by Steve Feasey
‘Where?’
‘I took them out of stock.’
Rush
It was the third day of his journey and the sun was beginning to make its way towards the horizon. It’d be dark again soon. Tired and dirty, and more than a little hungry, Rush was walking along the side of an old dirt track, his feet dragging in the dust. He paused to look up at a bird sitting on a bough of a tree – a strange creature with a long proboscis where its beak might have been – when he heard the noise of a wagon approaching from behind. Scurrying into the nearest bush, he peered out from the dense foliage to see the large, harg-drawn vehicle come round the bend. He kept perfectly still, knowing he could not be seen, but his heart sped up when the vehicle came to a halt beside him.
There was a moment or two of silence, eventually broken by a man’s voice. ‘What you doing hiding in that bush, boy? You planning on jumping out and attacking me, like one of those bandits from the Wastes?’
There was little point hiding any longer, although how the man could possibly have known he was there was a mystery. Rush stood up and looked at the driver of the wagon for the first time.
‘Tink!’
‘I thought it might be you,’ the wagon driver said, a sad look on his face. ‘At least, I hoped it would be you.’
The man reached down, offering the youngster a hand so he could climb up on the jockey-box alongside him. Side by side, they sat in silence for a while, just looking ahead.
‘I came by your place – what was left of it – yesterday. I was going to pay you and Josuf a visit, maybe trade some merchandise for a few barrels of that fine cider he makes.’ The old man sighed and shook his head. ‘How much did you see?’
‘Everything. Those men . . .’ He couldn’t say the words.
Rush had known Tinker all his life; the trader visited their smallholding at least three or four times a year as he travelled from place to place carrying news and bartering goods. The man had an uncanny knack of having just the right thing on the back of his wagon whenever he pulled in at a place. Rush had no idea how old the man was; his eyes looked youthful and were quick to smile, but the thick, drooping moustache that framed his mouth was almost white. On his head he had a large, battered flat-brimmed hat, and he took this off now, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.
‘You don’t have to talk, son.’
‘They killed him.’ Rush spat the words out, turning away so the man would not see the tears that welled up and ran down his cheeks.
Tink nodded and replaced the hat. He remained quiet, looking off in the other direction and giving the boy as long as he needed to get himself back together again.
‘He told me to get away. Told me to run. I was in the orchard, and Josuf . . . There was an explosion. He –’
‘All right, boy. What matters is that you’re safe. For now, at least.’ He sighed. ‘But more men will be coming – men looking for you.’
‘So they came because of me?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Tink nodded, thinking things through in his head. ‘They can’t have been certain you were there, but they will be now. You can’t go back.’
‘I’m not going back. I know where I have to go.’
‘Oh? And where’s that?’
‘City Four. Before he died, Josuf told me to go there. I have to find somebody.’
‘A man called Silas.’
‘You know him?’
‘We’ve met.’
Tink raised his head and stared off into the distance again, his bushy eyebrows knitted together. ‘And so it begins.’
‘What, Tink? What begins?’
The old man waved the question away and shook his head. ‘City Four is a heck of a long way from here. I’d take you there, but I have to go east first. Somebody, somebody else like you, might also be in trouble.’ He shook his head. ‘The ARM will probably be patrolling the usual routes in the hope of finding you. Sticking to the smaller tracks and pathways like this one will help, but it’s still risky. If they spot me, they’ll want to search the wagon. I’ll be damned if I know how I’m going to hide you.’
‘I can’t go east. I have to cross the Wastes.’
‘Josuf told you to do that?’ The expression on his face told Rush exactly what Tink thought of that idea.
‘No.’
Tink gave him an odd look. ‘So who told you to cross the Wastes?’
Rush didn’t want to say he’d been told to do so in a dream; he knew precisely how that might sound. But when he shrugged, he was surprised at how quickly Tink let it go, pressing him no further.
‘The Wastes,’ the merchant said, more to himself than to the boy beside him. ‘Maybe it’s not such a mad idea. At least the soldiers won’t follow you.’ Something else occurred to him. ‘Any particular route you were thinking of taking?’
Rush shook his head, but as he did so he remembered something else from the dream he’d had that night. ‘I thought I’d head out to the . . .’ he racked his mind for the name, ‘. . . Tranter. That’s it. The Tranter Trading Post.’
Tink narrowed his eyes. He clearly knew of the place. ‘I see . . .’
Another thought struck Rush. ‘How did you know I was hiding? You couldn’t have seen me.’
‘Oh, you know old Tink. I got a feeling for these things. Like I always know what the people on the next leg of my trip might be hankering for. Call it a sixth sense.’ The old man eyed the boy carefully. Then he looked about him at their surroundings. ‘I was aiming to stop for a bite to eat now. This looks like as good a place as any to rest my old harg up.’ He leaned forward and gently patted the animal’s rump, the tentacles on the sides of its face briefly waggling in response. He steered the wagon across the track into a small clearing. ‘You’re welcome to join me if you like.’ He climbed down and unhitched the animal, leading it over to a place where it could graze.
Tink and Rush ate sitting on the ground a little way ahead of the wagon so they could see anything coming down the track. They chose not to light a fire and risk drawing attention to themselves; besides, the large waxing moon that hung in the sky bathed the world in an eerie silver hue that was easy to see by. Wrapped in blankets, the pair sat in silence. The food was delicious: small crispy crackers, cheese and strips of salty dried meat. When they’d finished, Tink leaned back on his elbows and took a small clay pipe from the pocket of his shirt. Stuffing what looked to Rush like dried brown leaves into the bowl, he lit it with a match and drew the smoke into his mouth, letting out a sigh as he exhaled.
‘Filthy habit,’ he said to the boy, nodding down at the pipe.
He noticed the boy looking back towards the wagon.
‘Go see if there’s anything that takes your fancy.’
‘I don’t have any money.’
The old man waved this away and took another puff on his little pipe. ‘Go and take a look anyway.’ The boy was almost halfway across to the wagon when the man shouted out to him again. ‘Mind yourself with that thing tied up round the back.’
Intrigued, Rush went round behind the vehicle. There, on a short chain, was the strangest animal he’d ever laid eyes on. It had a vaguely dog-like appearance: a muscular, squat body atop short legs that ended in black clawed paws. The front of the animal’s face was turned up, like that of a pug or a bulldog, but the slightly bulging eyes were like a lizard’s, with vertical slits for pupils. Each reptilian eye also appeared to have a third, transparent eyelid that closed a fraction earlier than the outermost ones. The chimera effect was completed by a combination of scales and wiry fur that covered the beast from head to toe.
‘What is it?’ he called over to Tink.
‘That . . .’ The man pointed towards the wagon with the tip of his pipe. ‘That is what is known in the trade as a deal gone wrong.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘It’s a rogwan. At least that’s what the man who sold it to me called it. I purchased it at a place on the edge of the Blacklands. You know about the Blacklands
, Rush?’
‘No.’
Tink got to his feet and wandered over to the boy, tapping the bowl of his pipe out against the side of his leg.
‘Away to the south, about ten days’ journey from here, is the start of a place about as hostile as you could imagine. Whatever happened there in the Last War has scarred the earth for ever, so all that’s left is a landscape of black glassy rock as far as the eye can see. Despite that, things live there. Hell, people live there! The scariest, weirdest people you ever laid eyes on. I’m not talking about mutants with odd-coloured eyes or hair, or an extra finger and toe.’ He puffed out his cheeks. ‘These people are as horribly altered as the landscape they live in. I saw one man with two heads! Yeah, you heard me, two heads. One big one, and one smaller one that stuck out of his shoulder at an odd angle.’ He lifted a shoulder and put his head to one side to demonstrate. Straightening up, he frowned at the memory.
‘The rogwan?’ Rush prompted, when it was clear the merchant had forgotten what they’d been talking about.
‘What? Oh, yeah. Well, I know a man who owns a travelling zoo. He asked me to see if I could acquire him some new exhibits, so I bought that thing. Turns out the zoo owner hasn’t got any money. Now old Tink is stuck with it! The damn thing eats like a harg!’ He regarded his pipe for a moment, as if contemplating whether to refill it, but he put it back in his coat pocket.
‘She looks sad, tied up like that.’
‘She?’
Rush nodded. ‘It’s a she.’
‘Well, that’s where she is going to stay until I can find a home for her. Have you seen the teeth on that thing?’
As if on cue, the rogwan gave a big yawn, showing off its razor-sharp fangs and long black tongue.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Name?’ The old man chuckled and stroked his moustache. ‘You don’t give a thing a name unless you intend to keep it, and I ain’t keeping that.’
Rush reached out towards the creature.
‘Don’t touch it! It’ll take your hand off faster than you can –’ Tink cried out and made a grab for the boy, stopping when he saw the youngster reach out and roughly pat the animal’s head. ‘I’ll be damned,’ he said, staring from the boy to the animal and back again.
‘I’m good with animals,’ Rush explained. ‘There was a harg at our place that wouldn’t let anyone ride him but me.’ He nodded down at the rogwan. ‘She’s not dangerous.’
Tink approached the animal, but stopped when it growled and narrowed its eyes at him. He mumbled something under his breath and looked again at the pair, and then up ahead into the darkness.
‘Like I said, Rush. I’m heading east. But just over two days from here is a point on the edge of the Wastes. City Four lies due north of there, across the Chisel mountain range. The journey won’t be easy, and I wouldn’t attempt it myself. But if you’re determined to go, I’m happy to give you a ride as far as I can.’
‘I’d like that,’ Rush nodded.
‘OK. Well, I suggest we climb back on board the wagon and get moving, young sir. We can see well enough, and travelling overnight will give us a good head start on anyone sent out to your old place.’
Silas
Jax and Silas sat across from each other at one of the tables in the refectory. The children who attended the orphanage they ran were all in bed, so the pair had the place to themselves. The building had an odd feel to it at night. The rooms, usually filled with the raucous noise of youngsters, seemed more than merely empty; it was as if their essence was missing.
‘Are you sure we’re doing the right thing by bringing them all here?’ Jax asked. ‘Straight into the lion’s den.’
‘I seem to remember it being your idea.’
‘Still . . .’
‘If we leave them out there, even if we move them around, they’ll eventually be discovered. You said yourself that they’re finding it harder and harder not to utilise their gifts. That in itself will draw attention to them. And now he knows they’re alive, Melk won’t stop until he has them. He’ll offer a bounty next. People will happily turn them in.’
‘That’s all true. But for precisely the same reasons, we won’t be able to hide them here for long.’ Jax nudged a cup in front of him with a long white finger.
‘Maybe we won’t have to,’ said Silas. ‘Things are changing: inside and outside the walls.’ He gave the teenager a guarded smile. ‘Perhaps we are on the verge of a new order.’
‘Mutants and the Pure living together in perfect harmony?’ The albino raised an eyebrow. ‘Come on, Silas, you can’t really believe that.’
‘I’m not sure what I believe any more. All I know is that whatever is going to happen between the Mute communities and the Six Cities, you and the other children are going to play a key role in it. We’ve got an opportunity to turn this world around for the betterment of all. If nothing else, revealing these children will topple the Melks from power. That alone has to be a good thing.’
‘It could have the opposite effect. It could make them even more powerful.’
‘I hope for all our sakes that will not be the case.’
Zander
Zander Melk stared at the wizened figure of his father in disbelief. The fetuses held at Bio-Gen were the next-generation city dwellers. They were precious, perhaps the most precious thing in the Six Cities, and the security that surrounded them legendary. If anyone ever found out that his father had taken them for experimental purposes . . .
The hiss of the oxygen seemed louder than ever as Zander held his breath, waiting for the sick man to continue. ‘So you stole fetuses and took them to your illegal secret lab to experiment on them with mutant DNA.’ A harsh, bitter laugh escaped him. ‘I’m almost terrified to ask, but what next?’
‘The first batches weren’t entirely successful. We rushed in, too eager to see what we might be able to do. Most of those earliest attempts were horribly deformed creatures; the cocktail of DNA material coupled with deficiencies in the artificial womb system meant they were not . . . viable. Only two survived: a huge kid with strange powers of healing was the first, and a few years after him we were able to produce an albino boy with psychic abilities. Albinos and giants . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Not exactly what I was going for.’ The president smiled, remembering. ‘Brick.’
‘What?’
‘That was his name, the first Mute, with the ability to heal.’ He nodded at the banks of machines surrounding him. ‘Guess I could do with him now, eh?’
‘You said first batches?’
‘Maybe I should have given up then, but I didn’t. How could I? The scientists working there – all handpicked men – refined the process, and a few years later we tried again with more success. Four children were created. Three survived and these went into the next phase of the process. These three –’ he smiled sheepishly, remembering – ‘they looked perfect. If you saw them walking in one of the cities, you’d never know they were . . . different. They were subjected to an epigenetic programme that would allow them to hone the powers I had given them. One perfect shape-shifter; one telekinetic; one who moved faster than time. From birth they were placed in extreme conditions: specially constructed cells with stimuli designed to force them to use their gifts in order simply to stay alive.’ His eyes shone as a humourless smile contorted his bony face. ‘Even at the age of two, they were extraordinary. It’s impossible to say what they might have become because they were taken away. The Farm was destroyed.’
‘How?’
‘There was an accident – a problem with the cold fusion reactor. When I got to the site there was nothing left but a huge hole in the ground that went down as far as the eye could see. The devastation extended five or six miles in every direction. The entire forest around the facility was laid low by the force of the explosion. All my research notes, the files, the computers, the equipment – gone. The children had gone too.’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘I told myself it was for the best, that the project w
as doomed. And at least all the evidence had gone with them.’
Zander narrowed his eyes at his father. ‘Why do I know nothing about this? Why have you chosen to tell me this now, when I’m standing for election? You said there would be no hindrance to my becoming president. What would happen if anyone found out what you’d done?’
‘That’s why I’m telling you. Like I said, I assumed they were all dead: destroyed along with the Farm. Then I received this.’ He nudged an omnipad that was on the bed at his side and the screen came instantly to life.
Zander picked it up and looked at the image. It was a picture of an illegal gathering of Mutes somewhere in one of the slums. A small section of the image had been highlighted and this magnified as soon as he tapped it, the new image focused on three individuals in the crowd. ‘Who are they?’
‘The tall, pale one calls himself Jax now. That’s my albino mutant. Isn’t he a handsome young fellow?’ He lifted the oxygen mask to his face and greedily gulped at the air. ‘The older man is called Silas. Brilliant mind. He convinced me to give him a job at the Farm.’
‘How can you be sure it’s him?’
‘I’d bet my life on it.’ He smiled weakly at the joke. ‘Besides, how could I forget what my own brother looked like.’
The son stared at his father, lost for words. ‘Did you say brother? You have a . . . I have an uncle?’
‘No. You and I have a treacherous snake for a relation. A snake I should have stepped on and killed when we were growing up.’
‘And you didn’t think I should know about this . . . uncle?’
The old man gave him another of those infuriating shrugs. ‘What was there to know? I thought he was dead.’
Once again, Zander struggled to suppress his ire. ‘Who’s the third man?’
‘He’s the engineer who installed the cold fusion reactor. His name is Thorn. The picture you’re looking at is a little over six months old, but a short while ago our men managed to relocate him and bring him in. They used a number of methods, each more persuasive than the last, until he eventually started talking. He told them that my “extraordinary” children had survived. The albino apparently wiped their memories and suppressed their powers so they wouldn’t be conspicuous. Then they were sent out to the furthest corners of Scorched Earth to start new lives. They’re out there, son, and you have to find them.’