Synthezoids Endworld 30

by Robbins, David

  “Gladly!” Kanto said.

  “Not so fast,” Geronimo cautioned. “It won’t be a cakewalk. There’s a very good chance that you might not make it back. Do you understand that?”

  Kanto nodded. “I do,” he said, “and I still want to go. When do we leave?”

  “In the next day or so. Rikki will let you know,” Geronimo said. “If you’re smart, you’ll spend the time with your family and friends.”

  Beaming, Kanto stood. “Thank you.” To Rikki he said, “I won’t let you down, sir. I’ll show you I’m worthy. And when the killing starts, I’ll do you proud. I’ll deal death like nobody’s business.” Wheeling, he happily departed.

  “You made his day,” Rikki said.

  “Sing death?” Geronimo said.

  They both grinned.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Geronimo was replacing the file in the drawer when a young woman strode into the office.

  Of medium height and stocky build, her waist-length flaxen hair hung in a thick braid worn over her left shoulder and down her front. She had eyes of sparkling blue. Her attire consisted of a grey leather vest, grey leather pants and black boots. Slung across her back was a sword, the hilt jutting above her right shoulder, the bottom of the scabbard almost to the back of her knee. On her left hip was a short sword. On her right, incongruously, a machine pistol in a brown holster. Her belt was fitted with loops for half a dozen magazines.

  Smiling warmly, the young woman came up to the desk and bowed her head. “May the Lord guide both of you and watch over you.”

  “Eleanor,” Geronimo said. He indicated the chair. “Please take a seat.” He took out another file. “You’re early.”

  Eleanor sat with her hands folded in her lap and her back straight. “I was waiting my turn and saw Kanto leave so I presumed to come in. Would you rather I wait to be summoned.?”

  “We admire your initiative,” Rikki said.

  “I strive to be as perfect as I can be,” Eleanor said.

  “Pardon?” Geronimo said.

  “Be perfect as our Father in heaven is perfect,” Eleanor quoted. “As his handmaiden, I can do no less.”

  “Yes, well,” Geronimo said, opening the file. “It was Lynx who sponsored you, wasn’t it?”

  Eleanor nodded. “He and I get along great. Back when he first joined the Family, he took a shine to me. I was little then, and he used to rub my head and say my hair was the prettiest he ever saw.”

  “Lynx is a hybrid,” Geronimo said. “Half human, half feline. He was born in a test tube.”

  “So?” Eleanor’s brow furrowed. “What does that have to do with him sponsoring me?”

  “Nothing,” Geronimo said, and moved on with, “I haven’t talked to you much and I’d like to get to know you better. I’ve heard, and it’s obvious, that you’re very religious.”

  “Deeply so,” Eleanor said. “I was going to choose Joan of Arc at my Naming but then I found out that there was another female Warrior with that name, years ago.”

  “Yes,” Geronimo said, saddening at the memory. “She and Hickok were in love. She died in our fight with the Trolls.”

  “So I was told. I decided to not to take Joan as my name out of respect for her and for him.”

  “Considerate of you,” Geronimo said.

  “We’re all part of the Family, and should do what we can for each other,” Eleanor said.

  Geronimo agreed.

  “I’ve always liked strong-willed women,” Eleanor continued. “Real women, not make-believe. It’s no boast to say I’ve read just about every history book in the Library. There’s this one, about a lady called Eleanor of Aquitaine. Her son was Richard the Lionhart. She wasn’t the warrior Joan of Arc was, but she came close. She actually led soldiers into battle. So I picked her name instead.”

  “How do you view your duties as a Warrior?” Geronimo was curious to learn.

  “That’s simple. I’ve devoted my life to doing the Lord’s will and helping to keep the Family safe.”

  “You see yourself as a defender?”

  “I see myself as a swordwoman in the service of my Maker and the Home.”

  Geronimo was impressed. He scanned the information on her, saying as he did, “It says here you’re only sixteen. That you won’t turn seventeen for, what, another two months?”

  “Yes,” Eleanor confirmed. “I applied to be an apprentice the day after my Naming. I’ve been in training a considerable while now.”

  “You’re rated as proficient with that broadsword on your back,” Geronimo said.

  “Not so,” Eleanor said.

  “Eh?”

  “It’s not a broadsword. It’s a longsword.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “May I show you?” Eleanor said, and without waiting for a reply, she stood and moved away from the chair to give herself room. Reaching over her shoulder, she pulled her sword free with surprising ease, given that it was nearly as long as she was tall. Gripping it in both hands, she held it so the blade reflected the lamp light, and said with affection, “The Blacksmiths forged it for me. I call it Wrathbringer.”

  “You named your sword?”

  “Why not?” Eleanor held it toward him. “Do you see the end? How it tapers to a point? That’s how you tell a longsword from a broadsword. A broadsword is for cutting and slashing.” She angled the blade toward the ceiling and pumped her arms. “Wrathbringer can cut and slash but also pierce, like a spear. I can drive it through Kevlar or old armor if I have to.” Shifting her grip, she showed him the hilt. “This round pommel? It keeps my hands from slipping off. And the brass guard?” She reversed the sword so the tip was pointed at the floor and held Wrathbringer close to her chest. “It resembles a cross, does it not?”

  Geronimo admitted that it did. “You can put it away and take a seat again.”

  With a smooth motion, Eleanor swung her longsword up and over her shoulder and slid it into its scabbard. As she sank down,she patted the short sword on her hip. “I call this one Dragonfang.”

  “What do you call your machine pistol? Geronimo wondered.

  “Naming a gun would be silly.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Geronimo saw Rikki-Tikki-Tavi grin. “I need to be clear on something. Do you honestly believe you can kill if you have to?”

  “I’d be a useless Warrior if I couldn’t,” Eleanor said. “Why ask such a thing, if I may be permitted?”

  “By your own admission you’re uncommonly spiritual,” Geronimo said, “and I seem to recall something about ‘Thou shalt not kill’.”

  “One of my Teachers told me that in the original language it actually says we shouldn’t commit murder,” Eleanor said. “Regardless, even God has warriors. The Bible is full of accounts of angels in battle. And then there are those judges and others in the Old Testament who killed in the Lord’s name.”

  “Then you have no qualms about sticking that sword of yours into someone else?”

  “I assure you. Should the need arise, I will prove worthy of your trust. And of the Lord’s.”

  Geronimo turned the subject to Blade, Hickok and Geronimo. He explained about the Valley of Shadow, and God’s Needle, as Jenny had told him the Tower was rightfully called.. “I can’t stress enough the dangers involved. Which is why I’m leaving it up to you whether you go on the run or not. Take some time to think it over and get back to me.”

  “There’s nothing to think about,” Eleanor said. “I want to be included. It will enable me to prove my mettle as a swordwoman.” She beamed with joy. “The Lord’s will be done,” she said, and bowed her head.

  Geronimo excused her, and she cheerfully left. As the door closed, he swiveled his chair toward Rikki. “I don’t know about this one.”

  “We should give her the chance to show she has what it takes,” Rikki said.

  “First Kanto, who is all about the killing. And now Eleanor, who is all about her devotion to God.”

  “Warriors come in many gui
ses,” Rikki said.

  “Isn’t that the truth,” Geronimo said.

  A knock on the door nipped their conversation in the bud. Suspecting who it would be, Geronimo said, “Come in!”

  The newcomer was powerfully built. Incredibly so. His chest, shoulders and arms, in particular, were thick with muscle. His waist, though, was thin. A shock of black hair hung loose around his ears and down his forehead. His eyes were green. All he had on were a pair of shorts and thick sandals with leather straps crisscrossing up his legs to his knees . On his right hip, wedged under a wide leather belt, was a war axe. On his left hip, worn butt forward, was an Astra .44 Magnum. Over his shoulder he had slung an M87R .50-caliber bolt action rifle.

  “Geronimo, Rikki,” the young man said, and took a seat without being asked. Lacing his fingers together, he cracked his knuckles noisily, then said, “What’s up?”

  “Crom,” Geronimo said, rummaging for the trainee’s file.

  “That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Crom said, and laughed.

  Geronimo found the folder. “I see you’re almost eighteen, which makes you older than Kanto and Eleanor.”

  “Those kids?” Crom said, and chuckled.

  Under ‘Personality Profile’, Geronimo found notes that interested him. “It says that initially you wanted to be a Hunter. You’re an outstanding tracker and bring in more game than anyone else. About six months ago, though, you asked Spartacus to sponsor you to become a Warrior.” Geronimo looked up. “Why the change of heart?”

  “It’s no secret I like the wilds,” Crom said. “Always have. My love of barbarism, I guess.”

  “Barbarism?”

  “When I was little, I liked to read stories. The sword and sorcery kind, I think they were called. There was this one writer. He was great. I liked his stories best. Especially his stories about a barbarian from an age in the dawn of time. A guy who didn’t think much of civilization. Who lived by his own rules, his own code. I loved that.”

  “So you took the name of this barbarian?” Geronimo guessed.

  “No.”

  “Oh?”

  “I took the name of his god.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Crom was the name of the barbarian’s deity. The god he prayed to. Not that he prayed much.”

  Geronimo glanced at Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. “Were you aware of this?”

  “I was not,” Rikki said.

  “What’s the big deal?” Crom said. “The name is cool, is all. It’s not as if I think I’m a real god or anything.”

  “Why didn’t you take the barbarian’s name?” Geronimo said.

  “I could never fill his sandals. Never be as magnificent as he is. So I did the next best thing.”

  “You named yourself after his God,” Geronimo said, trying hard not to laugh.

  “Cool, huh?” Crom said.

  “Well,” Geronimo said.

  “What?”

  “I have a question,” Rikki said. “How do you reconcile your love of barbarism with serving as a Warrior?”

  “That’s easy,” Crom said. “The barbarian had his tribe. I have the Family. They’re my tribe. My people. I’ll defend them with my life if I have to.”

  “Commendable,” Rikki said. “And how do you feel about killing?”

  “I’ve killed more animals than I can count.”

  “I meant human beings,” Rikki said.

  “No problem.”

  “You think it will be easy for you?” Geronimo said.

  “I know it will. We’re not talking just anybody. We’re talking enemies of the Family. Pukes who would harm us and those we care for.” Crom made a fist of his big right hand and shook it. “Enemies are to be crushed! Their skulls split! Their brains splattered! Let the lamentations of their women rise to the clouds!”

  “Uhh,” Geronimo said.

  “Your enthusiasm is to be commended,” Rikki said. “But it should be tempered by prudence.”

  “I doubt I have any,” Crom said lightheartedly.

  “You’ve earned extremely high scores in long-range marksmanship,” Geronimo read from the report. “Ares was your firearms instructor, and he made a note in your file that in the old days you would have made a great sniper.”

  “Comes from all the hunting I did,” Crom said. “Animals don’t let you get close unless they’re careless. I had to learn to shoot straight to keep food in the supper pots.”

  “I’m going to give you the opportunity to apply those skills as a Warrior,” Geronimo said, and launched into another recital about the need for the run to the Valley of Shadow.

  “Sign me up,” Crom said, and patted his war axe.

  “Just like that?” Geronimo said, snapping his fingers.

  “Anything I can do for the Family, I’m there.”

  “Fair enough. Rikki will contact you shortly.”

  Crom stood and held out his hand. “Thank you.”

  Geronimo shook, noting the other’s strength. As their last addition left, he sighed and said to Rikki, “Do you believe this? An assassin, a swordwoman, and a barbarian?”

  “It should prove interesting,” Rikki said.

  “Well, we’re done here,” Geronimo said, and opened the drawer to put the files away.

  Just then there was a knock on the door.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Geronimo had been about to suggest that they go check on the condition of Blade and the others. His big worry, a worry that ate at his soul like acid, was that the three stricken Warriors would die before Rikki-Tikki-Tavi returned with the serum that might save them. He looked up, thinking maybe Crom had come back for some reason. But no.

  The young man framed in the doorway was as thin as a broom, his black hair slicked back, his features resembling the predatory aspect of a bird of prey. His clothes consisted of a tweed overcoat with a tweed cape, tweed pants, a white shirt, and a tweed deerstalker hat. He carried a hardwood cane with a curved metal handle. Wagging it jauntily, he said, “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Come in, Sherlock,” Geronimo said, at a loss as to what their visitor might want.

  The young man smiled and came over but didn’t take a seat. His eyes roved around the office, stopping here and there, and finally focused on Rikki. “A pleasure to see you again, sir. It’s been, what, two months and eleven days since my last lesson.”

  “Lesson?” Geronimo said.

  “About a year ago he came to me and asked for lessons in the martial arts,” Rikki said.

  “Him?” Geronimo said. From what he had heard, their visitor was more interested in science than combat.

  Sherlock gave his cane a twirl. “My namesake was proficient in baritsu. And although there is evidence to suggest his creator confused it with bartitsu, I deemed it fitting to become proficient myself.”

  Unsure where this was leading, Geronimo said, “Everyone should know how to defend themselves.”

  “It’s more than that, I assure you,” Sherlock said. “If I’m to ply my craft outside our walls, I must be at peak performance.”

  “Your craft?” Geronimo said, and realized he kept repeating what Sherlock said.

  “As you are no doubt aware, the Family being as small as it is, and given the human propensity for spreading gossip, I chose my name because of my fondness for the greatest detective in all of human literature. Before the Big Blast, he was known around the world. Think of that! The entire world! His characterization resonated with me like no other. Hence, I dress like him. Hence, I’ve studied the same subjects he studied. Hence, I’ve mastered the same skills he mastered.”

  “Hence?” Geronimo said, and wanted to kick himself.

  “And now I’m ready,” Sherlock said.

  “For what, exactly?” Rikki asked.

  Sherlock grinned. “Why, to go to the Valley of Shadow, of course. It’s why I’m here.”

  Geronimo’s mouth dropped open in sheer surprise. He quickly recovered and said, “You can’t be serious.”

>   “Never more so,” Sherlock said. “Of what use am I, of what use are my various skills, here at the Home? It’s not like the British Isles of long ago, where there were countless crimes to solve. There’s no crime at the Home. No worthy tasks to which I can devote my intellect.” Sherlock sighed. “Let’s face it. Except when we’re under attack or some other crisis arises, most of our days are frustratingly mundane. In short, nothing much happens.”

  “We like it that way,” Geronimo said.

  “Yes, of course, for the common welfare,” Sherlock said. “But you wouldn’t be a Warrior if peace was all you cared about.”

  “Now hold on....,” Geronimo began.

  “No offense,” Sherlock said. “But it occurred to me a while ago that if I want to break free of the drudgery, and if I’d like to use my skills for the betterment of the Family, I should give serious consideration to becoming one of you.”

  “You mean....?”

  Sherlock nodded vigorously. “I certainly do. I want to become a Warrior.”

  Geronimo sat back and looked at Rikki.”

  “Your skepticism is transparent,” Sherlock said. “I realize I’m not a trainee. And I realize I’m older than most apprentices. I’m twenty-two, in case you didn’t know. Which should be a plus in my favor, in that I’m more mature.”

  “Sherlock...,” Rikki said.

  “Please. Let me finish.” Sherlock stared in appeal at each of them. “I would make a great Warrior. I’m keenly intelligent....”

  “Humble, too,” Geronimo said.

  Unfazed, Sherlock went on. “I know how to fight. I’m a fair shot. And I possess observational skills that far surpass anyone else in the Family. In addition, I’m a first-rate chemist versed in forensic and related sciences.”

  “Sherlock....” Rikki said again.

  The younger man didn’t seem to hear him. “But how to prove my worth to you and the rest of the older Warriors? The answer is simple. Let me go with you to the Valley of Shadow. Let me pass muster. When I have, one of you can sponsor me to become a Warrior on our return.” He twirled his cane and rested it across his shoulder. “What do you say, gentlemen?”