Perception Fault

by James Axler

  “’Kay, leaking now. Bastard tank, can’t get through first.”

  The roar of a light machine gun almost drowned out Jak’s last words, but Ryan smiled with relief. The stream of bullets was coming from behind them, not in front. “Cavalry’s arrived. Okay, I light this, and after you take off that green shirt so you don’t get shot, we scoot. When you get there, look for a pink car or piece of metal. The door’s supposed to be there.”

  “Be inside wall ’fore you reach, old man.”

  Ryan gave Jak’s blaster back to him. “That’s a bet. Ready…set…” Ryan leaned down and triggered his Sig, the flash from the muzzle igniting the pool of gas under the wag. “Go!”

  The two broke from cover as the pool of fuel went up with a whoosh, licking at the underside of the armored mil wag. The lone blaster on the wall was joined by others, but Ryan didn’t spare a second to look up, as he was too busy making sure he didn’t twist an ankle on the rough ground leading to the wall.

  The fighting here had been intense, with green-clad bodies lying everywhere, many with blasters near their hands. The wall itself was on fire in several places, with the attacking force using some kind of jellied gas that stuck to the metal barricade. Ryan juked and ducked in a zigzag pattern. Although the closer soldiers might be keeping their heads down, there was no reason someone higher on the hill wouldn’t hesitate to take him out if they could get a shot.

  It was the longest run he could remember, expecting with every step to feel the punch of a bullet explode his heart and rib cage, but Ryan made it to the wall in one piece. Jak was already hunting around for the key piece that would get them inside. “Here it is!” Slapping his hand on a bright pink piece of metal about three feet by three feet square. He pushed, then pulled on it with all his strength. “Fucker’s stuck!”

  Ryan lent his muscles to the attempt, but didn’t have any more success than Jak. He looked at the forbidding wall looming above them, studded with razor-sharp shafts of metal and jagged pieces of old cars that has been turned into spikes, many stained a dark red. “Looks like we’ll have to climb.”

  The firing from above had died down, and Ryan heard voices off in the smoky distance. “They’re going to make a run at us. Persistent bastards.” He raised his blaster, ready to shoot the first one that came out of the smoke and dust.

  Something landed on his right shoulder, making Ryan twist away in surprise. He glanced back to see a rope hanging down from the wall. Jak looked back at him. “Go up, now!” he whispered urgently. The teen needed no encouragement, but when he tried to climb, his wounded arm buckled, and he fell back.

  “Sorry, Ryan. Can’t hold weight.”

  “Shit, Jak, get me killed out here and I’m coming back after you. That’s a promise.” Ryan quickly fashioned a rope sling and looped it under Jak’s shoulders, then yanked on the rope twice. “Watch yourself on that metal.”

  Jak was lifted into the air, heading toward the top of the wall and disappearing over it. Ryan kept his back to the towering barrier, ears straining to hear where the rush would come from.

  With a dull whump, the wag exploded, showering the area around with glass and metal fragments. The green shirts chose that exact moment to attack, charging Ryan with their longblasters at the ready, but not firing as they came at him.

  The one-eyed man waited until he got a clear sight of them bursting out of the smoke, then he went to work, sighting on each man and squeezing off a shot. They went down with each bullet fired, skidding into ungainly heaps or spinning and crumpling where they dropped. Only two remained, but they still kept coming when the rope again dropped on Ryan. Wrapping it securely around his free arm, he yanked twice and was hoisted into the air, his blaster out and aimed at the remaining green shirts, who didn’t even try to shoot him, but retreated back into the swirling smoke left over from the fight.

  Once sure he was clear, Ryan managed to turn himself so he didn’t get torn to shreds on the spikes in the wall. At the top, he was grabbed by several obliging hands—and slammed facedown onto an iron-grated section of parapet, his blaster torn from his grasp.

  Flipped over before he could say anything, Ryan froze as he stared up into the muzzles of a half dozen smoking longblasters.

  Chapter Nine

  “Move and you’re dead, prisoner!” a man snapped as he regarded Ryan down the sights of his M-16 rifle.

  A form appeared out of the smoke, a large man, dressed in a mix of camouflage; desert tans and browns on his legs, a patterned green, black and brown jacket covering his upper body. He moved with easy command, the various men holding Ryan at bay stiffening slightly at his approach. Under a flattop haircut was a face like a brick; square, broad and hard. Cold brown eyes stared at him from above a flattened nose, and a hand-rolled cheroot dangled from one corner of his mouth.

  “Identify yourself.”

  Ryan stared up at him, lifting a hand to slap the nearest blaster barrel out of his face—since the overeager man holding it seemed to be trying to pick his prisoner’s nose—and pushed himself up on his elbows. The ring of men around him all tensed, their weapons not budging an inch, but, as Ryan had guessed, not moving a muscle until their leader gave the order.

  He glared at the camo-clad sec man and jerked a thumb back over the wall. “I’m the man who just saved the baron’s daughter from that mob out there.”

  “Ryan! Ryan!” He heard Krysty’s voice as the tall redhead stormed up onto the parapet, her green eyes flashing. “That’s Ryan! He’s with us, you asses!”

  Rachel followed suit, nodding at the tall man. “At ease, Major. This is the man who rescued me from Tellen’s forces.”

  “Yeah, and almost got chilled by them myself for the trouble. What happened with that special panel you mentioned?”

  Rachel flushed. “The wall shifted and jammed it closed. I’m sorry you were caught out there like that. We tried to get you to safety as fast as possible.”

  Ryan waved off her apology. “Better the door’s stuck closed than open, I suppose.”

  For a moment, everyone stared at him. Then Rachel chuckled, getting the joke. Her laughter was infectious, with many of the men nodding in agreement, and a few even chuckling.

  The brick-faced man didn’t even change expression. “Second squad, stand down. Squads one and three, return to overwatch.” The squad of riflemen pulled back, letting their leader lean over and extend a callused, nail-bitten hand. “My apologies for the rough entry. It wouldn’t have been the first time they’d tried to infiltrate using outlanders.”

  Ryan looked at the hand for a moment, then accepted it, planting his feet as the major pulled him up. The man was as solid as he looked—not an ounce of fat on him—and his hand felt like bands of steel with skin and a bit of flesh stretched over them. “Forget it. Not as bad as some places I’ve seen.”

  “That’s the spirit. The name’s Major Quind Kelor.”

  “Ryan Cawdor.” He pumped the major’s hand once, giving as good as he got, and nodding when the major didn’t try to turn the handshake into a pissing contest. “That’s Krysty Wroth, and the others—” He glanced around, suddenly aware that J.B., Jak and the others were missing.

  Rachel stepped forward. “Your friends are safe, Ryan. After what you did out there, you and the rest of your group are our honored guests.”

  “Do they know that?”

  “I told the men with them that they were under my own personal protection—” Rachel’s words were cut off as a commotion at the end of the walkway caught everyone’s attention.

  “Where is Rachel?” The man striding toward them—flanked by two lean, wary men who were obviously bodyguards—was also tall and thin almost to the point of gauntness. He was clad in combat boots, gray-and-black camouflage, a bulletproof vest bulking his chest and a blaster holstered at his left side. His hair was short and iron-gray, and his expression would have been stern if not for the left side of his face. The muscles there hung slack on his skull, even his downturned mouth a
nd drooping eyelid, lending that half of his expression a sleepy look, which was completely belied both by the strong gaze of his deep blue eyes and the tone of his voice—hard steel underlaid with a tremor of true concern.

  “Father.” Rachel turned to face him, her back straightening and her boots coming together, almost standing at attention as he approached.

  He crossed to her and clasped his arms around her shoulders. “Damn it, child, I’ve told you that you are not to go out into the field like that…” He stopped before his voice broke and crushed her to him in a bear hug. “I’m very glad you’ve come back to us safely.”

  “Thanks to these people, Father,” Rachel replied once he had released her and she’d regained her breath. “This is Ryan Cawdor, the man who helped me get back. Ryan, this is my father, Josiah Carrington, the leader of the Free City of Denver.”

  Josiah regarded Ryan, his gaze calm and intent. “So you’re the one I have to thank for returning my daughter safe and sound.”

  Ryan nodded. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

  The baron rubbed his chin as he considered Ryan’s words. “Far too little of that sentiment to be found today. Come, you and your group must be hungry. You’ll dine at my table this evening, after you’ve had a chance to wash up. If there’s anything you need—weapons, ammunition, supplies, a wag—just let me know, and it will be yours.”

  “Very kind of you, Baron.”

  Josiah had turned to head back down, but stopped when he heard Ryan’s words. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “Sir, we should get you down, there are still snipers—” The major began, but was stopped by Josiah’s upraised hand as he whirled.

  “I’ll ask you once more, Ryan Cawdor—what did you say?”

  Outwardly Ryan remained calm, but his mind raced, already planning tactics and escape routes should this meeting head any further south. Carrington was close enough to reach out and grab, and that would be the only way out—eliminate the bodyguard on the left and take the leader hostage before the other one could react. Krysty could probably get Rachel in the same instant, and then they could negotiate for the others, but that would be fraught with complications. But before he knew whether to strike or split, there was the matter of answering the man who seemed poised to throw down on him.

  Squaring his shoulders, Ryan answered, “I said ‘very kind of you, Baron.’”

  Josiah walked up to Ryan, staring him straight in the eye. The black-haired man was aware of the men around him holding their weapons ready enough to cover him again in a moment’s notice if necessary, and despite the potential danger, he had to admire their training. He didn’t even have to look at the bodyguards to know they would try to chill him if he even made the slightest move toward their baron.

  “As my daughter mentioned, you are fortunate enough to find yourself in the Free City of Denver. We have a few simple rules here—respect your fellow men and women as you respect yourself, and do not take that which doesn’t belong to you. The other rule we have, my own personal edict, if you will—” Josiah’s previously calm air vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated fury that was astonishing in its savagery “—is never compare me to those power-hungry, bloodthirsty, psychopathic, inbred whoresons out there who claw their way to dominance on the backs of innocent men and women, breaking them for their own amusement and throwing them away to die in squalor and misery. Do you understand?”

  Have to respect his convictions, if they’re real, Ryan thought. He nodded again. “Perfectly, Josiah. I apologize for any insult. It wasn’t intentional.”

  The other man held his gaze for a long moment, then drew back and clapped Ryan’s shoulder. “Excellent! Major, escort Ryan and his companions to the Magnolia, and make sure their every need is seen to. Shall we say dinner at 0600 hours?”

  “We look forward to it,” Ryan said, walking over to Krysty and slipping an arm around her waist. “Until then.”

  “Indeed. Rachel?” Josiah took his daughter firmly by the arm and brought her with him, the pair of bodyguards falling in behind them.

  “As you were, men.” The major surveyed his troops one last time before turning back to Ryan and Krysty. “Well, let’s get you back to the rest of your group, and then we’ll take you into the city proper.”

  He motioned for them to walk ahead of him toward the end of the steel-framed parapet, where a walkway going the opposite way sloped down the wall. Ryan and Krysty descended casually, keeping their eyes and ears open and their mouths shut for the time being.

  The wall was a beehive of activity around them. Men and women were everywhere. Some attended to the wounded, treating them where they lay or helping move them away from the fortifications. Others were busy fighting the stubborn fire on the exterior, flooding sections with water or beating at the flames that were coming through with blankets. Everywhere Ryan looked, people were working together, all joined in a common cause—the defense of their city. Although there were plenty of sec men around, the majority of them atop the wall, no one had to be forced to do their job. Indeed, everyone was executing their duties with swift efficiency, a far cry from what he’d seen in most dirty, squalid villes.

  And that was another thing: the Free City of Denver was clean. It had taken him a few seconds to put that together as they had come off the last ramp onto the ground. From the people, all dressed in a variety of utilitarian clothes—tough coveralls and handmade jumpsuits, work shirts, heavy boots in decent condition and even helmets on several men busy with more dangerous work—to the streets, which, apart from bloodstains from the dead and wounded and the occasional piece of shrapnel or twisted piece of metal that was obviously from the wall, the entire place was otherwise neat and orderly.

  J.B., Mildred and Doc were all waiting off to one side, with Jak nowhere to be found. Ryan made a casual inquiring signal to J.B. about how everyone was, and received the answering all-clear sign. For once, the Armorer wasn’t yawning, a good sign that he felt they weren’t in any immediate danger.

  Major Kelor noticed Ryan’s raised eyebrow. “Your other associate—the snow-haired one—is being treated by our healer. I’ll be sure to leave word to have him transported to the Magnolia once he’s ready to go.” He flagged down a young man and instructed him to bring around a wag for transporting their guests, and also to find Jak at the hospital and make sure he was escorted to the Magnolia. “Do you want to send your man any sort of message?”

  Ryan thought for a moment. “Just tell him to behave himself.”

  The major nodded, and the sec man ran off with a quizzical frown on his face.

  “Right kind of you, Major,” Ryan said before introducing the rest of his party. When he was done, he asked the sec man, “Expecting any more trouble from those green shirts?”

  Kelor turned and looked at Ryan in surprise, then chuckled. “That’s as good a name as any for Tellen’s bastards. That was the largest offensive we’ve seen from them in a long while. They must’ve been planning it for quite some time.”

  “True enough. We ran into some of them south of here, on the very outskirts of the city. They seemed to be clearing the area, looking for prisoners.”

  Turning his head, Kelor spit into the dust. “Yeah, that sounds like Tellen all right. He sweeps the surrounding area with patrols, looking for anyone he can capture and conscript into his little army. ’Course, if they don’t know about us, most go willingly, if only for the food and protection.”

  “Do you know where he gets his wags from? Or his fuel?”

  “Don’t know for sure. It’s rumored he’s running out of Boulder. It’s close enough for him to keep an eye on us, and we him, but far enough away that we can’t risk sending a large enough force to eradicate him without— Ah, here’s the wag.”

  One of the open-topped trucks came to a halt in front of them, and the major opened the rear door. “After you.”

  Chapter Ten

  The companions climbed in, and the major got
in afterward, muttered a few words to the driver, then sat down on the bench nearest to the driver’s seat.

  “There’s no need to stick with us the whole way, Major. I’m sure you have plenty to do elsewhere,” Ryan said.

  Kelor smiled, but his expression didn’t soothe Ryan. It seemed real, but thin, as if it had been pasted on his face. “Orders of the commander say I’m to escort you personally to the Magnolia, and that is exactly what I intend to do.”

  “Fair enough.” Ryan leaned back against the slats of wood and caught J.B.’s eye. The Armorer, his face clean now and a neat bandage covering his head wound, regarded him from across the flatbed. Ryan nodded slightly toward the major, his question clear: What do you think?

  J.B. rubbed his right jacket sleeve with his index finger, where a patch would be sewn on a uniform: Sec man, what do you expect?

  Ryan touched the corner of his right eye: Stay alert.

  J.B.’s brows narrowed, and he gave a brief A-OK sign as he passed his hand across his chest.

  With that, Ryan watched the blocks pass by. Everyone was looking outside the truck now, staring in wonder at the relatively untouched buildings around them.

  “Hey, look at that!” Krysty pointed, but there was really no need to, as the thing she was indicating was clearly visible to the rest.

  They were passing a large, glass-walled building that stretched for several blocks. It had suffered some damage over the decades, with sheets of plywood filling large, empty holes on the lower levels. But that wasn’t the strange part.

  A huge blue bear, at least forty feet tall, stood in front of the building, its paws raised as if it was shielding its eyes to peer into the windows of the building. Ryan simply stared at the fanciful creation, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him. As they passed, he saw that the right paw had been broken off, and what had looked to be flawless blue paint was actually chipped and scarred, with bits of incomprehensible graffiti covering the huge animal’s legs.