Tales from Glasstown - Chapter 4
Night at the Blue Dome (II)
Petras ducked to the side as the suspect threw himself forward, the knife in his hand seeking the flesh of the watcher. But as he dodged the knife, Petras lost his balance. He landed on the floor, hitting his back as he turned to face the suspect. Leonidas had already grabbed him; he smashed the yelling man against the wall. The knife fell out of the hand of the suspect. Petras kicked it away, then got back on his feet and evaluated the situation. Small fights were nearing their conclusion all around the abandoned warehouse. The suspects were cursing, kicking, and spitting, but they were a bunch of sick, starved people. Petras' guards were slowly subduing them, forcing them to the ground with unrelenting force. In a matter of minutes, the floor would be littered with cuffed suspects. Then, a man with a large beard emerged from behind a pile of crates. He wielded a large tube attached to a blob of machinery; it resembled a rifle, but its form was twisted. He glanced menacingly at Leonidas, who didn't notice. The bearded man yelled an obscenity and raised the rifle, but he never got a chance to shoot: Petras had run behind him and hit the base of his back with his baton. The man fell to the floor, spit and pain spilling from his mouth. Petras took the rifle away from him. Soon, the battle was over.
"Thank you for covering me," said Leonidas as they were marching through the alleys once again, "but it doesn't change the fact that we weren't supposed to be there." He had been vocal about his dislike of the diversion for minutes.
"You've made your point," said Petras.
"We're late. How will we justify ourselves?"
"We won't."
"Oh, that's so simple. How didn't I think of that?"
Petras halted. He stared at Leonidas. "Because we are the City Guard. They are the criminals. We don't justify ourselves to criminals. We arrest them." Then, Petras looked behind Leonidas, at the other guards. They were waiting a couple of meters behind, as if they were not part of the quarrel. But Petras knew they agreed with Leonidas. So, he broke the invisible wall between them, officers and soldiers, and looked at each one of them. "We are the City Guard. If we find a crime in the making, we stop it. Doesn't matter who is waiting. Anyone willing to prove me wrong?"
No one spoke. Petras nodded, as if to settle the case once and for all, and resumed marching. The others followed, Leonidas a few steps behind him. He was alone at the head of the group.
I deserve this, he thought. The silent treatment. He glanced at the night sky, the first moon already at the peak of its orbit. Soon, the second moon would make its appearance. They were terribly late, and Leonidas and the others were right. There would be consequences. But Petras hadn't been able to refrain himself when they heard the old man screaming in agony in the darkness. A band of troublemakers had settled in the abandoned warehouse near the fountain, explained the old man while Petras was mending the bleeding on the old man's forehead. They came out every night, robbing and beating people around the neighborhood, and the City Guard never intervened.
"Now we're here," said Petras. "Lead us to them."
The old man did. Petras and his unit raided the building, got some bruises, and called reinforcements to retrieve the culprits. Turned out they were a gang of glassmoke addicts; most of them were badly sick or starving. A job well done, Petras had repeated mentally multiple times to shield himself from the disapproving stares of his guards. Deep inside him, however, he wondered if he would do the same were it a night like any other. Maybe, he just wanted to play the good guard to suppress the itching shame for the true job of the night. Which was his right to do, of course. But in the name of what did he feel entitled to drag his people down with him? I'll explain to Tul, Petras thought. He'll understand. But that was a lie, and he knew it. His unit would pay. His mood darkened. Then, the Blue Dome slid into view, and his thoughts shifted to the job.
"Where is the target?" asked Leonidas, starting the act.
"In a back alley near the Dome," said Petras, then paused, the memory of Tul and John Doe negotiating the number of arrests for the month invading his mind. "Our source claims the target carries a huge amount of fresh slates of glassmoke. The target will probably be armed, but lethal force is not allowed. Everyone ready?"
The guards around him nodded. They too were part of the act. All the city was, in a sense. "Then, follow me. Let's make this quick." As he was heading into the designated alley, right next to the Dome, Petras prayed Axiom wouldn't complain about them being late. That would be too humiliating to bear.
But Axiom would never complain again, Petras discovered. Axiom was scattered all over the ground, lumps of flesh linked by trails of blood, like a spiderweb full of flies. Inside the Dome, cheers and the clattering of mugs exploded, unaware.
They were late.