by James Axler
* * *
INSIDE THE MEDICAL tower, it was quiet after the hubbub of the dance hall. J.B. went to Ricky’s room without incident. A few women—nurses maybe?—greeted the Armorer in a friendly manner as he passed, but no one questioned or tried to stop him. Hell, why would they? J.B. thought. Seems everyone’s your friend here in Heaven Falls.
The white corridors were lit with flickering candles under glass, but Ricky’s room was kept in darkness. Inside, Ricky was fast asleep in the bed, snoring gently. J.B. had heard the snoring ten feet away and he smiled when he realized that the noise was coming from his companion.
“Keep it up, kid,” he said quietly, standing just inside the doorway. “Your body needs all the recovery time it can get.”
Oblivious, Ricky continued to snore.
J.B. stayed there almost an hour, standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame, glad to escape the claustrophobia of the crowded dance hall. The walls to the room were of that same lattice design he had seen elsewhere, and it allowed the flickering light of the corridor candles to filter into the room. The light was just enough that J.B. could watch the youth sleeping, and he took a certain comfort in knowing that the kid was safe.
What had happened out in California had not been J.B.’s fault—the mat-trans jump had dropped them there, and no one could account for the random factor. But still, the kid’s bravery was maybe a little on J.B., if he was honest with himself. Sure, Ricky was brave already—didn’t need J.B. or Ryan or anyone else to prod him into a dangerous situation if it was what was needed. But Ricky idolized J.B.; he’d mentioned that the Armorer reminded him a little of his uncle Benito, also a weaponsmith back in his home ville of Nuestra Señora. And it was that that made him reckless sometimes, in his desire to impress J.B. and show he was worthy of sticking with Ryan’s band of survivalists.
J.B. shook his head. No good ever came from blaming yourself, he thought.
In the bed, Ricky snuffled a moment and rolled over. His brow furrowed momentarily as he wrenched the wound in his side, but he didn’t awaken.
The kid’ll be all right, J.B. told himself, turning to leave.
THE ALCOHOL HAD been flowing for a while now. Inside the dance hall, the atmosphere was warmer as a new tune began. From their thrilled reactions, it was clear to Ryan and his partners that it was a dance favored by the locals. They took their positions during the opening strains, women in line down the center of the room, men to either side a few feet back, all of them moving in time to the rhythm.
Ryan and Krysty stepped to the edge of the group, where they could watch without interrupting. Then the music began in earnest and the patrons swayed seductively in time with it, stepping into the music, following its beats. The women swayed their hips suggestively, while the men watched appreciatively. The Regina stepped among them, weaving in and out of the writhing women touching their faces in the briefest of strokes as she passed, her dress a swirl of yellow and black.
Doc was among the throng, lined up with the other men, copying them step for step, albeit a beat behind. He faced the woman called Bella, with whom he seemed to have partnered for the night.
Watching, Krysty reached her hands behind Ryan’s neck and pulled him close. Her eyes shone with joy, and this close Ryan could smell the sweetness of her breath from the mead she had drunk.
“This is it, Ryan,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. “This is the normal life we’ve waited for. A normal life full of wonders and miracles.”
For that moment at least, Ryan liked to think that Krysty was right. And perhaps she was.
* * *
JAK COULD BE almost balletic in combat, and he was unarguably in touch with his primal side, but dancing, for all that its proponents insisted that it was about “feeling the music” and “letting go,” remained too much of a social construct for Jak to comfortably engage in.
Charm smiled sympathetically at Jak’s discomfort, and plied him with more of the sweet-tasting, fermented beverage that filled the barrels. “It’s an old recipe, dating back hundreds of years,” she explained as they supped at their drinks at the side of the hall where things were quieter. “It’s called mead.”
“Taste sweet,” Jak said, smiling. He liked it, but then Jak liked most things he could eat or drink, because of the privations he had suffered as a youth.
In the center of the room, the dance with the Regina was continuing, the music getting faster as the women shook their butts at the men, flirtatiously peering over the shoulders with each erotically charged thrust. Without warning, Charm reached over to take Jak’s empty goblet, and her hand touched his.
“Let me show you the dance,” Charm said, stepping out in front of him.
Jak began to shake his head but Charm pressed her finger to her lips and hushed him.
“You don’t need to do anything,” she promised, “but watch.” With that she began to sway her hips in time with the music, turning slowly as she raised her hands high above her head, stretching her back and pushing out her backside as she rotated in front of Jak’s eyes.
Feet away, the dancers continued their own interpretation, each one moving in perfect time.
* * *
THE MOON WAS higher in the sky when J.B. exited the medical faculty, and the streets were still empty. He stood for a moment, listening to the music as it carried from the dance, drifting on the breeze with the same ebb and flow of the ocean. There was laughter and voices, too: the sounds of human happiness. He could waste a while yet; no one had come looking for him.
Thrusting his hands into his jacket pockets for warmth, the Armorer took a slow stroll around the towers and beyond, up along the main thoroughfare toward the gates through which they had entered the ville that morning. There was no one around, and once he was beyond the circle of towers there was barely any light to see by. J.B. walked slowly, trusting that the darkness would hide him from casual observers just as much as it hid them from him.
The water pumps that were spaced along the sides of the long thoroughfare glistened slightly as they caught what little illumination the tiny sliver of moon cast. As he got closer, J.B. saw that same sliver of moon lit the metalwork that crisscrossed the ville’s gates. The gates were closed and, up close, J.B. could see the sentry box poised at the top of the high wall beside them. He stepped back into the shadows, eyeing the sentry box for thirty seconds without moving, checking to see who was inside. For a moment he thought that perhaps it was empty, that everyone in town had gone to the dance, but then he spotted the black shapes in the windows. There were two of them, he concluded, their ink silhouettes catching the moonlight as they performed the watch.
I wonder what shifts this place has? J.B. pondered. And whether anyone’s allowed out of the gates at night? Come to that, can just anyone go out in the daytime, or are there rules to that the way there is to other stuff?
Maybe now wasn’t the right time to find out. Skulking in the darkness was one sure way to arouse suspicion. Better then to keep an eye on the comings and goings and figure out the pattern from a distance. He’d do that the next day, and see if maybe he could slip out and take another look at the redoubt and that wrecked mat-trans.
* * *
AFTER THE DANCE ended, the companions returned to their cabins with conflicting thoughts.
For Ryan and Krysty, the night had only begun. As soon as they closed the door of their wood cabin on the outside world, they made furious love, with the urgency of lovers parted for too long.
Afterward, as they lay in the darkness, their bodies glistening with sweat, Krysty asked Ryan if they might stay here.
“Mebbe we could,” Ryan replied, his words swimming around the room in the darkness. Then he rolled over and kissed Krysty, and their lovemaking resumed.
* * *
DOC FOUND JAK with Charm, but he said nothing. Th
e two men returned to the shack they shared in silence.
Doc knew he was a fool to be jealous. Charm was young and pretty and he was just an old, worn-out thing; old before his time but old all the same.
Jak was silent for his own reasons. He was remembering the transitory happiness he had had with Christina, and how it had been snatched away from him. If it should come to it, could he build a life again? Was he capable?
The two men retired to separate rooms, exchanging just the briefest of words as they parted for sleep.
* * *
MILDRED’S BRAIN WAS racing with thoughts of the medical faculty and the invitation that Petra had extended for her to join them. She bubbled with excitement, telling J.B. all about what she had seen and been told.
J.B. only half listened, wrapped up as he was in his own thoughts about the sec of the ville and the nature of its regime. There was nothing wrong here, not in any obvious way, and yet he was uncomfortable for reasons he couldn’t put his finger on. Maybe it was something about him, and not the ville, that was nagging at him, that he was a weaponsmith in a ville that had outlawed weapons. He went to sleep wondering what the future held for a fighter who could no longer carry a blaster.
Chapter Eleven
Morning arrived in a blaze of streaming sunlight through drapeless windows. The alcohol of the night before hung inside the head of each companion like a wet cloth. All, that was, except for J.B., who had spent little time at the actual dance. As such, it was J.B. who answered the polite but insistent knock at the door to the cabin he shared with Mildred.
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” he said as he tripped across the floor in bare feet, pulling his pants on over his underwear in an ungainly, hop-skip-sway maneuver. A moment later, pants on and an open shirt over his undershirt, the Armorer pulled the front door open.
Phyllida stood on the stoop. She looked immaculate in her white robe, and her blond hair was once again elaborately pinned back from her face. “Mr. Dix,” she said, favoring him with her bright smile.
Behind her, the sunlight was filtering through the trees, casting dazzling streaks across the ground. J.B. noticed people out there in the distance carrying great wooden beams and bags of tools: a work crew.
“Miss...Phyllida,” J.B. said, uncertain how to address the woman.
“It’s a new day,” Phyllida told him.
J.B. rubbed at his face, adjusting the glasses he wore. “It surely is.” Almost as an afterthought, he began to button his shirt and force its tail down into the waistband of his pants.
“You heard the Regina’s words last night,” the white-robed Melissa said. “Within us lie the seeds for the future. But only by working together can we...”
“Yeah, I remember,” J.B. grumbled. “You, er, have anything you wanted?”
“New day, new future,” Phyllida said cheerily. She had apparently missed or chosen to ignore J.B.’s sour response. “We shall all work together in our ways to build our better tomorrow. You, the Regina sees, as a carpenter.”
Aha. Now J.B. saw where this was going. If he and his companions were to stay in the ville, they would be expected to pull their weight. He shrugged. “I’ve worked a little with my hands. I’d be willing to give it a go. Ryan, too, I imagine,” he added almost as an afterthought. He wanted to speak to Ryan about what he was sensing here, see if, as his oldest friend, Ryan was also sensing something out of step.
“That’s perfect,” Phyllida said, her smile never wavering. “The Regina has assigned Ryan to a construction team just like you.”
“Together, I hope?” J.B. said.
“We all work together in Heaven Falls, Mr. Dix,” Phyllida replied. “No point in a hundred and eighty people building a hundred and eighty different tomorrows.”
That wasn’t what J.B. had meant, but he let the matter slide.
Mildred had been awakened by the sound of voices at the door, and she wandered into the main room to see what was going on. Phyllida seemed heartened to see the woman, and she gave Mildred her assignment, which Mildred agreed to gleefully. She was to train in the medical tower, where she would get to see how the Trai were advancing their medical knowledge. It suited Mildred perfectly.
* * *
THE OTHERS WERE also given assignments, delivered by one of the white-robed Melissas.
For Krysty, her day would be spent in the ville’s kindergarten, where the under fives were brought while their parents were at work in the fields or patrolling the mountains.
Ryan was assigned to a construction team, as J.B. had been told, though his role was to move the heavy wood around a construction site.
Jak was given a role in the fields as a farmhand, while Doc—apparently something of a novelty to the people of Heaven Falls because of his advanced age—was instructed to join the beekeepers who collected honey from the hives located in and around the ville walls.
The efficiency with which roles were assigned gave some insight into how the advances here had been achieved. With everyone assigned a role, the companions barely saw one another, working hard through the day. Everyone in Heaven Falls was open and friendly, and the companions made new friends with their particular work buddies. Even Jak, whose natural inclination was to be a loner, seemed at home tilling the fields where the work was hard, though much of it remained at a distance from his colleagues.
Every worker was provided with an ample lunch consisting of dried breads and fruit, more mead—which J.B. swore away from given the way his colleagues’ heads were pounding—and sweetened honey water. Lunch was eaten mostly where one worked, with a full ninety minutes given over to not just its consumption but also some general, easygoing socializing.
Someone at Ryan’s construction site produced a ball and the workers had a little kick-around on a patch of newly cleared forest just beyond the fields. In a few weeks, Ryan was told, this space would be inhabited by three new cabins—but for now they could use it for recreation. Ryan was grateful. He was used to constantly moving while on the road, but building houses—or at least lugging around hunks of wood—proved demanding on even his fit body, utilizing muscles he wasn’t used to punishing so much.
* * *
BY THE TIME the sun set, all of the companions felt that they had contributed to the upkeep of Heaven Falls, and if it had bothered any of them before, they no longer felt that they were abusing their hosts’ generosity without giving something back.
J.B. caught up with Ryan on the path home.
“So what did they have you doing in the end?” J.B. began.
Ryan stretched his arms, easing out the kinks in his back. “Mostly carrying planks and bricks,” he told the Armorer. “Feels like I carried a whole house.”
J.B. guffawed. “Mebbe you did,” he said. “They sure do like to work you hard around here.”
“A little hard work never hurt anyone. Keeps a man honest.”
“I guess it does at that,” J.B. agreed, smiling.
As they reached the door to the cottage that J.B. shared with Mildred, the Armorer held up his hands and showed Ryan. There were a couple fresh scabs there, newly dried.
“You been getting in fights?” Ryan asked.
“No, just working hard,” J.B. said. “Chisel,” he said, indicating one scab. “Nail.” He pointed at the other.
Ryan laughed. “I take back what I said. Mebbe in your case a little hard work does hurt.”
For a few seconds the two old friends laughed at that. Then J.B. said what was really on his mind.
“You think this place is okay?” he asked. “On the up-and-up?”
“I haven’t seen anything to make me think otherwise,” Ryan said pragmatically.
“Me, neither,” J.B. admitted before adding in a low voice, “and that worries me.”
Ryan raised his eyebrows in
surprise. He stepped closer to J.B., and the Armorer was suddenly conscious of how Ryan towered over him. “These people have opened their doors to us, J.B. Krysty’s happy here.”
“What about you?” J.B. asked.
“Krysty’s happy,” Ryan repeated. “I haven’t seen that as much as I’d have liked. It’s worth clinging to.”
J.B. looked at the taller man, an unspoken challenge in his eyes.
“They’re good people,” Ryan told him. “Honest people. They have shown us more kindness than a hundred other villes we’ve stumbled upon. Don’t overthink that.”
“And what about the bomb?” J.B. asked. “Is that the work of good people, of honest people?”
“Someone did that to them...” Ryan began.
“One of their own,” J.B. reminded him. “I haven’t seen any signs of dissent, have you?”
Ryan shook his head.
“Then why would someone do that?” J.B. persisted.
“The guy was...disturbed,” Ryan said. “Not in his right mind.”
“Mebbe,” J.B. allowed. “But planting a bomb takes planning. You don’t pull something like that out of thin air.”
Ryan reached out with his hand and pressed it firmly on J.B.’s shoulder, adding just enough pressure that J.B. knew he meant it. “Don’t ruin this, J.B. Live and enjoy what we’ve been given—a second chance.”
Then Ryan turned, and J.B. was left alone on the stoop watching the bigger man go. “I don’t know that I can do that,” he muttered to himself. “I’m not a house builder or a farmer. Spent too long on the road to do that now.”
* * *
WHEN MILDRED ARRIVED home later that same evening, she found J.B. in the main room of the cabin with the wooden box unlocked, its lid open. He had its contents arrayed around him and was sitting in a chair oiling his shotgun.
“Problem?” she asked as she closed the door.
“No problem,” he told her. “Just figure it pays to keep our weapons in working order. Never know when we might need them.”
