Haven Nursery
Jan. 1st, 2013 03:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aaaaaaaagh_sky"So lemme get this straight, sir," said Krenshaw. "This 101 shows up a few months back, does some Hole fighting, takes one guy, and leaves. Then we get a shitload of scabs and cowards from the Capital, half of 'em slaves who'd say anything to get out of trouble, who say she's the hottest shit that ever walked on two feet. Like she's ten feet tall and made of radiation and all that. Then somebody rounds up a couple dozen robots and some holotapes, one of which you won't even let anybody else hear, and a couple of our dumber guys go missing on patrol. And then those psychos over in West Pen finally blow themselves sky high, and 101 claims credit for it without anybody in the city even seeing her. And all of this somehow adds up to you deciding we have to just let the scabs go if they don't feel like sticking around?"
"When you put it that way, yes, it does sound laughable," said Ashur evenly. "Sandra and I see it a little differently."
Krenshaw's eyes narrowed. "No offense, boss, but you're out of your mind. There's no way one person could do half of what these Capital morons say she's done. She's not that dangerous. And those robots don't mean a damn thing. You said it yourself, they had to be lying. The one that brought the tape turned around and left before anybody could get a look at it. My boys can't get near enough the bunch she's got parked across the Bridge to check 'em out but I'll bet my left nut they ain't nothing but a bunch of old school tin cans with fancy new paint jobs."
Ashur eyed Krenshaw a moment before saying, "Even if that's the case, I have to wonder how you account for what happened to the Western Pen."
Krenshaw shrugged. "Hell if I know. Those psychos're always sticking their noses in things they shouldn't. Maybe they found the prison's old reactor or something and it bit them in the ass."
"Twelve acres of stone building and the surrounding premises were annihilated," Ashur pointed out. "Down to a considerable depth, I might add."
"So you seriously think that was her. Blowing up West Pen to make a point."
"I do."
"And that- what, she's gonna blow up this place if we don't do as she says?" Krenshaw shook his head. "She leaves people alive. She's not gonna do it. Not while we've got slaves here. She's bluffing, sir, she's gotta be."
"I know what a man sounds like who's lying to make himself look better, Krenshaw," said Ashur. "And I'm quite capable of separating truth from exaggeration. I have reason to believe the offer is a valid one."
"Sir-"
"This matter is not open to discussion, Krenshaw. Gather the others. I've made my decision, and it's time I tell them."
"Yes, sir," said Krenshaw sourly, and stalked out of the office.
Ashur dragged a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair. He'd fought harder battles than this; he could win this one. It was just a matter of taking down Krenshaw's objections in front of the others. Defeat the strongest one, and the rest would-
Was that gunfire? Here in Haven?
... from the direction of the nursery?
He'd never run so fast in his life, and it had never done him so little good. Not with this many of his raiders thronging the halls. They couldn't get out of his way fast enough. Some were too paralyzed to even try. The screaming didn't help, either, even if it did give him an extra burst of adrenaline. Damn it, the crowding was worst exactly where he was trying to go-
"PUT HER DOWN RIGHT THIS INSTANT, you son of a trog!" Ashur heard Sandra bellow.
The crowds parted. Maybe he knocked the people in front of him down. He didn't know. It didn't matter, anyway. Sandra was standing over a pair of corpses- they might've been friends of Krenshaw's once, before they had bullet holes in their faces- with her revolver trained on Krenshaw.
Who was standing next to Marie's crib with the screaming baby in the crook of his arm and a wicked-looking switchblade at the baby's throat.
"Hey, Ashur," Krenshaw called, without taking his eyes off Sandra's revolver. "Took you long enough to get here."
"Krenshaw." The word came out through gritted teeth. A distant part of Ashur's brain was a little surprised he'd managed coherency at all. "Drop the knife-"
"N'uh, I don't think so," Krenshaw answered. "See, I thought I was working for the toughest man in the Pitt. Only today, it turns out that ain't the case. 101 shows up with a couple of robots and a couple of tapes and you just up and fold like a scab house roof. The way I see it, that leaves the toughest man spot open, and I'd be a moron if I didn't make my move while the iron was hot. Ah ah ah don't even try it, I see you going for the trigger..."
Sandra threw her husband an anguished look, but slowly lowered the gun.
"Smart move," said Krenshaw. "Looks like you'n your husband're cut from the same cloth. He's the kind to knuckle under when some jagoff threatens him too- aren't you, Lord Ashur?"
Ashur snarled. Marie wailed.
And, without any more warning than a blur in the air around him and a sudden spray of blood, Krenshaw's hand spasmed and the knife fell from his nerveless fingers.
Sandra dropped the gun and lunged for the baby. Ashur lunged for Krenshaw, but an unseen force shoved him aside and a voice hissed in his ear, "Stay down!" He tried to shove back, but there was nothing to push against; the air around Krenshaw was blurring again, though. And there, Sandra had Marie. Ashur took the opportunity to snatch her Magnum up and whirled to face Krenshaw once more.
He needn't have bothered. Something was slicing the other man to ribbons. The air around Krenshaw was blurring like moving water, and he was bleeding from at least three different places as he toppled to his knees. An unseen hand jerked his head back. The bright hot smell of fresh blood mingled with the sparking smell of ozone as a line of blue-white electric brightness seared into life, just shy of his Adam's apple. "What- what the fuck-" he croaked.
"I," said the blurry air, just barely loud enough to be heard, "am so very tired of people like you."
There was a horrific fzash!. A stench of burnt meat overwhelmed blood and ozone both as Krenshaw's body disintegrated into a pile of bony bits and ash.
The air un-blurred to reveal a figure in weirdly sleek black armor. It had neither visible face nor identifiable helmet, only a headpiece of black and a smooth faceplate of featureless gold. Nevertheless, every last soul staring into the room quailed as it turned their way, unwilling to let it meet their eyes with that crackling blue sword in its hand.
Ashur stared down at the pile of ash, and looked up to the figure. His mouth was dry, and his tongue didn't want to obey him. Nevertheless, he managed to clear his throat. "101, I presume," he said.
The figure inclined its head in acknowledgment.
(When they'd first pulled him out of the ruins thirty years ago, Ashur suddenly remembered, his armor had left the locals thinking he was some kind of god. He'd thought it was laughable at the time, but he'd gone with it.)
(Maybe it wasn't such a laughable mistake to make after all.)
"If you're here for your answer," he said, "you're a little early. Give me a few minutes to get this place cleaned up, and then we should talk...."
"When you put it that way, yes, it does sound laughable," said Ashur evenly. "Sandra and I see it a little differently."
Krenshaw's eyes narrowed. "No offense, boss, but you're out of your mind. There's no way one person could do half of what these Capital morons say she's done. She's not that dangerous. And those robots don't mean a damn thing. You said it yourself, they had to be lying. The one that brought the tape turned around and left before anybody could get a look at it. My boys can't get near enough the bunch she's got parked across the Bridge to check 'em out but I'll bet my left nut they ain't nothing but a bunch of old school tin cans with fancy new paint jobs."
Ashur eyed Krenshaw a moment before saying, "Even if that's the case, I have to wonder how you account for what happened to the Western Pen."
Krenshaw shrugged. "Hell if I know. Those psychos're always sticking their noses in things they shouldn't. Maybe they found the prison's old reactor or something and it bit them in the ass."
"Twelve acres of stone building and the surrounding premises were annihilated," Ashur pointed out. "Down to a considerable depth, I might add."
"So you seriously think that was her. Blowing up West Pen to make a point."
"I do."
"And that- what, she's gonna blow up this place if we don't do as she says?" Krenshaw shook his head. "She leaves people alive. She's not gonna do it. Not while we've got slaves here. She's bluffing, sir, she's gotta be."
"I know what a man sounds like who's lying to make himself look better, Krenshaw," said Ashur. "And I'm quite capable of separating truth from exaggeration. I have reason to believe the offer is a valid one."
"Sir-"
"This matter is not open to discussion, Krenshaw. Gather the others. I've made my decision, and it's time I tell them."
"Yes, sir," said Krenshaw sourly, and stalked out of the office.
Ashur dragged a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair. He'd fought harder battles than this; he could win this one. It was just a matter of taking down Krenshaw's objections in front of the others. Defeat the strongest one, and the rest would-
Was that gunfire? Here in Haven?
... from the direction of the nursery?
He'd never run so fast in his life, and it had never done him so little good. Not with this many of his raiders thronging the halls. They couldn't get out of his way fast enough. Some were too paralyzed to even try. The screaming didn't help, either, even if it did give him an extra burst of adrenaline. Damn it, the crowding was worst exactly where he was trying to go-
"PUT HER DOWN RIGHT THIS INSTANT, you son of a trog!" Ashur heard Sandra bellow.
The crowds parted. Maybe he knocked the people in front of him down. He didn't know. It didn't matter, anyway. Sandra was standing over a pair of corpses- they might've been friends of Krenshaw's once, before they had bullet holes in their faces- with her revolver trained on Krenshaw.
Who was standing next to Marie's crib with the screaming baby in the crook of his arm and a wicked-looking switchblade at the baby's throat.
"Hey, Ashur," Krenshaw called, without taking his eyes off Sandra's revolver. "Took you long enough to get here."
"Krenshaw." The word came out through gritted teeth. A distant part of Ashur's brain was a little surprised he'd managed coherency at all. "Drop the knife-"
"N'uh, I don't think so," Krenshaw answered. "See, I thought I was working for the toughest man in the Pitt. Only today, it turns out that ain't the case. 101 shows up with a couple of robots and a couple of tapes and you just up and fold like a scab house roof. The way I see it, that leaves the toughest man spot open, and I'd be a moron if I didn't make my move while the iron was hot. Ah ah ah don't even try it, I see you going for the trigger..."
Sandra threw her husband an anguished look, but slowly lowered the gun.
"Smart move," said Krenshaw. "Looks like you'n your husband're cut from the same cloth. He's the kind to knuckle under when some jagoff threatens him too- aren't you, Lord Ashur?"
Ashur snarled. Marie wailed.
And, without any more warning than a blur in the air around him and a sudden spray of blood, Krenshaw's hand spasmed and the knife fell from his nerveless fingers.
Sandra dropped the gun and lunged for the baby. Ashur lunged for Krenshaw, but an unseen force shoved him aside and a voice hissed in his ear, "Stay down!" He tried to shove back, but there was nothing to push against; the air around Krenshaw was blurring again, though. And there, Sandra had Marie. Ashur took the opportunity to snatch her Magnum up and whirled to face Krenshaw once more.
He needn't have bothered. Something was slicing the other man to ribbons. The air around Krenshaw was blurring like moving water, and he was bleeding from at least three different places as he toppled to his knees. An unseen hand jerked his head back. The bright hot smell of fresh blood mingled with the sparking smell of ozone as a line of blue-white electric brightness seared into life, just shy of his Adam's apple. "What- what the fuck-" he croaked.
"I," said the blurry air, just barely loud enough to be heard, "am so very tired of people like you."
There was a horrific fzash!. A stench of burnt meat overwhelmed blood and ozone both as Krenshaw's body disintegrated into a pile of bony bits and ash.
The air un-blurred to reveal a figure in weirdly sleek black armor. It had neither visible face nor identifiable helmet, only a headpiece of black and a smooth faceplate of featureless gold. Nevertheless, every last soul staring into the room quailed as it turned their way, unwilling to let it meet their eyes with that crackling blue sword in its hand.
Ashur stared down at the pile of ash, and looked up to the figure. His mouth was dry, and his tongue didn't want to obey him. Nevertheless, he managed to clear his throat. "101, I presume," he said.
The figure inclined its head in acknowledgment.
(When they'd first pulled him out of the ruins thirty years ago, Ashur suddenly remembered, his armor had left the locals thinking he was some kind of god. He'd thought it was laughable at the time, but he'd gone with it.)
(Maybe it wasn't such a laughable mistake to make after all.)
"If you're here for your answer," he said, "you're a little early. Give me a few minutes to get this place cleaned up, and then we should talk...."