Bunker Core (Core Control Book 1)

by Andrew Seiple

Cade frowned. “Who?”

  “Long story. Give me a second, Cade,” I said, keeping my perspective on my blinky buddy.

  Argus bobbed. “No. I haven’t done much in this region, not since Terr—” He stopped talking.

  “Go on, Argus,” I said.

  “Two years ago a core named Terr went rogue. He was Juno’s main agent in the area. I don’t know of any other active cores in this region.” He gave one of those squinting shrugs that he did. “Juno doesn’t have the authority to do anything with military cores anyway. If there was one in Jasper, and it did decide to purge the area, then it wasn’t by her order.”

  “Terr,” I said, and Cade straightened up a bit. He hid it as I watched though, relaxing and keeping his face smooth. But I caught the motion and knew that the name had impact.

  “He goes by Tyr now, that’s what I hear,” Argus said. “He’s a problem. But hopefully not ours. He’s east, out at the starport—” Argus shut up again. I filed that away for later. I’d already given Cade some information, by his reaction. I’d pursue the issue with Argus when we didn’t have guests with eager ears.

  But the idea grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. Starport! Not a spaceport, but a starport. That suggested that we’d not only gotten into space but left the solar system entirely.

  I racked my memories, found ghosts and whispers, images of a man in a bulky suit, bouncing on a dusty plain, a red-white-and-blue flag planted stiff behind him.

  I did remember humanity messing around with space, then. I didn’t think I remembered a spaceport, or the possibility of one, let alone a starport.

  How long had it been, since I was human? What year was it?

  “What year is this?” I asked, abruptly.

  Cade shook his head. “I’m a scholar, and even I can’t say for certain. Somewhere in the middle of two-thousand-four-hundred or so. Been about a hundred and twenty or thirty years since the big war.”

  I hunted memories or impressions and got nothing, save the dull throb of corruption and pain. I had no frame of reference. For those answers I needed Juno.

  I’d had to hold back, that time I spoke with her. I didn’t want to ask her the important questions without leverage or another person’s testimony to cross-check her answers against. I didn’t know how much she’d lie to me, and acting on lies would hurt me in the long run, lead me into avenues and impressions that would hinder my goals. I was up against someone smarter than me, though it galled me to admit it. Even the direction of my questions could have given her an advantage in predicting my future actions.

  This guy, though, he was one of the resources I needed. I’d mine him as I could, hold out the possibility of a mutually beneficial arrangement. Hell, it might even work out, so long as he proved trustworthy.

  He’d have to prove himself, though.

  “You’re a scholar,” I said, finally. “Are there many of those in Arcadia?”

  Cade barked laughter. “No. there’s not much there. I founded that place, sort of by accident.” He drew on the pipe, eyes lowering to slits. I thought he might be remembering old times. “I was born in the Redberry Agrofarm,” he finally said. “It’s an automated complex. Pre-core tech, one of the last of its kind of facilities back before the big one. Which is why it survived, mostly. That and geography. My great-grandpa and his folk hunkered down when the bombs fell and focused on surviving and protecting themselves. They gathered in local survivors, forted up. Held off the Jaspa, back in the day, once those bastards went rogue. And plenty of other bandit scum.”

  “So why aren’t you there anymore?” I asked bluntly, watching for a reaction.

  “My father was in charge. He was a reclaimer… wanted to gather as much oldtech as possible, try and rebuild things. It’s how I knew about you.” Cade smiled. “My mother found you when we were out scavenging. But without access codes there ain’t much to do with a dormant core, and you guys are too dangerous to mess with unless you’ve got really good tools and knowhow. So she let you be. Figured if we managed to get more of a baseline going we could maybe scavenge you later.”

  “Yet here I am, unscavenged, so apparently that didn’t happen.”

  “Yeah.” Cade sighed. “My father died. There was some politics after that, and the Merchants won out.” Cade sighed. “They pulled back all the salvage teams, forted up, and started trading away all the tech we’d worked so hard to get. I disagreed with them. Barely got out alive.” He rubbed his side with his free hand. “My own people…” he said, with old pain in his voice.

  “Where did you go after that?”

  “Bumped around a couple of different places. Got swept up in a Jaspa raid, lived with their people for a while. This was before their core problems, before the Speakers declared high-tech off limits. I was able to fix some of their guns, so I was useful.” He scowled. “But life’s pretty shit in Jaspa lands unless you’re a warrior. I’d been taken so I couldn’t be one. Not that I’d want to.” He pointed at his crotch. “Anyone chooses to be a warrior, they get a probationary year to be tested and get to fool around with any sivvie Jaspa they fancy. After that, long as they don’t wash out, they get cut. No babies, no babymaking. Gear still works, but it’s pretty much sterilization.”

  “Wait. So the warriors are venerated, but they can’t breed?”

  “It’s pretty much Speaker bullshit. Warriors aren’t allowed to have families, can’t even recognize or have contact with kids from before they sign up. It’s supposed to show that their greater loyalty to their people can never be compromised. Meanwhile, the Speakers have their harems and dozens of offspring. They also don’t fight, so they’re never at risk in battle. I pointed that out, and people started listening. Almost got killed again, but me and about fifty friends got clear, got out, and found our way to Arcadia.” He smiled. “Life’s been better since. But not without problems. Which is where I was hoping you could come in.”

  “I’m listening.”

  He sighed. “Yeah, and I’m sorry it doesn’t look like it’ll work out. Fact is… the Jaspa are getting too big. They’ve never come after us because they’ve always had bigger fish to fry. They were building up to finish us at one point, but then their core woke up and that kept them busy until we could fortify up to the point they couldn’t take us down without losses. But now my sources tell me their warriors are about a thousand strong. A thousand!” Cade shook his head. “Ain’t been a force like that since the big one. Not here, anyways.” Cade grimaced. “We’re up against them to the west, and the Heronmen to the East.”

  Argus bobbled, in surprise. I looked to him. “You know something? Not you, Cade. Hold a second.”

  “Alright, but now I’m wondering who you’re speaking to.”

  “Heronfield. It’s the name of the starport,” Argus said.

  “I’m accessing an informative database,” I lied to Cade. “The interface is somewhat humanized.”

  Argus glared. “Hey! No need to be insulting!”

  “Hush,” I told him. “Cade, you speak of Heronmen. So you know of Tyr?”

  “I do,” said Cade. His face gave away nothing.

  “What can you tell me about him? Or her?”

  “It’s not what I can tell you, it’s what I should tell you that’s holding me back. And you wanted to hear my pitch, first, as I recall,” Cade said, then puffed on his pipe.

  “Then please continue.”

  “As I was saying, we’re caught between two forces we can’t handle. Not without better ground. We were hoping you could be the better ground.”

  I was beginning to see their plan. “You want to live in someplace fortified.”

  “More than that,” he said, handing the pipe to Rauph and spreading his hands. “We want technology. I’ve tried to get things going. Tried to get us some sort of base to work with. No. No, it’s not possible, not with the territory we’re stuck on, and the resources available. We need a core. We need medicine, and clean food, and facilities. We need…” he sighed, looking down. “
We need a friend who can do that. It’s all I can do to educate, teach, work with the little tech we can scrounge, and we can’t do that while we’re fighting just to survive every damn day. We need to be humans again. Not just survivors. Does that make sense to you, son?”

  It did.

  But I was damned if I knew what I could do about it. Not with the forces arrayed against me. A thousand Jaspa… maybe not all of them, they probably still needed some warriors at home, or guarding the borders so their neighbors didn’t get restless.

  I did need allies, against those odds. “What are you offering?” I asked.

  “We are going to offer everyone who could fight. About eighteen now and myself. We aren’t exactly warriors, but we can shoot some mean bows. Got two guns, as well. Also got about thirty more people trained as hunters, like Donna was. Not great in a fight but enough to maybe do some damage.”

  “Donna. The girl you mentioned. The one I met before.” Then his words sank in. “Was? Wait, did she die?”

  “No.” Cade hesitated. “Not yet. But the smoke hurt her. She’s not getting any better. I was going to ask you for some help there, assuming we could come to an accord.”

  “I’ll help her regardless. I owe her that much.” Could I help her? Well, I did have that medical process that I hadn’t gotten into yet. But I had so much else to do… “How long do you think she’ll last, if I don’t?”

  “Maybe a month. She’s tough.”

  I nodded. “Alright. If I can survive the Jaspa attack, bring her in. I should have some facilities set up by then.”

  Cade nodded. “Thank you. Can you survive the attack?”

  “Possibly. Depends on how determined they are. What kind of help can you give?”

  “Not much. They’ll be able to set up a base camp west of here. We can’t. So we’ll be traveling to and from Arcadia every night.”

  “Why can’t you set up a base camp?”

  “There are these things that patrol the skies during the day. Screamers, we call ’em. They kill any people they find out and about. You’re on the edge of their patrol routes. Everything else around you is Jaspa territory, and it’s too risky for us to hide there.”

  “How about raiding whatever camp they set up? Would that be possible?”

  “Maybe.” Cade took his pipe back and tamped it out. “Depends on how far back from you they set up. But if they’re up here hitting you with the bulk of their folks, sure, we could harass their camp some. But it seems to me that we’d need you to tell us when they were hitting you. Got any comm sets?”

  “No.” I racked my brains and tried to run several options through my interface. One of them worked. “I could build a radio without much trouble. Think you could do the same?”

  He grinned. “I used to tinker those for fun, from what Mom and Dad brought back. Yeah, we could get one of those going.” His grin vanished. “It wouldn’t be secure, though. Lots of people would be listening in.”

  “The Jaspa?”

  “No, not the Jaspa.” The grin returned. “The Speakers forbid radio or any other technological comm sources. They don’t want anyone calling bullshit on their ability to speak with Norcom.”

  I’d already anticipated that. “Not a problem. All we really need to do is give some signals when the shit hits the fan. Let’s talk about codes and conditions and frequencies…”

  After he’d taken about half an hour’s notes in a grungy journal, I was satisfied with what we had.

  He closed the book with a snap, looked to his escorts. They nodded back, and one went outside, probably to assure whoever else he’d brought that things were okay. “I do wish we could do more for you, but… well, I’m sorry. You’re not the hill we can afford to die upon. Not yet, anyway. If you can hold them off, I’d like to make my pitch to you in the times that follow.”

  “I’d like to hear it myself,” I said, nodding without a head. “But if I don’t survive, I’ll at least hurt them on the way down. So that helps you regardless. With that in mind, what can you tell me about their tactics, capabilities, and weapons?”

  Cade’s smile fell a bit. “Nothing good. A few seasons back they conquered the Ploughmen.”

  “Don’t know them, sorry.”

  “Pacifists, mostly. As much as anyone could be, around these parts. But they have old-time knowledge and books that tell them how to make things without Cores, or Fabbers.” He took a breath. “Including a very dangerous thing called dynamite…”

  INTERLUDE: SURVIVOR 1

  It only works until it doesn’t, Foal thought, feeling sweat slick out of her armpits, all six of them.

  The blanket didn’t help matters. She held it tightly wrapped about her upper half, covering from her neck down to where her torso joined her trunk. Brown, patterned in white, just like the hide of her trunk.

  It was hot; it was scratchy, and her fingers were cramping as she held it in place, and it was absolutely necessary because death was about thirty paces away.

  The screamer hovered, nothing more than a glass eye in a metal shell, two underslung guns below the orb. It stared at her, and she stared back, frozen, like the animal she was pretending to be.

  Right now it was silent. But if she moved incorrectly, if she triggered any of its forbidden behaviors, then it would scream, and then she would die. Even if she managed to cross into the distance, leap into the air and kick the damn thing somehow, then the scream would draw others. And their hissing, cracking guns would kill her. Foal was too big a target, too big to fit into the easy hiding spots the other foragers on the day squad could use to escape. Her only hope was to fool the thing.

  She’d done this before.

  But this one was lingering longer than the others had.

  Foal considered her options, and they weren’t good. The blanket barely fit around her upper body. If she ran, then it might slip or get jarred loose, and that might trigger the screamer. If she tried to destroy it, with a spear or with a rock and failed, then that would definitely trigger the screamer.

  No, the only option was to stand, frozen, like an animal surprised by a predator.

  The sweat rolled off her now, and she flared large nostrils at the smell. She hated the smell. It was sour, spoke to the sickness that plagued her, plagued all of them.

  And then, for no discernible reason she could tell, the screamer turned and hummed away, rising into the sky as it went. Before long it was lost behind the crumbled walls of the surrounding houses. She gave it another two minutes, then five more to be sure. Nothing, save for the wind, for the first two. Then the sound of birdsong returning, of squarrels, chattering and angry, coming back to fight and posture and defend their trees. Only then did she relax.

  “You did well,” Bantam spoke from behind her, and Foal whirled, casting the blanket free as she reached for a javelin.

  The small figure stepped back, claws clicking on the shattered patio, crest flaring. His hands flapped at his sides, raising up in pacifying motions.

  “You should bnot sbeak up onb me,” she said, her muzzle distorting the words, as it always did. “Bnot after THAT.”

  “Kchk. We all go through that,” Bantam said, his tiny lips sneering. Unlike his other kinfolk he didn’t have a beak. His face was more humanlike. But like them, he had hands instead of wings, hands that curled and flexed their fingers restlessly when he didn’t pay attention. “Night Squad has it easy. Only that cat to worry about, and it sticks to the north. Come on, I’ve found something.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I can smell it.” Bantam led the way to a crumbling brick wall and pushed through a small hole. “Old bathroom. Full of mold. Some of the mold shines.”

  “Ah!” That was a good sign. Shine usually accumulated around the target of their search. It also meant that the caches they were after were less likely to be looted.

  The humans stayed away from shine. And for good reason.

  Foal and her brood didn’t have to worry about that.

  “How am I to ge
t through that tinby hole?” Foal asked.

  “That’s what he said!” Bantam snickered.

  “What?”

  “I don’t get it either, but Masker thinks it’s hilarious.”

  “Masker’s bnot here. We are. How am I getting through?”

  “The bricks are fake. They’re over plastic. Water’s gnawed all through it. Shouldn’t take much.”

  No, it shouldn’t. “Get clear,” she told him.

  “Already ahead of you.”

  Trusting in her comrade, Foal turned, and kicked.

  The sound broke the silence; the bricks broke as well, showering from the plastic in pattering rattles. The birdsong ceased, but the squarrels chattered louder.

  Foal kicked again, her hooves crashing into the plastic, gouging it. She kicked until it cracked, and resistance buckled. Then she turned back, reaching out with her human hands, trying to rip chunks free with her thick fingers.

  Her neck hurt, every time she used her arms like this. Her maker had basically jammed a human spine into her neck, right below the horse’s spine that was supposed to be there. Then he’d added shoulders and arms and pectorals and other muscles. And also, for no reason she could tell, human breasts. They were annoying and got in the way. Didn’t help that she had to lift her muzzle high so her hands could work and couldn’t see what she was doing. The plastic gouged her fingers, gouged her breasts when she yanked it free, and she curled her lips as she felt blood flow from the scrapes.

  It would clot quickly and heal fast, but the aches in her neck would take longer to fade. She wasn’t made for such labor.

  She didn’t know what she’d been made for, to be honest. Her maker had died before he could tell her. She and Sim and all the others had made sure of that.

  “Clear,” Bantam told her. She took a few clopping steps back, lowered her muzzle again and stared into the bathroom. Shine gleamed and flickered in the dark, humid cavity of the bathroom. She’d come through the wall right into the shower alcove, and the few clean spots of tile reflected the reds and purples of the nanotech, pulsing among the mold. It almost seemed to shrink back from the light. Then, as she reached her still bloody hand in, it shrunk back from her.