Resist Them

Chapter One

Randdol Mupt hated Tuesdays. He also hated all the other days of the week, but it just so happened today was Tuesday, so for today, Tuesday was the day he hated most.

He hated that on the walk home at night, the streets were bright, tinted with blue diffused lights that left no shadows. When he was a boy, an ambiance permeated the night. Deep shadows in the recesses between the lights, dark alleyways, and sketchy underpasses.

It was a boon that crime was down. Muggers, rapists, and vagrant scum didn’t exist in Hata. The price for the safety was that no matter the time of day The Brigade watched and for that they needed constant light.

If he still had it, Randdol would give his left testicle for one night of darkness, one night where the life of the city calmed and there was peace—no lights or sounds. It was bad enough having the constant wordcast played in his ears, a literal soundtrack to his life.

It was pre-evening affirmation, so the music that streamed into his head contained the typical upbeat rhythm. The bouncy sound of a piano played with a melody that skipped forward, most likely to remind those on their way home from work that their day was over, or to attempt perking-up those who were working late for the extra credit hours.

Stepping off the sidewalk, the rubber heel of Randdol’s cane caught along the lip of a pothole. His faux leather oxford shoes tottered on the concrete, and he shifted his weight to not lose balance. For a man of his age, he was still nimble. He only used the cane because he'd misplaced the big toe on his right foot. He lost it and half his pointer toe in the last war, and the cane was for balance, not strength. It cost him a smidge of pride to use it, but he refused to be one of those senior types that broke a hip falling off a couch or curb.

Half a block ahead, a glass door to a connivance store slammed open with enough force to shatter the glass against the brick exterior of the building. A big man, younger than Randdol, maybe in his fifties, burst through the door, being chased by a younger woman swinging a broom. The shaft of the broom busted over the older man’s head and the woman kicked him, sending him rolling down the stairs.

You’re a cacking cuck! The man crawled away, in a clear attempt to escape the rampaging woman’s blows.

I want my credit hours. The woman, dressed in a see-through blue nighty, stomped in front of the groveling man, thwarting his retreat. A light gust of wind ruffled her silk slip. Giving Randdol a flash of naked flesh.

Watch it, the man said. You make a ruckus and you know what'll happen. I ain’t getting sent away for you.

Randdol turned his back to the whole affair. Although passing the connivance store was the fastest route to his apartment, getting tangled in a situation like the one unfolding was dangerous.

Of course, there was no darkness in the streets. The Brigade would already be on their way. What would happen if he fled without reporting it? That could make him just as guilty.

Randdol pinched the webbing between his left thumb and pointer finger. He felt the hard, coin-like disk under his skin, and as he pushed down, it quivered with brief haptic feedback.

The music of the wordcast dimmed in his ears.

What can I do for you, citizen? a voice asked directly into his head.

There’s a crime in progress, Randdol said.

Hold please, while I triangulate your position.

The wordcast music was almost inaudible. If it wasn’t so risky calling in The Brigade, Randdol would do it more often just to have a moment of quiet.

Thank you, citizen, the voice said. Brigaders have already been dispatched to your location and should arrive... now.

The private cast ended, and the music returned to full volume. Before Randdol could manage a sigh, a thumping sound rang from above.

A single hoverlift zoomed over the tops of the skyscrapers. Its pod-shaped body resembled an insect with glowing knobs, adding red lights to the bright night. The hoverlift dodged an overpass and parked in the center of the street.

Look what you’ve done now! the man on the ground half-yelled and half-laughed at the almost naked woman. You are going to get it.

Four brigaders exited the lift, each with their guns drawn. The hoverlift lights danced across the polished white weapons as three surrounded the man and the woman in perfect step while the fourth bee-lined toward Randdol.

The brigaders’ armor was gunmetal black with kevlar pads along the chest and joints. Under the bulk of it hid the person’s form, so that theoretically any brigader could be a man or woman, though Randdol had never heard of a female brigader.

The brigaders carried a gun and several grenades, but the real threat was their helmets. The equipment wrapped around their entire heads, hiding all their facial features. A respirator covered their neck and mouth to protect against chemical warfare. It also distorted their voices, making them all sound alike. The dome of helmet was a reflective black, and speckled across it, like barnacles, were nubby white lights that made the brigaders resemble bugs.

Supposedly, the helmets gave the brigaders a full 360-view and provided other augmented information, like revealing full background checks, heart rates, blood pressure, and other idiosyncrasies that gave them sage-like powers.

Randdol Mupt. The brigader didn’t so much ask his name as state it, letting Randdol know they were aware of who he was. Our records show you took almost a minute and twenty seconds to report the street crime you witnessed.

Sorry, sir. Randdol hunched his back, leaning on his cane, doing his best to emphasis his use of it. At my age, my eyes and wits are not what they appear to be. It took me a moment to process what I had seen.

Complacency is not allowed.

I know, sir.

In front of the connivance store, the three brigaders had handcuffed the woman and were escorting her to the hoverlift. Randdol shook his head, disgusted. Physical assault was one of the worst crimes one could commit. There was no doubt about what would happen to the woman. They'd transport her to one of the labor cities to work until she died.

They released the man, who'd refused to pay the woman for her services, and he took no time to hustle down the empty street, putting as much distance as possible between himself and The Brigade members. Theft of service carried a minimal fine in Hata. He might work a few extra credit hours, but as long as he stayed clean, nothing would catch up to him.

We won’t warn you again, the brigader said to Randdol. Next time you see an assault, you call it in immediately.

Yes, sir, Randdol said. The whole situation was a shame. The woman should have never hit the man, at least not where someone was watching, and in Hata, someone was always watching.

Chapter Two

Assistant Warden Catherine Tayes hopped onto the hoverlift. From the cabin door she watched as Randdol Mupt hobbled down the street. His recent records were clean, but he was trouble. She had one task in Hata: to keep the peace. Failure in that meant sanctions, or worse, and she knew Mupt threatened that.

In the hoverlift’s brig, the connivance store employee thrashed about, pounding her fist on the unbreakable tempered glass window. Tayes chuckled, repeating connivance store employee in her head. She still thought of the woman as a prostitute, even if no one else acknowledged it. No matter how much clothing, ribbons, jewels, or perfume were used to gussy up a pig, the truth remained: a pig is still a pig.

The incident at the connivance store was the third assault arrest this week. A joke around The White Tower was those who philosophically opposed Hata were lacing the city’s water with drugs. The rumors gained so much traction that Warden Hobbes had ordered brigaders to stand watch over the Hata’s water filtration system, which created a self-fulfilling prophecy. Fewer brigaders on the street meant a rise in assaults.

The hum of the hoverlift’s engines softened as the shuttle hit maximum height and glided across the city. With the building and people below looking like toys, Hata appeared deceptively peaceful. Built on the triangular tip of a peninsula, the city was surrounded on two sides by a bay. On the third side, where the peninsula met land, stood a mighty white wall built decades ago to keep out The Opposition.

We’ve been cleared for landing pad 19-X, the pilot said to Tayes.

Take her in. Tayes shifted to see out the front of the hoverlift. Dead ahead stood The White Tower, the tallest building in the world and the only structure in Hata higher than the wall. Tayes had always thought The White Tower looked like an upside-down champagne flute, with a bulkier base that slimmed to a stem and then bulged out with a halo at its top. The building glowed, its outer walls made from luminescent panels filled with pure white light—a stunning contrast to the constant blue lights of the surrounding city.

A moment