Abandoned City
4; Conversation
After the Protectors had filed out of the chamber, the Hunters milled around into a rough semi-circle facing One. Arms were crossed, brows were furrowed. The air hung heavily on their shoulders.
One crossed his arms as well, and looked slowly at each of them. Out of habit, they'd lined up in order of rank, so Six felt very small between Five and Seven, who were both very tall for their ages. When One finally looked at her, she had to fight a strange urge to turn away from his searching gaze.
"Men," One said. "And women," he added, nodding at Six, Three, and Eight. "I'm not going to beat around the bush. What you have just become - what most of you voted to be - are assassins. If there are Police around Mecha, they need to be taken care of, and it needs to be permanent. I don't want to hear any nonsense about warnings. We are not sending an injured one back to the pack - that will tell them only that we are weak and merciful. Any Hound who comes within your sight must die.
"I realize how this sounds - as if we're going to be patrolling up Above. This isn't exactly what being part of the Poncho is about - as a Hound Hunter, your job becomes much harder. Yes, catching animals in the wild is difficult enough. This is worse. You will be Above for the majority of the time, fanning out in different directions with the Protectors, searching for Hounds!" As he spoke, his voice become more heated; his fists clenched. "You may go days without food or water. Because of that risk, you will be forced to carry more than you're used to to survive out there. You will be alone. The sun will always be beating on your back - but it's pushing you on! It reveals to you all that you need to see! I tell you now, so it won't come as a nasty shock: you will want to quit. You will want to throw yourselves at the mercy of the Hounds. But you must not stop. You must keep going. The safety of your friends, your loved ones, your futures, is at risk. You must Hunt!"
They all raised their fists and roared in a fit of pride; Six, feeling her jaw stiffen, shouted all the louder for her own apprehension.
Once they'd all calmed a bit, One continued, "Tomorrow, you will be designated more specific jobs. Don't hope for a cushy job down here - it was said earlier: you yourselves will be choosing replacements while the Poncho is active. You are no longer the Hunters. The best job you'll get is Short Patrol - the inside track, if you will. The shortest or smallest area to search. And this may still last a week or two at a time. Now, go back to your Bunks, pick Hunters to stand in your stead. We'll get word to you by tomorrow concerning the final meeting before we begin the Hunt."
Everybody nodded, and trooped out slowly. The meeting was clearly over. Just as Six passed through the round doorway, however, One called her back.
"Six! A moment, please."
She turned, and had to press herself against the wall in order to let the others through. One was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed once again, staring at the opposite wall. She went back to him.
"What is it?" she asked, trying to make the question sound as polite as possible. She always felt a bit awkward, or inferior, around One. He was so much more well-spoken than she, with better manners, and a fire in him that she couldn't hope to match.
He sighed and looked up - or rather, down - at her. He brushed a lock of grimy hair from his eyes. Though they were brilliantly aqua green, they seemed empty, lifeless. "You're sure your friend wasn't hallucinating with the heat, are you?" he asked.
"Of course not," she answered. "I wasn't with him. But I still think the problem needs to be dealt with. At the very least we should confirm or refute the possibility."
He nodded. "Yes. You're right, of course. I just wish he hadn't seen anything at all ... or that my brother is right, and they'll go away of their own accord."
"But you don't believe either of those things," she said slowly, guessing at his emotions.
He stared at her. "No. I don't."
She looked down at her feet, and back up at him. "We've got a good group of Hound Hunters, One," she said. "This is going to be taken care of. I mean, you must have heard about Four's latest surgery," she said. Four was like many Mechan teens, and had gotten his first surgery at 12. However, he hadn't stopped at one, like most. He'd modified his body so drastically that he hardly looked human below the neck. "A steel plate in each elbow. Even if a Hound manages to get a hold of him, he can break its' nose, or ribs, just by elbowing it hard enough."
A ghost of a grin flitted across One's face. He was silent for a moment, then said suddenly, "I always found it stupid, that we refer to each other as numbers. It takes away the sense of identity."
Six, shocked by this pronouncement, remained silent.
"I know your name, you know," he said, chuckling dryly. "And I like it much better than 'Six.'"
"My name?" she asked, curious. As far as she knew, only Neuve knew her name. "How did you find that out?"
"My brother and I keep a closer eye on things than you seem to think," he said lightly. "Everybody has a name. Nobody is just a number to us. And besides," he went on. "Only Hunters and Protectors still use that rule. Did you know, everybody used to be ranked, right down to the youngest baby?"
"Really?" Six said incredulously. "That's a little far, isn't it?"
"Which is precisely why toddlers and preteens still use their own names," he said. "Haven't you ever thought about what other teens who aren't in the top tens must call each other?"
She shook her head slowly, feeling a little ashamed.
"They haven't either. I've never once heard somebody past 12 use their own name, or anybody else's. If they don't get the top ten, they just stop using names altogether."
"But how do they talk to each other?"
He smiled. "They don't talk to each other, much," he said. "Mostly just to the toddlers. The ones they can call by name, or the ones they can bribe or sell wares to. But they're losing their sense of identity. By the time they reach our age, they won't care anymore. I'm afraid for them."
Shaking his head, he ran his fingers through his slick hair and looked at her. "I hate it when you call me One," he said abruptly. Six, taken aback, actually stepped backward. He laughed. "But I know the shock of learning my real name would probably send you into cardiac arrest, and right now, I need all of my Hunters in good health. Now go on, go find a replacement in your Bunk."
She nodded, and turned to leave once more. He called out again, though.
"Oh, and Six?"
She turned.
"Be careful out there."
She nodded once more, words failing her. As she walked through Mecha, staring straight ahead, a hundred questions whirled around inside her brain.
One crossed his arms as well, and looked slowly at each of them. Out of habit, they'd lined up in order of rank, so Six felt very small between Five and Seven, who were both very tall for their ages. When One finally looked at her, she had to fight a strange urge to turn away from his searching gaze.
"Men," One said. "And women," he added, nodding at Six, Three, and Eight. "I'm not going to beat around the bush. What you have just become - what most of you voted to be - are assassins. If there are Police around Mecha, they need to be taken care of, and it needs to be permanent. I don't want to hear any nonsense about warnings. We are not sending an injured one back to the pack - that will tell them only that we are weak and merciful. Any Hound who comes within your sight must die.
"I realize how this sounds - as if we're going to be patrolling up Above. This isn't exactly what being part of the Poncho is about - as a Hound Hunter, your job becomes much harder. Yes, catching animals in the wild is difficult enough. This is worse. You will be Above for the majority of the time, fanning out in different directions with the Protectors, searching for Hounds!" As he spoke, his voice become more heated; his fists clenched. "You may go days without food or water. Because of that risk, you will be forced to carry more than you're used to to survive out there. You will be alone. The sun will always be beating on your back - but it's pushing you on! It reveals to you all that you need to see! I tell you now, so it won't come as a nasty shock: you will want to quit. You will want to throw yourselves at the mercy of the Hounds. But you must not stop. You must keep going. The safety of your friends, your loved ones, your futures, is at risk. You must Hunt!"
They all raised their fists and roared in a fit of pride; Six, feeling her jaw stiffen, shouted all the louder for her own apprehension.
Once they'd all calmed a bit, One continued, "Tomorrow, you will be designated more specific jobs. Don't hope for a cushy job down here - it was said earlier: you yourselves will be choosing replacements while the Poncho is active. You are no longer the Hunters. The best job you'll get is Short Patrol - the inside track, if you will. The shortest or smallest area to search. And this may still last a week or two at a time. Now, go back to your Bunks, pick Hunters to stand in your stead. We'll get word to you by tomorrow concerning the final meeting before we begin the Hunt."
Everybody nodded, and trooped out slowly. The meeting was clearly over. Just as Six passed through the round doorway, however, One called her back.
"Six! A moment, please."
She turned, and had to press herself against the wall in order to let the others through. One was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed once again, staring at the opposite wall. She went back to him.
"What is it?" she asked, trying to make the question sound as polite as possible. She always felt a bit awkward, or inferior, around One. He was so much more well-spoken than she, with better manners, and a fire in him that she couldn't hope to match.
He sighed and looked up - or rather, down - at her. He brushed a lock of grimy hair from his eyes. Though they were brilliantly aqua green, they seemed empty, lifeless. "You're sure your friend wasn't hallucinating with the heat, are you?" he asked.
"Of course not," she answered. "I wasn't with him. But I still think the problem needs to be dealt with. At the very least we should confirm or refute the possibility."
He nodded. "Yes. You're right, of course. I just wish he hadn't seen anything at all ... or that my brother is right, and they'll go away of their own accord."
"But you don't believe either of those things," she said slowly, guessing at his emotions.
He stared at her. "No. I don't."
She looked down at her feet, and back up at him. "We've got a good group of Hound Hunters, One," she said. "This is going to be taken care of. I mean, you must have heard about Four's latest surgery," she said. Four was like many Mechan teens, and had gotten his first surgery at 12. However, he hadn't stopped at one, like most. He'd modified his body so drastically that he hardly looked human below the neck. "A steel plate in each elbow. Even if a Hound manages to get a hold of him, he can break its' nose, or ribs, just by elbowing it hard enough."
A ghost of a grin flitted across One's face. He was silent for a moment, then said suddenly, "I always found it stupid, that we refer to each other as numbers. It takes away the sense of identity."
Six, shocked by this pronouncement, remained silent.
"I know your name, you know," he said, chuckling dryly. "And I like it much better than 'Six.'"
"My name?" she asked, curious. As far as she knew, only Neuve knew her name. "How did you find that out?"
"My brother and I keep a closer eye on things than you seem to think," he said lightly. "Everybody has a name. Nobody is just a number to us. And besides," he went on. "Only Hunters and Protectors still use that rule. Did you know, everybody used to be ranked, right down to the youngest baby?"
"Really?" Six said incredulously. "That's a little far, isn't it?"
"Which is precisely why toddlers and preteens still use their own names," he said. "Haven't you ever thought about what other teens who aren't in the top tens must call each other?"
She shook her head slowly, feeling a little ashamed.
"They haven't either. I've never once heard somebody past 12 use their own name, or anybody else's. If they don't get the top ten, they just stop using names altogether."
"But how do they talk to each other?"
He smiled. "They don't talk to each other, much," he said. "Mostly just to the toddlers. The ones they can call by name, or the ones they can bribe or sell wares to. But they're losing their sense of identity. By the time they reach our age, they won't care anymore. I'm afraid for them."
Shaking his head, he ran his fingers through his slick hair and looked at her. "I hate it when you call me One," he said abruptly. Six, taken aback, actually stepped backward. He laughed. "But I know the shock of learning my real name would probably send you into cardiac arrest, and right now, I need all of my Hunters in good health. Now go on, go find a replacement in your Bunk."
She nodded, and turned to leave once more. He called out again, though.
"Oh, and Six?"
She turned.
"Be careful out there."
She nodded once more, words failing her. As she walked through Mecha, staring straight ahead, a hundred questions whirled around inside her brain.