by John Shirley
Gong nodded and plodded grimly toward the mine. Roland turned at a tittering sound and saw a strange sight: three Psycho soldiers charging at him, all wearing Gynella’s livery. But they represented three types of Psycho, and they were coming in a row, one behind the next; first came the smaller one, a Midget Psycho; then directly behind him came a standard Psycho, midsize but fully insane; then a Badass Psycho. Far taller than the standard Psycho, the Badass had a disproportionately long and powerful right arm but a shriveled and stunted left one—the left arm was useless, but the hugely muscular right arm and the big glowing axe in the big Psycho’s right hand almost made up for it.
All three attackers wore full-face vault masks with glowing eyes. All three were coming in single file but fast, the first one tittering, the second one gibbering, the third one howling for blood.
Roland was a little amused by the graduated display of Psychos but also a little intimidated.
Still, Roland was a pro. He aimed the Atlas Hydra carefully, fired it when the Midget Psycho was just three paces away, and blew its right kneecap in half. He did it that way so it’d fall right in front of the medium-size Psycho and so it’d still be lively enough to thrash about and entangle the second Psycho’s legs—and that’s how it worked out, the second Psycho falling on the Midget underfoot.
Roland was going to dispatch the second one when the third, the huge Badass Psycho, gave a short leap and jumped on the back of the second Psycho, crushing the Psycho’s spine. Roland had the shotgun ready, and he fired as the Badass came at him like a truck bearing down. But the blast from the Hydra didn’t stop the Badass Psycho. The lunatic bandit’s shield was a tough one, a powerful Pearlescent, and the Psycho stumbled but didn’t take any real damage.
“Come here, meat puppet!” the Psycho shouted.
Roland stepped back, but the enormous, energy-charged axe was swinging at him and struck the barrel of his weapon just as he fired again. He got off a shot, the powerful shotgun weakening his enemy’s shield, but a moment later the gun was knocked from his hands with such force his fingers felt numb, and he stumbled back, almost falling.
“I’m gonna skin ya, put on your face, and say hi to your mama!” the Psycho shrieked, raising the axe.
Roland got his feet under him, decided to rush the Psycho, but then two rattling bursts from a combat rifle sounded close to his right, and the Badass staggered, the side of its head half shattered, helmet cracked.
Roland drew his big knife and rushed in, using all his strength to penetrate the Psycho’s failing shield. He forced the blade through the energy field and up, through Gynella’s G, and into the huge Psycho’s heart.
The malformed soldier shuddered and fell on top of Roland, stone dead. A true deadweight, the corpse slammed Roland onto his back, crushed the breath from him as he struck the ground.
Mordecai strode up, grinning. Bloodwing rode on his right shoulder. “Good thing for you I can hit a moving target! Tough shield! You hadn’t have weakened it, I couldn’t have gotten those rounds through.”
“Will you . . .” Roland wheezed. “Get this . . .” He took a hoarse breath. “Stinking carrion off me . . .”
Mordecai laughed and set to work. It took both of them, straining hard, to roll the Badass Psycho off Roland.
“Well, stop loafing around, Roland,” Mordecai said, as Roland got gasping to his feet. “Let’s move—there’s another wave of them coming.”
Roland picked up his shotgun, but the barrel was bent. The weapon was useless.
He tossed it aside, then noticed another dead Psycho lying facedown on a Vladof Glorious Havoc, a formidable machine gun. He strode to the body and pulled the weapons and extra magazines of ammo free, just as a red outrider came careening down an alley between two low metal buildings, with a group of Psychos running behind it. The outrider fired a small cannon shell that burst just behind Roland, making him stagger. The outrider flashed past him, screeching into a turn.
“Come on, Roland!” Mordecai shouted.
They ran full tilt toward the mine entrance, Mordecai just ahead.
“Where are Dakes and the others?” Roland called, between puffing breaths.
“They’re all inside!” Mordecai shouted, as Bloodwing flew above him, screeching.
They got into the opening of the center mine just as the outrider came up behind them, almost running Roland over. He had to dive headfirst into the mine to keep from getting clipped by a bone-studded fender. He shoulder-rolled, careful of his new weapon, got up, and saw that Mordecai was already stationing himself at the door, firing out at the Psychos.
Moving stiffly, muscles aching from the falls he’d taken, Roland ran to hunker behind the partial shelter of the metal girders framing the entrances, across from Mordecai.
“Concentrate fire on that damn outrider!” Roland suggested. “Hit the driver!”
They had to take him down fast. One good shell from that outrider’s mounted turret cannon would kill them both in this enclosed space.
Mordecai nodded, and they both aimed at the driver as the outrider spun around, came back for another pass. It fired its turret cannon at the entrance to the mine. The other Psychos, an increasing throng of them, were taking up firing positions to either side of the buildings across from the mine entrance. Roland aimed the combat machine gun and squeezed off a long burst, the powerful weapon bucking in his grasp.
The red outrider’s turret missed the entrance, raising two fireballs just outside the mine—and then their concentrated fire penetrated the outrider’s shield, and the driver’s head vaporized in a red mist. The outrider spun wildly, completely out of control. It rolled over and exploded against a side wall of the settlement.
Lucky suddenly appeared, coming from behind, crouching down between Mordecai and Roland. He fired an Atlas combat rifle at the Psychos in quick bursts. He wore a mining helmet with a light on it, and there was blood dripping from under the helmet, but he didn’t seem badly hurt—Lucky’s eyes burned with hatred for the invaders.
Roland glared at him. “Lucky, get back in there, dammit, you’re too exposed!”
“Kiss my ass!” Lucky shouted back, grinning, firing till his clip was empty. Two of the enemy had gone down to his fire, but more were rushing to fill the gap, as increasing numbers of the Knife Legion penetrated the wrecked front gate of the settlement.
Bullets sang past and struck sparks from the frame of the mine entrance. Roland emptied another magazine, mowing down half a dozen small Psychos and two or three bandits.
But the press from behind forced the front line of the legion into action. Two big Bruisers roared in fury and rushed at the mine entrance, firing submachine guns and leading a general charge.
“Come on!” Lucky shouted at Roland. “The mine’s entrance is wired! Back inside! Get to the cavern!”
“Go, you two!” Mordecai yelled, knocking one of the Bruisers off his feet with a burst from his Cobra. “I’m gonna be right behind you!” He set the Cobra aside, took four grenades from his belt, gave two of them to Bloodwing. And he threw the others, in one handful, at the charging Psychos. Bloodwing was already flapping toward the Psychos, and Roland was afraid Mordecai’s winged partner would get caught in the grenade blasts, but it dropped its grenades like a bomber in the thick of the Psychos and then swooped back, just ahead of the blast cloud.
The four grenades blew up almost simultaneously, about fifteen meters out, momentarily obscuring the onrushing enemy in a cloud of dust and spraying blood.
“Come on, Mordecai!” Roland shouted. “While they’re eating dust!” And they followed Lucky back into the mine, Bloodwing swooping in after them.
Back and down they went, slipping at times on the slick, gradually descending ramp of stone, hurrying but not able to run full tilt for fear of slamming headlong into girders or the occasional cart. Most of the time they were in darkness, following the bobbing glow of the light fixed to Lucky’s helmet.
“The whole settlement make it in here?�
�� Roland asked, as they reached the bottom level of the mine. “I don’t see anyone.”
Lucky came to a stop, looking back the way they’d come. They could hear the guttural shouts of the oncoming Psychos, working their way down the mine shaft. Another minute, and the Knife Legion would catch up with them. “The others are in the cavern—the ones that survived. About half the men are dead.”
“Come on, Roland!” Mordecai said, climbing through the opening at the back of the mine. “This way!”
“Lucky!” Roland shouted. “Come on!”
“I’m coming,” Lucky said, opening a metal box fixed to the wall. “I’ve gotta prepare a welcome for those plug-ugly bastards.”
Inside the metal box was a switch.
Smartun climbed the metal steps to a corner watchtower overlooking the plains outside Bloodrust Corners. He felt a mixture of elation and disquiet. Would she be happy? Casualties had been surprisingly high. And there was that little debacle at the end. But still . . .
He reached the watchtower proper and looked out at the legion’s encampment. Bandits and Psychos, Gynella’s men, were milling about the camp, some of them fighting, some drinking liquor cadged from the settlement. A great many others were looting the settlement, arguing over newly discovered caches of money and weapons and food. Skenk was having difficulty keeping more soldiers from rushing into the settlement. But there was no room for them—and there could be more traps . . .
It was time to make a report.
Smartun tapped his ECHO comm, activating its link to the device he had plugged into his ear, and heard the clicking of its decrypter. After a moment Gynella herself answered.
“Is that you, Smartun?”
He shivered with pleasure as her voice, the blessed voice of his living Goddess, reverberated within his ear, a kind of sonic intimacy . . .
“It is, my General Goddess. We have possession of Bloodrust Corners—we took considerable casualties.”
“How many casualties?”
He told her. He thought she’d be angry, but she only chuckled. “We have reports that the mercenaries Roland and Mordecai entered Bloodrust Corners right before your attack. Does that account for the high casualties?”
“In part. The settlement had good defenses. Their kill-mechs took out quite a few of our best fighters. We used up a lot of rocket-launcher ammo on the mechs and the front gate—we’ll need more, as soon as it can be supplied, as much as you can spare.”
“All in good time. Meanwhile you will scavenge weaponry as you find it. We’ll have to start expanding our range, and if you go to . . .” A crackle interrupted the transmission, and then her voice came back in. “Fyrestone, probably, soon. There are a lot of weapons in and around Fyrestone we can use. The weapons dealer Marcus has a good many tucked away around the settlement, I’m told.”
“As you wish, General Goddess.”
“But first, secure the area. How many prisoners did you take? We have need of work slaves. I have to shore up the new ramp off the Footstool. I’ll need a good many workmen . . .”
When they’d first come to the Devil’s Footstool, the only access to the top had been to crane men and supplies up in the cumbersome shell of an old bus lifted creakingly up and lowered creakingly down. Gynella had ordered a ramp cut in a zigzag pattern down one face of the giant stone column, so her fighting forces could be moved out to a battlefield with less delay—and less vulnerability. A single good cannon shell could blow that old bus up en route, and all the men inside.
“Ah, unfortunately there are no prisoners, my General. The few wounded who were left behind were killed by our front lines. You know how . . . impetuous they can be.”
“What? The settlers escaped?”
He winced. “The surviving settlers . . . essentially, yes, ma’am, they’ve escaped—so far. We hope to locate them.”
“But you were to have the place surrounded!”
“We did surround it, my General, but there seems to be a hidden exit through one of the mines.
The mine appears to lead to a cavern, which could be traversed, we believe, to a hilly area in the—”
“And you didn’t pursue into the mine?” she interrupted, her voice harsh with impatience.
“A large contingent of our men rushed into the mine, to pursue—before I could stop them.”
“Why would you stop . . . oh. It was a trap?”
“Yes, ma’am. The mine was wired with explosives. We lost about sixty men. Killed or buried alive when the mine collapsed.”
“Really! Then the settlers committed suicide in the mine, with explosives?”
“I don’t think so. While the other mines appear to be dead ends, ending in solid rock, this one seems to have had a back way out. We found a prisoner in one of their storerooms—one of our people—he says that he heard a miner talking about a cavern, a back way out of a mine. I had heard other rumors of it when I first arrived, from a captured miner before he died under interrogation. I sent scouts to find this back entrance. But they never returned.” On Pandora, if someone went on a mission and didn’t return, they were invariably assumed to have been killed. “I will find the cave entrance, I promise you!”
“The settlers will be well away from there by the time you find their little escape hatch!”
“Perhaps so, my General, but they will have left tracks. We’ll locate them!”
“Do it only if you can do it expediently, but don’t expend too much energy or manpower on it. We have to stay on schedule! Best to search for them with drones.”
“I do have two new drones, just in. I’ll set them to it, my General Goddess.”
She said nothing for a moment. He imagined her clicking her nails as she took the news in. “So . . . we have the mines, anyway, and the glam gems?”
“Two of the mines are intact, and we found a large storeroom packed with gem ore.”
“Good! When I turn the gems into cash, I can hire a force of mercenaries from off-planet. They’ll be more trainable than these lunatics we have now.”
He looked out onto the squalling, contentious, psychotic soldiers of the encampment. “Yes, that’ll be preferable to what we have to work with now. They’re getting more quarrelsome. Difficult to control.”
“They’re growing restless. Vialle warned me that they would need their conditioning reinforced. I’ll come out, fairly soon, and give them one of my special blessings. How did your catapults work?”
“Ah—very well! We successfully propelled the Psycho Midgets inside. They created considerable havoc in the ranks of the defenders.”
“A very creative idea, on your part, using those little wretches as missiles.”
He glowed inside at the compliment. Then felt an inner plunge, realizing that he must again mitigate his triumph with a failure. “Thank you, my Goddess—but . . .”
“Well? What now?”
“This man Roland did a sortie in an outrunner—he destroyed the catapults. We rocketed his outrunner, nearly nailed him. But Mordecai showed up, and then, ah . . .”
“And then they escaped into the settlement?” She made a tsk of disgust. “Let me guess. After that, he and Roland spearheaded the resistance against our forces?”
“Yes, that is essentially what, ah . . . yes, ma’am.”
There was a crackling silence. Then Gynella said, in a cold voice, “Your successes are badly blemished, Smartun. Still, you’re new on the job. But I expect to see improvement. I demand it!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“If you find Roland, if you get a chance to communicate with him, take it. Try to recruit him. If you can’t get the offer across to him, if he won’t talk to you, simply kill him any way you can. Don’t take any chances with him—clearly, he’s a great danger to our plans.” She sighed. “It’ll probably come to that, and it does seem like a waste. There are so few men of his kind on this planet. Very few indeed . . .”
• • •
Roland and Mordecai stood in the cool of dawn, gazin
g out from the top edge of the small plateau that overlooked the badlands south of the settlement. They were silent, standing with weapons in hand, keeping watch on the stony road up to the top of the plateau and the badlands. Bloodwing was perched on the rough point of a nearby boulder, dozing with its beak tucked under a wing. Beyond the rugged, still-dark maze of hills was the white blaze of the Salt Flats. Roland could just make out the distant smoke of what he supposed might be the encampment fires of Gynella’s Knife Legion.
“So, do we move on soon, Roland?” Mordecai asked, at last. “I’m ready to harvest some Eridium. A lot of money and a little luxury sounds good to me right now. Between you and me, I don’t think I’m developing a taste for fighting entire armies.”
“I’m not a fan of it either,” Roland said. “Brick probably loves it, though. If he’s still alive.”
“I wouldn’t count that big chunk of muscle out,” Mordecai said. He yawned. “I don’t much care for early-morning watches.”
“Yeah. Old Dakes just took it for granted we’d take a watch. Gave us our orders and went to bed.”
“But here we are.”
“We went to a lot of trouble, trying to keep some of these people alive. Wouldn’t like it to be for nothing.”
“If they’re going to expect something of us, they should pay us. We’re pros, Roland.”
Roland shrugged. “Seems like most of their gems and money were left behind in Bloodrust Corners.”
“Great. So we’re . . . volunteers?” Mordecai made a face. “Hey, I risk my ass all the time. I don’t mind doing it. But not for free.”
“I figure we’ll get them settled in, make sure they’re pretty secure, and move on. Head for those crystalisk dens.”
“Sounds good.” Mordecai paused, squinting at the sky. “Are those rakks?” he asked, pointing. “Wouldn’t be good if they decided to go for a settler’s kid.”
Roland looked up, shading his eyes, and saw two birdlike shapes, hard to see against the dim gray of first light, flying about a third of a kilometer away, not far above the altitude of the plateau top. They flew in a surprisingly neat circle, around and around. He could make out their wings, their lean bodies. “Looks more like trash feeders.”