Outlaws of Babylon

by Eugene W. Cundiff

  Ric was startled, turning quickly toward the speaker and reaching for his knife. Braddock caught the Californian's arm. His voice remained level, betraying no surprise at the new arrival.

  "Hudson. You're going to get dusted one day, if you keep appearing out of maintenance tunnels without warning."

  The burly man grinned to the Irishmen's leader, twisting the end of his bushy mustache. "I survived the Feds knockin' down Erie, old man. Ain't afraid of some punk New York tough-guys after that." Hudson ran a grimy hand across the greasy hair of his scalp before extending it to Ric. "Name's Joe. Joe Hudson. Councilor for the Morlocks."

  Ric took the offered hand without hesitation. "Richard Lee. And yeah, I can turn invisible."

  Hudson shook Ric's hand firmly before shaking his head. "Lucky you. Dealing with the Russian and the Bird-brain makes me wish I had that trick up my sleeve."

  Ric raised an eyebrow, looking to Braddock for explanation. The old man shook his head

  "He means Varenka Zamyatin and the Gecko. The leaders of the Porters and the Warhawks, respectively."

  Ric nodded. A moment later, he blinked. "Wait... 'The Gecko'? I swear, if a guy in a garish tie and suspenders shows up..."

  Hudson sighed. "Just try to save the laughing for when he's gone, kid. That's how we get by. Anyway, they should be here soon, right Braddock?"

  "Soon enough. They both have further to travel than us."

  "And they can meet us inside. September evenings are not fit for outdoor meetings. Gentlemen, if you would follow me?" Stanton did not wait for an answer. She turned sharply on her heel and made her way toward a nearby building. Ric shook his head.

  "Wow. You're sure it's really you who runs this town, Boss?"

  Braddock chuckled dryly, patting Ric's shoulder as he stepped by him. "Not when matters involve Adrienne Stanton, lad."

  The old man limped toward the waiting structure. Hudson winked to Ric.

  "Don't let the schoolmarm librarian act fool you, kid. Stanton's ex-Ministry."

  The Californian blinked. "You mean..."

  "Yeah. Which is why I never keep her waitin', if it can be helped. Speak of that..."

  Hudson grinned lumbering off after the other Councilors. Ric followed soon after.

  ◆◆◆

  "Yeah, okay, the Soviet statue was one thing, but you asked me a year ago where I'd be now, I'd not have guessed here."

  Ric sat beside Braddock at the center of the great semi-circular desk, whispering to the Boss of the Irishmen. The old man shook his head, murmuring a reply.

  "Adrienne has put a great deal of effort into preserving the entire complex, even if most of it sits unused. The phoenix behind us has meaning to her, I suspect. She always has been fond of symbolism."

  At the far right end of the desk, a man dressed in remarkably pristine business-wear beneath a heavy fur coat rapped his knuckles on its surface.

  "You done playin' insider trading, gentlemen? You called this meeting, dragged us all down here. Time is ducats."

  Braddock raised a hand to the man in the coat. "As you say, Gecko, onto business. We are gathered here today to discuss the matter of the Sixth Day extremists of the Reverend Goodpaster's flock. As you know, they have been acting more aggressively of late, disrupting the Truce of the Wall Street Market and recently launching a direct assault on the territory of my vassals' territory of Ground Zero."

  The young woman seated between Braddock and the Gecko spoke up, brushing a lock of pale white-blond hair from her cold eyes as she did. "I am not seeing how this is concern of ours, Braddock. Sixth Day has not moved against our holdings."

  Hudson shook his head, glancing at the woman from where he sat across from her on the left side of the desk. "I think you mean they've not moved against you yet, Varenka. Give the bastards time."

  Varenka Zamyatin rolled her eyes. "There is no profit for them in this."

  "And that's all either of you two care about at the end of the day, ain't it?"

  The Gecko looked at the Morlock leader from over the top of his mirrored sunglasses. "Hey, greed is good baby. Just because you buy into that loser Marxist ideology doesn't mean we do."

  Braddock shook his head. "You two can argue political ideology later. You were all called here to discuss the blackballing and potential exile of the Sixth Day cultists from our fair island. Since their arrival, they have contributed little to our society, and have carefully treaded a thin line when it comes to the edicts of this august body. Out of deference to the risks and costs open warfare against them would draw down, I have not ordered retaliations and as per the Codes and the Customs, the Irishmen have not intervened in the feud between the Sixth Day and our vassals of the Zero."

  "So you are saying you want us to bleed for sake of your new pet freaks."

  Ric's eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened, but Braddock quickly put a firm hand on the Californian's shoulder.

  "I believe in the work my new vassals are doing at the Zero, Councilor Zamyatin. I also believe the Sixth Day are showing signs of escalating hostilities."

  Zamyatin shook her head. "This is not worth risking war over, Braddock. The Sixth Day does us no harm."

  The Gecko nodded to the Porters' leader. "Vee-Zee is right, baby. The Sixes don't give us any grief, and their ducats spend as well as anyone else's do. The Warhawks won't risk our bottom line for your new kids on the block, Braddock."

  "Neither will Porters. Is as Gecko says. No profit for us. Now if you will excuse, I have important matters to see to." Zamyatin rose and headed for the door, a small band of rugged men and women following her out of the chamber. The Gecko snapped his fingers.

  "It's been real, Braddock. And good luck, champ. Sounds like you'll need it."

  The Warhawks' leader snapped his fingers again, and a pair of rifle-wielding men in dark suits and sunglasses moved from the room's entrance to flank him. He stood to his feet, lifting a well-polished crowbar from where it leaned against the desk. He saluted with the long length of metal before sauntering out. Braddock sighed.

  "Well, so much for that then."

  Ric pushed out of his chair, his expression dark. "So, just like that."

  Seated at the far-left end of the desk, Adrienne Stanton clicked her tongue. "The Codes and Customs are quite clear on the matter. Had the Sixth Day succeeded in doing more than simply scuffing those walls you've raised about the Zero, there may have been a stronger case. As it stands, however, you are something of a victim of your own success Mister Lee."

  "And of course, you two won't violate them yourselves, will you?"

  "Law and order are the Irishmen's business, Councilor Hudson, as you are well aware. They are also what separates us from the savages dwelling in the charred ruins of Detroit."

  "Some days I'm not sure just how separate we are from the Khans, Stanton. And some days? Some days I think we need to worry more about keeping separate from your old bosses."

  An uncomfortable silence fell across the chamber. Braddock finally cut into the growing tension. "Regardless, without the sanction of the Warhawks and the Porters, we cannot risk the sort of hostilities blackballing the Sixth Day would provoke, or marshal the manpower needed to forcibly oust them from the island. For what little it is worth, I am sorry Mister Lee."

  Ric shrugged, heading for the door. "Yeah, me too. Thanks for trying, Boss"

  Ric's eyes burned with violet light, and he swiftly faded from view. He slowly made his way out of the historic building, not looking forward to delivering the news to his companions.

  ◆◆◆

  "Those bastards!" The ground near the gates of Sanctuary shook as Kurt raged. "Those worthless, cowering bastards!"

  The residents of the Zero scattered, cowering in fear as loose rubble began to rise from the ground. The debris swirled about Kurt's feet. Behind him, Mory pushed away from Ric and moved toward her childhood friend.

  "Kurt, Kurt, breathe!" The pale young woman put a hand on Kurt's shoulder. The debris scored her legs
and frayed her skirts, but Mory paid the pain no mind. "Kurt, listen to me. We'll see ourselves through, same as we have been."

  The Preserve exile trembled, his jaw working wordlessly. Mory sighed.

  "Okay..." Her pale eyes glowed with white light, and Kurt slumped. The bloodied cloud of rubble dropped to the ground, and Kurt lurched forward.

  "I... thanks, Mor."

  Mory nodded, sliding under Kurt's arm to support him. Ric moved swiftly to take up the other young man's arm.

  "She's right, Killer. As usual."

  Mory blushed. Ric winked to her before he continued.

  "I'm not really surprised, if I'm honest. Braddock likes us, or at least likes our fair lady of the wastes. But the Sixes aren't something anyone would cross lightly."

  "We keep doing for them, Ric. We keep playing their games, doing their dirty work, but they won't lift a finger to help us when we're attacked!"

  Ric shook his head. "Life's not fair, and trying to get as much as you give? That's a sucker's game. But come on, let's get you laid down. I'm going to need a few strong drinks in me before I have to tell Dollface the news, yeah?"

  "Yeah... good idea."

  Kurt slumped down between the two. Ric grinned to Mory, lifting the other young man's head back. "You dosed him good."

  Mory looked to the ground, thick black curls falling over her eyes. "I didn't mean to hit him so hard. I've had a hard time measuring lately. My powers just feel more intense, more... well..."

  "Powerful?"

  Ric grinned, Mory gave him a dark look, but it quickly faded into smile.

  "Yeah. More powerful." The Californian leaned awkwardly across Kurt to kiss Mory's cheek."Like I said, we'll see ourselves through. Come what may, be it crazed religious zealots or you becoming super-powerful and a bunch of other mindfreaks showing up to stop you from blowing up the world in some huge crisis-crossover."

  Mory laughed softly, moving forward with Kurt. "Blowing up the world, you say?"

  Ric grinned, helping her carry their insensate companion into the camp. "You've certainly rocked mine."

  "Flatterer."

  04

  "You look ridiculous."

  "I thought you liked the spirit of Halloween, Dollface. That Christmas getup you're in notwithstanding."

  Jen huffed, straightening a wrinkle in her striped white stockings."You can mock all you want lost boy, but tonight I'm more of a man than you'll ever be."

  "Hey, it took a month to grow out this goatee!"

  Mory drifted up to where the nomads stood by Sanctuary's gates, her long patchwork skirts rustling. Jen's eyes drifted over to the other woman, and her hand moved to pluck at the thin strap of Mory's camisole.

  "You sure you won't get cold in that outfit, Irish?"

  Mory smiled, shaking her head. "I'm fine. Cold's not been near as rough since the flashlights clicked on the first time. And I'll have that bed-sheet Ric found over my arms and back, too. It'll be enough."

  "Shame you couldn't wear that military jacket of yours."

  The pale young woman shook her head. "Too much risk someone might recognize it. Which is also why we'd need the masks, even if it weren't part of the tradition."

  Jen rolled her eyes. "Oh, time for more local color? Pass. You can give Boytoy the nickel tour of it later. Me, I'm going to the Square for the real party." the punk turned, shouting into the camp. "Hey, Killer, let's go! Jo's watchin' your mad girl and we're burnin' moonlight!"

  Kurt emerged from one of the buildings, tightening a long scarf around his neck. His eyes flickered blue behind a pair of battered eyeglasses. "I look ridiculous."

  Jen grinned, sauntering over to the Preserve exile. "Price you pay for not picking a costume sooner. I admit it's more a look for T.J. than for you but hey, as last-minute costumes go... "The punk grinned, grabbing Kurt's arm and dragging him toward the gates."But come on. I have it on good authority that this is one wild party, and you need to get out of this dump more often!"

  Kurt sighed and let Jen drag along, giving Mory and Ric a helpless look. Soon the pair were lost to the gloom of the city, and Mory smiled to the Californian.

  "So, you care to put on the finishing touches? I don't have a clue who I'm even supposed to be."

  Ric unfolded the faded floral-patterned bed-sheet he had been carrying, carefully draping it across Mory's slim shoulders and wrapping it about her willowy arms. When he finished, the nomad leaned in to kiss her neck. "You're my star."

  "Flatterer." She took Ric's arm when he offered it, and together they followed after Jen and Kurt.

  ◆◆◆

  "You're sure you'd not rather we go with Jen and Kurt?"

  Ric shook his head before leaning in to gently kiss Mory's painted lips. "You made this out as a pretty big deal to you, Ivory. Kurt can be Jen's minder for a night."

  The couple strolled down the quiet streets of the fallen city, their path guided by barrel-fires and guttering lanterns.

  "So, this is all sort of like Dia de Muertos?"

  Mory nodded. "A bit. Just as the gangs blending together, the customs of the survivors did too. One night a year when no bloodshed happens, no lines are drawn. It lets us all go visit our dead, no matter who holds where they're resting."

  "And the wild party Jen's dragging Killer to?"

  Mory smiled. "Just another tradition that got absorbed, I suppose. Some say the dead take advantage of the masks and costumes to come back and visit the living. Who knows? Maybe they do."

  Ric chuckled. "Well, if your mother does come calling, I hope I can make a good impression. She's at Saint Joan's, right?"

  Mory nodded. She smiled, resting her head on Ric's shoulder. "Yes. And I'm sure she has no complaints."

  "Oh really?"

  Mory kissed Ric's neck. "Cross my heart."

  "So long as you don't stake mine."

  "You're terrible."

  The young couple shared a quiet laugh before continuing on toward Saint Joan's.

  ◆◆◆

  Music echoed thunderously through the crowded streets, bass pounding against the throngs of masked revelers, and bonfires burned behind long-dead video screens, casting their light through the garishly-stained glass in mad displays of color. The crisp October air was thick with the scents of smoke, sweat, and alcohol. Kurt felt more overwhelmed than he ever had before as he faced the chaos.

  "You're just determined to be a downer, aren't you Killer?"

  Jen laughed, splashing her drink about as she danced around him. Kurt sighed.

  "This really isn't my scene, Jen."

  The punk smirked, pausing to stand in front of him. She downed the alcohol she had managed not to spill and cast the cup over her shoulder. "Only because you don't want it to be! Honestly, you ran away from Jackboot City and into a world of absolute freedom. Why don't you ever want to take advantage of that?"

  Kurt shrugged, sighing as he did. "Well for one thing, you really think it's safe for me to make like it's Purim, Dollface? I get the feeling that might lead to more than just an effigy of Haman being destroyed."

  "Maybe. But if you keep it all bottled up without a release.... you sure you'll be able to control it when it finally gets out?"

  Kurt shook his head. "Maybe not. Here's hoping it never comes up."

  Jen laughed. "Would you even know what to do with it if it did, Killer?"

  "Very funny."

  "I thought so."

  The Preserve exile shook his head. "You go on and have fun, Jen. Don't let me drag you down. I'll meet you here at sunrise to make sure you get back to Sanctuary safe and sound."

  "You're sure, Killer?"

  "Yeah, it's fine."

  Jen grinned as she threw herself into the whirling storm of the revelry, and Kurt sighed again. He moved through the tide of bodies as best he could until he found his way to a set of stairs leaning down into the subway tunnels. A voice echoed up from the gloom, shouting over the noise of the party.

  "Hey, you! Mister Documentarian!"r />
  Kurt paused, looking down the staircase. A burly older man stood in the shadows at their base. "Who, me?"

  The grimy man ran fingers through the greasy hair of his scalp and sighed. "Yeah, you. Come down here already. You ain't fooling anyone that you belong up there."

  Kurt looked around at the chaos surrounding him, then he nodded to the man. He headed down the worn steps, offering a hand to the stranger once he reached the bottom. "I'm Kurt."

  The older man nodded, shaking the offered hand firmly. "Yeah, I know. You're with that bunch in the Zero. Name's Joe. Joe Hudson. Welcome to my little kingdom."

  Kurt glanced about, his eyebrow raising. "All this is yours, then?"

  Hudson grinned widely beneath his thick mustache. "So ol' Jerry was right. You are an asshole. Still, be it ever so humble, if this crap-hole breaks down the city would follow. Lucky me, I get to keep the lights on."

  "Wait, you mean to tell me..."

  "Rat-King of the Morlocks, at your service."

  Kurt nodded, his posture growing less-guarded. "Ric said you were one of the two who spoke for us, at the Summit."

  Hudson nodded, gesturing for Kurt to walk with him. The Preserve exile obliged, following the older man into the subway tunnel proper.

  "Yeah, I did. And I'd do it again. Can't expect much out of the others, really. Not even the Conservers. Some folks just won't see the writing on the wall." Hudson made an off-handed gesture to the tunnel wall. Faded letters had been painted upon it. Kurt read the words by the light of a barrel-fire, shaking his head.

  "I'm not sure I get how 'screw you, we're still here' means much?"

  The burly man chuckled. "World's changing, kid, and not just because of you and your super-buddies. You have any idea how messed up things are down here, after the floods and crap? Hell, just after twenty years of dwindling supplies? In ways, folk out here are no better than the ivory tower you've bailed out of. The 'Birds and the Shore-boys ain't fond of you because your set is threatening their grip on the chow-line. They'd rather people starve than give up a crumb from their little slice of the piss-pot pie."