Borderlands: The Fallen

by John Shirley

  The boat was turning around, heading away from the artificial island toward a headland. The setting sun was off to her right. The darkening, craggy outline of the Trash Coast, a quarter kilometer away, was waiting for her …

  “Who you figure to sell the bitch to?” one of the men asked.

  Mash scratched at his ruined forehead. “Maybe that bastard Greeb. He might pay double for her—he uses ’em up quick and this one looks strong. Like she might last a year or two …”

  “If he don’t take a fancy to kill her quick.”

  “Marla,” the man at the tiller whispered. “Soon as you hear the explosions, lie down as flat in the boat as you can.”

  “What?” Then she recognized the voice of the man in the mask. Vance.

  They were only about a hundred meters out from Grunj’s Island when two things happened—Vance cut the engines, and the explosions. Five fiery blasts went off from one end of the island to the other within seconds. Each one threw chunks of phony island in the air, pieces of shack and metal slats and spikes of wood and metal crates and bodies, some bodies in pieces and some living and screaming and some already dead—burning bodies, burning chunks of wood, lifted on pillars of fire. The multiple roar of the explosions made the men in the boat turn and gawk. The flames lit up the evening sky. Then the shock wave hit them and the boat jolted, lifted on a wave and almost overturned.

  “Motherbuggerin’ son of a whore!” exclaimed Mash, as he clutched at the sides of the rollicking boat.

  Pieces of the island were raining down in the water; its sections, held together by chain and rope, separated and sloshed in the sea, some of them overturning. Men shouted and their shouts were lost in gurgles. The water around the shattered remains of Grunj’s Island seethed and churned and steamed, as pieces of the island vanished …

  Then silence settled over the sea—except for the sound of the men in the boat, swearing and muttering.

  Only then did Marla remember to flatten herself in the boat. She lay down, curled up in the small space between the men—and the shooting began immediately. Before the staring men turned around Vance shot them. His rifle fired electrical charges that took out their personal shields, along with the rounds that cut them down. The bullets jerked the slavers around in the boat. A few rounds were fired in return, to no effect.

  There were three splashes as dead and wounded men fell overboard—and again the boat almost overturned. Mash snarled and stepped over Marla, tried to grapple with Vance—she reached up and tugged hard on the man’s knee so he tilted off balance and pitched overboard.

  “Ha!” Vance said. “Good work, Marla!” He pulled off his mask and grinned at her.

  The engine started again, and the boat continued toward the Trash Coast. Marla sat up and looked around. Only two men remained in the boat. Both clearly dead—both missing their heads. She turned away, stomach flip-flopping.

  Someone thrashed in the sea to aft. It was Mash, still alive, face bloody, trying to swim after them.

  “Stop that boat and fight me, you scummy coward!” Mash howled.

  “Here, shoot the bastard,” Vance said, handing her a pistol.

  She numbly took the gun—she knew how to use one, she’d been a security guard for two years, right out of school—and she aimed it at Mash’s face. She could see his face only dimly, tinged by sunset and blood, four meters back. A wave lifted him up, seemed to roll him closer to the retreating boat.

  It was the ideal moment to shoot him …

  She had never killed anyone before. The man was a beast; he had talked of selling her to someone who uses ’em up quick. But she had to close her eyes before she could pull the trigger.

  The gun banged and jumped in her hand, twice. She opened her eyes and looked. She didn’t see him anymore …

  “You get him?” Vance asked.

  “I … I think so.”

  Vance sighed. “Hell. Wish I could be sure. Tried to time it so Grunj would get blown up, too. I need ’em both dead. Grunj woulda figured out I took most of his cash when I left. Lotta money. I got it in this pack I’m sittin’ on here. And Mash’d never get over my killing his men—taking his prize. Need both of them dead.”

  “I don’t see how anybody could have survived those explosions. You did that?”

  Vance’s toothy grin was bright in the twilight. “What you think I was doing all day? Had to kill Grunj’s ferryman, take his mask. Put the bombs where nobody’d see ’em—but where they’d do the most good. I hadda make sure nobody’d follow us.” He paused to squint at the tossing waves behind the boat. “I don’t see Mash … I just hope you got the bastard.”

  It was a bright morning in Fyrestone—a good time to despair.

  “Nope, nobody been around here lookin’ for no kid,” said the leathery shopkeeper. He claimed to be “mayor” of Fyrestone “on account of the last one just got his face blowed off by the bandits down the road and nobody else’d take the job.”

  Nozz was his name, and his eyes were hidden in dusty sunglasses, his hands in bulky gloves as he handled a cluster of glowing green crystals on the workbench. “I did hear a starship blew up. But I also heard most of the passengers got out in time. They was at the Study Station—they already left orbit on a freighter bound for Xanthus. Crowded in pretty bad. Charlie was up there, picking up some ordnance, saw ’em sleeping in the cargo hold. Normally them ships won’t take passengers but—”

  “And nobody’s looking for the boy here?” Roland interrupted. “You sure? His name’s Finn, Calvin Finn …”

  “Nope. Not a soul. And I’ll tell you something else—there’s a blockade going on right now—Atlas says it ain’t safe for starships to come to this damn planet now! That one freighter got through and not a one after that. Atlas has their own ship up there, somewhere, and some mercs down here up to no good, way I hear it. And they’re not lettin’ anybody go up to orbit or come down, not for a while, unless it’s from their ship! So nobody’s comin’ from the Study Station to look for no kid! Looks like you’re adoptin’, there, Roland! Haw! Put him to work scrapin’ skag hides for his dinner …”

  Cal turned away, sickened by the shopkeeper’s indifference.

  He walked away, alone, down the middle of the dusty Fyrestone street, past Dr. Zed’s clinic and the shop that sold weapons, heading for nowhere in particular.

  He was startled by a chattering coming from a small metallic creature in the shadow of a building to his left. It was a small orange and white robot, shaped like an inverted trapezoid, with a single camera eye and skeletal metal arms. It rolled back and forth, chattering, bouncing on its wheel, almost dancing. “Hey, check me out everybody, I’m dancin’, I’m dancin’!” It created a kind of beatbox rhythm with popping and jug-huffing noises as it bounced back and forth. “Ohhh come on, get down! I’m dannnnncin’!”

  Cal stopped, staring, and it seemed to notice him, ceasing to dance to turn its camera eye at him. “Wow! You’re not dead?”

  “Why should I be dead?” Cal asked, frowning.

  “Because you’re not heavily armed! Don’t forget to check out Marcus’s store!”

  “I saw the weapons store. I’ve got a weapon.”

  “You’re not going to shoot me, are you?”

  “No reason to. You seen Zac Finn, robot? Or Marla Finn? Anybody from the Study Station or the Homeworld Bound, down here, lately?”

  “Sorry, traveler! But there are new bounties available in Fyrestone!”

  “No thanks, I’ve got my own worries. Roland told me about you—said you’re a model C … L … I forget. A Claptrap, that’s what I remember.”

  “You’re a craptrap, you shitbag flesh bundle!”

  “What’d you say?”

  “I said you’re a crackin’ shooter boy, boy-o!”

  “I don’t think that’s what you said.”

  “My servos are seizing! I could be leaking. Could you check me for leaks?” Cal stepped toward the robot and it immediately spun around and trundled away. �
�No, no, don’t shoot me!”

  “Crazy-ass robot …” Cal snorted. He turned away. The encounter had irritated him. He was abandoned, he was alone, and he was getting crap from Claptraps.

  Maybe he’d go sit out at the cemetery on the edge of town. Might be peaceful there.

  His parents were probably dead. If he couldn’t be at their graves … someone else’s would have to do.

  Wrapped in gloom, he strolled out to the boneyard. It suited his mood.

  Cal was sitting on a grave, leaning back on an old wooden cross, when a shadow fell across him. He looked up to see Roland blocking the sun, a dark silhouette. “You a damn fool, kid?”

  “What I do now?”

  “You’re sitting near the gate to the road, that’s all. That’s a wide-open gate too. About three hundred meters from a skag burrow. Pretty much any time a skag or a Psycho might get it in his head to take a run at the settlement and you’re the first piece of warm meat they’re gonna see.”

  “They oughta put up a locked gate, set up some sentries,” Cal said, not really caring if they did or not.

  “Yeah. They oughta. They’d be better off with you as mayor instead of that old bastard Nozz. Come on, kid, I got my Scorpio Turret, and I’m ready to head out. I heard a little something interesting just now, at the gun shop …”

  “What?”

  “Fella there says a guy in an outrunner saw a crashed DropCraft …” He pointed out into the desert. “Out that way. Says he looked it over, didn’t see any bones in it. Or nearby either. No sign of whoever came down in it. Said it looked kinda recent… .”

  So his dad might be alive. “You know that area, Roland?”

  “Kinda. People say that part of the wasteland—it’s haunted by some old ghost who rides a drifter—”

  “A ghost? Really?”

  “Probably a myth. This planet’s got a lot of myths going on. Some of ’em turn out to be true, in a way. Anyhow—I figure … your dad, he’d reward me, if I deliver you to him. Right? I mean—if he’s alive. I don’t want to raise any hopes now. Most likely your folks are—”

  “I understand, Roland. But there’s a chance they’re alive—or at least my dad. Yeah—he’d reward you.”

  Cal felt bad, telling that lie—knowing his dad didn’t have much to offer as a reward, if anything.

  Roland reached down, offered his hand. Cal took it and Roland pulled him to his feet. “Come on, let’s get some supplies. Need some food—and ammo. We got to be ready to kick ass out there.” They walked toward the town. Roland suddenly halted, turned to him, and stopped him with a finger poked in his sternum. “You did okay out there, with those bandits. I got some money from that Eridian stash. I’ll give you a share. And I got a nice Eridian weapon I kept from it too. But kid—you’re gonna have to grow up fast, where we’re going. You know what I mean? You take orders from me—and you carry your own weight. I don’t wanna hear any complaining.”

  “Anything you say, Roland. I’ll do my part—all the way.” But as he said the words, he wondered if he could live up to them. He was going to need Roland a lot more than Roland would ever need him.

  He had to do whatever it took to get to his parents. Because it seemed they weren’t able to come to him. Maybe his father, at least, was still alive …

  Zac was fed up with being tied to a wooden fence. It was not his idea of a good time. He’d been here overnight and most of the morning, since waking up with a banging headache.

  The sun was getting hot, and a warm wind was blowing dust in his face, parching his lips. He was glad to see the elongated shadow of Bizzy, like a living bird cage, stretching out over the ground in front of him. That meant that Berl was close at hand.

  “Well how you doing there, you treasonous bastud,” Berl said, coming to look him over. Bizzy, towering over them, looked him over too. The seam-faced old man squinted at Zac, pausing to spit on the ground nearby. He was chewing something, like gum or tobacco. “I see them nylon ropes held you good. You’re lucky no skags wandered into the camp. Might’ve eaten your face before it kilt you. I’ve seen it happen.”

  “Berl …” Zac had to pause, to cough up dust. “Berl, first off, if you’re gonna kill me, just do it. But this is no fit way for a man to die.”

  “Haven’t decided yet what I’m a-gonna do with you.”

  “I don’t deserve this and you know it. You could give me a drink of water, anyhow.”

  “Again with the water. Water’s precious. Maybe you deserve a drink, maybe you don’t. You were trying to boondoggle me outta what’s mine.”

  “I was offering you a perfectly fair deal, dammit!” Zac coughed, and spat dust.

  “Sure you were. You were interested in making me show you where that spacebug starship crashed so’s you could stab me in the back, take it all, and leave my bones bleachin’ in the dust!”

  “Bullshit. You giving me the water or not?”

  Berl stared at him, then shrugged and unlimbered a canteen from a strap over his shoulder. He held it up so Zac could drink from it. The water had a metallic tang from being in the canteen but he could have happily drunk it dry.

  “Thanks … thanks … that’s better.”

  Berl corked the canteen. “Hell, I got a treat for you here.” Berl took something that looked like a gnarled, dried-out chestnut from his shirt pocket. “Little food for ya! Chew this up!”

  Zac stared at it and decided he’d better accept. He never knew when the old man might feed him again. Better not ask what it was. “If it’s not poison.”

  “It ain’t.” Berl shoved the gnarled little sphere in Zac’s mouth, and Zac chewed, half expecting it to burst with burning acid.

  But it was kind of sweet, and cinnamon-like and a bit musty too, almost like an oyster. He managed to swallow most of it, then found he was chewing the hull like gum—so that’s what Berl had been chewing.

  Berl chuckled. “Nothing like candied Primal testicles to give a man a good outlook on life.”

  “Candied …” Zac remembered what he’d read about Pandora. The big semianthropoid four-armed creatures ridden by some of the Psycho Midgets. Primal Beasts. “You’re not serious …”

  “The hell I’m not! I get ’em from that Claptrap robot, along with my other supplies. Yeah, there’s a feller in New Haven makes ’em. Gettin’ to be a real popular treat there. Good for what ails you …”

  Zac spat out the Primal’s testicle. “God. Wait—did you say you saw that Claptrap robot? You went to New Haven?”

  “No, I never go real close to it. Always under siege, that place. There’s bandits and Psychos camped all around it. No, I got a spot I meet him, certain times. Out in the Rust Commons. You got to know the safe ways to go … There’re ways through ain’t no one but me knows …”

  “But—did you send a message, tell someone I was here?”

  “Course not! You’re in my secret camp!”

  “Dammit, Berl, my family’s out there, somewhere, they’ve got to be looking for me!”

  Berl snorted derisively. “Man, get yourself a big dose of reality! If your wife and boy came down on this planet, why, even if they made it to the ground alive—they’re likely dead now. This world chews folks up”—he hocked the Primal’s testicle onto the ground—“and spits ’em out! Only reason you ain’t dead is ’cause I happened on you and I did what no one else would likely do. Mostly out of boredom. So forget about ’em. Now, I’m gonna put a little bit of a shelter up over you here, and give you a couple more candied balls, and we’ll have us a good talk. I can tell you all about the time I was lost in the old Dahl mines, and I come upon that crazy woman, Broomy, that lives out with the sea thugs—why, she nearly tore me in half and I don’t mean with a weapon. I’ll tell you what that woman uses for a weapon …”

  The old man chattered on, as he built a rough shelter for Zac. The shade was some relief but Berl refused to consider letting him go, refused to even loosen his bonds.

  There was nothing else to eat, so Zac c
hewed up the candied testicles Berl fed him. The flavor wasn’t bad—and as it happened, they seemed to hold a kind of biological charge. He felt stimulated, encouraged, strengthened by them. When the old man started drinking from a liquor flask—something else the robot had brought for him—Zac thought to himself, Maybe if he gets himself dead drunk, I can break out of this … But how do I get past Bizzy? Wait and watch …

  So Zac waited, and Berl got steadily more drunk. He sat on a rock nearby, drinking, spitting in the sand, and nattering. “Lost my dang-buggered tolerance for this here whiskey … Don’t get it often … Don’t dare keep a stash up here or I’d just drink all day … That’s another reason I’m out here. Stay away from that stuff. And that ol’ Trank’n’Crank. I was terrible addicted to Trank’n’Crank! You ever had that stuff, boy? Stay away from it, make you crazy! Lord, lord. Had to leave Trelwether Four because of that. Why, they had a manhunt on across the planet for me. I kilt the colonial governor’s son over a woman. Long ago it was. Before they had these fast stardrives we got now. Say now did I ever tell you about …”

  All the time, Zac was quietly stretching out his bonds, pulling them a little more, and a little more, till he felt blood trickling down his wrists. He wasn’t trying to break free yet. Just stretch them out, and wait.

  “I was a miner for many a year you know,” Berl was saying. “One time on Elvis … What is it, Bizzy?”

  The drifter reared up and clicked at Berl.

  “Oh yeah? Sure, go ahead on, do a patrol, find yourself somebody to eat, but don’t be long.” He whistled his instructions at the stilt-legged creature, and watched as it walked off like a giant four-legged stork, picking its way delicately between the boulders and down the hill.

  Good, Bizzy was gone. The chances of escape were increasing a bit …

  “Where was I? Oh, that time on Elvis. Well sir, I was there when the tunnels collapsed on Elvis Presley … that’s a planet you don’t hear about anymore, named after some old-time singer … well the reason you don’t hear about the planet Elvis is, a fella went all crazy claustrophobic and set off the whole supply o’ mining blasters at once, and it’s all underground there, you see, Dahl built it and built it cheap, and the whole thing come down on top of us, crash boom bang, more’n three thousand mining colonists killed, boy, and I was one of only six fools who got out of there alive—and two of ’em nearly kilt me trying to get my water jug before it was over, but then, one of ’em became my partner here, best man I ever worked with, even if he did try’n kill me, he was a fine gent, why one time …”