Echo Volume 2: The Taste of Ashes by Kent Wayne

Author:Kent Wayne [Wayne, Kent]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

13

Atriya rose from his sitting position. He pressed himself against the pillar and scanned the vicinity with his overlays. He overheard the two Jury agents—the Retrieval commander and Captain Linke—conversing within earshot.

Linke: “Remember what we’re here for. We’re here to set an example; I want this done right.”

The Retrieval commander responded contentiously, “Fighting is overflowing into the surrounding ‘scapes. Dispatch is bugging me for assets that I can’t spare. Let’s organize the prisoners and smooth things out with Higher before we settle up with Atriya.”

Linke’s voice rose in protest, “Atriya is the main—”

The commander cut him off, “You want this done right? Then do it right. We’ve got dozens of guns on Atriya; he isn’t going anywhere. Our snipers can take him in one shot if need be.” He continued speaking in a pragmatic, brook-no-dissent tone. “Let’s secure the prisoners, address Higher, then deal with Atriya.”

Silence from Linke. After a bit, Atriya heard a grudging yet consenting reply: “Fine.”

The Crusader shifted his gaze to the center of the second floor. Department forces had secured the rest of the warehouse and were busy handling prisoners. Guarded by rifle-toting Enforcers, a row of tattered Dissidents was forced to kneel and clasp their hands behind their heads. Pairs of grunts systematically worked their way down the line, securing the prisoners’ wrists with magnetic restraints. The guards methodically pulled the captives’ hands behind their backs one after the other and clipped on matte-black sets of cuffs.

The cuffs were smooth, dark circlets. There was no connecting link between them aside from a faint, laser-like ray of red light that moved between each restraint and its counterpart, designating that they were a pair. When the cuffs were on and roughly a foot apart, a blinking red light in their center would turn green. A magnetic charge would activate, causing the circlets to clang against each other and immobilize the prisoners’ hands uncomfortably behind them.

Turning his head to either side, Atriya saw that Retrieval commandos had their sights on his position. He peered through a crack between stacks of crates and watched the scene continue to unfold.

Every prisoner was recovering from being knocked senseless. There weren’t that many left—only forty or so, a tiny fraction of the original force. The ratio of enemy dead to surviving was heavily weighted; it spoke volumes about the Dissidents’ commitment to dying for the cause. Atriya could see that the remaining ones were alive simply because some chance event had rendered them unconscious. Half of them were just now regaining their senses.

The guards finished securing the Dissidents. Enforcers drew knives and cut ammo harnesses from the rebels’ bodies. The kneeling captives were stripped down to pants, shirts, and boots.

Atriya’s black-clad partner stepped into his field of view. Clement sauntered to the far end of the prisoner line, leisurely holstering his Exis between strides. As he strolled along in languid, deliberate paces, he stuck his hand out and casually brushed it against the sides and backs of Dissidents’ heads. Prisoners flinched and jerked away.

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