Pathfinder

Part Five

Wasn't expecting a camp. Wasn't expecting so many people.

Wastelanders are full of surprises today.

From a ridgeline overlooking their encampment, I peer down at a small cluster of vehicles and tents that my quarry has stopped at through the Kalashnikov's scope. Maybe a few dozen or so, including that cocksucker Jen-sin and his goons. They're the only major threats I can identify. The rest are hunched, dishevelled families bundled in as many layers of clothing available, looking more like refugees than wastelanders to my eyes. It's a bizarre mix, but I'm not seeing any animosity between them—save for the spokesman and a tall, pale-faced woman. The two have been standing in the centre of the camp since I got here ten minutes ago, each of them taking turns to scream and shout at one another.

It's a division I can exploit, if nothing else.

Maneuvering around the camp to view things from a different angle, it quickly becomes apparent what the argument is about. Damn thing is a relic, probably barely functional, but I know an orbital shuttle when I see one. They have it tucked in behind the hollowed-out remains of a pre-war building, hidden under a white tarp. Two of the spokesman's goons are inside the cockpit, Sidrovich's case lying abandoned outside as they struggle to fit something within the craft, and it finally clicks why these people were so desperate for pre-war power cores. These are indeed refugees, people hellbent on getting off-world whilst there's still a world to escape from.

A plan starts to form in my mind.

For maybe another ten minutes the two men scramble about in the shuttle's cockpit and the spokesman argues back and forth with his refugee companion. I can feel the cold starting to set in around me even through the nanowire-lined bodysuit, feel my muscles start to strain from continuous doses of anti-rad injections. My ribs ache from the gunshots I've spent the day walking off, and even with the stimulants I've been taking, exhaustion is beginning to set in. Nobody can keep this up forever.

But I don't have to. I just need to wait for my opening.

Sure enough, it comes when the two wastelanders finish installing the power cores with a triumphant outcry, leaping down from the shuttle and running towards the main group. I recognize the man on the right from the warehouse ambush, so he's the one I take aim at with the rifle. There's a crackle of energy and a brief jolt from the Kalashnikov and then suddenly the man is howling as he collapses onto the snowy ground, his kneecap atomised by the round I just put through it. Panic ripples through the assembled crowd of refugees and wastelanders; most of them scramble for cover, while a few start going for weapons as they scour the nearby area for me. The spokesman looks ready to bolt, but three rounds lock him into place like chains as I land them around his feet. The modulator and booster on my rebreather kick into effect as I call down to the group from my position.

"No-one fucking move. I see hands going for weapons, you lose them." Silence hangs then, the men I've followed and their refugee counterparts looking between each other nervously as the spokesman glares up in the direction of my voice. It's the pale woman next to him who speaks up first, her voice impressively level despite having just been fired upon.

"You're firing at women and children, you understand?"

"See me hit any women and children?" I retort.

She spreads her arms out and takes a step towards me, the universal symbol of 'look no scary armaments, please don't shoot'.

"Why don't you tell us what you want, and we can resolve this. I don't want anyone else hurt. Are you one of Toecutter's people?"

I chuckle darkly, keeping the Kalashnikov at the ready."Never heard of him. I'm the person your friends shot three times. They tell you about that? How they stole those cores?" The look the pale woman throws at the spokesman tells me that no, they did not, and I smile. This is all coming together.