Death Cap - Thirty-Five - Information in any Conflict is Key to Victory

The easiest way to get in touch with Eight-Three-Eleven would have been to reach out to her church. She was an avid servant of Galen, and that should have made it easy to find her.

The problem was... well, I didn’t trust the Church of Galen. I didn’t trust any of the religious organisations in City Nineteen. Other than Eight-Three-Eleven and maybe a few other followers of Galen, I didn’t exactly see many folks of the various cloths out on the mean streets actually doing anything to help.

They could preach all they wanted. What I cared about were their actions.

Which meant I had to find out where Eight-Three-Eleven was hanging out on my own.

That took all of two hours.

As it turned out, someone going around the slums, helping people here and there and generally being a bit nosey was noticeable. I only had to ask a few of the better gossips in the marketplace then follow their directions towards one of the soup kitchens on the edge of my part of the slums.

Eight-Three-Eleven was right there. She’d replaced her red poncho for an apron and was smiling as she filled bowls up with some colourless gruel for a host of impoverished and homeless people.

I hesitated near the entrance, then stepped around the line and headed towards the counters. Someone protested that I was skipping, but then someone else told them to shush up. I guess being a kid gave me a free pass for cutting into the queue.

“Hey!” I said as I got closer to Eight-Three-Eleven.

She glanced up, then smiled. Or I assumed she did. She had her mask on, so I had to go by the crinkling in the corner of her eyes. “Hey, it’s you. Were you looking for a meal? If you get in line now there should still be some left by the time it gets to your turn.”

I shook my head. “I’m okay,” I replied. It actually hurt a tiny bit to refuse food, but I really didn’t need it. With my mushroom farm going I had a decent supply of stuff to eat and I could afford the occasional can of stuff for me and my mom. “Hey, when you’re done, can we chat for a minute?”

“Sure,” she said. She waved me off, and I walked over to the back of the room where I found a place to sit. I slid my hand into my satchel and rubbed Nibbles atop his head. He hissed, but soon gave in to the scratching.

The little pest. He was like a cat, but infinitely worse with the way he pretended not to want affection at all, but then turning around to crave it. He did like it when I went out for walks. He’d stick his snout out of the side of my satchel and sniff at the air.

I waited patiently while the crowd continued to grow. After an hour it finally dawned on me that it wouldn’t ever thin out. These were people coming in from across the city for a meal because it was free, even if it was nothing more than watered down gruel with nothing for flavour.

Did the place run all day?

I was brought out of my thoughts when Eight-Three-Eleven stepped closer. She was adjusting her poncho and was smiling. “So, what did you need me for?” she asked.

I stood up, rubbed my hands on my thighs, then grinned back. “Just needed to know a few things, thought you might be someone I could ask about them, seeing as how you’ve got your feet to the ground and all.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” she said. “I have an appointment in a bit, care to follow me?”

“Sure,” I said. “Where are we heading to?”

“Not too far. Just a clinic I help at sometimes.”

“Do you help at every clinic and volunteer place?” I asked.

She made a so-so gesture with one hand, then paused near the exit to heft up a wooden box. The girl was strong, I noted idly. “Nearly. Places that are endorsed by the church of Galen get a write off on their taxes. But to prevent that write off from being abused, a member of the church, in good standing, needs to work there at least once a week.”

“So... you run around, do a day’s work here and there, and keep everyone running?” I asked.

“It’s not always fun, but some of these places really need that little bit of a boost. I get to help by being there once a week, and they get to give a little less to the tax-man when he comes around with his bull-- with his officers to collect. Some places, like the kitchen, are barely able to run as it is.”

I nodded. “That's genuinely kind of you.”

“I’m just doing what Galen would be proud to have me do,” she said with a bright grin. “You know, you’re pretty outgoing yourself. You should come to the church, I’m sure you’d love some of the more down-to-earth sermons.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said, which was shorthand for ‘not even if the sky was on fire.’

“I don’t imagine you tracked me down to compliment me on trying to help people,” she said. “What’s up?”

I frowned, then started. “Have you heard of the muggings lately?”

She frowned. “I did. They’re getting pretty bad. The soup kitchen down on Strata street had their food shipment hit. Four, maybe five guys, in nicer clothes than usual. They took the food and we found most of it dumped in an alley nearby. I guess they thought it might be more than just root vegetables and oatmeal.”

I grimaced. “Right. They messed with one of mine too. I’m looking for them.”

She glanced down at me. “What for?”

“I don’t like what they’re doing,” I said simply.

Eight-Three-Eleven didn’t say anything for a little bit, and I let her stew in her silence. Finally, we came to a stop in front of a place that felt familiar. A small rusty clinic. It wasn’t until I read the sign with the name of the local physician that it clicked. Doctor Livalis, the same man who’d patched up my dad’s hand a long time ago.

“Galen... isn’t unfamiliar with violence. We have his mercy to give, after all. But we don’t... seek that violence, you understand? We give it to those who are asking, we don’t encourage people to take it.”

“I think I understand,” I said.

“I can’t just tell you,” she returned.

I met her eyes. “Eight-Three-Eleven, how many more are going to lose a meal because of them? How many more kids are they going to beat? You know the bullies won’t act. But I’m not a bully, and I can.”

“You’re a little young, aren’t you?” she asked.

I laughed. “There’s no age in the slums,” I said.

Eight-three-Eleven shifted the weight of the box she was holding. “What will you do?”

“I don’t know yet. But knowing who I’m dealing with and where they’re staying will be a big step towards me finding out,” I said.

She hesitated some more, then nodded. “Next to the Wade factory, on Ninth. They don’t stay in this district much, but when they do, I think it’s around there. They have... a clubhouse, I guess.”

I grinned. “You’re a lifesaver,” I said.

“I really hope so. Be careful, alright?”

I nodded. “I’ll be careful, promise,” I said. Then I ran off back to my farm to gather enough explosives and poison to wipe out the population of a small town.

My goal was to take the muggers out without ever being in any danger myself. This wouldn’t be all that different from fighting the bullies, only this time I had more than an afternoon to prepare.

That, and I wasn’t under any restrictions but my own. No rules about not going lethal, or only using harmless poisons. I hefted a plump [Dead Man’s Cough] and grinned as I placed it within a knit net with a [Bottle Pop].

I’d start, of course, by preparing my payload. Then I’d prepare the terrain.

Sir Nibbles chittered, and I rubbed him between the ears. “Don’t worry, you can come along too. If you’re nice, I’ll even let you take a bite or two.”

I prepared some non-lethals as well, just in case. What if they had hostages, or there were innocents around them? No, I couldn’t afford not to bring a way to take them out without harming them.

On the flip side... I was left with a number of explosive mushrooms, so I strapped them all together, then, feeling a little more creative, I placed a few in a large glass jar and added some of the little nails I used to make my racks in the spaces between the mushbooms.

“That’ll do it,” I said.

***