“The northern invaders,” said Reed with disgust.
Wilson leaned forward. “How can you tell that from just a uniform?”
“Kid, before they put me in deep freeze I spent my entire life in the army. I worked alongside most of the mountain troops in the world and was shot at by the rest. Military history was part of the job, especially when it came to high-altitude tomfoolery.”
“So you’ve been here before?”
“The unit I was with in ’37 fought in Tawang and Arunachal Pradesh. We should have rotated back to Fort Benning, but I ran over a general’s dog. We ended up freezing our asses off in these mountains.”
“Will this man be able to help?” asked Reed.
Jack held up a hand. “Sorry, I don’t speak the language.”
“He wants to know if you can help us,” said Wilson.
“I can handle myself in a fight and I know how to distract the security bots.”
“Like how?”
A crash came from the inside of the cafe. Wilson heard the waitress scream and shouts of male voices.
Jack stood up and pointed to the outside wall. “We’ve stayed too long. Climb over and into the alley.”
“But where do we go?”
“No time to explain,” said Jack. “Meet me here tonight.”
“Here?”
“Was I talking to myself? Yes, here!”
Jack gave them a boost over the high brick wall of the garden. Wilson, Reed, and the boy ran through the alley into the crowded streets. Behind him, Wilson heard rifle shots and a handful of loud booms that sounded very much like a .357 revolver.
ALL THREE HAD A REST at Rogspo’s humble shack. After a meal of hard-boiled eggs and a dish of leafy green vegetables, Wilson decided to see Jack by himself.
Just like the night before, street lamps shone bright on alternating blocks of the street. After what happened at the cafe Wilson kept his eyes to the ground and avoided any contact with the memory fragments, security bots or not.
The yellow girls still danced over the cafe. Wilson peeked through the glazed window but couldn’t make out any faces in the clumps of diners. Not people––memory fragments following a loop, he thought.
The alley around the back smelled of rotten vegetables and muddy, spiced tea. Wilson crossed his legs beside a pile of wet boxes and meditated quietly, eyes closed and palms facing up. He went over each trick in his mind but didn’t activate any.
The scent of burning tobacco pushed through the thick stench of garbage and Wilson looked up.
Jack held a glowing coal to his mouth. He lowered the twist of herb and blew smoke.
“Having fun?”
Wilson shook his head. “What happened today?”
“My day hasn’t been so good, Wilfred,” said Jack. “I had an awful steak for dinner. I’d be willing to bet the cook’s never seen a cow, or even dreamed of one.”
“It’s Wilson––my name is Wilson.”
“Sorry. I don’t know why, but you look more like a Wilfred.”
“Great. What about the gunshots?”
Jack patted the walnut grip of the revolver on his belt. “I took care of those guys. For some reason the security bots don’t like it when you and I are together. Or maybe it’s me and the old guy. I’m sure we’ll figure it out. Or not.”
“The old guy’s name is Reed.”
“Whatever. If more zipperheads show up just shoot them with whatever’s in that leather bag at your waist. Unless it’s just a hairbrush.”
Wilson handed over his pistol.
“Nice––.357 Magnum,” said Jack. “Same model as mine.”
“It’s the same gun.”
Jack unclasped his holster and pulled out his revolver. In the dim light of a street lamp, he compared his nickel-plated weapon to Wilson’s tarnished, black and gray pistol.
“Not the same. Yours is beat all to hell. You should take better care of these things, son.”
Wilson opened his mouth to argue, but decided to change the subject.
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“You need to collect this data, right? There’s a major festival in a month and it might be a good place to press the flesh, as they say.”
Wilson stared down at his hands. “Reed suggested that I get people to come to me instead of the other way around. If Parvati agrees, I think I have a plan.”
Jack nodded. “Go talk to her tomorrow.”
FIFTEEN
The smell of frying meat and the quiet scrape of pans wafted under the door and woke Badger. She lay still in the darkness and listened to Mary and the other cooks speak in soft voices.
She threw off her blanket suddenly and ran out of the room holding her mouth. In a small closet she vomited into an oval toilet for over a minute. A baby began to wail like a siren from a nearby room.
Badger turned and Mary stood in the doorway.
“How are you feeling, dear?”
“It’s fine,” said Badger. “Must have been something I ate.”
“Of course.”
Mary put a hand on her hip and looked Badger up and down. A grin spread across her face.
“Kira ....”
Badger wiped sweat from her forehead. “Don’t jump to conclusions.”
“You were sick yesterday morning, too. How long has it been?”
Badger sighed. “Three months.”
Mary leaped forward and hugged her tight. “I’m so happy for you!”
“Please, Mary––can we keep this a secret?”
“Don’t worry about it, dear. Brownie and me and the rest of the women will help you through all of it. Oh, you mean the men? I wouldn’t worry about that––a man doesn’t know a girl’s pregnant until she slaps him in the face and says, ‘I’m having a baby!’ They’re clueless when it comes to anything important.”
Badger hugged her. “Thank you.”
After a queue for a shower and a light breakfast of stale crackers and water, Badger walked to the center of the cavern and checked the web of dripping tubes and cables attached to Wilson. He looked no different than a month ago.
“In sickness or in health,” she murmured. “Cat’s teeth, that sounds corny.”
The hoarseness of her voice made her uncomfortable. She sat with her back against Reed’s dome and listened to the sounds of the next group of women and children having breakfast. The rest of the leadership team gradually wandered over for the daily meeting.
Mast had started to grow a beard. He claimed it was because he hated shaving with cold water, but Badger guessed Mina just wanted her husband to look older.
Carter still wore bandages on his face and arms from a grenade in the tunnels the previous week. He and Zhang looked worn to the point of breaking, like wooden rods bent double.
Martinez had recovered from the life-threatening gunshot wounds he’d suffered in the first battle, but if there was anything he hated it was squeezing through the filthy, spider-infested tunnels under Station.
Robb was the only who showed any energy. For some reason he really liked handling lizards.
“Found another one last night, in the back end of corridor 42,” he said with a smile. “I think this one honestly likes me.”
“Slather on the wrong juice and it’ll like how you taste,” said Mast.
Badger looked back toward the medical area. “Is Mary coming to this?”
“I just saw her,” said Carter.
“I didn’t ask if you saw her. I asked if she’s coming.”
Carter stared at her. “Yes.”
“Let’s do this now,” said Robb. “It’s not easy keeping three dozen range lizards fed.”
“We do it when we’re ready and not one second before,” said Badger. “What’s the status on collection?”
Zhang rubbed his eyes and sighed. “There’s enough spider glands. I just need a few minutes to prepare the ones we caught yesterday.”
“Have we heard from Yishai and his men?”
Mast
nodded. “All of them know the signal and will be ready.”
“Good. Zhang and I will take the final batch after the meeting.”
The door to the medical area hissed open. The group waited for Mary and the thick-armed Brownie to walk across the cavern.
“Sorry we’re late, everyone,” said Brownie.
“Are the medical teams ready?”
“Yes,” said Mary. “You’re planning for today?”
“For tonight. Please have everyone prepared to move.”
Brownie laughed. “They were ready the day we came down here.”
“There is one request we’d like to make,” said Mary.
“Yes?”
“None of us have had a regular service since Father Reed came down here. Thinking about what you’re going to do tonight ... we should have a prayer meeting.”
“We’ve talked about this before,” said Badger. “How can we have a service when both priests are lying here unconscious?”
“Right,” said Zhang. “Who would speak?”
“Kira should speak,” said Brownie.
Badger spread her arms. “I know as much about running a prayer meeting as I do flying a spaceship!”
“We’ll organize it, you just need to be the speaker,” said Mary.
“I don’t have anything to say.”
Mast cleared his throat. “You don’t have to say much. I agree with Brownie and Mary, it should be you. Shall we have a vote?”
“I see how this is shaping up,” said Badger. “No more stupid voting––I’ll do it.”
The meeting ended. After an hour the cavern boomed with the noise of hundreds of mothers and boisterous children. No benches or chairs were available, so everyone sat on the cold, polished concrete. Some used blankets for a cushion.
After a few songs such as “Tell Me the Old, Old Story,” “What a Friend We Have In Jesus,” and “Just As I Am,” the children settled down.
Badger climbed onto one of the darkened controller domes in her bare feet.
“Don’t worry, this will be short,” she said, her voice carrying far in the quiet cavern.
“I know we’ve all suffered the past few months, and I don’t know what to say about that. I think our lives down here would be worse if it weren’t for the hard work of everyone. I can’t single anyone out because all of you have done your best to keep this family together. Thank you.”
A few women in the crowd clapped or murmured approval, and a toddler squealed loudly.
“But it’s not over,” said Badger. “The Circle haven’t been able to break through the entrance, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. Luck and the freezing weather have been on our side, but that will change. We’ve had a plan in place for a few weeks now. It’s dangerous––not the last shot in our rifle, but it’s the best we’ve got. If it works we’ll bury the remains of our friends and you’ll be with your husbands and sisters in Station.”
At this, the crowd cheered and clapped.
“Even if the plan fails I’m not giving up.” Badger paused and stared at the darkness behind the crowd. “Most of you know I was born in the tribes. Like many of you I came here with nothing but the rags on my back––no family, no food, and no place to live. The people of Station welcomed me and gave all of that back to me. I’m not leaving even if we fail tonight. I’m not giving up, not until they squeeze the last drop of blood from my veins.”
The deafening shouts filled the chamber and vibrated the glass beneath Badger’s feet.
THE SURGEON RAN HIS FINGER down the punctures on the dead man’s neck.
“The bite didn’t kill him, I can tell you that much. Not enough blood loss at the point of entry.”
Darius stared at the open mouth and yellow eyes. A good soldier, he remembered. Phillus was his name. Used to be his name.
“If it wasn’t the bite, then what?”
The surgeon stood and stretched. “From the skin discoloration and presentation of the body, I’d say a neurological poison.”
“But I’ve seen bites like that before. That demon-child Wilson had one on his arm that had almost healed.”
“This could be a different species. It’s hard to tell without samples or blood work.”
“Could it be that black dog?”
“Even if that animal found his way into the tunnels, the spread of the punctures is much too wide.” The surgeon rubbed his chin. “These aren’t marks from a canine.”
Darius straightened up and pointed at a pair of soldiers in the crowd of green uniforms. “You and you––take away the body and arrange a military funeral. The rest keep going deeper into the tunnels.”
“Wait!” The surgeon pulled Darius down the corridor. “We’ve lost too many men this week,” he whispered. “You can’t––”
Darius pointed at the surgeon’s nose with his gleaming thumb-spike. “Don’t tell me what I can’t do. I’m not going to sit around and wait while those savages pick us off one-by-one.”
“Maybe if we talk with them ...”
Darius leaned close, his forehead almost touching the surgeon’s. “Are you volunteering? The last messenger we sent returned in a bag. And not a large one.”
The surgeon closed his eyes and shook his head.
“That’s what I thought,” said Darius. “Felix! Let’s go.”
His bodyguard pushed through the cluster of soldiers and Darius followed him through the crumbling tunnels with a lantern. At last they squeezed through a moldy crack in the concrete and climbed a spill of rock to the lighted corridors of Station.
Darius mulled over the surgeon’s comment about the recent deaths as he walked toward the rectory. Instead of turning right at the connecting corridor, he turned left.
“Sir?”
“It’s fine, Felix. I need to see someone.”
Darius meandered through the dim tunnels and stopped at a door guarded by two masked soldiers. He knocked three times and a husky trooper opened the door. Darius brushed by him into the room.
Only stains and cracks decorated the bare concrete walls. A jug of water and cold plate of food sat near a pile of blankets in one corner. Across the room a bearded man in hemp rags struggled to his feet, his back against the wall. His sunken cheeks and dark circles under his eyes contrasted with the balled fists at his waist.
“Leader Yishai, I’m coming to you as a friend,” said Darius. “Stop doing this to yourself.”
“Leave this place,” said Yishai in rasping voice.
“If you don’t eat and die of starvation, how does that help your people? They need you now more than ever. It wounds me deeply, this compulsion you have to blame me for the destruction of David. I say to you again, that man was sent to the capital in chains for what he did.”
“Lies.”
Darius shrugged. “I don’t know who’s given you these delusions, but all I can do is repeat the truth. We simply want peace with your tribe. Wilson and the girl are the real problems between us. If it weren’t for them your people would still have warm, happy homes in David. Due to a chain of events caused by them––not me––this bad luck has fallen on both of us.” He pulled off a glove and held out the pink stump of his thumb. “Don’t you think I’d be happier if none of this had happened?”
“Let me out,” said Yishai.
Darius crossed his arms. “I can’t, and it’s for your own safety. Your people have already given up. They’re working happily for me cleaning up these tunnels and hunting in the forests. Many of the women have already partnered with our soldiers. So if you fight against us, you’re fighting against the happiness of your own people. Honestly, a contract and agreement of peace is only a formality at this point. It is a moot point, but one that needs to be taken. Let me put it to you this way––if I was a crazed madman, would I ask for your signature?”
“You can sign with my dead fingers, you disgusting worm,” said Yishai.
Darius nodded slowly. He left the room and the door shut after him.
“So
meone’s gotten to the chefa,” he said to the pair of guards. “Has anyone else been here apart from myself?”
“No, sir. There’s always two men here and one in the room. No other visitors.”
Darius slapped the man on the back. “Fine, Arnel. Keep up the good work.”
Felix escorted him through the tunnels to the rectory and stood at attention near the entrance hatch.
“Thank you, Felix.”
Darius leaned into his office. His assistant glanced away from the viewscreens and stood from his chair with a salute.
“Good day, sir!”
“Yes, good day. I think we’ve talked about this before, but remind me––the screens track animal movement, don’t they?”
“Certainly, sir. But only aboveground, not in the tunnels.”
“Is that because we don’t know enough about the system? Or is it normal?”
The assistant bowed his head. “It could be a limitation of the machines. Underground, only living things in the powered tunnels are tracked. I will search the books to see what can be done, Your Grace.”
Darius stared at the moving triangles on the wall screen and nodded. He walked down the corridor to a metal door. After listening for a moment, he rapped his knuckles on the surface twice.
The door hissed open. A tall guard in a black mask and helmet blocked the entrance, a naked blade in one hand. He sheathed the knife and stepped aside.
Consul Nahid leaned over the black slab in the center of the room. She wore a yellow robe that protected her clothing and hung to the blood-spattered tile floor. When she turned Darius saw crimson smeared across the front of her robe and the slashed body of a man. A white sheet spotted with red covered his face.
“Find anything?”
The Consul shook her head. “Same as the others. Removal of the implanted machinery causes death.”
Darius walked to the other side of the body. A wide gash yawned from the left forearm and trickled blood. The sides of the neck, the upper abdomen, and right arm had also been precisely cut open.
“Cardiac arrest?”
“Yes. Electrical shock made no difference.” The Consul used a white rag to wipe her forehead and chin.
The Dream Widow Page 22
