Marek stared blankly at the back of the Luner directly in front of him. The rain had picked up, and thin rivulets of water were running down the stranger's neck, converging at the hem of his jacket, and flooding over the leading edge of the cheap synthetic polymer that made up the clothing of Prime. The water slowly puddled outward from the neck, lending a darker hue to the fabric. Crimson red. Red hands. Marek gave his head a quick shake and brought his fingers up to his face, rubbing his eyes. He needed to keep it together. Now was not the time for this.
His eyes drifted to the ARC security forces at the front of the lines. They seemed to have forgotten Marek and the others, at least as long as they were quiet. They had no interest in administering justice or delivering punishments. Not when the test was the ultimate judge, jury, and executioner. Why had they gotten involved at all? ARC probably just didn't want to scare away potential new recruits. Not that that made sense either. No one really chose to be here.
He brought his left hand up to his cheek and tested it, probing it tentatively. It was swollen and tender, as were the knuckles on his other hand, but there was no real damage. He was nonetheless grateful for the cool feeling of the rain. It had been useful in other ways as well... He examined his hands. Almost all gone. He scratched at a small streak of blood.
Marek glanced back towards the others in line behind him. They were both lost in their own thoughts. Linden stood leaning slightly, favoring his right leg, a forlorn look on his face; he had taken a kick to his knee after he'd tackled Scars, and suffered some scratches on his arms from his dive, but was largely unharmed. At least physically. And Lewis... was Lewis. Other than almost imperceptibly swollen knuckles, he was untouched. They had done well. Much better than the Sudders. Scars and Streak had left the area before security had released him, but Marek had seen the damage done to Deefas first hand.
His eyes drifted to his hands. It had been weeks since the last time. Was it the punch that set it off? No, Marek, let's be honest. You are always on the edge of... this. But just one more day. One more day and I'll have time to figure it out.
The line was moving quickly. They would be inside ARC soon. Marek glanced back at Lewis and Linden. Linden was staring at the ground, muttering something to himself. Probably thinking through equations. He caught Lewis' eye. Lewis gave him a slight nod. Marek turned back to his own thoughts.
They would get back to normal soon. Once the test was over. They had been strangely silent while in line. Not so strange though, is it? Someone insulted you and you tried to murder him. No, it's a perfectly normal day. Marek sighed. I should tell them. But after the test. We have enough to worry about today. He'd been telling himself that for months though. There was never a good time. I can handle it. It's okay. Marek closed his eyes. Just like you 'handled' it today, right? An image of Deefas flashed in his mind. Jusd mead. He rubbed his eyes. Selawa.
...
Marek looked up. He was nearly at the entrance. Only the Luner with the red jacket was ahead of him. It was almost time. He took a deep breath. The doors to ARC opened. And a Primer woman in a grey suit stepped out. A single blue line ran down her sleeves and pant legs.
She held out her arm and pointed. "You five. You're next."
Marek exhaled and stepped forward. The time had finally arrived.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Chapter 3.3
"Done with the others yet?" The voice came from in front of him. The speaker's black shoes were highly polished, made of hard synthetic leather. His pants were grey, with a single violet line down the side. He was a private. No wonder he sounds so young, Marek thought. The silver barrel of his rifle wavered at the edge of his vision.
"Almost." The second voice, filtered through gravel, came from a distance behind him. "Just the one left. What a mess. It looks like he put his face in a turbine. And the Captain wants him cleaned up." With his ear forcibly pressed to the pavement, Marek could hear the sound of footfalls approaching. "Did you hear that?" The gruff voice was closer. Pain burst across his lower back. "You made a bloody mess, you animal."
"Wha -" Marek started, and pain pressed through his neck. He was strangely surprised. The pressure had been so constant, he'd almost forgotten about the one holding him down. As he quieted, the pressure relaxed and the one holding him down retreated back to anonymity.
"Why?" The black shoes shifted with the private's question.
"Why what?" The gruff voice must have retreated once more. I guess I was too distracted to notice, he mused, as waves pulsed through his back.
"Why does Lukin want them cleaned up?"
"Irkalla only knows. Appearances?" The voice seemed eager to leave. "Why'd we break it up in the first place?" Marek could feel vibrations as he walked away.
"Good point," the private muttered to himself a time later.
...
I wonder how Linden and Lewis are. One of those Sudders was huge. Lewis was good in a fight, but Linden... The private was shifting his weight from foot to foot in front of him. And you think that YOU want to get out of here? Marek closed his eyes. He'd seen Deefas. That was probably who they meant. What happened, anyway? Marek closed his eyes. Of all days for this to happen... Do they know?
"...him up?" Linden's shrill voice cut through his thoughts. It came from the direction of his feet. So he was okay. Marek opened his eyes. The private's feet had shifted towards Linden's direction.
"When we feel like it." The private's voice and shoes returned to face Marek. "He's a looner all right. He took a punch from that monster and the lunatic still chased the other one down and tried to kill him. Would have, if not for us. You see his eyes?" The pressure on Marek's neck shifted. The private's voice trailed off. "Crazy, this one..."
"Dad Sudder shudda ran fasder. Dondjoo thingk?" Marek started. A low grunt followed from directly above him, the pressure on his neck pulsing with the sound.
The private chuckled. "Nice impression, Sorkin. I was starting to wonder if you were even awake over there."
"Shud'idjoo, yer magin' me bludge."
...
He was probably safe. They just thought he was crazy. They didn't know that he blacked out. If they did... If they told... What would happen? You know what would happen. Meat. Marek exhaled deeply. The shoes in front of him had droplets on them. Great. Rain. This is just getting better.
"What about the kid?" Lewis' voice cut through the silence. He was behind him somewhere. I'm not surprised. Lewis is always fine.
"What about him?" It was the gruff voice. He must be the ranking officer.
"Why didn't you help him?"
"Not our job." Marek could almost hear the dismissive gesture with the rifle in the officer's tone.
"But this was?" Lewis was calm but insistent. Why DID they interfere? Marek was puzzled. ARC didn't usually get involved.
"Mind your business. Or maybe we'll take you in to see the League." The edge in his voice and his words silenced Lewis. He was tough, but he wasn't stupid. No one went to see the League and came back.
...
It was quiet. He couldn't hear Lewis and Linden anymore. Small puddles of water had formed on the shoes in front of him. Marek's hands were damp. The water seemed to darken the blood on his hands. What are they going to do with me? The sound of footfalls approached him from behind, as if in answer to his thoughts.
"We're going to let you up." The gruff officer was back. "If you make any trouble, you'll be back down again. And you just might not get back up." The officer paused, his words hanging ominously in the air. "Do you know what I'm saying?"
"Yes, I und-" His words were cut off by intense pressure on his neck. Sharp pain erupted in the back of his knee. Kigal! Another kick. The footfalls retreated alongside the pressure holding him down.
Marek tested his neck. It was free. He rolled onto his back, bringing one hand up behind his head. He could see the private now. He was a few paces back. Young. A Primer. And more importantly, he could see his laser rifle. The muzzle was pointed at his chest. The other one, the Primer who had held him down was a private as well. Sorkin. I'll remember that name. He was much bigger. His rifle was at rest, slung over his shoulder. Marek tested his arms. They were stiff. He sat up, and rubbed his shoulders, leaving streaks of red behind.
He got to his feet. As he stood, he felt like his knee was going to give out. Selawa. What a day. He brought his eyes to examine the young private. As their gaze locked, the Primer's eyes hardened. He motioned Marek towards the line with a sharp nudge of his rifle. "Get moving."
Marek turned. Lewis and Linden were a distance off, standing near the end of the line. The kid was bent over opposite them. Marek hobbled towards the others. The pain in his knee was started to ebb. No lasting damage, at least.
As he approached the others, the kid looked up. He was still a dozen meters away, but he could see... something. There was something in his eyes. Shock? The kid smiled at him. But there was something forced about it. Is he nervous? Was I that frightening? The kid turned back towards Lewis and Linden. He ran up to Lewis, gave him a hug, and then scurried away, back towards the city.
Marek hobbled closer. Linden had turned towards Lewis and was mouthing something. He could just make out a whisper. "...happened to him?" Lewis just shook his head. He could feel the eyes of others in the line crawling over him.
"Are you okay?" Lewis voiced his concern once he'd drawn up to them. Linden just stared, shivering.
"Yeah. Don't worry." I'm worried enough for all of us, Marek thought.
"Almost." The second voice, filtered through gravel, came from a distance behind him. "Just the one left. What a mess. It looks like he put his face in a turbine. And the Captain wants him cleaned up." With his ear forcibly pressed to the pavement, Marek could hear the sound of footfalls approaching. "Did you hear that?" The gruff voice was closer. Pain burst across his lower back. "You made a bloody mess, you animal."
"Wha -" Marek started, and pain pressed through his neck. He was strangely surprised. The pressure had been so constant, he'd almost forgotten about the one holding him down. As he quieted, the pressure relaxed and the one holding him down retreated back to anonymity.
"Why?" The black shoes shifted with the private's question.
"Why what?" The gruff voice must have retreated once more. I guess I was too distracted to notice, he mused, as waves pulsed through his back.
"Why does Lukin want them cleaned up?"
"Irkalla only knows. Appearances?" The voice seemed eager to leave. "Why'd we break it up in the first place?" Marek could feel vibrations as he walked away.
"Good point," the private muttered to himself a time later.
...
I wonder how Linden and Lewis are. One of those Sudders was huge. Lewis was good in a fight, but Linden... The private was shifting his weight from foot to foot in front of him. And you think that YOU want to get out of here? Marek closed his eyes. He'd seen Deefas. That was probably who they meant. What happened, anyway? Marek closed his eyes. Of all days for this to happen... Do they know?
"...him up?" Linden's shrill voice cut through his thoughts. It came from the direction of his feet. So he was okay. Marek opened his eyes. The private's feet had shifted towards Linden's direction.
"When we feel like it." The private's voice and shoes returned to face Marek. "He's a looner all right. He took a punch from that monster and the lunatic still chased the other one down and tried to kill him. Would have, if not for us. You see his eyes?" The pressure on Marek's neck shifted. The private's voice trailed off. "Crazy, this one..."
"Dad Sudder shudda ran fasder. Dondjoo thingk?" Marek started. A low grunt followed from directly above him, the pressure on his neck pulsing with the sound.
The private chuckled. "Nice impression, Sorkin. I was starting to wonder if you were even awake over there."
"Shud'idjoo, yer magin' me bludge."
...
He was probably safe. They just thought he was crazy. They didn't know that he blacked out. If they did... If they told... What would happen? You know what would happen. Meat. Marek exhaled deeply. The shoes in front of him had droplets on them. Great. Rain. This is just getting better.
"What about the kid?" Lewis' voice cut through the silence. He was behind him somewhere. I'm not surprised. Lewis is always fine.
"What about him?" It was the gruff voice. He must be the ranking officer.
"Why didn't you help him?"
"Not our job." Marek could almost hear the dismissive gesture with the rifle in the officer's tone.
"But this was?" Lewis was calm but insistent. Why DID they interfere? Marek was puzzled. ARC didn't usually get involved.
"Mind your business. Or maybe we'll take you in to see the League." The edge in his voice and his words silenced Lewis. He was tough, but he wasn't stupid. No one went to see the League and came back.
...
It was quiet. He couldn't hear Lewis and Linden anymore. Small puddles of water had formed on the shoes in front of him. Marek's hands were damp. The water seemed to darken the blood on his hands. What are they going to do with me? The sound of footfalls approached him from behind, as if in answer to his thoughts.
"We're going to let you up." The gruff officer was back. "If you make any trouble, you'll be back down again. And you just might not get back up." The officer paused, his words hanging ominously in the air. "Do you know what I'm saying?"
"Yes, I und-" His words were cut off by intense pressure on his neck. Sharp pain erupted in the back of his knee. Kigal! Another kick. The footfalls retreated alongside the pressure holding him down.
Marek tested his neck. It was free. He rolled onto his back, bringing one hand up behind his head. He could see the private now. He was a few paces back. Young. A Primer. And more importantly, he could see his laser rifle. The muzzle was pointed at his chest. The other one, the Primer who had held him down was a private as well. Sorkin. I'll remember that name. He was much bigger. His rifle was at rest, slung over his shoulder. Marek tested his arms. They were stiff. He sat up, and rubbed his shoulders, leaving streaks of red behind.
He got to his feet. As he stood, he felt like his knee was going to give out. Selawa. What a day. He brought his eyes to examine the young private. As their gaze locked, the Primer's eyes hardened. He motioned Marek towards the line with a sharp nudge of his rifle. "Get moving."
Marek turned. Lewis and Linden were a distance off, standing near the end of the line. The kid was bent over opposite them. Marek hobbled towards the others. The pain in his knee was started to ebb. No lasting damage, at least.
As he approached the others, the kid looked up. He was still a dozen meters away, but he could see... something. There was something in his eyes. Shock? The kid smiled at him. But there was something forced about it. Is he nervous? Was I that frightening? The kid turned back towards Lewis and Linden. He ran up to Lewis, gave him a hug, and then scurried away, back towards the city.
Marek hobbled closer. Linden had turned towards Lewis and was mouthing something. He could just make out a whisper. "...happened to him?" Lewis just shook his head. He could feel the eyes of others in the line crawling over him.
"Are you okay?" Lewis voiced his concern once he'd drawn up to them. Linden just stared, shivering.
"Yeah. Don't worry." I'm worried enough for all of us, Marek thought.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Chapter 3.2
Linden drew up alongside them, breathing heavily. Even the air on Prime was too heavy for him. The Primers were slowly herding the tall youth towards the eastern most line, intended for new volunteers, as the League referred to them; though with so few other jobs, particularly for Luners, volunteering and starving were the only two options.
Lewis drew ahead of Linden and Marek, facing the disturbance. His voice carried over his shoulder. "Linden. On my left. Marek. My right. Follow my lead." Lewis had been the leader of the group ever since the events on E-day. He was calm and composed under pressure. You could hold a laser rifle up to his face and he'd finish his drink before he even acknowledged you.
As they approached the group, one of the Primers glanced up, a stout box-shaped ape of a man with a ruinous face covered in scars and dominated by a large hooked-nose. He furrowed his heavy brow, scrunched his nose, and bared his teeth. He inclined his head towards the slim Primer to his right, particularly well-kempt but for a thick and wild beard. "Deefas. Looners. Dree of'em."
The Luner youth, no more than 6 cycles in age, jerked up his head, panic in his swollen eyes as they darted across the other Luners, finally focusing on Marek. Blood from his nose mingled with that from his lip, recently split, as he silently mouthed one word: Help.
The bearded one, Deefas, nudged the third Primer, unremarkable but for a streak of white hair on the left side of the otherwise characteristic black mop of Prime, and nodded slightly towards the youth. Streak violently shoved the boy, knocking him to the ground.
Marek started, rearing to rush forward, but was quickly stopped by an arm from Lewis. "Wait", he breathed. Deefas smoothed the sleeves of his jacket, and adjusted his lapel, all the while examining the three Luners. The other two Primers, Streak and Scars, stepped up just ahead of Deefas, flanking him, and putting themselves between the others and the youth.
Deefas' gaze came to rest on Linden. He bared a vicious toothy grin and inclined his head towards Scars. "No, Cheefal. Dads wrong. Dere's only doo of'em. One, 'ees der ped. Dads nud a man. See, 'ees a moon dug." He winked at Linden. "Dads all. Lyg dis one, see." Deefas motioned to the youth, now on his hands and knees, droplets of blood slowly raining down from his face to pool on the hard pavement.
Linden looked away, lowering his eyes to the ground. Marek clenched his fists and ground his teeth. And Lewis remained calm.
They were Sudders. Primers from the Southern continent. The name was a play on their speech. The South was dominated by mines; metal refineries; untold factories; and low hanging clouds of particulate metals and silicates, among other industrial byproducts. The air could leave a bitter taste on the tongue and a deadly layer of dust on the lungs. Nasal air filters, or NAFs, kept people breathing, but Sudders quite literally learned to keep their mouths shut. And when they did speak, they spoke with their teeth pressed closely together, dropping their h's, blunting their t's and k's, and giving their speech a menacing quality.
Deefas continued, "Loog ad'im. Dis dug knows 'oosen jarge. 'Ee wund e'en loog ad me." Scars, the one Deefas called Cheefal, bared his teeth and laughed deep from his chest, producing sounds akin to grunting.
"Leave him alone you filthy apes!" Marek stared at Deefas, his fists clenched, his body leaning forward, and the veins in his neck straining.
Deefas laughed. "Loogs lyg 'ees nod jusd a ped. Lofers maybe? Does dis dug fedge 'is bone?" The three Primers burst into grunts of laughter. Marek hissed in Lewis' ear. "I'm gonna kill him. This primate piece of sh--".
"ENOUGH!" Lewis' voice boomed across the courtyard. The lines of predominantly Luners flanking them glanced nervously in their direction before returning to stare at their feet. It was best to mind your own business on Prime. The three Sudders stopped in mid-grunt,momentarily disconcerted. Lewis had that effect on others.
Lewis proceeded calmly. "Let the kid go. He's too young. The minimum age is 10 cycles. He's no more than 7. They won't take him. Least of all under force." They all knew better though. The fleet was always hungry for pilots. They would take the kid. He'd be no better than a fighter pilot though. Meat. A death sentence.
Deefas quickly recovered his swagger. He pointed towards a full bag of food rations, spilling out onto the courtyard a few feet away. "Noooo. If 'ees old enuf do ead lyg a man, 'ees old enuf do die lyg one." He drew his finger back around to point at the boy. "Loog 'ow big 'ees grown. Doo mudge mead for dis one. Andjoo know whad dey say. You are whadjoo ead. 'Ees jusd mead, lyg d'resd'of you."
Marek cursed. "Dirty primates! Filthy apes! This world is full of your crap. In the air. On the ground. All you are is waste. You weren't born. Your mother passed you right into the sewer!"
Rage contorted Deefas' face. "Shud haf lefdjoo dere do die. All you looners're good fer's dyin'."
Marek lunged forward towards Deefas. Almost simultaneously, Lewis launched into Streak, landing a right cross to his jaw. Deefas jumped back, while Scars stepped in, shouldering Marek off balance. As Scars drew back his fist, Linden's shrill cry rang out, "Marek!"; he dived at the legs of Scars, deflecting the apes' punch. Marek felt a burst of pressure on his cheek and saw a flash of white.
White. White armor. He was back on Ur. A shattered building in the background. The armor was streaked with red. Red gloves. It seemed... almost... human. There were long slender arms at the feet of the armor. Moving slowly. And suddenly he was behind the armor. With a slab of something in his hands. A wall? He brought it down swiftly on the head of the armor. It fell. He leaped on its back. And reached for a beam of wood. From something familiar. A crib? It was broken at its tip. Sharp. He drove it down into the neck of the armor. Of the Ghost. And the white armor became red. Red hands. His hands.
There was a strange pressure on his cheek. And his back. His eyes cleared. Marek was on the ground. Staring at pavement on the horizon and at feet, limping away. "Looner. Dad one. 'Ees grazy. Loog wad 'ee did do me!" The pressure on his cheek relaxed and Marek turned his face towards the voice. Deefas was pointing an arm at him, the sleeve torn off, his jacket ripped, his face a mess of blood, and his beard a dripping red rag. "Gedjoo bag, mead. Jusd you waid, mead." Deefas began limping away, escorted by ARC security, the same security still holding him down. Marek's eyes came back to rest on his hand. His red hand. Deefas called back to Marek. "Yer dead. Jusd da walging dead."
Lewis drew ahead of Linden and Marek, facing the disturbance. His voice carried over his shoulder. "Linden. On my left. Marek. My right. Follow my lead." Lewis had been the leader of the group ever since the events on E-day. He was calm and composed under pressure. You could hold a laser rifle up to his face and he'd finish his drink before he even acknowledged you.
As they approached the group, one of the Primers glanced up, a stout box-shaped ape of a man with a ruinous face covered in scars and dominated by a large hooked-nose. He furrowed his heavy brow, scrunched his nose, and bared his teeth. He inclined his head towards the slim Primer to his right, particularly well-kempt but for a thick and wild beard. "Deefas. Looners. Dree of'em."
The Luner youth, no more than 6 cycles in age, jerked up his head, panic in his swollen eyes as they darted across the other Luners, finally focusing on Marek. Blood from his nose mingled with that from his lip, recently split, as he silently mouthed one word: Help.
The bearded one, Deefas, nudged the third Primer, unremarkable but for a streak of white hair on the left side of the otherwise characteristic black mop of Prime, and nodded slightly towards the youth. Streak violently shoved the boy, knocking him to the ground.
Marek started, rearing to rush forward, but was quickly stopped by an arm from Lewis. "Wait", he breathed. Deefas smoothed the sleeves of his jacket, and adjusted his lapel, all the while examining the three Luners. The other two Primers, Streak and Scars, stepped up just ahead of Deefas, flanking him, and putting themselves between the others and the youth.
Deefas' gaze came to rest on Linden. He bared a vicious toothy grin and inclined his head towards Scars. "No, Cheefal. Dads wrong. Dere's only doo of'em. One, 'ees der ped. Dads nud a man. See, 'ees a moon dug." He winked at Linden. "Dads all. Lyg dis one, see." Deefas motioned to the youth, now on his hands and knees, droplets of blood slowly raining down from his face to pool on the hard pavement.
Linden looked away, lowering his eyes to the ground. Marek clenched his fists and ground his teeth. And Lewis remained calm.
They were Sudders. Primers from the Southern continent. The name was a play on their speech. The South was dominated by mines; metal refineries; untold factories; and low hanging clouds of particulate metals and silicates, among other industrial byproducts. The air could leave a bitter taste on the tongue and a deadly layer of dust on the lungs. Nasal air filters, or NAFs, kept people breathing, but Sudders quite literally learned to keep their mouths shut. And when they did speak, they spoke with their teeth pressed closely together, dropping their h's, blunting their t's and k's, and giving their speech a menacing quality.
Deefas continued, "Loog ad'im. Dis dug knows 'oosen jarge. 'Ee wund e'en loog ad me." Scars, the one Deefas called Cheefal, bared his teeth and laughed deep from his chest, producing sounds akin to grunting.
"Leave him alone you filthy apes!" Marek stared at Deefas, his fists clenched, his body leaning forward, and the veins in his neck straining.
Deefas laughed. "Loogs lyg 'ees nod jusd a ped. Lofers maybe? Does dis dug fedge 'is bone?" The three Primers burst into grunts of laughter. Marek hissed in Lewis' ear. "I'm gonna kill him. This primate piece of sh--".
"ENOUGH!" Lewis' voice boomed across the courtyard. The lines of predominantly Luners flanking them glanced nervously in their direction before returning to stare at their feet. It was best to mind your own business on Prime. The three Sudders stopped in mid-grunt,momentarily disconcerted. Lewis had that effect on others.
Lewis proceeded calmly. "Let the kid go. He's too young. The minimum age is 10 cycles. He's no more than 7. They won't take him. Least of all under force." They all knew better though. The fleet was always hungry for pilots. They would take the kid. He'd be no better than a fighter pilot though. Meat. A death sentence.
Deefas quickly recovered his swagger. He pointed towards a full bag of food rations, spilling out onto the courtyard a few feet away. "Noooo. If 'ees old enuf do ead lyg a man, 'ees old enuf do die lyg one." He drew his finger back around to point at the boy. "Loog 'ow big 'ees grown. Doo mudge mead for dis one. Andjoo know whad dey say. You are whadjoo ead. 'Ees jusd mead, lyg d'resd'of you."
Marek cursed. "Dirty primates! Filthy apes! This world is full of your crap. In the air. On the ground. All you are is waste. You weren't born. Your mother passed you right into the sewer!"
Rage contorted Deefas' face. "Shud haf lefdjoo dere do die. All you looners're good fer's dyin'."
Marek lunged forward towards Deefas. Almost simultaneously, Lewis launched into Streak, landing a right cross to his jaw. Deefas jumped back, while Scars stepped in, shouldering Marek off balance. As Scars drew back his fist, Linden's shrill cry rang out, "Marek!"; he dived at the legs of Scars, deflecting the apes' punch. Marek felt a burst of pressure on his cheek and saw a flash of white.
White. White armor. He was back on Ur. A shattered building in the background. The armor was streaked with red. Red gloves. It seemed... almost... human. There were long slender arms at the feet of the armor. Moving slowly. And suddenly he was behind the armor. With a slab of something in his hands. A wall? He brought it down swiftly on the head of the armor. It fell. He leaped on its back. And reached for a beam of wood. From something familiar. A crib? It was broken at its tip. Sharp. He drove it down into the neck of the armor. Of the Ghost. And the white armor became red. Red hands. His hands.
There was a strange pressure on his cheek. And his back. His eyes cleared. Marek was on the ground. Staring at pavement on the horizon and at feet, limping away. "Looner. Dad one. 'Ees grazy. Loog wad 'ee did do me!" The pressure on his cheek relaxed and Marek turned his face towards the voice. Deefas was pointing an arm at him, the sleeve torn off, his jacket ripped, his face a mess of blood, and his beard a dripping red rag. "Gedjoo bag, mead. Jusd you waid, mead." Deefas began limping away, escorted by ARC security, the same security still holding him down. Marek's eyes came back to rest on his hand. His red hand. Deefas called back to Marek. "Yer dead. Jusd da walging dead."
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