Skydark Spawn

by James Axler

  Once he was out in the hall, the baron closed the door behind him and pulled his knife from its scabbard.

  The thing was grunting in his arms, sounding more like a pig than a child. He placed the blade of his knife under the creature’s chin, drawing it evenly across its throat.

  Blood splattered onto the floor like rain.

  Moments later, all was quiet.

  AN HOUR LATER the baron, healer and Reichel ville’s sec chief met in the ville’s main square. The day was warm, but there seemed to be a definite chill in the air. The baron had called the meeting because it was obvious that something had to be done about the rash of recent mutie births in the ville. It was one thing when the residents of the ville were having mutie offspring, but now that it had happened to the baron, the problem had suddenly come to the fore.

  Not only was the ville slowly dying off with no young blood to replace the old, but the baron was growing old, as well, and he was still without a son, or even a daughter, to one day take his place. If he didn’t have a norm child soon he would grow too old to hold on to the seat of power long enough for one of his offspring to become the new baron. If his wife couldn’t deliver him an heir, he’d eventually be killed by an ambitious sec man.

  And Reichel ville would be no more.

  “Have you seen the…creature?” the baron asked his sec chief.

  The sec chief, a man named Ganley, simply nodded.

  The baron turned to the healer. “What’s causing these mutie births? Is it rad sickness?”

  The healer shook his head. “The site of Reichel ville was chosen because it was far enough away from the hot spots around Pittsville and Detroit.” He took the rad counter from his collar. “According to this and the others I’ve given to people in the ville, we’re clear.”

  “What about our water? Food?” sec chief Ganley asked.

  “If we were drinking Erie Lake water, we might be getting rad poisoned, but our water well is over a hundred feet deep. I’m almost certain it’s still clean.”

  “Almost certain?” the sec chief commented.

  “What about food?” the baron asked, ignoring the sec chief’s comment for the time being.

  “We keep the best norm fish we catch for ourselves and process the muties we catch for trade. And we grow our own vegetables, so we’re not getting rad poisoning that way.”

  “Then why was my son born a monster?” the baron bellowed, slamming his fist onto his knee.

  The healer swallowed. “On our last trade convoy to the eastern villes, I visited one of the great libraries there. In one of the books I read about something called inbreeding.”

  “What is that?” the baron asked, his anger gone for the moment, replaced by curiosity.

  “Inbreeding has to do with the mating of closely related individuals.” The healer paused, choosing his words carefully so as to not incur the baron’s wrath. “It is considered undesirable because it increases the risk that an offspring will inherit copies of rare recessive genes from both parents and form disabilities because of it.”

  “So what are you telling me—the Reichel family’s blood is tainted and impure?”

  “No, not at all, sir. In the book, it said the same thing happened to predark royal families hundreds of years before skydark.

  “Lady Gayle is the daughter of your father’s sister, isn’t she?” the healer asked.

  The baron nodded.

  “Well, that means that whatever recessive genes you possess, she would likely have them, too.”

  The baron looked confused.

  The healer took a moment to rethink his explanation. If he couldn’t convince the baron that the problem was a real threat, there would be nothing done to correct it. “Think of your genes as being a length of steel chain. The chain has several weak links to it. When you have a child with Lady Gayle, her genes, or chain, has exactly the same weak links as yours, so there are parts of the newborn that are defective because her chain couldn’t strengthen the weak links of your chain, only weaken it again.”

  The baron seemed to understand now. Reichel ville had prospered on the shores of Erie Lake for some seventy-five years. It was a small fishing ville, large enough to have a well-armed sec force, but small enough not to be worth the trouble of raiding, since the only real thing of value they possessed was their experience as fishermen. In seventy-five years no one had joined the ville from the outside, and the population had never risen over 150.

  “The same weakening occurred before you were born, each generation weakening the chain again and again until…”

  The baron placed his left hand over his right, hiding the fingers of his right hand, which were all half as long as the ones on his left. “How can we fix it?” the baron asked.

  “Reichel ville needs new blood,” the healer explained. “If you don’t bring in some new people with new genes into the ville, you won’t have the birth of any new norms to celebrate. Not yours, not anyone’s.”

  Sec chief Ganley cleared his throat. “I know a place where we can trade for men and women,” he said. “All of them norms. Good breeders.”

  “Where?”

  “A farm to the north. Across the lake.”

  “But we’re just fishermen,” the baron stated. “What can we trade for slaves, fish?”

  “Our fish would possibly make a decent trade for an old slave, but surely they’d want more for breeders.”

  “We don’t have to trade with them,” Ganley suggested.

  “What are you saying?”

  “We have a well-stocked armory that we’ve rarely had to use. We could form a strong raiding party and simply take what we need from this farm.”

  “But they would be armed and prepared for such an attack,” the baron said. “We’d lose many of the ville’s best citizens.”

  “The ville is dying as it is,” the sec chief pointed out. “At least this way if we die, we do so trying to save the ville.”

  The baron considered it, then said, “Bring as much fish as you can to trade. If they refuse, use all the blasters and grens we have to take what we need.”

  “As you wish,” the sec chief said.

  “The survival of Reichel ville depends on it.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Get in the wag,” the sec man grunted, pushing Ryan hard from behind. The one-eyed man’s step quickened, but he didn’t stumble. He wouldn’t give the stupes the satisfaction. They’d butted him with their blasters, kicked them with their boots and punched him countless times, but he hadn’t fallen.

  It was partly pride on Ryan’s part, but also a matter of survival. If he had been unable to carry on, they probably would have chilled him on the spot rather than drag him all the way back to the farm. If he could hold out long enough, he might get the opportunity to repay them for their kindness.

  Ryan still didn’t understand how they’d managed to capture him so easily. He was usually a light sleeper and should have awakened at the slightest bit of trouble. Instead he was tired and slow-footed and hadn’t even noticed Krysty was gone. If he hadn’t been so groggy, he might have been able to chill the second sec man as he’d done the first, but his arms and legs seemed so heavy, he was lucky to get just one of them.

  And what about J.B.? These sec men had been able to sneak into their rooms and take them away on the Armorer’s watch. These sec men were either something special, and Ryan hadn’t seen any evidence to prove that, or the same thing that had slowed him had slowed J.B., as well. Judging by the way they handled themselves and the way they’d treated him so far, Ryan was convinced it was the latter.

  The wag was an old double-axled transport with a flatbed in back outfitted with wooden benches to sit on. Ryan had trouble climbing onto the back of the wag, but there was no shortage of sec men willing to lend him a hand. They eagerly grabbed him and threw him into the back of the wag, his head slamming into one of the wooden benches.

  “Ryan!” a voice called out.

  It sounded like Krysty.
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  Ryan opened his eye, and there was the titian-haired beauty, on her knees and leaning over him with her hands tied behind her back. He checked to see if she’d been hurt in any way, but she looked to be fine. That was good for the sec men, because if there’d been a scratch on her, there would be even more hell to pay.

  “Are you all right?” Krysty asked.

  Ryan nodded.

  “You don’t look all right,” Mildred said, coming to Ryan’s side and leaning awkwardly over him, her hands still bound behind her, as well.

  Ryan tried to say something, forgetting his mouth was still covered with tape.

  Mildred turned and wriggled her fingers. Ryan moved closer so that the edge of the tape touched Mildred’s hand. A few moments later she had a firm grip on the corner of the tape. Ryan rolled away from her and the tape tore away from his face, taking hair and several patches of skin with it. There was some pain, but at least now he could take deeper breaths and talk.

  “Are you two hurt?” Ryan asked, getting up from the floor of the wag and taking a seat on a bench.

  “Not really,” Mildred answered. “They’ve handled both of us with kid gloves. Real gentle like, which makes me a bit nervous.”

  “Is there anyone else?”

  “No, just the three of us in this wag,” Krysty answered.

  “Why do they want us three?” Mildred wondered.

  “To work the orchards,” Ryan stated. “Those workers we saw on the farm must have been slaves.”

  “I don’t know, lover,” Krysty mused. “From the way the sec men were looking at us, I don’t think they went to the trouble of capturing us just so we could work the fields.”

  “Mebbe women are different kinds of slaves,” Ryan pondered, not liking the thoughts that were crossing his mind.

  Just then a sec man appeared at the back of the wag. “Shut your trap, Cyclops,” he barked. “And keep it shut till we get to the farm. Next time you talk, it’ll be answering questions from Baron Fox.”

  Ryan just stared at the man, his gaze never wavering.

  The wag started to move.

  The sec man eventually looked away.

  “WHEN I WOKE UP they were gone,” J.B. said as he, Doc, Jak and Dean inspected Ryan’s room.

  “Ah, a puzzle worthy of the sleuth of Baker Street,” Doc commented, inspecting the room a bit more closely than the others.

  “Who?” Dean asked.

  “Holmes, young Master Cawdor. Sherlock Holmes.”

  Dean just looked at Doc strangely, as did Jak.

  “They must have taken Krysty first,” Doc concluded. “And outside of this room.”

  “Why do you say that?” J.B. asked.

  “Some of her belongings are on this night table, so this was her side of the bed. There’s no sign of a struggle here, unlike on the side Ryan had slept on.” They all looked at the dead sec man, lying facedown in a pool of his own blood. “Also, while there are several of Ryan’s bloody footprints in the hallway, leading to the far door, there were none made by Krysty’s Western boots.”

  “But how did they manage to get Krysty?”

  “I think the nearby door is the key. I think she must have awakened in the middle of the night, perhaps attuned to some disturbance or danger her prescient ability allowed her to sense was very close at hand. She took her blaster and went to investigate, most likely without waking Ryan. She must have opened the door at the end of the hall to have a look up or down the stairs when she was taken by someone on the other side, most likely the very danger she had ventured out of her room to investigate.”

  The three friends listened closely to Doc’s explanation, none of them able to find fault with his reasoning.

  Doc continued, obviously intrigued by the peculiar sequence of events and enjoying the process of deduction. “Once the door was open, the sec men were able to come in and out as they pleased, avoiding detection because you were concentrating on the door at the other end of the hall. They searched each room, working their way down the hallway toward you. They found Ryan first. He was able to chill one of the sec men, but not all of them and they managed to subdue him and take him away. Next they found Mildred and were able to steal her away, as well.”

  “Dark night!” J.B. cursed under his breath.

  “And then they stopped their raid,” Doc said, striking the end of his swordstick on the floor for emphasis, “and went back to the farm.”

  “Why?” Dean asked.

  “I think it has to do with the women. I believe that is all they were interested in from the beginning. Ryan just happened to be in the way, and quite frankly I am surprised they did not just kill him where he lay.”

  “Wake up rest,” Jak offered.

  “Yes, in all likelihood,” Doc said.

  “But why would they want just the women?” Dean asked.

  Doc didn’t answer.

  Even so, Dean slowly realized it for himself. “Oh,” he said.

  “It’s my fault,” J.B. said. “I let everyone down, just like in my dream.”

  Doc put a hand on the Armorer’s shoulder. “No, it is not your fault, John Barrymore. There’s another element to this scenario that I have yet to mention.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, under normal circumstances, a bunch of local sec men would never have accomplished this feat without one or all of us waking up and killing a fair number of them, if not all. So, the question is, what was different this time?”

  “Food,” Jak said.

  “Exactly, my dear Jak. The fruit we traded for had to have been contaminated in some way, either naturally by radiation poisoning, or on purpose by sec men with a plan.”

  “Sec men with plan,” Jak decided.

  “I think you’re right,” Dean said. “I’ve never been so tired in my life.”

  “Nor have any of us,” Doc commented. “So don’t blame yourself, John Barrymore. You couldn’t have helped it.”

  “Rad-blasted sec men and their baron are gonna have hell to pay,” J.B. said through gritted teeth.

  “That’s the spirit,” Doc cheered.

  “Let’s move,” J.B. said, leading the way.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sec chief Ganley supervised the raiding party that was assembling on the shores of Erie Lake. He had spread word about the raid through Reichel ville, being careful to explain why it was necessary and the dangers the raiders would encounter.

  They would be taking two of their sleekest fishing vessels. Each one measured roughly eighteen feet long and was powered by paddlers, four to a side. That meant the ideal number of raiders would be eighteen, giving each boat eight paddlers and a navigator. But while eighteen raiders would move fastest across the lake, they would need more than that when they reached their destination. Ganley decided on twenty-four, which gave each boat ten paddlers, a navigator and a lookout, which was something important to have considering there were plenty of mutie creatures out in the deeper waters in the middle of the lake.

  Yet despite deciding on twenty-four raiders, Ganley had no trouble filling out the ranks. He’d selected twenty-three so far and now had to decide on the final spot with five volunteers to choose from.

  The first was a boy who was obviously too young. “Sorry,” the sec chief said, “but I need some to stay here in Reichel ville to protect it while I’m gone.”

  The boy was disappointed but not surprised.

  Next was an old man whose prime years had come and gone long ago. He walked with a cane, but carried a mint-condition blaster. The blaster would be handy to have with them on the raid, but not if he could only use one hand to fire it.

  Ganley shook his head.

  The old-timer seemed relieved, as if he’d volunteered simply to save face.

  The final three were all women, which mattered not to the sec chief. His only concern was that they be able to fight, and he’d seen women who were every bit as capable as men and often were even more cunning.

  The first carried a
remade blaster that looked as if it were held together with glue, baling wire and string. She seemed to be uncomfortable holding the weapon in her hand, as if she were afraid it might go off while she held it.

  “Let me see you change clips,” the sec chief said, pointing to the blaster.

  “That’s the thing that holds the bullets, right?”

  Ganley nodded.

  She fumbled with it, then said, “I’m sorry, it was my man’s blaster. He never showed me how to use it because it was always by his side.”

  “Mebbe you can stay here in the ville and learn.”

  The woman nodded and walked away.

  The next woman was young and lithe, and was dressed in little more than rags. Her only weapon was a sharpened stick, but there looked to be bloodstains on the end of it.

  “Is that the only weapon you have?” the sec chief asked, getting up from his seat.

  The woman nodded.

  “The place we’re headed will have plenty of well-armed sec men. I need blasters.” He reached for the stick with his right hand.

  In a blur of motion, the woman swung the stick away from his grasp around the back of her neck and ended up with the pointed end directly under the sec chief’s chin. She pressed the tip firmly against his flesh, until a single drop of blood ran down the shaft.

  “But there’ll be plenty of close-in fighting, too,” Ganley said, “and sharp sticks can kill just as easily as a round from a blaster.”

  She pulled the point from his chin.

  “You’re in.”

  Ganley looked for the last volunteer, but she had already turned and was well on her way back home.

  “We leave in an hour.”

  THE WAG WAS in good condition and carried them comfortably over the weed-covered roads toward Fox Farm. Judging by the smell of lubricating oil coming from the wag’s underside, this baron had plenty of jack to spend on the things that were vital to his operation. Ryan had made a mental note of the sec men’s blasters and aside from a few well-put-together remades, they all had quality weapons. Sure, the baron had an advantage with an unlimited supply of electricity, but he was obviously trading more than just fruit.