by Ryder Stacy
Rahallah finished reading all the provisions of the draft and sat down to tumultuous applause from around the room. In an age of sham, this was perhaps the height to which lies and double dealing could be turned into a celebratory event.
Eighteen
Rona was the first to scale the top of the ridge and look down on the main eastern entrance to the subterranean world of Century City.
“Oh Rock, no,” she said with dismay to the Doomsday Warrior who came right behind her, when she saw what lay over the ridge where Century City should be. Rockson’s eyes narrowed with a sharp pain as he saw what had caused her outburst of grief. Carson Mountain, beneath which the Freefighting city had been built, was completely reshaped—much of its pine trees and plantlife burned to ash. Instead of a lofty snow-covered peak in front of them there was just a misshapen double hump of a much lower mountain, at least 300 feet shorter than their previous harboring peak.
“A nuke,” Rockson said bitterly as Lyons came up behind them and whistled through his teeth when he saw the damage. Rona sank into Rockson’s arms, heartbroken, trembling within his strong arms.
“I can’t believe it, I just can’t believe it,” she said stunned, over and over again.
“Don’t give up hope,” the Doomsday Warrior said, gritting his teeth, trying to sound optimistic. “There could be many survivors—C.C. has numerous lower levels, heavily shielded by the iron ore of the mountain. Let’s circle around to the other side to one of the emergency entrances. Perhaps the damage isn’t as severe there.”
They spent nearly an hour and a half circling around the wide mountain until they came to a grove of bent and twisted pines, but at least not burned to ashes. The brunt of the blast had clearly been borne by the opposite slope.
“The entrance—where is it?” Rona said, running forward to what should have been a camouflaged opening. A wall of boulders and rock filled the space, cool air from the lower temperatures within streaming out between the crevices. Rock found a piece of twisted metal on the ground nearby and used it as a makeshift shovel, digging away at the obstruction. Rona and Lyons joined in and the three of them scooped frantically away at the silt and stone from where they remembered the western entrance to be.
After three hours of painstaking, backbreaking work they at last managed to channel out a small entranceway through the bomb-created debris. Rock squeezed through, instantly covered with layers of black clinging silt. After about thirty feet of crawling on his stomach he reached an old iron door—an entrance that hadn’t been used for fifty years, sealed with a fist-sized padlock. He pulled out his Turgenev revolver, courtesy of a dead Nazi, and shielding his eyes, fired three slugs into the round steel. It dropped by his hand like a dead bird as the vibrations of the shots sent down a curtain of choking dust over Rockson’s head. He pushed with all his weight against the rusted door and after much creaking it swung open, revealing fetid darkness on the other side.
He slid inside, pulling out a flashlight he had fortuitously snatched from Goerringrad before the Narga had done their own version of urban rehabilitation on the Nazi city. He flashed the narrow beam around—a long winding tunnel extended off into the distance, the walls still raw rock, unfinished as the other caverns and corridors of C.C. were. Rona and Lyons squeezed through the opening and joined him, the three of them barely able to fit into the narrow space of the ancient entranceway. The echo of their footsteps on the cave floor was the only sound as they edged cautiously through the passage filled with eerie shadows from Rock’s bouncing light.
“Anyone here,” the Doomsday Warrior yelled out from time to time. But his cry was followed only by “Heeeerrrree, Heeerreeee” in echoing crescendos that bounced back and forth between the tight walls and died out.
“Are they all dead?” Rona whispered fearfully.
“Don’t even think it, Rona,” Rockson replied firmly. “This is an old tunnel, hasn’t been used for eons. It could well be sealed at the other end. If it is we’ll just have to blast our way through that too. Then—only then—will we know for sure.”
Rockson’s words were quickly borne out as they came to the sealed end of the stone path. Lyons and Rona backed off around a bend as Rockson took the two grenades he had “borrowed” from the Germans and pulled the pins, setting them against another steel door. He flew backward diving to the ground after about thirty feet. The concussion from the blast set his head ringing like a church bell, but when he looked up, the door had been knocked off its bolted frame on one side. They rushed forward and pushed against the thick steel for nearly five minutes, at last creating just enough of an opening to squeeze through.
“Hey, what’s that?” Rona said, the moment they were on the other side, inside a dark cavern filled with crates of machine parts. “Someone’s shouting. Voices—human voices!”
“Who goes there?” nervous voices rang out. through the dust that the grenades had stirred up, some yards away.
“It’s us, Rockson and Rona,” the Doomsday Warrior yelled out at the top of his lungs, not wanting to get shot down by overzealous guards after all they had been through. From out of the swirling cloud of black soot, five figures emerged, Liberator automatic rifles pointed straight at the filthy Freefighters. Rock recognized the wavy red hair of Shannon, Intelligence Chief Rath’s right hand, in a flash.
“Hey don’t shoot,” the Doomsday Warrior said with a grin. “We’ve been through hell to get back here. I’m not in the mood for dying.”
“Rockson,” Shannon said, tearing off her face mask to protect from the grit and dust that hovered in the air. She rushed forward and hugged him, tears streaming down her face, and then turned to Rona, embracing her tightly. From out of the choking grit another figure walked forward, his rifle now pointing down.
“My God, Rockson, you’re alive,” Rath exclaimed. “We’d given up all hope.” The Doomsday Warrior had never been so happy to see the dour faced Intel Chief as he was at this moment. He felt a vibrant love for both of them, felt that he was home again.
“Rath—you’re still alive. What the hell happened here? We could see that a nuke was dropped. How many are still alive? Is the city still functioning?” The questions flew one after another from his grime-coated lips.
“Easy, easy,” Rath said with one of the few smiles Rockson had ever seen him make. “The bomb went off, and thank God it was a low-yield neutron device, about a thousand feet above Carson Mountain. From what we can figure out, it was a fluke. The technicians showed up at the last second here, just when some of Killov’s bomber fleet were about to saturate this whole section of the Rockies with N-bombs. The tech’s black beam weapons took out five of the bombers and then managed to wing the sixth. But as it crashed the pilot managed to release one of his little death eggs. It could have been worse,” Rath said softly, “a lot worse. At least we’re still here.”
“How many are alive?” Rockson asked nervously.
“We lost nearly half our people,” Rath said with obvious anguish. “Of those who are left, perhaps a quarter may or may not survive.”
“Dr. Shecter—my team?” Rock asked, nearly stuttering.
“Shecter’s alive, but he’s laid up for a while from the wounds he received at the Battle of Forrester Valley. Chen’s unhurt, so is McCaughlin. Detroit and Archer are both a little under the weather—radiation sickness I’m afraid. But we’re treating everyone with the science teams’ deradiation equipment—and it looks good—that’s all I know.”
“What’s the situation of Century City itself?” Rockson asked as Rona and Lyons stood by silently taking it all in.
“Critical!” Rath spat out. “We’ve been working like hell to shore up the most heavily damaged parts. Sections A through H are completely destroyed—but the rest of the city—though it’s not too pretty—is functional. Our main problem right now is that everything’s on secondary auxiliary power. The entire city is being run by just three gasoline powered generators. That’s why there are no lights anywhere in th
ose lower sections. Our main power units from the thermal generators under Ice Mountain have been damaged. We were just preparing to send a repair team down into the steam tunnels to see what the hell happened. But right now, in all honesty, I don’t know what the situation is.”
“Well, we’re here and ready to do what needs to be done,” Rockson said. “Oh by the way, let me introduce the newest Freefighter to join C.C.’s ranks—John Lyons.” The teenager stepped forward and shook hands with Shannon and then Rath who looked at him with a somewhat disturbed expression.
“Rock—you know we never allow new men in here unless they’ve been totally screened, given lie-detector tests, and all the rest of our psychological testing. Now more than ever we can’t afford to have any Red agents in here.” Lyons bristled at the Intel Chief’s words, his entire body stiffening.
“I’ll stake my life on this man,” Rockson said, putting his arm around the youth’s shoulders. “If you knew what he’s been through you wouldn’t have any questions.” Rath looked skeptical but didn’t challenge Rockson, but he’d make his own checks, even if they had to be done covertly, to make sure the kid was what he claimed to be.
They walked out of one of the city’s lowest levels and up the sloping ramps that led to the living and factory sections. The underground world which Rockson had come to know and love over the last twenty years was now a foreign, eerie place filled with rubble, clogging its underground walkways, lit only by greenish dim emergency lights.
“What the hell happened to both of you, anyway,” Rath asked as they moved into the main square of C.C.
“It’s a long, long story,” Rock said. “Some other time when we can sit around with a few drinks and laugh about it. Right now I’m not in a laughing mood.”
Rath stepped over to a figure digging out crates of rifles that had been completely covered with debris and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey big guy, I have some people I want you to meet.”
“No time, Rath,” the man answered without turning. “I’m—” His words stopped in midstream as he saw Rockson’s roughhewn face. He tried to speak but only incomprehensible stutterings came from McCaughlin’s wide lips. Then the words broke through his emotions.
“I knew it—I knew you weren’t dead, Rocky boy. Chen, Detroit—look who’s come to pay us a visit.” Two other men nearby, half buried in the wreckage stood up and their grim faces instantly brightened into huge smiles.
“Well, as I live and breathe,” Detroit gasped, jumping up and slamming his arm around Rock’s neck and running his dark fingers through Rona’s hair. Chen stood up and walked silently over to his closest friend.
“I hate to say it,” the Oriental warrior said softly, “but I thought you’d bought it this time. Detroit kept saying ‘No!’ but I had a sick feeling in my gut. I couldn’t feel your mind out there—anywhere—even in my deepest meditations.”
“I didn’t have a mind for a while, pal,” Rock said cryptically, “maybe that’s why.” The two men embraced and for the first time ever the Doomsday Warrior saw tears well up in Chen’s eyes. The martial arts Master quickly wiped them away, slightly embarrassed pretending that he had gotten something in his eye. Even Rath felt the strong emotions of the moment. For Rockson was more than just a friend and a warrior—he was a living symbol to all of them that the fight for freedom was possible. That all their efforts were not in vain. That men, men like themselves, like Rockson could make a difference even in the worst of circumstances. With Rock’s entrance on the scene the entire mood of the place changed. The tears, the blood, the pain was all in the past. Now there was a future again. A future brimming with hope.
Detroit took a look at Rock and Rona and Lyons. “You all need a rest, man. You look like something the dog dragged in.”
They went to the decontamination chambers and took off their clothes, undergoing the three-phase cleansing process of shower, sound waves and ultraviolet rays—emerging cleaner than any of them had been for days. Lyons was taken off to be given temporary quarters but Rona would not leave Rock’s side. They went to her room, undamaged, and lay down on the bed, bone tired and slept side by side, their arms around one another, for nearly 12 hours.
Refreshed by their first good sleep in a long time, and by their early morning lovemaking, Rona and Rock ate breakfast in the makeshift Century City dining room and then went to see Dr. Shecter. The chief scientist of the city, responsible for much of its advanced machinery and amenities, had been shot in the stomach by German troops near the very end of the Battle of Forrester Valley. The last time Rockson had seen him, the elderly scientist had been bleeding profusely from a stomach wound. Now they found him, remarkably cheerful as he sat up in his bed to greet the returning Freefighters.
“How the hell are you,” Shecter said with a broad grin. “We all thought you had ended up inside some large carnivore’s stomach. Already preparing a memorial plaque and all that rot.”
“Not yet,” the Doomsday Warrior replied, standing over the scientist’s bed in the hospital section which had been miraculously untouched by the blast that had devastated so much of the city. “Keep the plaque on hold, although I must confess I did come close to being a snack for some rather ugly but, as it turned out, nice fellows.”
“Yes, I’ll have to hear all about it later,” Shecter said, knowing there was little time for small talk in these perilous days. Rock waited for Shecter to say something about his condition, having been informed of the severity of the scientist’s wounds by the chief surgeon, Stronson.
“They got me good,” Shecter said with a smile. “In I fact I think I’m going to put in for some sort of medal for heroism under fire. The bullet apparently didn’t do its damage in my stomach other than making me able to eat only gruel for the last few weeks but in coming out the back, it severed my spinal cord. They tell me I’ll be confined to a wheelchair the rest of my life. For a younger man, I suppose, a sentence of depression, perhaps suicide. But for me, a man near the end of my days, anyway, it hardly seems to matter.” Shecter wiggled his hands. “Besides, I can still use these and my brain—however much is left up there in my declining years.”
Rona leaned over and kissed the white haired scientist on the cheek, wanting to show her deep feelings for him. For all the inhabitants of Century City had a place in their hearts for the scientist almost as large as the one they held for Rockson.
“Aw mush,” Shecter said, wiping his cheek like a schoolboy kissed by an aunt. “While you two have been out playing around in the countryside we’ve been busy putting our act together here. Rock, just so no tears come to those mismatched eyes, I want you to know that I’ve already begun designing power driven legs—hang a damned wheelchair. I didn’t see why an ambulatory servo-mechanism can’t be manufactured. In fact, maybe it’s a good thing that this happened to me. From the ideas I’m already getting, we might be able to do wonders for our wounded men—arm and leg injuries. Should have been shot years ago,” he said with a self-deprecating grin.
“Well, legs or not,” Rockson said concerned, “we need you. Every man and woman here is praying for your speedy recovery.”
“Spare me the histrionics,” Shecter said, propping himself up on his pillow with his still surprisingly strong arms. “How’s Rath doing as Interim President of C.C.? I must say I don’t get along with the man. Better your near-mute friend, that monstrous fellow Archer, was running things as far as I’m concerned. At least he has a heart—a human one at that.”
“Rath’s not that bad,” Rock said, “just a little on the hard boiled side.” Both of them had had their disputes, sometimes quite vehement with the Intelligence and Counter-Espionage Chief over the years. For Rath, in charge of all of the city’s security forces, wanted control, as much as possible over the comings and goings of the inhabitants, and a say in all new military and scientific planning. While Rock and Shecter visualized an open democratic society, much like the old America—otherwise, as far as both men were concerned, w
hat was the point, what was being saved. But the checks and balances that the different political factions of the city had on one another assured that the underground society did in fact function in a highly democratic manner—perhaps one of the freest societies that had ever existed.
“Actually, he’s doing a pretty good job, I have to admit that,” Rock added. “He’s already preparing a team to investigate the power outage from the thermal generators. Me and my boys along with some of your techs are going to go down there today. Rath dug up some of those suits your team created a few years ago—the heat shielding bulky things—remember? So, with some luck we should have the power on within 24 hours.”
“Yes, power,” Shecter said, his eyes focusing on the ceiling and his own plans for building the bionic appendages. “Yes, I’ll need power—lots of it—to get going on my new schematics. There’s much to do, much to—” He began getting agitated and coughed several times, lying back down on the bed.
“Slow down, big fellow,” Rock said, patting the gray-haired man on the shoulder. “Don’t reap your petri dish before it’s cultured,” he smiled at Shecter, quoting one of the scientist’s favorite aphorisms that he himself used at least five times a day on his science teams.
“Yeah, you’re right, Rock,” Shecter said, breathing out, trying to make himself relax. “I ain’t going nowhere. Just a couple more days and I’ll be on my feet. But listen, do me a favor—on the way out could you give a good karate kick or something to that Dr. Stronson so he won’t come in here and give me another one of those damned needles in my buttocks.”
Nineteen
There was a tremendous amount to be done to get Century City back into even a semblance of its previous high-tech functioning. At a meeting early that afternoon, Rath explained his main concerns as security director.