by James Axler
As for grens and explosives, there were a real variety of grens, both immediately predark and also much older, that proliferated in sec forces across the Deathlands. Most explosives that were in use were of the plas-ex variety, but even these differed in composition and stability, with the result that J.B. felt the need to study closely any he came across, lest he one day use the wrong fuse and timer at the wrong moment.
J.B. was a perfectionist, or at least as much of one as he could be in the environment he lived and worked under. And as such, he believed in an armory having a variety of weaponry, for every eventuality.
Which was why he found the armory that Margia maintained so fascinating. Because the Gate tribe seemed to believe in the exact opposite theory.
Margia kept her armory in a tent to one side of the encampment, and slept in a smaller tent that stood behind. The armory itself consisted of boxes and crates in which were carried ammo and blasters, along with an array of greasing and cleaning materials that had been looted on their travels. Other boxes carried a supply of grens and plas-ex.
Although he was impressed by the way in which Margia and her team, consisting mainly of Jon and Petor, but with a few others of the male Gate contributing when time was at a premium, maintained the condition of the armory, it was really the composition of it that fascinated him. For although there were a few rifles and machine blasters—some Lee Enfield .303 rifles, a Sharps, a couple of Uzis and some H&Ks—the vast majority of the armory consisted of handblasters.
The smaller blasters were obviously better suited to both the average size of the Amazon warriors, and also the way in which they carried them. It was the range that impressed J.B. There were blasters that ranged in age and style from the early days of the American West through to the last days predark, as in the case of Gloria's personal preference, the Vortak. The Armorer was curious as to how Margia had assembled these weapons, how she obtained the ammo and replaced worn parts and how much she knew of the history of each manufacture of blaster.
For her part, Margia had never met anyone who had the depth of knowledge of J.B., and she quickly came to enjoy his company. So much so, in fact, that the wily blonde began to wonder if it might possibly be a good idea to try to add the Armorer to her staff permanently. And not just for his knowledge and expertise. Margia was without a mate and had appetites that needed to be filled.
So the blond armorer decided to make things a little uncomfortable for Mildred. She had seen that there was something between J.B. and Mildred, and if she was to achieve her twin goals of luring J.B. into service as both armorer and mate, then she would have to get the black woman out of the way.
So it was that she began to undermine Mildred. At first it was relatively subtle. She began by asking J.B. questions about Mildred, to learn all she could. This wasn't easy, as the Armorer was laconic to the point of almost being silent on some matters, particularly his relationship with the doctor, and Margia felt sometimes that it was like drawing blood from a stone as she tried to extract information about what exactly their relationship was and how long they had been together, while at the same time trying to deflect J.B. from the one matter on which he could talk freely and at great length: an armory.
Eventually J.B. had told Margia all there was to know about Mildred and what had happened since he had known her, although J.B. himself was unaware that he had so much as mentioned the slightest thing.
Now Margia began her plan of action.
THE FIRST MOVES CAME casually enough. While seeming to go about her business, the blonde would happen upon Mildred while she was learning or teaching medicine with Tammy and Krysty. Casually Margia would drop into the conversation a few of the facts she had learned about Mildred's past, making passing references to her being a freezie and about J.B. talking of her. She would also remark on Mildred's medical status, questioning obliquely if a predark doctor was really suited to coping in the Deathlands. On one such occasion, when Margia had left them, a sly grin to herself revealing her satisfaction in leaving Mildred seething, Tammy watched the blond armorer retreat and then remarked, "Watch her… She knows her job but resents the fact that she is just an armorer. And she has a temper that blows up on her, making her do rash things. She schemes. Be careful, Mildred, but don't let her get the upper hand."
Unfortunately there was no way that Mildred could prevent Margia from gaining the upper hand with her next move.
This came when Mildred was engaging in target practice with Dean and Tammy. The use of blasters for practice was seen as a necessary evil, as it increased accuracy but at the expense of valuable ammo. So when it occurred, it became a highly competitive event.
A small enclosure had been set up just outside the boundaries of the camp. While the men of the tribe dismantled the camp in order to begin the day's march to a new position, the women elected to begin shooting practice. An area of three hundred yards was marked out in the dirt, and targets made of a soft wood that had possibly once been beech, but had mutated into a spongy form over the years, were placed at one end. For each group of shooters, a sheet was placed over the target to make the clusters of landed shots stand out more clearly. The group of women taking part divided themselves into seven pairs, there being twelve members of the Gate, plus Krysty and Mildred. Krysty had a nasty feeling that something was afoot as soon as she caught sight of Margia, and her hair tightened almost imperceptibly to her skull. She glanced across at Mildred and noticed that she was scowling.
"Who's contesting?" the blond armorer said with an air of studied nonchalance.
"Split into pairs as usual," Jess replied as she checked her blaster, a .38 Smith & Wesson SPL Air-weight M-12 snubbie. She spun the cylinder to check that it was fully loaded, then clicked the cylinder back into place.
"So who are you contesting?" Margia asked Mildred outright.
"As we're outsiders, Krysty and myself are going to fire against each other. We don't want to intrude on your own—"
"Or you don't want to be beaten and shown up," Margia said casually, her offhand manner masking the sly timing of her interruption.
Mildred knew what Margia was trying to do, as did Krysty. The mutie could feel a sudden increase in the tension, her hair creeping closer to her neck. She shot a glance at Mildred, almost willing her not to rise to the bait. She had guessed from some of the things Margia had said over the past couple of days that the blonde had gained a more than reasonable knowledge of Mildred's past life, and so would know of her Olympic experience as a target shooter in the days before skydark. And she would know that Mildred had pride in her ability. Normally Mildred would be able to keep a cool head, but after the niggling provocation of the past couple of days, it was to prove almost impossible.
"It's not a question of winning or losing," Mildred said in an icy tone, trying to keep her voice flat. "It's a matter of shooting straight, that's all. Out there, the only winner is whoever keeps alive, and that's all."
"That's all?" Margia mimicked. "I'd say it's because you don't want competition."
"No," Mildred replied simply.
But walking away from the challenge wouldn't prove that simple. Of the Gate Amazons who were clustered for the shooting, only Tammy had some idea of what Margia was doing and how she had been behaving. The others took all that was said at face value, and as Margia wasn't the most popular member of the tribe, they felt inclined to press Mildred into accepting the challenge she was trying to avoid.
It was Jess who voiced their feelings. The raven haired woman holstered her blaster and looked Mildred in the eye. "Take her up, babe. She may keep the blasters, but believe me, she can't shoot them that straight. You'll take her out, no trouble."
Krysty noticed the frosty and hostile look the blonde shot toward Jess, and figured that here was another score for Margia to settle at a later date.
For Mildred to back down now, in the face of so many, would be disastrous for her companions, as well as herself, and she knew it. She had no choice. "Okay," she sai
d in a measured tone. "We contest."
Margia smiled, her strong white teeth bared in something more snarl than good humor. "Fine," she said simply.
The contest began. Margia claimed business at the armory, and asked that she and Mildred shoot last. The others agreed to this, and the woman walked off with an arrogant stride, leaving Krysty and Tammy feeling that something devious was abroad.
"You take my place," Tammy said quietly, '"cause we've got uneven numbers now that she's butted in. I want to follow her, see if she's planning anything."
Krysty nodded her assent and turned her attention to the contest and Mildred, while Tammy followed Margia at a distance.
The blonde returned to the armory, where Jon and Petor were cleaning the machine blasters, a three day turnaround task that didn't take them long, but insured that the sometimes delicate mechanisms hadn't suffered in transit between camps. J.B. was also at the armory, using some of the cleaning materials and grease to work on his M-4000. He looked up as Margia approached.
"Hey, boy," the blonde greeted him amiably, "you're at it early."
"Just a small task, but one I don't want to put off," he answered her.
"Always the best way," she said approvingly. "Say, me and Mildred are contesting each other in shooting practice. Want to come and look?"
J.B. pushed his fedora back on his head and scratched at his forehead. "Should be interesting. Mildred's a fine shot."
"Exactly why I wanted to shoot against her," Margia replied. "So why don't you get over to the contest and check it out. I just need to get my blaster."
"You're not carrying it?" J.B. asked with surprise.
Margia shook her head. "Just needed to clean it earlier, so it's still in there," she said casually before entering the armory tent.
Tammy, following at a distance that wouldn't seem suspicious, saw Margia enter the tent. Unlike J.B., who hadn't seen the blonde's back, she knew that Margia was in fact carrying her blaster, but she hadn't heard the exchange between the two armorers.
As J.B. finished the M-4000, Tammy approached the tent, intending to see what Margia was doing. But that wasn't to be, as the boys had stopped their appointed task when they saw her approach.
"Hey, Tam, shouldn't you be at the contest?" Jon asked.
"She don't need a blaster to shoot out any target she wants," Petor added obliquely.
"Shut it, boys," Tammy said abruptly, irritated by their poor timing. She went to pass them, but they blocked her path.
"What's the matter?" Jon said in a mock-hurt tone. "You don't want to talk to us all of a sudden?"
"Mebbe we're just too lowly," Petor mocked. "It's not that. It's just that I wanted to see—"
"Wanted to see what?" Petor questioned, puzzled by the suddenly flat tone in Tammy's voice.
"It doesn't matter, stupidworks," she answered bitterly, watching as Margia left the armory and headed toward the contest, smiling coldly at Tammy as she passed her.
By the time both Margia and Tammy had arrived back at the contest, most of the shooting had taken place. The contest wasn't in itself a competition. It was just something that the Amazon warriors used to spice up the otherwise dull target practice. There was an air of good humor about the shooting, and J.B. found the different stances and shooting styles of the contestants fascinating. So much so that he hadn't even noticed that Mildred had refrained from talking to him.
But even the laconic armorer noticed the change in atmosphere when Margia returned. She headed straight for Mildred.
"What do you shoot with?" she asked casually.
"ZKR 551, Czech made."
Margia raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I've ever come across one of those," she said easily. "What caliber?"
"It's a .38," Mildred answered.
Margia held out her hand. "Can I see?"
Mildred shrugged. Standing right in front of her, and in front of the others, there was nothing that the blonde could do to Mildred's blaster.
But Margia had timed her question carefully.
"Your turn," Jess said to them.
Mildred went to take back her blaster, but Margia had produced her own from the sheathed holster in the small of her back. "Mind if I shoot with yours? It'll be fair if I give you mine, 'cause we'll both have unfamiliar blasters."
Mildred wavered for a second. She knew this was a trick of some kind, but couldn't for the life of her work out what Margia was pulling. To refuse and cause a scene would mean loss of face in front of J.B. and the other members of the Gate. J.B. she could put in the picture later, but the Gate…
"Okay," Mildred assented with a deceptively casual shrug. "And God help you if you're setting me up, lady," she muttered to herself.
They walked to the line in the earth from where the target practice would begin. Margia took position first, and sighting carefully along the barrel of the ZKR, rattled off five shots in quick succession. From their position on the sheet covering the target, it could clearly be seen that the shots had clustered around the center.
"You now," Margia said with a smirk that made Mildred's spine crawl.
She sighted along the blaster Margia had given her, a Kimber .45 ACP pistol. The compact blaster had a barrel that located directly into the slide, and it held seven rounds. Mildred loosed them in a smooth repeating squeeze of her trigger finger, but even as the first round left the barrel she knew that something was wrong. The weight of the blaster felt wrong, as though something had somehow thrown it out of alignment. The discharged rounds kicked back in an asymmetric manner, causing the spread of hits to be wider than Margia's by no small degree. Even without looking, Mildred knew that her performance had been the worst of the contest, and even as she seethed at the deception of the blond armorer, so a part of her kept cool and looked at the blaster, searching for the cause of the problem.
"Not quite what I expected," Margia said quietly, keeping the exaltation out of her voice. She looked over to J.B., and said, "Mebbe you'd better think of joining up with us on a regular basis, if this is the best you can do."
Mildred looked across at the Armorer. He was phased by Mildred's poor show. She knew that the last thing he would do was blame her, but that didn't alter the fact that she had let her friends down—albeit by a treacherous hand. Her gaze returned to the blaster in her hand.
"Don't blame the tools, sweetie," Margia said in an acid tone, swiftly removing the Kimber from Mildred's grasp and replacing it with the ZKR.
Margia left Mildred impotent with rage and humiliation, left to questioning stares from Tammy and Krysty and left the others reflecting on the poor performance of the much-vaunted sharpshooter.
Left with the Kimber nestling against the small of her back, holding fast its little secret—the delicate work on the barrel that threw its alignment and made it Margia's secret weapon for anyone in the tribe, or out of the tribe, who might cross her.
Chapter Eight
The period of peaceful travel was coming to an end. It was inevitable that this would happen, but the manner in which it occurred was something that couldn't have been predicted, for all things seemed to coincide and began not with an infringement from outside, but from within.
They spent three more days traveling. The climate was still warm, but there were occasional bursts of rain that fell warm upon them from the heavy chem-stained clouds that hung overhead. It wasn't the scarring acid rain of farther south, but still had a tinge of chem that made their skin soapy if they stayed in it too long, the top layers of the epidermis softening like a clay putty as the rain soaked in. When the showers hit, it was hard to find cover and the Gate would gather into a protective circle, with the men using plastic sheeting and tarpaulins hauled from the wagons to cover the tribe as a whole.
They were having trouble finding cover because the terrain was changing around them. The vast plains with the crops of trees glading them had gradually lessened, the foliage and plant life spreading out into the grassland, the grasses encroaching onto the wooded a
reas, until there was no longer any clear delineation. The trees that still dotted the landscape were smaller. No longer the twisted descendant of redwoods, they were now smaller, like stunted beech and silver oak, with gnarled trunks that harbored small mammals and nests of birds.
In some areas, the foliage would grow thick, with twisting plant stems and root systems for the trees that would make progress difficult. Instead of the steady pace they had previously maintained, it was now a question of hacking a path through territory that was virgin to travel on foot. At the head of the tribe, Gloria would hack her way through, her flames of hair swaying to the easy rhythm of her movements, still gentle and unhurried even in these circumstances, like the movement of a coiled spring that was deceptively easy yet carried with it an immense energy. Ryan joined her at the front, his panga swinging in time to hers, his muscles rippling under the effort and glistening with sweat under the humidity of the rainy heat.
Margia had kept up her campaign of sly sideswipes at Mildred, saying nothing and everything by the tone of her voice, constantly referring to Mildred's failure in the shooting competition-cum-practice, but always in a conciliatory tone. She was deliberate in not being openly antagonistic, not wanting J.B. to notice any hostility on her part.
Mildred was having trouble keeping her temper. J.B.'s attitude to her hadn't changed, but she did notice other members of the Gate looking at her as though she had somehow failed a test. Whether this was because of her failure against Margia as a marksman or because she wouldn't rise to the obvious bait the blond armorer was laying before her, Mildred couldn't be sure. But of one thing she could be sure: her patience was thin and stretched beyond the point where she could back down. It was only a matter of time before she snapped.
PREPARING CAMP WAS harder now, as the Gate and Ryan's people had to hack back swathes of foliage to clear space for the campfire and for the tents. The baffling that had served so well in wooded glades had to be more securely planted in the earth to prevent the cold night winds from driving it down, and it was harder for the guards to keep hidden in the lack of cover during the still watches. Despite this, they were still able to set up a reasonable resting post on each night.