Chapter Nine - Halfstar

“Logistics are life.

Without them, you have no food, no water, no ammo, no materials. You’re basically stuck with what you have on you. It’s why in times of crisis, one of the most important things is setting up a proper logistics train.

That gets complicated when the train needs to reach the undercity. The terrain is treacherous, the paths down are maze-like, and if cargo is unguarded, it’s liable to never make it to its destination.

One popular trick is to just figure out where the destination is, then plow a hole through the building above it.

It’s a bit unsubtle, but it’s better than being shanked by a hobo.”

--Sgt. Aaron Fenzer - The True American Army’s Logistics Division, 2048

***

The maintenance elevator might have been faster, but it was also cramped, jittery, and felt like a place where someone could easily die.

“Oh, wow,” I said after we hit a particularly jarring bump. “I had Myalis pull up the records, and this elevator was last inspected in 2045.”

“I was like, three years old then,” Raccoon said.

I nodded. “Next time, I think we can use the non-shortcut.”

“We’re in something of a hurry,” Gomorrah said. She was off to one side, hand wrapped around one of the metal poles reaching up to the ceiling. The elevator didn’t have completed walls. Instead it was lined by a cage on four sides that ended at about hip-height. It meant that we got to see the bare structure of the building as we slid down. Cracked concrete, exposed rebar, and the occasional open vent where glowing eyes watched us pass.

The elevator jerked to a stop, and the cage slid most of the way open just as the door squealed apart.

“This is it,” Raccoon said as she squeezed out ahead and stepped into a dingy corridor. It was all graffiti-covered drywall, with the occasional hole punched into it. Lights hung from the ceilings, some of them working enough that they illuminated the boxes here and there where the homeless lived.

Had lived—none of those I saw had anyone in them.

“The Halfstar is one level down,” Raccoon said.

“Alright, lead on.”

Gomorrah and I walked side-by-side behind Rac, the girl bouncing ahead with near-manic energy. “Has anything changed in this area recently?” Gomorrah asked.

“Yeah, there were aliens.”

“Aliens?” I asked.

“You know, plant xenos. From the incursion. Some of them made it this far out, but then some samurai like you swept in. We had a whole lot of soldiers down here too, but only for a day or so before they left.”

“And that’s why there isn’t anyone around?” I asked.

Rac shrugged. “I guess. When the incursion happened, I went topside, hid in one of the big shelters. They had free food. I bet a lot of homeless did that too. Online, they say that there’s a lot of opportunity right after an incursion. Lots of companies pick up new employees for the factories from all the people who lost their homes and stuff.”

“Huh,” I said. Likely easy pickings. Desperate people would grab onto any contract in a pinch. “You don’t like that kind of work?”

“I’d love to work in a factory,” Rac said. “Just doing the same thing all day. I could save up some credits, buy one of those story-generating machines. You know, with, like, an AI writing a story for you, then reading it aloud? Just zone out all day.”

That sounded awful. “If that’s what you want, then why didn’t you try to find work?” Gomorrah asked.

“Too young. Most corporations are real careful about hiring anyone under eighteen, because there’ve been some samurai that kicked up a fuss about child labour, and no one wants their factory burned down.”

“Maybe we can find you some better work then,” I said.

“Really?” Raccoon asked.

“Really?” Gomorrah repeated.

“Hey, I have a whole new building that needs cleaning and stuff. And we’re basically rich, aren’t we?” I asked. Plus, Raccoon reminded me a lot of my Kittens. A bit dirtier (and that was saying something) but she had that same energy about her. She was tough.

“That would be incredible! I’ll work really hard, and for cheap too. And I promise I won’t sell most of your trash!”

“Alright, alright,’ I said. “Let’s get all of this stuff done first.”

Raccoon brought us down a stairwell, then opened a door that led into a maintenance corridor, with a low ceiling covered in exposed pipes and dangling wires. “Don’t touch the tubes, they’re hot,” she warned as she easily squeezed between two of them.

I had to contort myself through, the armour making it a lot harder, but at least it kept me from getting burned or anything.

Once we were through, we pushed into a much wider corridor, this one acting as a sort of street. There were a few booths along the sides, and some enclosed greenhouse planters that looked to be filled with oxygen-rich moulds.

Doors with panels on them led off to apartments on both sides, and at the next corner, we passed a convenience store with barred windows. There were people around, at least. Some looking tired, others tipsy. Mostly, they looked like workers on their way back home after a nightshift’s work.

The corridor eventually tipped downwards and we reached another intersection, one leading onto a road that was lit only by reddish lights.

Some kids with neon spray-paint were designing a mural on one wall with quick strokes. Sharply drawn aliens, recognizable as Model Threes, racing up towards a figure that looked suspiciously like Deus Ex, with red slashes flowing out and away from her and through the aliens. The bottom half of the image looked like the undercity though, and it was crawling with aliens.

Above it all, in that typical hard-to-read typography graffiti artists liked, were some words: “GOD’S EYES DON’T SEE DEEP.”

I snapped a pic while we walked past. Something to send to the pipsqueak later.

The Halfstar announced itself with all of the bluster and pride of a silent fart. It had a sign hanging off one wall, the lights in it burnt out. Its entrance was a plain metal door.

But there was a line leading in, and a bouncer by the front with a half-mask and two cybernetic arms that looked like they belonged to a factory worker.

We skipped the line.

“Hey,” I say to the bouncer. “Can pretty girls come in free?”

He eyed me, then Gomorrah, then Raccoon. “No,” he said.

“Can pretty girls with very big guns come in free?” I asked next.

Gomorrah sighed. “We’re Samurai, here to speak with... someone within. Please let us in.”

He looked at Gomorrah, then stepped to the side. “Right, of course. Go on in.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied.

“Sir?” I repeated.

“Being polite can help things. And it’s just common courtesy, something that I know you’re unfamiliar with.”

“I can be polite if I feel like it,” I said. “I’ve just never felt like it.”

The Halfstar’s entrance was a dark place, filled with gauzy curtains of light-absorbing material that made it hard to guess how big things were. They might have done something to dampen down the sound, because as we moved in, the noise grew louder and louder. I adjusted my cat-ears down a notch or two. Super hearing was great when it wasn’t pounding noise into your skull.

And then we were in the bar proper.

It was obvious that the place had been something else at one point. Walls were torn out, and the floor cut open. A second level below had chairs around a ring that someone could easily jump into from above. There weren’t even rails around it on the top floor.

No fights on at the moment, but the place was still lively. The dance floor was occupied by two dozen bodies, rubbing and gyrating against each other, and the DJ, some guy in a sweat-stained shirt waving his arms around.

“There,” Gomorrah said.

She was pointing across the room to where a nun was facing off against an obese man jabbing a finger towards her face.

“That’s Franny,” she said.

Franny looked pissed. Sure, she was as pretty as she was in the pictures Gomorrah had shared, but that beauty was twisted a bit as she sneered at the man blocking her path.

Still hot though.

“Well then, let’s go say hi to your girlfriend,” I said.

***