BLUEMANTLE by Karen Langston (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud TXT) 📕

the falsely labelled barrels up the Heights to the excavation shaft. His men were poised, ready to pour the contents down the shaft, onto the subterranean stream below. “Protests are illegal. Marches are illegal. Demonstrations are illegal. It ain’t illegal to hang around drinking gratis fucking tea.”

“But, sir…” crackled the reply.

“Radio when there’s a riot. I’m busy. Over and out.” He cut the radio and turned around to his men. “Okay. Start pouring it in.”

–

Chase sat alone in the hide. The lamp had gone out. He had not bothered to relight it, finding that the darkness leant his guilt small relief in obscurity.

Naylor had visited him late the previous night, had told him about Ursel and about Wella’s summons to the Troubadours. “I’ve no idea how they got Ursel out,” Naylor had said. “Not that it matters. She’s alive and she’s safe. That’s all we need to know.”

Chase had sat on the lower bunk, his face lost to shadow. He couldn’t speak, could barely breathe.

Naylor had tried to read his reaction, debating whether to remain silent and give the news time to sink in or fill the void with bright-side reassurance. He opted for the latter. “Wella will be careful; she won’t go taking risks now that there’s a plan. And she knows we need her here. I don’t know how far away they’re hiding, but my guess is she’ll be back before long. And she’ll have more news about Ursel, how she’s doing.”

Chase nodded, silent.

“Listen, if you’re pissed that she didn’t come to tell you herself—”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what? I thought you’d be pleased.”

“I am. Of course I am. It’s just…” He sighed. “It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not. Ursel wasn’t there just to help you find Wella. She would have gone to the Contest regardless.”

“I know. But still. With the raid and everything. Wella and me escaping. It should have been me they caught, not Ursel.”

In that moment, part of him had wanted to tell Naylor everything. The truth was like a deep, thick splinter, festering in his flesh. Pulling it out would hurt, but the relief after would be worth it. Yet he maintained it wasn’t the time. The relief would be short-lived, and he needed to keep Naylor on side.

They had talked for a while – empty phrases skirting a topic too tender to touch. Then Naylor had left, saying, “It’s late. And tomorrow’s a big day. We start the walkout early, when the first shifts clock in. I’ve a dozen committed. They’re fired up for it. I guess I’m a little wary. I’ve Clo, you see…” He had trailed off with a sigh, placed his hand on Chase’s shoulder, then left.

Now it was noon. The walkout was happening.

Chase tried to picture the scene outside the Wall of the Missing. Yet the image was unstable, flickering with conflicting possibilities. He had no idea how many would take the risk when the moment came. He had felt so confident about the plan, but now doubted the pivot point on which success was hinged. It was a tall order. To expect people to walk out of their job, knowing the penalty for protest. To make a stand before such an arsenal of control.

He knew he would do it; but then, he had nothing to lose.

His thoughts were twisting and turning in zig-zag guesswork, when he heard voices outside the door to the hide. He froze, holding his breath.

The door opened and Quince’s face appeared through the foot-wide gap. “Your friend is back,” she said, letting Naylor slip through, before gently closing the door behind him.

“I’ve come to report on progress,” said Naylor. “Can’t stay long.”

Chase jumped up and relit the lamp, fumbling with the matches. “How’s it going? Have many turned out? What about the A? Will they crush it, do you think?”

Naylor held up his hands. “One at a time, okay?” He sat down opposite Chase and took a moment to catch his breath. “Alright. We’ve had a positive start. Word has started to spread. Once people saw that their mates were actually going through with it, they found the balls to follow suit. I reckon we must be approaching a hundred now. And the people from the scene, the ‘followers’, they’re a huge help. I don’t know how, but they’ve mobilised contacts all over the city. They’ve given us a way in to the factories in Aldar Point, into the Education Centres and Wickerwild Mine. Pretty much every sector. Even the Messam, although I doubt we’ll get many from business, apart from maybe those with family locked up.”

“A hundred… One to every three thousand workers. That won’t come close to causing a problem.”

“Give it time, Chase. It’s only the start.”

“And the A?”

“They’re on our case alright. Cameras and Watchers recording our every move. Special Forces all over the place. We’ve made it clear to everyone: no banners, no chanting or raised voices, no posturing. But it’s a terrifyingly fine line. And it’d only take one citizen to cross it. Then it’s game over for all of us. We just have to hope to crow that everyone holds their nerve, no matter what.”

–

Wulfwin stood on Lyun Mountain, gas mask in one hand, barking into the radio he held in the other. “They’re freaked out about the holes, that’s all. Order Comms to refresh the message, remind them we’re on the case. Meanwhile, they’ll soon realise they’re out of pocket. The rate they waste money on Meezel and beer, they can’t afford to bunk off for long. Report in if they actually do something. Over and out.”

Radio communication from various Unit Superiors was proving relentless. With Governor Blix stripped of her authority and the Chief of Staff effectively gagged by intimidation, all decisions had to come through Wulfwin. Had he not been so distracted by the operation on the Heights, he would have relished the position of power. As it was, he had no time for trivialities.

“Delta-Charlie-One, this is Trooper Two-Nine. Do you read? Over.”

“Fuck this,” he muttered,