by M. R. Forbes
“I’m taking them to Jaycee. They’re looking to barter.”
“Barter? We hardly have any women left, man.”
“Not women,” Grayson said. “Information, in exchange for peace.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“General’s done a number on these people, hasn’t he?” Nathan asked.
“Only when they resist,” Doc replied. “It’s not personal.”
They made it another block before the second group of nomads appeared, riding in formation and wearing what might have passed as uniforms. Either they had spotted them when they were still a ways out, or Hector had passed a message ahead. Either way, they were putting on a show, and maybe ready to use force if things went bad.
“Where’s Jaycee?” Grayson asked.
“In the stables,” the lead rider said. “Why the hell are you bringing them here? To our camp? Are you freaking crazy?”
“Relax, Max. They came to bargain peace, man.”
“Peace with the Iron General? I would trust that about as far as I can throw that son of a bitch.”
“Careful,” Grayson said, glancing nervously at Nathan. “You do something stupid; you can bet he’ll be here in no time.”
“Come on,” Max said.
He took them another block, and it was only once the squad of riders started descending into an opening beneath one of the buildings that Nathan realized they had yet to enter the camp. The nomads outside were all guards, keeping watch over an outer perimeter at street level, while everyone else in the community was hiding below. Max brought them to a makeshift gate made of metal bars filed into points, which had been mounted to one another in a configuration that allowed them to sit open and flat, the top bars rotated up and forward. All the guard at the gate had to do was push the right end of the gate toward the left, and the whole thing folded in on itself, allowing them entrance.
They were on the other side of the gate when a shout rose up from outside of it, a sharp cry in the distance. It was repeated in a line working toward the subterranean garage until it reached the gate, the message loud and clear.
“The Crosstons killed Hi-Top.”
Nathan didn’t know what it meant. He remembered Grayson said Hi-Top was one of the nomad’s rangers, and he rode out further from the camp than the rest. Who were the Crosstons, and why had they killed him? And how did someone already know?
He heard pounding now. Hooves on pavement, thudding along at a rapid pace, coming toward the garage.
“Move aside,” the guard at the gate said, pushing the contraption the rest of the way open. “Move aside!”
Grayson directed his horse toward the wall. Nathan and Doc followed, pressing up against the side as three riderless horses barreled down the ramp and into the space, followed by a fourth carrying a large man.
“Jaycee!” the man shouted. “Jaycee. The Crosstons killed Hi-Top.”
The man went past them, following the horses the rest of the way down the ramp. There was a commotion at the bottom, shouting, and cries of alert.
“Jaycee. Get Jaycee.”
Nathan moved out from the wall, continuing to walk down the ramp.
“This is our business, Liberator,” the guard said, getting in front of him. “Wait here.”
Nathan’s hand shot out, grabbing the man by the front of his worn shirt. He pulled, turning him and slamming him into the wall. They locked eyes for a moment, and then Nathan continued walking.
If someone was stirring up trouble, he had a feeling Sheriff was involved.
Doc, Grayson, and Shanna followed him. The ramp ended at a large, open space illuminated by dozens of small lamps spread across it. There were a few tents scattered around, but most of the nomads seemed to have very little, a blanket or a sleeping bag, arranged in one area at the rear of the garage. There was a contained fire on the right where a few men were cooking what he assumed was trife meat, and a pen had been constructed to the left holding a hundred or so horses. Grass had been cut and piled just inside the enclosure, and the animals grazed carelessly while the humans panicked.
“Jaycee,” Nathan heard someone say. He was taller than most if not all of the nomads, and he looked over them, finding their leader near the cook fire. A man he assumed was Jaycee was walking toward the tall rider. He was short and stocky, a bundle of dense muscle in a long coat, white collared shirt, and black pants.
“Billiard,” Jaycee said. “What the freak is going on?”
“Hi-Top,” the tall man, Billiard said, breathing hard. “Rogan. Hero. Shit, man. They all dead. Crosstons killed them.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, man. We were just ranging the streets, looking for scavenge, you know. They came out of nowhere, a whole freaking car full.”
“Billiard,” Jayeen said calmly. “Why?”
“I told you why, Jaycee.”
“Now tell me the truth.”
“Freak, man.” He lowered his head. “Ro dropped his mamma’s necklace near the old Fast Mart. He went in there to grab a can of pop, cause you know there’s still some cans in there ain’t rusted out yet. He didn’t realize ‘till we was moving on, but then when we went back we seen these two on a motorcycle heading away from the Mart, and the necklace was gone.”
Nathan’s ears perked up at the mention of two people on a motorcycle. He pushed through the gathered nomads. “Did one of them have two metal hands?”
Billiard looked back, his eyes widening in surprise. He flinched and stepped away. Jaycee’s head shifted to Nathan too. His hand drifted to his side, quick-drawing a pistol from a holster there. Nathan had already seen him moving, and he lunged behind Billiard, grabbing him in a chokehold and keeping him in front of Jaycee.
“What the hell is going on here?” Jaycee said.
“Hold your fire,” Nathan said. “We came to talk.”
“Jaycee,” Grayson said, making it to the front of the group. “Wait. I brought him here.”
Jaycee stared at Nathan. Then he returned the weapon to its holster, as quickly as he had pulled it. “You aren’t the Iron General.”
Nathan let go of Billiard. “I never said I was.”
“We’re with the Liberators,” Doc said. “We came because we’re looking for someone. A man with two metal hands.”
“Yeah,” Billiard said. “That’s him. That’s who we seen, Jaycee. One of the hands was broke.”
“Where did you see him?” Nathan asked.
Billiard hesitated, looking at Jaycee.
“Don’t answer that,” the nomad leader said. “Why would we ever help you?”
“I know what’s been happening here,” Nathan said. “I know about your women. I can make it stop.”
Jayce laughed. “Stop? We’ve got ten girls left in the whole freaking camp. We used to have hundreds. Make it stop. It’s too damn late for it to stop.” He shook his head. “Maybe we should just make you disappear?”
“Told you,” Doc whispered behind him.
“How fast can you break down your camp?” Nathan asked.
“What?” Jaycee replied, confused.
“How fast can you get your people out of here? Because I’m willing to bet it isn’t faster than General can respond to our emergency beacon and come destroy you.”
Jaycee’s expression flattened as he deflated. “Uh. I was joking about making you disappear, you know. Just having some fun with you.” He smiled weakly and tried to force a laugh.
“Give me what I need, and the Liberators will leave you in peace from here on. Or die. Your choice.”
Jaycee didn’t hesitate. “Billiard, where did you see metal hands last?”
“Jaycee, I—”
“Just answer,” Jaycee snapped.
Billiard blew out a heavy sigh. “The Crosston junkyard. That’s where we caught up to them. Hi-Top wanted to shake ‘em down, maybe take the bike and whatever else they was carrying. And of course see if they had the necklace. You know how Hi-Top was with Ro, especially with his
mamma gone. So we went into the junkyard.”
“How many times have I warned you not to go in there?” Jaycee said.
“I know, Jaycee. But it was for Ro, man.”
“But then you come riding back here, complaining you were attacked like it was unprovoked?”
“I know. I know. But come on Jaycee, they been giving us trouble since we started wandering this city. They scare us off from good salvage, and they treat us worse than the damn Liberators.”
“That doesn’t matter. We aren’t soldiers. We’re scavengers. We’re vultures. That’s how we stay alive. All of us.”
“Man, you know they got so much good shit in that compound of theirs. If we could take it, we wouldn’t have to do no scavenging no more. We could live the good life, safe from the damn trife. Safe from the damn Liberators. Even the Iron General doesn’t freak with the Crosstons.”
“Because they give him what he wants. Attacking Crosston isn’t going to happen.”
“What happened to Sheriff?” Nathan asked, interrupting. He didn’t care about their difference of opinion on whether to attack some other community or not. “When these Crosstons attacked. Where did he go?”
“Metal hands?” Billiard said. “Him and his girl was still in the junkyard. I don’t know what happened to them.”
“The Crosstons either killed them or took them,” Jaycee said. “If metal hands had a woman, it’s more likely they took him. They’ll ship her south to the Iron General’s fort.”
They were going to send Rhonna to James? Nathan was okay with that. “What about him?”
“He’s probably inside,” Billiard said. “He’s in good shape; they’ll find a use for him.”
Nathan looked at Jaycee. “I need to go there.” He motioned to Billiard. “He’s going to take me. In exchange, you won’t have any more trouble from the Liberators. Do we have a deal?”
Jaycee nodded. “Yeah. Sure. We have a deal.”
Chapter 39
The Trust’s team left an hour later, their dropship shooting skyward and vanishing above the clouds. They hadn’t taken anything from the Liberator’s armory, and they had refused every offer of assistance James had tried to make.
He was glad for it. He hated the smug arrogance of the team’s leader, Bennett. He especially hated the way the man’s eyes lingered on the visible parts of his replacements as if to accuse him of being something less. Of course, the replica had to know he was a replica, too. A flawed model based on a flawed design.
Fuck him.
He had COMCENT keeping an eye on the team. Bennett didn’t know the Liberator’s sensor array was upgraded and able to track the dropship even as it neared orbit. That was how they had watched the last ship that had come in. He still regretted not firing directly at it and destroying it before the Spacers had made their jump. He had been trying not to kill the Trust’s plant. Even when he had fired on the squad while they descended, he had made an effort not to kill Imani Shia. A wasted effort, it seemed, and the source of too many of the events that had followed.
He had put in a call to Edenrise once the Pulse had lifted off, both to inform Tinker that it was on the way, and to check in on their progress with what he hoped would be the final trial. Once they had confirmed the integrity of the newest strain, all of the outside relationships could be severed. Even Nathan would become expendable if he didn’t make all the right moves. A few hours ago, he wanted to keep his near-twin around to share in the victory. Now, he just wanted to taste another victory. The success of the trials would mean a new start. Not only for him but for the entire world.
They were getting so close.
James leaned back in the old chair, behind the desk with the original James Stacker’s signature pressed into the wood. He had removed the red telephone from the drawer and placed it on the surface, and he stared at it as if that would make it ring. It still amused him that with all of the tech the Trust had delivered to them, with all of the tech the world had known before the war, it was the telephone that had survived the best. Restoring the lines between the fort and Edenrise had taken time, but it was so much more reliable than any of the wireless comm options they had available.
He remained fixed there for a few minutes until the pain in his real arm caused him to stand up and begin swinging it to loosen it up. He started circling the desk, waiting for word from Tinker.
Waiting for something to happen.
These were the moments he hated the most. The moments of waiting. The moments of inaction. He often thought of his progenitor, wondering how many hours James Stacker had sat in the very same chair, doing nothing.
Simply waiting.
He walked over to the office window and looked out at the fort, observing his soldiers going through their daily training regimens, or crossing from one duty to the next. Occasionally, he envied the simplicity of their tasks. They only had to follow orders. They weren’t responsible when mistakes were made. All of that fell on him.
The phone called out in a shrill warble that snapped him out of his thoughts. He crossed the room to the desk, picking up the receiver on the second ring.
“General Stacker,” he said.
“Sir,” the voice said. “It’s Doc.”
“Doc,” James said, slightly disappointed. He would still be waiting for Tinker. “What’s your status?”
“Sir, we connected with a group of horse nomads out in the city. They brought us back to their camp. We have reason to believe the Crosstons took Sheriff.”
“The Crosstons? Are you sure?” He was familiar with the community. They would likely trade Sheriff to him if he wanted, but it wouldn’t come cheap.
“Yes, sir. One of their rangers was there with him. The Crosstons killed the rest of his group. They think they took him instead of killing him because of the woman.”
“Understood.”
“Nathan wants them to take us there. He wants to talk to their leader.”
“Loki,” James said. “That’s his name. Standby.”
James put the receiver down on the desk. He wasn’t sure he wanted Nathan doing the talking for him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to bargain with the Crosstons at all. At least, not yet. He had an idea.
He picked the receiver up again. “Doc. How secure is the nomad’s camp?”
“It’s in an underground garage, sir. The main camp is on the first level, but I believe it has six floors in total.”
“Understood. I want you to keep him there.”
“Sir? He isn’t going to like that.”
“I don’t care if he likes it, Major. It’s a fucking order. I want both of you to stay there. I’m going to send word to the Spacer Squad that Sheriff has been integrated into the Crosston community.”
“You’re going to send them in against the Crosstons?”
“Yes. Best case, they all die. Worst case, they take a beating and recover Sheriff and the intel, and then we take care of what’s left.”
“That could be a dangerous game to play, sir.”
“As long as the Trust thinks they were killed by savages and not us, the risk is minimal.”
Doc hesitated. He knew she wouldn’t agree with the idea, but she would go along with it. “Yes, sir.”
“Is Nathan there with you?”
“No, sir. I left him with the nomad’s leader, Jaycee. Do you want me to get him?”
“No. The opposite. I want to know what you think of him.”
“He reminds me of you, sir.”
“Can we trust him?”
“Yes, sir. I think so. He knows about the virus, sir. About what Tinker needed to create it.”
“Did you tell him everything?”
“No sir, not everything.”
“He doesn’t need to know the rest. It doesn’t affect him. How did he take it?”
“He was angry, but I think he understands.”
“Because he’s a Stacker. You’re doing well, Major. Keep Nathan where he is, and check back with me in an hour.”
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“Yes, sir.”
James placed the receiver back down on the base of the phone, cutting the connection. He would need to go across to COMCENT to patch in with Bennett and brief him on the new intel. He could almost see the squad of replicas trying to storm the Crosstons compound in his mind.
They were going to be slaughtered.
He smiled at the thought.
The phone rang again.
James rushed back to it, picking it up before it could ring a second time.
“General Stacker.”
“Hello James,” Tinker said.
Chapter 40
“I’ve been waiting for your call,” James said.
“I imagine you were. I hate finding out from a delivery boy that you haven’t done what I asked you to do.”
James felt his jaw clench. He had called Tinker well before the Pulse had left Fort McGuire, hoping to be the one to tell him the mission wasn’t quite complete. It wasn’t his fault Tinker had called hours later.
Not that Tinker would accept that as an excuse.
“I’m doing my best,” James said.
“Do better.” A moment of silence followed. “So the problem is going to be handled?”
“It’s already handled. I know where the remaining Spacer is.”
“Excellent news, James.” Tinker’s whole demeanor changed in an instant with the positive report. “Good job.”
James’ face warmed up from the compliment. It was ridiculous how he reacted to praise from his maker as though he were still a child.
“Where is he, then?”
“Crosston.”
“Crosston,” Tinker repeated. “Crosston. I’m trying to remember which community of unbelievers that is. Well, it doesn’t matter. They’re all the same. We did get sixty-three new pilgrims today. Sixty-three. Not bad. If everything goes well, they’ll be one of the last groups we take. Fuck the rest, eh James?”
“Yes, sir,” James replied.
“Speaking of which, I’ve almost got the newest trial ready for delivery. All I need is a suitable target.” He paused. “Well, anyway, you say the Spacer’s in Crosston? Are you headed there to collect him?”