GeneStorm: City in the Sky

by Paul Kidd

  Beth thought about it, shaking her head.

  “What if we have another Screamer attack? The way you led the riders… We might need that again.”

  “Without ammo to defend the walls? No, you couldn’t hold this place.” Snapper looked out towards the ramparts. “Only thing you could do is get everyone you can onto bird back, and flee south.”

  The shark was right. Beth flexed her big hands about the back of a chair, and then looked at Kitterpokkie, Beau, Throckmorton and Snapper.

  “Four people? Four to risk Screamers, risk feral country, and find a way to cross the barrier?”

  “Five.” Kenda looked sallow beneath his bandaged forehead. “I’ll go.”

  Beau rose to his feet, and waved a gracious hand.

  “Oh my dear fellow! Surely your injury will keep you at home for a while?”

  “I can pass for human.” Kenda gave a clear, calculating glance towards the north. “Some ancient automated defences were set to attack mutants.”

  Snapper thought upon the matter. The man might possibly have a point. Who knew what the hell might be still up and running in an ancient city? And they might well need another decent shot – Beau was no dab hand with a rifle. Snapper cast an eye to Beau, who seemed quite taken by the idea, and then to Throckmorton, who was busy nibbling on a passing fly. Kitterpokkie indicated assent – she had no objections to a little extra security. Snapper gave a nod.

  “Right! Well, you’re in! I warn you, it’s going to be on the far side of dangerous. Have you got any ammo at all?”

  “Five rifle. Three left in the pistol.”

  “We’ll see if we can scrounge more.” The shark looked to Kitterpokkie. “Did you get that plasma gun of yours recharged?”

  “Oh – it’s hooked up to the house generator. It should be done in a few hours time.” The mantis was extremely tired. “I must see to the design of the protective suits and filters. Time is of the essence.”

  “Yeah, maybe a nap and a meal first.” Snapper painfully gathered her equipment. “We don’t want anything designed inside out.”

  “Quite so. I shall measure everyone this afternoon. Let us meet an hour before sundown.”

  With the town out of danger and the most immanent work done, it seemed that finally they might rest. Kenda headed back to his quarters atop the pub. Beau graciously offered an arm to Snapper, but the shark doggedly refused. She limped her way off towards the Boneyard, taking charge of Throckmorton in his wheelbarrow. Beau promised to join them later, then subtly cleared his throat. Beth Baker met his eye, and they both decided to vacate the room in the same direction at once – each of them whistling innocently. Toby watched them go, and shook his head.

  “That boy should be studied!”

  Kitterpokkie was too tired to care. She arose and walked quietly over, beckoning Toby and Samuels.

  “Sirs, a word in private, if I may?”

  She walked with them to the edge of the beer garden, where the screen of snappy vines had been torn and shattered by Screamers. Kitt gestured quietly to the road below, where burned and shattered wagons still leaked smoke into the air.

  “Those wagons carried Screamers that had been concealed inside crates. That was a deliberate act. Someone planted the creatures there as a preliminary to the main assault.”

  Samuels stroked at his long beak.

  “Deliberate? There were not merely accidentally inside the wagon loads?”

  “I would consider it unlikely. No no – it would seem to be a deliberate act.” The mantis collected her plasma gun and its awkward home made capacitor. “Had your town meetings not been so absurdly well armed, the creatures would have been able to rampage through a terrified mob! I postulate that militia would have run from the walls to assist you. The walls would have been essentially unguarded. The Screamer horde could then have climbed the gates or negotiated the walls with ease.”

  Samuels scowled. “A deliberate attack.”

  “Yes – by someone largely unaware of local idiosyncratic customs.” The mantis shouldered her gun. “Now I shall postulate once more. Why not incendiaries? Why not explosives? A fire would have been a far more efficient diversion.” The mantis woman’s pink carapace shimmered as her wings stirred behind her. “I shall answer my own postulation: Because a burned town is destroyed. Whereas a depopulated town retains its manufacturing equipment and facilities.” The mantis laid a claw upon Samuel’s hand in warning.

  “Someone out there wants what Spark Town has…”

  She let the thought sit in their minds. Kitterpokkie then nodded a bow, and quietly turned to leave.

  Samuels was deeply troubled. He walked Kitterpokkie to the door, and paused with her for a moment beneath the eaves.

  “The town council will foot the bill for your equipment. But we can only give you about a dozen spare cartridges each.” The crow looked north, towards the great barrier cliffs.

  “Miss Kitterpokkie. Can you do it? Can you reach the cliff city?”

  The mantis turned, looked to the north, and gave a quiet nod.

  “Oh yes. I am quite confident.” The mantis motioned with her plasma rifle.

  “We shall be most cautious. Never fear.”

  In the evening, the sunset spread its magnificence above a quiet, sombre town. Burials had been held – all of the dead were friends and members of a community that would miss them dearly. The eastern gates had been roughly repaired, but still looked horribly frail. The stench of the Screamers’ funeral pyres still hung heavy over the town walls.

  There was more dreary work to do. New tree trunks needed to be gathered and hauled in to repair the town abatis, and it seemed clear that the defences needed to be extended. Ideas had been considered – a trench, or pit traps? Perhaps a moat fed by the river? The foundry once again looked over its facilities, wondering if it might somehow cast black powder cannon out of old scrap iron. It had been tried before, but quality control remained a problem: air bubbles inside the castings could cause the guns to explode. In the metalwork shop, lights burned bright as workers puzzled over new drawings and designs.

  In the Boneyard, activity bustled ever on. The big old courtyard had been hung with electric lights, and a number of weird bugs were engaged with banging their heads against the light fittings. Pemberton was deeply engaged in pondering one of the larger light bulbs, grinning one of his odd, psychotic grins.

  The junk-sorting tables were being used for a mighty feat of outfit engineering. Tough, pliant leather taken from beef-melons had been gathered, patterns designed, measurements taken. Leather suits for man, bird and bug were being created slowly, cut from leather sheets and stitched together by three seamstresses and a boot maker hired for the occasion.

  Beau made himself wonderfully useful pinning patterns together, draping them over the intended wearers and fussing about the fit. Throckmorton – listing somewhat, but able to fly at last – hovered about helpfully carrying pencils, pins and scissors from one table to the next. Snapper – confined to a chair due to her injured thigh – found herself with the job of painting seams shut with a pliant, resinous glue. It was a sticky job that somehow covered her from head to webbed toes in dabs and strings of glue.

  Each explorer, riding bird, riding bug and pack beast was to be totally enclosed in a protective suit. Given the radically different shapes of everyone involved, each suit was an entirely custom built affair. Under Kitterpokkie’s guidance, Toby, Samuels and Kenda carefully cut sheet lead with hefty scissors, then slipped the plates into the lining of the suits. The yard was an absolute hive of industry.

  Kitterpokkie herself was sitting with several types of pad made from different materials – cotton wool, felt and even bark fibre. Beside her, small sticks of charcoal made from willow twigs lay ready to be cut into little pellets. The mantis was experimentally breathing through a short tube she had attached to a salvaged metal can. She frowned, and went back to piercing the bottom of the can with little holes, using an auger and an ancient bal
lpein hammer.

  Kenda came past and cast an eye over the strange items on Kitterpokkie’s work table: mask patterns had been blocked together out of paper, and she had assembled a great deal of leather, tape and glue. The green-tinted man looked at the charcoal and cotton wool pads and gave a frown.

  “Surely such primitive equipment cannot be proof against radioactive gas?”

  “Primitive is where you find it. I prefer to think of it as functionally inventive.” The mantis blew on her work and examined it in the light. “The secret here is that we are not protecting ourselves from gas. We are merely protecting ourselves from dust. The radiation in the dead zone is trapped in layers of irradiated particles. What we need to do is somehow screen out any particles that end up in the air. And dust filtration is a relatively simple affair.” The girl gestured to the bits and pieces of gas mask that lay scattered across the table. “It is all merely precautionary, of course. But better safe than irradiated.”

  Kenda looked down at the equipment.

  “How do you know that the radiation is only dust?”

  “Because I know how it was made. When you begin at first principals, it really is simple to proceed in life. Knowledge is the key.”

  “Yes, I see that.” Kenda motioned towards a suit. “We have a suit finished.”

  “Oh excellent!” Kitterpokkie arose from her work. “Wonderful! Yes – that’s just the thing!”

  The finished suit was intended for Kitterpokkie. She intended to take possession of the prototype and fix any immediate problems that arose. With Toby’s help, the mantis blundered into her suit, lifting the hefty lead foil lined garment into place. She shrugged everything around until it settled on her shoulders.

  The mantis was left with her head exposed, but was otherwise enclosed in leather and lead. She moved about, surprised that the suit was not heavier – but frowned as she flexed her slender shoulders.

  “I shall put in some suspender straps attached to a waist belt. That should stop all of the weight being focussed on the shoulders…” She tried to bend down and touch her toes, but the suit’s foil lining made the movement far too awkward. “Yes, agility is somewhat limited. But I’m sure that we shall persevere.”

  Although the lead-soled over boots were clumsy, everything seemed to work. Kitterpokkie walked, sat on a chair, jogged around the block and climbed a ladder. She finally declared herself to be satisfied. The mantis clumped back into the stables and had to be helped out of the suit. Once freed of the lead lined clothing, she felt absurdly light. She drank a brimming draft of berry juice, and sat herself down beside Snapper’s table.

  The shark was making a mess of dabbing at the seams on the next suit. She pushed a finished suit aside, and gave a huge sign of relief.

  “Tell me that this is all time well spent…”

  “Oh it is! It is indeed. They seem perfectly serviceable.” Kitterpokkie combed back her long, elegant antennae. “The entire anti-radiation suit will be rather heavy. And we shall have to carry a water sprayer, to dampen down any dust ahead of us.” She frowned. “Once we negotiate the radiation zone, we might be best advised to cache the suits somewhere safe, and then return to them later.”

  “I hear that.”

  “But how is your leg, dear friend?” Kitt poured out berry juice and shared the glass. “Is it damaged badly? Has the doctor given advice?”

  “It’ll mend.” The shark gently flexed her thigh and made a grimace. “Nothing too far wrong with an honourable wound. Give me two days.”

  “Surely it will never heal in two?”

  “Oh, the angry bee-mouse jelly is good stuff. I’ll just try to rest it on the ride.” The shark made light of the affair, somewhat unconvincingly. “We can’t wait. Speed’s critical.”

  “Yes.” Kitterpokkie leaned forward, cupping her chin upon her hands. “Well we know that the cliff city is definitely there. We know it is well preserved. The chances of finding what we need there are excellent.” The mantis girl gave a sigh. “Not a glamorous expedition, perhaps. But useful – useful. It will be a stepping stone to marvellous things.”

  “Marvellous things…”

  Snapper put her brush aside, and leaned back in her seat.

  “What if we did find it? Toby’s city in the sky?” She watched moths circling up above. “What if it’s really there?”

  “Marvellous things…”

  Over in the stables, Beau was charming the seamstresses, bowing to them as he brought them tea. Pendleton caught sight of the fox-pheasant’s tail, and seemed to quiver forward as if ready to bite the man on the rear. Snapper made a sharp clap of her hands, letting the creature know she had her eye upon it. The giant moth creature gave a pout, then strode off to find itself some dinner. Snapper shook her head.

  “These suits had better work!” She picked up her brush once more. “I swear, if Pendleton absorbs radiation and mutates into some sort of city-smashing colossus, I am going to let him eat Beau, bones and all.”

  There was work to do. Snapper fetched the next suit, and found her brush.

  “Right! Painting seams! Off I go. We’ll get the rubber to coat these things with tomorrow. The guys at the rubber-tree plant farm are going to do a round-up for us.”

  “Excellent.” Kitterpokkie rose and headed back to her gas masks. “Oh – can we mix different colours into the rubber paint?”

  Snapper wrinkled her nose. “Let me guess. Beau wants his suit done in a different colour?”

  “That was indeed his request.”

  “I’m thinking candy stripe, or polka dot.” Snapper went back to her painting. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Throckmorton had always been an early riser. The first touch of sunlight upon his fine, well-tended leaves and he stirred instantly awake. Several of his little orange/magenta heads worked their chops. He stretched his tentacles, shivered his wings, then turned to rap carefully upon his wounded gas bladder.

  All seemed well. Throckmorton shifted odd little fluids back and forth somewhere inside his tubes and tendrils, flooded some chambers and made more gas. He lifted off from his hammock in the kitchen and drifted quietly through the house, taking stock of the golden early dawn. Snapper was fast asleep in bed, naked but for a pair of underpants, and laughing at a joke inside her dreams. Kitterpokkie snored softly, lying with all six limbs splayed about at random. An assortment of guns, clothes, sabres and a compass were scattered all over Snapper’s room, ready to be packed for the great expedition.

  The house lay quiet, and wonderfully at peace. A scent of boronia drifted in through the kitchen windows, and the budgerigars twittered merrily out in the stables. Throckmorton drifted out through the open windows to the stable drinking trough, where he splashed about like a gigantic sparrow in a bird bath. He drank, splashed and preened his petals, having a thoroughly good time. Finally he arose and shook himself dry, feeling perfectly happy with the coming day.

  On the veranda underneath the shady vines, a great fuzzy purple presence stirred. Pendleton slept curled nose to tail, like some sort of immense woolly fox. The big creature opened one yellow eye, then stretched and yawned, flexing all six sets of toes. Pendleton shook himself, thieved a loaf of bread from the porch table, and came idling over to Throckmorton and cocked his head.

  Throckmorton waved a tentacle, and led the way. Pendleton trotted behind him, and together they opened the gate and wandered out into the dusty lane.

  The streets were quiet, with only a few riders here and there, a couple of early risers sweeping their doorsteps or pumping water from the public wells. The early morning watch on the walls was being changed, with half a dozen men heading up to man each wall, and another half dozen more to guard the broken gate. Black-powder grenades stood ready by the basket full, along with half a dozen old style muskets.

  Pendleton and Throckmorton wandered along together through quiet streets in amiable silence. Occasionally the pair paused to enjoy the fragrance of a shade tree. Pendleton ate three bacon melons
thieved from the back of a farm cart, then cruised silkily off to follow Throckmorton as the plant went wandering up towards the eastern gate.

  The guards were all busy looking for ways to help shore up the broken gates. Throckmorton rowed past through the air, followed by the giant fuzzy burgundy mass that was Pendleton. The plant waved his tentacles towards the men in greeting.

  “Good morning.”

  “Morning. Uh…” The men tipped fingers to their helmet brims in greeting, but all moved back as Pendleton passed by. “Morning…”

  Cavalry had been off on patrols, and militia men had been combing the farms and dells for Screamers, but no one had really taken the time to just poke about and ponder. And so Throckmorton went with Pemberton out to the north east, following the smashed bushes and trampled dirt left behind by the Screamer horde.

  The plant had an excellent aerial view. Soaring up several dozen metres above the dirt, he could see the general pattern in the dust. The Screamer trail seemed to be made from many intertwining groups – as though several smaller packs had all followed the one route. Throckmorton led Pendleton onwards, and the moth creature became extremely interested in sniffing scent trails with his long feathery antennae.

  Moth and plant worked together quite happily, walking out past the town’s bee-mouse hives, and on across a field of trampled wildflowers. They walked on until they came finally to a great patch of trodden scrub and grass – all mashed flat by countless Screamer claws. The trail led onwards towards Red-Rock gully in the distance.

  Pendleton suddenly came to a halt. The creature stiffened his antennae, then bent down, waving the appendages slowly back and forth. He cruised forward, questing carefully, then came to a sudden halt beside a patch of trampled brush. He sat down and looked at Throckmorton with one huge yellow eye.

  Throckmorton craned several heads down to peer in puzzlement at something that glittered in the dirt.

  A small silver tube lay crushed and shattered. It was made from thin silver metal, and seemed to have been trampled by a great many Screamer feet. Throckmorton’s delicate tentacles lifted the tube. Small parts fell out of the shattered artefact – bits of plastic and little metal shards.