Pulse

Chapter 6 - Wildlands

The Washington D.C. Intercity Waystation was crawling with Slavers. Lashing rain peppered their heavily-scarred, battle-worn armor. The skies above, black like tar, rolled from south to north, white lightning illuminating everything in its path, living and not living, conscious and unconscious, mobile and immobile. The light of the ancient Gods felt no need to discriminate between mortals and their machines, but where the mortals cowered and ran for shelter, the machines appeared indifferent to Natures grand display. Even the roar of Odin's voice failed to impress the Slavers. Their kind were able to filter out all external inputs that bore no importance to their protocols.

Adam reached the top of the stairway leading to the Waystation concourse. The hot, howling air from the transport tunnels pushed at his back and ejected him out into the milieu. He pulled his extendable collar up to his ears and bumped his way through the crowd of trainee Sentients towards passport control. It was 2:30pm. He was early. The Voice should be pleased he thought. At least it had remained silent for now and Adam took that as a good sign. The break from having his own thoughts regularly interrupted was welcome too.

Obviously, the weather was affecting the launch rate from the raised platforms outside the gates, but as long as he could make it through the security checkpoint he should be OK. He reminded himself about what the Voice had told him hours earlier ... all he had to do was unlock his Angelic class travel permit and keep his mouth shut. If he could do that, everything would go smooth as butter. Ignoring the rising complaints of those around him, he pushed forward until he reached the first row of DNA scanners.

A Slaver unit noticed Adam trying to jump the queue. (Technically there wasn't one, but the heaving mass of sodden humans were self-organising into some kind of loosely defined order and the Slavers were upholding their part by respecting the attempt to play by the rules.) Adam came to a halt when the tall Slaver shoved a hand into his chest, blocking his path.

This was no Freemech and Adam was far from a safezone where mechs and humans could breathe a little easier in each others company. No, this was a landing station and landing stations were vulnerable portals; wormholes connecting the havens of relative civility while avoiding the cruel, unpredictable wilderness that lay beyond the embrace of the SCELEC system's vast invisible walls. One false move or snide remark from Adam and WHAM!, his face would hit the concrete in a blur of powerful robotic limbs. Crippling, citizen-restraint, non-lethal chains would take it from there, squeezing all futile struggle out of him like a hungry python.

"Why the rush, citizen?" said the yellow-skinned Slaver as thunder cracked across the thick blanket of clouds overhead.

"Yeah. Why don't you wait your turn, asshole?" said the man who Adam had just nudged aside. "I've been waiting for hours to get out of this place."

"Watch yourself," warned the Slaver pointing to the angry man. Other men rallied around the first man also upset that Adam had jumped ahead of them. Another Slaver, spotting the possible escalation, moved up alongside his partner and flexed his firepower muscle by shunting the charge slide on his pulse rifle. The piercing whine emmited by the rifle got their attention and the gathering temporarily quietened, but failed to back down.

Adam's wet hair lay flat against his skull as he wiped away the water streaming down his face. His lungs were holding up pretty good, but all he could think about was his next Epispray dose and how many days he could last before his stash ran out. Against the wishes of the Voice, he felt that now was the time to say something, but his mouth felt numb, paralized by the cold and the stressful situation that was mounting. He wasn't used to this shit, and in his experience, his recklesness was to blame for things getting out of hand. He had to behave himself. If he didn't, the sparks would fly in all directions and he would be responsible for yet another giant cock up to add to the long list. Adam was desperate to put things right, but wasn't sure he could win the battle playing out in his head. He could sense the return of the ugly, demoralising, self-sabotage monster he'd faught so many times before, losing more times than he'd care to remember. It was a bloody miracle that he'd made it this far. But here he was, trembling in the presence of two hulking Slavers and an angry mob, that he'd managed to piss off, taking up the rear.