Anyway... the first chapter (which I edited, though evidently, not enough)
Bubi
“Have you taken leave of your senses, Hafeez? You must realise, that it’s more than just politics…”
“Of course, I realise it’s more than ‘just politics’. There is sufficient incentive, territorial, monetary and military, in it for me to do this,” Hafeez Shahid was pacing back and forth in his uncle’s office, “Approximately two hundred and fifty have been requested of us. Two companies, Faraj, is that so much to ask?”
“It is,” the Patriarch of the Shahid clan stood from his desk, “Look, Hafeez, I know that you and your cousin are both invested in this venture, but it is just riddled with far too many risks. You’ll have a small number of citizen troops nearly one and a half thousand kilometres from home, of which few will have flight capabilities and we are still at the stage where telekinesis is not fully understood. For me to allow this I need to request permission from the Board of Patriarchs and the Department of Defence. With the city as it is, with a population of only seventy thousand or so, we cannot afford to commit any military strength for nigh on pointless projects such as this.”
“Compromise?”
“Not now, Nephew. I’ll talk to a few people for you.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” Hafeez bowed to the Patriarch, earning a curt nod in response.
Faraj swept past and left his office, leaving his nephew to wonder if it was a good decision to accept an offer from such a controversial quarter.
* * *
“Do you know what this is about?” Mansoor Hassan muttered to his cousin.
“You know as much as I do, old boy,” Suriya Umar replied.
Around them, hundreds of members of the Arab families of the Knighthood filtered into the largest combat hall in the city.
“Apparently, your father’s opposite number’s” – Suriya paused for a moment to count – “third nephew wants to throw something at us.”
“Really? I wonder what… oh, good grief, what are they doing here?”
They looked to the far door where members from both sides of the Marshall and Auchinleck families came striding in, most of them in full military regalia. The woman at the front was clearly a Spartiate officer, baring almost ceremonial scars on her face to show for her experience and she had a scowl to match her musculature. After them came several other white and black people who had little or no connection to the Arab families, until the Hassans, Shahids, Umars, Ahktars and Khans made up only half of all those in the hall. Within moments, the doors were closed and Mansoor looked around to see that the whole hall was filled with two thousand or so Arabs, Military Family members, Spartiates, citizen officers and various members of military institutions, by which time, the Spartiate officer had wormed her way to the front. (Though to be fair, no-one had any desire to be barged aside by her and so her path to the platform was almost completely unobstructed.) She stepped up onto the stage, where she was greeted by Deruhka Shahid. They exchanged a few words before moving away together, allowing Hafeez to take the stand. Mansoor frowned at this and turned to his cousin.
“What has the army got to do this, that’s what I’d like to know,” he said.
“You and me, both. Somehow, I think blood-letting has some relevance. Otherwise none of the Military Families lot would be here. And the same goes for that group of Grandmasters over there.”
“Good grief, I didn’t notice them.”
“One tends not to.”
Similar such conversations were taking place all over the hall, until Faisal Hussain, a leading Hahraisian Desert Horse officer amongst the Arab families, stood.
“SILENCE!” he roared, getting it promptly, having glared the crowd down.
Mansoor, Suriya and the thousands others turned to look as Hafeez Shahid addressed them.
* * *
The abandoned warehouse was dimly lit and for all anyone knew, it was empty. However, there were people everywhere, within and without, concealed in the darkness.
“My colleague told me that this was going to be worth my while,” a voice came from one corner, “I’d hate for you to disappoint me, Slaver.”
“Don’t concern yourself, Mutant,” came a reply from the opposite corner, “I will see to it that you’re properly compensated for your services. However, I am not a slaver, as many of my rivals are. And that is the reason why you are here.”
“Really? You wish us to combine forces against the Derrani slaver gangs? How chivalrous…”
The human voice paused for a moment, presumably to prevent himself from losing his temper.
“Evidently you are more ignorant of the workings of smugglers and slavers than I had thought. Would you care to step into the light where we can conduct this more cordially?”
“One better,” there was a grin in the mutant’s voice.
There was a faint hum before the entire warehouse was lit up by a series of hastily assembled stadium floodlights. Clicks echoed around as twenty or so humans dotted around the warehouse trained their guns on the five (visible) Knights, who all simultaneously pulled two blades each from their black cloaks and activated them.
“Stand down,” the mutant commander ordered; loud enough for everyone present to hear him.
In response, the human leader raised his arm and lowered his palm and his lackeys and gang-members (men and women both) lowered their various rifles, sub-machineguns and machine-pistols.
“I have little use for blood around here, and I can see that I am hopelessly outdone,” the human gestured to the ceiling and behind the floodlights, where another seven Knights were hiding.
They dropped to the floor and joined their colleagues.
“May I ask who you are?” the human asked.
“Oh yes, I already know who you are, don’t I, Gerhard Fruhen?” the mutant grinned, “I am Firouz Shahid, the elected go-between for this little proposition of yours. So, with the introductions over, what is it you had in mind?”
Fruhen walked towards the middle of warehouse, unaccompanied, so Firouz went to meet him. Once they were close enough to each other, they spoke, so that no-one else could hear them.
“We conduct this more privately for my benefit, not yours. There are many amongst my number who do not agree with this move of asking aid from you mutants,” Fruhen nodded his head at the Knight’s entourage.
“So?” Firouz frowned.
“What I’m proposing to you is both lucrative and high risk. Many of my rivals, all of whom wouldn’t hesitate to shoot me if they ever got the chance, are overstepping their bounds and involving much more than other outlaws and vagabonds.”
“That isn’t so different from what you do, wouldn’t you say?”
“I smuggle people, that is true, however, I just get them from one place to another with no strings attached. I’m cheap as well, but desperate people tend to be more resourceful and you’d be surprised how easy it is to get a job in backwater places both here in Derran and to the west. Slavers and dealers are starting to get cocky.”
“Hmm? How so?”
“They no longer have the respect for police that I do. They’re quite willing to kidnap people in broad daylight and they’ve squared up to the military who have enough trouble dealing with you lot. Thus, they are the law. I come from an old school of gangsters, I keep a status quo with the police. I deal with what idiots I can and do with them as I please and sell drugs accordingly. In return, the cops don’t touch me or any of my people unless they’re caught red-handed. Those dumb enough to get caught deserve it.”
“I take it you want our help in dealing with these upstarts?”
“In a sense. With the money I make, I give much of it to the people in the form of food, medicine and the like. And I’m not being honest so that I sell myself as a good man, but to make sure you realise who you’ll be fighting for.”
“Fighting alongside, I think you’ll find. I understand where you’re coming from, and I will have a colleague of mine check the truth of what you say. But, you realise what risks this carries. I know your gang, and while it is one of the oldest and most respected, you number barely two hundred. You need friends and lots of them to deal with the other gangs. I personally know of seventeen or so slaver, mercenary, gambler and running gangs that I can assume that you have poor relations with. That makes about ten to eleven thousand men and women that you must go up against. You need allies, and a lot of them, and I can guess that most of your present associates have little liking for us mutants. The question is whether you want our presence to be made obvious.”
“No. I can gather about eight thousand fighters from the older gangs and those new gangs that need new turf, but many of them won’t be good for fighting. That’s where you’ll come in. We won’t say that you’re mutants, it’ll do no good anyway. For all they know, you may turn on us once we win and demand all the money we possess. No, we’ll keep it under wraps. You’ll be just another gang. But, I will need you to be the joker in our pack.”
“Oh, that we will be. So, how many of us do you need?”
“As many as possible.”
“I can’t really see any of the city leaders liking this idea, so the most I can hope for is two hundred and fifty or so. My cousins will tell me that that’s too many.”
Firouz turned to leave.
“Don’t you want to know what we’re paying you?” Fruhen grinned.
“Not really. Money is a little useless for us. What we could do with are guns. Lots and lots of guns,” Firouz grinned back.
“What kind?”
“Everything you can lay your hands on, preferably at least two of everything. Rifles, sub-machineguns, chain guns, laser-tech weaponry, pistols, hand-cannons, a bit of all sorts would be nice.”
Firouz turned again, but then, stopped himself.
“Incidentally, where will we be slugging it out?”
“New York, the capital of crime in this country, where else?”
The Knight bowed and walked away, calling down the remaining three who were still hiding amongst the rafters and the sixteen of them left, their black cloaks trailing behind them as they strode out. Maxim deSantos lowered his old Lynx R16T rifle and approached his boss.
“Can we trust them, Gerry?”
“Yes. As a former Sentinel, I’ve been captured by mutants before. I think we can trust them. Why? Don’t you?”
“No, I don’t as it goes. You may be enchanted by them, but it’ll take more for me to take to them. They have an air of deep distrust about them. They seem very arrogant.”
“Straight back at you, number one. Right, let’s go and mobilise the other gangs.”
“Yes, sir,” deSantos saluted smartly.
* * *
“Do you think it was a good idea to leave out the part where the man leading the new gangs is your half brother? Also that they’ve overrun prime ground, namely your old home?”
“Neither is of use to them, and they’ll weed it out of me when they read my mind. There’s little I can do about it.”
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