Communism Without Coffee
Copyright© 2026 by A duck named TEF
Chapter 8
The increase in the earthquakes diverted the attention of the slave race within the tunnels below the capitol, using the distraction, Denver and Georgia cautiously made their way around seeking a safe exit. Much to her dismay, they ended up in the sewer system to avoid surveillance.
“I will never complain about plumbing again.” Georgia grumbled as she pulled a slimy string of something off her boot.
Denver chuckled. It wasn’t the first time he found himself in a cesspool laden tunnel system. He was just happy to be out of Giovanni’s prison.
Free from their captivity as they were, they still had more difficulties ahead. That wasn’t what was on Denver’s mind though.
That little chat he had with Giovanna wasn’t sitting right. Being bound was more like a distraction from his increasingly troubled thoughts. Why would his mother bring the organisation together, only to work at foiling their goals? Something told him that Georgia knew more than she was letting on. He would have addressed it sooner, but escape was more important.
Even now, he desperately wanted to get the answers from her, but he knew that time was running out for them to fix what happened. Without answers he felt like he couldn’t completely trust his sister.
“Alright, we’re out of the sewer, away from the capitol building. Where is this ‘underground’ place?”
Georgia’s face was a greenish shade of pale as she took a closer look at her footwear. “Oh god, I think I stepped in a rat king.”
“Rats huh? Here I thought you’d have an aversion to spiders.” Denver made an animated gesture of a spider crawling with his hands.
She chuckled, “You’d think so, but I dated an araneologist. Nice fellow, got me over my fear of spiders pretty quickly.” She looked over at Denver who regarded her with an arched brow, “An araneologist is someone who studies spiders exclusively instead of all arachnids as an arachnologist would do.”
He nodded and sat down. All of this was starting to wear him down quite quickly. “Georgia, we just escaped a maniac’s prison via some slimy ... aqueduct or sewer whatever it is, and yet you’re remarkably ... blasé about all this. Why is that?”
“Denny, I am a psychic. I am doing all in my power to keep from freaking out and putting you through one hell of a headache.” She looked at him, her eyes narrowing, “It’s bad enough the world is ending around us, we don’t need my emotional insanity to really screw things up.”
“That makes a lot of sense actually. Sorry, and thank you.” He stood and held a hand down for her, “Let’s go find the people who may or may not want to kill you then, huh? The ‘underground forgers’?”
“Robert, the man that the lady traveler told us about will be here soon.” May, one of the underground forgers, spoke in a hushed tone as she sat with many of the other underground forgers. A feeling of hope began to rise among the small group. They had been waiting for years for the promises of the grand traveler Robert met to come to fruition. May held up a hand, “There’s more, and you won’t like it.” She hesitated before continuing, “The psychic we were told of, is the Mouse.”
Georgia looked down at the two patrolmen Denver had just taken out. It wasn’t that she was a stranger to violence, she had been an intimate part of violent acts in this timeline after all, she just wasn’t accustomed to seeing Denver attack anyone. For her, he was still that somewhat annoying little brother of hers with the cocky grin and wild imagination. Though it made sense he had a rougher side too given his line of work.
“Would you mind not staring and maybe helping me out here?” He asked as he went about hauling one of the incapacitated men into the alley way.
Shaken from her thoughts, Georgia went about dragging the other man along. Neither of the outfits would fit her, at least not in a convincing way, even so, there was a reason she wouldn’t put a patrolman’s uniform on. Denver though went about removing the outfit and effects of the one he drug into the alley.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She protested immediately before he began to strip off his current attire.
“Changing, what does it look like I’m doing?”
Shaking her head, she warned, “No, you can’t change into his outfit. Patrolmen always move about in pairs in the city. They are also always men, not women. Not that either uniform would fit me. You can snag his effects but secure them somewhere. We need to find a couple of commoners’ uniforms.”
Denver was even more grateful to have his sister around. If she hadn’t said anything his own ignorance would cause him to stand out, again.
“Also, dirty yourself up a bit. We still look a little too clean.” She added while smearing some grease on her face from one of the trash bins. “Better than the muck in the sewers...” she grumbled.
It didn’t take long to find two unassuming commoners. They looked like factory workers. Most of the working class were factory workers, the rest were either miners, farmers, seamen, or citizen program employees.