Future Reborn Box Set

by Daniel Pierce

  “We—of course,” the left guard said, wearing blue livery that was clean and free of holes. He and his partner held short spears with broad, sharp points. The ease with which they held them told me the weapons weren’t mere decoration.

  In minutes, we were inside a cool, tiled entryway, its ceiling high enough to echo. Blue mosaics were brushed over with white glaze in desert scenes of oasis people doing noble things, like harvesting oranges and singing. I knew the scene was bullshit, but it was pretty and a far cry from the ruins I’d been sleeping in. I took Mira’s elbow to guide her toward an imperious figure draped in white and blue linen.

  “And you are?” he drawled. He was tall and thin, with dark eyes and a nose thin enough to slice paper. A woven braid hung from his chin, ending in a small, jeweled charm that winked silver in the liberal interior light of generous candles and lamps.

  I tossed Hardhead at his sandaled feet, rolling my shoulders to loosen the muscles. “About to be taken to a bath by you or your servants, as is my lady. I’ll need a bag for this, as I am reliably informed that my lady, Mira,” she dipped her head in a demure gesture that almost made me snort, “will not share her bed with the beast watching us. She’s quite a prude that way.” I finished with a shrug, as if Mira’s request was simply a female quirk I’d have to live with if I wanted her company that night. Based on the man’s assessment of her, he understood and agreed.

  With a snap of his long fingers, two porters came scraping up, eyes down and heads low. “Natif will secure a bag and ice for your trophy, sir. Berec will see you to a suit, and baths will be readied immediately. I am Lasser, and I am, of course, at your service.” He bowed low, sweeping his arm out in a motion that would have made a ballerina jealous.

  “Lasser, I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to do business with you,” I said, and I meant every word. I knew people like Lasser. They knew everyone and everything, and they were superb at fixing problems. He’d come in handy for the future, and I made a note to tip him heavily if not try to hire him outright in the event my plans—whatever they were—came to pass.

  “And I you, sir, lady,” he said in turn to us. “May I have your names, for the purpose of our registry?”

  “Mira, and I’m Jack Bowman. Will you be available after our meal and bath? I’d like a word,” I said, baiting the hook.

  “I am always available, sir.” His excellent radar chirped, telling him I meant to talk business.

  “Then we will speak again soon. Natif, if you will? We’ve a beast to bag,” I said.

  “That makes two of us,” Mira whispered, her hand on my arm. My night was looking up, no matter what tomorrow held.

  10

  The bath was good. Dinner was better.

  Dessert put them both to shame. Mira came to me, framed in the streetlamp of our third-floor window. She looked like a statue, perfect and lean, with full breasts that moved from shadow to light as she rose and fell on me, grinding down in a long sigh of sensual relief. When we were done, my body was ready again—a trick I would learn to love, but for now, once was enough. I let her sleep, curled on the bed in the rest of a woman who finally felt safe after a life on the run. I knew the grief over Bel would come back in odd moments and piercing cries until it subsided to a low background hum. That was how we dealt with loss. Each day was a little less shitty until you could finally remember the departed in a way that didn’t make you feel like shattered glass. You felt the good and left the bad behind, but it took time.

  The post unfolded below the window, dotted lamps still lit and throwing buttery circles of civilized light down on the graveled streets. I could hear a distant hound but little else, save the low hum of a tavern several buildings away. For a raucous trading post, it was quiet, but it was the midweek, and Mira told me the caravans would bring chaos upon their return at endweek. Wetterick and his people kept time differently than I was used to, with a four-day week and three days of rest for whatever he could earn a profit from. When I asked Mira why the work week was four days, she gave me a simple reason. Four days to the city, three days for caravans to load, and four days back. The calendar warped to match commerce, and it worked.

  I saw the watcher slip to the left along the window. They moved in the way of predators, smooth and sure with no wasted effort, dodging the lamps with ease to arrive across the lane from our open window. It was no accident. I know recon when I see it, and everything about the casual pose of my observer reeked of something intentional.

  “Interesting,” I whispered. My visitor stared up, their face a pale circle in the starlight, and I realized with a shock that I could see some details. It was my new body showing off again, giving me some degree of vision in the low light of a darkened street, but even with the assist from my ‘bots, all I could make out was a thin face, pale skin, and—

  I stopped to watch him—it was a man, I was certain—moving off into the night, his curiosity satisfied by something I could not know.

  Not yet, anyway. I knew I’d see him again.

  I slid beneath the linen. Mira hooked a long leg over me, smiling in her sleep. It was three hours until dawn and the first day of a plan that was taking shape faster than I’d imagined possible.

  I had not chosen the House of the Sky by accident, and tomorrow would prove my instincts were right. To build, you need a base.

  To build an empire, you need an army.

  In the darkened post below, I saw the potential for both.

  11

  “Got the head?” Mira asked.

  I’ve answered a lot of weird questions in my life, but that one was the most interesting. “I do. Feels like money.”

  “Think you’ll be able to keep it?” she asked. We were dressing in our leathers, cleaned overnight by Lasser’s staff, who were nothing short of magical. We’d eaten in the room, a simple meal of fresh bread, small blue eggs, and a fruit that hovered somewhere between a fig and a beet.

  I lashed my boots on with the buckles, then strapped up both knives without a second thought. I didn’t care what Wetterick’s weapon policy might be; I was going in prepared for the worst but hoping for something I could handle without drawing blood. I’d seen how men like Wetterick operated, and the only unknown would be what flavor of tyrant he chose to be.

  With a grunt, I cinched my belt and looked at Mira, who stood ready and waiting, her hair in wild, damp curls. “He’ll act surprised, then dismissive, and then he might even say that he was on the way to do the job himself.”

  “Have you met him already?” Mira asked, looking at me like I was psychic.

  “No, but I know his kind. All the same. He’s a shithead bully with muscle, probably. How does he keep this place in line?” I asked, pointing to the orderly streets. “There’s got to be some kind of power behind his threat or he would lose his position the first time someone challenged him and he couldn’t back it up.”

  “Oh, he has—muscle? Yes, he has that. None of his own, or at least not recently, but he has a system. The city lets him do as he wishes because his caravans produce, and they’re gradually rebuilding some kind of power grid based on what we bring in,” Mira said.

  “We? You’re part of Wetterick’s team?” I teased her.

  She glared at me then leaned against my body with forgiveness. “The Scavengers. We fight, die, and give our blood for his coins, and the city buys it all. They think civilization can rise again, but I know the truth. We know the truth.”

  “Which is what, exactly? You can’t have civilization without getting rid of people like Wetterick?”

  “And Lady Silk, among others, but that’s only part of it,” she admitted. “Are we ready?” It was a loaded question. This morning was much more than collecting on a reward. It was a test of will and savvy.

  “We’re ready.” I lifted Hardhead, slinging the heavy mass over my shoulder. Natif’s bag kept most of the stench in, but I was anxious to get rid of the thing. It was something to steal and a point of contention for anyone who wante
d to make a mark for themselves. I didn’t like being a walking bank, especially in strange turf with only one other person on my team.

  “I’ll be nearby, sir,” Lasser said from the hallway as we opened our door. He was dressed impeccably, a long bright linen robe over boots and a large knife that was far from ornamental. His belt also held a whip; something I’d never seen used except by Indiana Jones, and even then, I’d thought it was bullshit. The simple fact he carried it made him look more like an officer from the Foreign Legion, and I gave him a smile of thanks.

  “You don’t have to come with us, Lasser,” I offered as an out. I didn’t know what our greeting would be, and I didn’t want him being tainted by association with a wildcard like me.

  His smile was knowing. “You still haven’t paid for your room and services. It’s only prudent that I make sure you receive your reward so that the bill may be paid.” He coughed discreetly, smiling into his hand, and I realized I liked him even more after the careful dodge. He was an ally, and he had his reasons. I would accept it and move on.

  “Make that two on my team,” I said quietly, stepping down the wide hall to the stairs. In seconds, we were out in the sunlight, the air fresh with a hint of impending rain. “How far to Wetterick’s?”

  “Follow the street and turn right. It’s near the center, just over there,” Mira said. Lasser walked behind us, nodding and speaking a word to various people. He knew everyone, and they liked him. Mira got her share of glances; some as if she was a feral animal, others openly admiring her. I enjoyed both reactions equally.

  I stopped at the edge of the street, looking in disbelief at Wetterick’s place. “A fucking tent? He lives in a tent?”

  “He thinks it makes him a man of the people, but there’s a stone cottage in the middle of all that...whatever it is he calls his compound,” Mira said.

  It wasn’t just any tent. It was huge, held on a series of five poles that soared thirty feet in the air. A complex system of ties held it in place, and as we got closer, I could see the interior structure was more permanent. There was a frame made of thin metal, and the heavy material was painted with a series of simple designs that looked like they’d been lifted from a second-rate fantasy video game.

  “Is that a real language?” I asked, pointing to the symbols. The colors were interesting, if you were a ten-year-old kid. I decided that Wetterick had shitty taste, regardless of his social stature. If he was wearing MC Hammer pants and pointed shoes, I might lose it, but I sort of expected it given his choice in housing.

  “None that I know. Wetterick has a bit of flair for the, ah, dramatic,” Lasser said, lifting a black brow in judgment.

  “I see.” And I did. Wetterick thought he was living in a fantasy, and his surroundings made it clear he had no interest in rebuilding the world if he’d even any idea as to what the world used to be. He was LARPing his way into being a warlord and preying on people like Bel and Mira to make his dreams come true.

  That was about to end.

  “What’s the procedure for seeing him?” I asked. We were still some distance away from the outer wall that surrounded his compound. It was better than the town’s defenses, I would admit that much, being six feet tall and made of limestone fitted tightly together. A thin coat of whitewash clung defiantly to the wall, which was free of Wetterick’s symbols. There were two gates and a central tower overlooking the tent, which was no less than thirty meters across and filled with people.

  “Great. It’s like a bad stage production under there,” I said, bitching because that’s always been one of my skills as a Marine. I was relieved to see that despite being filled with cutting-edge nanobots, my ability to complain hadn’t faded over my years asleep in the tube.

  Lasser sniffed with dignity. “I find everything about that place to be a bad production. Their choice of livery offends me. Their music offends me. Their ignorance of wine offends me to the point of requesting a duel.”

  “Wine? Really?” I asked. Mira laughed at his anger, which seemed genuine.

  “They take fine wines and mix them together, adding ice and fruit so that it—and I’m quoting the barbarous staff here—it tastes better.” Lasser curled his lip with the seasoned distaste of a French waiter. I liked him even more. It took a special kind of man to hold a grudge for someone abusing wine, and Lasser was such a man.

  “I’m a whiskey man myself, but I appreciate your anger,” I told him. “Oh, and thank you for the wine last night. It was excellent.” It had been. When we returned to our room after dinner, a bottle of cold, light wine tasting like sunshine waited by the bed in a copper tub. It was a nice touch, and I’d forgotten to thank him in the general bustle of our morning. I fixed my error by thanking him for the wine, but his blank stare was troubling.

  “I brought you no wine, nor did we arrange for it,” he said, face turning dark with suspicious anger.

  “A suggestion? Ask Natif or Berec who did. They were in our room, and you seem like the kind of man who would want to know that kind of thing,” I said. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t even surprised. My money was on one of the boys being a spy for extra coins, which was the exact sort of thing I would do if I worked as a post-apocalyptic bellhop.

  “My deepest apologies. I’ll have an answer by the end of day. You may count on it,” Lasser said, and I felt a little bad for turning that bit of information over, but he wouldn’t kill the spy, of that I was certain. Lasser was smart. He’d know what to do to turn them back into his service.

  “Seriously, not an issue. The wine was excellent, and we both woke up in perfect health. Might not have been the same if it had been a bottle of whiskey,” I told him.

  “There’s that word again. Whiskey?” Lasser asked me, rolling the unfamiliar word around on his tongue. “I can infer it to be liquor, but what kind?”

  I paused my walk to regard him curiously. Of all the words we’d been using, I found it odd that whiskey was the first one he didn’t grasp. I launched into a brief but thorough description of whiskey, only to watch his eyes brighten as he snapped his long fingers in a moment of recognition.

  “Of course! Burbeen, as we call it. A fine drink, if hard to find. We’re not a stronghold for grains, as you might imagine,” he said, glad to make the connection between his word and mine.

  “But you have grapes?” I asked, wondering where the wine came from. The Empty didn’t look like the kind of place where a vineyard might last an afternoon, let alone long enough to produce wine.

  “No, but there are to the west, and the caravans bring wine in huge amounts. Easy to transport and far cheaper than the more potent liquors. For things with a fiery kick, we turn to humble palm wine. You can use it as lamp fuel in a pinch, but it’s much more palatable to the people as a drink, cut with juice or water,” Lasser said.

  “It’s evil,” Mira announced in the tone of someone who knew what a palm wine hangover felt like.

  I chewed on that, standing there outside Wetterick’s gaudy tent while holding the head of a human-rhino hybrid cannibal. It was an unusual moment, to say the least, but I let it wash past me before squaring my shoulders and turning to yet another gate. I felt a distinct sense of déjà vu as we walked together, burly guards waiting to greet us in the signature green and gold of their employer. They were cleaner and better fed than the guards on the outer wall, a stupid move given how easily I’d breached their defenses.

  We approached the gate in bright sun, standing on gravel that was clean and dry. Despite his shitty sense of color, Wetterick kept a clean shop. The gate was simple but effective—iron frame with heavy wooden slats, painted again with the odd symbols but free of moisture or rot. It was a good gate, and there were four men standing guard, along with one woman who looked like she ate kittens for breakfast.

  She spat at my feet as we stepped past other people who were milling about, uncertain of whether they wanted to see the man himself. As it was, I did.

  “Good morning to you too. I’m here to collect on th
e bounty for Hardhead,” I said simply. I didn’t brandish the bag because it seemed pointless to do so until I knew what the general reaction would be.

  The guard in charge was memorable. She was squat, freckled—not in a good way—and had a pinched face that was far too narrow for her enormous neck. Her brown hair was shaved on one side to reveal a tattoo of running feet, which seemed the least likely activity for someone built like a walking ham. She regarded me with a professional gaze from her cold black eyes, which told me spitting had been a minor test, just to see how short my fuse was.

  I smiled into the morning light, wondering if every single asshole was going to be in my path that morning, but realizing I didn’t actually care. With a silent lunge, I punched her in the chest hard enough that she collapsed, then drove Hardhead’s bag down on her face before anyone could move. In a blur, I moved back to stand silent and still, Hardhead swinging in my right hand and a lock of Miss Toad’s hair in my left.

  “I’d like to collect my reward now, unless we’ve further business?” I asked in my most polite voice.

  “Get off, you idiots,” said the leader, slapping their helping hands away as she climbed slowly to her feet. “Put your fucking blades away before you get hurt, and tell the boss we’re bringing him in.”

  “Mister Bowman,” I said.

  “What?” asked the woman, cutting her eyes at the guards, who still looked stricken by their lack of response. My ‘bots were firing on all cylinders, and I felt like my muscles were singing. I liked it.

  “My title. It’s Mister Bowman. My actual name is Jack, or James to my friends, but since we’re not friends and you’re not my mother, I prefer Mister Bowman.” Feeling grand, I waved at Mira. “This is Lady Mira, for good measure, and I believe you know Lasser, who can choose his own title as he needs no introduction.”

  “Mistress Gabaril, I am, as always, at your service,” Lasser said, bowing low with an impressive gallantry.