Chapter 87: Chapter 80: Unfair Decisions

“What happened?”

“Do we know who attacked us?”

“Mayor, why have we lost contact with the villages and towns in the southwest?”

Kirk stood steadily, dressed in an unusually pristine white uniform of an Ice Fang; several medals adorned his chest reflected flashes of the reporters’ equipment. A sash in the Third’s colors draped diagonally across his torso, and around his neck was his family’s tribal necklace. Dressed like a parade, Kirk felt ridiculous.

Mayor Jaquan was beside him. The man’s jacket puffed out from the body armor underneath, and his typically black face paled. Despite the shock of the failed assassination attempt, he held himself with dignity, summoning an evacuation council as soon as the order came from Dragena. He invited reporters to a brief press conference, smoothly taking over from Kirk, but kept the young man close at hand.

They gathered in the damaged city hall; a screen of reinforced windows separated them from the busy shouts of city workers and army personnel overseeing the evacuation procedures.

“As of right now, we know the following.” Jaquan raised a hand to calm the anxious crowd. “An unknown nation has carried out a heinous act of terrorism in our noble city. Thanks to the valiant efforts of the Third, the attackers were repelled, and their cursed remains now crackle in the incinerators. Safety and order have once again been restored to our streets.”

“Then why is the need for evacuation?” asked a reporter. “And where is Sword Saint Tancred? Shouldn’t he be overseeing the safety of the citizens?”

“There has been an invasion of our lands, and the sword saints and warlords are busy preparing defenses to face and vanquish the Horde,” Jaquan lied without blinking. Tancred was dead, but to maintain morale, the news of his demise was kept from the populace.

“War is coming to Houstad?!” the reporter gasped.

“Where is Commander Ravager?” demanded another.

“This evacuation is merely a precaution to ensure the safety of our people. The Dynast has endowed Dragena with the authority to make decisions in this matter, and I fully support her course of action.” Jaquan placed a hand on his chest. “We knew of the dangers lurking beyond the Wall.” Genuine pain flashed across his face, and Kirk thought the Mayor’s resolve wavered for a moment. But he regained his composure and continued. “Houstad endured war before. She will do so again. The Second is coming, and the Dynast himself has promised to be here sooner. I see your worries about the economy in your faces, and I understand and share them sincerely. But lives are more important, and material losses can be compensated in due time. Commander Ravager is regrettably indisposed. She has left for healing meditation…”

“Damn protesters!” roared a burly man whose face was covered in recent cuts. “Their venom drove her away. If she were here, nothing would have happened! My sister died because of…”

“Enough!” Kirk slammed his paw against the podium, silencing potential disorder. “Every soul has the right to air their grievances to the Blessed Mother. Those ‘damned protesters’ risked their necks and saved lives today. No, the commander had a reason. In her place, her daughters and sons and the entire Third bleed for you. Dare not insult our sacrifices through misplaced blame. The invaders are guilty, and no one else! Sir,” he added in a warmer tone, worried that he was overstepping his bounds.

Spirits know why Warlord Dragena, on the recommendation of Warlord Janine, put him in charge of communication with the locals. He was supposed to represent both the tribe and the Order, hence the ridiculous attire and a sudden authority dangerously close to that of his sister. But he wasn’t a diplomat! To be honest, he agreed with the poor man. What kind of parent was absent to protect their offspring? And the Blessed Mother is an avatar of the gods themselves; what right does she have not to be there in their hour of need? His own mom and dad, Spirit of Sorrow, please watch over them, fought to their last, giving their lives for the betterment of everyone, no matter what the bitch may believe.

But he couldn’t let grievances turn into calls for violence. Sure, he’d have liked to give those fools who protested the presence of the Third and called them monsters a kick in their collective guts, but their lives were in his care. It was his duty to protect every soul in Houstad.

“The hero of Houstad reminds us of what is important,” Jaquan said passionately, placing a hand on Kirk’s shoulder. “Our adversaries expect us to fear and fight among ourselves. I say nay! The Reclamation Army has always triumphed over barbarism, and this time will be no different!” He raised a fist overhead. “For the duration of this crisis, please report only information from official sources and help guide citizens to evacuation zones. Do you wish to add anything, hero?” Jaquan looked at him, prompting Kirk to speak up.

“I am no hero…” Kirk began, irritated by this stupid nickname. A hero would never have stood by and watched the bitch beating his sister and brother. “Others have done far more than…”

“He’s full of shit!” the yell frozen him.

Kalaisa. She stepped closer to the crowd; through the unzipped jacket, he could see the bandage covering her split chest. His sister and brother hastened to her, but the wolf hag snapped her fingers. Kirk bit his lower lip, preparing to be destroyed as she lacerated him first with words and then with her actions.

“Done more, so what?” she asked haughtily. “Was it not Kirk who first took action against the robbers? Was it not he who drew the first blood and saved a cub? Where others stood, he acted and set an example! If that’s not what a fantastic hero is, I don’t know, buy some glasses or something.”

“True!” Jaquan supported the lie, and the reporters joined in the applause. “Your humility is inspiring, Kirk of the Wolf Tribe, but by your actions you earned the right to the title.”

“Thank… you,” Kirk forced the words out, struggling against the urge to shake. Composure—he needed to look confident in front of the cameras. “Many of you may consider me a barbarian.” He grinned. “And I am one. But the Core Lands, the life you have built here... It is worth fighting for. Our enemies seek to trample it underfoot. They will fall and scream in agony of despair as our claws drag them into the Abyss. This I promise to you. You heard the spiteful, taunting gibberish of our enemies. They know that in our unity we surpass anything they can throw at us, so they seek to sow despair in your hearts. Deny them that. Remain rational, help your fellows in need, and if you are able, volunteer to join rescue or evacuation teams.”

His brother approached Kalaisa and put a paw on her shoulder, and the two exchanged friendly congratulations on their survival before she turned to him and playfully stuck out her tongue, storming past his sister to the exit. Is she thinking this is it? The rage boiled in Kirk, overwhelming even his fear. Was this another cruel prank of hers, to raise his expectations before the bitch would drag him through the mud? Or did she truly believe that he had forgiven her for the hell she had put them through, for the shattered trust and the torment she had caused them after she had supported him once? He will never, ever forgive her. Kalaisa could rot for all he cared.

It stung just to think that his dear brother had let go of the hatred, and the sight of common distaste instead of disgust and distrust in his sister’s eyes infuriated Kirk. How dare they let go… He inhaled and waved his paw at the reporters like the obedient puppet he was. Sacrifice. The demands came in many forms, and right now, he had to show solidarity and courage, not wanton aggression.

“Elizabeth Macbeth of the Sights Unseen.” A reporter raised her hand. She had an ugly, barely stitched, torn gash on her cheek and used her companion to stand upright, but her voice was clear and inquisitive. “Our viewers and camera footage had shown that the madmen had used portals to enter Houstad. Do we know if Eugenia Mylli is involved, and what guarantees do we have that there won’t be another attack in the middle of the evacuation?”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Eugenia Mylli.” Kirk’s features changed into a frown. Rage, pure desire to rip and tear that shocked him, had sparked in his chest. He had never met the Elite; his family line had never had any quarrel with her, and yet a single name evoked the urge to rip and tear. He coughed, buying himself time to calm down. “The Redeemer,” using her title, helped stave off aggression, “is not involved. I can swear to that. If not for Iternian assistance, the losses would be greater today. As for methods of protection…” he turned to Jaquan.

“Several disruptor types of the New Breeds left their posts at the terraformation complex and joined crucial points of Houstad’s defense.” Jaquan waited for murmurs to subside. “I assure you that the complex’s defenses have not been compromised in the slightest. Anyone attempting to open a portal into Houstad is in for an unpleasant surprise.”

“Why haven’t such methods been used before?” Elizabeth refused to let the mayor off the hook.

“Lack of specialized New Breeds, Elizabeth. Our disruptors must to be conscious to use their powers, and while they can stay awake for the duration of the evacuation process thanks to the medication, prolonging that time for everyday activities is simply not sustainable for their health,” Jaquan answered. He raised a hand, stopping further questions when a figure in a tattered green suit limped into the hall, stomping heavily with his sole working leg. “Commissioner Zurkov! Glad you managed to make it. What news from the streets?”

Zurkov stopped; his swollen lips began forming a retort, but then he shook his head, wiping sweat from his brows. “There are no more shootings in suburbs. Food rations and water bottles are being distributed, medics are working overtime. Help came from the most unlikely sources: Oathtakers, Iternians, who still deny it, migrant workers, and Bioweapon Gamma-18 saved lives.”

“Even a bioweapon! What a joy to hear it! With allies such as these contributing to the common cause, what right do we have to falter? Now, ladies and gentlemen, I must adjourn this meeting. Immediate duties demand my undivided attention.” Jaquan and Kirk left the podium, and the mayor took Zurkov’s arm and led the man into their unusual operations center.

Doors slid behind them, cutting off the din of reporters’ questions and introducing the noise of working crews. Wolf Hag Sarkeesian, representative of the Alpha Pack and chief overseer of the evacuation, glared at the arguing crew of people trying to solve the complex puzzle of completely emptying Houstad within a week. In the face of the crisis, Jaquan invited even the most unsavory characters. Crude and foul-mouthed criminals of Houstad’s underworld shared tables and workstations with dignified and serious corporate operators.

“Zone EF, sector five, bridge vermin…” An operator from Murzaliev Logistics cringed from the name, “haven’t reported in yet. Reasons?”

“Oh, they probably got lost playing somewhere. You know how kids are…” began a ragged woman who reeked of alcohol.

The operator snapped his fingers, and a blade appeared near the grimy neck as a figure in dented silver armor towered over the recruited criminal. “Answer. Please.”

“Hehe, they call us cutthroats, and here you are going straight for the jugular.” The woman exhaled a puff of smoke. “There’s a cache I’d like to retrieve.”

“I will not have my subordinates taint my reputation by falling behind the schedule. Call them back immediately and tell them to take a shower and then change into their uniforms before getting on the truck.”

“The hell do they need a shower and uniforms for?”

“Just because we are refugees doesn’t mean my subordinates can afford to look unpresentable.” The man adjusted his tie.

“We are not your subordinates!” the woman snapped.

“It’s either that or a prison sentence afterwards,” the corporate operator checked his watch.

“You drive a hard bargain,” the criminal grumbled. “Fine. Are we at least getting paid?”

“Was that in your contract?” the corporate operator and raised a finger, stopping the furious outburst. “If not, our lawyers can renegotiate it later. Soon you understand that Murzaliev Logistics is not without its advantages. Or punishments should you try to return to your former lifestyle.”

“Your knee.” Maxence, who had temporarily assumed the responsibilities of Chief Medical Advisor after the former and his second were killed in the attack, rose from the table and approached Zurkov.

“Torn cartilage.” Zurkov shrugged, and Maxence shoved him into a chair.

“You may lose your leg, oaf.” The doctor deftly began removing the armor.

“Far less than many have lost today.” The commissioner sneered.

“Everyone, everyone, we are supposed to be a team,” Jaquan pleaded. “What pressing problems remain to be solved?”

“Wounded,” Maxence replied, cursing at the sight of a swollen leg. “We’ve got people in the ICU and babies in the NICU. Over a thousand people. They will die in transit.”

“Tough,” Sarkeesian said casually. “They’re getting into the trucks, regardless.”

“Haven’t you heard what I said?” Maxence snapped. “Our patients won’t survive without care. Mayor, I suggest we leave a skeleton crew behind to tend to those who need emergency care. Our hospitals are built like fortresses; we should be able to survive…”

“Nah, not satisfactory enough,” Sarkeesian interrupted him. “You’ve seen the bastards in action. If their horde spills out into the streets, they and the patients die. Can’t risk that. Into the trucks they go. Only the military will stay in town, and they won’t have time to check the hospitals.”

“What if…” Kirk almost shuddered under the wolf hag’s gaze, but forced himself to speak, anyway. Memories of the lack of doctors in the Outer Lands burned brightly in his head, and Sarkeesian was absolutely right to want to preserve their lives. But there was a middle ground. “What if we ask Till Ingo and our scientists and engineers to devise safer means of transportation and send the medics away in the final phase of the evacuation?”

“They won’t be able to accommodate everyone,” Maxence said quietly.

“It’s still better than nothing. Thanks for the quick thinking, Kirk,” Jaquan praised him, and Sarkeesian nodded in concession. “What’s next?”

“Citizens are complaining about our decision to send seniors in the last wave. They are afraid we’re leaving our elderly behind,” the corporate operator reported.

“I hate it,” Jaquan admitted. “But the youth is our future.”

“We’d better not put it that way, sir, to avoid an uproar,” advised his secretary.

“Obviously,” the mayor sighed. “Contact the veterans and public servants in the retirement homes, please. Find me people who are willing to make an encouraging speech in support of our decision. I myself will stay until the very end to lend gravitas to this action. Next?”

“I heard about the Families that run the criminal underworld.” Kirk raised his paw hesitantly. “Why are they not present here? Surely, we can use their resources.”

“Already in use,” stated the quiet man in silver armor. “There was an accident that claimed the lives of their leadership, and the lower ranks immediately offered us any help possible.” He tapped his scabbard, ignoring Zurkov’s intense look at him and the mayor. “The former members of the Assassins’ Guild will join the defenders. On one condition. Those of us who have or adopted children are to be evacuated.”

“A volunteer named Sitota wished to join the army, Reaper,” said a soldier of the Provincial Army. “Based on her bio, she is the mother hen of many orphans.”

“No need to deny her request. Assign Sitota to guard the refugees on the road to Stormfiend,” the assassin suggested. “She and the others have finally surpassed me where it counts. I won’t let them die here.”

“Agreed,” Jaquan agreed. “Anything else we need to decide?”

“Yes, and it is urgent!” A nervous Ice Fang in a strict business suit sprang from her seat. A badge on her chest identified her as the Chief Cultural Advisor. “There has been a terrible, unforgivable misunderstanding. My department was ordered to abandon priceless museum exhibits and cultural relics from the temples, including texts dating their existence back to the pre-Extinction era, in favor of evacuating animals and plants from the zoos and corporate prototypes! Plants!” She spat in disgust. “Mayor, this is our... No, mankind’s history we are talking about! Statues, paintings, works of art! We can’t sacrifice them to mangy beasts and useless flowers!”

“Are the texts digitized? Do we have photos of the objects?” Kirk inquired ahead of Sarkeesian’s sharp reply.

He wasn’t sure what ‘zoos’ were, but he didn’t need to hear the explanation for rescuing animals. Houstad was one of the major genetic engineering centers responsible for reintroducing extinct wildlife species into the environment. The cost of reinventing and improving these templates was astronomical. As for the corporate prototypes, the woman was wise not to argue against them. Technology was paramount to progress, and schematics were rarely trusted on the Net.

“Most of them, but…”

“Then they are not lost and can be rebuilt later,” Kirk assured her. “Leave them behind and…” he turned to Sarkeesian and took off his necklace, handing it to her. It was made from the bones of his mother and father, but they would want it. He hoped. “Can you ask our shamans to add our own relics to the museum so the civilians won’t feel like we’re cheating them by saving our sacred symbols? The shamans will probably resist the idea, though.”

“They can try.” Sarkeesian opened her maw, and her drills whirled inside. “The strong command, the weak obey.”

“You cannot recreate the marvels of the past!” The cultural advisor exploded. “If it were that easy, it would have been done by now! You need soul, passion, talent... These objects have inspired generations of artists and given hope to countless thousands! It’s our heritage, our responsibility to preserve them…”

“Don’t worry, sister,” Sarkeesian said in a softer tone, giving the woman an encouraging pat on the stomach. “The Third is here, and the city has not yet fallen. Tell you what, I’ll do my best to protect it, and you give me a tour when the war is over. Promise?”

“S-sure, but you don’t know if you’ll win…”

“Don’t know? The state always wins! And I am hungry for battle, sister.” Sarkeesian’s eyes flashed with anticipation.