James Axler - Deathlands 43 - Dark Emblem

by Dark Emblem [lit]

Jamaisvous lowered Krysty's hand and nodded at Tanner. "Indeed."

  "How quaint to be greeted in such a fashion, with soothing words instead of bullets. I must confess, as well-read as I am, I do not recognize the poet. Might you enlighten me as to his name?"

  "He's a local-was a local. Jose Gautier Benitez. Died back in 1880. Before my time, but some of his work can be found here in the library. I've tried to immerse myself in the culture and history as best I could. It pays to know your neighbors."

  "Doc can't resist a good chunk of verse," Krysty said with a grin.

  "So many doctors among you? Your people come equipped with many blessings," Jamaisvous said, and then paused. "Doc Tanner, you say?"

  "Dr. Theophilus Algernon Tanner at your service," Doc replied with a slight bow.

  "It can't be," Jamaisvous said, his tone now dumbfounded and his face a slack mask of shock.

  Doc almost chuckled. "Oh, but I assure you, sir, I am who I am...I think. Truth be told, there are many days I have my doubts as well."

  The man in the white lab coat stepped closer, waving back his watchmen, and approached Doc, looking him over from head to toe.

  "Christ, Dr. Tanner, what in the hell happened to you?" he finally asked.

  "A lifetime of tragedies, I am afraid. Which one are you referring to?" Doc replied, slightly puzzled by the line of questioning.

  "I've read of you," Jamaisvous said, pressing on, not hearing Tanner's words. "In the old redoubt computer database records on time trawling. I studied your case from your arrival in prenuclear conflict 1998 until the year 2000, when you were sent ahead as a final part of the experiment. But there was nothing about such severe deterioration on your trawl forward into the future-our present day. And from what I read, I don't think you've been here long enough to have aged so drastically, have you?''

  "I have not," Doc replied succinctly. "My current appearance is an unfortunate side effect courtesy of the destructive currents of the time-trawling process. Why it did not occur the first time I was swept away is a mystery to me."

  Their newly appointed host exhaled a long sigh. "Well, damnation," he said. "This buggers all of my research."

  "Research?" Mildred asked, speaking for the first time since leaving the gateway chamber.

  "Yes, Dr....Wyeth, was it? Research. I've spent the last two years rebuilding and experimenting with the mat-trans chamber behind you." Jamaisvous gestured floridly at the huge room that housed the gateway, a full computer lab with multiple stations and units, a small reception lounge and other odds and ends in the high-ceilinged, yet cluttered area.

  "What kind of experiments?" Ryan asked suspi- ciously, eyeballing the elegant gray-haired man standing next to Doc. Already, Ryan was unhappy with Jamaisvous and his seemingly lackadaisical attitude at having armed strangers pop up in what appeared to be his own private mat-trans unit.

  "Why, time-trawling experiments, my friends. Your Doc Tanner and I share something in common regarding our places in this dark future world-neither of us are supposed to be here,"

  "You were trawled?" Doc asked in disbelief.

  "No," Jamaisvous replied quickly. "I was a corpse-side. Cryo sleep."

  Mildred was about to speak up with a pithy "That makes two of us," but a warning look from J.B. stilled her planned quip. Apparently the Armorer thought that piece of information should remain private, at least for now.

  Unfortunately no such exchange of looks occurred with Doc, who, swept up in his excitement over meeting Jamaisvous, blurted out the fact Mildred was also a refugee from the world previous to skydark.

  "So, two of my visitors are even more special than I imagined," Jamaisvous said thoughtfully. He snapped his fingers and gave a dismissive gesture to the twin guards. "Garcia! Lopez! You may depart. I have nothing to fear from these men and women."

  "But Dr.-" one of the men protested.

  Jamaisvous fixed the sec man with a stony look. "Silence! Do as you are told. If you wish to assist, please inform the kitchen we have company for din- ner. I'll be along shortly to discuss the meal in greater detail."

  "WHERE is THIS PLACE, anyway?" J.B. asked as Ja-maisvous led them upward out of the secured mat-trans chamber and into the antique-appointed fortress interior. "Doesn't look like any redoubt I've ever seen."

  "This isn't a redoubt," Jamaisvous replied. "Other than some rudimentary remodeling by myself, the gateway and control you saw in the lowest level are the only hints of any links to Project Cerberus, Operation Chronos or even the Totality Concept. You've arrived in Puerto Rico, Mr. Dix, and this is the famed El Mono Fortress, which has stood watch over the waters here for hundreds of years, and will still be standing after hundreds more and all of us are dust."

  "Funny, you don't look Puerto Rican," Mildred noted.

  "I'm not. Originally I'm from Ohio by way of Ireland. I take it all of you are from the United States?"

  "Has a new name now," Ryan said. "Most call it Deathlands."

  ' 'How... charming.''

  "A man can survive there if he's mean enough and smart enough. Some go out and take up home-steading on their own piece of land, but you'd better be ready to defend it against muties and thieves. If you want safety, there are populated areas scattered up and down the eastern coast, and westward,"

  "Then civilization can still be found?"

  "Didn't say anything about Deathlands being civilized. Plenty of pestholes with nothing more than a place to drink and sleep if you're traveling. Bigger areas with towns and a sort of government breaks down into two basic types of communities-villes and baronies. Villes tend to be a touch more democratic than baronies, which are usually a dictatorship."

  "I see. I'm not wholly familiar with how you are using the terms baronies and villes, Mr. Cawdor, but I can make an educated guess."

  "Usually a barony is safe enough as long as you stay out of the ruling baron's way," Krysty added. "And if you don't mind being cowed and walking around with your tail between your legs on a daily basis."

  "That the situation here?" Ryan asked bluntly. "You the boss?"

  "No. I have my small staff here in El Morro. What goes on outside these stone walls is no concern of mine. I do think you'll find life here a tad less restrictive and less threatening than what you appear to be used to."

  Jamaisvous gave them all a quick lesson regarding the new land in which they had now taken involuntary residence. Roughly rectangular in shape, Puerto Rico was one hundred miles from east to west, and thirty-five miles from north to south, three times wider than it was tall. Within such a limited space, the island had once possessed it all in terms of a pleasant lifestyle-now, according to Jamaisvous, only the eastern half was habitable.

  "El Morro is on Old San Juan-a miniisland, really, located in San Juan harbor. New San Juan- rather, what is left of New San Juan-is on the mainland," then- host said.

  "What can you tell us about this place?"

  "What do you want to know? Old San Juan was a tourist mecca. New San Juan was the most advanced city in Puerto Rico. Together, they created a thriving economy up until the Third World War. Now nothing remains but a scattering of communities, not unlike the villes you described earlier. As far as I can tell, there was severe famine after the war and many of the inhabitants perished, leaving only a few survivors to repopulate."

  "So what is the political situation here? Barons? Leaders?'' Mildred asked.

  Jamaisvous shrugged. "Most of the people here are too poor to think of such aggrandizement. Leaders here are born or made, not bought or elected."

  "You said you were in cryo sleep."

  "Correct."

  "Where are the cryo facilities?" Mildred asked.

  "Miles away," the man replied cryptically. "Miles away in the true Puerto Rican redoubt-at least, the only redoubt on this side of the island. I was forced to leave the secure area I awakened in because of problems with the base's nuclear generator."

  "What kind of problems?"

  "No power. We've reached you
r rooms."

  Jamaisvous had taken them personally to an area in the fortress that had been remodeled at one time or another into a series of guest bedrooms. Each of the tidy sleeping chambers had a small night table made of the finest oak, a double bed with handmade comforter, ample closet space and a dresser smelling of sweet spices.

  "I'll leave you to choose your own rooms and sleeping arrangements," their host said smoothly. "I apologize for the lack of bathrooms, but this fortress was not designed for the individual. The bath at the end of this hall has two stalls with bathing facilities and running hot and cold water. There are towels inside on the racks, and additional linens can be found in your rooms in the bottom drawers of the dressers. If you have clothing you'd like laundered, leave it outside your rooms and the maid shall see to it. Supper shall be at dusk. I'll instruct the cooks to prepare a feast, as I haven't entertained here in some time. You're in for a treat-home cooking by a mother-and-daughter team. Fine cuisine."

  Jamaisvous stepped back a few paces, bowed deeply at the waist and was gone, leaving the group to make its own choices and go off into the designated rooms.

  "Most curious," Doc said, scratching his nape. The expression on his face was one of deep concentration. A few days' growth of beard stubble added to his wan look as he pondered private thoughts.

  "What's up, Doc?" Ryan asked.

  Mildred bit back a snort of laughter, earning a glare from Ryan. It wasn't the first time she'd snickered when Ryan phrased concern for their elder statesman in a similar manner. "Wish I knew what was so damn funny, me asking Doc a question," the one-eyed man muttered.

  "Hmm? What is up, you say?" Doc said, Ryan's query finally weighing in on his mind. ' 'Oh, our benefactor. A most curious man."

  "Yeah, he's not exactly what I expected to find when we jumped into this place. Or any place for that matter," Ryan agreed. "Seems to have his shit together. So far he isn't trying to breathe too hard down our necks."

  "Yeah, no sec men at all in this part of the fortress," J.B. noted, switching his scattergun from one hand to another. "No cameras, either-unless they're hidden. Has his own hired men, sure, but doesn't seem to be as paranoid as most. And he keeps guards around the gateway control-room doors, but those are the only guns I've seen so far."

  Ryan reached out and tapped a finger on the barrel of the M-4000 scattergun J.B. held. "And he didn't bring up the subject of our blasters. Usually, first thing out of any self-styled leader is the demand we turn over the hardware. Makes for a nice change." "I believe there are probably additional sec men in and outside El Morro," Krysty said. "There's a funny...vibe to this place. I can't put my finger on it yet."

  "We can talk about it later. Right now, I could use a bath. Jamaisvous was right-we're all a bit ripe," Mildred said as she started to approach the bathroom. "Krysty, you and I will go first-if it's all right with the rest of you?''

  "Sure, Mildred. Go ahead," Ryan replied with a shrug. "We'll keep watch out here. Jamaisvous isn't the only one with a private sec man."

  "We'll save some hot water for you...mebbe," Krysty called back with a light chuckle.

  "Might just join you," Ryan retorted.

  Mildred waggled a warning finger back. "Uh-uh. No, you don't. Wait your turn."

  As the women disappeared behind the bathroom door at the end of the hallway, Dean took a moment to sniff at one of his armpits, lifting the arm high and craning his neck over to get a good whiff. "I smell worse than shit in sunshine," the boy groused.

  "What else new?" Jak retorted.

  Ryan stepped away from the two boys and left them to hold their own debate over who smelled worse. He'd noticed that Doc was still turned slightly to one side from the others, his face far away as he concentrated on his own internal field of inquiry. "Something still on your mind, Doc?" he asked.

  Doc didn't turn, but kept his face to the wall as he said, "Ryan, I find I am experiencing a most disconcerting sense of deja vu."

  "Deja what?"

  "Deja vu. French for a disturbing familiarity."

  Ryan cocked an eyebrow. "How so?"

  "I have the strangest feeling I have met Dr. Ja-maisvous before...which makes his name all the more peculiar," Doc replied as he worked his hands nervously up and down his walking stick.

  "Jamaisvous. Sounds like more of your French talk to me," Ryan mused, flexing his fingers in a halfhearted attempt to crack his knuckles.

  "Very good, Ryan," Doc said with some delight. "The cognomen is indeed French."

  Ryan grinned back. "Hell, Doc, my brain's not as overstuffed as yours, but I'm no dummy either."

  "Well, I guess I'm the stupe. Cognomi-what? Translate for us dullards, please," J.B. snorted. The laconic man had grown interested in the conversation. Farther down the hall, Dean and Jak were still continuing to insult each other's personal hygiene.

  "Cognomen. Last name," Doc replied briskly. "And that is not a translation, but a definition, John Barrymore. As for the translation, and I'll be the first to admit my mastery of French is a bit rusty, I think the name Jamaisvous means 'a most peculiar sense of time.'"

  Chapter Eight

  The offer Jamaisvous had made to provide fresh laundry was impossible to resist, and everyone contributed items of apparel to the stack of soiled clothing. In two hours' time the mound of clothing was taken away by a plump woman with long black hair tied in a tight bun, washed in a remote part of the fortress, dried and returned folded.

  One of the sec men they'd met in the gateway control room came at dusk to rap lightly at their doors and fetch the group.

  "Lopez, right?" Mildred asked as she stepped out of her room with J.B. She felt refreshed from having a bath, and clean clothing to wear for a change.

  The big man didn't look amused. "No, ma'am."

  "Garcia."

  "Luis, actually. I think you have me confused with my cousins."

  "You lose again," J.B. said, even as the sec man went on to knock and alert the others of the impending meal. Once all had been accounted for, he led them though a passageway and into an opulent dining room. Centered in the room were a dozen chairs around a long wooden table with an immaculate white tablecloth.

  Jamaisvous stood at the head of the table and waited until everyone else was in place and seated before he took his own seat. Ryan sat to his left and Doc to his right.

  The Puerto Rican mother and daughter who cooked for Jamaisvous were standing patiently on opposite sides of the table, both apparently serving as hostesses for the meal. He'd introduced them as Elena and Maria, but the pair hadn't spoken in kind, choosing instead to merely nod and keep their focus on the work. Both carried a vibrantly painted orange serving pot on a tray. Upside-down cups on saucers at the upper left of each of the place settings matched the color of the orange pot, so Ryan took the visual clue and turned his cup over, watching the younger Puerto Rican woman pour it full of a steaming brown liquid.

  "Mmm! Smell that aroma!" Mildred said, down and across from Ryan, where the mother was filling the woman's cup. "I haven't smelled coffee like this in...well, in years!"

  Ryan lifted the smallish mug to his lips, trying to be careful and not burn himself with the hot liquid. He didn't know what Mildred was getting so excited about, since real coffee was hard to come by. Rarely was the real thing found in any remaining quantity except for aged crystals vacuum-sealed in aluminum cans.

  Coffee sub was coffee sub, he thought sourly, until he tasted the brew. He took a long pull at the drink before lowering the cup with a wide smile on his face.

  "That's triple-fine coffee," Ryan finally said, holding out the cup for a refill.

  "I know," Jamaisvous said, appearing to take satisfaction in Ryan's surprise and enjoyment of the beverage. "Puerto Rican coffee is some of the most delicious in the world, but there is very little of it left for harvesting. Even before the unfortunate business of war, it was a local treat only and never exported in any quantity to the mainland. A series of hurricanes in the 1930s destroyed
most of the coffee trees, and since it takes seven years for them to ma-tare, the island's farmers were forced to tarn to other crops, such as sugarcane. Such storms still rage, and because of that coffee here is a local delicacy."

  Jamaisvous went on to explain that coffee was grown mainly along the steep mountainsides hi the central section of the island. Obtaining the beans was troublesome and dangerous, but worth the effort.

  Baskets of hot corn muffins were placed at either end of the table, along with small shining platters of butter and glistening Guayaba jelly. The main meal was the exotic-sounding Lechon Asado, which everyone was glad to see translated as barbecued pig. The roasted meat had a spicy, pungent flavor that came from an assortment of native seasonings. Jamaisvous pointed out that the dish was roasted over an outdoor fire, not within the walls of an indoor kitchen, and rotated by hand on a regular basis on a pole stack lengthwise through the animal.