Banner Men
RORY MASON
"So, this is the new program, Lord Mason?" Rory Mason was uncomfortable with the title, to be sure, but he responded as he should to Mother. She was a stickler for the rules. Besides, the merest sight of Child could make the meanest man meek.
"It is, Mother. I've taken into account the new builds -"
Madam Severity raised her hand and smiled, knocking everything else intelligible from Rory's mind. She recognised this and flashed a little leg in appreciation, "I don't need to know the details, sweetie. Just that it's done."
"I - It is, Mother." managed Rory, after regaining his composure. Mother stood then, flanked by Child, and came over to Rory, taking his arm gently, putting hers in the loop of his. He was visibly shaking now, and biological things were happening when he really wished they wouldn't, but he didn't have much say in the matter. Madam Severity led him to her balcony window.
"See all that? See from the lowly hovels to the opulent houses? See the Whore Houses, the Gambling Houses and the Information Houses? You see all those people, milling about, doing their business with relative impunity? Do you see that, Rory, dear? Do you? Well, it's because of you and your kind, the Programmers; the Engineers - it's because of this little program on this little storage device that those people can do that. Do you know that? Because of you, Rory, those people get to live as they do." Mother kissed him on the cheek, then the lips. His knees buckled, but he managed to stay upright, "Thank you, my sweet Rory." she said, smiling, looking kindly into his eyes and wiping the lipstick off his face with a soft thumb. She left him at the window to readjust himself, "My dear Lord Mason, I will be thinking of you as you venture out into the Battle Grounds. You may have my Banner Man, Isiah, as your companion. Oh, and two others. You're in my thoughts, sweet boy." Almost immediately Madam Severity returned to her chair behind the solid desk, in a business-like manner and blind to all else. Rory Mason took his cue to leave. As if he needed more encouragement, Child walked toward him. Rory quickly made for the door and left.
She certainly had a way, Madam Severity. Sensual without compromise. Oh, you knew you couldn't get one over on her. Even if you did, or merely tried, Child would pay you a visit and end it. But Rory had no reason to do so. This truly was the best program written in the last fifty years.
It seemed Rory Mason had an aptitude for the code. Some said it was because his parents had, as a young couple, partaken of the drugs Godenheim had to offer, or because they had spent some time while pregnant, wandering as scavengers through the Wastelands, mutating him in some way. Whatever it was, he was born to program.
"You Lord Mason?" The man was the epitome of his moniker. He was tattooed all over. And they were beautifully done. This was new ground for Rory. Never before had he been in such illustrious company. But that was the nature of the programmer, he supposed. One minute a jobbing coder, next a near celebrity.
His line manager had spotted his potential early on, it seemed. Farrenter, once a great programmer himself, spotted the deftness of his classes and the poetry of his coding and fast-tracked him into the upper stream of Programmers. There, Rory Mason excelled, making no friends and many enemies. Twice he was nearly killed by a stray keyboard and a poleaxing by a mouse, because the good Programmer quickly made enemies - dangerous enemies.
Violence could also be expected from different Houses; much sabotage and espionage was carried out, but all instances were caught. Internal jealousy, however, was nearly impossible to spot until it was too late and a poor Programmer had their head caved in by a sharpened keyboard.
"You must be -"
"Isiah. Just call me Isiah. After all, it is my name." There was no hint of humour in his words.
"Sir." bowed Rory. Isiah Ghost gave him a scowl. Rory withered, "S - sorry?"
"Don't apologise, Lord Mason. Just don't say it again."
"And you can call me Rory -"
"Nope. I'll call you by your proper name." Isiah didn't brook with any nonsense, it seemed.
Rory realised, he wasn't gaining a friend; he was gaining a functioning lunatic. Still, if it kept him alive, then all the better. Rory wasn't under any illusions to exactly how dangerous this little jaunt was going to be. First there was the distance to travel from Prudence House, via Godenheim and Freeride - thankfully Rindlebrooke was in the other direction - then find a safe way through the ruins leading to the Battle Grounds, finally getting to the PTM and inserting the new program. That in itself had its own set of security features, but Rory had run through it all on the Simulator and passed with flying colours. There were those who said the simulator was nothing like doing it under battle conditions, but Rory couldn't bring himself to think of that.
Saboteurs, murderers; industrial espionage. That's what made Rory crap himself. And that was where Isiah Ghost came in. The protector. Well, him and two others, but they had no reputations. They were just guards.
Espen and Dabble introduced themselves. Rory was courteous, but Isiah just walked off, muttering. He seemed to be holding a conversation with himself. Things were getting stranger and stranger. Of course Rory had heard of the stories about Isiah Ghost, the Tattooed Man, but until you saw it with your own eyes, they were just stories. This man was very real, and so were his tattoos.
They left Prudence around about dawn, leaving quietly by the south gate, out into the ruins. Isiah Ghost kept a quick pace. He looked onward with a destination in mind and only a limited time to get there.
Rory Mason's legs were shorter than his, but he didn't feel it his place to complain. Espen took a wide position, while Dabble brought up the rear. They too, it turned out, were excited to be with the great Banner Man, and were out to impress, so Rory gained no respite from the taxing pace. Even when he needed to rest, he continued. Rory nearly cried when they came up to Godenheim House. Of course they couldn't stop, not in a rival House, and especially not Godenheim. But it would be a marker for the first day's travel.
They camped in an abandoned house, barely in sight of Godenheim with its vast plumes of smoke and unravelling flags. Rory got as comfortable as he could on the second floor. Dabble sat on the broken upper floor, dangling his feet off the edge, keeping guard of the valuable Programmer. Espen was wandering around downstairs, while Isiah Ghost was off somewhere doing something - Banner Man-ish.
Suddenly there was a crash and a bang and Dabble slowly fell forward, from his position on the edge. Rory caught a silhouette as Dabble doubled over, of something like a harpoon sticking out of his back. Rory scurried deeper into the shadows.
"You up there! Are you the Programmer?" called a voice from below. Even if he wanted to speak, fear had stolen Rory's voice and hidden it away in a box somewhere, "Your Lordship? If you are up there, you better say, otherwise I might send up Whopper here. And you don't want to see what Whopper does with his chopper."
If he stayed silent he would be dead. If he went down to them, he would be dead. Rory was stuck between a rock and another, equally sized and deadly rock, "Okay, well, I guess I send up Whopper, then. Whopper?"
Rory heard a commotion, some scraping and a grunt or two. He braced himself for Whopper and his chopper, but what appeared was a familiar head. This one had tattoos on it.
"Lord Mason?" called the familiar voice of Isiah Ghost. Rory revealed himself. He wanted to run up to the Tattooed Man and hug him, but he thought not only would it be inappropriate, but also quite dangerous, "You did the right thing, staying in cover." Even if it wasn't a compliment, Rory took it as one and allowed himself a smile as Isiah Ghost disappeared again. This was followed by more scraping and dragging, but Rory heard none of it. He fell instantly asleep, safe and secure.
When it became dawn, or thereabouts - as there was no real way of telling by looking to the sky, black and stormy as it was - they set off again, one man short. Rory was beginning to understand the importance that was being placed upon him. He partially wished he had never learned to program. If he hadn't then poor Dabble would still be alive. He couldn't help feeling responsible - they were doing everything for him, including giving their lives, so he could insert the new program into the Tactical Machine. So he decided to grow a pair and stop complaining about how fast they were going, or how much his feet hurt.
Their journey took them past two Patrols and one set of Bandits, despatched quickly by Isiah Ghost and Espen. They picked their way through the ruins of houses and estates, until eventually they came across a metal frame with things hanging from it, at about seat height. They could have been swings, but way out here? Seemed unlikely. There were broken oblong metal objects much like the Machines dotted about, but these machines didn't function and had probably not functioned for some considerable years.
The crossing was treacherous, but Isiah insisted it was the safest way to get to Freeride, when they carried such a valuable cargo. Rory was beginning to understand he was an object to protect, less a human being. He couldn't help that. He was what he needed to be to get there safe. Why there couldn't be a safer way still, he didn't know. Trouble was, only Programmers were able to insert the code into the existing program on the Programmable Tactical Machine. If only the Banner Man could do it, then, well, it would be so much easier. Or if Rory was stronger, faster, more agile and actually trained in fighting. But he sat behind a screen, tapping away at a keyboard all day. He wasn't made for this trek. No Programmer was - never mind the physical aspects, the mental strength one needed - it was beyond measure. Even if he wanted to, Rory Mason would never forget this trip. Not if he lived for a thousand years.
Freeride was getting closer. At least inside there three people could hide with relative impunity. Isiah Ghost was known there, and was often given a wide berth. That would help in being undisturbed for the next part of the trip. That part was going to be the most dangerous, full of hidden perils and people after what Rory had.
There were people who could smell profit, and most of those were in Freeride. They would need to be careful.
"Once we're inside, keep your head down. Let me deal with everything." instructed Isiah Ghost, to both Espen and Rory. Rory didn't need telling twice. Unfortunately Espen did. He was a bit thick, really.
#
Freeride outdid Rory's expectations. He had expected some furore, some clamour to independent spirit, but not this. Gaudy could be one description. Colourful another, kinder one. Playful a wholly inaccurate one. There were dangers everywhere for those with eyes to see it. The naïve boy that was Rory Mason, Lord Programmer of Prudence House, saw delight tinged with fear. Delight from the sights, the sounds, the culture and the assembly; fear from the cutthroat men and women who sold the varied goods. Rory suspected a pickpocket or bandit at every corner. And he wasn't wrong. Well, he was slightly wrong - the pickpockets and bandits didn't bother hiding. They stood out in plain sight, testing the tips of daggers and cracking their knuckles in anticipation of the pockets they would be feeling.
There was a Way-House Isiah knew of where the proprietor didn't ask too many awkward questions. There were, as it turned out, quite a few of those types of hostelries throughout the Houses in the Droke. Some people preferred to move about in secret. As long as there were no wild assassinations or min-riots started by them, then fine, just keep quiet, keep out of the way and keep your head down. All three suited Rory perfectly.
The Way-House was amusingly called The Wanderer's Secret. It had been started by a once prosperous man who lost everything, became a Hermit and discovered he wasn't suited to that either, so took all his scavenged goods, sold them and started a Way-House, for those who didn't want to answer too many questions about exactly where and when they suddenly came into rich debris. Other, more important people availed themselves of the hostelry when they needed to travel incognito, so turned a blind eye to whatever else - or in fact whoever else - found themselves in one of the small, dank rooms in The Wanderer's Secret. This was how Isiah Ghost had come to know of it. He spoke quietly with Spokey Pentory, the owner and manager of the establishment, in what constituted a front room. Rory and Espen headed for the room they had rented.
It was barely big enough for a single bed and a human being’s knees when they sat on the side of the said bed. Espen explained he was to sit outside, guarding the door. Rory couldn't help feeling unworthy of all this attention and special treatment, but then he should have just appreciated it, as the job of Programmer was so prized - one who developed new code was like a silver chicken that shat golden eggs with diamonds inside. Priceless.
But Rory Mason found it hard to catch any sleep. Every creak, every tap brought him directly out of his light nap. At one point he thought he heard a cry and a struggle outside the door, but it stopped almost as soon as it started. By the time Rory had given up on sleep, it was minutes from dawn. He got up, banged his knees and opened the door. Now Isiah Ghost sat where Espen had been when Rory had gone to bed.
"Where's Espen?" asked Rory, sleepily.
"Dead. Poisoned. Someone tried to get to you in the night. Had to stop 'em. Do you do that often?" asked Isiah, pointing to the floor. A puddle had appeared underneath the cuff of Rory’s trousers.
"I pissed myself." said Rory, stating the obvious.
"So it would seem. Eat quickly. We leave in five." explained Isiah, walking away and leaving the piss-puddled Rory where he stood. As Isiah left, he began admonishing someone Rory couldn't see, for some comment they had made. Isiah continued muttering to himself as he disappeared down the stairs.
As they left Freeride, stalls were being set up for the next day's trading. Some had not closed from the previous day and some never closed. Even still, the group was able to leave fairly unseen. It would have been impossible to say they had left unnoticed. Interested parties were now aware of exactly where the Programmer was. More importantly, they knew where he was going.
The group travelled closely together. Isiah couldn't afford to let Rory out of his sight now. Rory couldn't afford it either. He stuck to Isiah Ghost like glue. The ruins were thinning out a little, mostly pulverised red brick dust and the odd, eerie scaffold of poles, fallen or deliberately placed in way-out formations; like a living metal creature of old.
It was obvious they were approaching the Battle Grounds for two good reasons; the first was the noise - it was an endless cacophony, with booms, clack-clacks; the rumble of Machine and the rending of metal. For one who had never heard it, the sound was of Hell itself, or some underworld chaos party. The sights that accompanied the noise were different. They were a beautiful blend of reds, oranges, blues, sparks and dancing fires. The closer one got, the sight became more terrifying than the sound.
They drew closer to the deadly Machines, these things with their flailing arms, their choking exhausts, the pure violence and balletically monstrous dance they perpetrated in metal maiming horror, tons of power crashing a fiery beast born of metal, pulverising it into an already covered field of defeated soldiers, turning to take another strike; Rory Mason nearly shit himself. But there was no time for that now. People approached and Isiah had found an adequate hiding spot in the cavern made by an unexploded ordinance in the dust fields.
"There's too many of them. Lord Mason, you must go on ahead. I'll join you when I can. Shut up!" Isiah said to his right arm.
"You mean -"
"Yes. And I suggest you keep your head down. In that direction. Run! I know! I just told him! Weren't you listening, for fuck's sake?" With that, he disappeared. Rory had no choice but to push on. So he did as he was told. He kept his head down and ran, in the direction of the screaming Machines.
This was ridiculous wasn't it? He was a weak, unfit and full-time inserter of numbers. He wasn't a maverick, an adventurer, or a hero. He wasn't someone like Isiah Ghost, designed for this kind of work. The first few miles Rory Mason did practically on his hands and knees. It at least gave him time to reflect on his life so far.
He was always curious as a child. He would find places to hide that no one suspected a human being could hide in. He watched Engineers work on Machines, or mostly parts of Machines. They were deft with their hands, moving about like they were an actor in a well-rehearsed play about building things. There was almost a melody to the whizzes, clanks, burrs and tings. And the Engineers danced along to the industrial rhythm, picking out the notes to beat in time to the heartbeat of imagination. It wasn't enough for the young Rory, though. He wanted more. He crawled through spaces in the Seat of Power. He watched as Mother dealt with people, and how Child would insist without a word. Even that young he was struck by her absolute perfection; beauty from that day to this unmatched.
But it was the Programmers he watched with sparkly eyes; the rolling of the fingers, the click-clack of the keyboards - the way the figures ran like tiny insects from left to right, over and over, and at the end, a simulation would appear on the screen, showing where all the hard work had gone. The young Rory Mason saw these people as wizards and magicians, using letters and numbers to create works of art. He knew then that this was what he wanted to do. This was where his destiny lay; amongst the wizards and magicians of House Prudence. Oh, he visited the Whore Houses, Gambling Houses and Information Houses too, but he only had eyes for the keyboard and screen. He was certainly a very weird kid. Everybody said so. Including his parents.
Though he fell over a lot, collected so much dust he could start selling it as the base for an unguent, Rory Mason was in sight of the PTM, or Programmable Tactical Machine. It was as the diagrams showed, the diagrams the Programmers had on their walls, of the various Machines and the Battle Ground. Artist's renderings did not do it justice, however. That thing was like a huge metal construction, with hundreds of wires, isolated in concrete, antennae and rusted pieces of patchwork sheet metal to fix bumps, holes and of course inevitable rust. It was dark, pitted and dented. Some of the dents were as big as Rory himself. The smallest ones he could see were the size of his head. At least it looked well protected, behind the gigantic wall that provided guard for the PTM.
It occurred to Rory then of the nature of the war. If all PTM's were thusly guarded, how could any one House win the war? It didn't take him long to come to the conclusion than many intelligent people did when faced with the Battle Grounds. No one was supposed to win. It was perpetual war. Houses gained ground, Houses lost ground, and ultimately it gained the Houses nothing, save the technological advancement, the wealth of invention and the Wagering on individual set pieces.
Then Rory realised just how much of a pawn he really was. He felt so small and insignificant at that moment, touching the cold steel of the PTM exterior. He didn't have long to ponder his purpose in life however, as he heard the noisy approach of more Bandits. But this time, there was nowhere to hide. Rory judged he had seconds to escape, but escape to where? Then he saw a shadow of his past. A tiny vent, near the ground. He forced the cover off, breaking it as he did. He cursed himself, hoping they would not notice the broken pieces as he squeezed himself into the vent. He had to go head first, so wouldn't know he was caught until he was yanked from the vent and - well that bit didn't need thinking about, not right now.
He barely had the room to breathe, and it was pitch black. He could hear the distant whirring of tape machines; the PTM hub. Each tick of the tape was a tick of Rory's life, as he waited to see if he was pulled from the vent. Nothing. He waited a little longer. Still nothing. Taking a chance, he forced himself out of the vent, back into the fetid, oily and rusty metal smelling air. But the breath in, the deep breath in was like nectar.
Of the Bandits, there was no sign. Perhaps they had moved on. Perhaps they were hiding somewhere, waiting to leap out at Rory as soon as he made himself known. What could Rory do? He did the only thing left to him, through the wracking fear he now realised he felt so intensely. He was fuelled by adrenaline now. He moved around the PTM structure, keeping as quiet and as hidden as he could within the ever cast shadows of the deep Droke, until he found a door. It had a keypad. Above the keypad was a small screen. On the screen the words, "Please Enter Code: _" flashed endlessly in time with Rory's impossible heartbeat. He began to insert the sequence to open the door.
"Hey, man." Rory turned, fell, scrambled to his feet and took up a defensive posture all in the blink of an eye. It was another human being - and not Isiah Ghost.
"Who in the Hell -"
"Vennet. Bry Vennet," Bry Vennet offered a hand to shake. Rory backed away even more. Bry Vennet dropped his offered hand, wiping it on his trousers, but his keenness didn't fade, "Hey it's alright, man! I'm the Engineer. The Engineer? Sent to help you?"
"I - I don't know anything about an Engineer -"
"You sure? I was told to travel separately, for security, you know? Come on, man! It's kosher!"
"Well, it makes sense -" relented Rory, still non compos mentis.
The Engineer slapped Rory on the arm, "There you go! Just missed that patrol, eh?"
"Yeah. Hid in the vent."
"Wow! Quick thinking! I wouldn't have thought of that. Suppose that's why you're the Programmer and I'm just the poxy Engineer!"
"Rubbish! Engineers are just as much geniuses as the Programmers. More in fact! You lot come up with the designs. Us lot just make 'em move!"
"Ha! You might have a point there. Anyway, better get this door open. I think that patrol will be coming around again soon."
Rory Mason nodded and returned to the keypad, tapping the last of the door code into the plastic keys. A series of gears began to turn and the door slid open. A set of five steps led to a dusty concrete floor. The room at the bottom of the steps was barely larger than the room Rory had stayed in at The Wanderer's Secret, back at Freeride. On either side of a centre console that contained a keyboard and screen, were the tape machines Rory had heard while in the vent. He immediately went up to the keyboard and began typing in the preparation program to accept the new code. His fingers flew over the keys, clicking away, as Bry Vennet wandered around, tapping at the glass fronts to the tape machines, distracting Rory from his work.
Rory's brow furrowed in consternation. And then a thought occurred to Rory. Why he hadn't thought of it earlier, he didn't know. Perhaps this man had distracted him from the thought, but now it was the only words on Rory's lips, "How did you avoid the patrols, Bry? While you were here, waiting for me?"
"I hid of course! They're not that bright, those patrols -"
"But I found it hard to hide, Bry. Because there is nowhere to hide."
"What a smart arse you Programmers are, eh? Might as well give me the code now, Rory, before I take it from you?”
"You're -"
"Yes, kid. I'm the killer. Surprise?" He advanced then, murder in his eyes. Rory had nowhere to cower, nowhere to hide. He faced his killer, in sure and certain knowledge that -
Suddenly, Bry Vennet's advance was halted, as his eyes crossed and blood spurted from his mouth like some extreme crimson dribble. When the body fell, the head of Isiah Ghost came into focus. The Tattooed Man's expression was immovable, as usual. He just jerked his head in an 'out of the room' kind of movement. Rory finished the insertion of the code into the PTM. An invisible engine started up somewhere within the structure and the tape machines began to whir like dervishes. A click-whirr signalled the program had taken hold. Rory followed the ghostly man out into the Droke once more.
Once outside, Lord Rory Mason took the arresting air deep into his lungs and sighed. This caught Isiah Ghost's attention, who was squatting near Rory, muttering to himself. He stood then and faced Rory, "Finished then, kid?"
"Yep, Mr Ghost, I have."
"I thought I told you about that Mr shit? Anyway, home's this way." he said, beginning to walk. Rory brushed himself down and followed the ghostly man. He would follow that man anywhere.
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