a large Clubber with an ochre complexion. They were muscular to the point of nearly bursting through their uniform. Probably the Squad Chief. There were four of them in total. So, not an entire squad, unless the others were waiting outside. “We’re here for Luca Nellan. As long as Citizen Nellan comes along without any fuss, there won’t be any trouble.”

Adan, like the other diners, started looking nervously around the room. Whoever Nellan was, they were in for a world of trouble. If they were even there. Getting picked up the night before the Gories could only mean that the planners hoped to pad the bill.

The Clubbers stood uneasily, tightly gripping their long, thick clubs. Then one of them shifted slightly, and chaos broke loose. Someone on the other side of the dining room jumped up from their chair, violently knocking the table back and sending bowls and mugs crashing to the floor. Diners shouted and screamed as the runner–probably Citizen Nellan–lunged toward the door to the kitchen. But the Clubbers didn’t give chase, standing firm where they were. Then Adan realized where the rest of the squad probably was. Sure enough, just as Nellan reached the kitchen door, it swung open to reveal the looming hulk of a hidden Clubber. Nellan quickly backpedaled but couldn’t stop in time. The Clubber lashed out and smashed their club hard against the side of Nellan’s head. They dropped almost immediately to the floor.

The Squad Chief let out a deep sigh and reached into their long black cloak to pull out a folded-up piece of paper. Then they walked over to the fallen runner, their heavy boots crunching on the shattered pieces of ceramic scattered on the floor. They looked at the paper, printed with a black and white photo of someone’s face, then down at the citizen lying on the floor, then at the other Clubber, nodding. “Yes,” Adan heard them say. “This is him.”

The other Clubber nodded, then reached down and hauled Nellan to his feet by one of his arms. The Squad Chief grabbed Nellan’s other arm, and the pair of them carried the unconscious citizen back to the front of the dining room. The Chief handed Nellan over to a squad member, then turned back to face the dining room again and sought out Mother Agra. “Our apologies for the mess, Mother.” They sounded surprisingly sincere. Then they turned and followed the others out into the night.

Adan let out the breath he’d been holding. “Founder’s mercy.”

Then, just like that, everyone went back to talking and eating as if nothing had happened. The people who’d been sitting with Nellan knelt down to help Mother Agra clean up the mess near their table. Adan looked at Bo, who frowned and shook his head.

“See,” Bo said quietly. “Nobody cares. It’s like they’re all marsh pigs floating in their damn river vats. As long as they get fed and entertained, the Union can do whatever it wants.”

“I know,” Adan replied.

“That’s why we gotta get outta here, Adan. Seriously. Or we’ll turn into one of them.”

“I know.”

Bo huffed, then shook his head again. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. We’ve got an appointment to keep.”

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