The Neo-Metropol Heist

23: Artem

Artem lay awake in the uncomfortable camp bed that Runs With Wolves had dragged into the cabin for him to sleep on.
He'd known from the moment that he'd laid down in the middle of the living room that he wasn't going to sleep. From a bedroom on the far side of the cabin, he could hear Alan snoring loudly and ferociously in his bed.
Artem's eyes felt strange, at first he'd thought it was because of the dust in the cabin, but had soon realised that it was most likely because he hadn't gone that long before without looking at a screen in his entire life. It was a strange feeling.
Alan had forced them to turn their terminals off and place them in a lead-lined safe. Of course, it was sensible, but the madman had made it sound mad, as he did everything.
The camp bed on the opposite side of the room was empty, the covers untouched. Harry hadn't even been to bed, he was still in the hangar, doing what he did to recharge, repairing things.
Artem closed his eyes but still couldn't sleep. He wondered whether Edward had managed to plant the security shunt without getting arrested, but he wouldn't know until they left their solitude after finishing what they had come to do.
He had the usual nerves he always felt before a job, but he wouldn't let himself think through the negative outcomes. Of course, he was always prepared, but if he allowed himself to get mired in the 'what-ifs', he wouldn't get anything done.
Still, they were stealing a military grade aircraft from the navy, and what was more, they were taking it from a highly secure aircraft carrier twenty thousand feet above the ocean.
Artem was tenacious, but he wasn't insane. Or so he had thought.
He tossed the covers off and the cold air met the skin that wasn't covered by his thick sleeping hoody and lounge-pants. In the corner, the halogen heater did absolutely nothing to warm the space.
Stretching out his joints and checking the time on the clock on the far wall, he looked over at Cad.
The robot was kneeling, his arms crossed and his head dipped. Artem didn't doubt that he was still completely aware, but he was functioning at low power, a 'hibernation' icon flickering on his face.
Even though he had no biological need to, Cad seemed to like to imitate humans and enjoyed pretending to 'sleep'. Artem knew it was harmless, but had a feeling it was just one aspect of several of his robot companions that would terrify anybody with a basic understanding of robotics.
Stepping into the kitchen area, Artem opened the rusted old fridge in an attempt to find something to quench his thirst. There was no faucet, and it took him a few moments to figure out how to work the ancient water purifier pump concealed under the kitchen cabinets.
He filled a grubby glass with the water and knocked it back, ignoring the curious sediment at the bottom.
The city might have been almost a totalitarian state rife with political corruption and poverty, but at least the water was clean.
Walking around the cabin, he couldn't help but examine Alan's wall of maps and pictures, scanning over them until he found the picture of Decimus Foxe again.
It felt strange to be looking at a still image of his father. Of course, he had pictures of the man he'd never really known, but they were all looping clips, all staged and designed to show his 'best side'.
Here, even though he still wore his charismatic smile, he seemed relaxed and almost normal.
Artem knew that his father had had a whole life before him, a lot of it spent with Harry, but he'd never had the chance to ask him what that life had been like, and Harry hadn't ever been particularly forthcoming.
As though Alan would catch him, Artem looked at his bedroom door, before taking the picture from the wall and slipping it into his pocket. Runs With Wolves probably wouldn't miss it.
He looked around the foot of his bed for his boots and pulled them on, sticking his hands into the pockets of his sleeping hoody and opening the door into the hangar.
The heaving frame of Bessie the cargobob met him, the cargo bay still open and one of the VTOL thruster wings raised. Underneath it, Harry wielded a welding torch, sprays of embers sparking away as he messed with something Artem couldn't see.
Artem shielded his eyes until Harry flicked the switch, killing the flame.
"Sorry kid," he said, lifting the visor from his sweating forehead. He looked calm, like he always did in a garage, "did I wake you?"
Artem shook his head.
"I can't sleep thanks to old Snores Like the Wolf in there," Artem said, "have you fixed it?"
"It was a counterbalancing issue in the VTOL thruster feedback loops," Harry replied, opening a hatch on the underside of the wing, "fixed that, ran a diagnostics scan and found six other things that need fixing before we can take it out."
Artem smiled.
"Need fixing, Harry?" He asked, "or you just want to fix them?"
Harry shut the hatch and raised his eyebrow.
"I don't see the difference," he said, "hey, can you jump in the cockpit and hit the thruster switch while I check the levels down here?"
Artem mock saluted and climbed into the cargo bay of the ship, and through the separator wall into the four-man cockpit. The pilot and co-pilot's seat were swivel chairs with high backs set side by side, and behind those were two flight couches for passengers.
Artem settled into the pilot's seat, feeling the memory foam material hug his body as he tried to make sense of the array of switches and buttons around him.
"Uh, Harry?" Artem asked.
"Big red button, kid," Harry replied.
Artem found the big red button in the centre of the console above him.
"Huh. The North States military, idiot proof," Artem said, hitting the switch.
Below it, a striplight came to life as the ship began to rumble to life beneath him, he heard the thrusters kick in and the cockpit came to life around him, holographic interfaces showing complicated readouts and power levels.
Harry knocked on the glass of the cockpit and Artem hit the switch again, the thrusters dying out and the ship settling down.
Artem climbed down back through the cargo hatch and back out into the hangar, finding Harry shoulder deep in the wing panel he'd opened before.
"Hey, Harry," Artem said, trying to sound as casual as he could, "I didn't know you and my father had history with this guy."
Harry turned to him momentarily but didn't remove his arm from the panel.
"Yeah, we used to do some work together back in the good old days," Harry said, "why do you ask?"
Artem took the picture from his pocket and frowned at it.
"You know, you've never really said much about what you and my father did, exactly," he said.
"You've never asked," Harry replied.
Artem was about to argue when he realised that Harry was probably right - the subject had never come up because Artem had never asked. It was history and Artem had always been one to live in the moment, even when he was a kid, he'd had fantasies about what his father was, like any boy, but Harry had fulfilled the role and Artem had never questioned it.
"I guess you're right," Artem said, "so, what if I'm asking now?"
Harry exhaled and took finally managed to fix or find the thing he'd been rooting around for inside the panel, taking his arm out and turning to face Artem.
"Then I'll tell you," Harry said, his face serious but not harsh, "it's your history too and I won't keep it from you, but I will tell you that right now you don't want to get mired in this stuff. Not right now, because if it throws you off your game, you're in trouble."
"Seems sensible," Artem replied, nodding, "I won't."
Harry shrugged and turned back to the ship.
"What do you want to know, then?" He asked, picking up a wrench a finding something to busy himself with.
"All right," Artem said, "what exactly did you do?"
Artem knew that Harry and Decimus had done mercenary work before Harry had become king of the thieves, but the details were sketchy.
"We were, I don't know, mercs," Harry said, "independent contractors, soldiers for hire."
Artem grinned.
"Uncle Harry," he said with a raised eyebrow, "are you saying you were the A-Team?"
Artem could almost hear Harry rolling his eyes.
"Which one were you?" Artem chuckled, "were you Murdock?"
"Shut up kid," Harry said, shutting the panel, "pass me the size six wrench?"
Artem obliged and scrambled around in Harry's toolbox for a moment, finding a tool that he hoped was a size six and handed it to Harry.
"Even Runs With Wolves?" Artem asked.
Harry nodded.
"Yeah, he was pretty skilled before he went totally batshit crazy, "he got us out of some tight jams, usually caused by Dec."
Artem nodded, "sounds about right."
"So what sort of work did you do?" Artem asked, moving a rusted old chair from the corner of the room and sitting on it.
"It varied," Harry replied, "it was mostly off-the-record stuff, the things that governments used to hesitate before doing. We kept things small, nothing like these big associate merc firms nowadays.
"We had honour - and sense. Or at least, I did, your dad was a fan of the theatrics. If he hadn't been so damn good at it he wouldn't have been in the business five minutes."
Artem sat quietly, listening as Harry spoke, his voice quieter and less gruff than usual.
"We finally gave it up when we realised that it made it too easy for people to use us. Me and Decimus occasionally did some private contract work on the side, but by then he had a family and I'd started using my skills in a... different marketplace," Harry finished.
"What happened?" Artem asked.
Harry laughed humourlessly.
"That's a long story," he said.
"Short version?" Artem asked.
Harry sighed.
"We were sent to the East African Republic on a private government contract," Harry explained, "me and your dad weren't sure of it from the start. Something wasn't right."
Artem crossed his arms and leaned back into the chair, hearing it creak beneath him and having a momentary concern that it wouldn't hold his weight.
"What was it?" Artem asked, curiosity rife in his voice.
"The contract was to take out a supposed African warlord who'd been terrorising the republics with his vicious militia," Harry spat the words so hard that Artem could hear the quotation marks, "this guy was the worst kind of human, slavery, rape, murder, the hat trick."
"We flew out to the Republic and tracked him down through five thousand miles of jungle, we were about to hit the switch when your dad told us to stop."
Artem listened intently.
"Turns out, this guy wasn't a warlord at all," Harry said, his voice sad, "he was a doctor. He'd set up the compound to take in the ill and wounded hurt in the conflict in the Republics. He was the good guy and we almost took him out."
"Why did the government want him gone?" Artem asked.
"He was in their way," Harry said, "this was after the Reformation, some of the big Illuminati corporations had investments in the oil companies that this guy was slowing down by trying to help people. It was then we realised that we'd never be able to do that job without being used.
"So we called it off, chose new lives, used our talents for other things," Harry said, "I moved to the city and used my contacts to set up my network, your dad had you and Alan... Alan became an insane recluse with a chemical toilet."
Artem took all the information in, actually knowing information about his father strange but not unwelcome.
"You know how the rest played out," Harry said, "you could write books on the stuff we did, but that's the A to Z, kid."
Artem nodded and stood up from the chair.
"Thanks, Harry," Artem said.
"No problem," the man said, his facade slipping momentarily but quickly repairing itself, "now go and sleep, you won't be any use tomorrow if you can't keep your eyes open."
Artem agreed and turned to leave, feeling as though he was ten years old again, turning back again momentarily.
"Shouldn't you sleep too?" He asked, but Harry had already slid the visor down back over his eyes and returned to welding the wing. Artem smiled, "goodnight, Harry."
He left the hangar and closed the door shut behind him.