Chương 78: 35. Tent Town

"We'll go around the back-side of the mine; that'll keep us out of the PKs' patrol area," Britt said as her little car trundled its way down the gravel road away from the rock yard. Hector nodded, absently. He was having trouble concentrating, and though he'd taken some serious wounds by any normal person's standards, he didn't think they were the cause—not after those trauma nanites. No, he had a feeling his system was to blame, working in the background, applying the potentia to his body to complete his level-up.

Why's this one hitting harder? //This is an intuitive thing for me, Hector. I won't know the details until I'm done. // He snorted softly, reminded of a statement one of his early Imperial Guard commanders had made about aura systems—they were all divas when it came to describing their "art." When they'd left the rock yard, they'd stopped at the mercs' vehicle—a sleek black utility truck. Hector had smashed a window with a rock to get in, setting off an alarm, but after pulling a few wires, Britt had silenced that.

Then, they'd taken a few minutes to pry open an access panel so they could remove the mem chips from the vehicle's onboard AI. Hector didn't want to leave behind any sign of their passage, and he was sure the vehicle had been watching the road. They'd worn some of the mesh masks Britt scavenged from the dead mercs to guard against any sort of live feed. No doubt the magistrate and his men knew who they were, but that didn't mean Hector wanted to let him stack up video evidence.

He closed his eyes, shifting most of his weight to his uninjured shoulder, but that put more pressure on his sore hip. He didn't think he winced, but Britt looked at him, clicking her tongue with concern.

"Those bugs might make it harder to get the bullets out—heal the surrounding tissue."

"So I'll get some bugs that'll eat the lead." He shifted his shoulder.

"Or polymer. I don't know what those guys were shooting."

"You can't keep taking trauma meds without giving your body a rest, you know that, right? It's hard as hell on your organs, and—" Hector held up a hand, his expression easy to read: please spare me the lecture—I know. Britt sighed heavily, muttered something under her breath, and leaned back. After a few minutes, she said, "You know, it's not like I care about you. I just—""Don't want me to die—yet." After a bit more muttering, she said, "No, it's more than that.

When your eyes are closed and you don't talk or move, you look like Paul, and, well, you know." She sighed again, this time a more wistful sound.

"It's hard not to feel worried."

"I get it." Hector opened his eyes, peering at her. She looked away, shifting her gaze out to the starlit, barren landscape.

"I'll be fine. Is there a clinic or pharmacy at this place? I could get an IV flush."

"Yeah. I think there's a clinic; the miners get hurt sometimes."

"Rough job, I guess."

"Rough people. Yeah, they get injured at work, but I bet more of them get hurt fighting." When only the car's humming, rumbling passage over the stony road filled the void between them for a while, she said, "I saw part of your fight with that stalker. I've seen Aura Blades before—that's what that was, right?" Hector grunted in the affirmative.

"Well, when I saw one being used in the fights, it seemed pretty damn different. It took several seconds for it to, uh, materialize in the guy's hand. Everyone said that was how it worked." Hector's eyes had grown heavy, and when she stopped speaking, he just grunted again.

"Well?" She nudged his knee with her foot.

"It's a skill thing—lots and lots of practice." To himself, he added, and you need a certain amount of talent—and a volatile aura.

"So who were you?" When Hector looked at her again, his brows narrowing, she didn't look away. Finally, he said, "You don't want to do this." He motioned between her and himself.

"Better you forget about me after we handle this business." Britt leaned forward, her body rocking with the movements of the car's insufficient suspension.

"How about you let me worry about what I want to do? As for this business, what exactly do you think we can do? I told you: that magistrate isn't gonna sit around and wait for us."

"That's what we need to figure out." If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Britt stared at him for a moment, then shook her head.

"We just killed four mercs. For all I know, the one who killed Paul was in that group. Maybe I should just let it go. People don't generally walk away from trouble with a magistrate like this. Maybe I can head into one of the cities, buy a new ID, disappear before—" Hector felt his back stiffen. He wasn't sure why, but his angry self, his mostly silent companion, had decided that it didn't like Tacitianus.

At some point, he'd decided that the magistrate was synonymous with the people who'd orchestrated the coup against the Contis and framed him. He wanted to see him dead. When he cut Britt off, his voice was hoarse with the thickness of his ire.

"And look over your shoulder the rest of your life? This guy wants something. If you're gonna walk away, you better hand it over. Give it to a courier." He flicked his hand dismissively. Britt leaned away from him, her eyes widening at his vehemence.

"Why are you so invested? You never even knew my brother. In fact, you wouldn't have that body if not for these creeps." Hector shook his head, mentally coming to grips with the realization that he needed to explain some things to Britt—and himself. He started with something simple, something true, and maybe, just maybe, if he said it right, she'd get the picture on her own: "I don't have anybody."

His voice was still hoarse, but his tone was softer, and maybe Britt did see something in his eyes because she got quiet and didn't look away. After a minute, she said, "So, what? You're trying to… to live out my brother's…" She trailed off, giving up on formulating the right words.

"No," Hector replied.

"It's more like I feel I owe him something." He snorted, chuckling mirthlessly.

"And I've got a grudge against Imperials, especially corrupt ones."

"So you think we can take him out?"

"We need to. He'll never leave us alone. The one thing we've got going for us is that he's dirty and doesn't want anyone else to know what he thinks we know." Britt nodded.

"Okay. Well, if you think Paul deserves vengeance, you can imagine how I feel. I was just…" She licked her lips, looking out the rear window toward the rock yard, long since left in the dust.

"I haven't done a lot of killing." Hector nodded.

"It gets easier." After that, she turned introspective, and Hector only had the humming motor and the crunch of tires on gravel to keep away the silence. He found himself lulled into a near-doze several times but forced himself to keep awake, just in case the magistrate and his mercenaries tried to make another move. He doubted they'd been tracked from the rock yard, but paranoia was never a bad thing when it came to dealing with murderous enemies.

Eventually, the enormous, skyscraper-sized floodlight towers of the mine came into view, brightening the distant man-made hillsides. Britt pointed out the front window to where the car's headlights feebly exposed a curve in the gravel road.

"This will take us around the back side of the pit. Should be in Tent City in the next fifteen minutes." Hector pointed toward the distant lights.

"Mine operates all night?" She shook her head.

"Just parts of it. Bulldozers and rock haulers have twenty-four-hour shifts, but they don't blast or dig at night."

"You grew up around here?"

"No, just since I was about ten." She nodded toward Hector.

"Paul was twelve. Our dad worked in the mine, but he…" She trailed off, shaking her head. After a minute, she said, "Paul and I were talking about getting out of here, but he was making decent money at the municipal office working for the magistrate—Tacitianus. He was saving up, and I was working odd jobs—not always here in Redwick, either. Like I said, I did some merc tours around the central valley." She shrugged.

"Didn't see much action other than the odd smuggler raid." She tapped her rifle, leaning on the seat beside her.

"Mostly on overwatch." Hector hadn't expected her life story, but it was interesting, and he nodded along, surprised by her openness.

"You did good tonight."

"Not really. A couple of seconds faster and I could've saved you getting shot in the back."

"The situation was fluid."

"Heh, fluid. You mean crazy as hell. I can't believe you came out of that awning alive. I was thinking for sure they had you, but then my shotgun—rest her poor soul—started booming away." She laughed.

"Then you did that damn aura dance with the shadow. Damn, but I wish you didn't wreck her suit. You know how much active camo like that goes for?" Hector shook his head.

"Haven't looked in a while." Britt snorted, assuming he was making a joke. After another few minutes, as the car rounded the side of the mine tailings and began climbing a steep gravel road, she cleared her throat and said, "I'm not a mental case, you know." Hector looked into her angry, dark eyes.

"Hmm?"

"I mean, I understand it's fucked up that you're sitting here in my dead brother's body. I miss him something awful, and I want to scream and freak out, but I'm trying to deal. I'm trying to look at it logically. I knew he was dead—I'd come to terms with it, but I wasn't over it. Even alone, I was looking into that magistrate. I was trying to think of something I could do. Having you show up the way you did…it's like kismet. Is that the right word? I think that's what they call it, right? Like fate." Hector nodded.

"So, I'm trying to look at you like someone he saved. Like…I don't know—a damn organ donor recipient. And yeah, I think you're right. I think you do owe him something. We both do." She stared until Hector nodded again.

"I'm not arguing." Just then, the car reached the top of the slope, and bright lights hit the windshield. The gravel road leveled off, and fifty meters ahead, an open gate, flanked by two floodlights, gave entry to a massive gravel lot. Cars, tents, trucks, campers, and semi-permanent structures sprawled out before them almost haphazardly. Everything was illuminated by standing light poles that shone down in subdued ambers and reds.

Hector figured that was to keep from waking people up with white light, but it gave the place a surreal look. Walking around on that lot, in between the tents, campers, food trucks, and outdoor cafes, were individuals and groups, most of whom wore breathers and, at that hour, coats. Some carried drinks and stumbled like they were drunk, but others just looked dog-tired as they shuffled toward wherever they kept their bunks.

Britt waved out the window as the car hummed through the gate, but the attendant on duty was busy chatting with a pair of women dressed like rodeo clowns. Hector continued to gaze out the window, and that was when he saw a flashing neon-bright sign. Its scrolling, garish letters repeated a single message: Tomorrow Night! Central RMC Convention Hall! All-comers welcome to the 212 th RMC Fight Night! Random Brackets! Winner takes all! Hector looked at Britt and smiled.

"You know, there might be something to that idea—I mean about fate."