“In the western traps?” Viktor asked. “Good. I’ll have them claimed immediately.” Viktor hesitated, unsure about asking the next question. “Did you see him out there? The boy?”
Cassa hesitated before nodding.
“I assume he’s still looking for a cure for his ladylove?” Cassa nodded again. “Foolish. But you have to admire his tenacity.”
Viktor held up the circuit board. “Now, let’s see how this fares.”
Viktor stood and unlocked the large sliding doors to the eastern half of the barn. Immediately, several plaintive cries went up from the dozen Renders caged inside. Many had already been augmented with weapons, their flesh still bloody and raw.
Viktor made his way to last stall, where two men and a woman lay huddled together, their clothes filthy and torn. Iron fetters pinioned their legs to the floor. Something black and glossy was wedged into their mouths to prevent them from speaking. Each body bore the telltale marks of experimentation. Heads shaven. Surgery scars running the lengths of their skulls, and metallic ports visible where the spine and brain converged.
“Wakey, wakey,” Viktor said. The subjects began whimpering and skittering away. “I would prefer not to have to use this,” he held up a cattle prod, “but I will if my hand is forced. You,” he said, pointing to the older of the two men. The man sobbed. “Now, now. None of that. I’m here to help you. First, I need to peek at your incision site.”
The man reluctantly turned, and Cassa saw the apparatus sewn into the back of his head. The tissue around it was inflamed. He would die in a week if left unattended. He should be so lucky.
“Good,” Viktor said, checking his handiwork. “The interface has melded nicely. As for your immediate discomfort, this should help immensely.”
Viktor slid the circuit board into the interface site with a snap. The man flinched before his body relaxed. “Better, yes? What say we go outside for some fresh air?”
Outside, Viktor walked the man to the edge of the field. He began to shake his head and plead through his gag. “I see you remember what lies beneath. Good. Now, I’m going to issue a series of commands. Please, raise your left hand.”
The man did as he was asked.
“Now, the opposite one.”
Both hands were raised.
“Excellent, now spin three hundred sixty degrees.”
The subject tilted his head, confused.
“Turn around in a circle,” Viktor clarified.
The man did.
“Fine. Now, this is important. I want you to ignore my commands.”
Viktor adjusted the circuit board and nodded.
“Please, put down your left arm,” he said.
The man’s left armed tensed and began to shake. Eventually it lowered.
“Interesting,” Viktor said before modulating the unit again. “Let's try that again. Put down your right arm.” This time the man’s arm trembled violently. “Some effort, please. If you can keep it up for fifteen seconds, I’ll give you a warm bowl of onion broth.”
The red-headed man’s shoulders tightened, but his arm stayed raised.
“Excellent,” Viktor said. “Well done.” The subject appeared relieved. “Now, I want you to turn and walk into the pasture.”
The man’s eyes ballooned. He began to shake his head vehemently.
“Come now,” Viktor said, turning the circuit board toggle. “It’s not far. Just a few steps into the light.”
Cassa watched the man struggle before his leg rose mechanically and he took his first step into the field. Viktor encouraged him to keep going. After the third step, the dam broke, and the man marched toward the center of the pasture, sobbing but unable to stop.
“That’s far enough,” Viktor said at last. The man stopped. “You’ve done admirably well, sir. Your reward should arrive any moment.”
The man’s head flitted around for a few tense seconds before the earth exploded beneath his feet and a giant tentacle wrapped around his body, propelling him high into the air before he hurtled back toward the ground and into a teeth-laden maw that awaited just beneath the surface.
Blood sprayed, and the man screamed. Cassa wanted to turn away, but before he could, the creature pulled the man underground and was gone.
“Well,” Viktor said, “I’d call that progress.”
A bell tolled from the opposite end of the pasture. A group approached from the north, led by a man on a striking horse.
“The Master returns,” Viktor said. “You should clean up. You know how particular he can get about formalities.”
Cassa did. He turned for the barn and disappeared inside.
Chapter Seven
The Spit and Firm
One of the cage children was gone. Robinson wondered if she’d served her punishment or if she died.
He waited at the base of the Tree. Unlike the previous night, the room was largely empty. Presumably, with the morning, the children had returned to their tasks. Only Underfoot, Snapfinger, and four guards remained.
“Where’d he go?” Robinson asked.
“The store,” Underfoot answered.
When Fang had first heard of Robinson’s plan, his bravado waned. He consulted with his fellow Blues briefly before climbing the tree and appearing on the limb that likely extended from behind the gate. He made his way to an isolated shop on the second floor, its balcony long shorn away. A metallic fence covered the entrance, but a small gap had been rent open.
“What’s in there?” Robinson asked.
“Orphan his’try,” Underfoot said. “Our most val’bles.”
“You ever been inside?”
Underfoot shook his head. “Only the leader o’ fives can pass.”
Snapfinger glowered, flicking Underfoot’s ear with her fingers.
So much for the mystery of her name.
“But what’s he doing?” Robinson persisted.
“’Sulting the eye,” Underfoot answered.
Snapfinger flicked Underfoot’s ear again. This time the sound echoed through the room.
When Fang reappeared, he held another powwow with his toadies. Then he approached Robinson.
“Terms of the spit and firm are such: you frees the mother, you and fem take the Full's walk. ’Greed?”
“Agreed,” Robinson said.
They both spit on their hands and shook on it.
“Do I needs to speak what falls the swole if you word ain’t held north?”
“Do I need to tell you what happens to Troyus if she’s harmed in any way?”
Fang sneered before nodding for the others to follow. Robinson and Underfoot were left alone.
“What next?” Underfoot asked.
“Next, you fetch my things.”
It was still morning when they set across the mall’s parking lot. Robinson continued to limp, but the pain was lessening. He took notice of Red sentries positioned atop the mall. It had been modified with a few defenses, but nothing he couldn’t break with a score of Iron Fists and a few guns. That begged the question as to why these Fire Lords, with their ability to attack from the sky, hadn’t taken the compound already.
“So, what’s the Eye?” Robinson asked as they climbed an embankment and started down the lone road into town. Underfoot looked at him distrustfully and didn’t answer. “Come on, kid. Do we really look like we’re here to steal your secrets?”
“So why is you here?”
“We’re looking for a place leftover from what you call the far and back. The City of Glass. Have you heard of it?” Underfoot shook his head. “We were told it might be out this way. Hidden in the mountains perhaps. There are people there I need to find. People that can help my wife. She’s ill.”
“’Fraid I ain’t heard of it,” Underfoot said. “Sorry.”
Robinson nodded, disappointed. “Are there other villages around? With adults? Or a place where travelers meet?”
Underfoot shrugged.
Robinson sighed but smiled at the kid anyway. There was
something about him he liked. After a quarter mile, the boy spoke again.
“The Black Eye of Infinity. That’s its proper name. It’s magic, if word is crosses.”
“This is the object that Fang consulted in the store?”
Underfoot nodded. “I ain’t seen it. Few has.”
“Then how do you know it exists?”
“Tol’ ya. I keep my ears wide. Since the far and back, leaders o’ Troyus been going to the Eye for ’vice.”
“Ad-vice, you mean.”
“Preesh,” Underfoot said. “When it says do, they does. When it don’t…”
“You sure have a lot of rules in Troyus.”
“Rules make the game. Games that come from Ton-Bra and the Brothers Ark anyway.”
“Who are they?”
“’Pose you’d say our Gods. My sis says you learn their rules as shorts. As Halfers, the ’ceptions.’”
Robinson thought he remembered a similar quote from the ancients. Still, it was a heady sentiment for one so young. “She sounds smart, this sister of yours.”
Underfoot smiled, but only briefly.
“What happened to her?”
“Same as all Fulls. She turned three and two and went away.”
“Where?”
“No one knows. Or says anyway. When Fulls leave, they turn rival players. And rival players can’t play Troyus games. Fulls broke the world, see? Broke the first family. Us Orphans, we only has each other. It’s kept us playing this long.”
“So no one’s ever tried to buck the system and stick around?”
“Only Dustynose,” Underfoot answered. “An’ I tol’ you what happened to her.”
The city was modest in size. An old sign said its population was once forty thousand. The main street comprised of ten square blocks, making it easy to find what he was looking for.
“Is this it?” Underfoot said, looking up at the sign that read Guns. Robinson nodded, carefully pushing the old door open as he entered.
The building was well lit but run-down. Shelves were collapsed, overturned. Water damage had turned everything to mush or kindling. The racks where the long rifles once stood like parade soldiers were now empty, along with the toppled safes laying open on the floor.
“Done and dust,” Underfoot said.
“Yep,” Robinson asked. “But sometimes it pays to dig a little deeper.”
“What they sell here?” Underfoot asked.
“Weapons once. When things got bad, people made a run on businesses like this. Almost every one I’ve come across looks the same. Ransacked, that is.”
“I’d gone for edi’s first,” Underfoot said.
Robinson grinned. “That’s because you’re smart.”
The storeroom in the back had also been plundered, but Robinson eventually found what he was looking for—a metal contraption strapped to a warped wooden bench with a long lever that brought a metal plate upward like a piston.
“What’s it?” Underfoot asked.
“It’s called a bullet press. It’s for making ammunition.”
“Ammu—”
“Projectiles for my pistol,” he said, patting the pistol at his hip. He’d managed to convince Fang to let him take it since he had no ammunition for it anyway. “Let’s look around and see what else we can find.”
It took some time, but Robinson managed to gather most of the ingredients he needed: a powder measurer, a grain scale, four boxes of unspent cases that fit his weapon’s caliber, and lastly a plastic bottle of small arms primers. He didn’t know the shelf life on the primers. The fact that they were sealed reassured him some.
The one thing he couldn’t find was bullets.
“Let’s take a walk,” Robinson said.
As they walked the street, Robinson couldn’t help admire the quaintness of the town. The buildings were brick. A small park was nestled in the town square. He imagined the people there were happy. It made him think of his own home. His family and friends. He missed them terribly.
While passing an old window, Robinson spied movement atop the buildings on the opposite side of the street. Red.
“We have company,” he said.
Underfoot smirked. “You didn’t ’speck Fang to let us on our own, didya?”
When they found the auto repair shop, Robinson slipped inside. He pointed out a broken fire hydrant and some metal pans for Underfoot to grab before heading upstairs and retrieving a couple old boxes.
“What’s those?” Underfoot asked.
“Wheel weights,” Robinson said. “I'm not sure what they were used for originally. Something to do with balancing carriage tires. But they’re made of lead, which is what we need.”
On their way out, Robinson also grabbed an old can of oil.
It was noon when they returned to the gun shop where Robinson had Underfoot saw off the top of the old fire extinguisher to form a crucible. Then he poured several pieces of old charcoal inside and lit it. With a bellows made from an old lamp, the fire became hot enough to melt the wheel weights in a steel pan. Robinson stirred them until the lead became molten.
Next he used heavy gloves to pour the lead into double cavity bullet molds he’d retrieved. Within no time, the pair were sweating and fatigued. When the lead finally cooled, they had managed to create several hundred bullets. After lubricating them with oil, Robinson scattered the coals outside in the dirt.
Finally, he found a dull knife and cut the lining of his jacket until a dozen small bundles fell out. “Gunpowder,” Robinson said. “Some friends of mine gave it to me as a parting gift. I’ve kept it dry, so it should be good.”
The next part was the hard part. Robinson carefully measured grains for the casings, inserting the primer before using the press to finish the process.
“Voila,” Robinson said. “Bullets. Now all we need is a target.” Robinson smirked as he opened the side door and pointed the pistol across the street. Underfoot’s eyes ballooned in horror, and he jumped when Robinson pulled the trigger. The bullet slammed into the rusty metal sign and sent it crashing onto the roof, where Snapdragon squealed before hightailing it away.
Underfoot laughed, slapping his leg, and looked at Robinson with awe.
“Who learned you this?” he asked.
Robinson recognized the thirst for knowledge and said, “C’mon. I'll show you.”
The town library was in a Spanish-style building, but its pitched roof and sturdy terracotta tiles had preserved most of the books inside.
“You know what these are?” Robinson asked.
Underfoot nodded. “My sis done the reading. Many says it’s bad play.”
“Education is never bad play. What’s in here can only make you stronger.”
Underfoot noticed a children’s book featuring dinosaurs. The tyrannosaurus rex on the cover was wearing sunglasses. He pointed at it.
“Or make you laugh,” Robinson added.
Underfoot did. While he was busy perusing the children’s section, Robinson searched a different room, eventually finding what he was looking for. He sat and started reading, unaware how much time passed until Underfoot peeked over his shoulder.
“That tell the stor’ of the mother bird?” Underfoot asked.
Robinson stuck his thumb in the aviation book and looked at the boy.
“You know it’s not alive, right?”
Underfoot shrugged, but the answer was clear.
“This,” Robinson said, “is called an airplane. In the old days, people used to travel from place to place inside them. That’s how these Fire Lords transport the kerosene to your home. It’s also, I suspect, what they would use to attack you from the air should you ever decide to break your deal with them.”
“Our Reds is fierce, but we can’t fight … planes. Can you kill it with your gun?”
“It’s possible, but I have something else in mind.”
“What?”
“I’m going to steal it.”
Chapter Eight
Swoles
The room was separated into three groups. The first group included new mothers, who did almost everything from bed. When they weren’t breastfeeding, they were sleeping. The only time they got up was when they needed to eat or make water.
The second group featured those with child. They usually sat huddled together on the floor, knitting blankets for their young or learning what was expected of them. They still whispered and giggled as children did, but they were nervously excited for what was to come.
The third and final group were those scheduled to become pregnant next. They fetched food, emptied the bed pans, cleaned the bedding, and watched over the babies when the mothers needed relief.
Among this latter group was a spindly girl with stringy hair and no curves to speak of yet. She rarely talked, spending most of her time whispering to the infants she held in a rocking chair. When the children cooed, she smiled, but when it became restless, the girl grew tense. Friday realized she was terrified.
“What’s your name?” Friday asked when they had a moment alone.
“Pix,” the girl answered shyly.
“I am called Friday.” She nodded to the infant in Pix’s hands. “He likes you.”
Pix’s shoulders relaxed some.
“They say I has the touch for boys. Not so with fems.”
“Oh?”
“Sprout fems can sense one ain’t yet swole or broke.”
“Hmm. How old are you, Pix?”
“Turned five and two half-moon past.”
“That makes you twelve by my count.”
Far too young to bear a child, even for an Aserra.
“I see you wear yellow,” Friday said. “What do Yellows do again?”
“We does the caring work. The leg and lift. The bring and take. We keep the Blues and Reds and Green of Troyus playing the game.”
She said it proudly. Friday smiled.
“And now you’re with child.”
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