The tap was due to be turned on soon.

A restless line clutching bottles and waterskins was already pushing closer when Vane and the other Civic Guards rolled in and deployed the Sentinel. Sergeant Kuros, burly and unshaven, was perspiring heavily beneath his armour plate.

“Goddamn sun ain’t yet half risen and its already hot as Devil’s breath,” he growled. “Vane, hold ‘em back a while. Lot of thirsty people today - I want this done nice and orderly.”

Vane flicked his rifle to taze. Electric blue crackled around the muzzle and warned the ill-formed, quietly muttering crowd that he meant business. Those at the front took a step back; someone further back cursed the Guards. Something about their mothers and horses – a muffled, resentful chuckle released some tension. Vane was trying to learn their language, but after months of study he only had the basics. He was no scholar, or otherwise he wouldn’t be stuck out in the back of beyond. Humanitarian relief, they called it, but Vane understood just enough to know that large profits were being made from secret untapped water tables.

The dry season was shaping up to be another harsh one. Even on cloudy days the cracked earth smouldered. Without hydroponics, nothing would grow. The dustbowl was getting larger, and more people were on the move. The cities strained and fractious, and the camps over-flowing and mutinous. The whole situation felt like a rubber band stretched too far, its snap inevitable but unknowable.

Superstitious tongues suggested that troubles had returned because the Chieftain was no longer around. They believed the Coalition that had filled the power vacuum was cursed. Although he never voiced his opinion, Vane wondered if they might be right. The negative trajectory of this world was unmistakable.

The anniversary of the Chieftain’s death had been marked by coordinated explosions in all major cities. There was chatter that Outlanders had taken two dams in the east, but no confirmed reports. Even the Civic Guard only had hearsay and idle whispers in these far provinces. Vane hoped they would post him somewhere a bit closer to civilisation next time.

The Sentinel was up and running, but the technician was still tapping at his console. It whirred and hummed, snapping back and forth and scanning the sullen faces. The heavy machine-cannon on each arm were primed and ready; more than enough of a deterrent to keep the parched crowd from impatience.

A snake-eyed woman was sucking on a stone and eyeballing him. Vane asked her how long she had been waiting. His broken dialect seemed to amuse her, he caught the flicker of a smile. “All night,” she muttered. A small child ran to her, clutching at her leg and gleefully waving the tail of lizard, chattering incomprehensibly.

“Cute kid”, said Vane, watching it scamper off and commence to break the legs of a gecko it had pinned to the dusty floor with a stick. A pair of hooded crows kept a glowering vigil, waiting for the child to get bored.

Kuros tapped Vane on the shoulder. “OK chatterbox – lets go. Tell ‘em to make sure they got their water cards out. 2 litres only. Fill ‘em up, move along.”

The snake-eyed woman placed a bottle under the head of the tap, which bore the face of the Chieftain. His image was still everywhere - monumental statues, on the sides of building, even on the municipal water taps. But these totems were only relics now, his cult of personality was fading fast.

The tap gurgled, and spat, then a stream of clear and beautiful water began to spill from the Chieftain’s puckered, metallic mouth. The greedy eyes of the crowd watched the first bottles being filled and occasionally whooped and hooted. The throng began to shuffle forward. Vane scanned their water cards and tried to smile, but this forced joviality fast got old when it was never returned. God it was hot.

Suddenly the sentinel snapped to attention, and pointed its cannons skywards, firing off a quick three round burst like hornet’s buzz. There was an explosion in the sky above.

“Oh hot-damn”, screeched Kuros, “Drones!”

Bits of smoking debris began to patter onto the crowd, who were frozen, uncertain, but on the verge of panic.

Kuros acted fast, firing his rifle into the air, he bellowed at the crowd. “Everyone get down on the ground. Flat on the ground. Now!” He turned to the technician. “Close the tap, what the fuck are you waiting for?!”

The eerie quiet was broken by an irregular metallic ping. A grenade was rolling over the cobbles. Vane wondered what the sound was until it stuck it his foot and started to spew purple acrid plumes. His eyes stung and he began to splutter. Another one was thrown, arcing over the heads of the confused crowd as they began to flatten themselves. The Sentinel picked it out, but it exploded like billowing cloud, enveloping the area in more smoke.

“Holy shit” breathed Kuros. “Ambush!” He span to the technician, grabbing him by the collar. “Put the Sentinel on Free-Fire.”

“Wait”, yelled Vane, “we can’t, there’s too many…” Without understanding why, he was suddenly doing a full pirouette. A bullet had thudded into his shoulder and chucked him to the ground. At the same moment the Sentinel opened up randomly, the roar of its cannons deafening as it sprayed bullets without care, its visual sensors clogged by the smoke and unable to distinguish hostiles from the crowd which was now running and falling and screaming like stuck pigs.

It didn’t last long – a rocket ripped into the Sentinel, blowing it apart. Vane was knocked unconscious.

He didn’t know how long he was out for, but when he came to, he knew it was bad. He could only see out of one eye, and his face felt raw. He tried to tilt his head, but he couldn’t locate Kuros and the other Guards.

It was the work of Outlanders. The tap had been drained. Cloaked and ragged figures were loading drums into the back of a beat-up truck. There was still a trickle of water running down the Chieftain’s chin, and a thin stream of dark blood flowing down the run-off grating. Vane wondered if it was his.

The square was littered with a dozen or so bodies, torn apart by the indiscriminate Sentinel before it had been disabled. Vane groaned, turning his eyes to the sky. A pair of crows were reeling in the high blue beyond; clouds were scudding past. A shadow came over him. He blinked. The Outlander prodded him with a boot, its face wrapped in a scarf. Something was yelled. He couldn’t make it out, his ears were ringing loud.

Vane stretched his hands above his head. “Please. I didn’t want this,” He croaked. The boot came down hard on his temple, and the lights went out.