The Industrialist

Chapter 4: Specialist

"Hold up kid!" A rifled man hidden from the shadows, away from the reach of the light, startled the young kid. Jasper was not able to scan if it was not mobile.

"What are you doing here?" The man asked.

"I am looking for the rebellion," Lance answered.

"What are you saying, kid? There are no rebels here."

"Maybe we should go back, Master?" Jasper said. "I sense hostility from this man."

"I am against the cause and I came here for a purpose." Lance neglected Jasper’s advice. "I seek the rebellion and seeking for a man called the Specialist." Lance stayed his ground and held onto a strong response so as not to imitate fear from the rebel scout.

"Who sent you, kid?" The guard pressed on to where Lance stood. His gun was semi-pointed at the half-steady teen and the moist pavement.

"Roger from the Market," Lance responded strongly despite trembling obscurely from the rebel guard.

"We don’t acknowledge the name. Walk away boy from where you belong and don’t come back."

"Wait!" An authoritative voice loomed from another side of the wall. A large built man appeared away from the embrace of darkness. The same model gun on his left hand with his finger softly touching the trigger. He was ready for a gunfight.

"Why, Damian?" The first guard asked.

"You idiot." Damian’s voice raised. "We must interrogate him first, why he was able to locate us? Or maybe he’s a mole from the Corporation. He must know something about the signs." Damian responded. His voice was deep and stern. He had strong-built shoulders, a clean shaved face with a clear hint of ex-military posture, and the eyes of a killer.

The first guard on the other hand was younger and seemingly lacked the combative experience. He had lean features, fidgeting in a way he held his weapon which was dangerous for a probable friendly fire.

"Take the kid to him!" Damian commanded and the first guard grabbed Lance’s right arm sternly. Dragging him deeper into the tunnel, Lance followed suit with little resistance. The lights seemed dimmer compared to the stretch that Lance came in.

Then into the Maintenance Deck was a huge room, half a hectare size as Lance estimated. He was good at estimations. It was like a junction box yet instead of wires were tunnels and pipes, almost intertwined endlessly until finding their destination.

Hundreds of people heaved the room doing their own business like the market however only fewer guffaws and the mess. They lived in tents. The one-button-press tents would automatically be assembled and retracted with another press. A usable invention indeed, helpful obviously for those who were on the run.

Every man in the room had rifles and handguns. Most women, if not holding a rifle, had food served to the members, and the children somehow portrayed a robust support for the anti-Corp drive.

Seemingly, they were always ready for a close combat skirmish as guards from every corner had their weapons ready on their hands. At first impression, looking at the bunch was chaotic in a way. Despite that, analyzing the positions of the rifled combatants, they were strategic for a defensive and quick exit.

All eyes were piercing to the guy in scrappy pants and a dark-clothed sweatshirt, a teenager escorted by Damian and his partner. Lance felt the weight of the stares of the Rebel members.

They took Lance to a larger tent with two other guards standing on both poles before the entrance. He went inside and found himself across a table where a large map lay on top of it with three people hovering above.

It was Axe Central City. He was also adept with maps.

"Who’s this?" The older guy in between the two asked. He was maybe the leader as the other two just stayed silent.

"This ain’t a walk in the park type kid. This is war and we will go out there with weapons." Damian responded.

"C’mon, Damian. Give this kid respect. Don’t you know his father?" Jefferson said as he strolled nearer to Damian. They were tall people, like Lance. From the teen’s point of view, Jefferson was towering higher than Damian as if the master was talking to his student.

"How would I know? I don’t know your past, Jefferson." Damian responded with a lowered voice tonality. An ex-military cowered towards their leader, portraying obvious respect.

"Erik Berkley joined the Rebellion after the success of Project Nightfall." The people in the tent had their ears and attention to every word Jefferson would soon utter. As if they would hear the story for the first time.

"Erik Berkley designed the walls. Moreover, he also shared with me the schematics of the tunnels." Jefferson continued. "These tunnels served as the veins powering the wall’s defenses. And that’s why we are always safe because of him. He taught me how to move in silence where no robots could see and the routes in and out oblivious to the Corp’s knowing. He is a strategist."

’A strategist.’ Lance thought.

He heard less of his father’s story from others, and by far this was the best compliment he ever heard from a man of authority. He was proud.

"So a damn respect would be nice. We owed our lives to Erik." His sharp stare glared at Lance, however, transformed into a friendly state right after. "Kid, you are welcome to stay. And the Specialist will guide your quest."

"What is Project Nightfall?" asked Damian.

"I do not know the details of Nightfall but Erik knew everything. Sadly though, he kept it to himself. He told me that that project was the beginning of everything. His worst nightmare."

"What do you mean about everything?" The other guy asked this time.

"Abominants. I was told. It was supposed to be a scientific breakthrough that intended to end hunger. It’s gone sideways, obviously... It was difficult for Erik to mention the details of the project with which the results led him to become one of us. The Truth Seekers."

Truth Seekers was the name the rebels wanted them to be branded. They were either blind to the cause or a misplaced bravery.

There was silence after hearing the story. Jefferson’s face was plastered with the command to end all questions that reminded him of his friend. It looked as if it was also painful for him to reminisce about Erik’s death.

’My father’s heart was in the right place,’ Lance thought.

Jefferson went back to the map and pressed both hands on the table.

"When can I meet the Specialist?" Lance asked, breaking the silence.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Jefferson asked with utter seriousness.

"Yes, I am," Lance answered back without faltering his eye contact.

"Erik told me that one day you will come along for a dream bigger than everyone else. He said you will seek the impossible. And the only assistance that I can give you is my support." Jefferson said.

"Ok." Lance paused not knowing how to respond to that statement. Cofidently, he continued, "Where can I find a specialist?"

"You already met him," Damian responded after a long awkward moment and the eyes in every able body in the tent were looking at him.