Faction 9: A Novel of Revolution by James Firelocke

Author:James Firelocke [Firelocke, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: James Firelocke
Published: 2018-01-18T22:00:00+00:00

Andronicus groaned and rolled over onto his back. He sat up in the bed. Polyvox was sitting in a chair, looking at him. She had taken off her coat and crossed her booted legs. She was twirling her weapon, which in its collapsed form resembled a shiny chrome flashlight shaft.

“How long have you been sitting there, spying on me?” asked Andronicus, rubbing his blurry eyes.

“Two hours.”

His head hurt and his throat was parched. “Why are you gawking at me like that? Why are you holding that infernal zap-stick? Turn out the light, leave, and let me sleep.”

“I simply wanted to make sure you didn’t choke to death on your own vomit,” she said. “Is that so terrible?”

“Vomit?”

“I understand that this sometimes happens to your kind. I know it for a fact, actually.”

Andronicus slowly swung himself around and sat on the edge of the bed. “Your concern is touching, Polyvox. But I’m perfectly capable of sleeping off a bender by myself. Go.”

“My concern is not personal, Andronicus. You are critical to the Movement and your loss would be a serious setback.”

“Thanks. You don’t have to wear your utilitarian cold-heartedness on your sleeve. Can you get me a glass of water, please?”

A subtle twitch of annoyance played at the edges of Polyvox’s mouth. She placed her weapon on the floor by the chair, stood up, poured a cup at the sink, and brought it back to him.

He drank it down. “Ah, that’s better. The Schuylkill River refreshes.”

She sat down next to him on the bed. “My friend, of course I have personal affection for you, but the exigencies of The Cause must be primary in both of our minds.”

“You should write sonnets, you have such a gift for eloquence. But I have a serious matter I wish to bring up with you, Polyvox.”

“Oh.” Polyvox seemed uninterested. She brushed his scraggly, unkempt hair out of his eyes.

“Why,” he continued, trying to ignore this, “did you reveal your origins to Jack, down there in the caves? What on earth came over you? He’s barely a novice in the Movement and should not be trusted with such sensitive facts.”

“Jack spoke to you about our conversation, did he? No matter. We’ve entrusted him with more sensitive information already. He may be a novice, but he is already in very deep.”

“Your origins are none of his business. Too many people in our group already know about you. Krypton, Blackshield, and now Jack. Why don’t you just write an autobiography?”

“Let’s stop talking about this. You’re pale and you reek of alcohol. You have a slight tremor which you yourself may not have even noticed. I will lie here with you for the rest of the night to assist in your recovery.”

Andronicus knew what that would entail, and he was suddenly cautious. As a man of the revolution, he prided himself on being a master of his own passions. The unbridled lust of the old American playboy tradition repelled him, partly because of his confused WASP-Korean-Quaker-Catholic upbringing, but mostly

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