SmoMir Chpt 4

==Mirrorsmoke Company - Chapter 4 -==
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Somewhere in continent of Nordmarka
New Oslo, Draconis Combine
August, 3018 
There was something about farms that didn't sit right with me–or any rural area at least. I remembered being a city boy, too used to the deluge of people whose faces I couldn't even remember anymore, too used to them coming and going like a stream from the river beside me as I drove; ceaselessly moving in one direction to who knows where they may end up.
 
To me, rural life seemed stagnant. Not to say it was bad, or something to be reviled–far from it–but to me, the idea of staying in one place all your life must make one seem so small, so short of a life. It felt like the death of potential.
 
It may just be my life of captivity that had me yearning for the stars above, of finally knowing the taste of freedom that had me wanting more than just the confines of a dorm room, staring outside its barred windows as life seemed to pass on by without you.
 
I wasn't sure.
 
We were close to the settlement now, practically already there. The destination tracker showed me the distance in actual numbers, rather than a set of digits and the letter km attached to it. More obvious than that, was the horizon that had begun to span a vast empty field freshly harvested of its wheat and produce.
 
I was behind the wheel, with Logan riding shotgun, his head slumped over the door frame of the van, sleeping heavily. How he managed to stay like that while I was driving bumpily off-road for the past hour I'd never know. Actually being able to drive on flat ground was a relief I didn't know I wanted until now, and once I realized just how time consuming it was going to be navigating through vegetation and rock, I was already beginning to dread the trip back to the dropship.
 
What was worse, was the stench of fertilizers and compost hitting my nose like a right hook. It squatted there. Tiny, stinging hooks up my nostrils that overwhelmed my sense of smell. I had a mounting urge to vomit and already my mouth drooled in anticipation.
 
I just smiled. I wasn't alone.
 
As I glanced in the rearview mirror, the smell hit my boys just as hard. I could tell from the way their faces grimaced from the stench, fingers rapidly tapping the buttons closing the windows of the van as we got closer and closer to the village.
 
"You city boys," I said. I couldn't help but tease, ignoring the fact that I was suffering alongside them. Hopefully it didn't show on my face. "What happened to being hardened mechwarriors, huh?"
 
"Dav, it's cramped in here and I've been sitting for what feels like hours," Jason dry heaved, all the while wrapping his scarf around his mouth and nose. "Please don't give me a reason to hit you."
 
That only earned him an elbow from his team lead, who sat right in the middle of the two brothers. Squished together by twins who were already past the height of six feet, despite being just fifteen. They were still growing. "If you were this aggressive in a spar," Emil growled. "I'd be right happy to give you more reasons."
 
Jason just withered at the statement, effectively cowed. I knew Emil, and that had not been a threat, that was a promise. Beneath all that shaggy hair that at times covered his face was a scowl, one that had settled there since about halfway through the trip. I couldn't say I blame him.
 
"You know, for a settlement of this size, you'd think there'd be more patrols around," Jonas–the other twin–said. Without a scarf he resorted to pinching his nose and covering his mouth, muffling his voice. "I'm pretty sure the subalterns could have just landed in a closer area where the people couldn't spot us."
 
"You think the snakes care about what these people do this far out of the cities?" I asked. "The place looks big enough for the farmers to live out their lives in peace. So long as they pay taxes, keep their heads down, and don't make trouble, of course."
 
"As for the second one, blame Logan and his paranoia," I continued. "As much as I dislike it, he is right, OpSec is paramount."
 
"Ah yes, and that's why we're going to farms pretending to be Astechs looking for work in exchange for food," he said, sardonically.
 
I frowned. "Well, if you have a better idea other than raiding them, I'm all ears."
 
Jonas pointed a free finger at me through the mirror. "Why can't we just sell some of the more mundane gear that we have? With the printers alone we could make so much shit we'd flood the damn market!"
 
"Sell technology that nobody else seems to have and in so many quantities that people start asking questions?" I asked. Two can play the game of sarcasm. "Right, that always ends well."
 
"...Jo', what the hell do you even know about the markets?" Jason asked, whose face scrunched together mockingly. "I'm surprised you even know how to do basic subtractions without using your fingers!"
 
"I know far more than your dumb ass, Jas'!" Jonas shot back, who then proceeded to reach a hand over Emil and smack his brother upside on the head.
 
It escalated fast, the both of them trading slaps and shoves, the vehicle rocking back and forth both from their antics and me struggling to keep the wheel steady from laughing too much.
 
Emil put a stop to it almost as quickly as it happened. His hands snaked their way under their armpits, putting them into a headlock as he yanked on their necks. With a flick of his head, a sliver of his jade eyes peeked from under the locks of his hair.
 
"Gentlemen, it's been a long and arduous journey," he said, grinning. The smile failed to reach his eyes, however. "Let's all calm ourselves down and behave nicely, understand?"
 
When they simply nodded, he tightened his grip. "Do you understand?"
 
"Yessir." "Crystal clear, sir."
 
That was apparently enough for Emil, who let them go. I didn't envy him. I had trouble with Mack as it is, and wrangling these two hotheads must be migraine inducing. There was a reason why the minders kept them separated at all times during drills.
 
"Looks like I missed a whole lot." I turned briefly to see it was Logan who yawned out, rubbing his eyes and stretching his neck.
 
"Nah, just the twins being twins." I glanced in the mirror again, both of them giving me a salute with their fingers.
 
Thankfully the town was up ahead, and any further trouble was staved off by the chance to stretch our legs and enjoy the cool autumn wind.
 
That was, until we had to make the trip back home again.
 
>>>_>_>_>_>_>_>>_>_>_>_>_>>_>_>_>>_
 
We had the good fortune of a clear and sunny day, despite bringing with it the cool autumn winds. The stench of the compost had proceeded to blow westwards, far from the settlement, and we hadn't caught even a whiff of the stuff as we disembarked the van.
 
The town was wealthy, that much I could tell. A number of greenhouses dotted the outskirts, and there were even machines, not mechs as I first thought, but they were large enough to haul and load the remaining produce that hadn't been distributed to the rest of the planet.
 
They were a sight to see, and I was blown away. I wanted nothing more than to see them up close, and in action.
 
The problem however was the mob of people who greeted us.
 
I had to admit, the last thing I expected today was a congregation of hostile farmers. 
 
"Get out of here!" a few of them shouted at us. Those were the polite ones. Some of them had taken to picking up some rocks, and already a few of them had begun a dead sprint away from the group, presumably to come back with something nastier. Immediately the largest of us–that being me and the twins–pulled Logan and Emil to our backs as we slowly retreated to the safety of our vehicle.
 
"Fuck off!"
 
"Leave!"
 
"Easy, easy!" I shouted back. "We don't want any trouble!"
 
The mob seemed to swell in size, and before long what had once been just a group of ten men now doubled into a wall of calloused hands that threatened to overwhelm us. The shouting got louder and louder–
 
All it took was a rock being thrown, blood split on our side, and we'd defend ourselves.
 
"Logan, what the fuck is going on?" Emil asked, peering behind our backs.
 
"I don't know," was all he could say. "They weren't this volatile last time I was here."
 
And four men pushed themselves out of the wall. Armed men. The mob fell dead silent. I looked to the twins, and then to Emil and Logan. They all gave the same surprised look as I did. Then those gazes hardened. Made my blood freeze in my veins.
 
We weren't trained to de-escalate.
 
"We're unarmed! Unarmed!" I desperately shouted, hands high in the air. It was a goddamn lie, my hidden gun never before felt as heavy as it was now. "We're just kids!"
 
I made the rest of us reach for the sky, because my hands felt like they were zero-g. I imagined it felt even lighter to them.
 
Somewhere in our clothes was a security standard issue side-arm. Sixteen rounds. Chambered in 9mm, it could shoot as fast as my fingers could pull the trigger. Low recoil, though it did veer slightly to the right in rapid bursts.
 
They were militiamen, from the looks of it. With barely maintained but cherished hunting rifles, possibly carried down from a generation or three. They stood still as a statue, a posture meant for showcase and intimidation. Like a Tri-Vid action star.
 
These people, whose population probably numbered in half a thousand, that I couldn't even bother remembering the name of their settlement. They'd never had to learn fear. Never had the horror of a gun discharging point blank by your face as punishment. That if you so much as flinched, or bawled, or pissed yourself was an evening spent in chains, all alone in a dark room. Never knew what it felt like to ever be so close to crossing that razor thin line of finality.
 
All it took were those rifles aimed at us, and our weightless hands would have had them over that line as easily as they breathed.
 
It never came to that.
 
"Back! Get back!" barked a man. He was shoving his way out of the crowd, splitting the wall apart with his bare hands. "Go back to your homes, damnit!"
 
At first glance, he seemed like the sort of man who should have been enjoying retirement. Skin leathery and speckled with liver-spots, a lifetime under the sun had done much to his brow. But I could tell even underneath those loose set of clothes was strength most men his age no longer had. An old blade. Well-worn, but no less sharper than when he was forged.
 
He looked at me. To all of us. All of a sudden, it felt like I was under the gaze of an instructor.
 
"Robb, you stupid idiot! What the hell do you think you're accomplishing here?" the old man asked. He walked just a few paces, but it might as well have felt like an Atlas had just trundled its way towards these armed men. "Do they look like pirates to you? Do you see them armed?"
 
"H-Howard, this wasn't my idea, it was–" Robb, presumably, said. He was tall, a full head higher but he was practically quivering just looking at the old man.
 
"Nothing would give me more satisfaction here than braining you with that rifle of yours right now."
 
He pointed towards the crowd. "Get these people off the street and into their homes. Now!"
 
"Yessir."
 
With just one command, the militiamen moved like they had just been sent to the frontlines. We watched nonplussed as the whole ordeal seemed to calm itself away, allowing me to let loose a breath I didn't know I was holding, a weight lifting off my shoulders.
 
"Mister Langstrom," it was Logan who first broke the silence, head still peeking behind our backs. "Awfully nice to see someone friendly in these parts."
 
"Lucius," Howard said. There was warmth in his voice, but the scowl affixed to his brow remained much the same. "Didn't I tell you not to come back here under the threat of me disciplining you?"
 
"You know me, old man," Logan, or rather Lucius as he was called, said. "Could never leave well enough alone. Long time no see, by the way."
 
"Long time no see. Now, if you'd be so kind as to actually listen to me for once, get the hell off our town. Things are tense." He crossed his arms. Voice grim, and not just in the way it sounded to our ears.
 
"Could have fooled me. What was that about?"
 
"Nothing you kids need to worry about."
 
"Considering we were just about to get lynched, sir, I'd say we're at least owed an explanation." I spoke up. He had mentioned pirates, but I saw no signs of an attack around the town. That would not have been subtle.
 
He looked at me then. As if he was searching for something behind my eyes.
 
"Fine," he finally said. "Follow me."
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Performance Dossier: Logan
 NAME: LOGAN
 BIRTHPLACE: N/A
 BIRTH DATE: 31/01/3005
 EYE COLOR: BROWN
 HAIR: BLACK
 
 ACQUISITION:
 Unclear, several conflicting reports. One states the child was recovered at age eight (8) from an incident in XXXX. Another reported the child had been the orphaned son of a now defunct samurai house, one XXXX.
 
 Whatever the case, logs are doctored, likely from high up. Pry no further than necessary.
 
 PERFORMANCE:
 Lateral thinking of his caliber–at his age–is not trained, it's born. An acceptable enough tactician, however, has trouble deviating from his plans even when results become less than optimized. Relies too much on the unconventional, the convoluted, and the downright nonsensical–and it's so he can come at you from the front, when you think you've figured him out.
 
 COMMENTS:
 This is a wily one. Will run rings around you if not careful. Keep on a tight leash, and make it tighter. Much too intelligent for the usual methods, and will push the envelope as much as he is able without a stern hand.
 
 ISF is ever hungry for fresh recruits and this is one we can send their way once properly molded.
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Chapter 4