Paradigm

by Helen Stringer

  The vehicle is nearly always the last thing to go, and so it was with the hollow-eyed man in the Lariat Bar & Casino. A brief conversation, an exchange of keys and cash, and Vincent was the proud owner of a beautifully maintained 1974 F-150 Supercab.

  They drove it over to the old truck and transferred the contents to the new one.

  “Here,” said Vincent. “These are yours.”

  He handed Sam his pocket watch and pill box. Sam grinned as he fastened the watch in place.

  “I thought I’d never see this again.”

  “Yeah, well, the watch is fine, but there are a couple of pills missing. Jimmy tried them. He was out for three days. What are those things?”

  “Neural suppressors, I think,” said Sam. “Kind of like the stuff Hermes gave you to drug me, but not as strong.”

  “Why would you want those?” asked Vincent, incredulously. “If I could do what you can, I’d be living large.”

  “There’s a downside to everything. Trust me.”

  Vincent nodded, but looked far from convinced. Sam opened the pillbox. There were four left. He snapped it shut and shoved it in his pocket. Maybe it would be enough.

  Vincent threw the old truck’s keys onto the seat, rolled down the window and shut the door.

  “Glad to see the back of that piece of garbage,” he muttered.

  Sam joined him in the new truck and tried to suppress his feelings when Vincent turned the key and the engine roared to life. It wasn’t as good a sound as the goat, but it was close and it was here.

  “So,” said Vincent. “What kind of car d’you have in mind?”

  “I don’t care,” said Sam. “So long as it gets me to Century City. After that I’ll have the GTO.”

  “You reckon it’s going to be that easy?”

  “Nope. But there’s no point worrying about it now. I’ll deal with it when I get there.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea,” said Vincent, grinning. “Why plan ahead? Preparation is so overrated. Let’s try this place.”

  He pulled over near another bar, but no one there was interested in selling, nor was anyone in the next three places they visited. Sam was beginning to think he’d have to take Vincent’s old truck and drive to Century City in stages.

  “Whoa! Look at that place!” Vincent pulled a u-turn and parked next to a row of five vehicles of various ages and types.

  Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen so many engines in a row, though it must have been like that in the old days, before the collapses. His dad had told him that back then practically everyone had a car, and some people had three or four. He’d even said that there were people who collected them, though Sam was pretty sure that wasn’t true. The first collapses had happened before his dad was born, so he hadn’t actually seen any of this “car land” stuff, and stories always get bigger with the telling. Still, there must have been a lot of them if they’d needed those old six-lane highways.

  The place was small, but packed, with several games on tables near the back and the usual cluster of the drunk and disappointed at the bar.

  “Man,” muttered Vincent. “Where the hell do all these people come from?”

  “Look,” whispered Sam. “Second from the left.”

  It was that face again. That down low, never getting up, I’ll never do this again face. The one with the almost imperceptible glint of or-maybe-one-more-time in the eyes.

  Sam stayed by the door while Vincent sauntered over to make the deal. When he returned he looked like it was taking all his self control not to burst out laughing.

  “What?”

  Vincent snorted, pushed Sam out of the door, steered him around the corner and dropped the keys into his hand.

  “Sorry, man,” he blurted, nearly doubling over in hysterics. “But you did say you didn’t care what kind of car it was!”

  “What are you…ohhhh, shit.”

  It was a pale yellow mid-seventies Chevy Vega station wagon and it crouched at the side of the road like a small rodent. Not the kind of rodent that is smart and swift, but the kind that sits in a corner getting fatter and fatter.

  “You did say you didn’t care.”

  Sam glowered at him, but got in and started her up. The whole car rattled, but the engine sounded okay. Not great, but it had obviously been maintained, though he couldn’t begin to imagine why anyone would want to bother.

  “Okay,” he said, unfolding himself out of the driver’s seat. “I guess she’ll do.”

  “Right, then,” said Vincent. “I’ll be heading back. Early start tomorrow.”

  “Would you really have killed Nathan?”

  “Sure.”

  Sam looked at him, trying to get his head around it. Now that he knew Vincent better, he could see both the pragmatist and the kid in that prematurely aged body. He understood why he had taken him for the bounty and that it really wasn’t personal. The Rovers needed to eat as much as anyone else, and they required a lot more fuel for all those trucks and trailers. But murder? A pointless sacrifice to a piece of landscape?

  “Look, Sam,” said Vincent, as though he had read every thought. “It’s what we believe, okay? And it’s no more crazy than some of the other shit people hang onto. I mean lots of folks believe in an invisible guy and a magic land where you go when you kick off. We believe in the lake. But the lake is there, right there. You can see it. It made us what we are, and drove us out when we failed it. It’s a real thing and we are part of it and return to it and feed it and one day it will forgive us and welcome us to its shores again.”

  Sam knew there was no point asking any more questions. Once people believe something, something big, something they think ensures them eternity, they can’t be reasoned out of it. History was littered with the rotting corpses of those who had tried, and Sam was in no hurry to join that particular club. So he just nodded and smiled and held out his hand.

  “I guess it’s goodbye, then.”

  “Yeah. Take care.”

  Vincent stepped forward and shook his hand. Which was a good thing, because otherwise the bullet would have hit him right above his left ear.

  They both dropped to the ground, just as another shot rang out and someone fell out of a window on the far side of the main street—very, very dead.

  “Shit!” said Vincent. “Either this Klasky guy wants us real bad, or we’ve stumbled into the middle of someone else’s argument. I say we get out of Dodge.”

  “Good plan,” said Sam, standing up and scanning the shadows.

  “See ya!”

  Vincent jumped up, ran to the truck, started the engine and rocketed away up the street and back toward the highway. Sam walked forward slowly, straining to see whoever had fired the second shot.

  “There’s one of them!”

  The yell came from the right, but the sound of a gunning engine was from the left. Sam ran for the Vega. This was no time to satisfy his curiosity. He started her up, careened around the corner and headed south. He glanced in the rear-view and saw an old truck, loaded with whooping men, bristling with guns. It was gaining fast. He was pretty certain that the Vega would not be able to outrun them so he cut down a side street, then another, and another.

  But it wasn’t his town and he soon found the road blocked by another truck and what looked like most of an old Charger. He hit the brakes hard, churning up dust from the street and making it almost impossible to see, although he knew the truck that had been chasing him had also stopped—there was no mistaking the steady idle behind him, or the sound of its occupants jumping into the street.

  Sam wondered if the Klasky guy still wanted to talk or if he’d just decided to make an example and be done with it.

  “Get out! Hands where we can see ‘em!” yelled a deep voice from in front.

  Sam thought that was probably a really bad idea. Anyway, why should he make it easier for them?

  “I said, get out!”

  Sam heard the guns racking.

  Then he heard som
ething else. Another roar. One he’d heard before. One that was becoming as familiar as the great guttural voice of the old GTO.

  And it was airborne. Soaring over the Vega and landing a few yards in front. The black Norton Commando. Alma was off and on her feet before the yahoos even realized she was there, massive guns in both hands, blazing away in both directions, her face a mask of determination, devoid of anything even vaguely resembling fear or doubt. Within seconds the air was thick with the smell of sulphur and the groans of the wounded.

  “Go!” she yelled. “Now!”

  Sam hesitated for a split second, partly because he felt he ought to help and partly because the sight of her in full flight like this was just about the most magnificent thing he had ever seen.

  “Now, porangi!”

  He hit the gas, steered the car up onto the sidewalk, around the trucks and out of town, the sound of artillery still ringing in his ears. Once he was back on the highway, he kept going until he reached the river just past Kingsburg, then he pulled off the road, built a fire and waited.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  She strode into camp, her face still flushed and the tattoo dancing in the firelight.

  “I thought you were going up north,” he said, trying to sound like he didn’t care one way or the other.

  “How could I?” she said, dropping the corpses of three rabbit-things next to the fire, before removing her gun belt and sitting down. “You find trouble like cats find mice. Like I said, you need a minder.”

  Chapter 29

  ALMA PEELED AND GUTTED the animals with daunting efficiency, then cleaned a couple of sticks, spitted the creatures and set them carefully over the blazing fire. When she was done, she sat down and looked at Sam.

  “You look tired.”

  “So do you,” said Sam, smiling.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been hit with a rock. It’s not my best look.”

  The bruise on her temple was big and dark, with blood crusted into her hair where Frieda hadn’t been able to wash it away. Sam was pretty sure she ought to be resting, but it was hard to argue that point after what she’d just done in Fresno.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Alma shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

  “It looks like it hurts.”

  “It does. It’ll remind me to be more careful in future. Why did you leave without saying goodbye?”

  “I didn’t. I mean…you were asleep.”

  Alma glanced at him, then leaned forward and checked the rabbit-things.

  “You were asleep, right?”

  “For a while. The girl gave me something, but I metabolize drugs too fast. They never work for long.”

  “So you didn’t hear me?”

  “No. I thought you’d just taken off. Bit irritated, to tell the truth.”

  For a moment, Sam was relieved that she hadn’t heard what he’d said. But that was soon followed by an aching wish that she had. He wanted her to know how he felt, but saying it while he was looking into those dark, impenetrable eyes was impossible. The words dried on his tongue. On the other hand, as long as they were never spoken he wouldn’t hear her tell him that she “didn’t think of him that way,” or just wanted to be “friends,” or any of that other garbage girls say when they’re not even remotely interested.

  “I don’t see why,” he said, hoping she couldn’t see his face too well. “You’d already said you were going back to Rob.”

  “No, I didn’t. You said it. You were being a total prick, as I recall.”

  She was right there.

  “Anyway,” she continued. “That was before I knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  She sat back on her heels and looked at him, her black hair gleaming and her face serious.

  “I liked you,” she said. “In spite of the fact that you seemed to go off half-cocked at the drop of a hat. But I thought you were a dangerous fool. I’ve seen lots of those.”

  “And?”

  “And it never turns out well for the fool…or for anyone standing too close to him. But then you ran into that trailer to save the girl.”

  “I think that probably still comes under the heading ‘foolish’” said Sam.

  “It was also brave,” said Alma. “Those people had tried to kill you—”

  “Well, not technically kill—”

  “They didn’t care. They took a reward. If Hermes had killed you, the Rovers wouldn’t have lost even a wink of sleep. No one could have blamed you if you’d turned around and left them to their fate. But you didn’t. You did the honorable thing.”

  “You’re reading too much into it. I just reacted, that’s all.”

  “Yes, but your reaction was to help, not abandon them. That’s what honor is.”

  “Sorry?”

  “My father used to say…” She hesitated a second, as if just mentioning him twisted a knife concealed deep within her. “He used to say that duty is easy. Duty is what we owe to others. It can be taught and learned. But honor is different. Honor is what we owe to ourselves. People either have it or they don’t.”

  Sam didn’t think he was honorable. The word was wrong. It was archaic and simplistic. It spoke to him of olden days, knights and damsels, battles with clear cut aims, good that was clearly beyond reproach, and evil that was just as plainly beyond the pale. So what if he ran into a burning trailer? Anyone would’ve done the same thing. Thinking wasn’t involved.

  Or maybe that was her point.

  He looked at her, sitting there in the firelight, suddenly looking lost and alone. A different girl. The strength and bravado banished by a remembered moment…changing her, taking her far away.

  “D’you think you’ll ever go home?” he asked.

  “No, there’s nothing there.” Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

  “I heard that it was really beautiful. My dad told me it was one of the last places with blue sky and that you could even see a few of the stars at night.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, her voice impossibly sad. “But it must have been a long time ago. Before the war.”

  Sam nodded. The Antipodean War had been the last of the truly global conflicts. The final bloody gasp of the great powers—those states still able to amass armies, navies and air forces to clash on distant shores, destroying land, people and cultures, while politicians at home wrung their hands and moved their troops as if all the death and mayhem were nothing more than a game of Risk writ large.

  “My mother told me that there used to be trees,” said Alma, gazing into the fire. “She said it was the greenest green, that the hills and mountains were carpeted with endless thick stands of ancient trees. Everything was green.”

  Sam looked at her sharply. The impregnable dark eyes were sparkling. Could she be weeping? It seemed wrong, somehow.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay,” she muttered, swiftly wiping the moisture from her face. “Sometimes I like to think of it. You know, to imagine what it must have been like. My mother said my people fought fiercely and with honor, but…well, sometimes that isn’t enough.”

  “What happened afterwards?” he asked. “After…”

  “They hunted us down. The suits arrived with their gunships and burned and killed all that remained. I remember that part.”

  “Gunships,” said Sam. “What are gunships, anyway? I’d never heard of them until yesterday. Phil didn’t seem to think anything of it, but Rob and Leo did. And so did you.”

  “Hermes doesn’t deploy them often. They used to just bankroll the wars. They have divisions that manufacture arms and develop infrastructure, but sometimes things go too far.”

  “Too far?”

  “Yes,” said Alma. “My uncle told me they only step in when things begin to affect the company. Interfere with trade, challenge their position, that sort of thing.” She was looking deep into his eyes now, as if willing him to witness the carnage himself. “You should have seen them,
Sam. They were huge, like solid clouds, heavy with the rain of our destruction. They sounded like something from hell, whining and throbbing and they spat fire and annihilated everything that was left. Sometimes, men would pour from them, too. The suits. The suits were worse. They ended it. They ended everything.”

  Sam tried to imagine what it could have been like, to grow up in a country destroyed by alien powers only to see the work compounded by another power, even greater. The country he had grown up in was almost a wasteland too, but not because of a single devastating blow. The Wilds were the result of a slow motion cataclysm that everyone refused to acknowledge until it was far too late. The small wars and skirmishes that followed were the jostlings for power of the last remaining strongmen…and strongwomen, in Carolyn Bast’s case. Yet it had never occurred to him that the company that created Mutha, the one his parents had worked for, was an active party in the things that happened in what was left of his own country, let alone in the total eradication of another. He had assumed that everywhere was the same. But it wasn’t. Some places were worse. But maybe there was something better somewhere else.

  “Have you ever seen blue sky?”

  “No.” Alma shook her head. “I’ve heard people say you can still see it in the high mountains in Asia. But I’m not so sure. When I came here, I crossed many lands and then the great Atlantic, but I never saw a scrap of blue or a single star.”

  “I’d like to see it,” said Sam. “Just once.”

  Alma smiled and checked the rabbit-like things. She handed one to Sam and began to gnaw hungrily on one of the others. Sam bit into his, but it was awful. Stringy and tasteless. He looked at it. It didn’t even look like food, more like the kind of thing that lives in the basements of old houses. A short while ago the mere fact that it was food had been enough, but after Bast’s dinner, Drake’s bacon, and Vincent’s pork, nothing would ever be the same again.