by Craig Zerf
‘So you still have elephants then?’
‘No, but we got history books. Well, some history books. The Highmen don’t allow human history as such. I suspect that everything from before the Highlight and the arrival of the Highmen has been rewritten by them; all that we know of our past is what they allow us to. Or what they have made up, I suppose. But elephants – we know about them.’
Nathaniel sat on his horse and thought as they walked on. It felt wrong. Surely mankind shouldn’t be subjugated in such a fashion. Surely the wages of tax evasion should not be wholesale death and destruction. People shouldn’t be beheaded for stealing an apple.
But who was he to decide what was right or what was wrong? He couldn’t remember enough to provide a base against which to postulate an informed judgment. For all that he knew, this was truly as good as it got.
But it did not feel right.
Definitely not.
The next couple of days trundled by without incident and, by the time Nathaniel and his wards entered the town of Brushy Peaks, his wounds had completely healed, leaving only the faintest ghost of a scar to show that they had ever been.
It was early evening when the wagons were met at the town gate by a welcoming committee led by the mayor, who immediately invited Nate and his entourage to dinner.
‘I’ve noticed that these outlanders are less racist towards you than the people in the citadel,’ said Nate to Leon.
‘That’s true,’ agreed the lion man. ‘Citadel dwellers are generally assholes. Out here you got more important things to worry about than someone’s appearance. Like how to survive the winter, or the summer come to think about it. Bloody snow, what I’d give for a long hot summer.’
Dinner with the mayor was the usual soy mush and soy vodka. The only difference was that the mayor had some chilies, fiery hot red peppers. They at least provided a different taste. Not good, noted Nathaniel, just different.
The mayor explained to Nate that the Dissolvers would all be taken in by volunteer families until they had found apprenticeships or jobs so that they could support themselves. The three friends tried to make conversation with the mayor but they had little in common and the rest of the meal was spent in comparative silence interspersed with the sound of chewing and swallowing.
After an uncomfortable forty minutes, the host thankfully called an end to the proceedings, paid Nate his three gold units and directed them to the only inn available.
The inn turned out to be a shabby affair and when Nate asked for two rooms he was informed by the less than keen landlord that they only had one room to rent out, although it did have three beds. The marine asked the landlord to rig up a curtain across the one corner in order to give Brett some semblance of privacy and the owner sighed theatrically and started to shake his head.
But Leon let out a low throaty growl and the surly innkeeper was galvanized into a sudden show of enthusiasm and he rushed to obey.
Nate chuckled and Brett rolled her eyes.
‘Men,’ she said. ‘Juvenile creatures the lot of them.’
Chapter 16
The next morning, over breakfast, Nathaniel told the other two of his plan.
‘We need to head back to Sanfrisco,’ he said. ‘It’s the nearest citadel and we need to get paid. But, I think that we should travel there via the blight. Use dead reckoning to ride at least five days into the interior, then take a left turn and head for Sanfrisco, another five days or so. That way we stand a good chance of being attacked by mutants.’
‘Oh, well that would be nice,’ said Brett.
Nate grinned. ‘We gotta fight to earn. No good avoiding that fact, we need to be attacked. Or at least we need to attack them if we see them.’
‘I agree,’ rumbled Leon. ‘And the sooner the better, I already grow weary of this low budget residence.’
They bolted down the rest of their food, settled up with the landlord and set off to buy some more supplies, mainly food and ammunition.
It was just before noon when they were ready to go on their way and, when they got to the main gates, they were surprised to find a large group of townsfolk there to cheer them off.
It appeared that the town rumor mill had been grinding away ever since their arrival and the grist that their escapades had provided had turned into the stuff of legend.
Nate had killed over two hundred mutants at Cutters Pass and then, on the trip over to the town of Verona, he, the lion man and the girl had fought off and killed the largest pack of mutants ever before seen in the district. Some said upwards of five hundred. It was said that the small young woman had killed over thirty of the monsters herself.
‘Bloody idiots,’ mumbled Nate as they left to tumultuous applause. ‘I reckon that we should tell them the truth. Put an end to this stupidity.’
‘Don’t,’ said Brett. ‘It’s harmless and it makes them feel good. People need heroes and if they can’t find any then they’ll simply make some. We just happen to be the anchor to their collective fantasies. Something to tell their children. It would be cruel to take that from them.’
Nate shook his head. ‘I suppose so.’
‘And anyway,’ continued Brett. ‘I kinda like being a hero. It’s cool.’
‘That’s as may be,’ conceded Nate. ‘But cool don’t buy potatoes.’
Brett turned to the marine, a puzzled frown on her brow. ‘What’s a potato?’
Nathaniel grunted irritably and heeled his horse. They picked up pace and trotted out into the Badlands, eyes wide and ears pricked.
The three rode on through the day, patches of white snow beneath skies of oil on water. But there were no signs of Untouchables. The land around them was dead. Silent and devoid of life, the ever-changing vista of the pulse light the only movement that they could see.
That night they set camp against a large rock, fed and watered the horses, built a fire and ate.
Nathaniel took first watch, spreading his saddle blanket out on the top of the rock to give himself a vantage point from which to keep an eye out, his rifle close to hand and his pistols loose in their holsters.
He went down and woke Leon at midnight then he curled up next to the fire and slept soundly, knowing that he was in safe hands.
The next day was pretty much a carbon copy of the first. The crunch of hooves on snow, the swirl of the pulse light. The dead land.
No tracks.
No spoor.
No signs of life.
‘I thought that these untouchable dudes were such a huge problem that you couldn’t travel anywhere without them attacking you,’ said Nate that evening as they sat around the fire.
‘That’s what they say,’ confirmed Leon. ‘Whoever they might be.’
‘So where are they? Why aren’t we being attacked? Hard to get scalps when the enemy won’t engage.’
‘Maybe we’re in the wrong place,’ ventured Brett.
‘We in the badlands,’ disagreed Nate. ‘Out in the open in the middle of nowhere in the blight. Prime targets.’
‘Not really,’ countered Brett. ‘I been thinking, most attacks take place on trails. Set trade routes. Frequently traveled roads between towns. Places where they know that humans will be. I mean, what earthly reason would they look for pickings in the middle of nowhere? Like I say, maybe we’re simply in the wrong place.’
‘Never thought of it that way,’ conceded Nate. ‘Makes sense, I suppose.’
‘Well what now?’ Asked Leon.
‘I reckon that we stick to the plan,’ answered Nate. ‘We keep heading into the blight for another couple or three days. Who knows what we’ll find? Maybe a small mutant settlement. If we do, then we claim some scalps. But whatever transpires, after that we cut hard left and head back to Sanfrisco. Maybe see if we can join a caravan when we get closer. Play it by ear.’
There was a murmur of agreement and Leon stood up. ‘I’ll take first watch,’ he said as he walked out of the range of the firelight and disappeared into the night, looking for a poi
nt that would allow him maximum vision.
Brett curled up in her blanket next to the fire and Nate sat for a while staring at the flames. The fire was, by necessity, small. There was little vegetation in the blight, save for the odd stunted tree that yielded a crop of small bitter leaves that the Grazers fed on. But the wood was hard and resinous so it burned well. But it was hard to find.
As he often did when alone, the marine exercised his mental muscles and tried to delve back into his past. Like so many times before, he was rewarded with scant flickering flashes of memory that made no literal sense whatsoever.
Winged humanoid creatures flying above him. They carried small crossbows. A vast city. A massive clock. Big Ben? Cars.
Nathaniel shuddered. Cars!
A city without the eternal smog of the Highmen’s citadels. Such memories were impossible. How could he recall something that had never been? Or at least something that had never been for over six hundred years.
He was still awake when Leon called him to the second watch.
Chapter 17
Ethan Thomas had been born into the aristocracy of a well known airship family. Since time immemorial it seemed that a Thomas had been a captain of one of the Highmen’s massive airships. At thirty two years old, Ethan had spent more of his life in the air than he had on the ground. Many were the times that he had not left the ship for stretches in excess of three months, staying onboard when they docked to load and unload, reveling in the power of the machine and cocooning himself in the safety of his own, mobile world.
Land dwellers had a name for people like Ethan. They called them Skyloons. In return, the airship people referred to the landlubbers as Groundhogs. There was little love lost between the two groups and more than a little of that antagonism was due to the jealousy felt by the less privileged landlocked.
Each citadel ran its own fleet of airships. The ships varied in both size and purpose but they had one thing in common – they were all vast. From eight hundred to over one thousand feet in length and over two hundred feet wide. All of the airships were fitted with cabins for travelers, holds for cargo and a large array of heavy weaponry. Most were propelled by either two or four engines. Wright-Boeing steam driven monsters with twenty foot long wooden propellers. Steering and trim was controlled via a system of rudders and flaps, and elevation was adjusted via a complex system of ballast, hot air and envelopes of helium. Keeping an airship flying on the straight and level was a skill that exceeded that of a commercial airline pilot in the days before the pulse. An almost unbelievable quantity of multi tasking, combining the deftness of a calligrapher, the strength of a blacksmith, the leadership of a general and an understanding of weather patterns that even the most advanced meteorologist would be in awe of.
In fact, unless one was trained from a very young age and steeped in the lore of the airship, then it would be impossible to achieve the level of skill and proficiency needed to shepherd the vast dirigibles safely across the skies, day after week after month after year without incident or failure. This was the reason that captaincy was passed down from family member to family member. It was a calling that had to be answered from the cradle.
As a result, airship captains and crew were considered to be the very best of the best. An elite class that were paid well and lived life to the full.
Indeed, a very few of the officers were so high up on the social scale as to be privy to the inner workings of the Highmen inner sanctum.
Ethan Thomas and was one of these officers.
Today he was flying on a mission that demanded every bit of his formidable skills. Because, on this flight, he was captaining the one thousand two hundred foot long “Lostvega Leviathan”, a premier class airship that had been especially kitted out to carry a very specific load.
And he had to do so with a skeleton crew consisting of an engineer with two assistants, a helmsman come navigator, a single gunner and himself. Normally the “Lostvega Leviathan” had a full crew compliment of twenty seven people. But the fact was, this mission was to be carried out under such a veil of secrecy that only the few that had been handpicked by the Highmen were entrusted to participate.
This was Ethan’s twelfth such mission. Twice a year for the last six years, he and the same skeleton crew would take on the load outside the citadel of Lostvega, then they would fly directly into the heart of the interior where they would deliver their payload. The ship would then continue on to the citadel of Sanfrisco where it would collect extra crew, passengers and trade goods to return to its point of departure, thereby making it appear as if the ship was on a totally normal and usual flight plan.
And each year he questioned whether or not he was doing the right thing. The Highmen had made him and his crew wealthy, but what was wealth to a man whose version of personal paradise was the living quarters of an airship? No, if Ethan was honest to himself he would admit that the reason he carried out his bi-annual mission without question or complaint, was due to the fact that he did not want to give the Highmen an excuse to ground him.
Life as a groundhog would not be worth living. Literally.
So, to him it was a life and death decision. Do as you were told, no matter how distasteful, and remain an airship captain.
Stay aloft.
Stay alive.
Ethan shook his head, a physical manifestation of his attempt to clear his mind. To concentrate on the awesome task that lay ahead. Then he removed the stopper from the speaking tube, whistled into it and bellowed an order.
‘Cast off!’
Steel cables were detached, ballast tanks were emptied, boilers stoked to the full and the “Lostvega Leviathan” rose majestically into the air, its two massive steam engines thumping away as they drove the gigantic dirigible forward.
Into the interior.
Into the very heart of the blight.
Chapter 18
‘It doesn’t make sense,’ said Nathaniel irritably. ‘Four days and three nights we’ve been out here. No animals, hardly any vegetation. Almost no life at all.’
‘It’s the blight,’ said Brett. ‘After the Chem Wars, nothing grew. It’s also the reason that the mutants are what they are. Chemicals have leached into the earth and contaminated everything.’
Nate shook his head. ‘I know that. Look, I can’t say that I’m any sort of expert, but I’ve never heard of something that can contaminate the earth for hundreds of years. Surely by now it would have faded to a background thing?’
‘Obviously not,’ countered Leon. ‘And the proof is all around you.’
‘True,’ muttered Nate. ‘Sorry, it’s just getting to me. Like riding through a vacuum. Like purgatory or something. I don’t like it. A bird, a rodent, anything would make a welcome change from this silence and snow and crappy little trees.’
‘Well I suppose that’s why the Blight isn’t a huge holiday destination,’ chirped Brett sarcastically.
Nate sat upright on his horse and stared ahead. ‘Hey, is that smoke?’
Both Brett and Leon looked in the direction that Nate was pointing, shielding their eyes from the Pulse light as they did so.
‘Looks like it may be,’ conceded Leon after a few seconds.
On the very edge of sight, far away in front of them, a merest hint of smoke was smeared across the sky.
‘Campfire?’ Asked Nate.
‘Might be,’ answered Leon. ‘Too small to be anything else and with the lack of vegetation, you sure as hell don’t get forest fires around here.’
Nate grinned. ‘Looks like a payday, people. Let’s get moving.’
The marine nudged his horse with his heels and they broke into a trot, heading for the wisp of smoke on the horizon.
After two hours of riding Nate and Brett dismounted to walk on foot beside Leon, keeping their silhouettes as low as possible. There was little cover to hide in so they walked from stunted tree to stunted tree, keeping in the shadows wherever possible. There were a few small undulations on the ground and Nate used the
se as well in order to get them as close as possible to the alleged camp fire.
When they were less than a mile away he clenched his fist to stop.
‘We stay here until nightfall,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘Go in under cover of darkness, reconnoiter the place, then pull back a ways and discuss our next step.’
‘Why bother?’ Asked Leon. ‘Why don’t we just go charging in, kill them all, take Calotypes and get out.’
Nate shook his head ‘Time spent checking – seldom wasted,’ he advised. ‘We recce, we withdraw. That’s it. Okay?’
Both Brett and the lion man nodded.
Firstly, Nate got them to help him bury all of their supplies under a snow drift in case someone, or something, came across the horses. Then at least they might steal the animals but the rest of the kit would be safe. As the sun went down they hobbled the horses and set off, weapons loose in their scabbards and armor tied tight.
As they stalked towards the camp, Nathaniel noticed that Brett was not as experienced as either him or Leon; she had not yet developed the knack of blending into the landscape. The subtle use of shadow and light and broken line. She had been an urban thief but there are many more places to hide in a concrete jungle. Out in the open it was much more difficult.
But what she lacked in experience and knowhow, she made up for with her lithe movement and lightness of feet. Even walking next to her it was impossible to hear her feet touch the ground, so stealthy was she.
Leon moved in the same way that Nathaniel did. Smooth and unhurried. But then, like the marine, he was a creature made for war. A living weapon created to attack and kill in the most efficient ways possible. A big cat, stalking his prey.
They dropped to a crawl and moved behind a scrubby tree as they crested a small rise in the land. Nate peered around the gnarled trunk and took in the scene below.
A small fire cast a flickering glow across the encampment. One brief glance told him that the inhabitants were not human. Huge, hulking males crouched around the fire, squatting on the edge of the light. Smaller shapes, most probably females, sat closer to the fire, tending to skewers of some sort of sizzling flesh. Even smaller shapes ran in and out of the firelight, pushing each other and rolling on the ground. Every now and then the fire would flare up and the shapes coalesced into sharper images. The lumpen and misshaped features of the mutants were plain to see.