Chapter Fifty-Six - Wait for it

“One of the more interesting facets of modern class stratification is a person’s relationship with advertising.

Low-brow advertising, designed to appeal to the poorer masses, is loud, brash, in-your-face, and not afraid of using gore and sex to draw attention to a product.

High-brow advertising is quiet, discreet, and can often be missed entirely.

The reason for this distinction is simple, and it has little to do with class and taste.

The richer you become, the less advertising you will see. Ads will be swept away by subscriptions and expensive ad-blockers. Which means that any ads that don’t want to offend those people unused to seeing any ad at all, must be discreet and careful enough to slip by those expensive filters.”

--2031 Marketing Con, Streamed online conference, 2031

***

“Yo,” I said, one hand rising lazily to wave.

Gomorrah nodded. “Hello,” she said.

We were on two sides of a hip-high fence one of the PMC groups had put up between their section of the defences and another group’s. It just so happened that the fence split off the section I was responsible for from Gomorrah’s.

“New armour?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, a building fell on me. New arm, new armour. You know how it is.”

I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell she was concerned. Something about the way she shifted just a little. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah, no, the arm I lost was my cybernetic one, so it didn’t actually hurt. My flesh-arm’s still there. At least for now. The new one can vibrate, so maybe Lucy will insist that I replace all of my limbs, you know?”

Gomorrah sighed. “If you’re making crude jokes, then you can’t be that badly hurt.”

I grinned right back. “What about you? Have fun burning the xenos?”

She nodded once. “Yes. Yes I did. I never really went all-out with a flamethrower in such a crowded city before. I... I didn’t know how satisfying it would be to see entire blocks light up, with little aliens running out of the fire already near death. It was... beautiful, in a way. Purifying.”

My grin became a little fixed, and I’m pretty sure I noticed some of the PMCs who had been sticking around backing off. I’d overheard some of them boasting between each other that they were lucky that they had the pyro nun on their side while the competition had to deal with me. I think they were reconsidering.

“So, how are we going to fry the fucks who come over here?” I asked. “I’ve been deploying mines. Or those cat mechs over there have.”

“I think that as long as we put enough pressure on it, the wave will buckle around the points with more resistance and focus in on any spot where there’s less,” Gomorrah said. “I’ll be out on the front, cooking anything that gets too close. You won’t have to worry about this flank.”

I nodded along, then glanced to the other side. Gomorrah was on my left, if I was facing the now-ruined city. Which left the unnamed samurai to my right. Their sliver was relatively thin, which probably meant that the Family didn’t expect them to be able to take on a bigger burden.

“I’ll go see the new kid, talk to them a little and find out what they can do.”

“You’re not so old yourself,” Gomorrah said.

“You’re not wrong, but then look at me in the eyes and tell me I can’t handle myself.”

She nodded. “You can handle yourself,” she said. “You watch my flank and I’ll watch yours. Same as usual?”

I nodded right back, then extended a fist to her. She stared at it for a moment before bumping hers against mine. “You got it. By the way, want my cats to dig a few surprises ahead of your chunk of the wall?”

“I wouldn’t mind, as long as whatever bomb you burry there won’t impact my own abilities.”

“They shouldn’t,” I said, thinking over what my mine-layer cats were setting down. “If you feel like burning some aliens that get past the mines on my side, don’t hold yourself back on my account. I’ve got more points than I know what to do with right now.”

“Thank you,” Gomorrah said.

“Oh, by the way, how’d the jetpacks work out?” I asked before I turned away.

“Fun. Very fun, actually. Terrible as a weapon. It’s hard to aim at something below and behind you. But the additional mobility is a godsend.”

“Cool!” I said. “See you in a bit, gonna bother the new kid.”

She nodded. “I’ll whip the PMCs on my side into shape. They don’t seem overly keen on working together, and that’s bothering me.”

I crossed the area I was designated to defend. Walking across it on foot gave me a good idea of how much room I was dealing with, which was... more than I’d like, actually. I figured I wasn’t a terrible fighter. A shit shot, sure, but I could blow up xenos along with the best of them.

That worked best when I had the drop on the aliens and when I could prepare the area before they arrived. This would be different in a way that I wasn’t really suited to.

I had a few ideas in mind though. “Hey, Myalis, I was thinking. My gimmick is blowing shit up, but I think I’m going to need to be in the thick of it this time. Do you think we could get some mortars going? Like that AA gun but for bombs?”

Yes. Something of the sort could very easily be arranged.

The two PMC companies and the District Ninety-Two Gunners were set up to deliver a lot of lead down-range. We had a few light tanks parked behind sandbag-walls and some trucks with big guns at the rear too for AA duty. I don’t think we were lacking in forward and direct firepower.

So maybe I could help to thin out the wave before it hit. I bet any artillery that Myalis set up would be far more accurate than the fuckwits that bombed the building I was in earlier. Mortars for the short-medium range just over the debris wall. We could even support other parts of the gap if they needed it.

I reached the far right end of my section and hopped up and onto a cement barricade. A pair of PMCs on the other side jumped. They were some of the better equipped PMCs I’d seen so far. Lots of fancy armour that covered everything, and high-tech guns that looked almost samurai-tier. “Yo,” I said.

“Ma’am,” one of the two replied with a quick salute. “Can we help you?”

“Yeah, heard there was a new kid around here. I’m guarding everything on this side of this wall here. Wanted to make sure my flank was safe, you know?” I lightly kicked the edge of the wall I was standing on.

“Thank you, ma’am, we’d appreciate the help,” he said.

That was telling.

“Mister Davis is by the CO’s tent,” the PMC said with a gesture towards the back. “I can escort you.”

“I know how to walk on my own, but thanks,” I said. I jumped down, landing with a slight bend of my knees. After shutting off my helmet mic, I spoke to Myalis. “What can you dig up on Davis?”

It’s considered a faux-pas to assist a Vanguard in spying on another. Though the line between basic information and spying is rather clear. Jimothy Davis is a twenty-two year old New Montreal native.

Jimothy.

Holy shit, did his momma not love him? I shook my head. “Thanks. That actually helps a bit.”

The CO’s tent was less a tent and more a pre-fab building with tin walls and sandbags all around. The interior had a few desks with techs at them, and a pair of people that stood out like sore thumbs. One had to be the commander. A short, older woman who had more wrinkles on her face than shits to give. She eyed me, but didn’t protest me coming in.

Next to her was who I assumed to be Jimothy Davis, the new samurai kid (who was a few years older than me, but that didn’t matter). Tall, bean-pole of a guy, with dirty jeans and a flannel button-up under a vest that looked bullet-proof. He had a cowboy hat on, one that was glowing with RGB, and of course the spurs on his boots glowed too.

He had a rifle slung over a shoulder, but it didn’t look like anything special. Just grandpa’s pea-shooter.

“Yo,” I said while extending a hand to him. “You’re Temporary Designation Farm Boy?”

Jimothy smiled ruefully and shook my hand. “Ah, that’s what they’re callin’ me?” he asked. “Didn’t think that’d be my, ah, Samurai name, ya know? Sorry, I don’t know yours.”

“I’m Stray Cat,” I said. “Just Cat between friends. As for the name, I think usually what happens is that one samurai will name another.”

“That means my name’s now Temporary Designation Farm Boy?” he asked with a chuckle.

I shook my head. “We can think of something better than that, I’m sure.”

He adjusted his hat, raising it up to sweep his hair back before putting the hat back on. “Yeah, I know Enyries, I’m making nice.”

I blinked. Did he just talk to his AI?

Wow... so I did look crazy when I did it.

“So, want to talk shop before we get overrun by flesh-eating nasties?”

***