Borderlands_Gunsight

by John Shirley

  It was a smart move, Mordecai thought. The cannon—clearly going to explode, could put out a big shock wave. But Reamus fired on it before it got more than halfway to him, and it detonated in a ball of blue-white fire.

  Fragments of the cannon spun, trailing smoke, some of them striking Reamus but kept back by his shield.

  “Good try,” Mordecai muttered. “But that’s a powerful shield.” He fired the rocket launcher—the rockets struck Reamus’s armor, doing little visible damage.

  “I gotta shield of my own and he’s made me angry, very, very angry!” Brick snarled.

  “No, Brick, hold on—let’s see if we can get Daphne to—”

  But Brick was no longer listening. He was going berserker—and rushing down the hill toward Reamus.

  The big mutant stalked up toward Brick on his jointed steel legs, past the smoking remains of the Eridian cannon—as Brick charged him.

  Mordecai tried to pick out a target on Reamus he could hit without catching Brick in the blast. But it was an awkward angle.

  Brick leapt in the air, straight toward Reamus—and was met in midair by the convergent tracks of energy from Reamus’s weapons, a tripartite fist of pure energy hitting Brick in the midriff.

  Brick roared in pain and fury as the blast knocked him backward, shorting out his shield and sending him rolling, stunned.

  Mordecai used the opportunity to fire, hitting Reamus high on his body—but still the mutant’s shield held. The Living Armor rocked back at the impact, front two legs off the ground, but the four rear limbs gripped the slope firmly and held him upright. He fired at Mordecai, who was just able to leap aside before the blast struck the place he’d been a split second before.

  Mordecai got to his feet in time to see that Brick was up, shieldless, his chest charred. But he was stalking down the hillside toward Reamus.

  Reamus waited till Brick was in reach—and then slashed out with his front legs, stabbing into Brick’s right chest and left shoulder, impaling him. Mordecai could see the metal talons thrusting out from Brick’s back, the wounds gushing blood.

  Brick bellowed in pain and thrashed on the impaling limbs—but he was being lifted off his feet, skewered. Reamus aimed his three weapons at Brick . . . the cannon, and the two hand weapons . . .

  Mordecai fired the rocket launcher twice, and his aim was good: the first rocket struck the cannon, the second struck Reamus’s chest. The shield protected the big four-armed mutant but the rockets jolted him enough that he only hit Brick indirectly. Still, Brick had been impaled, and now he was struck by a glancing energy beam. He was knocked off the skewers, to fall, rolling to one side, out cold. Probably dying, if he wasn’t dead already.

  The fury that had receded in Mordecai since finding Daphne alive now resurged, roaring up in him.

  “Come on, you sick freakish skag turd!” Mordecai yelled, firing the rocket launcher at Reamus. He used up his last rockets, firing them as quick as he could, so that flame and smoke and dust surrounded the big mutant, hiding him from sight.

  Mordecai couldn’t see him. Maybe I got through to him that time. He dropped the empty rocket launcher and plucked two grenades—and then Reamus stalked from the pall of smoke, coming into view, scarcely marked by Mordecai’s attack.

  Reamus crowed with laughter and came quickly up the hill, jointed metal legs climbing rapidly and efficiently. Mordecai tossed the grenades, reached for two more, tossed those, too—and then Reamus’s tripartite energy discharge struck him.

  Mordecai’s shield held, long enough to keep him alive, but he was flung backward, tossed through the air, spinning like a crash test dummy. He fell onto his back, the wind knocked out of him, gasping. The sky seemed to melt overhead; the clouds swam with malevolent faces. The ground felt like mush beneath him.

  He tried to sit up—but his arms and legs didn’t want to respond. “Daphne . . . ,” he called, hoarsely.

  Where was she? What was she doing?

  A shadow fell over him. A looming shape blocked out the sky. It was Reamus. The huge mutant stood over Mordecai in his Living Armor, his laugh booming across the plain. “Your little girlfriend has run away, Mordecai! I will impale you, again and again! I think I can keep you alive for a half hour, as I stab you through and through—perhaps more!”

  Lousy way to die.

  Mordecai, still lying on his back, fumbled for grenades, couldn’t find any . . .

  Reamus rocked back on his armor’s four rear legs and raised his front pincers over Mordecai, preparing to stab down, his eyes bright with anticipation, grin madly wide. “They’ve all left you, Mordecai! Prepare to die friendless, prepare to die . . . alone!”

  Then an engine was heard—and Reamus looked up from Mordecai, distracted by the approaching vehicle.

  Daphne! She’s come . . .

  But it was an outrider that pulled up beside the fallen Mordecai. “He’s not alone!” piped the Claptrap.

  “Extra . . . ?” Mordecai croaked. He turned his head and saw the little robot at the wheel of the outrider. It jumped springily out and rolled toward Reamus.

  “What is this?” Reamus demanded.

  “Mordecai . . . get to the outrider,” Extra said. “Quick.”

  Mordecai tried moving again, and found he could turn on his belly. He managed to get up on all fours and crept toward the outrider.

  “This is your friend!” Reamus laughed. “Ho, that’s a supreme joke, Mordecai! A Claptrap!”

  Mordecai reached the outrider, pulled himself up to the driver’s side, made himself climb over it, though his whole body ached with every motion.

  “Don’t do it now, Extra!” said a woman’s voice. Elenora Dufty. “Not unless you’re closer to Mordecai!”

  “Another voice—one I recognize,” said Reamus. One of the mutant’s metal legs bent and picked up the robot, lifted it up for closer examination. “It’s that woman who helped me design this armor!”

  “Yes. Your armor has a flaw,” Extra said. Its voice was uncharacteristically gloomy. “The shield’s frequency lapses slightly every four hundredth cycle.”

  “And what of it, no one could . . . wait, what are you doing?”

  Mordecai was settling into the seat, putting the vehicle in gear. His head still spun but he felt more in command of his limbs now—and he backed the outrider up.

  “Stop!” Reamus said, firing a blast toward the outrider.

  The blast struck to one side, merely rocking the vehicle and Mordecai backed up faster.

  “Don’t do it, Extra—he’s getting out of range!” shrieked Elenora.

  Reamus lifted the Claptrap, perhaps thinking to throw it at Mordecai.

  Extra’s voice came out of the ECHO on the outrider. “Good-bye, Mordecai! You did have one friend after all!”

  And, choosing the moment with digital exactitude, Extra detonated itself.

  Mordecai had to look away from the white-hot mushroom cloud rising from the place where Reamus had stood. The shock wave lifted the outrider up and then dropped it down again on its rear wheels. It seemed to hang there a moment—as Mordecai held on to the steering wheel as tightly as he could—and then slammed down on all four wheels again.

  Mordecai’s teeth clacked with the impact, but after a moment he realized the outrider was still functional. He backed it away from the growing fireball. The explosive had been a small tactical nuke, and the fireball wasn’t overwhelmingly big, but it was radioactive.

  Something came whistling down and crashed on the ground just in front of him, hitting with an ugly cracking sound. It was Reamus’s severed head, the eyes staring blankly into eternity.

  “Thanks, Extra,” Mordecai muttered.

  He turned the vehicle around and headed for the outrunner.

  Which wasn’t there. It was gone. A few moments later Bloodwing squawked and landed on his shoulder.

  “She sent you away, huh?” Mordecai asked, pulling up in the spot where the outrunner had been parked.

  “Errr.”

>   Mordecai’s ears were still ringing from the blasts; he could hear his own heartbeat thunking erratically away. He peered at the horizon . . . and couldn’t see the outrunner anywhere.

  Mordecai sighed, and looked in the back of the outrider. There were four med hypos in a box behind the front seat. He gave himself one, and, feeling at least physically better, turned the outrider and drove back around the edge of the blast zone from the detonation. He was going to need extra Zed meds to deal with a dose of radiation, he suspected.

  He came up to the edge of Sudden Canyon from a different angle, parked the outrider, and, taking the rest of the meds along, found a tumble of fallen rock, into the canyon, that would get him down to Brick. Mordecai climbed down to him, half expecting to find Brick dead.

  But most of the blast had missed Brick—he’d been below the rim of the canyon—and Mordecai was relieved to see the hulking Vault hunter getting unsteadily to his feet when Mordecai got there. Blood trickled from his wounds and he was deadly pale. “Where’s he at?” Brick mumbled, swaying, his face blackened, his skin peeling. “Gonna kill him. Where’s Reamus?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “I’m gonna kick your ass for . . . killing him . . . I wanted to . . . to do it . . .”

  “I didn’t do it. Extra did. Blew himself up. Sit down and take your Zed meds like a big boy . . .”

  He administered the hypo, and when Brick had recovered, they trudged in silence back up the hill to the outrider. A couple of black crossbow bolts flew from the shadows, arcing down at them, but both missed by several meters.

  As they walked up to the outrider, Mordecai remarked, casually, “She and Fluron took our money. All that we had left . . .”

  “Yeah? Let’s find ’em and take it back.”

  “Don’t think that’s going to be doable. I got another plan. Let’s go back to Sanctuary and get drunk,” Mordecai said.

  Brick nodded sagely.

  “Now you’re talkin’ sense,” Brick told him.

  • • •

  Daphne had felt dull, detached, all the way here. She’d scarcely eaten on the long trip.

  It was a windy morning, out here, as she stood on the tarmac at the spaceport outside Fyrestone, Fluron beside her, gazing back at the access road. She half expected to see a rooster tail of dust from an approaching vehicle—to see Mordecai roaring up the road to her, desperate to stop her from leaving the planet . . .

  But there was no motion on the road. It was empty. A rakk circled over the horizon. There was no other motion in that direction.

  Mordecai probably wasn’t coming.

  On the way here, Daphne had begun to suspect that Moxxi had lied to her about Mordecai—about his taking up with her.

  But, after all that had happened Daphne needed to know for sure. If he came after her, followed her here, stopped her from leaving—then she’d know . . .

  Fluron cleared his throat. “Ship’s signaling. We’ve got five minutes to board or they’re leaving without us.”

  “Just . . . give me a minute.”

  She waited. She watched.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have left him out there on the plains.

  Fluron sighed. “Here.” He handed her his wrist ECHO. “See if you can raise him.”

  She took the ECHO and opened a general frequency. Anyone within twenty klicks would hear it.

  “Mordecai? It’s Daphne. You there?”

  The comm device crackled with static, an electronic mockery.

  Fluron cleared his throat again. “Three-minute warning from the ship . . . that blue light on it there. Next light is red—and we’ll be stuck here. Might be a long while till the next ship out . . .”

  Daphne chewed her lower lip. She tried the ECHO again. “Mordecai? It’s Daphne . . . I’m at the spaceport. I shouldn’t have left you but Moxxi said . . .”

  “You’re talking to the void,” Fluron said gently. “He’s not listening.”

  “I guess not.” She handed the ECHO back to him. “Well. That’s that. I’ll send him a note from the ship . . .”

  Fluron patted her shoulder. “Come on, Daph.”

  She turned reluctantly from the road. They hurried toward the orbiter shuttle and up its ramp. “You’ll like this planet we’re going to,” Fluron told her. “Great salons. Great nightclubs. So much fun! Not like Pandora . . .”

  • • •

  Mordecai had been back in the tower he’d shared with Daphne for a week, still hoping she’d come back to him, when he got the message from her.

  The printout text had come in that morning on the desk comm.

  Now he stood on the balcony, overlooking the cold, barren land under his tower, drinking from a flask, already drunk at noon as he reread the message for the third time. Bloodwing, on his shoulder, looked at the message, too, as if she were reading it herself.

  Mordecai.

  Moxxi told me you and her were making plans. Maybe it was true, maybe not. If it wasn’t—why didn’t you come after me? It doesn’t matter now.

  I was crazy to stay on this lunatic planet all this time anyway. Only reason I stayed was for you. Thought I could be as much of an adrenaline junkie as you are. But I’m burned out.

  If you get tired of that bitch and you want your share of the money, I’ll save it for you. Me and Fluron will be hanging out at the farthest colony out from the homeworld. Dimstar Three. You head there, you find me, you can have your money. And maybe you can have me, too.

  Love, kind of,

  Daphne Kuller

  Mordecai snorted. “Not a chance, Daphne. Believe that crazy Moxxi over me.” He shook his head. “Forget you.”

  He needed a new mission. Something to take his mind off women.

  Brick, who had taken up with Moxxi, had wanted him to come to her new arena, and fight on his side in team battles out there. Promised him good money.

  But it was going to be a long time before Mordecai could stand to see Moxxi again.

  Leave Pandora?

  Mordecai shook his head. He was too damaged by this world to ever leave it.

  He was just another Pandoran adrenaline junkie. She was right about that.

  He would be useless anywhere else. At least on Pandora he could use his talents. And a man should do what he’s good at.

  Mordecai finished the flask, spindled the message up, and stuck it in the bottle. Then he tossed the flask out over the wasteland, drew his pistol, tracked the bottle—and fired.

  The bottle shattered halfway to the ground.

  EPILOGUE

  Marcus Ends His Tale to a Captive Audience

  Marcus’s voice was hoarse, and the sun was coming up as he finished the story. Of all the children, only Larna was still awake and listening. She was still listening raptly, by the embers of the dying fire.

  “But, Marcus—what about Feena?” Larna demanded.

  “Who?”

  “Feena!”

  “Oh—the little girl? Oh, well, Brick couldn’t stand Moxxi for long. Moxxi kept trying to talk him into marrying her. So he slipped out and headed down to Krom’s Canyon, found the Nomads. He saw Feena again. She’s fine, lives there with them. Happily ever after, and all that.”

  “Really? Happily ever after?”

  Did anyone live happily ever after, on this planet? But he smiled and said, “Sure! Did you like the story?”

  “Yes but . . . some of it was not appropriate for me.”

  “Not what?”

  Skeros sat up, yawning and stretching. “Appropriate, Marcus. She’s from the Dalrymple colony. They’re very . . . civilized there. Her dad ran out of money and tried to come out here to get a new stake. Too civilized to survive here.”

  “Oh. Well, there aren’t any ‘appropriate’ stories on this planet, kid. Lie down and get some rest, Larna. Skeros—you keep your bunch here. I’m gonna go check on something.”

  Tired but wanting to get something important done, Marcus left the compound and walked alone over to the Fyrestone Mission Boa
rd. He found the writing implements in his pocket and posted a mission. Then he returned to the compound. The kids had all gone to sleep now . . . and he stretched out beside them and caught a long nap.

  Late afternoon, they were all up, wandering into Marcus’s shop, where he was repairing a rocket launcher. “What do you bratlings want? More food, I suppose?”

  “Just wanted to say thanks, for not killing us,” Skeros said.

  “And for the food,” said Larna.

  “Yeah. About food. Listen—you can’t stay here with me. But I got a big shed you guys can fix up. And there’s a business I always wanted to start here . . . Maybe you can help . . .”

  “What kind of business?” Skeros asked.

  “Barbecue. Skag meat, rakk meat, scythid. You cook ’em right, they’re good. We’ll import the sauce. I’ll teach you bratlings how to cook it, you sell it, give me a cut.”

  “Where we going to get all that meat?” Skeros asked.

  A big man stepped into the front door. “You the one with the hunting job?” Brick asked.

  Marcus looked at him with surprise. “Brick? What you doing here? Thought you were in Krom’s Canyon.”

  “Sometimes.” Brick shrugged. “My Nomad partners and me are working up in this territory for now. I got a quarter ton of badass skag out here, for you. Lotta meat on it. Where’s my money?”

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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