by Craig Zerf
Leon jumped up onto the front of the platform, pulled his mask off, threw his head back and roared. The sound pealed across the square, raising the hair on peoples’ arms and awakening an atavistic fear that caused them to flinch back. Then he held up his right hand and extended his claws.
He turned to Nate. ‘Hey, we’d better move it. These guys are going to attack us as soon as they start to egg each other on.’
‘Can you walk?’ Asked Nate of the youngster.
He nodded.
‘Well then let’s go.’
Leon led the way, but as the three of them got to the bottom of the stairs the crowd started to surge forward once again.
‘Do something,’ said Leon.
Nate thought for a few seconds and then pulled out his Hammerman badge.
‘Hammerman,’ he shouted. ‘Official business. Stand aside.’
‘Hammermen don’t have any jurisdiction over humans.’ shouted a man standing in front of them. ‘Why should we listen to you?’
Leon lashed out and connected the man on the side of his head. The blow picked him up and catapulted him head over heels for over twenty yards, barreling through the crowd like a wrecking ball.
‘Because the Hammerman said so,’ growled the lion man.
The crowd shrank back and parted in front of the trio as they walked slowly through. Leon stalked in front, the youth in the middle and Nate took up the rearguard, his hand on the grip of his axe, ready to draw, his other hand held in front of him displaying his Hammerman badge.
‘That badge won’t keep them back for much longer,’ said Leon. ‘These people are not happy that you’ve taken away their entertainment.’
‘Screw them,’ retorted the marine. ‘Sick assholes.’
‘That’s as may be,’ agreed Leon. ‘But there are over five hundred of them which means that we are moderately outnumbered.’
‘True,’ admitted Nate as he stopped walking and cast his eye about the crowd before he spoke, his voice loud and firm. ‘Whose apple did this child steal?’
A rumble of voices ran through the crowd and a man was pushed forward. He was short and rotund, his face a round red sweating ball set full square on a pair of fleshy shoulders that he held high, like he was continually shrugging.
‘Twas mine, sir Hammerman. I have a fine food emporium on Stardust Street where I purvey exotic foods for the gentry.’
‘Right,’ said Nate. ‘How much was it?’
‘Three gold units, sir.’
‘Fine…what?’ Nathaniel did a double take. ‘Don’t be stupid. It’s a bloody apple, not a whole orchard.’
Leon laughed. A bass thunder of amusement. ‘When’s the last time you saw a fresh apple?’ He asked. ‘They’re very rare and very expensive. You know that. If it’s not soya then it costs.’
Nate remembered apple trees laden with fruits but he couldn’t remember when he had last seen them, so he simply shook the memory off, dug into his pocket and pulled out three gold units. He handed them to the merchant. ‘There. No crime, no foul. I just bought that apple.’
The fat man pulled out a jeweler’s loupe and scrutinized the units with great care before he nodded and melted back into the crowd.
But another man shook his fist at Nate and shouted. ‘Justice. We demand justice.’
Nate drew his axe, pointed it at the man and simply shook his head.
The shouter went pale, immediately ceased his strident calling and shrank back into the cover of the mob.
‘Let’s go,’ said Nate as he gestured to Leon to lead the way.
As the trio made it out of the square, the throng of people slowly lost interest and started to disperse, each going about their own business. Leon took them through a series of side roads that were mostly shrouded in shadow, the fish oil lamps were few and far between and many of them were guttering and spitting, their wicks in need of a trim.
The youth had pulled his mask back on and he walked in silence, but his gaze didn’t rest as it scanned the streets and doorways, like he was either looking for a place to run or searching for an imminent attack.
‘Do you know where the Parkville Inn is?’ Nate asked Leon.
‘Sure. Bottom of Lombard Street. Why?’
‘I got a room there. Let’s head that way, we can sort this mess out in comfort and get off the streets.’
Leon nodded and changed direction. Nate and the youth followed, walking swiftly.
Chapter 8
Nathaniel closed the door to his room and threw his axe onto the bed.
‘Nice place,’ observed Leon.
‘It’s clean,’ agreed Nate as he turned to the youth who was standing next to the fireplace, unmoving, his mask and goggles still in place, hood up and cloak laced, pulled tight.
‘So, boy,’ said Nate. ‘You just cost me a small fortune, which I can ill afford. What do I do with you now?’
The youth pulled his mask off, then his goggles. Finally he undid the laces to the front of his cloak, flipped his hood back and let the cloak fall to the floor.
Leon drew a quick breath in and then chuckled.
Spiky auburn hair, long lashes framing deep blue almond shaped eyes above a pert nose and wide, full lipped mouth. Body garbed in skin-tight black leather. A body that curved in and swelled out and curved in again.
‘I’m not a boy,’ said the youth.
Nathaniel grinned. ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘You most surely are not. However,’ he continued. ‘You are a thief and I did just spend three gold units on you. So, as I already said, what do I do with you now?’
The girl’s eyes flashed and she assumed a defensive position, hands held in front of her, weight balanced on the balls of her feet. ‘I’m not that sort of girl,’ she said.
Nate shook his head. ‘I’m not that sort of guy. What I meant is, if I simply leave you now, what next? Will you go out and get caught again? If so, then I’ve just wasted three gold units to buy you a couple of hours of respite from the chop.’
The girl relaxed a little, letting her hands drop but still maintaining her fight-or-flight stance.
‘Why did you save me?’ She asked.
Nate shrugged. ‘I have a feeling that I’ve simply seen too much unnecessary bereavement, too many hangings, too many unjust death sentences, too much wholesale slaughter. It has to stop somewhere.’
The girl tilted her head to one side. You have a feeling? Surely you either have or you haven’t?
Nate shrugged. ‘It’s complicated.’
The girl stepped forward and held out her hand. ‘My name is Brett.’
‘Nathaniel Hogan,’ said Nate as he shook her hand. It was small but strong, her palm and knuckles ridged with hard calluses. The hand of someone who had spent a lot of time with a blade in their grip, as well as much time fighting unarmed.
‘This is Leon,’ continued Nathaniel. ‘Just Leon.’
She gripped Leon’s paw. ‘Cool,’ she said. ‘You’re the first Genetic that I’ve met.’
‘Genetic?’ Questioned Nate. ‘I thought that you were a Splicer.’
Brett winced. ‘You don’t use that word,’ she said. ‘Man, don’t you know anything?’
‘Apparently not,’ answered Nate. ‘Why, what’s wrong with Splicer?’
‘It’s what rednecks call us,’ explained Leon, pleased with his use of the new word.
‘Rednecks?’ Asked Brett.
‘Assholes,’ said Nate.
‘Yeah, Assholes.’ agreed Leon. ‘Anyhow, we prefer the term, Genetic.’
Nate nodded. ‘Sorry, my friend. I didn’t know.’
‘How can you not know that?’ Asked Brett.
Nathaniel shrugged. ‘Not sure. But I don’t think that I’m from around here.’
‘Where are you from?’
The marine frowned. ‘I’m starting to think that it’s more of a question of when I’m from, as opposed to where.’
‘Wow,’ said Brett. ‘You are either seriously deep or seriously confused.’
> ‘But you’re a Hammerman,’ argued Leon. ‘That means that you have to be a citizen, and that means that you must know where and when and whatever you’re from. They don’t just hand out citizenship to anyone and they definitely don’t promote non-existent vagrants to the position of Hammerman.’
‘Well it appears that, sometimes, they do,’ countered the marine.
‘Look, I don’t want to be “that guy”,’ said Leon. ‘But why on earth would they do that?’
‘Cutter’s Pass,’ mumbled Nathaniel.
‘That’s you?’ Exclaimed Brett.
Nate nodded.
‘Okay,’ interjected Leon. ‘Just for a moment let’s all assume that I have no idea what’s going on. Will someone explain?’
‘He’s the hero of Cutter’s Pass,’ answered Brett. ‘He was a Shieldman for the convoy and they were ambushed at Cutter’s Pass. It’s said that Nathaniel killed over two hundred Untouchables with his bare hands.’
Leon raised a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘That true?’ He asked the marine.
‘Hardly,’ snorted Nate. ‘It was only thirty and I had my battle axe and I wasn’t a Shieldman, I was a MG Stoker.’
There was a pause while Leon processed the information. ‘That’s pretty serious stuff,’ he admitted. ‘If you hadn’t told me yourself then I would have bet a million gold units that it would have been impossible for a single man to kill thirty mutants with only an axe.’ He tilted his head to one side as he stared closely at Nathaniel. ‘Exactly what are you, man?’ He asked, ‘because you sure ain’t totally human.’
‘Neither are you,’ countered Nate. ‘But I assume that you at least know what and who you are.’
‘True,’ agreed Leon.
‘Well then, care to enlighten me?’ Requested Nate.
Leon sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. The springs squeaked in protest as his bulk stretched them to their limit. ‘How much of our history do you know?’
‘I’ve been give a broad overview.’
‘Good enough. So you know of the wars between the Highmen factions, the chem-wars, how the Untouchables came to be?’
Nathaniel nodded.
‘Fine, during the great wars, the Highmen fought each other for years using massive war machines and advanced weaponry. As a result, each faction spent much time and effort trying to improve their arsenals and weapons in order to gain the upper hand. Genetics, like myself, were part of that research. Before the Highmen destroyed the land with the Chem-wars, animals were varied and plentiful. Mountain lions, bears, wolves and buffalo roamed the plains virtually unmolested. And when the Highmen came across them they were suitably impressed at the speed and physical strength of the wild animals. At first they tried to train the animals in order to use them as weapons. Soldiers with teeth and claws. But that didn’t work very well. So, after a ton of research and experimentation they finally perfected a genetic splicing of human and animal. Enough human to obey orders and think tactically, yet leaving enough animal to retain the speed, strength and aggression of the wild. Thus were born the genetic Battalions. Many thousands of us. Lion men, Bear men, Wolf men and other more exotic blends.
The battles were immense and unbelievably bloody. Hundreds of thousands of Genetics were killed. After many years the wars ground to a stalemate, with no faction showing clear dominance. The hostilities finally came to an end after the Chem-wars. Even the Highmen could see that their extended battles for domination over one another was sure to destroy the very world that they were fighting over. A truce was signed, the land was divided and the wars were over.
The few Genetics that were still alive were left to their own devices. As a reward for their service they were given hereditary citizenship, meaning that our progeny will always be regarded as citizens for all eternity. Not that it means much anymore. There are so few of us left. Over the last six hundred years we have almost completely died out. You see, we cannot cross-breed. For a lion man, or Leohominus, as we prefer, to reproduce I must mate with a lion woman, likewise for bear men - Ursuhominus, wolf men – Canishominus, etcetera.’ Leon sighed once again. ‘I am seventy years old and, apart from my mother, I have never met another lion man nor woman,’ he said. Then he smiled and shrugged off his morose expression. ‘On the plus side,’ he continued. ‘We Genetics live to be over two hundred years old, so there’s still time.’
‘So what’s it like being a Hammerman?’ Asked Brett.
‘Don’t know,’ admitted Nate. ‘Only been one for a day. Not even sure what I’m supposed to be doing. And you? How did you get to be a citizen?’
Brett laughed. ‘I’m not a citizen. I’m an Outlander.’
‘So how did you get into the citadel?’
‘It’s easy. Many ways in and out if you look for them. Smugglers routes, thieves’ passages, tunnels, secret doors. Tons of places. I come and go as I please.’
The three new companions sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.
‘Why don’t you guys join up with me,’ suggested Nathaniel.
‘Sure,’ quipped Brett. ‘I can see the Highmen falling over themselves to promote a thief and a Genetic to the rank of Hammerman. Great idea, let’s go for it.’
‘Heavy handed sarcasm aside,’ retaliated Nathaniel. ‘I didn’t say that you would be Hammermen, I simply asked if you’d like to team up. Seems like I’ll get paid as long as I provide proof of kill. They never said who had to actually do the killing. We split the takings three ways after expenses, could make some good money.’
‘Why would you do that?’ Asked Brett.
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Countered Nate. ‘I’m alone. I don’t know the ropes around here, the customs, the geography. To be blunt I don’t actually know much of anything except how to fight. It would make sense to team up and it certainly seems that you two don’t have any prior engagements that you’re committed to.’
‘We’d need weapons, horses, gear,’ observed Leon.
‘I’ll stake us,’ countered Nate. ‘I got a bit of a bonus when they signed me on, so that shouldn’t be a problem.’
Leon stood up and held his paw out. Nate grasped it.
‘I’m in,’ growled the lion man.
Brett stepped forward and laid her hand over the two of theirs.
‘Me too,’ she affirmed.
‘Hoo-ah!’ Exclaimed the marine.
Chapter 9
They each had to enter the shop separately. Firstly entering a small locked room with two armed guards. Here they were frisked and their weapons were signed for and deposited in a steel safe box.
After that they were allowed to go through to the arsenal.
There were racks of spears, javelins, pikes, swords and axes down the one side of the shop. In the middle stood shelves of armor, leathers, cloaks and sundry equipment. On the other side, behind the owner’s counter, glass enclosed cupboards containing long bows, crossbows, rifles and sidearms.
Brett walked straight over to the edged weapons, picking throwing knives and light swords off the wall and testing their weight and balance. It was obvious that she knew exactly what she was doing.
‘You need a sword or an axe?’ Nate asked Leon.
The lion man grinned and extended his claws as he shook his head. ‘Already got some,’ he quipped.
‘What about a rifle?’
Leon shook his head. ‘Ain’t much a fan of pneumatics.’ Then his eyes lit up and he pointed. ‘But that is a thing of beauty.’
Nathaniel followed the lion man’s gaze and saw what he was enamored with. Behind one of the glass doors was what appeared to be an oversized crossbow.
‘Would sir like to take a look at the Scorpio?’ Asked the shop owner.
Leon nodded and the owner opened the door, took the massive weapon down and lugged it over to the counter.
Leon picked it up one handed and sighted it against the far wall. ‘Nice,’ he commented. ‘What’s the draw weight?’
‘Six hundred pounds, sir,’ r
esponded the owner. ‘It comes with a handle for the windlass so that you can crank it up. Also a tripod for supporting the weapon during firing.’
‘Not necessary,’ said Leon as he grabbed the string and pulled it back. Biceps bulged, deltoid muscles strained against the material of his leather jacket, and with one smooth pull he cocked the weapon.
The store owner’s jaw fell open as he watched the impressive display of brute strength. Then he jumped as Leon pulled the trigger and the woven string snapped forward with a loud crack.
‘How much?’ Enquired the lion man.
‘Five gold units.’
Leon pinned the man with a fierce glare.
‘I can throw in some bolts,’ the store owner added.
Leon didn’t say anything. Neither did he drop his intense stare.
‘Twenty bolts,’ the man continued. ‘Excellent quality.’
‘Fifty bolts and you got a deal.’
The owner nodded reluctantly. ‘Fine then, bankrupt me while you’re about it. Fifty bolts.’
Brett sauntered over and placed a pile of bladed weapons onto the counter. Five throwing knives, a boot knife, two daggers, a light saber and a handful of six inch long steel darts with two-inch needle sharp points.
The shop owner toted them up. ‘Six golds.’
‘Four,’ countered Brett.
‘Five.’
Brett nodded. ‘Done.’
The owner turned to Nathaniel. ‘Now, sir, how can I serve you?’
‘What have you got in the way of pneumatics? Two handguns and a rifle.’
‘We stock a vast range, sir,’ answered the shopkeep. ‘Let’s narrow it down a little, single shot or repeating?’
‘I want the best. Scare me with the prices and let’s take it from there,’ said Nate.
The owner’s face lit up with avarice and he rubbed his hands together. ‘We have just taken stock of the new Lewis and Clarke model thirty PCP in fifty caliber.’
He unlocked a glass fronted cupboard, removed a handsome looking rifle and handed it to Nate.
The marine ran his hands over it. A poem in walnut and steel and brass. He held it to his shoulder and sighted down the barrel, squinting through the peep sites. It had perfect balance and fitted like it had been tailored for him.