Phase 6

They had already passed the corpse of the Delta when Berynne considered if it was worthwhile telling his Follower companion about her. Probably not, he mused, trying desperately to keep up. She's not even interested in why I pointed a gun at her. I'll have to come back another time to bury her.

Dawn was still a little while off, and if it weren't for the lantern Berynne wouldn't have been able to see more than a few yards ahead of him. The trees cast eerie, juddering shapes across the road, and he felt genuinely freaked out. Here he was, chasing after a mute Follower to mecha-knows-where and, hey, they might kill him when he got there, but ... He had to admit that any death at the hands of the Followers would be a damn site more humane than if the Tekkis who had sent that plane after him found him.

The journey continued in silence. After a short while more Berynne could see a tall farmhouse in the distance, unremarkable except that for the light emanating from the ground floor of the building. "That's it!" he cried, happily. "An enclave! At bloody last!"

The girl wheeled so suddenly that Berynne barely had time to react and nearly walked straight into her. She put her finger to her lips angrily and shook her head vigorously as she turned again to carry on along the highway in the direction of the building. Sulking, he said nothing more. In a few moments, they climbed a wooden fence and walked across a field of grass, approaching the farmhouse from the direction of the lights.

The light from the building barely intensified as they got closer, and Berynne saw that it was seeping through narrow gaps in heavy curtains. He sensed that they were being watched by something, feeling distinctively uneasy as the girl approached the bulky farmhouse door and pounded on it liberally before stepping backwards into full view of the ground and first floor, ushering Berynne to do the same.

The curtain on the closest window swished aside to reveal heavy iron bars and a figure scrutinising them, clad what looked like an orange suit of armour. Scourges, he thought. This is an enclave, alright.

He had met Scourges before, or rather witnessed them, since they were apparently bound to silence. The Metaphilosophy allowed no Follower to bear arms, but for some reason Scourges could, and did, frightening weapons that even Mjus would think twice about going against. They were the valiant and unwavering guardsmen who stood around looking as mean as the orange armour would allow when Preachers were persuading folks to join the Follower cause. Berynne had been to watch a Preacher a couple of years ago; he could still remember feeling intimidated yet utterly mesmerised by the weaponry and bulk of the Scourges.

The curtain moved back noiselessly, and the pair waited for what seemed like an eternity until Berynne heard three bolts being shot back from home and a series of complicated locks being undone. A crack of light appeared and the massive door slowly opened, spilling light into the night and revealing the figure of a man standing in the doorway.

"Well," and the strangely-accented English was reassuringly loud compared to the silence he'd been in before. "You'd better come in then, both of you." He pointed at Berynne accusingly, and behind him were the two massive Scourges, carrying two shotguns. Each. "No monkey business."

The girl strode through the door and instantly began to whisper urgently into the man's ear, occasionally looking back at Berynne. He took the time to take in his appearance. The expression on his face was stony but neutral, and Berynne guessed that he was around thirty. He was neither short nor tall but well-built, and definitely well-fed. Like Berynne, he had longish hair, wavy and grey, unlike Berynne's own curly brown locks. His clothes, dungarees, sturdy boots and a rough shirt, were brown and simple and terribly practical.

After a few moments the girl rushed off into another room behind the Scourges, and the man beckoned for Berynne to come forward. "Come on," he said. "I want to get this door closed. You never know what might be out there."

Berynne stepped through the door, and opened his mouth to thank the man, but he was stopped by a look. "Shut up. Sit down." He motioned to a chair, and Berynne took it, nonchalantly. The Scourges were watching him. He could feel it, even if he couldn't see their eyes behind those helmets. In some respects, that made it even more terrifying.

The man closed the door, and turned to address him. "Like I said, could be anything out there. We had some planes over here yesterday. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you? Only we're pretty suspicious of Tekkis, as maybe you can imagine."

In full Tekki Beta garb, Berynne knew that his pleas would probably sound ridiculous, and started to wonder how much of the truth he should tell. The man sneered at him pityingly, and Berynne placed his accent - London. "Look, Tekki, don't shit me. Ana's told me everything. Put your gun on the floor, and slide it over to those two."

Berynne did as he was told. Neither of the Scourges reacted. "Look," he blurted out, panicking. "I need your help. That plane - it was coming for me, to kill me. It could only have been Tekki, right? And I'm Tekki, right? So - "

The other man interrupted him. "Yeah, you're Tekki. I don't know what you're doing out here, but if that plane was wanting to kill you yesterday and you're still alive this morning it seems only reasonable to me that they'll be wanting to kill you again today. The way I see it, that means there'll be more Tekkis out here, maybe coming here, asking for you. Come on, man. Give me a reason to trust you, and we'll be reasonable."

Berynne didn't respond. He couldn't think of a reply - everything this Follower had said was rational, and he was surprised it hadn't occurred to him before.

"Alright," the man said. His voice had softened. "Now I've got your attention, let's start with your name."

Phase 5

Through the haze of sleep there came a sharp rap at the window behind Berynne's head and he awoke with a start, barely knowing where he was. Immediately he sat bolt upright, wheeling around to see flickering yellow light through the window and very briefly assuming the sun was dawning. Almost instantly, he realised his mistake as to his horror he saw a face peering through at him.

His heart skipped a few beats and he reached beneath the blanket to pull the revolver from his belt. He pointed it at the face, which rapidly backed away, revealing the thin body of a woman whose arms were holding the lantern producing the waxy yellow light that sickly illuminated the car's interior.

Berynne realised that he was in a tight spot, but fortunately the woman was now disappearing from view. He shuffled backwards as quickly as he could and reached behind him with his free hand, finding no handle and instantly realising why - the vehicle was a sports car whose doors were at the front.

He could no longer see the female who had abruptly woken him, and decided that, although not out of danger by any means, it was probably safe enough to make a move. He clambered over the seats again, and pushed the handle down. The door wouldn't open; he remembered the Tekki lock that had been on the passenger door, and felt for that, too. Pulling this off carefully, he tried again.

The door swung open two inches and stopped dead, clanging noisily against the metal barrier at the centre of the road. Cursing audibly, the memories from the day before came back, and he considered desperately what to do next. The female would be in the direction of the passenger door, and if she had a firearm, he'd be an easy target egressing from that side.

Aside from the sunroof, which Berynne ruled out quickly as foolish, and the passenger side door, there was no other exit from the vehicle. He lunged across the car, knocking the door from its resting place across the road with a loud scraping noise. Seeing the lantern light jump slightly, as quickly and noiselessly as possible he followed the door through the dark. Once his feet hit the road, he skidded to the right, hopped backwards along the front bumper of the vehicle until he felt the central reservation barrier behind him. He turned, vaulted it as best he could, and leaned back hard against the cold steel, breathing heavily.

Taking the gun into both hands, Berynne took off the safety catch and wheeled whilst getting to his feet. Instantly he pointed it at the light source now standing a few feet from the verge. In spite of the dark, he could still make out her face. As his eyes readjusted to the lantern light, he realised it was one of terror.

He could see her much more clearly now. She was young, much younger than his meagre 23 years, and wearing a very simply and rough hand-made brown dress, with a large frontal pocket like 20th Century aprons. She had on her feet a pair of old running shoes, and her dark hair was tied back tightly behind her head. Practical, he thought. She's probably Follower.

Slowly, the girl put the lantern on the ground and raised her hands above her head in the time-honoured gesture of surrender. Her whole body shook in fear; plainly she'd never been in this kind of situation before.

If Berynne was to be honest, neither had he. He'd listened to tales of the Followers in the Tekki mess halls, but had never actually encountered one. Tekkis in general had a deep mistrust for them and their Metaphilosophy, but there were many similarities in the aims of the two gangs and personally Berynne had no quarrel with them. Especially now. If this Follower girl was here, there'd be a Follower enclave somewhere near by. Besides, on her own she was barely a threat.

"Hey," he shouted in English as he replaced the gun in his belt, clicking the safety back on. "Look - I'm putting the gun away. I'm going to come over - don't move."

Slowly, he climbed over the barrier and walked towards her, both hands at head level. The girl looked calmer, but still as though she was about to bolt. Berynnne had to admit that he had quite a few questions as to why suh a meek and fearful Follower had strayed from the enclave before dawn, but he thought it best not to worry for the moment. After all, he was in dire need of her help.

With the width of a highway lane between them, he stopped. She flinched and took a step backwards, shivering slightly. "Don't worry," he called to her, softly. "I'm not here to hurt you. I need your help."

To this, the girl looked puzzled. Berynne wasn't surprised. By all accounts, the general mistrust of Tekkis for Followers was fairly mutual. She made no response, and he began to worry if she really understood him. "Parlez-vous Français? Habla Usted Español? Do you speak English? Catalan? Listen; I need your help."

She shook her head vigorously by response, indicating frantically down the highway. He took another few steps forward with his hands at eye level, and she stepped backwards again, right to the bushes in the verge, to which her back was now pressed firmly. Berynne sighed, exasperated, and picked up the lantern that was now by his feet, not hers. "Look." Now his voice was flat and tired. "Here's your lantern. Take me to your enclave." He repeated the sentence in rough Spanish, and proffered one hand forward to offer her the lantern, indicating with the other down the highway in the same direction as she had indicated.

She flinched again, but after a moment's pause she grabbed the lantern suspiciously, stared at him for a few seconds before making off towards where she had pointed at full speed. He followed her, confused but pleased he had gotten the message across.

His injuries from the day before moaned in complaint, and he was desperately tired. For the season, it was surprisingly chilly in the pre-dawn air, and he was afraid that those looking for him might be coming back. Berynne looked incredulously at the girl striding a few paces in front of him, and almost prayed that the walk would not be long.

Phase 4

It was quiet in the streets. It generally was, and the two Visiths had learned to be wary if it wasn't. The Callers had suddenly withdrawn from this area months before, not before time following the campaign Shelob and her pack had wrought against them. It had been a bloody conflict across at least two Winters, and Shelob had lost more many more than the Callers had including her partner Sûrgarge, who'd been killed by rookies in a firefight. This killing had the effect of making the job of the Callers much harder, and Kirsev and Morgolloth had been called on almost nightly at one point. They hadn't been associated with the Tsodik before but Shelob had needed a good Vixen. Now they were friends, even though the Callers had left and there was no need for Kirsev to stick around.

But here they were, months later, running errands for Shelob. They hadn't heard from her in most of that time, running only occasionally into members of the Tsodik in the streets and hearing that there was no news.

Morgolloth was lost in this chain of thought when Kirsev put an arm out to stop him. In the street ahead she could hear voices - young voices, laughing and shouting. "NAs," she told him flatly. "This is ridiculous. We're late already."

They stood there, waiting for the gang to approach. As they did, one boy stood forward from the others, ragged clothes and unkempt hair hard to make out in the dark streets. "Cabrones," he said, as salutation. Morgolloth growled and made to step forward, but Kirsev held him back with a pinch. "You gonna let your puta tell you what to do, cabrón?"

The leader stepped up to Morgolloth. He wasn't tall as the Visith Nightshadow but he probably would be. "She got no hair because she sick, hombre? Or you just like it that way, neh?" He turned his face to look at Kirsev. "You shiny like that anywhere else, mi flaquita?"

Kirsev sighed, and took a step forward, brushing one side of her trenchcoat aside and drawing a knife from her belt before the youths realised what was happening. As the danger dawned on him, she was already drawing the cruel blade along the soft flesh of his upper arm. The scant moonlight illuminated the scene as the lad, upper body clad only in a T-shirt, felt and saw the long wound open up and begin bleeding profusely as Kirsev spat on her knife and rubbed it idly with the forearm of her coat, watching as the boy clasped his arm in agony. Morgolloth smiled wryly, pushed the others aside and moved slickly through the group, Kirsev following.

They walked side by side as the group hurled abuse after them, moving with a cool grace until they turned the next corner. Morgolloth giggled; Kirsev shot him a sharp look. Without halting, she accelerated to full stride, Morgolloth struggling to keep up.

The rest of the journey to the Tsodik passed without incident; the two barely exchanged a word, and their tormentors hadn't ventured through the streets after them.

The rendezvous had been at Shelob's base of operations for a reason: The basement had only one entrance. The place used to be a café, or so they had been told, and Shelob had been the owner back then, too. She'd been in there on Zero Day, and survived it, living in the darkness for months until Sûrgarge and his Visith cronies had dug her out whilst looking for a place to sleep. The Tsodik had been born out of that sleepless night - the next morning a grateful and tousle-haired Shelob had been sworn in as Visith, and the rest was history.

The Tsodik had been a three storey building in the centre of the town, but the upper part was all but gone bar a skeletal hand of structural girders. Entrance was from the street through a delivery hatch; ordinarily, one had to know its precise location, but tonight Shelob and another Visith were standing alongside it.

Shelob was tense and jittery, quite unlike her usual calm self. Like Kirsev she was bald, but wore red dye on her head. She had done since Sûrgarge had died. Her and the other Visith wore black trenchcoats, but hers had been Sûrgarge's, shiny and leather, the coat of an Aleph. Although shorter in stature than any of the other three, Shelob demanded more respect, even when fidgety.

The other Visith was male, and Morgolloth didn't recognise him as Tsodik. His eyes were set deep into his long face, and Morgolloth suspected him to be from Eastern Europe, which garnered some brownie points. They interlocked fingers and pulled them brusquely apart, nodding slightly to each other as they did so. Shelob and Kirsev brushed the backs of their hands together slickly. Following this greeting, Shelob began to speak hurriedly.

"Kirsev, Morg - thanks for coming. This," She indicated the other Visith. "Is Boris. He's from the Dalet up north. He ran in a pack with Sûrgarge years ago. That's one reason he's here. Another is that he speaks Basque."

Kirsev raised her eyebrows, mind working quickly. "The client is from the Basque?" Straight to business. That was Kirsev. "What symbol do they run under, Shelob?"

Shelob grimaced. "They don't, Kirsev, that's the thing. Look - " She motioned with her arm and Morgolloth followed with his eyes to a battered, tatty van with sprayed, stencilled letters on the side. He could make them out if he squinted - D42623.

"Tekkis," He muttered, and Kirsev stamped her foot impatiently. "What's this about, Shelob?"

Boris made to open his mouth but Kirsev interjected. "No. He didn't ask you."

The feeling was tense and pregnant with awkwardness, and Shelob shivered visibly. "The Tekkis wanted a Vixen. Kirsev's the best I have."

The Vixen sighed and kicked open the delivery hatch, spilling sputtering yellow light into the dark street. She jumped down into the basement below. Morgolloth looked at Shelob, a look of apology in his darkened eyes.

"Perdón, Shelob," He muttered as he slipped through the hatchway clumsily. "Perdónale a mi flaquita."