The Price of Freedom

by Chris Kennedy

  “What are you here for?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  The man’s gills fluttered as he sighed. “I asked why you were here.”

  “We’re just passing through, trying to get to Panama,” I replied. “We need to get some supplies to continue our journey.”

  “And you thought you could just stop in and take our resources from us, like you Yankees always do?”

  “We’d be happy to barter for them. What do you need?”

  “Your genetic samples.”

  That wasn’t happening. Teledyne—which probably no longer existed, probably—had a very strict policy about letting people examine Specialists. As in, “It isn’t allowed.” Any medical procedures had to be conducted by trained company doctors…all of whom had appropriately signed non-disclosure agreements in place. Still, I could play along.

  “What are these samples for?” I asked.

  The man shrugged. “Some people are more…adaptable…to modification than others. The president is always looking for new material to work with.”

  “The president?”

  “The leader of our community. He’s also the senior scientist.”

  “I see. And if we refuse?”

  “We will kill you and take the samples anyway. As I said, the president is always looking for new material.”

  “Okay, assuming I elect to let you have a sample,” I said. “Will you allow us to leave afterward?”

  “Your lives are forfeit for coming here. We will, however, let you join the colony, should your genetic material be found interesting enough to allow you to continue to live.”

  I had figured this was what we were leading up to, although I had hoped for a different outcome. A number of heads popped out of the water surrounding the boat, and I knew our time was up; our guest had been stalling us while waiting for reinforcements to arrive.

  “No deal!” I yelled, spinning around to jam the throttles full forward. I hoped the suddenness of my actions would pitch Fishboy overboard. I spun the wheel to get us out of there and felt the boat hit one of the people in the water. That was one denizen of the deep that wouldn’t be chasing us. Before I could get the boat pointed in the right direction, though—the one that would get us the hell out of there—an incredibly strong hand grabbed my shoulder and ripped me away from the wheel. I lost my balance as the throttles were brought back to idle and crashed into the small table at the back of the cockpit.

  I caught myself and spun to find Fishboy advancing on Jimmy, who was doing everything he could to back his way through the co-pilot’s station. A quick glance out the back showed a mass of the amphibians swimming as hard as they could toward us, and I knew we only had moments before they caught us.

  Figuring Jimmy could last another second or two on his own, I raced back to the pilot’s station and jammed the throttles back to full again. Fishboy lost his balance as he dove toward Jimmy and crashed into the bulkhead next to him.

  “Drive, Jimmy,” I said with a grunt as I advanced on Fishboy. “I’ll take out the trash.”

  I grabbed the man by the shoulder, but he kicked out behind him with a snap kick that would have hyperextended my knee if it hadn’t been hardened. As it was, the blow knocked my leg out from under me, and I staggered into the control panel before I could regain my balance.

  I turned and found him on his feet, coming toward me. He was every bit as fast and strong as I was, and I boosted my body as hard as I was able. Jimmy’s actions seemed to slow down as I sped up, but Fishboy’s didn’t. He’d obviously been modified for speed, too. Wonderful.

  I threw myself toward him, hoping to tackle him, but he stepped aside slightly in an olé move like a matador would use on a charging bull. He shoved me with one hand as I passed by, guiding me toward the gap in the railing where the ladder descended to the deck below us, but I grabbed the waistband of his shorts as I went past. He was almost as massive as I was, but I had enough momentum to carry him along, and we both flipped off the flying bridge and hurtled to the deck below us.

  I had a moment to try and spin myself, then we landed on the rubber raft that was stored on the main bridge level, and we bounced back into the air. Neither of us was able to keep our grip on the other, and we went in opposite directions. I landed on the deck and spun to find him still in the Zodiac. He started toward me without getting out of the boat, which was his mistake—I had good traction while he sort of bounced along.

  I dove toward him again, but this time, instead of grappling with him, I used my momentum to shove him backward. My 200 kilos, plus the shove at the end, were enough to reverse his momentum, and he wasn’t able to get his feet back under him on the treacherous surface. He backpedaled, trying to regain his balance, then he hit the lip of the Zodiac and went over backward. The breath went out of him in a woosh! as he landed on his back on the deck, with his head hanging over the edge.

  I knew I had to end the fight quickly, so I grabbed his ankles as I stood, and in a single, fluid motion threw them up and overboard through a gap in the railing. He went over, but he spun somehow and was able to get a hand on the coaming at the edge. He brought his other hand up to grab hold of the coaming, and I raced forward, jumped into the air, and came down on both hands simultaneously.

  Bones crunched, and I knew I had broken most of the bones in his fingers, but he still took a swing at me as he fell, trying to hook my ankles and take me overboard with him. I saw it coming, though—whatever boost he was using was fading quickly—and I jumped up as his hand swept past. Then he fell away and into the bay.

  The hate in his eyes as he hit the water was impressive, and I hoped to never meet up with him again.

  Everyone has wishes in this Fallen World.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  As I took a minute to catch my breath and let my body return to normal, I held onto the railing, careful not to lose my balance and go in after Fishboy. In his element, I had no doubt how a fight between us would end. After stretching a little to work out some of the kinks, I climbed the ladder and found Jimmy with his back against the control panel, aiming a pistol at me. His finger tensed, and I ducked, but he didn’t actually pull the trigger.

  After a second, I peeked over the deck. “Can I come up?”

  Jimmy chuckled, embarrassed. “Yeah,” he replied. “Sorry about that. I heard someone scream and then a splash, and I thought that…thing had thrown you overboard.”

  I smiled. “Nope, that was him rejoining his fish friends, although it was close. He was every bit as fast as me.”

  “What—what was that?”

  “Geno Freak,” I said. “I’m guessing that Cabo San Lucas is an entire colony of ‘em.”

  “But…what do you supposed happened to them?” He pointed toward the cruise ship that was grounded, just outside the harbor.

  I shrugged. “I imagine they got absorbed into the colony. That or they got absorbed by members of the colony.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Transportation and food supply systems have been disrupted across the globe,” I replied with another shrug. “Some of the earlier Geno Freaks weren’t too particular about the source of their meals.”

  “You mean…” Jimmy looked at me, his mouth open. “You mean they ate the people from the cruise ship?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s possible. I didn’t spot any normal looking people in the town when I was looking through the binoculars.” I smiled. “Once you drop me off, if you come back this way, I’d recommend you avoid Cabo San Lucas.”

  Jimmy shook his head vigorously. After a couple of seconds, though, he stopped and cocked it. “That was going to be our resupply stop,” he noted. “Now what are we going to do?”

  “We continue on. Unless you want to go back and talk to the fishmen…?”

  “No!” Jimmy exclaimed. “Not them!”

  “Okay,” I said. “Then what’s next?”

  Jimmy looked at the chart. “Mazatlán is straight t
o the east of us, although Puerto Vallarta is more along our route.”

  “Hmmm…” I shook my head. “Both of those are pretty big. We’ve already seen that the bigger the city, the harder—and farther—the fall. Is there anywhere else we can stop? Somewhere smaller?”

  “Umm…” Jimmy looked at the map. “How about here?” He pointed. “San Blas?”

  I looked where he pointed. The town was much smaller than the major cruise ports north and south of it and—unlike the other small towns along the coast—had a harbor with a number of small docks. Some of those would probably have gas pumps. I didn’t know if there was such a thing as “perfect,” but that was as close as we were going to get.

  “Looks good,” I said. “Do we have enough fuel to get there?”

  “Yeah, barely. You burned up a lot gunning the motors the way you did.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  “I get it,” he said, making a patting motion with his hands, “and I’m not saying you should have done anything differently. We needed to get out of there. Still…it did burn a lot of gas.”

  “Fine. Next time someone wants to eat us, I’ll step back and allow you to decide how we should save ourselves,” I replied, not entirely mollified.

  “Oh, now you’re just being a baby,” he said. Obviously, he wasn’t as afraid of me as he had been. Familiarity breeds contempt, after all. I’d have to work on that. “You know, if it was up to me, we’d both be dead,” he added. “I appreciate everything you did.”

  That was more like it.

  “I also appreciate what you’re going to do when we get to San Blas.”

  The way he said it made me raise my eyebrow further. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  He pointed to the map. “See this? Right here?” He pointed to something at the entrance to the harbor. “Sexta Zona Naval Militar?”

  My Spanish was a little rusty, but I got it. “Sixth Naval Zone. There’s a military base there. Wonderful.”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out, since you’re so awesome.” He looked up and smiled.

  “Now who’s the smartass?”

  His smile faded. “In all seriousness, I know you’ll figure something out.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because we don’t have the gas to go any farther. We might—might!—have enough to make it to Puerto Vallarta, but I wouldn’t bet a whole lot on it. Even then, who knows what we’ll find there.”

  “Yeah.” I looked at the map. In the center of the harbor at Puerto Vallarta was a complex labeled “Octava Zona Naval.” The eighth district compound looked even larger than the sixth district’s. I sighed. “I guess I’ll have to figure out something for San Blas.”

  Figuring out things is what you do in this Fallen World.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Nineteen

  We motored down the coast as quietly as we could once it got dark. The port of San Blas was tucked behind a large isthmus, and I had decided to use that to guard our approach. Things would have been a lot easier if it had been an island; we could have snuck in without having to go by the navy base. As it was, we would have to go past it both coming and going, which would make things a lot more difficult.

  I slid into the water with my pistol and some other gear in my remaining waterproof bag. The only weapon I had on me was the diving knife I had strapped to my thigh, courtesy of Jimmy’s boat store shopping trip. Although it wasn’t built for Teledyne Specialists, it was still a pretty good knife, and I was happy to have it as I swam ashore. I wasn’t sure if there were sharks around, but I felt better with it on my thigh.

  I reached the beach, and Jimmy went into a holding pattern offshore while I reconnoitered. A worn path led through the shrubbery and palm trees, and I was able to quickly cross to the other side of the almost-island. I was unimpressed with what I saw. Tied up to the pier at the naval base was some sort of patrol boat or fast assault craft. It only had a couple of guns on it, which weren’t very big, but they were more than big enough to take on and destroy our unarmed 64-foot yacht.

  Something would have to be done about that boat; I couldn’t have it blocking our exit from the port or chasing after us. I sighed. So much for sneaking past the navy base.

  I surveyed what I could see from the safety of the tree line. On the good side, a large finger of land reached almost halfway across the channel to where the navy base guarded the port’s exit. Unfortunately, the white sand would highlight me as I raced across it, so I wouldn’t be able to use it.

  A second boat was tied to the patrol craft, making the approach—or anything I planned to do to the patrol boat—more complicated. A third boat, a little harbor patrol craft not much bigger than our Zodiac, was anchored next to the pier. While it could carry men with guns, I wasn’t as worried about it as it didn’t have any weapons of its own.

  A flare of light illuminated a watchman on the pier as he lit a cigarette. Even I, who had very little experience with boats, knew not to smoke around them. I tried to recall which company held this portion of Mexico. I couldn’t come up with it for a few moments, then I had to keep from slapping myself in the forehead. CruiseWorld owned the area from just beyond Cabo San Lucas on down to Acapulco, and they used it for a variety of tourist activities from cruises to beach getaways. Apparently their discipline had severely degraded in the previous weeks, if it had ever been that great to start with. As fast as Cabo San Lucas had changed hands after the bombs fell, CruiseWorld must not have had a very good hold on it to start with.

  Okay. One guard, at least, to take care of, and one boat to disable. I could do this.

  I eased out of the trees, staying low as I crossed the darker section of the beach, and slid back into the water. Although I couldn’t use the sand bar stretching toward the navy base, I was able to use the shallows next to it to get halfway across the channel, shortening the length of my actual swim. I stayed on the far side of the patrol boat from the guard; I couldn’t see him, so I didn’t think there was any way he could see me.

  Of course, they could have been using any number of aquatic sensors to monitor the facility’s approach, but I doubted they had any. The one good thing about corporate mentality was that if there wasn’t a need for something, corporate wouldn’t pay for it. As there was very little likelihood the facility would be attacked from the river—aside from someone like me in a post-nuclear war scenario—there was little need for them to have sensors in the water. There might be cameras at the gates, but here? I doubted it.

  The dumbass guard stood at the end of the pier, with his back to the water. Not only was discipline lax, their training was awful. If he was guarding the boat, he should have been looking out toward where the danger might have come from, not back at the base. And, he was looking into the lights of the base, so his night vision was probably crap.

  He was almost too stupid to kill, but there was no other way to get to the boat. I shrugged and dropped my bag, then kicked myself out of the water as high as I could, grabbed a handful of the back of his uniform, and pulled him into the water. Before he could recover, I wrapped my arms around him, then did nothing.

  Of course, that turned me into a 200-kilo anchor, and I dragged him to the bottom of the channel. He struggled a bit, but there was no way he could break my hold, and no way he could hold his breath longer than I could. I locked my hands and slowed my metabolism way down. He tried to fake me out by going limp, but then he freaked out when I didn’t let him go. I held onto him an extra minute—I can easily hold my breath for over ten minutes if needed—then released him. He floated off while I recovered my bag.

  I swam back to the smaller, third boat, reached into the back of it, and pulled out the drain plug. That boat wouldn’t be chasing me.

  Staying low, I climbed aboard the small utility boat that was pulled up alongside the patrol boat. It looked like nothing more than a boat used to move people and equipment, probably to the island and its sandy beaches
for rest and recreation. The CruiseWorld people had to take care of their own, too, I guessed. I moved onto the patrol boat, untied the utility boat, and let it drift away.

  I was in a quandary as I set my bag down on the bigger ship’s deck. What the hell was I going to do with a 100-foot-long patrol boat? It was a hell of a lot bigger up close than it had looked from the other side of the channel. Although it was low to the water, it was big! Over 20-feet wide, it had a second level with an enclosed bridge, and probably required a crew of at least 15 or 20. There were mounts forward and aft that could hold twin .50 caliber machine guns, and it could probably go at least 25 or 30 knots. It was too big to easily destroy, but I couldn’t not destroy it—it would easily sink my yacht. It didn’t have a drain plug I could just pull to make it sink. I didn’t have enough explosives to sink it either. Maybe if I used all the gunpowder from all the ammo I had…but that would be a stupid waste of ammo, which I knew would be precious going forward.

  “Hey dumbass!” a voice yelled in Spanish while I was contemplating dropping a flare into one of its gas tanks. “The boat is drifting away!”

  “Shit!” I yelled back. It was one of the few Spanish words I thought I could get away with, without my accent betraying me.

  The man came pounding down the dock, looking at the utility boat as it slowly floated off toward the ocean. “Take the small boat and get it!” he ordered, coming to a stop at the end of the pier. I jumped off the boat as he turned to yell at me some more and stabbed him with my diving knife. The blade probably would have been good against a shark, I decided as I tossed his body off the dock; it certainly had been more than up to the task with the sergeant.

  But now, I had an additional problem, as someone was going to miss the sergeant, probably sooner rather than later. He’d been wearing a radio, and when he didn’t check in, people would come looking for him, at best, or raise the alarm, which would be worse. I turned and looked back at the ship, which is what I had decided it was; it was far too big to be a boat.