by Neil Hunter
“That crazy droid,” Cade muttered, rising to his feet. He shouldered the auto rifle, locking the weapon’s laser sight on the distant gunner. Cade activated the auto ranger, his finger caressing the pretrigger. He felt the trigger release, activating the secondary trigger. All that was needed was the lightest touch. Cade breathed in and held, then stroked the cold curve of metal. He felt the rifle kick back gently, the powerful blast absorbed by the recoil block.
The impact threw the gunner across the cruiser’s compartment. For a moment the guy hung on the rim of the open canopy, then fell with a scared yell.
Twenty feet below, his body raised a cloud of dust as it crashed to the ground. He lay in a messy sprawl, legs and arms twitching.
Cade ran forward, aiming the rifle again. He fired at the cruiser’s power plant. The slugs penetrated the lower deck plates, and smoke began to creep from the holes. A black finger of hot oil fluttered from a punctured pipe. The cruiser began to sink as the operator tried to gain some forward motion. But the craft’s hover capabilities were fading rapidly. It sank quickly, smoke billowing from the tear. The cruiser dropped the final few feet and hit the ground with a heavy crash.
Approaching from the opposite side, Janek saw an armed figure kick aside the shattered canopy and scramble over the cruiser’s side. The guy spotted Janek as he touched the ground. With an angry yell he swung up a squat handgun and pumped a stream of shots at the cyborg.
Janek felt something tug at his left arm. In response, he leveled his rifle, planting two slugs directly over the guy’s heart. The shots pinned the guy to the side of the crippled cruiser. He looked down at the twin holes in his chest, seemingly fascinated by the sight of his own blood pumping from the ragged wounds. He released his gun, and it dropped to the ground. Then he slumped face down in the blood-spattered dust.
Janek reached the downed cruiser moments ahead of Cade. They both covered the cruiser’s operator before realizing the guy, slumped over the controls, posed no threat. When Janek reached out to touch him, he slid sideways, his head flopping loosely, eyes staring in the empty glare of death.
“They don’t give up easy,” Cade said softly. “And these won’t be the last.”
“It’s their choice,” Janek said, and even Cade caught the cold edge to his words.
Janek hauled the dead operator out of the cruiser, leaned into the compartment and scanned it thoroughly.
“You looking for anything in particular?” Cade asked.
“No, but it won’t do to pass anything over, T.J.”
Janek straightened up, smirking self-righteously.
“Found something?”
“Only the registration ticket. Confirms this cruiser belongs to Mid State Freight;’
Kneeling beside the guy he’d shot, Janek went through the dead man’s pockets. He came up with a billfold that held a driver’s license, money and credit cards, among other things.
“Eddie Franco,” Janek read. “I know that name from police records. He’s a known felon from the East Side. Generally hired himself out to the highest bidder. I’d say we’ve got one of Brak’s running mates here, T.J.”
Cade picked up Franco’s stubby autopistol and examined it. “This is one of those new Swiss handguns. The one the department tested out a few months back. The damn things aren’t supposed to be in the country yet.”
Janek stood, taking the gun and running his expert eye over it. “Fine piece of weaponry,” he observed. “So let’s evaluate our position. Right now we have enough to connect this local bunch with Brak. A link with Mid State. A New York felon carrying an illegal weapon. I’d say we’ve got more than enough to give Mid State a shakedown.”
“God, I hate it when you talk like a robot,” Cade said. “All that stuff you’ve been quoting is fine, but it does jack shit for our position. Janek, we’re in the middle of nowhere. High and dry and more than likely to get our lights punched any minute. We’re in great shape, pal.”
Janek considered his partner’s words. “Put that way, Thomas, we are caught between a rock and a hard place.” Then the cyborg brightened considerably. “But at least we have company!”
Cade picked up the soft footsteps behind him and turned.
He found himself face-to-face with a half-dozen silent, hostile-looking Mutants.
Chapter Seven
It had been a long time since Cade had been face-to-face with a Mutant. He eyed them with caution, but remained fairly impassive himself. He had no reason to show any aggression for the moment. The main problem with Mutants was their instability; they changed mood from passive gentleness to terrifying violence quickly and without warning. He’d seen it happen, and recalled the memory as he confronted the group before him now.
They were clad in the universal dress of Mutants nationwide, an odd blend of handmade and manufactured garments. Due to the often extreme genetic disfigurement that afflicted most Mutants, their clothing afforded them comfort, as well as concealment. The fabric was heavy, designed more for this kind of terrain than city dwelling.
Few Mutants ventured near large cities, where much ignorance and hostility were directed at them. As with most prejudices it was misguided and founded on superstition. After being the victims of raw violence, the Mutants realized they were safer with their own kind. They stayed in the wastelands, creating their own settlements far away from the megacities.
“What happened here?” one of the Mutants asked, peering at the dead men and the downed cruiser.
He was a big man, broad, with heavy shoulders and long, muscular arms. His large hands each had a thumb and three fingers. He watched Cade closely, his wide-set eyes unblinking in his angular, big-boned face. The flesh, brown and weathered, was oddly grained and textured like a reptile’s.
Cade pulled his badge and held it up for them all to see.
“T. J. Cade,” he announced. “Justice marshal. He’s my partner, Marshal Janek.”
“You’re not from here,” the Mutant said sharply.
“New York,” Janek said. “Trailing a gang of drug traffickers. They have a local connection and didn’t take to us interfering.”
The Mutant eased by Cade and stood in front of Janek. He looked the cyborg up and down, head rocking from side to side, deep sounds rising in his throat. “Different,” he decided. “This one’s different.”
A second Mutant shuffled forward with an awkward gait, favoring a twisted right leg. One side of his lean, pale white flesh was marred by a thick growth of horny flesh that formed a half mask from hairline to throat. He stared at Janek with his single eye.
“Yeah,” he said almost immediately. His voice had a clipped, birdlike tone. “He ain’t a real one. He’s a cybo. A fuckin’ freak.”
He began to laugh, a shrill warble of sound that burst from his tight, thin mouth.
The first Mutant peered at Janek. “He right, Marshal? You a cybo? A freak?”
Janek nodded.
“Hah! Lee always knows. He can sniff a cybo a day away.”
“Interesting,” Janek observed. “How does he do it?”
The Mutant shrugged. “Don’ know. Even Lee couldn’t tell you, but he still can do it.”
Lee was still laughing, swinging around on his awkward limbs to wave his arms at his companions. “How do I do it? Only Lee knows and he ain’t tellin’.”
“I hate to break up the party,” Cade said tautly.
The first Mutant swung around on him. “You not in New York now, Cade. This is our territory. That badge you carry don’t mean nothin’ out here. We could kill you, and no one would ever find your bones.”
“Yeah,” Lee crowed. “We eat your bones.”
“Bullshit is all you’ll eat,” Cade warned. The authority in his words silenced them all—even Lee. “I don’t want trouble with you people. Just let me get on with my job, and you can go your own way.”
“Maybe we’ll kill you just for the hell of it,” the big Mutant said.
“You got a name?” Cade asked
.
“I’m Tragg,” the Mutant said. “Why’d you want to know?”
“It’s easier dealing with a man when you know his name,” Janek said hastily, stepping in front of Cade. “Let’s keep this friendly. Maybe you can help us.”
Tragg glanced across at the cyborg. “You mean that?”
“Sure.”
“Hey, Tragg, you see who these shag-asses are?” a skeletal Mutant said. He was tall and pale, with red eyes that seemed to glow even in the daylight. His thin hair, almost white, hung in tangled strands down his hunched spine.
Tragg crossed to check out the dead men. He muttered something, turning back to fix Cade with a hard stare. “These mothers were after you,” he said. “We saw them chasm’ you.”
“So?”
Tragg gave a crooked smile. “We got more in common than you realize, Cade. You know who they are?”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. Except for that one,” Tragg said, indicating the New York perp. “He’s a stranger. The others are Dekker’s boys. From Mid State.”
Lee, leaning over one of the dead men, spit on the body. “Better dead than hunting us,” he said bitterly.
“Doesn’t sound like you’re big fans,” Cade suggested.
“You ever been in Mid Town?” Tragg asked.
Cade grinned. “We kind of got diverted.”
Tragg gave a roar of laughter. “Diverted! You call bein’ hunted a diversion?”
“A temporary delay in our schedule,” Janek said stiffly.
“Dekker won’t see it like that,” Tragg stated. “He’s a mean one, Cade. Finding his boys dead is only going to make him meaner.”
“If this Dekker is involved with the people we’re after, he’s already on his way out,” Cade said.
“You get rid of Dekker, you get my vote,” Lee said.
“He caused you people trouble?”
Tragg nodded. “We only go to town odd times. Try not to bother anyone. But it’s a mean place. We only go there because of the freight yards. It’s a bad place sometimes. Dekker is the boss. He runs Mid State. Biggest outfit there. Anyone else wants to operate, they go to Dekker and he takes a cut. He has a hand in every business going. And the local law is his.”
“We already met them,” Janek said.
“You said you were after drug traffickers? Word is that Dekker does some haulin’ for an outfit back east.” Tragg jerked a thumb at the dead New York perp. “This one of them?”
Cade nodded. “There’s been a fallout in the organization. One of the top guys has decided to get rid of his partners and run the whole thing himself. We followed him from N.Y. Figured he’d stop here to make a new deal with the local handler. Looks like he already did.”
“Bastards,” Tragg breathed angrily. “They have a game in town when some of our people go there. Grab a couple and shoot them full of those crystals they peddle. Has a bad effect on us, Cade. Hurts us more than normal people. The dreams can kill and usually do. If we don’t die, we end up with scrambled brains.”
“Tragg, we need to get into Dekker’s place. You want his operation closed down? Help us get inside. Can you do it?”
Lee chuckled. “Can Lee smell out a cybo?”
“We can get you in.”
Cade caught Janek’s eye. “Collect all the hardware you can,” he said. “I want to hit Dekker fast and hard. Take his operation down to the foundations.”
“How long will it take to reach Mid Town?”
“On foot a long time,” Tragg said. “But we got transport.”
Lee, following Janek to pick up the weapons, said, “Hey, cybo, you ever ride a horse?”
“T. J., I don’t think I’m going to like this.”
“Think about it while we move out. I don’t want to be surprised twice in one day.”
Tragg gestured in the general direction of the west. “We have a place out there,” he said. “Near the Chemlands. It’s about five miles. There’s food and the horses.”
The Mutants led the Justice cops to a small settlement hidden in a natural basin on the edge of the local Chemlands. The area beyond the settlement took on a distinct change. The terrain was darker, the landscape dotted with choking tracts of heavy vegetation and stunted trees. Mutations had been created in the aftermath of the missile strikes of the U.S.-Islamic Federation war. The terrible spillages from the warheads had germinated and developed strange new strains of plant and wildlife. And the human animal hadn’t escaped. Humanlike Mutants roved the Outlands, shunning society.
A low-lying mist hung over the area, rolling slowly in and out of the vegetation. The mist emanated from the numerous biopits that frothed and bubbled like festering scabs on the land, spewing out a deadly rain of toxic waste.
Tragg explained that the Chemlands lay in the shape of a great crescent, forming a barrier between the settlement and Mid Town. No one from town would venture near the Chemlands because so much was still unknown about the place. Staying away was the wise and accepted thing to do. The Chemlands offered a sanctuary for Tragg and his kind, a place where they could hide in desperate moments, their altered forms able to survive the poisonous mists.
Cade could detect the fetid stench that wafted across the dusty plain between the settlement and the Chemlands. He knew the stink well and hated it. During his time with the Marines, he’d had to work around the Chemlands. He hadn’t liked it then and didn’t like it now.
“You don’ like the biopits,” Lee said. It wasn’t a question. The Mutant could sense Cade’s feelings and turn them into words. “You have bad memories?”
“Something like that,” Cade said, not wanting to elaborate.
Lee scuttled to Janek’s side. He had developed some kind of rapport with the cyborg, possibly because he thought of him as a freak. “Hey, you’ll like the horses,” he said.
“You think so?” Janek was unconvinced. His understanding of horses was that they were powerful, unreliable creatures that had a habit of throwing their riders.
“On a horse I’m as good as any man,” Lee stated, grinning. “My legs don’t matter then. The horse has four, enough for both of us.”
Twice during the journey to the settlement they spotted helicopters making long, wide sweeps of the area. Janek’s long-range vision enabled him to pick out the aircrafts’ markings as belonging to the Mid Town police. The Mutants, used to avoiding detection, were able to guide the Justice cops into hiding. After the second chopper made its appearance, they saw no more.
They walked through the settlement. It was little more than a collection of ramshackle huts constructed from scrap timber and aluminum sheets, bonded together with mud. The Mutants were transient, never staying too long in one spot. Wherever possible they grew their own food and hunted game if there was any about. Often they had to steal to eat. In some areas they were able to pick up laboring jobs. It was a bleak existence, but the Mutants bore it in stoic silence, aware that they had no choice. They were small in number, their clout nonexistent, so they made the best of their lives.
In the early years, as the Mutant population developed, there had been many suicides. Many of them had been unable to handle what had happened to them. Ostracized by society, blamed for something that wasn’t their fault, some had collapsed under the unbearable pressure, and taken the only way out they could find. Others accepted the government offers of resettlement on the space colonies, where society was developing in a different way and mutations were accepted. This solved part of the problem. But there were thousands of Mutants who had no desire to leave the mother planet, preferring to stay despite the restrictions.
A great many Mutants were intelligent and put that quality to good use. Though the settlements were primitive in most respects, the Mutants used their ingenuity to develop forms of power and provide at least the basics of life. As Cade wandered through Tragg’s settlement, he saw solar power being used for cooking and lighting, even powering a small generator that operated a battered but serviceable TV set.
“I know what you were going to say,” Tragg said bluntly as Cade turned to him. “If we’re so capable, why don’t we improve our lives?”
Cade smiled ruefully. “Pretty close.”
“Why should we? Look what too much technology brought us, Cade.”
The horses were penned in a corral constructed from long lengths of timber. The animals were rangy, bright eyed and eager to meet the newcomers.
“Better than a car,” Tragg said. “They feed off the land and they’ll take us anywhere we want to go.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if you haven’t got the best end of the deal, Tragg,” Cade said.
“But not for you? A city boy to the last.”
They sat around a log fire and ate. Cade silently studied the grouped Mutants, women and children alike, and realized after a while that he and Janek were the outsiders here. The Mutants were living their lives as they always had while the Justice cops brought memories of another culture, another world.
Tragg drew Cade and Janek aside after the meal. He used a sharpened stick to sketch a layout of Mid Town for them in the dirt.
“Mid State is here, on the north edge of town. They have the best site. Railroad runs right on by the freight yard, so Mid State can load or unload easily. Loading bays feed right up to the railroad tracks here and here. On the other side of the warehouses the same applies for the road rigs. Offices are built over the storage sheds. They even have sleeping and eating accommodation for the teams who drive the rigs.”
“Security?” Janek asked.
“Run by the local law force. Owned by Mid State. Police chief is called Thornton. He’s bad, Cade. A really bad apple. He shouldn’t be running a jail—he should be in it. Thornton’s a big guy with short-cropped red hair.”
“The police who picked us up at the airstrip were Mid Town,” Janek said. “So we know Thornton is already in Brak’s pocket. What we can’t be sure of yet is how the cards are going to fall. We could have so many of the Outfit’s people staying loyal to the old regime and some moving over to Brak. And he may be hiring his own new people, as well.”