by James Axler
“Joshua and Luca were both members of Zeal’s sec force.”
“What’s the brother and son of barons doing as members of someone like Zeal’s sec force?”
“They were young, free-spirited,” the messenger said with a shrug. “Way I was told, they were out looking for adventure, excitement.”
“Humpf,” the old man laughed. “Seems they got more than they could handle.”
“Is it there?”
“There’s something here…just a minute.” The librarian adjusted the lens again and began to read.
“Joshua DeMann and Luca Schini both chilled by outlanders in an attempt to rescue members of their crew.”
“Is that all?”
“Patience!”
The messenger made himself comfortable and waited to hear from the librarian.
“Escape attempt led by three members of Trader’s crew. The men—First man, tall, muscular, black curly hair, blue right eye. Carries Ruger Blackhawk blaster. Second man, short, stocky, thick mustache, long hair usually tied in knot. Third man, older, muscular, called Poet.”
The librarian turned to the messenger. “Is that any help?”
“Yes and no. The first description sounds like the outlanders’ leader, but he carries a SIG-Sauer, not a Ruger, and his right eye is blue, but is there no other mention about his eyes? Two of them?”
“I read everything that’s here.”
“And the descriptions of the other two don’t fit his companions. There is an older man, but he’s called Doc, not Poet.”
“Mebbe he got some new friends.”
“Yeah, mebbe. Is there any mention of other outlanders? Any women?”
“Yes, in the entry about the gaudy house. Now where is it? Ah. Woman, green hair, carries double-barreled shotgun. Man, tall, skinny, wears hat and spectacles, carries Browning Hi-Power Mark 2. Another man, named Sam, carries 9 mm H&K P-7.”
The messenger shook his head in frustration.
“Something wrong?”
“There’s two women with this outlander now, and one of them has red hair—very beautiful red hair—not green. One of the men in the group is a match, the one with the hat and glasses, but there’s no mention of the black woman or the albino.”
“Albino?”
“Yeah, a teenager, white hair, red eyes. Albino.”
“Would’ve mentioned something like that in the journal if he’d been there.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“But this is from a few years back. If he’s a teenager now, then he would’ve been a little kid.”
The messenger considered the information he’d been given. He was almost sure that the outlanders’ leader was the same man who was mentioned in the journal. Sec chief Robards recalled just such a man, and there were too many similarities to dismiss it as coincidence. But he needed to be sure. If they decided to chill the outlanders, there was a good chance many of their own would likely be chilled in the process.
“Is there anything else? Anything?”
“Hmm, let me see…Ah!”
“What is it?”
“The Trader’s crew blew up Baron Zeal’s refinery with copious amounts of C-4. The one-eyed man—” he paused, knowing this was a definite clue for the messenger “—orchestrated the escape of Trader’s party and the theft of most of Zeal’s wags.” A pause. “Sez here the name of the one-eyed man is…”
The librarian’s voice trailed off and the messenger became anxious. It was almost as if he were teasing the messenger.
“Tell me, you old fucker, or I swear I’ll chill you where you stand.”
The librarian ignored the threat. He had what the man wanted, and he wasn’t going to chill him before he delivered the goods.
“The man’s name is Ryan Cawdor.”
“Ryan.”
“That’s right.”
“Then it’s him! He’s the one.”
The librarian took a sheet of bleached paper from a stack at the corner of the table. “I’ll copy the information for you to take back to Baron DeMann.”
“Yes, thank you.”
There was a smile on the old man’s face as if his entire existence had just been validated.
“I’VE NEVER SEEN anything like it,” J.B. said, turning the blaster over in his hand.
“It fires balls filled with colored water,” the baron said, handing a second identical blaster to Ryan. “The balls come in two pieces and break open on impact, leaving a colored stain on the target.”
“Heavy,” Ryan said, lifting the blaster in his hand like a deadweight.
“That’s the ammo. Since it’s mostly water, a loaded blaster can get a bit heavy.”
“An overweight blaster that doesn’t chill?” J.B. said in disbelief. “What good is that?”
“We’ve found it very useful. As you can imagine, it can be expensive and dangerous to train sec men with real ammo, but these rounds can be reused. We just clean them up, fill them up and press them together again.”
Ryan pointed the blaster at a mark on the wall of the small room next to the arena. There were all sorts of colored marks on the walls where others had tested their blasters. Ryan squeezed the trigger of the blaster and it pocked in his hand. A glistening splash of blue was now on the wall in line with the blaster’s muzzle.
“It’s powered by compressed air. Originally they had to be loaded with carbon dioxide cartridges, but we figured out a way to rig them to work with simple compressed air.” The baron was obviously proud of the technical prowess he’d shown in keeping the blasters operational.
Ryan could only think he had to be very well armed and secure in his position to devote such time and energy to worthless nonlethal blasters.
J.B. held up his blaster, squeezed off several rounds, and the wall came alive with bursts of red, green and yellow.
“Excellent,” the baron said. “Obviously you know how to handle blasters of different types. I’m sure you’ll give my sec men a good test.”
J.B. put down the nonlethal blaster. “You said we’d be getting ammo.”
The baron smiled. “I can see why you’re the weapons expert. Blasters and ammo must always be on your mind.” He led them into another room, which was stocked floor-to-ceiling with ammunition and a few lesser-quality remade blasters that had at one time been Colts and Smith & Wessons.
“Impressive,” Ryan said. If the baron’s sec force lacked any fighting skills, they’d be able to more than make up for it in firepower.
There were an assortment of ammo boxes like the ones they’d seen dozens of times in the redoubts, only these were devoid of the plastic wrap and wax that usually preserved the contents against the elements. They also looked scuffed up, as if they’d been emptied and refilled several times over the years. The boxes were labeled with crude but clearly legible black letters denoting boxes of .357-, .44- and .38-caliber rounds. There were also boxes of 9 mm rounds, both regular and Parabellum. There were even a few ammo belts for .50-caliber machine blasters. Although Ryan hadn’t seen such a big blaster in the ville yet, he had no trouble believing the baron had one stored somewhere safe.
“We found an old military installation not far from here,” the baron said.
Ryan and J.B. looked at each other, but said nothing.
“It was stocked with many useful items,” the baron continued. “Burners and hoses, beakers and large glass bottles. I took everything that wasn’t nailed down, and a lot of it turned out to be useful in the creation of my medicines and drugs.”
“Did you find all of these weapons there, too?” J.B. asked, examining a very well-crafted remade blaster.
“No, there were a few broken blasters, some ammo that we couldn’t use, and a bunch of other supplies, but it looked to us as if someone else had already been through the place, taking the most useful and valuable blasters and leaving behind whatever they didn’t need, or couldn’t use. I suspect they had to leave in a hurry, judging by the condition of the inside of the pl
ace. Several firefights damaged a lot of items I probably could have made use of.”
Ryan wondered if the Trader had been through the redoubt before he and J.B. had joined up with him. And if not the Trader, then someone else. That would explain the condition of the redoubt, and why the mat-trans chamber was damaged on the outside, but not the inside.
Lucky for them it was in good enough condition for one last jump.
“So—” the baron clapped his hands together “—what will you need?”
J.B. recited a list of ammo used by each member of the group. When he came to Doc’s LeMat, he faltered. “And Doc will need, well…”
“Yes?”
“His blaster is old—ancient really. He’ll need a supply of bulk gunpowder, cotton wadding and lead.”
The baron simply nodded.
“Copper primer nipples would be helpful, too.”
The baron smiled. “My chemists can take care of that, and I have people who can manufacture just about anything given the proper specs. We have a supply of pre-Dark pennies, which I imagine could be remade into excellent primer nipples. If your man, Doc, is it, provides the proper instructions, then we can make them for him.”
J.B. just shook his head.
“Is something wrong?”
“I keep thinking the old man is a crazy fool for hanging on to that museum piece, but as odd a blaster as it is, he’s never been short of ammo for it.”
“It has character,” the baron said. “Like the man.”
Ryan smiled. “He’s a character all right.”
“When will we get the ammo we need?” J.B. asked.
“Arms are always on your mind, aren’t they?”
“When?” J.B. prodded.
“You’d make a good sec man, you know that.”
It was obvious the baron was ignoring J.B.’s question.
“We’d like to have it ready, and where we can see it, before we play your little game.”
The baron smiled, but it was an empty smile holding no promise.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
J.B. didn’t press the point, since it was obvious there was no point in doing so.
“Shall we rejoin the others?”
The baron led them out of the armory.
BARON SCHINI was sitting at her dinner table, the remains of her meal in front of her. Several shiny white bones were scattered about the plate, stripped clean of every last scrap of meat. The messenger had seen plenty of animal bones before, but he didn’t recognize any of them. They looked…almost human, and reminded him of the condition they often found the muties to be in, living on the outskirts of the ville. The only difference was, the muties had some skin to go along with their bones.
“Well,” the baron said commandingly, “did you find what you were looking for in the library?”
“I did, Baron.”
“And?”
“It is him.”
The baron’s mouth dropped open.
“Most of his crew are different now, and he wasn’t the leader of the group back at Spearpoint, but the journal talks of a one-eyed man named Ryan, and that’s the outland scum’s name.”
“And he killed my boy?”
“Yes, Baron. The journal is very specific on that point.”
Baron Schini let out a long sigh. For a moment it looked as if she might shed a tear, but none came. “Thank you for letting me know you’ve found the outland bastard.”
“If you’ll excuse me, Baron, I must be getting back. Sec chief Robards wanted me to return as soon as I could. If I leave now, I could be back before morning.”
The baron looked sternly at the messenger. “Do I look like a fool to you?”
The messenger was unsure of what had just happened. He decided he needed to answer the question with a lie since the baron looked to be somewhat unstable at the moment. “No, Baron, not at all.”
“Do you think I became baron of Indyville by letting things slide, by shrugging things off, by turning the other rad-blasted cheek?”
Baron Schini was one of the most ruthless barons for hundreds of miles in every direction. She’d been known to cut her enemies to pieces, instructing her librarians to remove pieces of their bodies just to see how much pain and mutilation they could endure before they expired. One man, caught holding back some of the baron’s jack, had lived for a week until he’d managed to snatch a blaster from a sec man and shoot himself in the head to end his misery.
“No, Baron. I don’t think that at all.”
“So if you have the man who killed my boy, don’t you think I’d want to be there to see him die?”
“Of course, Baron.” The messenger was doing his best to be humble, knowing it would probably save his life. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
The baron got up from the table, walked over to the messenger and moved slowly around him, sizing him up. When she stopped, she was standing directly in front of him, a hand on her holstered blaster.
The messenger trembled slightly.
“You didn’t think,” she said.
And then her right hand came up and struck the messenger in the face. Two of his teeth were knocked loose, and his lip cracked open. The split in his mouth glistened scarlet.
“That’s all right,” she said, smiling now, as if feeling better. “I like sec men who don’t think.” She turned to one of her own security men. “Give him a room, something to eat, and a man or a woman for the night, whichever he wants.”
“But Baron DeMann—”
“Fuck Baron DeMann. You’re in my Indyville right now.”
The messenger lowered his head. “Yes, Baron.”
“We’ll all leave in the morning,” she announced. “You, me and my sec force. I’m sure Baron DeMann and Sec chief Robards are quite capable of chilling the outlander, but I want to be there when it happens. I want to feel the scum squirm under my fingers as I strangle the life out of him. I want him to tell me he’s sorry. I want him to beg me for his life, and then I want to chill him as painfully as possible.”
“I’m sure Baron DeMann will be happy to have your assistance,” the messenger said, doing his best to sound sincere.
Again, she slapped him hard, only this time on the other cheek, puffing up his face equally on both sides.
“Bullshit! DeMann is going to be pissed off when he hears I’m in his ville, but he’ll have to let me in. I have a family death to avenge, just as he does.”
The messenger was speechless, not daring to say another word.
Baron Schini smirked. “Take him away, and give him whatever he wants. I like him. He’s a good boy.”
The baron’s sec men led the man away.
The messenger seemed relieved to be out of the baron’s presence. He was already asking if there were different women for him to choose from.
When he was gone and out of earshot, Baron Schini called over her sec chief, Viviani.
“Yes, Baron.”
“Gather twelve sec men for the morning. They’ll ride with me. The rest of your force with leave a half hour later.”
“The purpose, Baron?”
“I’ve been wanting to take out DeMann for years. This thing with the outlander is just the excuse I need to get inside the ville, and once I’m in, I’ll open it up for your force so we can take him from inside.”
The sec chief smiled. “Very good, Baron.”
Baron Schini let out a long, hard laugh. “It’s better than good. The grieving mother seeking justice.” She laughed again. “It’s perfect.”
Chapter Eight
“I am sorry I roused you out of bed,” Doc said, sitting across the table from Eleander.
“That’s all right,” she answered with a pained smile. “I turned in too early anyway. If I’d slept any longer, I would have spent the middle of the night pacing the floor.”
“Well, then, I am glad you decided to grace us with your company.”
“Us?” She looked around the dining hall. “I haven’t said
two words to anyone but you since I got here.”
“I have to admit I have been monopolizing your time, Eleander, but understand that in travels with my companions it is not often that I come across a woman with as much grace, charm, good looks and…well, class, as you possess.”
“You’re too kind,” Eleander said.
“No, I am not being kind at all. I believe you to be truly wonderful, and I have but only begun to scratch the surface in regards to your charms.”
Eleander just smiled. She seemed tired and rundown, but Doc was unable to see it.
“Tell me…what do you do here?”
“I’m a scientist,” she said.
“By the Three Kennedys. Of course you are.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Not only are you beautiful, graceful and charming, but you are also a whitecoat. A woman of science who has tasted fruit from the tree of knowledge. Where did you study?”
Eleander looked at Doc strangely. “Why, here, of course.”
“There is a university, a school, in this ville?”
“No, the baron taught me how to make the drugs himself. His father taught him, and his grandfather taught his father, all the way up the line. The knowledge of drug making is like a family secret in the DeMann family. The baron has taught people here to make insulin and penicillin. I can make those, and other kinds of drugs.”
“To help other people.” Doc’s eyes were wide with enchantment.
Eleander looked away. “Yes, although I don’t always think of it in those terms.”
“Tell me, do you like to read?”
“When I can.”
“The classics?”
“I’ve read some Sherlock Holmes, some Wells and Verne.”
“Have you read The Time Machine?”
“There’s a copy here in the baron’s library, but I haven’t read it yet.”
“Oh, you must read it,” Doc insisted. “It will tell you a little bit more about who I am, and where I came from.”
“Then I will read it first chance I get.”
Doc put his hand on top of hers and held it for a long, long time.
A while later, Ryan and J.B. returned from the armory. “You must be tired after your adventurous day,” the baron said. “Which is just another way of me saying, it’s time that you return to your rooms for the night. I want all of you well rested for the challenge tomorrow.”