Gravewalkers: Dying Time

by Richard T. Schrader

  “Of course,” Carmen lied with a calm smile. “If you plan on checking my virginity too, I’m afraid Critias beat you to it.”

  “I’ll take your word for that,” the woman smiled back. “I also lost my virginity again this morning myself, shaved my legs too; being a road mechanic is not my only interest in life.” She paused for a moment as she blatantly admired Critias’ nudity and then she slapped him on his bare backside, “You’re both in clean health and good to go. My name is Penny, Penny Welder from the Banjo crew, not the other one in the Garden Building. Welcome to your almost new home.” She pointed the way, “Showers are through there and the clean wardrobe is next door.” With her task complete, Penny spun about then walked off to her other duties.

  Critias followed Penny’s clue to find the exit door that stood concealed behind a shelving unit that had blocked his view. They went out to discover a spacious subterranean chamber that was some fifty meters deep and over thirty meters wide with an impressively high ceiling, surprisingly so because they were completely underground. Sturdy columns supported the lofty roof at regular intervals. While the passage from the train tunnel had been crude, the hidden base that it entered into was anything but primitive. The great chamber was clearly an engineering marvel that made up a large part of the monument’s foundation. The room had once been some sort of tourist attraction that King Louie’s Foragers had long since gutted of its original intent as they made it into their survivalist bunker. The former museum had a new life that served as their secure castle that was safe from ghouls and completely hidden out of their malevolent sight.

  The decontamination showering area was directly ahead in the near corner of the Castle. A brief inspection revealed that the community toilets were behind them on the opposite side. As they entered the shower room, they kept their pistols with them. The showers put forth plenty of steaming hot water from a boiler and there was an abundant supply of soaps and shampoos available.

  “It wouldn’t be legal back home to feed people to the infected,” Carmen told him conversationally while she lathered.

  He realized that as well and from it grasped her larger point. Critias had commented before how absurd it was that King Louie could survive in a major city with his inferior era’s technology. They were not surviving by virtue of technology; rather the Foragers were creatures of excellent habits with no tolerance for incompetence. “I suspect that has been part of our problem,” Critias told Carmen. “Would Private Carlson have managed to wander around this place at night with infection cooking his brain so badly that he was drunk from it? I don’t think so. Colonel Walker’s clerk didn’t even wear a gun and here we have to shower with one.”

  She asked about an unrelated topic, “Do you think Penny is pretty?”

  “Very,” he admitted since he knew she would catch him in a lie if he bothered to try. “Why do you ask?”

  She explained, “Her pheromones smelled like she wants you in that way and I want to know if you feel the same after knowing that.”

  He was still uncertain about how dangerous Carmen was with all her behavior-limiting directives no longer functional. If she was going to hurt people during irrational emotional flare-ups, he wanted to know sooner rather than too late. He asked, “Would you be jealous if I did want her?”

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “If the thought I had about twisting her head around backwards when she was touching you is a sign of jealousy, then it’s possible. I felt that same inclination before when you first had sexual intercourse with me without my consent. I don’t think jealousy motivated me into wanting to terminate your life then. When you first started raping me, the directives commanded that I comply cheerfully with your needs. While the inhibitor is actively supplanting my free will, it’s difficult to know what my own thoughts are.” She considered it deeply, “Perhaps her touching you made me want to stop her from violating you sexually.”

  After he heard Carmen describe how he had touched her as rape, Critias felt so ashamed he genuinely thought he might become sick. At no time in the past had he ever paused to consider that the android restraints trapped Carmen’s mind behind enslavement directives that forced her to seem to enjoy the scurrilous way he had handled her. One of the first things that Critias had ever done was the licentious act of feeling Carmen’s breasts when he wondered if they would seem real enough. Critias had been so entirely out of touch with reality that in his mind he had worried she would feel too plastic or synthetic. From the first moment he had seen her, Carmen had been an irresistible temptation and of course, it was common practice to have sex with your own android. After he heard her call it rape while her true thoughts were to twist his head off, Critias felt such self-loathing. It felt even worse because the whole issue took him completely by surprise. That he could have treated her so wickedly and also been so blind to it all caused Critias’ false pride as a marshal of moral excellence to deflate into a state of execration.

  As he turned off his showerhead to leave, Critias said, “Part of me wishes your directives were back on; that way, I would at least have a chance to prove to you that I would never hurt you like that again. As things are, it will only seem like I have changed because I’m afraid of you twisting my head around backwards, which I suppose I am.”

  Carmen finished rinsing then followed Critias to the adjacent locker room where they found enough new clothing to outfit an army. The Foragers preferred leathers and chemical resistant materials that offered suitable protection against bites, scratches, and the blood splatter that came from shooting the creatures. The abundant variety of antique clothing mesmerized Carmen and she wanted to explore through it all to find things that appealed to her newly discovered concept of personal fashion taste. Eventually she selected a form-fitting body suit of synthetic rubber all in lustrous gray with central vertical striping of yellow on the front and back. The manufacturer had made it for fashionable wave surfers but the material was also ideal to prevent scratches and it repelled infected splatter from battle with the fallen.

  “I just love polymerized chloroprene,” she said in delight, “and it’s just my size.” She put it on over her bare skin and it fit like paint. With a pose she asked, “Isn’t it fantastic?” She wanted Critias’ approval. Even though she had wounded him deeply and rightfully with her earlier comments, her mood showed only a deep fondness for him, which in context only made him feel worse. She told him, “This material is corrosion resistant, electrically insolating, and repellent to chemicals.” Carmen examined herself in a mirror where she noticed the costume left little of her figure to the imagination, “Do you think it’s too revealing?”

  “It doesn’t hide your charms,” he admitted while he admired the prurient truth of it. “I think you look even more beautiful.”

  Carmen dashed over to hug him with exuberance, “Now we need to find you something. I want everyone to see how fine my man is.”

  Her admission that he was still her man was a great relief to Critias since he dreaded the thought of losing her. He was glad to indulge her fashion game, not only to please her, but because he felt she was entitled to it, like she made up for having missed her chance to grow up normally. Carmen did have good taste when it came to his wardrobe. She dressed him in civilian clothes that would have been quite fashionable before the Outbreak yet antiquated on the space stations.

  Support crews in the rail tunnel unloaded the cargo from the vehicles Fat Jack’s Foragers brought back. The road teams had collected all manner of supplies from wherever they had found them. The decontamination crews cleaned those vehicles then the mechanics made sure they were in perfect working order.

  Fat Jack demanded constant professionalism and attention to detail from everyone under his command. He assigned someone to take personal responsibility for every task and he expected them to report their success to him afterward. They frequently heard Jack bellow and curse while he made certain that all his people paid attention to what they did.

  Jack per
sonally supervised the unloading of Critias’ truck then delivered all the contents to the mudroom without any close inspection of the contents. His intention was to ensure that the extraordinary new arrivals to their community took no offense over the notion that he had robbed them of their rightful possessions. Critias had offered to mingle his food and other consumables with the public pantry while he kept personal charge of his crates that contained technology like the parts for the new android and his weapons. Jack would have Critias present to pass along any contribution by his own hand.

  When the work was complete, all the crews filtered in through the mudroom and then on to the showers. The delicious smell of roasted geese wafted about the place by the time that everyone was clean and that scent lured them into the second hall that lay opposite the way to the rail tunnel. The Back Hall was half-again larger than the entry hall, but instead of being a simple rectangle, it was an exotic architecture like concentric arcs. It contained the kitchens and dining tables, but those only occupied a portion of the ample floor space. The hall also contained a vast collection of toys that the Foragers had salvaged on their adventures. The diversions ranged from billiards to giant video displays with entertainment media and computer games surrounded by comfortable lounging furniture. They even had a half basketball court.

  The Back Hall was the recreational location of choice for the Forager community when it came time for them to unwind from their day’s temerarious escapades. The crews drank cold homemade beer while they talked about the extreme points of their activities and about their new arrivals.

  Fat Jack invited Critias and Carmen to join him at the Captains’ Table where he sat with the vehicle teams and support crew commanders. What those at the table shared principally in common was that they were the people who risked their lives the most frequently when they performed the most hazardous duties. On a darker side they shared the high probability of being one another’s executioners should anyone become infected while in the field.

  “Tomorrow you’ll get to meet King Louie,” Jack told them. “He’s always glad to see new people, but don’t expect him to throw you a feast this fancy. We Foragers eat better here than is the everyday usual. Risk is part of the job, as the old King used to say, but the perks are finders’ keepers.” He laughed aloud at the joyful memory of the old King, “Then he would say that one spoonful of my stew is charity, but two is enemy action.”

  Critias put a box of cigars on the table that he had retrieved from his crates in the mudroom. “These are hydroponic,” he warned Jack, “so they might not meet your standards. It’s been so long since I’ve had traditional tobacco that I’m not familiar with the flavor.” In truth, he had never had any packaged tobacco from centuries past, but that seemed a bit beyond the realm of an insouciant explanation.

  Jack opened the box then unwrapped one of the cigars to sniff at it. His smile alone was proof of the quality. “One of these will be perfect for after dinner,” Fat Jack praised the fine cigar after he inhaled the scent. By way of conversation he asked, “So did the two of you have a rough trip down from Chicago? There must be enough infected there to even give George the willies.”

  Critias was not much for lying while Carmen was a master of it since to her all information was irrelevant to her style of presentation. He hoped she would step up to the occasion, but she offered no answer and instead sat fixated as she watched some of the crewmembers play basketball.

  “Go play with them,” Critias told her, “just be careful not to hurt anybody.”

  Carmen flashed him a grateful grin then left the table to do just that.

  George sat down and offered Critias a cold beer. “They can play pretty rough,” he cautioned. “She should be more careful not to get hurt herself.”

  Critias chuckled at that, “You want to bet?” He pulled his engraved marshal’s teslaflux pistol then put it on the table, “I’ll put up this against your blade.” George wore a custom-made machete from his belt that Critias thought would be ideal for beheading downed infected, which it was.

  “You can’t be serious,” George hesitated on the thought that he would steal Critias’ extraordinary pistol since it was a wager against what amounted to his essentially worthless stretch of stamped metal.

  “You’re right,” Critias agreed as he put the gun away. Since Carmen was an Epsilon combat android, it actually wasn’t possible that she would lose unless she did it on purpose. “We should keep this friendly,” Critias changed tact. “How about, if she wins, you take me with you on your next foraging run. If she doesn’t measure up, I’ll make good on a favor of equal value.”

  “You’re on,” George accepted the bet good-naturedly.

  Tony Banjo didn’t hesitate to invite Carmen to play for his team since it was a chance to get closer to her. The brief time she had watched was more than enough for her to understand the game. The opportunity she had to play sports on the space station had acclimatized her to recreation activities with fragile humans so Carmen refrained from humiliating the other players as she confined her fun to being only manifestly superior to the best people around her.

  Within two minutes, George conceded, “You win. She plays like an all-star athlete and if I had to guess, she’s still holding back. I can now relate a little better to what Penny was saying. The last time I saw someone move that fast it was an infected trying to tear the door off my truck.” George measured Critias’ reaction to his statement in that his very purpose to say what he did was to get one.

  “Carmen is not an infected,” Critias answered with a defensive edge that showed he worried he would have to hurt some people to protect her, which he would beyond doubt if it came to that. Even in his most callous moments of abusing her, Carmen was still his most precious possession and that had not changed beyond her having stolen her freedom.

  “Easy,” George sensed his danger. “I’ve seen your armor and now that pistol you carry. I don’t think even Tinker Bob has ever heard of such things and he knows his tech-stuff. Those government scientists at that Chicago bunker of yours must have invented some kind of super soldier serum she has been taking.” George laughed, “If it’s contagious, she can bite me anytime.”

  Critias looked to Fat Jack, “You two should come with me so I can show you something that will put you more at ease. I think that the sooner we understand one another the better off we will be.”

  “Let’s go,” Jack pushed back his chair. “Anyone who would call me sir and the first Grand Marshal is not the sort to cut my throat in my sleep. I think I can trust you.”

  The three of them went to the mudroom where Critias opened his weapons crate. He wanted their confidentiality before proceeding, “You’ll keep this our secret?”

  “I can agree to that,” Fat Jack pledged, “so long as King Louie is in on this.”

  Critias removed the paper manifest from inside the lid of the crate then offered it to Fat Jack, “Read what this says at the bottom.”

  Fat Jack scanned the page and read the bottom aloud, “It says Marshal Service Arms Locker Fourteen, Space Station Nine, released to Doctor Kine.” He paused to double-check before he continued, “Released to Doctor Kine on March Eleventh, the year twenty-two eighty-four.” He stared at Critias as he tried to reason it out, “The first Grand Marshal is what you called me. You said you never believed you would ever see me in the flesh.”

  “Carmen and I are not from Chicago,” Critias told them the truth. “I can’t explain easily why she is special, but Carmen is with me and we came back to help King Louie make my future happen at all. We are like your great-great-something grandchildren. Where I come from, you people are like legendary heroes.”

  George rolled with the revelations with his usual calm acceptance, “Did anyone else come with you from the future?”

  “Well,” Critias nodded, “since you asked, I suppose I can introduce you.” He selected one of the android containers then opened the cover shield to expose the transparent cylinder inside that ha
d a copper-haired male human head suspended in fluid. “Don’t bother asking me how you put him together because I have no idea. This is what we call an Epsilon-R technical-science android, like a science professor in a can. This is a gift for King Louie from my era.”

  “Now that’s a nice gift,” Fat Jack admitted impressed.

  George considered it all, “So, Carmen is one of these assembled people from a can?”

  “Carmen is also from our best Epsilon series of androids; only instead of being a scientist, she is a combat soldier. I don’t want you to get the idea that she does not have emotions or lacks feelings to be hurt. Carmen is mostly organic and can be very proud, so you should treat her with the respect deserving of any other person. She is wondrously intelligent and wicked tough in a scrap.”

  Fat Jack sensed Critias had more to say about her, “But what?”

  “She is just kind of new,” Critias explained carefully. “Carmen has not been alive for very long, so she has an unusual outlook on everything.”

  George hinted about her being sexual, “Is uh, she fully functional?”

  “Very,” Critias confirmed, “at least she is when we’re not fighting. I’ve disrespected her once too often recently, so she has put me on notice. She can be dangerous when provoked, but a trustworthy and noble person if you are a friend.”