revised scene: Mike is being taken from Aristillus

== 2064: level 2, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside

Mike’s hands were bound, so he just leaned into the curve. Ahead of him Major Reimmers grabbed tightly to the grab bar as the MaisonNeuve delivery skid banked against the slope of the Bitzman Corkscrew. A moment later the vehicle straightened and then shot out of the ramp and into open tunnel and Mike sat up straight.

Two of the troops held white flags improvised from drape rods and tablecloths in Fournier’s office. Mike looked to his left and right. The rest of Reimmer’s men were holding their firearms across their laps, with their hands off the pistol grips. Part of the deal he’d negotiated on Reimmer’s behalf.

The skid raced through intersections, ignoring the dead traffic signals. One long block, then two. The skid slowed to maneuver around the still burning wreck of a PK troop transport, then sped up again.

They’d reached Lower Landing already. Lai Docks was one level up. …and the surface was just above that. They were almost to the PK ships.

He wanted to savor the city, but it was whipping by so quickly.

He’d dug these tunnels – these specific tunnels – eight years ago. At the time he’d been amazed – a whole second level. He’d also been in awe of his first B-series tunneling machine. After two years with the A-series, the 10 meter wide tunnels had seemed vast. He almost wanted to chuckle. Now, though, the space seemed cramped and narrow. Lower Landing had struck him as futuristic and new at the time, but now it was an old neighborhood. Somewhat dumpy, even – but he loved it. He loved all of it. This was the last he’d ever see of his city.

It struck him with renewed force: this was the last time he’d ever see Lower Landing. And moments ago? That was the last time he’d ever ride up the Bitzman corkscrew.

Ever.

Take in every detail. Remember it all. He looked up at the light panels overhead. The last time he’d ever see J-series light panels. The illumination was struggling to punch through the thick smokey air.

A fitting metaphor for his own situation.

One of Reimmer’s men looked down at his phone. “Twenty minutes … looking good, Major!”

Looking good.

For them.

Mike ignored the PKs and looked at the road ahead. He squinted. Up ahead – way up ahead – was that a roadblock. He narrowed his eyes. Yes. Armed men at roadblock made of a disabled skid, a pallet of cinder-blocks, and a bunch of other crap.

Mike looked up at Major Reimmers, then over at the other men. The PKs didn’t see it yet. Mike squinted, trying to make out details in the gloomy light. These men they weren’t wearing ADF uniforms or militia spacesuits either. What were they? PARTISANS?

A second later there was shouting around him and the skid braked and stopped. Reimmers barked a command and one of his men dialed a phone then held it up to Mike’s face. Mike looked at the phone’s screen, then shrugged and pinched it between his cheek and shoulder.

The phone rang twice more than General Dewitt answered. “Major Reimmers?”

“Matt, it’s me, Mike. We’ve got a roadblock here. Level two, near the first Soldner Apartments block. We need these guys cleared to get out. The deal with Reimmers holds only if – ”

“I know. Hang on, give me a minute to track down down who these guys are.”

The call was put on hold and Mike looked up at Reimmers. Reimmers gave him a questioning look. Mike shrugged. “He’s working on it.”

A moment later Dewitt was back. “My staff is trying to figure out who they are and – wait, we’ve got them. Hang on.” The call was placed on hold a second time, then General Dewitt was back. “Mike, they’re a wildcat militia – not part of our formal structure. They’re saying -”

With a roar two huge demolition charges blew, one ahead of and one behind the skid. Mike flinched and the phone fell to the floor of the skid. Even before the dust cleared Mike could see wreckage and shattered rock splashed across the roadbed ahead. He turned and looked over his shoulder. Just as much – if not more – stone and twisted rebar blocked the road behind them.

The skid wouldn’t be able to get through.

* * *

Mike’s ears rang, even at this distance from the explosion. The computerized voice of the skid was bleating something but Mike couldn’t make it out.

Reimmers’ men spilled out of the vehicle and took up positions behind cars and planters. Mike’s hearing returned, just a bit, and he could hear the skid chanting “Route blocked – unable to continue. Route blocked – unable to continue. Route blocked -”

Mike looked down at the floorboards and saw the phone. Shit. With his hands bound behind him, how would he pick it up? He gave up and wormed down onto the floorboards then shouted into the phone “Dewitt, you there?”

He turned to place his ear against the phone. There was some response but Mike could barely hear it. He turned his mouth back to the phone. “WHAT? SPEAK UP!” then twisted again to listen.

“I’m here. I saw it on video. Looks like I couldn’t convince them.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Mike, they’re ANARCHISTS.”

Suddenly someone grabbed Mike by the back of the collar and pulled him out of the vehicle. Mike staggered backwards, tried to get his feet, and fell. The PK never loosened his grip on Mike’s shirt.

One of the partisans behind the barricade up ahead yelled “Throw down your weapons!”

The PK holding Mike pulled him to his knees then drew his pistol and held it to Mike’s head. “We’ve got safe passage! Let us go!”

Mike blinked. Was this really happening? Someone had a PISTOL to his head?

The partisan ahead yelled back “You’ve got ten seconds to let him go.”

The PK shouted. “Not gonna happen, hombre. Fall back!”

A rifle cracked up ahead, and in almost the same instant there was a massive crash as a bullet slammed into the MaisonNeuve skid a few meters to Mike’s left. Mike felt oddly detached and merely wondered if that had been one of his Gargoyles. Yes, he thought so.

The militiamen yelled again “Let him go!”

“Fuck you! Clear the road!”

Mike looked blankly over at the delivery skid. Its batteries had been hit and small sparks and flames were starting to dance out of the hole. He shook his head. He might not have to worry about living in a cage for decades – this might all be over in a few seconds. For all that he thought that he’d prefer death over a lifetime in a cage, he realized that he didn’t want to die.

He turned his head and looked up at the PK who had the pistol on him.

He might not get the choice.

Suddenly Major Reimmers was on his feet, waving his arms over his head and shouting. “Hold your fire!”. He walked over to where Mike and the PK were standing.

“Let him go, Bessem. It’s over.”

Mike felt the PK holding a pistol to his head shift his body weight as he turned. “What do you mean it’s over?”

Major Reimmers held out his own phone to the PK with the pistol and instructed him “Look.”. Mike struggled to disappear, to make himself as small as possible. Reimmers pointed to the phone. “We’ve got 16 minutes. The road is blocked. Even if those guys let us through, we have to abandon the vehicle. And we can’t make it out on foot in time.” He paused. “It’s over.”

The PK blinked. “The fuck, Major!? We – what are we going to do?” Mike winced as the soldier accentuated his question with a job of the pistol into the side of his head, pinching his ear against his skull. DAMN that hurt. – but he didn’t make a sound.

Reimmers should his head. “We’re going to let him go. Like civilized people.” He turned to address all of his men “And then we’re going to negotiate with the militia. Like civilized people. You men hear me?” Reimmers walked over to the vehicle, picked up one of the white flags, and waved it over his head. Reimmers looked over his shoulder. “Put your weapons down, men.”

Mike held his breath. The PK that was holding him by the collar and pointing a pistol at his head – what was he thinking? What was he going to do?

Then the pistol moved slightly. After another long moment the PK let go of Mike’s collar, stepped back, and bent forward, placing the pistol on the ground.

Mike stood awkwardly, his hands still behind his back and looked ahead at the roadblock. Several of the partisans had already vaulted over it and were jogging towards them, rifles at the ready.

Fournier rose from where he was crouching behind a seat and started to climb out of the skid. Mike looked at one of the militiamen and raised his chin. “You, grab that one. He and I have some issues to settle.” The militiaman nodded and advanced on Fournier. Fournier raised his hands as he backpedaled. “You can’t arrest me!” More frantically, “I’m the CEO of MaisonNeuve. I’m a citizen of Canada!”

The militiaman was now just a meter from Fournier. He smiled slightly and announced in a baritone. “And I’m Sam Barrus, citizen of Texas. Now shut up and get on your knees.”

Fournier didn’t move. Mike turned the militiaman and cleared his throat. “Nice to meet a fellow Texan. If you have to shoot him, could you do me a favor and make it a leg shot? I’d like him alive.” Fournier’s frantic eyes caught Mike’s. “Martin – Mike! Look, we’ve known each other for -”

Mike ignored Fournier and addressed the Sam Barrus. “Or in the gut. A gut shot’s not fatal.”

Sam looked over at Mike and nodded, then pack to Fournier. “On your knees. Three. Two. On-”

Fournier dropped to his knees.

Sam pointed to Fournier with his chin “Carmelita, can you zip that one up?” A female militia member moved forward. “Oh, and when you’re done with that, let our new friend here go?” Mike heard zipties snick tight, followed by Fournier’s whimper.

Around Mike other militia-members were zip tying the hands of surrendering PKs. After a moment the woman he assumed was Carmelita circled behind him. He felt a tug on his wrists, then, suddenly his hands were free. His shoulders felt stiff as he moved his arms for the first time in hours and rubbed his wrists.

“Thanks.”

Carmelita nodded.

Mike turned to Barrus. “Are you in charge here?”

Barrus shrugged and grinned. “Unless you want to be.”

Mike turned to Reimmers. “We both understand that you and your men are our prisoners now?”

Reimmers nodded. “Got it.”

Mike smiled – and then felt faint. Ten minutes ago he’d thought he was going to spend his life in prison. Two minutes ago he’d thought he was going to be executed in cold blood. And now?

Now he was free.

Reimmers was being pushed past Mike. He turned to Mike. “Martin – can I ask you one question?”

Mike inclined his head.