The CRES code

Chapter Twenty Six - The Halls of Valhalla

     The Halls of Valhalla turned out to be a club for the wealthiest and most influential members of the middle classes. What had been known as Cocoon clubs in Loach's day after the fabled club in Frankfurt that had become the model for dozens of similar venues all across the world by the late twenty first century.

     Aristocrats didn't go there. They had their own places in the inner districts of the city, and the common workers like the oiler he'd seen earlier would never be allowed in. It was a place for people with money but no titles. A place for people who had earned their place in society instead of having been born there. As a result, they had a pride in their accomplishments that made them hated by the aristocracy. The Lords and nobles of the city would have loved to see the place shut down, the commoners put in their place, but it was the middle classes that had the real power in this city, and in the whole of Saxony for that matter. They had money, and that counted for a whole lot more than titles, no matter how grand sounding they might be.

     Loach knew he'd have a hard time getting in with his tatty, second hand clothing, but he was counting on being able to impress the occupants with his head phone enhanced martial skills. If they were the kind of people he thought they were, they would be on the lookout for people like him and would want to recruit him. Then it would just be a matter of moving up the ranks, one step at a time.

     The small mugger led him along streets and around corners until they came to a building that was, to all appearances, no different form any of the other buildings in this part of the city. A great, angular block of brick and stone with only a few token attempts at ornamentation. The doors were open, though, allowing light to spill out onto the cobbled street, and two butch looking guards were standing there keeping a wary eye on passers by whom they would encourage, with hard eyes and a casual nod of the head, to keep on moving. Every so often, though, a man and a woman dressed in leather and silk would walk up to the door and just go through with neither they nor the guards appearing to even notice the other's existence.

     The guards were mainly watching a pair of policemen standing a little way down the street, Loach saw. They were standing directly under one of the oil street lamps as if they wanted to be seen, as if they wanted the owners of the club to know that they were being watched. They wanted the guards to see the light reflecting from the silver badges on their tall, wooden hats, telling them that the aristocrats were watching them and would seize on any opportunity to send the troops in and arrest everyone inside.

     The police work for the aristocrats, Loach realised. They were enforcers for the nobles who used them to keep a close eye on any commoners who grew too popular and powerful. The aristocrats are afraid, Loach thought with an inner smile. They feared an uprising, with mobs pouring into their mansions and palaces and dragging them out to hang from the nearest lamppost. Maybe it had happened before. Maybe in this country, maybe in other parts of the world. They had forgotten the lesson, learned by the men with power in the twenty first century, that the secret to keeping power was to keep the masses content. People rebelled when conditions became intolerable, but if you gave them just a little money, food and entertainment, enough for them to be just comfortable enough, then casting down the people who had put the iron collars around their necks seemed like just too much bother.

     Loach was satisfied. If this wasn't where Badger was to be found, it was one of the most important places he ran and that was good enough. "Okay," he said to the small mugger. "Go find a priest." The man nodded gratefully and scurried away before he could change his mind.

     He couldn't make a scene out in the street, he knew. The police were probably just waiting for something to happen so they'd have an excuse to go tearing in and bust up the place. If Loach gave them that excuse, Badger would probably have him killed. He needed the man to see him as an asset rather than a liability. He emerged from the shadows, therefore, and walked across the street to the entrance.