<center>
<table width="100%">
<TR>
  <TD><A HREF="/mythpunk/@pibara/ragnarok-conspiracy-1-44-prologue-repost">Chapter 1</A></TD>
  <TD></TD> <TD> </TD><TD> </TD><TD></TD> <TD> </TD><TD> </TD><TD></TD> <TD> </TD><TD> </TD>
  <TD><center><A HREF="/fiction/@pibara/ragnarok-conspiracy-index">index</A></center></TD>
  <TD> </TD><TD> </TD><TD> </TD><TD></TD> <TD> </TD><TD> </TD><TD></TD> <TD> </TD><TD> </TD>
  <TD><A HREF="/fiction/@pibara/ragnarok-conspiracy-3-44-part1-2">Chapter 3</A></TD>
</TR>
</table>
<hr>
<H3>Part I</H3>
<hr>
<img src="https://images.hive.blog/DQmXvwTqES8sc3ZK2tCtEyz87hGenSM1vB3rbDH3h5LNcDz/image.png">
<H1>2
John</H1>
Seru Grandi, Curacao,  April 1st 2034
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<br>

"Take that smug grin off your face and go do your chores, Junior. Your dad will be home any minute now."

 As John Junior brought the dining utensils to the porch table, his mind drifted off again. 
Maruja was two years older than John, not the sharpest tool in the shed, but she was hot. The only sixteen-years-old in John's class and way out of his or any of John Junior’s classmates' league. At least, she had been before this week. Today John was floating on clouds. 

"John Junior!"

His mom called out as he was still remembering himself and Maruja kissing. Not a regular kiss, but a real kiss with tongues and all. 

"John William Bridgewater Junior!"

At that moment his mom shouted, and as he still tried to hold on to the memory, John looked up. John noticed the blue contours of his mom's slipper hurtling towards his head a fraction of a second before it hit him flat in the face. 

"Don't just stand there dreaming Junior, go make the table. Now!"

The glance his mom gave him left zero doubt, John needed to tend to his chores or risk not being able to sit on a chair without feeling sore for the next couple of days. As John hurried back into the house to get the plates out of the kitchen cabinet, his mom gave him a firm slap to the back of his head. John could never figure out where his mom's hands were coming from. When he looked over his shoulder, mom was still stirring the sugar through the milk exactly as she had been when he had run into the house. 

"What are you looking at Junior? You want another one?"

Mom put down the milk, took a huge butcher's knife, looked John deeply in his eyes, raised the knife high above her head and without taking her piercing eyes from John for even a fraction of a second, blindly and skillfully cut the stick of butter that had been resting on a wooden breadboard into two perfectly equal pieces. John quickly took the plates out of the cabinet and with neither of his hands free, holding a stack of five large plates, John used his head to close the cabinet door.
 'Don't look at her,' John thought to himself, 'don't even glance!'

As John approached the door that led to the porch, there was a silhouette that contrasted against the setting sun standing in the doorway. 

"Dad?" 

As the silhouette blocked the setting sun, the features of the figure standing in the doorpost became visible. This wasn't dad. The person standing in the doorpost was white, a Makamba? Then John tried to look at his face. While the sky behind the figure standing in the doorpost was too bright to make out all the features, the distinct shape of a cerebral implant stood out quite clearly. 
As John realized there was an augment standing in the doorpost, he instantly regretted pledging his allegiance to the New Zion movement. John took a step back in total fear, he let go of the stack of plates in his hands. 'Marie mother of Jesus, they've tracked me down!' John thought. John hadn't considered this scenario. The war between New Zion and New Babylon was waging in Florida and Louisiana, far far away from the southern Caribbean islands.  New Babylon itself didn't have any presence here for John to be concerned about. As such, joining New Zion had been more of a political statement, meant mostly to impress Maruja. 

'Oh Maruja.' John had been the only *Ingless* boy in his class. Maruja had been intrigued by the war raging in the north. For her, the New Zion freedom fighters from the northern Caribbean going against the age-old might of New Babylon was an almost mythical struggle. Most New Babylon fighters were *Ingless*; Caribbeans from English speaking islands in the northern Caribbean, and as such John with his *Ingless* roots had had that little extra that his classmates didn't have. Not enough though for Maruja to overlook their two year age difference. But what a difference joining New Zion had made for that. After John had told Maruja about his pledge of allegiance last week, John's advances no longer landed on deaf ears. No, today's kiss had shown that John's plan had worked out quite well as far as Maruja was concerned. 

But now this? A Quant augment? The Quants and New Zion were allies, at least in the defensive aspects of the war, and very much so in a limited way, and until now, there had been no non-defensive side to the Quants involvement in the war. 
As far as John had understood, with the Quants fighting a two-front war with the Ottomans and the GNU defense alliance, the Quants wouldn't want to risk making New Zion a new enemy. If John would have thought there was even the slightest chance of a war between New Zion and the Quants, he would never have pledged his allegiance.

"JUNIOR!"

His mom had heard the sound of the plates falling to pieces on the tiled floor and had turned. Looking at him with eyes that could scare a raging 700 kg Spanish bull into fleeing like a little mouse from a cat. But when she saw John lying on the floor with fear in his eyes not directed at her but at the door post instead, she turned to look at the door.

"The Bridgewater residence I presume?" A cold voice spoke.

"Who are you, sir, and why in the name of good decency couldn't you have called at the front door?" John's mom spoke as she tried to clean some of the dumpling dough from her hands.

"I am looking for John William Bridgewater," the augment spoke in a cold hard tone.

It was true, the augment had come to take him prisoner, deliver him to New Babylon maybe. John was afraid in a way he had never been afraid before.

"I am sorry, sir, my husband isn't here yet, but if you leave me your info, I will ask him to DM you when he gets home."

"We will wait!" The augment spoke in a monotone fashion. "We will all wait on the porch."

"Now listen, Mister"  John's mom wiped off the remaining dough from her hands on a cloth, something she wouldn't normally consider, grabbed hold of the butcher's knife she had just used so skillfully to cut the stick of butter, and took one step towards the figure standing in the doorpost. 
"Either your mother didn't teach you no proper manners, or you are just a terribly rude person. Anyhow, Mister, I believe you just overstayed your welcome here, sir, I believe it is time for you to leave."

"We will wait!" The augment spoke again. This time in a harder more resolute tone, and
as a small swarm of tiny pentacopter drones rose from behind his back into an arch-like formation around the augments head, John's mom realized why this figure had driven so much fear into her young son.

"Lay down the knife and go sit on the porch; we shall wait!"

John and his mom had both heard the stories about Quant augments. Drone swarm pilots with brain implants that were capable of commanding a swarm with only their thoughts. Stories about a single augment taking on a whole regiment of swarm pilots and winning. 
If only half of these stories were true, John and his mom had zero chance against this augment. 

He is looking for dad? As John and his mom quietly but reluctantly complied with the commands of the augment, John tried to grasp this change of events. What had dad done? This couldn't be a coincidence? It was not as if augments were social workers coming over to have a good word with the parents of misguided children, to have a good talk about their upbringing. 
No, augments were warriors at best and assassins at worst. The absolute best scenario was that this augment was here to take John's dad prisoner. 

As John sat on the porch contemplating all possible scenarios he realized he needed to warn his dad. John started tapping on his watch, typing a short message: 'stay a', as he was attempting to type 'stay away', John felt a sting in his finger. A fly? The pain was excruciating. Instinctively John tried to hit it. Mis, shit! Then a small swarm landed on his watch. Drones! Tiny drones! John's watch started to melt away, and as John realized what was happening he quickly took of his wristwatch. Acid! Damn!

"Don't try to be a hero kid" the cold voice of the augment spoke, "I have two hundred of these drones deployed in the room your cute little sisters are playing in. Think about that before you try anything else."

John's mom looked at John in dismay, then hit him on the back of his head.

"Mom!"

John felt helpless, what could he do. John wished he could stop time, keep his father from coming home, but he couldn't. Was this his fault? John almost wished the augment had come for him, not his dad. He couldn't warn him, if he was to speak, the augment would hurt his little sisters. As the minutes went by, John's feeling of despair and guilt grew. He was completely powerless. Where only an hour ago John had felt like a man on top of the world, at this moment he felt completely emasculated. At that moment John noticed his dad approaching.  
John thought: 'Dad, please, notice something! Notice I didn't make the table, notice the fear in our eyes!'

"Our house so big, you can't find your way to the kitchen. Woman where is me dumpling?" Dad spoke in a frivolous and friendly voice with a heavy West Indian accent. Any hint of chauvinistic quality in his words instantly evaporated as a result of the friendly and disarming broad smile that came after them.

Dad should realize how much pride mom always took in having his dinner ready when he came home. 

'Dad, think! Something is wrong! Dad, run please?' Oh how John wished his dad could read his mind.

Then John notices a little bananaquit bird. The happy little grey birds with their bright yellow chests feathers that were so common to the islands. Then John remembered the flies and looked closer at the little bird. Something was off. It was subtle, but this wasn't a bananaquit! 

John couldn't hold it in any longer, and without regarding his little sisters John stood up and screamed: "DRONE!"

At that moment the little fake bird hovered for a split second just in front of John's dad. A split second that for John seemed to take half a minute. His dad's broad smile dropped slightly as he glanced at John in confusion. Then it was as if the bird just disappeared. While John was still startled by the disappearance of the fake bird, he noticed his dad's chest.
A hole as big as a cricket ball!


<center>
<table width="100%">
<TR>
  <TD><A HREF="/mythpunk/@pibara/ragnarok-conspiracy-1-44-prologue-repost">Chapter 1</A></TD>
  <TD></TD> <TD> </TD><TD> </TD><TD></TD> <TD> </TD><TD> </TD><TD></TD> <TD> </TD><TD> </TD>
  <TD><center><A HREF="/fiction/@pibara/ragnarok-conspiracy-index">index</A></center></TD>
  <TD> </TD><TD> </TD><TD> </TD><TD></TD> <TD> </TD><TD> </TD><TD></TD> <TD> </TD><TD> </TD>
  <TD><A HREF="/fiction/@pibara/ragnarok-conspiracy-3-44-part1-2">Chapter 3</A></TD>
</TR>
</table>
</center>