A furry paw smoothed the scratched sheets and pressed them to the tabletop. After his return from the negotiations, Tirith loudly declared that it was thanks to his intelligence and authority that he had been able to get so many useful things from the Blinders. The flock, which had been swollen by mutants picked up from the wastelands, was promised large portions of food, warm housing, and weapons to be produced by submissive slaves. It seemed a good time to take a breather and rejoice in the wealth captured. But somewhere in his subconscious, there was an unceasing thought: "You can be king! A real king, ruler of all the wastelands! Cunning and strong, able to make anyone bow their head!"
“You can, you can... But how?” The Lord of the Lair stood at the window, watching the people swarming below. Like dung beetles, the filthy ragamuffins were scavenging and repairing the holes in the walls. The wiser ones had long been at work inside, providing food and warmth for their new overlords. Three mechanics, under the supervision of the guardsmen, began repairing the rover, trying to assemble at least one workable machine from the three wrecked ones. A few more workers were picking at the machines, promising to start making crafty things for sale by the first warm days. But simultaneously with the slow revival of the seized base, there was a growing realization that no one could keep an eye on everything that was going on, no competent overseer could be assigned to everyone. They simply did not exist. And once the slaves had recovered a little, sooner or later, they would start plotting or trying to escape to their tribesmen. And how could one tell whether the machines hidden in the cellars were really making parts for trade or components for weapons for the rebellion? It was urgent to find a solution to a problem that had not yet manifested itself. And either give the slaves the same rights as the other members of the pack or somehow train the hastily assembled rabble, turning the wild and perpetually hungry creatures into true masters of the colony.
“I need an ally,” Tirith whispered, glancing up at the cloud that slowly drifted across the sky. “A Teacher. Who will help me to hold power, who will teach me and show me how to make a state out of the wastelands. Who can be used in the future war with their neighbors.”
Indeed, if one could learn so much from the Irreconcilables, why not repeat the trick? Soak up the best that a future ally would provide, prepare mutants, gather forces into one fist. And strike, capturing new lands and new slaves. Maybe by gutting the former teacher, too. If it worked with the cyborgs, why not with anyone else?
The beast returned to the room he'd taken up and found, in the piled books, a map on which the former masters had made various marks. Most of it was long out of date, but Tirith liked to look at the grid of ravines and dried-up rivers, many of which he had had time to visit himself. And how many more were left?
Who to choose? Blinders would hardly help. They only tolerate him as long as the pack guards the surroundings and prevents wild broods from flogging caravans. As long as Lair benefits from trade, the roads will be peaceful. And Tirith will be tolerated. Though at any moment, the Wild Ones, or the subterranean cyborgs themselves, might strike unexpectedly. What is slave life to them? A mere deterrent to be squandered by the profits of a military raid. And in all the years since, the machines have never shown a willingness to share knowledge and technology with their neighbors. Neither the Blinders nor the Irreconcilables. To use is yes, but to help others is nothing but a waste of resources.
Human enclaves had to be discarded for another reason. If you roast human meat on coals, it's hard to expect to be treated well. And even if now the knife is hidden behind the back and a smile on the face instead of a grin, both sides are well aware that everything can change in a second. So going to bow to the Wild Ones and asking them to help manage the slaves was clearly a bad idea. Someone else was needed. Someone cruel, pragmatic, and close in spirit to the new king of the wastelands.
Claw slowly slid eastward, moving farther and farther away from the tiny point that encompassed the Lair and its surroundings. Toward South Spaceport. Where the human search parties were disappearing. Where there was something to fight back any cyborg who wandered into someone else's territory. Where swarms came from long ago, intent on gathering resources from the ruined cities. Where you can try to find an unknown ally. Where there are definitely no Irreconcilables or Wild Ones, but there are mutants. Well-educated and trained mutants who have taken over a huge territory. And yet they know nothing of the Lair and its master.
“That is where I will send the messengers,” Tirith grinned, eyeing the squares of distant ruined cities. “I know the others. I know the others, I can trade with them to keep them off my back with guns. It's here you should look for a true ally. Cunning. Brutal. Willing to join forces with the Badlands. Otherwise, his scouts wouldn't have wandered into my lands... Someone who would help me become a true king. And will bow his head when I take from him everything of value.”
The mutant smirked and put the map away. How much more is there to do? But the main thing is that the decision has been made. So, sooner or later, he will get his way. And while the state consists of the only captured colony so far, he could only boast of a frozen hole in the ruins until recently. So tomorrow, he will have a trained and well-armed army. And then the whole Dead End will accept the will of its sole master.
“We never stop. Never, never... We are the will of the gods. We have replaced the wretched humans, and we cannot lose. Our time has come...”
***
The shabby plastic box contained the last boxes of medical supplies, and Vita closed the heavy lid with a flick of the latches. The rather empty warehouse is ready to be moved to the Spaceport. She couldn't even believe she'd be able to see the sun every day there. The fresh cold wind, the clouds. And the large hospital that will be housed in the ore carrier module that was never fully assembled. The remains of the long-dead asteroid program will serve as home to a rather worn-out underground city of ‘miners’. And, it is to be hoped that the rebirth of her clan will begin in the new place. Because if not, they will die.
Taking out a discreetly ‘borrowed’ marker from the head nurse, the woman carefully wrote in purple letters: ‘medical unit, box 7’. After admiring the smooth letters, she put the cap back on and sat down at the unfamiliarly empty table. It remained to go through the papers, and she could go to rest. Tomorrow the jack-of-all-trades doctor would turn into an ant, dragging and shoving her accumulated possessions through the narrow passages of tunnels and holes punched in the bowels of a long-dead industrial complex. Maybe in five or ten years, she'll only be treating, but for now, every pair of hands is worth its weight in gold. And during the move, everyone and everyone will have to work hard.
Her thoughts bounced from one thing to another, unwilling to dwell on anything important. Suddenly Vita caught herself repeating the end of an overheard conversation:
“Burnt Man prepared all the cargoes, delivery in a month. He himself went on a raid with Screamer. What do you mean ‘why’? Are you asking me? You ask him. He found some crazy guys among the Wild Ones, went off into the ice somewhere. They say that they want to bring some equipment for the Blinders together with these bombers, beat them off from the mutants. Bombers? Well, Carlos and his pals scouts for the neighbors who managed to fry the Irreconcilable The Spot. So I say, he's found some of his own kind, and now he's going to run around confusing the young...”
Putting aside the gray sheets with a list of drugs, Vita stood up. Looks like we'll have to go to the hospital early tomorrow. Today before, her eyes flashed only a strange image, blocking all other worries and things: snow-covered shaggy bodies and a chain of people walking away in a snowstorm.
“I beg you... Come back, please. Not even here, to the Home. Not to the new base. Just come back, alive... You promised you'd help. Keep your word, soldier. Please...”
The little woman walked through the winding corridors, easily navigating the semi-darkness of the catacombs and occasionally greeting her neighbors. Tomorrow the daily cares will displace extraneous thoughts. Tomorrow would be another hard day to give the colony a chance to survive, to not break under the endless attacks of the cyborgs. But right now, her lips were whispering:
“I beg you...”
***
“Once again, no unnecessary heroics. Our mission is to take over the beak-man's control center and the shuttle that's standing next to it. No tunnel runs, no feats for equipment or foreign hardware. Just the records that lay next to the Precursor radio station and the former central control room where the winged junket had been driven into.”
Carlos sat against the wall of the luger, holding the iron bench with one hand, the other showing possible attack paths on a schematic plan of the ruined weather research center.
“Burnt Man, Barg, and Dorrie in the second three. You cover us. Me, Puppy, and Hut in the first. Basil and Screamer in the luger. Sharra in the rover. Too keep your nose out of the street... Here's the entrance to the complex, to those buildings that have somehow survived. Each trio has two gas bombs. We drop a couple at the entrance, the other in the control room. The charge should be enough to scatter any mooks or kill them instantly.”
“These things adapt to any contagion; we've been caught doing it so many times before. Especially since the gas is old, probably more than once poisoned colonies of wild rats.”
“It's possible. But there is no other. That's why each trio has a light machine gun and two under-barrel grenade launchers. Dorry has a flamethrower with a single cylinder, and I have a bunch of shock grenades. It's not enough to take out a big nest, but that's not our job. The main thing is to disperse the beasts, if there are any, open the gate for the rover and capture the shuttle. Even if we can't get the records, the hell with them. We'll come back later. The flying booth is the most important thing.”
“You got it, don't grumble,” Burnt Man rubbed his hands together, but Carlos jabbed his finger at the blueprints again and repeated:
“You may have understood, but Puppy can't wait to shoot. He still doesn't understand that in any raid, first you fulfill the mission, then count the scalps if there's nothing else to do. So once again, step by step... The triplets have disembarked, the luger's gone on a long circle. We dropped the bombs, rushed into the hall, looked around on the spot. We don't even need electricity; we'll use light rockets. They've been reworked, and they'll hook on the ceiling and give us five or ten minutes of good illumination... Next, the gate was opened and the shuttle was seized. Luger landed fifty meters from the buildings, right here. Basil and Sharra unloaded the rover, moved toward us. Too flew to-right there, on the rocky ledge. He's holed up there. The flies can't stay there, they're good at burrowing under the mook, and before you know it, they'll be upon you. Screamer's with him, chiseling away at everything that sticks out... You bring the rover into the hold of the shuttle, and Basil and I take care of the equipment and see if it's possible to make the jump, and you stand back here and call for our pilot. You go back to the rock and wait for my signal.”
“And then according to the situation,” the former sergeant finished the task for Carlos and grinned: “The usual. Get into a fight, and then we'll see.”
“No, Barg. If there's a lot of mooks, you'll leave. I can hide in the shuttle; it's so armored that no rats can get to it. You, on the other hand, you'll just get crushed. So if things get really bad, you fly back to Big Mama. Come back in a day or two with napalm or whatever else you can gather on the spot; you'll punch your way through. But right now, don't do anything stupid. That's not enough to get eaten in the simplest operation. How will I look your commanders in the eye then? Took the boys out for a walk on business, and came back with bare hands, couldn't even get the bodies out... So you heard the order. And if you heard it, you'll follow it... Everybody, check your gear. Five minutes to disembark.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Three hunched figures in protective suits and masks ran to a small door, to which led a snow-covered steel ladder. Carlos jammed the short crowbar into the door, and the stopper squealed and twisted. A crunching sound came from the cracked seal, and a strong arm swung the door open.
A flare came down through the black opening, casting a pale blue glow all around. Checking to see nothing suspicious in the vicinity, the commander of the first assault three gave the go-ahead, and inside tumbled first one barrel of gas and then the second. There were a resounding clang, spraying puffs of dense green smoke all around, and Carlos shut the door.
“One minute! The countdown is on!”
The second trio stood thirty yards away, watching for any movement among the crumbling buildings. Luger, on the other hand, rose higher and slowly circled, giving Screamer a chance to survey from above the approaches to the only surviving hangar on the ruined weather control center.
“Maybe in five years, they've gone somewhere?” Basil asked. “Nothing to eat; why sit around?”
“They could have gone into hibernation,” the sniper disagreed, scrutinizing the drifts floating underneath. “Mooks are tricky, the devils. If they've dug themselves in, they seldom leave. And where to go from here? It's cold here even in summer, and there are no fools to wander in the snow in winter. People brought them in from somewhere after the war, so now you have to dig them out... Luger calls trios, Luger call trios! I see two green exhausts by the far wall of the hangar. Be careful; if there's a leak, the concentration inside will be weak... I don't see any other movement.”
“Roger that. Go for a second lap; we're going in!”
Carlos swung the door open, threw another flare in with a sweeping gesture, and froze, wary of the gun barrel in front of him. Then dove in, clearing the way for Hut and Puppy. After waiting for the first three to get inside, the Burnt Man's group followed. By the time they ducked through the doorway, several flares were hissing in the ceiling, turning everything around them a pale blue.
The control center looked like an enormous fifty-foot pot squeezed into a wide concrete circle. Around the endless racks, the hangar dome rose upward. An angular space shuttle lurked at the wide, closed gate from the inside, its black nose protruding into the technological pit where operators used to sit at their screens. The wide open space had long since been cluttered with equipment, but the Precursor mechanics had cleared a space for themselves by piling unnecessary iron outside, which now played into the hands of the small assault team. Both trios managed to reach the handrails that surrounded the tangle of wires and dead visual panels unobstructed. Before the green shroud beneath their feet dissipated, the last two gas bombs flew onto the concrete floor.
Waiting for more stinking clouds to boil up below, Carlos gestured to the other three to the compactly clustered desks and boxes of assorted equipment:
“There's the beak-eater's post! Two minutes for an inspection! Just documents: crystals or diagrams and papers!”
The Earthling led his team quickly to the shuttle, aiming for the hoist ramp which had been hinged at the back.
“Puppy to the right, Hut to the left! Look out!” A stun grenade exploded inside, setting off a tiny sun.
After waiting a couple of seconds, Carlos himself burst into the shuttle, checking all the nooks and crannies. Half a minute later, his voice rustled through the walkie-talkies:
“The box is clean, Puppy - you keep on guarding. Hut and I unlock the gate. Screamer, how is it outside?”
“Nobody,” immediately responded the sniper. “We go in to unload the rover.”
“Come on; we're about to meet you.”
Hut inspected the rusted latches and wasted no time trying to open them. Quickly he wrapped an explosive cord around a strip of iron and shouted in turn:
“Look out! Ten seconds to detonation! The countdown is on!”
Leaving wet footprints in its wake, a rover squeezed inside the shuttle. The small car was crammed with supplies, oxygen tanks, and all sorts of vital necessities. For a possible raid, Carlos personally inspected the Blinders' stores, selecting what he felt was necessary. Along with the preparations for the trek, the best mechanics of the underground cyborgs checked everything several times and tried to pass on to the young man the basic knowledge of possible malfunctions and ways to fix them.
But before the men had time to close the hinged shuttle hatch, a shot rang out next to the pit.
“Carlos, we got company. I swatted one of the mooks; two went down.”
“I'll be right there. Puppy, Hut, take the rear ramp and look; there should be a little hatch on the right side. You open it, don't take the ladder down. Take up defensive positions on the sides.”
Quickly running up to Barg, the squad leader found a long short-tailed body, barely visible in the thickening smoke below:
“Did you see any more?”
“No. But look, the gas is sucked into the holes. Apparently, the level below is full of corridors; there's a draft between the buildings. Soon there won't be any smoke at all, and it doesn't have much effect on the creatures. It might just give them a runny nose.”
“Get the stun grenades ready. When I give the order, you can cover the whole area with them. The main thing is to knock out the first pressure. Then you and my boys get out and get to the luger. Quickly, very quickly, you understand? I've seen footage of these bastards; they're like dogs; they'll catch up with anyone... Hut, what do you got?”
“Just a second... All right, the clamps are up, and your tail's corked. The hatch is open; we're coming out.”
“Come on, guys. We're gonna have some fun here.”
At his echoing words, Barg's second-in-command flicked the fuse of the flamethrower and released the first red-hot jet along the ramp, which the staff had used before to get down to the control center. It was answered by the shrieks of foes invisible in the smoke and struck. Dorrie sent a second jet along the edge of the fence, guarding his comrades from a possible jump of the mooks. Attempted to cover the remains of the combustible mixture on the concrete bowl itself, but the flamethrower only sneezed a few times, pouring no more than a third of the volume.
“Grenades! Fall back!”
They tossed the ‘gifts’ they had prepared behind their backs and ran backward, trying to get out as fast as they could. Only Carlos hopped to the open hatch on the blacktop and stood still, guarding the others.
“The second trio came out. Hut, Sharra, and Puppy are out! It's all there!”
“Roger. Get to the luger, but don't block Screamer's line of fire. As soon as you load up, hit the rock point. I'll lock up. Don't lose me. We'll need time to patch into the shuttle's transponder... Aha, here come the guests.”
The machine clicked once, then again. A moment later, a wave of bodies erupted from the pit, unlikely to be handled by a thrower. Without waiting for the swift creatures to reach him, Carlos caught hold of the hand he had given him and disappeared inside the flying machine. The trapdoor slammed, and an angry pack of bugs cowered in the hangar beneath the swiftly expanding darkness, missing their prey.
“Sure they can't make it?”
“I had mines all over the place. And the wind swept the snow, you can see every stone, - said Burnt Man, intensely looking into the black aperture of the open gate. What are they doing there?”
- You'd better tell me when they'll be finished,” muttered Crickun, firing another shot that knocked a bloody fountain out of a gently stirring mound of snow. “Digging and digging. Bad enough, they've been kicked in the face for sticking their noses in; they've found holes in the walls somewhere and are trying to get at us directly.”
“We must have really pissed them off by showing up. By the way, how do you manage to notice them? I only see them when you get a hold of another one.”
The sniper moved the barrel of his rifle from side to side and froze again, not forgetting to answer the curious Puppy:
“The Blinders gave me an attachment on sight; it's called a thermal imager. Too bad the battery dies quickly. Another ten minutes, and you'll be shooting to the touch. In the meantime, it lights up if someone is digging a tunnel. Here's another one, by the way.”
Suddenly a loudspeaker hissed over the opened the door to the cockpit:
“How are you guys doing? Not bothering you yet?”
“Quiet, I think. The curious have been put down; the rest have gone into hiding.”
“I need half an hour, tops. The shuttle's engine will allow us to transfer the contents of the hold to the target point on Mars. After that, there's only enough power to get the engines up and running. I don't think this thing can fly anymore. But it'll do its job. That's the good news.”
“And the bad news?”
“I managed to get a lock on the radar panel. Apparently, we were successful in stirring up a huge nest of these buggers in the basement. I don't know what was here before, but at least two big packs are coming through the corridors to visit me, and two more have gone around. Any minute now, they'll be in front of you.”
“We'll hit them with grenade launchers.”
“Better get up and get back to base. I'm not sure you can handle that many.”
Hut jerked the crate to the middle of the hold and flipped the lid open. Took out the thrower carefully placed inside, hooked the ammunition box with it, and muttered:
“Yeah, you're dreaming. We have three threshers, heaps of ammunition from the Blinders, and grenades to grind all the remains of the center to dust. And with this wealth - to run? You'd better talk less and do more. Kick the skinny first Totem home to mom and dad. And get ready to run a little. And we'll find a way for you; you can count on it. Understood?”
“And the order given?”
“Burnt Man will tell you where you can shove the order. That's it, don't waste time. Over and out.”
“All right, pest. I'll be in touch again soon...”
Sharra, who was crouched over the thrower in the open door, chuckled tensely and asked:
“How many were coming? Two packs? I hope it was all of them, not just a handful.”
A black wave rose between the hangars and rolled toward the stiffened luger on the rocky outcropping. Judging by its speed, mooks rushed two hundred meters and made it to the bottom of the hill in less than a minute.
***
Dialing commands on the unfolded panel, Carlos repeated critical points of the plan to Basil in rapid succession:
“The coordinates we have exact, will drop you here, ten kilometers from the former excavation, where they found the receiver of the hypergate. There's still a constellation of satellites orbiting Mars, as you said. You'll find your way to the second colony. The road is not very far, only three thousand kilometers. You've got a rover with a micro-reactor and batteries loaded to the brim. The main thing is not to race. You drive carefully, take a rest; we worked out an approximate route; the only thing left to do is to follow it to get to the point.”
“You'd better not come with me,” sighed the senator's son. “What are you doing here?”
“And there? I'm a clone. I'm a piece of chop from a test tube. I could do anything, bash my head through walls, but I'd still be a factory reject. At least here, they almost take me for a human being... Do you understand?”
“I'd make a deal with my father; we'd draw up the papers.”
“Your father let you go to Dead End without asking. And you say he'll stand up for me... I'd rather stand up for myself here... All right, markers activated, check your gear, and get in the rover. The engine's gonna take the whole hold in three minutes. So make sure you fasten your straps tightly, so you don't fall out of your seat.”
Basil held out his rubber-clad palm and shook Carlos' hand firmly:
“Thank you. I'll be sure to get there. Trust me, I will definitely do it, and I won't let you down.”
“I do. And good luck, smart guy. Maybe I'll see you again sometime. Anyway, have a safe trip. And seven feet under your keel.”
Closing the airlock between the cockpit and the hold, the man sat down in the pilot's seat, fastened his seat belts, and watched as flickering dots slowly assembled in the center of the chart, creating more and more scatterings of numbers. One green pile of icons crawled down, replaced by another. Suddenly a message popped up on the side, which Carlos could translate with some difficulty:
“Transport prepared. Channel calculation complete. The energy expended on the throw will result in irreparable damage to the equipment. Do you confirm the order?”
“Yep.”
“Circuit is energized. Mass is within tolerance. Channel activated. Throw in the...”
The shuttle rocked, and the light in the cockpit went out. A faintly flickering screen next to the pilot's chair rippled and displayed a message:
“Transport complete. No problems.”
Carlos exhaled softly and laughed. But it had worked, damn it! Now Basil only had to prove that he had not spent so much time in the cellars of Blinders in vain, studying the local technique and then turning the nuts, repeating the rules of the replacement of critical units of the rover engine. He had the parts and oxygen. The only thing left is to get to the tiny Earthman base on Mars without getting into trouble...
“How are you guys having fun?” A loudspeaker whirred.
“Absolutely right!” snapped off Burnt Man, changing the cassette with tiny charges for an under-barrel grenade launcher. “If you're coming to see us, you better hurry up.”
“Give me a hint; what's it like out there?”
“I don't know how many packs have come out, but we're down a mountain, and we're still going... Puppy, get those on the left, or they'll come out... But while they're fussing here, they're away from the hangar. There's some in there, but not much. Except inside.”
“There's a lot of markings on the radar, but it's no big deal. What do you suggest?”
“We'll clear a spot next to the exit with heavy fire, fly over and drop the cable. Get out, grab on to it and hold on tight. We'll pick you up in a couple of kilometers. All right?”
“All right. You stay away from me for half a minute; I'm gonna set off little fireworks, okay?”
“Do what?”
“As soon as the fire goes down, drop the rope. Half a minute, counting down.”
Carlos flicked his finger on the panel and selected first one symbol, then another. Smiling, he confirmed the first command to start the thrusters, then counted to twenty and ordered the emergency release of the rear ramp.
A wave of hot air and smoke rushed through the open hatch to the hold. Fortunately, the suit's life-support system was sealed off, so only the inhabitants of the charred ruins got the smell of burnt meat.
Having shot the first creature, which by some miracle had managed to survive the fiery hell, the former earthling laughed and jumped onto a piece of the shuttle that was lying on the floor. So far in the past, a heavy helicopter carried a special forces officer away from the jungle whose name remained forever unknown to the man from the test tube. But here and now, Carlos was making his way to the friends who were to pick him up from the man-made ashes. Carlos was going home. To the place where he was really needed. Today. And tomorrow. And always...