The Industrialist

Chapter 83: Sidetrack: Force

Damian

Rebel Camps. Southern Wall underground

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Damian had a frequent frazzled feeling, the feeling of unease, of insecurity since Lance visited them. The rarest of times he had these feelings ever since he joined the rebel faction, and had grown into likeness to his comrades, to the community, and even what they built inside the tunnels.

The feeling gave him paranoia of some sort, checking his weapon so frequently – the ammo inside the magazine, the safety switch, even he dismantled it as he cleaned and oiled the components.

'If only these were laser guns, I don't have to oil them.' Damian grunted.

His comrades did the same, too. As soon as word had spread, a word about the Special Homeland Forces.

Before, Erik Berkley assured them that the labyrinth underground the walls had no records in the Science Archives. If such records exist, it was not in the hands of the Corporation or the Government. The underground tunnel plans were a forgotten access to the new world.

These tunnels existed, made and designed by one of the Lost Engineers, as the old people rumored about, because of trading access toward the city and to the outskirts, masking the risk of exposure from the Abominants.

Since the walls were constructed, many believed that these tunnels ceased to exist, condemned. The old people said that even during the walls' construction, spearheaded by one of the Lost Engineers. The best of all Civil Engineers, they say.

However, that notion crumbled as Lance had told them about the Special Homeland Force, specially made to flush out their faction, his family, and his friends.

His life.

They lived in tents, but they considered them homes. The children played along the concrete floors, even without access to atmospheric air. They played with the water droplets that came from the moisture of the water pipes above them and thought that it was rain. Damian considered himself lucky to have a life outside the confines of concrete slabs.

'This is prison.' He thought. But even so, they felt free. They felt they were fighting for their freedom.

Such a newly formed group, the SHF, gave him gooseflesh. He was not sure why, exactly. He was a soldier and they were trained too. But maybe because the SHF could be a group that was off the books, away from GLD regulations, just like their Special Army Force way back his stint as a soldier.

He speculated that the Special Army Force during the war was not only established to battle against Abominants or hunt the hive for that matter because that was their objective as a soldier. No. The SAF was formed by the greed of politicians or those who are in power to gain control over the other surviving cities.

Assassinations, if necessary. Off-the-books.

The Governments of the surviving cities were secretly at war, the public had not known about it. But there were rumors floating inside the army that the surviving cities were strengthening their defenses for other government invasion. He dismissed the thought as it was preposterous. Humans should fight against Abominants, not against with each other. However, it was not the case.

Humans tends to overextend their powers, feeding their selfish interests, wanting the necessity of control. Because of these rumors and had found to be true, Damian became a rebel.

SAF or SHF, they were just the same. And they had special training, to be merciless and bloodthirsty. No regard for human life, even for their comrades. Mercenaries as some would say.

"And what about the Council? What's their say on this?" Damian asked. He checked his magazine again. It was almost a clockwork for him.

"They finally agreed for hours of discussion."

"But where?" Damian observed Jefferson had something hiding behind those eyes. The way they looked; they were empty. He felt Jefferson was way passive, as if untrained in situations like these. He knew Jefferson, he had worked with him for years. He knew that Jefferson was hiding something.

"Erik prepared for this. He gave three more locations for our exodus."

"Another tunnel junction room, I guess," Damian said.

"A prison, outside the walls. Abandoned before the walls were made." Jefferson answered. He was unsure to himself if such a location was the most amenable decision. "No more tunnels for us, Damian. They can still locate us if we choose another tunnel."

"Prison? Where?"

"Fifteen miles, East. It's a stronghold." Jefferson convinced Damian, but clearly, he convinced himself too.

"What about our livelihood? Our smugglers? We can't live without them,"

"We maintain connections, Damian. Rebel representatives will still linger in these tunnels, in different locations to accommodate the smugglers. We can still earn from that too."

"What about Lance's business?"

"Lance harvested everything. Every nectar we produced, all twenty jars, he took them and paid. He said, we needed the poison bombs the most now that we are in the open." Jefferson answered.

"His Zelkians?" Damian asked.

"Yeah, that too. Lance arranged for his buyer for an early delivery. We will reestablish his farm again in our new home. Listen, Damian. Whatever happens, you must protect that kid! All right?

At any cost. Protect him with your life. Even from me."

"Huh? What do you mean?" Damian perturbed.

Their conversation stopped as a silhouette figure appeared from the very end of the long stretch of the tunnel. One hundred fifty meters away from them. Quickly, Damian aimed at the moving silhouette. The shadow was jaggedly walking, bumping itself against the cavernous walls.

"He's injured. Who is it!" Damian shouted, his voice echoing inside the tunnel.

"Don't shoot. It's Craig!" The man answered. His leg dragging against the concrete. Seemingly bloodied, as Damian assessed.

"Craig? Hang in there, I am coming for you!"

"No! Don't come in here. You must run, Damian. All of you! They are here!"