His arena became space. Save space. Reallocate space and control the use of space. The need for space continued to grow. Breeding and educating all the replacements for the different Battle Groups in their five buildings presented a challenge, they constantly needed more space. Kimraig and his crews provided the space. Now, only the Wicca Council and the five Superiors could overrule him. He just had to be careful to address all females with proper respect.
Kimraig was in control, not in charge. That was the responsibility of various political hacks. Each ordered him to complete the project, then disappeared from the scene quickly, preferring to idle away their time in exciting politics. Except Breen-3, she checked on her responsibilities regularly.
In exchange for his fake loyalty, Kimraig built something for himself. He put together his own military force, compact and experienced. In each of the buildings, abandoned souls lived in Lower and Middle Levels—the unseen. The Little People lived there, as did females who refused to be controlled, a few males unfit for company, and groups even the loose coalition of misfits called Others refused to recognize—anyone who was inconsistent with various group norms. They kept this fragile ecosystem, his army, from collapsing.
They would start their revolution with nonviolence. They would ask politely, making no demands. They would accept, with proper grace, the small concessions reluctantly given to stall any lasting reform. When everything failed, they would fight. They had nothing to lose.
It was almost time for fighting.
As he waited for Breen-3’s daily walk around, he checked the loading teams working the elevators. From first light, each of the sixteen empty SHORTS had paused in front of the double doors. Captured thieves, allowed to live as laborers, slid empty tanks off the SHORTS replacing them with full tanks. Then they quickly buckled them in place on the main chassis. Another filled the driver’s small drinking water reservoir—the water as valuable as the load.
Drivers, former Hunters and Troopers unable to fight due to injury, kept their individual units from bumping the load in front. On track, they moved slowly back to the LONG in an endless snaking parade of solar-powered boredom. During periods of low light, they switched to methane gas collected from the buildings sewer system. Work stopped only with sunset, which after a long day was now almost upon them.
Kimraig tracked his SHORTS as they shuttled back and forth from the elevators to feed the LONG. Each stopped as their dumpy snouts connected to the large machine’s material bunker. It took just seconds to empty their full load of thick slurry. The machines would remain moving until the last tank was pumped dry into the LONG.
At this late hour, a quarter of the SHORTS followed in line without a tank. Soon all the empty tanks would make the trip down the elevator. Their work would stop, holding their ring together on battered rails. The empty, stationary vehicles would wait for full tanks and their drivers.
This month had seen the beginning of construction on the last available space on top of any building. The salvaged metal subway rails that would form the skeleton of a new floor were also the last available nearby. When his work finished, the Five Buildings would no longer expand. It had taken almost fifty years from the event first called A.V. B.
That abbreviation offered an awkward example of the original thought, “After the Volcano and the Bombs.”
The Wiccan Codex—the laws as issued by Mistress Ann—demanded everyone use A. B. “After the Bombs,” instead. Their predecessors conveniently ignored the ‘V’ and the super volcano eruption it stood for. By demanding it did not exist, they could justify the massive nuclear retaliation that sent this island drifting at sea.
This abbreviation, A. B. did not appear in contraband history books and errant memos, only A.V. B. showed. The disenfranchised and Kimraig used that missing letter as a greeting card. Soon, everyone in the five buildings would know that a ‘V’ carved into the door of their quarters served them warning: change your ways, or suffer the consequences.
* * *
With their greeting card weighing heavily on his mind, Kimraig surveyed the weather. Light winds raked the roofline, the temperature just bearable. The LONG and all the SHORTS stood idle in the darkness. Here, he knew, anything could happen. He had plenty of time to meet his Crosser contact before midnight, yet he felt harried by the unexpected meeting his commanders had called.
“We are here, two steps forward and through the wind-curtain to your right,” Midge instructed from the darkness. Since her arrival as an experienced replacement for an injured Trooper in his original battle group, she had taken charge, making every scrap of construction material available when needed. She quickly gained Kimraig’s trust.
Hers was the correct voice with the correct code—perfect—but why the emergency meeting? None of these could be a traitor, not Midge surely. He knew hidden codes would not survive intimidation. Given time, the Wicca’s clean-up squads could convince any of his people to betray him, just to save their own life. As insurance, his last instructions had stressed a proof of identity be given by anyone under duress, one disguised as a casual greeting. None came. Instead, he took two steps back and waited, still nothing.
Midge would find a way to signal trouble. Ah, they were playing with him.
To his left, a small flame flashed under a scarred half chin. Jake’s chin. Good, this was their secondary code known only to Jake. Security problem—and none of his team had died. He turned towards four more flames that flicked, then disappeared.
His reps from all five buildings were safe.
In just one-step, Kimraig was inside, behind the wind-curtain, hitching it back in place and taking an empty seat next to a small lamp they now lit. In the meager light, they seemed to be wearing the same clothes they had worn on the roof that day. They had not gone back to their rooms.
“You scared the hell out of me Midge. What happened?”
“Was a time nothing scared the great Hunter Kimraig,” Midge chuckled, flipping hair off her forehead. “Must be that new Leader you bumpin’ hips with.”
“Our meeting is tomorrow night; strategy only.” Kimraig corrected, his face flushed briefly, matching the color of his copper curls.
A muffled huff came from the darkness. “Red face say different.” This from Rat, his left and right hand combined. Only luck had allowed him to find her, a female Trooper from his command, unconscious, and sinking into the Compost heap. The Wicca’s surgeons had considered her wounds fatal. They threw her in alive. That afternoon they arrested him for that treasonous act. He never regretted the time he spent in his cell. Their search never found Rat, and that is what mattered.
One by one, the other two females checked in. Macy and Char—his lovely Char, her beauty out of place in this bunch. He had neglected her for weeks now, but there would be no time for them until she joined him at their goal.
These three female Troopers and one badly burned Hunter were all that remained of his Battle Group long ago disgraced on the train station concourse. They were heroes of the Gender War, and later, another in Number 5 Building. The fourth, named Midge is just as valuable but a relative newcomer, all of them doomed unless he got them to One Nine.
“What happened? You first, Rat,” Kimraig asked as the banter wore down.
“Dat Crosser old man is sleeping with his troops. He don’ usually go fight, ‘specially when that big guy not by his side. Lots a’ spies out. Not normal.”
Each in turn added information to the picture. In the clerical section of Number 4 Building, a Queen had disappeared and a mute had purchased a hand weapon. Three babies, all females had disappeared from the natal ward. All five Superiors had met in private. One would command an unknown project, a project that included Leader Breen.
Reports from the other buildings described unrest from the Others: demands for freedom, equality and their own Wicca Leader. Outsiders had converged on their perimeter. The Crossers remained quiet.
There were too many potential complications. Tomorrow, when he
met Leader Breen in her quarters, everything would change. The enjoyment he received from using sex to control her would be sweet. Her body always fought his control. His always won. Just concentrate and get through this. Kimraig forced his attention back.
Jake grunted. He could talk, but saved it for Macy. The caustic sap from the Choker weed had taken most of his lips and part of his tongue when he had crawled, legless, into the tangles of wild growth to rescue a frightened female child—Macy’s. She was their child now. Both had taken vows from a shadow priest in Lower Level that forever laced them together.
From that day on, Macy was never far from Jake’s side. For her and her daughter, he had risked his life and said nothing when questioned about the child’s mother. The Wicca’s clean-up squad quoted the laws to him, using blows to his damaged face for emphasis. Females do not raise their children; wet nurses did that in Number 2 Building. Babies belong there, not with their mother. The Wicca had spoken long ago.
He resisted their physical questions. In tears, Macy remained hidden until they tired of their game and let him be with a warning to return the child to Number 2 Building.
Now she took his remaining hand in her small fist and spoke for him. “We got some woman locked in the tool shed. Says she has an appointment with you. Jake did not want a Crosser loose on his roof.”
Kimraig looked to Rat who simply shrugged as if to say, no one controls Jake. His own natural reticence to share had caused this security breach. Only Rat knew of his meeting and she shared less than he did.
“This is my fault. You all needed this information. She is our safe passage to One Nine. We will trade. Give her what she wants, and the Crosser troops will not interfere with our convoy.”
Kimraig was glad they did not question him on what the bribe was. He could not tell them—no way to figure out what they wanted.
“No more meetings in these buildings, the next in our new home. Anything we have not covered?” Kimraig looked at each of his commanders. “Good then. Make sure everyone is ready to leave in two days.”
“Yep, got one, we all gunna’ go?” Rat smirked. She knew Kimraig could not put off an answer with all of them listening.
“Originally, yes, but now...guess I better ask my hip bumpin’ Leader.”
* * *
After they left, he released the frightened female. She wore the somber green of a Crosser doctor. He found it odd that she did not wear battle gear to protect herself. Kimraig listened and apologized more than once for his error of not announcing her visit.
When she explained the Crosser’s demand for his safe passage to One Nine, his stomach jammed with bags of sharp edged rocks. The discomfort in his belly masked most of the trip back through the darkened building to deliverer her to her escort. He only remembered the two hard women dressed in black armor that disappeared with her into rubble well away from their Crossers’ home. He would not like to meet those two in a battle.
Damn, not as if they leave male babies lying around for me to steal. The pinpoint requirement added by the Crossers came as a surprise and added more danger to the task. They demanded a one-sex male.
At least 40 percent of all children born had, or would develop, two sets of sex organs. Females developed their male organs as they grew. Males averaged one in ten of all births—both sets of organs were visible. One of every four males in the nursery should have both sets, but each child faced inspection to make sure. This all made him dizzy.
He had tried to convince her to take two females instead. There was no guard around females, they would be easy to get. She laughed before she declined. The only thing Kimraig could do was contact Julia, the wet nurse he knew in Number 2 Building. She would be part of his first convoy to leave the Builders’ territory using the old subway tunnels, unless the Crossers did not get their male baby.
Whoever delivered that bundle would be risking her life. They would meet in the basement where the same female doctor would be waiting just after sunset. Julia had never failed an assignment. He would leave the details to her.
Chapter 3. Betrayed
The next evening, Leader Breen waited impatiently for Kimraig. She ignored her Spartan room with only the large mirror above the double sleeping mat marring the clean lines of the bare walls. The mirror was a ridiculous extravagance she could not explain. This area was for sleeping only, no need for female adornments. For this meeting she had added a high bare table, no chairs.
The idle time sent her memory back to her Mating Ritual long ago. The Ritual required each female to conceive one child. Imagine—he had trapped her by using a false block even when she was the attacker. Breen had been new to Telepathy, so before she had realized it, his block had disappeared.
Her mind had fallen into him. Inside he was like a spider, weaving threads round and round, hording prey to consume later; he had controlled her. She owed it to herself to fight him, fight for the right to choose who used her body. She forgot to fight, had not wanted too. Shaking like the novice she was, every nerve demanding attention. In seconds, she forgot it was her first time and helped him consume her.
Get hold of yourself Leader Breen, he will not remember you. One night with a young girl is nothing to him! He serviced dozens, perhaps tens of dozens during those Mating Rituals.
Her knowledge of him did not end with their mating. She sought the company of each new Queen as they accepted Kimraig as their Hunter. She listened intently as they bragged about his powers on their sleeping mats. Breen cataloged the information vowing to use those powers to control him.
Males were so transparent.
That thought did not help. Leader Breen’s memories ruled now—her mating—the day she had helped him consume her.
She stood with her back to the entry of the bright ritual space, nose straight ahead, locked toward the mirrored wall with the double sleeping mat at its base. Her back was stiff. Broad young shoulders straight and almost at parade rest except for arms hanging tightly at her sides. She waited impatiently with her eyes open and fixed.
A simple, daily-issue, sleeping gown did little to hide the sensual swell of her narrow hips or her buttocks, both of which tested the strength of the press-close fastenings that held the gown together at her back.
She chose to display her defiance by refusing to wear the paper gown with the fastenings to the front as ritual required. She would not give herself to any male. He would have to take her by force.
Her tormentor would have to rip the gown from her and force her to the mat. She would not help him, no matter how much she needed this to be over. The cameras behind the mirror would record only a frightened young girl trying to use a throw away gown to save herself.
Breen forced herself away from the reality of what had happened. She tried to ignore that first time, just as she had ignored other Hunters who had failed to satisfy the burning need that Kimraig had left. Now, the sensual bits forced their way back in.
On that day, it had been Breen’s 14th birthday. She was frightened, but defiant. She had refused to acknowledge the Leader’s right to require “one birth per female.” However, she would not waste time on futile negations. She selected the first day she was eligible to move forward. If she waited for her sixteenth birthday, as most did, she would be seventeen before she could train as a Queen.
Kimraig, one half year past his 16th birthday, was technically too old to consummate the ritual. The leaders broke their own rules, not because he was gentle, or experienced, but because his sperm produced the most males.
Leader Breen could feel Kimraig now, outside her entry panel.
Tonight, he would not be able to break her block. Tonight she would control him. She sensed he had some other motive besides the sex that she encountered in his thoughts. The entry panel closed behind him. She communicated mentally with her two Hunters. Both were over six-feet tall—unusual for male Builders. They moved to the hallway from an adjacent room taking station at her door.
She touched both minds with her thou
ghts and ordered—no one is to enter.
When Kimraig saw her standing in Leaders robes, hands on hips, he knew tonight would be all business. The last thing on her mind was an evening of fun.
“Congratulations on your promotion Leader Breen,” he said.
“Noted. Please join me at the worktable.”
Kimraig smiled. If anything, she was more abrupt than usual, if that were possible. Patience. He was in her domain.
“First, I expect you to follow my commands at all times. I will not have you flitting off on tangents as you seem prone to do.” Leader Breen opened her copy of his Action Plan, laying it on the table. It contained her altered plan for the building he called One Nine, the Builders Number 6 Building—her future. Spaced at regular intervals along the top edge were bright red page markers. She opened the report with the first.
Kimraig noticed there were three additional markers neatly arranged behind the first, the line ending at the back of the Action Plan. His original work was not this large; she had added half again as much.
“Kimraig,” Leader Breen continued. “Two of your supervisors enhanced the numbers in this report. We are sure they felt additional troops would secure our safe return to home base. Those extra troops are irrelevant, since returning is not an option. I must work with what I find.” She chose to let him think she had not discovered his deception.
She resisted the urge to goad him. Instead, she added. “Your two supervisors and their extra troops will not make this journey with us.”
“Yes, Miss,” he answered. Things changed. Well, it looks like seizing command is my only option, or she guessed this ploy was mine.
“Think of it this way. I have a full battle group and additional troops that I have arranged from Mistress Ann’s Number 1 Building. I gain you as my personal Hunter, which is the first time a Leader has her own Hunter.” Her bright green eyes flashed. Good deal for me. It is not as if I can use my twin Hunters as consorts. This will be the first time those other two brutes and I are apart.
The 6th of Six (The Legend of Kimraig Llu) Page 5