by John Shirley
“Reamus. He’s up to something there—some kind of secret project. I want to know what it is. Rather not spend hundreds of trained men invading the place to find out—so I need someone with finesse. Someone slippery. Someone good at killing quietly, when he’s got to. I heard that describes you, Mordecai.” He sipped his wine, cleared his throat, and added blithely: “You see, Tumessa is surrounded by killer robots, mutated Psychos, SlagSlugs, auto-turrets, varkid pits, and acid moats. All I want you to do is kill your way into it, quietly as you can, find out what Reamus’s secret project is, kill him if the chance arises, kill your way back out, and then come back here to report to me. You’ll get your lady back and a nice paycheck. And I’d prefer you do it all alone. So—what do you say? Or should I simply ask—when can you start?”
Mordecai stared at the 3-D image of Reamus’s armed camp.
He walked slowly around it, looking at the holostructed image from different angles. Tumessa appeared to be a really large mound on the flat land of the Staggering Steppes. The fortified settlement was a high, ovoid hill; a rounded-rectangular anomaly sticking up out of the plains that stretched out for long flat kilometers beneath Frostbite Highlands. Four roads wound up Tumessa’s four sides, meeting at the top, where a triangular metal tower rose from a pentagonal fortress. Along the roads were huts, concrete domes, shacks, and cannon emplacements.
“Can we zoom in, at the front there?” Mordecai asked.
“Certainly,” said Jasper, smacking his lips over his hot wine. “Holo zoom at touch.” He reached out and touched the spot indicated, and the three-dimensional image zoomed in.
“Are those Hyperion killbots?” Mordecai asked. “Those big robots standing guard, there, with all the firepower by the front gate?”
“Those?” Jasper said, blinking, all innocence. “Well. I suppose so.”
“And . . . there . . . what’s that bubbling stuff the bridge is going over . . . ?”
“That’s the acid moat I mentioned. One of them. Bridge is retractable.”
“Naturally. And that thing?” He pointed at something that seemed to slither along like a giant slug.
“That’s a SlagSlug. It’s . . . well it might once have been human. Now it’s a legless thing, kinda big, mutated by Eridium slag. They kill almost anything that’s not carrying a special deflector . . .”
“A special deflector. And do you plan to equip me with one of those?”
“Haven’t got one, I’m afraid. They disintegrate if the wearer is killed. I haven’t gotten around to training my men not to kill prisoners. It’s a refinement we hope to get into soon.”
Mordecai sighed. “And there . . .” He pointed at what appeared to be guard towers behind the killbots. “And there . . . snipers, yes? And it looks like Bruisers, down there, at the bottom, quite a number of them . . .”
“Yes, indeed. You’ll have to kill your way through those.”
“Oh, naturally. And then through that seemingly impenetrable fortress.” Mordecai tugged thoughtfully on his small, pointed beard. “Suppose I was to approach it in a Buzzard . . . ?”
Jasper shrugged sadly. “They’ve shot every flying vehicle . . . or creature . . . that’s gotten anywhere near the place, night or day. SmartRadar, don’t you know. Good installations. Getting some myself. But Reamus is pretty tight with Hyperion—did a lot of work for ’em. Gives him a bit of an edge. They’ll sell him tech they won’t sell me.”
“What’s your beef with this Reamus, anyway?”
“Why—” Jasper looked at him in surprise. “He’s a thief!”
“No!”
“Oh, yes! I’ve had my caravans raided, over and over, in the last couple of months! They’re coming in with hard-earned loot taken from my . . . my objectives around the planet.”
Mordecai nodded slowly. “So you’re looting all these settlements—and he’s stealing the loot from you?”
“Yes! Plus killing far too many of my men! And those men are expensive to replace!”
“You could, of course, work out some sort of deal with him. Give him a taste, that sort of thing.”
“I had a stab at it—but he’s a lunatic! A madman! I mean, you have no idea. Besides being a repulsively mutated quasi-humanoid, he’s some kind of stim addict, half crazed on the stuff all the time. Not really someone you can make a deal with.”
Mordecai nodded once more. “Right. Well.” He smiled, putting on his best expression for bald-faced lying. “I will take the job . . . if we can come to financial terms. And of course you release Daphne to me.”
“I release her only when the job’s done, Mordecai,” Jasper said smugly, refilling his mug at the floating bot.
“Ah. How do I know she’s even alive and well? I need to see her, talk to her. If she’s all right, well treated—then . . . you have a deal.”
Of course, Mordecai planned to do nothing of the sort. It looked impossible to pull off, even with a small army. Let alone one man.
His plan was simply to rescue Daphne. But before he could do that, he had to know where she was.
“Very well,” said Jasper, belching. “Ripper! Show him the woman! But make sure he’s unarmed before he goes down there—check him closely! And take four good men with you! Take no chances with him!”
• • •
Daphne Kuller was stalking back and forth in the cell, pacing like a caged panther. The sight of her in Jasper’s jail cell made Mordecai angry.
Very, very angry.
But he kept the rage down; kept it coiled, inside him—for now.
“Daphne!” Mordecai called lightly, as he walked up between the armed guards. There were four Marauders about him; two behind, two in front. He smiled and waved at her as if they were meeting for a first date.
She stopped pacing, and stared at him. “You’ve come!” She snorted. “Took you long enough.”
Mordecai nodded and paused in front of the cell. He glanced back at Ripper, who was standing near the door, shotgun in hand, frowning. Then he looked back at Daphne.
“Any thoughts, Daph?” he asked, smiling urbanely.
She shrugged, as if she didn’t know what he had in mind. But she’d noticed his eyes flicking first toward Bloodwing, perched on his shoulder, and then to the Tediore Cobra assault rifle the Marauder on his left was carrying. He noticed that the Marauder, a big Bruiser in a full mask and gloves, also had a sonic key on his hip . . . this might be the jailer.
“Volto!” Commander Ripper called, from behind them. “Be careful! Don’t stand so near his—”
But it was too late. Mordecai was hissing an order at Bloodwing—who was up, twisting in the air, clawing at Volto’s eyes. Volto screamed and put a hand to his eyes and Mordecai was already jerking the Cobra out of Volto’s other hand, turning it on two other guards, opening up before they realized what was happening. He hammered them at close range, as the fourth one tried to shoot at Bloodwing, only to get Mordecai’s gun butt cracking into his teeth. The fourth guard went down—and Volto was still standing, screaming, blinded. At the other end of the hall, Ripper was cursing and aiming his shotgun.
Mordecai grabbed Volto, spun him around, and stepped behind him—the blast from the shotgun caught the blood-faced guard in the chest, two rounds ripping into him. Mordecai fired the last of his clip past the dying man toward Ripper, hitting his shield—it flared with the impact and Ripper stepped back through the door, shouting for backup. Mordecai turned to grab the sonic key off the crumpling Volto, before the man had quite hit the floor, and triggered it toward the cell door. The lock clicked, the door swung open, and Daphne rushed out of the cell, in the same swooping motion snatching up an autopistol and a shotgun from two of the fallen Marauders as Bloodwing flew shrieking overhead, blood dripping from her claws and beak. Mordecai grabbed a couple of grenades off Volto’s body and followed Daphne down the hall.
Mordecai and Daphne jumped over bodies, heading for the door at the end of the hall. Mordecai tried the sonic key on the door Ripper had lo
cked behind him—and it clicked within itself, swung slightly open.
“Hold tight,” he said. Daphne stepped back as he activated a grenade and tossed it neatly through the opening so it bounced off the wall beyond the door, and rattled down the hall that opened to their left. There was an explosion and the sound of men yelling in pain.
Mordecai was already rushing through, reloading the Cobra. He fired from the hip, killing one Marauder, splashing his brains against the wall. Two others were dead, blown apart by the grenade that had left a bloodied burn spot on the walls and a pall of gray smoke. Down the hall, he saw the shadows of men coming from a cross-corridor. Commander Ripper’s backup had arrived.
“Let’s try this way,” Daphne said, pointing at a closed door just past the explosion marks on the walls.
They ran toward it, Bloodwing fluttering along behind, as Ripper led a group of gunmen into sight at the cross-corridor. Daphne fired with both hands, and her rounds sent men staggering, but unhurt—they were Nomads protected by shields. Mordecai was already tossing the other grenade.
“Back—grenaaaade!” Ripper shouted, and the men scrambled almost atop one another to get back around the corner.
Daphne was jerking the door on the right open as the grenade went off—shrapnel whined off the door as she and Mordecai and Bloodwing ducked through it, then started up a stone stairway.
“Near as I can figure it,” Mordecai panted, taking the steps three at a time, “the Buzzard pad is up this way, this side of the building—so maybe luck’ll be with us.”
They made it two flights up, coming out of the basement level, and then two Marauders pushed through the door at the next level, shouting obscenities and firing sloppily down the stairs. Bullets cracked and whizzed past Mordecai as he pushed Daphne back and rushed at the Marauders, the Cobra blazing, bullets flying.
Bloodwing had flown on ahead of him, was flapping at their eyes, scratching and pecking, confusing them. Mordecai’s burst blew a Marauder’s knee out of his leg; the man went down, tumbling past Mordecai to be dispatched by Daphne. The other one was trying to shoot Bloodwing—he had a shield, but Mordecai was close enough to jam the gun muzzle through the Marauder’s relatively weak force-field. He pulled the trigger, aiming upward under the man’s chin—the Marauder’s face disappeared, along with the top of his head.
Gasping, heart thudding, Mordecai found he was on a landing that opened onto another, narrower stairway. “Come on!”
He ran through the door, Bloodwing flapping up ahead of him, Daphne close behind. There were shouts from below—he thought he heard Ripper’s voice issuing orders.
But the spiral staircase suddenly came to an end at the helipad, where a double-rider Buzzard sat, guarded by only one Marauder.
Bloodwing was tearing at the man’s face, so that the guard staggered backward and fell off the helipad platform, crashing heavily onto the street below.
“Good girl!” Mordecai shouted, running toward the flying machine.
“You talking to me or your real girlfriend with the wings?” Daphne asked as she rushed up to the small helicopter.
“My escape plan,” Mordecai said, ignoring the gibe, “involves you being able to fly this damn thing! Can you do it?” He tossed the Cobra aside—no room for it in the Buzzard.
Daphne was shrugging as she climbed into the chopper. “Um . . . probably I can fly it. It’s kind of like a Surikkian Tumble Flyer . . . I’m checked out on those . . . more or less.”
They were both settling into the dual cockpit under the double rotors of the small open-air chopper. The seat belts automatically slithered over them of their own accord and hooked into place. The vehicle had a shield, Mordecai noted, as the force-field came to life, creating a transparent bubble of purplish energy around them. Looked like a weak shield, though. Still, there was a down-angled machine gun mounted between the two bucket seats. He quickly grasped how the machine gun was operated—and by then Daphne had the engine whirring, the rotors spinning, kicking up a column of wind around them. Bloodwing screeched and flew up, to wait for them on high—and as Daphne pulled back on the stick the Buzzard tilted forward . . . then plunged toward the street below.
A rocket shell flashed past them, exploding on the helipad above them as they almost crashed headlong into the street. Guardsmen ran shouting to get out of their way. Bullets and Eridian blasts cut past . . .
“Daphne—?” Mordecai said, between gritted teeth.
Then she got the hang of it, and the Buzzard grabbed the air, got some vertical lift going, and tilted forward, rising, up and up, till Daphne shifted it into horizontal flight and they headed toward the outskirts of the city.
Mordecai shook his head in stunned amazement. Had they really done it? It seemed they had. Luck, and skill, and more luck.
Another rocket flashed past. He watched it go, missing—and then saw it turn in midair, arcing back at them again as the Buzzard rose up and up. It was some kind of heatseeker.
“Mordecai—!”
“I see it, Daph!” He was already clutching the joystick of the machine gun control, and a set of red-line holo-projected crosshairs danced in his line of sight. He instinctively fixed the crosshairs on the nose of the oncoming rocket and squeezed the trigger, keeping the crosshairs tracking the warhead as it came. The rocket was hit squarely, exploding too far away to wreck them—but close enough that the Buzzard rollicked in the shock wave and flak sparked in the chopper’s weakening shield. More gunfire sang into the shield from below and he saw the energy flickering, threatening to burn out; but now Daphne was lofting them high over Gunsight, and they were angling off to the north, so that the shooters were losing their fix on the Buzzard.
“By Skagzilla’s Arse—we really pulled it off!” Mordecai said.
“We’re not home free yet!” Daphne shouted, over the noise of the engine. Her hair was fluttering about in the wash from the rotors. “And where are we going to go? We can’t go home. He’s going to come after us! That megalomaniacal son of a hive is all about . . . wait. What—?”
The Buzzard was slowing, slowing . . . and stopping in midair.
“We losing power?” Mordecai asked, his mouth going dry.
Looking down he could see the outskirts of Gunsight below. There were gun emplacements turning their way now.
“No, no,” Daphne said. They both looked up at the rotors, saw the blades still whipping around. “It’s just—maybe the directional controls were damaged by incoming . . . uh-oh.”
Now the Buzzard was turning around . . . and heading back the way they’d come. Daphne was struggling with the control stick . . . but it moved in her grip with a life of its own.
“Oh no,” Mordecai muttered.
“It’s being remote-controlled!” she yelled. “They’ve got some kind of lock on it now! It must have a home-base override . . . dammit!”
“We gotta find where the signal’s coming from! If we can break off the antenna, maybe you can get control back!”
But they couldn’t find the control antenna, and in less than a minute they were flying, quite involuntarily, above the main avenue, back over the stronghold’s walls, and down toward the helipad. Mordecai tried aiming the machine gun—but it was locked up. Frozen. Would not turn or fire. The shield flickered and went out.
Mordecai shouted a quick warning to Bloodwing to stay out of reach and then they were landing on the helipad.
Where Commander Ripper waited with Boss Jasper and three other men, all of them grinning.
A few moments later, they’d landed on the helipad. Their seat belts unhooked themselves and retracted. Seeing five powerful weapons pointed at them, Daphne dropped her pistol and put her hands up over her head.
“Heeeyyy, hi again, you guys!” she said, cheerfully.
Mordecai glared at her. But then, he figured, what else could she say?
“And now,” Boss Jasper was saying smugly, “we can show you the lady’s real accommodations.”
As he spoke, he
led them through an armored door into a fairly large circular room at the top of one of the stronghold’s towers.
Both Mordecai and Daphne had their arms tightly shackled behind them.
“You sure that bloody-beaked vulture thing of his isn’t around?” Ripper asked, looking at the other Nomad striding behind Mordecai and Daphne.
The Nomad, his face scarred, one eye missing, grunted assent. “Flew off. Gone.”
They stepped into the big circular room and Jasper turned toward them, waving his arms about him grandly. “You see? I had it waiting for her all along!” he crowed gleefully.
It was ostensibly comfortable in appearance—a large circular room with a circular bed in the center, a pleasant heat emanating from small vents in the curved metal walls. At intervals, in place of windows, hung a few digital paintings looping through images of the homeworld and other planets. Occasionally they showed Pandora seen from orbit. There was a table and chair, with a lamp on it, beside the bed. A wine pitcher stood on the table, along with wineglasses and cutlery. “Bathroom’s through there,” Jasper said, pointing at the only other door. “Has a shower, the works. Of course, if the floor trigger goes off, why, it goes off there, too, and everything lifts out of the way and . . . well . . . there’s really no escape then. We’ll have to replace the bed and the other little pieces of furniture, if that happens. But as you can see, Mordecai, it’s pretty comfortable. She’ll be well fed, and she won’t be chained up. There are holofilms to watch, books can be ordered on this screen here, and—”
“I wonder if you’d be good enough to back the docent tour up,” Daphne said. “Just to the part about the floor trigger. What’s that about?”
“Oh, that?” Jasper beamed at her, teeth sparkling. He reached into a pocket, took out something that looked like an old-fashioned remote control, but with a few crystalline oddments added. “This, of course, is what I used to direct your stolen Buzzard to bring you back to us. It’s good for lots of things. Look . . .”