>>6051486You invite her in and she shucks her coat, hanging it on a peg by the door, before nodding to the chair you blocked the door with. "Smart. The Feds are pissed, but the good news is I didn't see anything with your face on it. Seems the army got most of the attention. There's posters all over asking for information leading to the arrest of seven Awsbet soldiers and reminding everyone the Premier ordered them to stand down and surrender and how they're traitors to the nation for continuing to fight." She rolls her eyes and grins, looking elated. "I don't think there's a single person who's not cheering them on, privately of course."
You of course offer her some of your limited ration of coffee, apologizing that it's instant and she, just as naturally, assures you that instant is perfectly fine and graciously accepts. It's odd how little social rituals like that persist even through a war and provide an odd sense of normalcy to life. After you're more properly dressed and have got both yourself and Aneta something to drink, you take a seat opposite her at the kitchen table.
"So, what now?" she asks, taking a sip of the bitter brew.
"We've got options," you nod. "Could see if we can find the army, could find members of my old station. There's limits to what the two of us can do alone."
"I've been thinking about that," she nods. "My father was part of the labor unions. They weren't fond of police, but..."
"Hard times make strange bedfellows," you nod. It's been a while since a major strike, none since you joined the force, but police and labor unionists might as well be foxes and farm dogs for how much they are natural enemies. "Besides that, we need more weapons and a place to stash them, not to mention the relics we took-"
You're both cut off by a soft tapping on the door. Aneta freezes and reaches into her pocket, probably grasping the leatherworker's awl she keeps there. You tentatively approach the door and call out. "Who's there?"
There's a pause, then a younger voice speaks up. "We had a deal, mister. You promised a hot meal."
It's the kids from the bombed districts. The day before yesterday, you went looking for battlefield salvage in the war-torn sections of the city and a pair of brothers found you picking through the remains of their home. To avoid a fight, you told them to come to your house and get a hot meal. In all the excitement, you'd forgotten about them.
