Sunchild

by James Axler

  The scouting party had set out with forty-five minutes head start on the rest of the war party. That was enough time for them to get a good lead, but not so long that they would be out of reach should they discover anything.

  The journey out through the forest had been uneventful. The twins were high, and chattered incessantly, yielding little to Blake's pleas for them to keep the noise down. He and Jak said little, trying to block out the prattle of the twins and try to discern any sounds from the undergrowth that may speak of a mutie raid. It wasn't an immediate worry, but there was a chance that Sunchild had rallied his people immediately on his return, and was planning yet another, larger retaliatory raid. There was also the chance of a random mutie party in search of sacrifices. If they chanced on the advance scout party and the noise the twins were making acted as enough cover, then the scouts wouldn't even make it out of the forest.

  But things were quiet, and the twins only ceased to talk incessantly when the scouting party had traversed beyond the edge of old Seattle, entering the fringes of the desert area.

  "Typical of you stupes," Blake remarked, "to stop fuckin' yammering when it don't matter no more."

  "It's the heat, man," Ant replied.

  "Kind of dries your throat too much to talk," Dee finished.

  So, apart from a few outbursts actuated by things like Jak taking water, the party continued in silence. They trudged wearily across the arid desert, the few scraps of scrub tree and mutated, twisted cactus providing not even the briefest respite from the sun, burning orange and purple in the chem-stained sky.

  After the twins' last outburst, they continued in silence for some time. Jak kept his eyes, aching from the bright light, cast down apart from the occasional sweep around and a very occasional glance up to judge the position of the sun.

  It was sinking lower in the sky, although the heat at this point was still harsh, beating down hard.

  "Soon be dark," he husked through a phlegm-blocked and dried throat.

  "Not soon enough for me," Blake replied. "Too exposed out here in the day."

  "What you moaning about, man?" Dee questioned him. "We don't have to fight them. We see a party coming, we just turn tail and head back with the information, covering our asses on the way. Shit, they can't ambush us here, can they?" he added, opening his arms expansively to the empty wastes of the desert.

  Blake shook his head. "Nearer we are to them, the tireder we are and the fresher they are. Get that through your jolt-fucked skull and think about it."

  Jak silently agreed with the older sec man. They were beaten down by the sun and weary from the journey. It was possible that an outrunning mutie party could catch them up and force a stand before they reached the main war party.

  On the other hand, so far there had been no sign of any activity. With luck, the Sunchildren were still licking their wounds from the previous day's firefight.

  It was only when he looked up and saw the pall of smoke seemingly rising from the earth that Jak realized how well protected the valley of the Sunchildren was. On their previous, dark-shrouded excursion, he hadn't realized that the sudden dip of the valley, almost a hollow crater, made the ville invisible on three of its four sides.

  They were approaching obliquely, Blake leading them out in a southwesterly direction so that they couldn't be seen from the gentle incline that formed one side of the valley and serviced the only road into the ville.

  The twins had fallen silent as they drew nearer, their attention becoming more focused on their task. It was eerily silent, despite the nearby presence of the ville. The bowl of the valley acted as a sound barrier, and kept the sound contained within its natural walls.

  Blake indicated for the twins to spread out to his left, and for Jak to move across to the right.

  "I just want us to have a look-see what they might be doing down there. Don't do anything to attract their attention, for fuck's sake. We just want them to go about their business, see what they're about, then get the hell back to the main party."

  "Why can't we just give them a little taste, dude?" Ant asked, running his hand lovingly along the barrel of his newly cleaned shotgun.

  Blake shot him a warning glance. "I know you boys got a reason to hate the muties, but there's still just four of us. We can't keep them all down there until the others arrive. Besides, Harv wants us to scout out trouble and report back…and he's the boss, right?" The twins didn't answer immediately, so Blake rapped again. "Right?"

  "Guess so," Dee murmured. His brother nodded.

  "Okay, so let's do it," Blake said softly.

  Jak moved away from the other three, leaving them in the rapidly darkening light to move around the rim of the valley. Despite the fact that it would have been almost impossible for him to be seen, he still kept low to the ground, moving in a light-footed crouching run that raised little dust from the dry earth around.

  Dropping to the ground so that he was on all fours, then lowering himself so that he was on his belly, Jak advanced to the lip of the valley. The dust itched on his exposed skin, granules of the dry earth insinuating themselves under his clothes and irritating him. He blinked the dry dust from his eyes, which were itching and raw. The tears ran down his cheeks where his eyes watered. Not content with this, the dust caught in his throat and clogged his already dry mouth.

  But it was worth it. Anything that cut down the chances of being spotted was worth the effort and discomfort he may have to endure. He could only trust that the twins were doing the same. He knew Blake would be, recognizing another born survivor in the wizened sec man.

  Jak carefully picked his way over the wire fencing that ran around the top of the valley. He ignored the stench of the rotting bird corpses that were speared on the wire at regular intervals as a deterrent. He had no fear of dead things, only a caution against cutting himself on the wire and letting any infections from the dead creatures enter his bloodstream.

  He took his time, negotiating the wire carefully. There was no one in sight, and no need to hurry. Once over, he picked up speed once more.

  As he neared the lip of the valley, the sound increased. Most of it consisted of the everyday sounds of living, amplified and distorted by being trapped within the confines of the valley's bowl. Sound overlapped on sound so that it was difficult for Jak to pick out individual noises. He was, however, aware that in the mainstream of the noise were the sounds of some chanting.

  It was only when he was in a position to look over the lip and down into the valley that the source of the chanting became identifiable.

  The vast majority of the Sunchildren in Samtvogel were going about their business in a manner that changed little, whether norm or mutie: children ran and played, women cooked and made clothes from the rags, men fashioned weapons from what was at hand or made tools. But in the center of the ville, something a little out of the ordinary was taking place.

  The main arena, where Jak and the others had recovered the chilled children, was mostly empty. Only mostly. A small group of Sunchildren—all male, were gathered in their bright robes, their assortment of salvaged and homemade knives visible on their makeshift belts. They were chanting along to cues from their leader.

  Even at such a distance, Jak could see that the mutie leader now only had the use of one arm, the limb that had been grazed by a blaster shot now limp and possibly gangrenous, covered by a primitive dressing. If it was infected, then Samtvogel would soon lose its leader, which may mean that he figured he had nothing to lose on one last throw of the dice.

  This notion was amplified by the fact that the mutie leader was standing in front of the painted and decorated predark nuke, gesturing to it while he led the chanting, as though offering it a prayer.

  There was nothing in his action to indicate that he knew how to arm and trigger the nuke, or even that its old tech was still operable. But it wasn't a certainty, and they couldn't depend on anything except certainties.

  Jak withdrew his head and crawled back from the edge before
raising himself from the dust so that he was on all fours rather than flat to the earth. He snorted the dust from his nose and throat, hawking a lump of blackened phlegm onto the ground with a noise that sounded louder for the quietness around.

  He headed back to the wire, and over it. Once more he avoided contact with the insect-crawling bird corpses. Jak would much rather have fought a dozen stickies than an infection. Once over the wire, he looked back to the valley.

  They were beginning to light fires and lamps down in Samtvogel, the smoke of the cooking fires being joined by these, and the light reflecting up a little way, prevented from spreading out by the enclosed valley. It seemed to form a small dome of light over the valley, a dim beacon in the encroaching dusk.

  A light they would have to extinguish.

  Jak heard a low whistle coming from Blake's direction, followed by two, more distant, replies. For his own part, Jak whistled low, cracked by the dryness of his mouth and throat. He turned and headed back to where he had left the others, maintaining his crouching run even though it was almost certain that they were alone along the top of the valley and were safe from observation.

  Ant and Dee were already with Blake when Jak arrived back. The four men quickly exchanged what they had seen. It all added up to the same thing: Sunchild had something in mind, but there was no immediate attack and there was no increased guard.

  "Okay," Blake decided, "we head back to the main party, tell them what we've seen."

  "They'll be exhausted after coming through in this heat," Ant began.

  "Mebbe Harv'll let them rest before the attack, cool down in the night."

  Blake laughed shortly. "Hell no, boys. You know Harv better than that. He'll just want to go in hell for leather. Hit 'em hard and hit 'em fast. Just in case."

  Jak kept silent, but wondered why Harvey would want to risk additional losses by sending in people who were tired and not one hundred percent after such a long journey. He suspected it may have something to do with the fact that Alien would, as the fair baron he was, put himself in the front line of the action. The older man would be weary, and Jak knew that he wasn't a good fighter. More than that, the baron had a woman back in Raw who was in some way connected to the sec chief, and to whatever was going on behind that metal door.

  And just mebbe it had something to do with that and with whatever had happened to Dean. Because Jak was as certain as could be that the boy wasn't in Samtvogel.

  All this went through his mind as they began the journey back toward the two-lane blacktop. They had spent almost half an hour on their survey, which meant that the war party should only be about fifteen minutes away. If the light had been better, then they could possibly have seen the party advancing. But as it was, the sun had now set, and the cold air closed around Jak like a vise, colder somehow after the intense heat of the day.

  As they marched back, it was as much the thought of Dean being trapped still in Raw as the fall in temperature that made the albino shiver.

  THERE WAS A BLACKNESS.

  A blackness like the thickest blanket placed over him, a blackness that enveloped his face, cutting off air, as well as light, wrapping itself around his head until it blocked out sound. Blocked out everything, so that the only impressions he had of anything around him were the faintest of impressions, muffled in the blackness.

  But gradually it improved. Gradually, things began to filter back. Slowly at first, but then with an increasing speed until the sound became too loud, every last breath from his own body like the rasping of a saw on metal, every step in the room like the pounding of a hammer on a wall. The light became stronger than staring directly into the sun, creeping through his closed eyelids until he screwed his eyes tight, so tight that he felt he would pop his eyeballs back into his forebrain.

  And the taste. Like raw earth and salt as his own sweat and dust from the air around coated his tongue, matting on his taste buds.

  The air suddenly came back to him, acrid with sweat and fear, great drafts of air, the slightest breeze like a hurricane in his nostrils, the previous struggle for air now replaced with the fear that he would drown in the onrush of oxygen.

  All the time he tried to move his arms and legs. But they were constrained still. At first he couldn't tell, as his body felt detached from his consciousness, and then as his body and senses became overly sensitized it felt as though every muscle and tendon were borne down by their own weight, pained by its own sensitivity.

  Somewhere deep within him, he clung to the knowledge that he was still alive, and that he wasn't mad. He knew that this had to be part of the drug testing he had been told about, and that these sensations would soon pass. The balance would soon be restored.

  That part of him that wondered if she really knew what she was doing, and if he would make it back still sane or still alive, he quelled with a ruthlessness he could only find from the knowledge that giving in to it would mean certain insanity.

  So he clung, and rode the wave.

  However long it may take. That is, assuming he had any real idea of what time was anymore.

  WHEN HE FELT it was safe to open his eyes, she was looking into them.

  "Ah, so you're still with me, young Cawdor. For a while there, I thought you might be lost…alive, yes, but reduced to something less than a vegetable."

  Jenna smiled. Her sharp features were softened by her broad mouth. She had even, good teeth, and although her lips were thin they were red enough in contrast to her dark complexion to warm her features. Even her hard, glittering black eyes seemed for a moment to become warmer.

  "I don't want you to become that," she continued. "I have other ideas for you." Her voice took on a husky edge, clogged with desire.

  Dean felt his body respond to the change in her voice, rising to the occasion. It was when he felt her hand fondling him that he realized he had to be naked. At some point in his drug-induced journey, he had been briefly unshackled and stripped.

  Jenna laughed softly, feeling the change in him. "So you're pissed at missing a chance of escape, eh?" She gently manipulated him back to his former state.

  "What… Why?" Dean croaked, unable to voice the questions that raced through his head, his parched voice failing to respond with the requisite speed.

  "You'll find out in time," she replied softly. "The good thing is I don't need to change your eyes, already blue like your father, like the perfect ones. Pity about the hair. Mebbe the genetic modifications I've been trying will help. Old gene tech is a bit unreliable still, even though I've been trying to pull all the old notes, research and equipment together. Still, you've responded well so far."

  Dean couldn't keep the fear out of his eyes. What had she been doing to him?

  Jenna sensed his unease. "Just a few modifications, sweetie. They won't kill you. Mebbe make you more productive. I'm going to need a good stud, and you're old enough to produce. I know you are, because I've already milked and tested you. You're not firing blanks, boy."

  Dean looked away, feeling his cheeks run hot. Her hand was still stroking him, keeping him erect, and he felt strangely ashamed at the way Jenna had used him while he was unconscious.

  The woman kissed him gently on the cheek. "Don't feel upset, sweetie. That raddled and seedless old fool I'm married to can't give me the child I want. Besides, it'd be impure. So would Harvey's, despite the enjoyment I get from him. But he's a moron. You and your father, though…I can see the both of you giving me the progeny I need. With you or your father to give me the new barons, and my experiments to perfect and clone the others…life'll be peachy again."

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Dark night! But it's cold and I'm tired," the Armorer chattered through frozen teeth.

  "Why, John, that's almost a joke," Mildred commented mildly, looking up at the stars that still shone in the clear sky. Funny how it always surprised her they were still there. Just because the whole damned world had changed, why should they?

  She was cold, as well. Like Krysty, she h
ad left her jacket back in Raw, unwilling to face the humidity of the forest and the heat of the day with the thick protective covering. Problem was, the night had come down too quickly, and they still had distance to cover.

  "What is Harvey's little game here, John?" she continued. "Wouldn't we have been better setting out at night?"

  The taciturn J.B. nodded. "Mebbe it suits his purpose better. Certainly not for the good of all."

  "Which should be his job…" Mildred looked ahead of her. The moon was only a crescent, casting little light on the arid and flat plain. The fact that they hadn't been visited by the scouting party suggested the way ahead was clear. But how far did they have to go now before reaching Samtvogel.

  The same question was crossing Ryan's mind as he marched beside Alien. The baron was breathing hard with the pace of the march, and the one-eyed warrior was concerned that the man would be too exhausted to fight well when they reached Samtvogel. Like J.B., Ryan wondered if this was part of some hidden agenda from the sec chief, a way of disposing of a popular baron without raising any suspicion.

  "Hey, Harvey," Ryan called, keeping his voice low but loud enough to carry, "how far now?"

  "About a mile and a half, mebbe two miles, Cyclops. Why, you getting tired there, boy?"

  "No, but mebbe others are."

  The sec chief looked back over his shoulder. The light was poor, but Ryan was sure that Harvey's gaze was on the baron rather than on himself.

  "No time to rest," the sec chief said simply. "We just gotta press on."

  Krysty felt her hair tighten about her as the whispered words reached her ears. She was cold, shivering and tired, but still her mutie sense was sharp enough to pick up on Harvey's intent. At the same time, she felt a sudden lift within her.

  "Jak," she whispered.

  "The scouting party is near," Doc called, walking close to Krysty and catching the lilt in her voice.

  Within a few minutes, black shapes appeared against the darkness of the night. Two large, two small: the scouts.