Lost Gates

by James Axler

  The room was silent, with no place for anyone else to hide. Nonetheless, Krysty still indicated to J.B. that he should cover her while she went over to the laminates. They might tell her something about the purpose of this redoubt, and give some clue as to what they might find when they left the control room.

  As Krysty walked over to the wall, J.B. straightened warily, his eyes fixed on the door to the control room. Krysty was adjacent and to the left. If the door opened, she wouldn’t be immediately visible—he would. The Armorer was prepared to draw any fire that might come his way. He decided not to use the M-4000, as the load of barbed fléchettes would spread too wide in such an enclosed space. The last thing he wanted to do was to take out Krysty when he was supposed to be covering her. No, this was job for the mini-Uzi, set on single shot. If the door opened, the first person through would get a gut shot. Any questions would come later.

  As that ran through his head, he was aware that the smell and his suspicions about what was causing it were making him edgy. J.B. made a conscious effort to keep it frosty.

  Krysty, meanwhile, was scanning the laminates. A lot of what they said made little sense to her. Not because she couldn’t read them, but because although they were typed and legible, they used a long-since-disappeared jargon that had no meaning in this world. However, there was still enough that made sense for her to work out the basic meaning.

  “Doesn’t look that promising,” she said over her shoulder to the Armorer. “Looks like this redoubt was linked to the others on Crabbe’s list, each one having its own function. This one was about storing basic supplies for the others. Stuff like soap for the showers, cleaning materials, and also all things like replacement beds and tables. On one of the levels here, it looks like there’s nothing except a storage for beds and tables. What kind of use is that to us?”

  “Dunno, could be worse.” J.B. shrugged. “You can fix some decent explosives from the kinds of chemical shit they’ve got here.”

  “Yeah? But how long would that take? We’ve only got—” she checked her wrist chron “—twenty-two minutes.”

  “Good point. No time for that. Better check to see if there’s an armory here, and if anyone has left us any options. Bastard shame about that chemical shit, though.”

  J.B. motioned to Krysty to cover him as he took the door out of the control room. She looked across and shook her head. She would take point this time. As he nodded, she moved across and punched the standard numbers into the keypad. The door opened slowly, and as it did she had to resist the temptation to trigger the door shut again. If the stench in the control room had been bad—even if they had managed to control their nausea and were now almost used to it—then the odor that washed over them from the corridor made it seem like nothing.

  “Gaia, what kind of mutie, stickie shithead could make something smell like that?” she whispered.

  “Or keep living in it,” J.B. added. “Listen.”

  There was movement—scuffling, some crashes, and the sounds of voices that were raised in incoherent babble. It didn’t sound angry or alarmed. It didn’t sound unfriendly. Why would it? Whoever—whatever—it was didn’t know they were there yet. Or so it seemed. But it had a crazy, manic edge that wasn’t promising.

  Hardly surprising, given the conditions in which they seemed to live.

  “Okay, let’s move out, but keep real frosty,” Krysty said in a choked voice, gagging on the smell. “I can’t even imagine what the hell it is we’re going to find.”

  They made their way along the corridor, blasters poised, senses so on edge that it seemed the slightest flickering of shadow would elicit a burst of fire. The smell seeped into every pore.

  Now the noises were in the foreground. As they moved up a level, some of the sounds became clearer. They were getting close to some of the inhabitants of the redoubt, though that didn’t mean that the sounds made any more sense than before. They were still gibberish, still incomprehensible.

  “What has happened down here?” Krysty whispered. “They sound like a bunch of stupe crazies.”

  “Yeah, well, if they are, we need to be ready for them,” J.B. muttered, flicking the mini-Uzi from single shot to burst.

  It was clear that, even though the stench had permeated to the lowest level, the creatures that created it had little use for the control room that constituted that area. They had left well enough alone. The same had to be true of the upper levels that housed the tech that kept the redoubt running, as the air recycler was working, The only light that was lacking was in areas where the fluorescent tubes had blown out. The sec cams were probably still working. The door mechanisms, presumably, were still operational. J.B. made a mental note and filed it away for future use. It would seem that the people—creatures, perhaps, as they seemed almost subhuman on long distance impression—had little use for any of the systems. That much was clear from the condition of the corridors as they ascended.

  The floors and walls were smeared with filth. Excrement, blood, food—it all blended into an amorphous mess that was everywhere. Small piles of reeking ordure testified to the fact that the inhabitants of the redoubt had no idea of the purpose of the latrines. They just squatted and dumped as they passed. Layers of the indeterminate filth were on the floor and the bottom of the walls, sticky underfoot. It was impossible for Krysty not to wrinkle her nose as she stepped in it. J.B. grimaced as he felt it underfoot. Coldheart bastards who would run you through before they looked you in the eye he could understand. This, though, was unfathomable.

  One thing, though—it showed that whoever lived down here had no grasp of the tech, as the layers of filth on the floor were undisturbed by tracking across them where the sec doors may have been opened or shut. If they did work, then it was a reasonable guess that the crazies—as they had to be—who lived down here didn’t know how to use them.

  But what kind of creatures were they?

  “Heads up,” Krysty yelped as something small and fast scuttled across the corridor ahead of them. It scooted from one doorway to another, seeming not to look at them, or even to pose a threat. Nonetheless, they took one side of the corridor apiece, flattening themselves to the walls, blasters raised in the direction of the movement. Exchanging rapid glances, Krysty kept her Smith & Wesson on the corridor ahead while J.B. turned to cover the corridor at their rear. There had been nothing behind them as far as they had known. But the speed at which the creature moved, and the manner in which it had appeared without warning, indicated that these things could move without a prior warning.

  Things—that was just it. What the hell were they? This one was no animal they could identify. It didn’t look like a stickie, nor did it resemble anything human that Krysty or J.B. could identify. A mutie of some kind, perhaps. And was this one typical of all?

  There was only one way to find out. The sounds they had heard may have been gibberish, but that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t understand them. With gestures, J.B. let Krysty know that he would take the side that the creature had scuttled to. She should take the other, in case it hadn’t been alone.

  She nodded, and they moved forward with extreme caution. The floor squelched beneath them, but they took little notice. The sense of disgust had been subsumed as their survival skills cut in.

  Despite their caution, they moved quickly. To identify and eliminate the threat was a necessity, both for their safety and because they had little time to waste.

  Krysty took her room, blaster raised and hammer cocked. She sought the first cover—an old bed—and crouched behind it swiftly. The room was an old dorm, and it was as messy as the corridor outside. The bed linen had rotted through, and the mattress was little better. This was an irony, considering the purpose of the redoubt, but of little interest to her at this moment. What was important was that the beds were raised from the ground, and the space beneath was clear. From this she was able to scope the rest of the dorm, and could see that it was empty. Still wary, she moved from cover, taking each part of the roo
m.

  It was clear. She moved to the door and saw J.B. standing in the doorway of the opposite room, the mini-Uzi trained in one corner, away from her view.

  “Secured,” she said simply.

  “Yeah, so is this…kind of,” he replied with a note of puzzlement in his voice. “Come and take a look at this.”

  Krysty moved across the corridor and joined him. She saw immediately why he was so puzzled.

  “J.B., just what the hell is that?” she asked in a tone that more than matched his.

  Chapter Ten

  “I don’t know, but I still want to keep the little bastard in my sights,” J.B. said slowly as Krysty entered the room.

  “I’ll be careful,” she said, approaching the creature slowly, “but he’s not acting like a threat.”

  The creature was in the corner of the room, and was cowering under the glare of the Armorer’s mini-Uzi. It was a small, stunted creature, a man, of sorts, but one who had been mutated back in the gene pool, with every chance that the pool had then grown smaller with every generation. It had large brown eyes in which the iris was wide and black, making it hard to see anything other than a big, dark orb. More like a dog than a human, it seemed to give it an appealing air. One that was reinforced by the large nose and receding chin, pudgy torso and spindly limbs. It resembled less a human than a cartoon drawn by a man with half his fingers missing. And the way it tilted its head as Krysty approached, as if to try to understand what she was doing, made it seem more like the kind of pet that she had played with as a child in Harmony than a vicious adversary.

  Accordingly, she smiled at it. It smiled back—a wide, split-mouth grin that showed rotten stumps of teeth. Its breath was fetid and made her look away in a hurry.

  “I think the only problem we’re going to have with this critter is if it breathes directly on us,” she said, stifling a cough.

  J.B. watched her intently. Her hair, a usually reliable indicator of trouble, was still flowing free. There was no way he would have trusted the thing if left to his own choices, but Krysty was pretty reliable.

  The woman extended her hand. “Hey, little feller, we don’t want to hurt you if you don’t want to hurt us,” she said in the most unthreatening tone she could muster.

  “Krysty, what—”

  “It’s okay, J.B.,” she murmured to him in the same bright tone. “I wouldn’t risk it normally, but Gaia knows we don’t have much time to play with.”

  The Armorer shrugged. “Okay, play it your way,” he replied in as neutral a tone as he could muster, “but I’ll be ready.”

  “Fine. Now just let the blaster drop and see what he does,” she said.

  J.B. complied, the nerves in his forearms tingling as he kept on edge ready to pull the muzzle level in an instant. The creature watched them both, its eyes flickering between them.

  “Listen, can you understand me?” Krysty asked, looking the creature directly in the eyes when it flicked them in her direction. The creature returned her gaze, smiled another fetid blast and broke into a stream of excited syllables that gabbled out of its mouth in an incoherent burst.

  “That’ll be a no, then,” J.B. said laconically.

  “Mebbe he understands us, but we don’t understand him,” Krysty said cautiously.

  “I don’t reckon it’d be that simple. Or that we’d be that lucky,” J.B. added. “You sure it’s a him?”

  Krysty was in a better position to see the creature full-length, and as it was naked its shriveled genitalia was in full view. “Yeah, it’s male all right,” she said. “How many of them do you figure are here?”

  “Sounded more than just a couple. You figure we can get laughing boy there to show us around? We don’t have much time to waste,” he continued, consulting his wrist chron.

  “Can only try,” Krysty muttered.

  “We’re going to leave here now,” she said brightly. “Want to show us around, little feller?” She stepped back and toward the door, hoping the creature would divine her meaning from her actions, even if he didn’t understand the words.

  She was surprised, and not unpleasantly, when it broke into more excited gibberish before grabbing at her hand and pulling her toward the door. She was shocked by the feel of its flesh. She had expected it to be spongy and viscous, yet it was dry and firm. Gaia knew that she was sweating more than this little creature.

  J.B. stepped back out of the doorway as the creature pulled Krysty towards him. He wanted to keep enough distance for a clear shot.

  “Go with it,” Krysty said simply as she followed the direction that the creature led her. J.B. shrugged, and still keeping the same disguised vigilance, he followed them.

  The creature led them up a level. The smell grew worse, and the filth became more encrusted. It was obvious that these creatures lived more on the upper levels. They could hear them, up a little farther ahead, but none had yet come into view.

  They moved toward what had once been the medical facilities and the armory. J.B. expected the worst—a desecration of the ordnance and the complete waste of what they might be able to use. Yet, to his surprise, he could see that the doors to the medical facilities and armory were closed. The crap piled against them suggested that they hadn’t been opened for some time. A flutter of hope moved in his chest.

  The creature tried to lead Krysty past, too excited to notice at first the way in which she tried to resist his insistent tugging. J.B. slowed and beckoned her back. She pulled against the creature. It had been facing away from her as it pulled, jabbering excitedly at intervals. But now, noticing the resistance, it turned. It looked at her with a furrowing brow that was almost comical, and the tone of its gibbering was curious and hurt that she wouldn’t follow at the same pace.

  “Look… Want to stop and look…” she said brokenly, indicating the doors they had just passed.

  The creature tugged at her hand and jabbered excitedly, waving its free arm in the direction of the next level. Krysty shook her head and pulled away. A low growl escaped from deep in the creature’s chest, taking her by surprise.

  “Careful,” J.B. murmured, raising his blaster so that a flick of the wrist would bring it up in line with the creature’s chest.

  Krysty backed away to the doors, keeping an eye on the creature. It was silent, watching her intently. As she joined J.B. by the door to the medical facilities, it started to tremble.

  J.B. punched in the entry code for the door and it began to open slowly, grinding against the years of accumulated filth that had solidified against it. The mechanism squealed and protested, and the door let light from the medical facilities out into the corridor.

  The creature growled again then whimpered as the door revealed the room within. As Krysty and J.B. entered, the whimper rose to a keening wail.

  “He’s scared,” she whispered, amazed. “Why is this closed to them?” she continued, looking around. The room was untouched. It looked exactly the same as it had the moments the nukes had hit.

  “I don’t know,” J.B. replied. “And I don’t care. I’m just thinking that if this is untouched…”

  He left the thought hanging. Krysty checked her wrist chron. He was right; they should get moving. She followed him as he left the room, door open, and moved to the keypad for the armory door. The code punched in, he waited impatiently for the door to groan and protest as the decades of filth welding it to the floor began to give way. The sound made them wince, but seemed to do little more than entice the creature nearer to them. As the door opened, the light from within spilling out into the corridor, both J.B. and the stunted creature gasped, but for vastly different reasons.

  It was as the Armorer had expected—the interior of the armory room was, like the medical facilities, untouched since the time that the nukes began to fall. The walls were lined with racked rifles, SMGs, handblasters and gren launchers. There was a pair of flamethrowers, erect in their stands, the tanks of fuel placed beside them, the shine on the tanks undiminished by decades of lying idle
in temperate conditions. Boxes of grens, plas ex and ammunition for the blasters were stacked around the walls, the stencils on their crates as clear as the day they were first marked.

  It had been a long time since J. B. Dix had seen such an armory. It would probably be as long again before he saw such a thing.

  He stood, awestruck, for a moment. Then with a start he looked down at his wrist chron. Just over half of their allotted time remained. They needed to move, and quickly.

  “Krysty,” he said hurriedly, turning to her, “if only we could… No, there’s no time. We have to look for something small that we can hide on us when Crabbe makes us hand back our own weapons.”

  He stopped for two reasons—because she wasn’t looking at him and because of what she was looking at. The creature had approached the door to the armory, a look of almost comical awe upon its face. It was an echo of the look that the Armorer knew had to have crossed his own face. But not for the same reason, then what?

  Before he had time to ponder any longer, the creature let out a small yelp before turning and running off in the direction that it had been leading them.

  “What was that all about?” he asked, puzzled.

  Krysty shrugged. “Gaia knows. I sure don’t. Let’s move it, J.B. I’ve got an uneasy feeling.”

  J.B. was only too pleased to bow to Krysty’s feelings. The sense of not knowing if there was any danger had been getting to him all the while, and he wouldn’t be sorry to leave.

  “Over there. The gren cases. We should find something small enough to conceal in there,” he stated, directing her to the area of the room that held a section of stenciled cases.

  As they moved over to the cases and started to open them, they became aware of a sound behind them. The gibbering and yelling that had been ever-present in the background was getting nearer. Fast.

  Krysty looked around, but J.B. focused on his task. He was rifling through the cases, looking for a gren that could be used in a confined space without too much risk to their friends. The control room in the redoubt they just left was small. A frag gren would spread too much metal around. A concussion gren would stun anyone in range, without any discernment. It had to be a gas gren. There would be just enough of a time lag for the others to become aware of what was happening and take clean air into their lungs before the gas started to work on Crabbe and his men. Just enough time for them to figure it out, to take advantage of the effects on the baron’s sec men, and then get out before it started to seep through their skin. Just enough of an edge of knowledge for them to act and save their lives.