"The masses are ignorant. The exhaustion of survival leaves them no ti to ponder the aning of life, nor can they understand the aning of justice and civilization. Justice cannot unite them, but hatred can. Hatred is the simplest way to bind a crowd together."
On the ascending lift, Caelan lectured the children while Curze listened quietly in the dark.
"What do we need to do?" Philly asked.
"Tell them the truth," Caelan replied. "Tell the people that their labor should bring them more. Tell them who is exploiting them. Tell them how to take back what belongs to them."
"Not just telling them, we must return what is theirs. Only when they truly possess rights will they understand why rights must be defended. Because then, they really have sothing to lose, a cow, for instance."
"What's a cow?" Philly asked, puzzled.
Caelan explained, "A cow was a creature of Old Terra. But that's only a taphor. A cow could be anything. For example, say you are starving, and you only have one corpse-starch bar left. If I tried to take it from you, would you resist?"
Philly let out an "Oh" and imdiately handed over her corpse-starch bar to Caelan.
Caelan laughed helplessly. "But what if soone else tried to steal your most precious thing?"
"No way." Philly hugged the corpse-starch bar tightly to her chest, glaring suspiciously at Curze.
Curze glanced back at her, not understanding why she looked at him that way.
Did she think he was the kind of person who would steal her single corpse-starch bar?
The lift stopped at the bottom of the lower hive.
"This is our new ho," Curze said. "Co with to get weapons. You must defend it yourselves."
The bodies had already been dealt with by Caelan, who had also collected the gangs' weapons and stored them in an armory.
The gangs' weapons in the lower hive were far superior to those in the bottom hive. The bottom hive had mostly scrap guns, with only a few battered, poorly maintained lasguns.
But here, the gangs carried nothing but lasguns, all relatively new, because a munitions factory stood in their territory.
Most of the factory's output was handed over to the nobles, but the rest was enough for the gangs to maintain control.
The boys were ard. Curze took only a hundred with him.
The others stayed behind to defend their new ho. The girls were tasked with making the place feel more like a ho.
Dorothy remained in the bottom hive to continue teaching the children there. In the lower hive, they would establish a new school for the children.
The ventilation fans belched foul gas into the eternal night of the hive. Their blades hamred endlessly against shrieking bearings, sucking the rot that clogged the depths of Hive Quintus.
The shutdown of recycling centers and failing water systems made the heat unbearable. Streets pressed with shoulder-to-shoulder crowds, bodies drenched in sweat, trash piled everywhere, its stench saturating the air.
Every breath carried the sharp tang of rust, so close to the stench of rotting blood.
That sll greeted people at birth and stayed with them until death.
The 'off-shift' crowd carefully avoided the ard teenagers, who marched under the lead of a pale giant toward the factory.
The Ars Gang's stronghold had been silent for three days, cut off from all its outposts. No one who entered that area had returned alive.
The residents nearby knew change was coming. These half-grown children might beco the new rulers.
But it mattered little to them. Whoever ruled, they still had to work to feed their families.
At the factory wall, Curze signaled the others to stay hidden in the alleys, out of sight of the guns on the ramparts.
"Sir, I am Beser, the overseer of this factory. Who are you?"
Dozens of guns aid down from the walls, their leader shouting from behind a watchtower.
The underclass didn't care much who ruled them. Beser himself often dread of overthrowing the Ars and taking charge.
The "Ars Gang" was more of a loose confederation of dozens of factions, each controlling its own streets.
Beser couldn't read these strangers' background, but new rulers usually killed only the forr gang leaders, sparing the under-factions. That was the law of the lower hive.
No one broke that rule, because new rulers also needed the factions to maintain control.
Beser planned to negotiate. He was willing to compromise on profits, but the factory had to remain his.
Curze already knew what he was thinking. With a glance, he could see Beser's future. But he had never planned to negotiate.
His figure vanished into the dark. Beser and his n stared in shock, searching the shadows, still not realizing the danger.
Not until Beser's throat was cut open, followed by the rest of his n, none survived.
Minutes later, the factory gates swung open. The pale giant erged from the darkness, waving for the youths to co forward.
Half followed Curze into the factory. The other half secured the walls, ensuring the gates stayed closed until Curze's hunt was done.
"What's happening?"
Mason paced along the production line where tens of thousands of workers labored. An unease gnawed at him.
Boss Beser had gone to negotiate with the new gang and still hadn't returned. Could sothing have happened?
Outside was strangely quiet. Normally, the gang mbers would wander in to intimidate workers; they knew nothing of machines or managent, but bullying laborers fed their vanity.
As foreman, Mason was caught between the gang and the workers. He managed the labor for the gang, but also tried to prevent the workers from being crushed too badly.
Even so, others envied his position.
Sotis, Mason cursed Beser and his thugs under his breath. Yet now, he couldn't help but worry for him.
He had sacrificed too much for this job.
If Beser waw gone, what would happen to him?
Mason kept glancing toward the gates, hoping to see gang mbers co in to harass the workers, proof that things were still normal.
Gradually, he heard gunfire outside, along with the shouts and curses of gang mbers.
His heart sank. The new gang leader was displeased with Beser's rule and wanted the factory for himself.
Could Beser win?
Mason worried deeply. If not, surely Beser would have fled into the factory by now.
He distracted himself with these thoughts, not noticing where he was walking, until he collided with what felt like a wall.
Looking up, he realized it was not a wall but a pale giant he had never seen before.
"Mason," the pale giant said, pronouncing his na. "From now on, this place is under the judgnt of the Midnight Phantoms. Gather the other foren. You must face trial."
User Comments
0 comments from readers