by Steve Feasey
‘Why? Why would we rake something like this up? They haven’t been a problem till now – maybe they’re better simply left alone.’
His father sighed. ‘That picture – it’s from a Mute protest march. I don’t need to tell you how these mutant “rallies” are gathering momentum. The freaks are demanding rights – rights they’ve been denied for a long time now. There’s trouble coming.’
‘And what does that have to do with these kids you created?’
‘The mutants outnumber us by about twenty to one. We can’t simply wipe them out – that kind of thing just isn’t allowed these days. The Last War put paid to that. But there might be another way.’
The man in the bed was hardly the same one Zander had seen when he’d first entered; his father seemed reenergised somehow.
‘Imagine if we were able to use these mutant uprisings to repeal the anti-cloning laws. We’d argue that it’s the only way to raise an army in time. Now, try to imagine a clone army of my beautiful freak kids. We wouldn’t need a nuke; we’d have walking, breathing death machines!’
‘They were that powerful?’
‘They could have been, if I’d been allowed to carry on with my work.’
‘And that’s the only reason you want them found, is it? As a deterrent against any mutant uprising?’
His father narrowed his eyes at him. ‘I can’t pull the wool over your eyes, can I, son?’
‘Somebody once told me there was more to be learned from what somebody doesn’t say than from the words they want you to hear.’
Melk Senior nodded, smiling ruefully back. ‘The healer Mute – the one who called himself Brick. I need him. He’s my only chance of survival. I’ve already sent a large number of ARM units out to try and find any of these kids based on the information we extracted from our engineer friend. One of those units had an “unfortunate accident” involving an explosive device. The whole thing is getting . . . messy. I want you to oversee the operation from now on and find them.’
Zander stood up, the anger and frustration clear to see on his face. ‘You just can’t stop, can you? Even here, like this, you can’t stop interfering.’ He headed for the door.
Melk watched him leave. He knew full well his son would carry out his instructions; he always did. The boy was weak, a disappointment in every way. President? Ha! No, he was a pawn, a means to an end. Because there was only going to be one president of the Principia while Melk was still breathing, and if the mutant hybrids had survived, he might be able to keep doing exactly that.
Rush
At dusk the day after they’d met, Tink’s wagon slipped down into a deep rut and broke two spokes. Swearing as he reined the harg to a halt, Tink jumped down to inspect the damage, swearing even more when he saw what had happened and cursing himself for not having had the wheel replaced when he’d last had the opportunity. ‘I knew the thing was on its way out,’ he admitted to Rush. Luckily there was a spare tied up beneath the wagon bed, so they pulled off to one side, unhitching the harg so it could graze while they set about replacing the wheel. It was hard work – the heat of the day had not yet dwindled – but Rush was glad of something practical to do. Sitting atop the wagon next to Tink, he’d had too much time to think. And every time he did so, the terrible scene of his guardian’s death played out over and over in his head. When the work was finished, the two of them agreed they would stay put and make camp. Rush cleared the ground so they could make a fire, while Tink began putting up an old, battered tent that was little more than a thick tarpaulin stretched over two poles.
It was as the old man was finishing this that Rush looked up to see a large lop-eared creature emerge from its burrow and sneak out into the murky half-light. Inching closer, Rush straightened up, carefully putting his hand into his trouser pocket and feeling for the stone he always kept there. He curled his fingers around the object. Without taking his eye off the creature, he slowly pulled his arm back and whipped it forward again, releasing the stone.
There was a dull thunk! as the stone connected with the creature’s skull. The animal twitched once and then lay perfectly still.
‘Nice shot,’ Tink said.
Rush turned round to see the old man appraising him. He shrugged and gestured towards the hare. ‘Lucky, I guess.’
‘Luck, you say?’ There was a moment when Tink looked as if he was about to say something else, but it passed and he went back to pushing the last of the tent pegs into the ground.
They ate the roasted game for dinner.
To describe the roaring, rasping sound that came out of Tink’s mouth when he was asleep as merely ‘snoring’ was derisory. The noise had started almost as soon as the man’s head had touched the ground, making it impossible for Rush to doze off. Sleep clearly came easily to Tink. Rush nudged him to see if he might stop, and he did, for all of three seconds, after which the angry bear noises began again in earnest. Realising there would be no sleep for him inside the tent, Rush gathered up his blanket and crawled out through the opening.
The moon, framed by countless stars, hung in the sky. He stood, staring up at the nightscape, in awe at the size and beauty of it all. It was said that after the Last War the skies were filled with black clouds that blocked the sun out for weeks on end, killing most of the vegetation and almost all the animals that fed on it. Thankfully the clouds had cleared a long time ago and Scorched Earth could see, and be seen by, the distant galaxies once more.
It wasn’t especially cold, so Rush wandered over to the wagon, reasoning with himself that if he could make himself comfortable beneath the vehicle it would provide him with some shelter if it should rain. As he approached the wooden truck he heard the hurghing sound of the rogwan, followed by the noise of its feet padding back and forth. Clearly the creature was finding it as difficult to sleep as he was. Coming closer, Rush saw the animal walking round and round in tight little circles, eyeing the bushes beside it.
‘You need to go, don’t you?’ he said. He hadn’t asked Tink how he usually arranged for this to happen, but clearly the animal had no wish to foul the area where it would have to sleep. He glanced at the tent and wondered if he should wake its occupant.
The rogwan made another plaintive noise, this one almost like a sigh.
‘Oh, what the hell.’ Rush reached forward and undid the karabiner that attached the chain to a metal ring on the back of the flatbed. The rogwan watched him. When he led the animal over to the bushes so it could do its business, he half expected it to make a dash for freedom; it was easily powerful enough to break free of the grip he had on the leash, but it surprised him by allowing itself to be led there and back again without a fuss.
Dog-tired, Rush crawled beneath the wagon. Pulling the blanket around himself, he looked up to see those bulging lizard eyes staring at him. He’d forgotten to secure the chain back on to the ring. The rogwan hurghed. Despite everything Tink had told him about the animal, Rush did not seem to feel in any danger. Quite the opposite, in fact.
‘You want to join me?’ Rush asked, moving aside and lifting up his blanket. He smiled to himself as the rogwan curled up next to him.
Rush woke up early the next morning, chained up the rogwan again, started a fire and had the coffee brewing by the time Tink put his head outside the tent flap. The old man crawled out, screwing his eyes up against the early morning light until he could finally stand and stretch. ‘Sleep well?’ he asked, nodding in the boy’s direction.
‘Not too bad once I got away from you and your snoring.’
‘I don’t snore.’
‘Loud enough to wake the dead.’ Rush held out a cup of coffee which Tink gratefully accepted.
They breakfasted on eggs and hard black bread that Tink fried in the same pan. Afterwards, Tink called Rush over, having taken something from the back of the wagon. He held it out for the boy to see. It was as long as the man was tall, and appeared to be little more than two lengths of leather cord, one with a loop at the end. Between these, in t
he centre and joining the two lengths together, was a small diamond-shaped patch of soft leather.
‘What is it?’ Rush asked.
‘You never seen a sling?’ Tink blew out his cheeks and shook his head. ‘I’d have bet a tooth you’d have had one of these down on that ranch of yours.’ He grinned at the youngster. ‘When I saw you throw that stone at the hare last night, I remembered I had me one of these in the back somewhere. This’ll let you throw a stone as far as a bow can shoot an arrow. It’s like an extension to your arm. I seen people take birds out of the sky with one of these things!’
Rush looked dubiously at the device.
‘Don’t take my word for it – give it a go!’
For the next hour or so Rush practised with the weapon until he’d perfected the technique of swinging it up and round his head and letting go of the non-looped end at just the right moment so the stone flew out at incredible speed. While he did this, Tink broke camp, and it wasn’t long before the two were back on the road again, Tink telling the boy everything he knew about the Wastes and how to stay alive there.
There were no further incidents on the road, and as night fell they pulled in on the edge of the Wastes, somewhere due south of City Four. This time there was no fire. Tink wouldn’t risk anything that might bring them to the attention of one of the marauding mutant gangs that roamed there. ‘This is a bad place,’ he explained to Rush for the umpteenth time. ‘Sure you won’t come with me? You’re good company, and you seem to have a way with that creature.’
The boy considered this for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No. I think we both know that my route lies that way.’ He hoped he sounded braver than he actually felt.
Tink accepted this, getting to his feet and moving in the direction of his wagon. ‘You have the tent tonight,’ he said. ‘Apparently I snore, and I want you to have a good night’s sleep before you set off on your own.’
Rush tried to argue, but the old man insisted, telling him it would not be the first time he’d slept up on his truck.
When Rush woke the next day, Tink and the wagon were gone. He wasn’t entirely surprised.
Just inside the opening of the tent was a canvas rucksack. On top was a handwritten note.
Rush,
I’m not big on goodbyes, so I hope you’ll forgive me for taking off like this. I have left you and your travelling companion a few ‘necessities’ to help you on your way. When I’m finished doing what I have to, I’ll swing on by to City Four and look you up.
Your friend,
Old Tink
Travelling companion? Bleary-eyed, Rush crawled out of the tent and saw the rogwan sitting outside waiting for him.
He smiled at the creature, receiving a hurgh and a black tongue to the face in response.
‘Well, if we’re going to travel together, I guess I need to give you a name.’ He looked at the rogwan, trying to work out what kind of name you gave a beast that looked like that.
‘Dotty,’ he said, frowning. He had no idea why that particular name had occurred to him. ‘How do you like that for a name?’
The rogwan blinked and waggled her rear end on the ground.
‘OK. Dotty it is then.’
He stood and stretched, looking out over the lands simply known as the Wastes. If everything Tink had told him was true, he’d do well to cross it in one piece. But at least now he wouldn’t have to do so alone.
Tia
‘It’s not possible, Tia.’
‘Why?’ The girl looked across at her father and thought how tired he looked; the strain of the election he was fighting against Zander Melk and the ongoing war of words with the Principia over mutant rights was beginning to etch itself on his once handsome face.
‘You know why. Melk and the Principia have ordered a curfew prohibiting any Citizen from being beyond city walls after nine o’clock.’
‘At exactly the time the ARM has been charged with terrorising the inhabitants of Muteville.’ She inwardly winced at her own use of the name given to the mutant ghetto out there, but it seemed to have stuck in recent times. ‘The curfew isn’t in place to protect our people, it’s to stop them discovering what’s happening right under their own noses.’
‘Do you think the people of City Four are really that obtuse?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that many of our fine Citizens are already all too aware of what’s happening out there, but as long as they don’t have to see it –’
‘All the more reason for me to report from beyond the wall. To show them what’s going on so it can be stopped before it’s too late.’
‘You assume they want it to stop.’
‘Then it’s our duty to make them want that, Dad. You know that as well as I do.’
Her father shook his head. ‘It’s simply too risky. I can’t afford to give you a cameraman and a soundman, only for you all to end up in jail.’
The teenager looked at her father, annoyed at his refusal. She, more than anyone, knew that Towsin Cowper, owner of a large and powerful media empire, could afford to do pretty much anything he chose to. And one of the things he chose to do was stand up to the powers that be and report on the mutant plight, even if doing so had cost him. Friends and associates had turned their backs on him, preferring, like so many others, to close their ears and eyes to what was happening outside the cities’ walls. Ignoring these people and their warnings, Cowper had gone ahead anyway, using his wealth and influence to highlight the mutants’ predicament and to campaign on their behalf. Most of what he said and did fell on deaf ears, but he didn’t care. Wrong was wrong, and what was happening out there was definitely wrong. He’d been pleased to discover his philanthropy had rubbed off on his daughter. Tia had become a reporter, and she too had already made a number of news pieces on the subject. But now she was asking for something else entirely and, as her father, he couldn’t allow her to put herself in the type of danger she was describing.
‘You’re forbidding me to go?’
‘It’s not that. As I’ve just explained, I can’t afford to give you –’
‘I don’t need a crew,’ she said with a look he knew all too well. It was the grim look of determination her mother had often displayed when she’d been alive. The girl reminded him of Regan in so many ways. Like her mother, she was beautiful in an elegant, effortless way that needed none of the modifications so popular in a city where people changed their eye colour, body shape and facial appearance at a whim. ‘I can do it all on a small handheld cam. I’ll be able to set it up on a tripod for my broadcast pieces, and use it to film the ARM crews as they go through the ghettos. I’ve met some people out there – good people who will keep me safe.’
Cowper sighed. His daughter and he clearly had very different ideas of the meaning of ‘safe’. ‘You’re forgetting the most important thing, Tia: your chip.’
At birth, every citizen had a small chip implanted into their thigh bone. Without it, each door you passed through identified you as not having one, and therefore as a non-Citizen. It was a way of keeping out those who didn’t belong inside the walls. It was also a convenient way for the Principia and security forces to keep tabs on those who did.
‘I had it removed.’
Cowper stared at his daughter in disbelief, momentarily lost for words. The penalty for having your CivisChip removed was death – that was if you could find anyone crazy enough to perform the operation, which also carried the same sentence.
When he spoke again his voice was small, the words faltering. ‘You did what?’
‘The money I earned from the last three broadcasts? I used it to have my chip taken out.’
‘Where is it?’
‘In Buffy.’
Her father stared at the small marmoset monkey sitting on his daughter’s shoulder. The animal cocked its head and returned the look. There were bio-labs in the city that specialised in growing clone replications of animals that had become extinct following the Last War. Tia had brought t
he little creature home about six months ago, and the two of them had hardly been apart since then.
The comms unit on his desk beeped as the image of the smiling face of a business associate appeared. Cowper waved a hand across the screen, blocking the call.
Although outwardly he appeared perfectly calm, his heartbeat was racing as he tried to figure out various ways he could get this mess sorted and keep his daughter safely out of the clutches of the City Security Police.
‘It has to be transplanted into another living creature,’ Tia explained. ‘The guy who performed the surgery suggested putting it in Buffy. He said he’d had success with transplanting the device into monkeys before.’
‘And what will happen to the marmoset once you get to Muteville?’
‘I’ll let her go. In fact, it was Buffy who gave me the idea during the last broadcast. She escaped while we were out in the ghetto. I thought she’d been killed – you know how short of food they are out there – but when we returned she was sitting in my bedroom waiting for me.’
‘She got back inside? Without you?’
Tia looked across at the monkey. ‘You’re a very clever girl, aren’t you?’
Cowper couldn’t work out how this might have happened. The security gates were rigorously manned and monitored, with automatic scanning devices to stop anything getting in or out unnoticed. The animal should at least have been captured. In fact, he was surprised it hadn’t been killed.
‘How?’
‘Marv – the camera operator I was with – saw her. She climbed up one of the long steel cables that support the mast above the west wall. All the way up, clinging on underneath like that, hand over hand. He said it took her about seven minutes to get to the top. If she’s done it once, she can do it again. My chip will be back here, but I’ll be out there. They’ll never know.’