Deathsport

by William Hughes

  Deneer interrupted.

  “There is a special place the Guides look after, a valley. We must keep its secret, but I will take Karissa there to be looked after when we have rescued her.”

  Doctor Karl could only wish them well, though he despaired of the hope that the news had given him. But then, if anyone could preserve enough to keep the world and mankind alive, it would be the Guides.

  They came to the edge of the plain where the ground fell away to a broken area below them and paused in their flight to squint down into the great fireball sunset. It was then that they saw the huge complex of buildings, below and to one side, hugging the floor of a wide canyon. The buildings were large and low, hugging the ground, but they looked battered and worn by time. The group could only speculate that perhaps it was the remains of some great military complex or manufacturing plant from before the great war. It was built so low and long that, from most angles, it would be completely out of sight of those who looked for it.

  They went forward slowly to the highest point they could reach above the buildings, then turned off their machines and waited, as Kaz Oshay and Deneer listened for any sign of life.

  A noise came to them, a tap-tap-tap as if someone was banging something against metal. It was Marcus who spotted the cause of it. A broken wire cable was still tied on to the roof of one of the buildings and was being blown against the roof by the sunset breeze. Other than this there was no sound.

  Kaz said, “It seems clear.”

  Deneer was nervous, she had misgivings. It was not a place she knew, so she was suspicious of it.

  “Perhaps . . . But it is strange that I have never heard of this place before.”

  Kaz, too, now frowned:

  “Nor I.”

  “If you wish, we could go on.”

  Kaz glanced around. The sun was almost gone and a huge full moon was pulling itself up over the horizon.

  “No. Not with the full moon. The Mutants will be out for sure tonight. We need defendable space.”

  “I agree.”

  As they continued to look out over the area, trying to spot any sign of danger that would put the complex out as a safe place to spend the night, Marcus turned to his father.

  “Father, what is it the Guides mean when they say to one another that their ‘Union is limited’?”

  Doctor Karl, who could hardly take his eyes off their Guide companions, and who was learning so much about them that he admired and respected, pulled his concentration away to turn to his son.

  “It just means that they are making a temporary arrangement for a specific purpose.”

  Marcus frowned. “I don’t understand. They are of the same tribe?”

  “But the laws of the code they follow teach them to be independent, relying only on themselves, never on the help or reliability of others. It is a good way—look what happens in a City like Helix when we put our reliance for government or security on someone else.”

  “That is true, but it is so . . . so unfriendly.”

  His father frowned, to look for another way to explain it. It was not an easy concept to describe. He had, after all, been a Stateman all his life, as his ancestors had been ever since the great war.

  “The Guides are taught to be fiercely independent, even from their birth. When they are old enough they leave their mothers forever. Some of them never meet their fathers, or know who they are, for their whole lives.”

  “I cannot believe that.”

  “Yet it is true. They don’t believe in forming permanent relationships. ‘Our Union is limited’ is a formalised way of saying, let’s do something together now, for our mutual benefit, but when the job is done, each is on his own again.”

  Marcus frowned again, then glanced at the two Guides, a little apart, conferring quietly.

  “But Kaz and Deneer—they seem a lot closer than that. Their Union does not look temporary.”

  His father agreed.

  “Yes, oddly so . . .”

  “Why?”

  The older man smiled. It was a smile as old as the world itself.

  “I guess they like each other.”

  Marcus thought of his bride-to-be in Triton and reddened as he realised the turn the conversation had taken.

  “Well, if they like each other . . . I mean . . . Why don’t Guides fall in love and marry like anyone else?”

  His father grinned. “I think that we can see they fall in love.”

  “Yes, but they will not marry, will they?”

  His father shrugged.

  “All their lives they roam the wastelands. They have respect for one another and none would do any harm to another Guide. Why is it necessary to claim ownership over a woman if she claims that her affection is with you? No one else will try to break that link.”

  His son believed he understood. “Then there is no need for it.”

  “That is right. They do not need our reassurance. Their affection for each other is reassurance enough.”

  Marcus had his mouth open to ask another question, but he closed it abruptly as the other two turned their machines and wheeled them over to the two Statemen. Kaz said:

  “It seems clear we need shelter for the night.”

  Doctor Karl nodded, then, cautiously:

  “Should we not check it out more closely?”

  Kaz nodded and pointed at the hand blaster that was attached to Marcus’s belt. It was the only one that the party possessed, and had been given to him when he had been prepared to go into the arena to take part in the Death Sport game.

  “I will lead. May I have your hand blaster?”

  Marcus had no hesitation in handing the weapon over. He trusted the Guide completely now and would rather he, than any other, was looking out for them and was well enough armed to do so properly.

  There was no need to start the Death Machines again to get to their destination. The less noise they could make, the smaller the chance of alerting anyone who might be inside the structures—nor would the sound echo away through the mountains and canyons and tell Ankar Moor and his hunters of their position.

  They wheeled their Death Machines to a point on the edge of the incline above the buildings, then got aboard and coasted down to the front of the first building. Apart from the thrumming of the broken cable against the roof of the building, there was no other sound.

  It was when they got down to ground level and close to the first building that they saw the damaged condition of them. The large metal double doors at the end were open a little way and rusted, as if they had been in this position for centuries. The windows along one side of this building were all smashed—whether by some blast all those centuries before, or by the vandalism of marauding tribes of Mutants since.

  The others held Kaz’s machine as they still straddled their own. He gripped the hand blaster and stepped forward to the doors, waiting for what seemed like an eternity before disappearing inside. He was back only a short time later.

  “The first building, at least, is empty. We should enter and hide the machines before we go forward.”

  Deneer nodded agreement and the two Statemen followed suit. All four wheeled their machines through the gap in the double doors, under cover at last. They found themselves in a hall only as wide as the doors, fading into darkness. They started cautiously along this corridor, still wheeling their machines, Kaz with one hand on his, the other still holding up the hand blaster, moving ahead of the others.

  A door was open in the corridor and he glanced inside. The broken windows on this side faced the sunset and the room was flooded with a pink and orange glow, a reflection of the message the dying sun had left in the sky.

  From ahead there came a sudden, unexpected sound. Deneer drew in her breath sharply and Kaz spun round, firing without looking at the cause of the sound. In the same second they all saw the source of it. A jack rabbit had been hopping down the corridor and now disappeared into eternity.

  Doctor Karl cried excitedly, “Life! The world is supp
orting life again.”

  Kaz looked round at him, surprised at the outburst.

  “In the places protected from the Flash Winds, such life has been supported for some time.”

  Deneer laughed.

  “Why did you kill him?”

  His grin covered embarrassment.

  “Just testing my aim.”

  They all laughed, then moved forward again, still cautious but more relaxed within themselves. Each building led off into the next one and litter was scattered everywhere. One room was filled with smashed crates that had contained some sort of packaging material and these had been torn open, leaving the material scattered all over a huge room.

  Deneer looked at Kaz.

  “Foraging Mutants.”

  “Yes. But it was long ago.”

  In the third building they walked through to, they found the ramp that led to the even wider construction that had taken place below ground. From outside, it had just looked like a series of long, low buildings of the type that had been popular in the times before the third world war. Doctor Karl could remember this from his video library and the lessons he had given his son on what the old world had been like. But these buildings now appeared to have been some sort of shell for the real works underneath. It was almost as if the people who had constructed them had been starting plans for a factory complex like one of the great Cities, but had eventually abandoned the project, either from lack of time or materials. It looked as if it had been deserted for centuries.

  Before exploring the pitch black underground area at the bottom of the ramp, the party hurried back to where they had hidden their machines. Never having seen them in the dark, they were unaware that the cycles had lights on the front of them, but Doctor Karl had a solution to the problem of light.

  He led the others back into the room that had contained the packing cases. Then he made them break slats off the crates, before binding a mass of the compressed wrapping material to each of the slats. Marcus, who had never been searched thanks to his unorthodox method of getting imprisoned, still had his electronic fire lighter on him and the torches that the doctor had created were soon flaming, replacing the almost withdrawn light of day.

  Taking some unlit spare torches along with them, they wheeled their Death Machines to the head of the ramp and started them in order to ride down. They went in single file, cautiously, with Kaz Oshay in the lead. If there were any Mutants below, they would probably be too frightened by the sound of the machines to attack and that would give the party the time it would need to get away.

  But though Kaz Oshay used all his powers of smell, there seemed to be no stench in the network of underground corridors they were transversing. They went down a long corridor, small doorways opening off each side of it at regular intervals. Each door seemed to lead into small, absolutely identical rooms, all empty.

  Marcus caught up with his father.

  “What do you think this place used to be?”

  He thought for a moment, then said, “Probably it was a munitions factory.”

  “I wonder what happened to everything?”

  “The Mutants have had nine hundred years to investigate and steal away the contents.”

  “No, it seems as if it was deliberately cleared.”

  The line of speculation was cut short by Kaz ahead of them. He had passed a particular doorway and now halted his machine and called out, “Stop!”

  He switched off the engine and put the machine up on its stand, before striding over to the doorway. The others did likewise and crowded in behind him.

  It was the first of the rooms in which they had found any trace of life. It was slightly larger than the others they had seen and some evidence of occupation was scattered around: some stained, filthy mattresses, empty cans, broken bottles and glass were littering the floor. The occupation looked quite recent. Certainly the objects were not covered in nine hundred years of dust.

  Two objects, wedged in a corner between the mattresses and the wall, caught Deneer’s attention and she raced forward to hold them up. Each seemed to have something that was passable as a handle and she now swung one from each hand.

  “What are these?”

  Doctor Karl stepped forward to inspect them. He held one and tried to remember where he had seen it before. It was filthy and covered in rust, a large bulbous metal portion. Above it was a round of frosted glass, the handle above that again. As he swung it in his hand, some liquid slopped around in the rusty metal bottom part.

  He remembered at last. It was a sort of light that had been used, a lantern that burnt oil. He chuckled in surprise.

  “I’ve only ever seen a lamp like that in pictures. It must be hundreds of years old. It dates before the disaster.”

  Deneer inspected the one she still held closely. In it, too, a liquid slopped about in the lower portion.

  “Do you know how it works?”

  The Doctor nodded.

  “I think I can figure it out.”

  It was the work of only a few minutes to get the two lanterns lit and throwing out a respectable light. Kaz took one of them from him and said:

  “It seems safe for you two Statemen to rest in here tonight. I will go further to be sure.”

  Marcus grunted. “Should we not all stay together?”

  Kaz glanced at Deneer and smiled at her, before turning to the youth and his father.

  “Deneer and I will be close at the end. Never fear—Deneer, I will come back for you. Stay with our friends for the moment.”

  He turned to leave the room and Marcus took a pace forward to protest, but his father held him by the arm.

  “They deserve some time on their own and Kaz would not suggest it if he didn’t think it was safe.”

  Marcus nodded. His father was right, as usual.

  Lifting the lantern high, the anti-matter blaster held tightly in his other hand, Kaz Oshay moved further down the underground corridor to the next rooms. As he went the sound of his light footsteps faded quickly away from the others and Marcus Karl felt a chill of fear round his heart as the protection of which he had been so contemptuous was taken away for a moment.

  As he proceeded, Kaz Oshay could hear no sounds other than the footfall of his own boots on the concrete floor of the passage. The first room he inspected was another of the smaller ones. It was empty save for one mattress in the middle of the floor. He nodded. The room seemed clean, just right for himself and Deneer to spend the night.

  As he entered the next room beyond, he suddenly froze at a sight that would turn even a Guide cold with shock and rage. Recovering, he stepped into the room for a closer inspection of the contents.

  Someone had made an open fire out of old crates and mattresses in the centre of the room and scattered all around were the ancient remains of an obvious cannibal feast. Everywhere Kaz looked he could see charred and broken bones and skulls that had had the craniums smashed so that the brains could be taken out and eaten. He felt sickened at the sight. It was the only real evidence so far that the Mutants had ever been in the buildings, but he could see that the cannibal party must have been centuries old.

  He heard a sudden intake of breath behind him and whirled round, ready to fire the blaster. But the other three stood in the doorway, and it was Marcus who had reacted in shock. Now he said, “I’m sorry. We just came to look.”

  Kaz stepped aside and said harshly, “Then look.”

  “Oh, my God, the Mutants.”

  His father pushed past. “I think I understand.”

  Deneer asked, “What do you mean?”

  The doctor turned to her.

  “This was obviously some sort of factory complex and these shelters down here were for the workers in case the war came. When it did, they sheltered down here. There must have been stores and living accommodation for all of them for a very long time. Then, at some time later, those who survived, or perhaps their offspring, were attacked and overwhelmed by the Mutants. The Mutants must have eaten their remains and t
he stores that were left, or perhaps carried the latter away with them, and the crime has remained preserved for us to find.”

  “Then why are there no Mutants here now?”

  “Because they know there is no longer anything left for them to find. Why would they bother to come back?”

  Marcus said, “But it would be a place for them to live.”

  His father shook his head.

  “It is too dry for them. They like the damp warmth of the caves. It is better for their skin. That is why they mostly hunt by night. They do not like the heat of the sun.”

  Kaz Oshay agreed.

  “Your father is right. The wastelands are scattered with such tragedies as this and the Mutants like their skins to stay damp. Their eyes, too, they are large and bulge out to catch all the light the moon can give them.”

  There was an awkward silence, then, “We will be safe here. Take your lantern and go to the first room you saw. Deneer, I have found a place for us.”

  The Guide girl walked over and stood looking up at him. Marcus stared at them, but after a moment his father took his arm and led him away, back up the corridor to the first room they had found. The two Statemen settled themselves on the mattresses, the lamp, which Doctor Karl now turned down, between them. Marcus said, “Do you think we will ever get to Triton?”

  His father placed a reassuring hand on his arm.

  “If anyone can get us there, it will be those two. I trust them.”

  His son, who had been showing his impatience and lack of trust all day, now smiled and nodded.

  “So do I.”

  Neither man had realised, up until now, quite how exhausted they were. In a few minutes they both drifted off into the sleep of exhaustion, their breathing steady, the only other sound in the room being the hiss of the lamp that stood between them, casting its mellow glow over the pair of sleepers.

  Out on the desert highland a huge bonfire sparked with a great roar into the moonlit sky as another pile of dried debris and old brambles were thrown on to it. From above, the giant face of the moon stared down, making the shadows all around doubly eerie in its reflected light.

  The other Obedience Enforcers settled down next to their machines, ready for sleep, each man with his anti-matter blaster by his side, in case of an attack by the Mutants during the night. But Ankar Moor and Polna stood side by side, staring into the flames.