by James Axler
The albino youth nodded without a word and joined Ryan in the short trudge to the mat-trans unit. They passed within a couple of yards of the baron, close enough to reach out and choke the life from the bastard, who looked on with a smug expression. If only there hadn’t been so many blasters trained on their companions…
Ryan held himself erect as they entered the unit, but as he closed the door on the tableau outside, the mask slipped and he allowed the pain to crease his features.
“Ryan—” Jak breathed.
The one-eyed man shook his head as he settled on the floor of the mat-trans with Jak’s assistance. “It’s going to be a hard ride, Jak. I don’t know if I can do much right now. You might have to carry me if the going gets rough.”
“No problem. Never.”
Ryan believed him, but he was still uneasy about facing the unknown in such pain.
There was no knowing what they faced, but he knew that whatever it was, he was nowhere near ready for it.
COMING UP FAST, as if he had been immersed in a sea that was thick, dark and choking, the viscera of the inky depths forcing its way into his nose and mouth, insinuating itself into every passage and snaking toward his lungs, the sludge making him choke as it slipped over his tongue and down his gullet, searing his sinuses as it filled his nostrils and forced its way upward and then down. Despite every struggle, despite every effort he might make, it would drown him, no matter how much he thrashed and fought against the rising tide. Finally, with the desperation born of one last cry against the night before all was lost, he opened his mouth and filled his lungs with the wine-dark sea, giving all to vent one last scream of frustration, anger and desperation.
And opened his eye to find himself yelling incoherently as he thrashed around on the floor of the mat-trans unit.
Jak stood over him, looking down. Looking puzzled, too, which was unusual for the albino teen, as his face was usually unreadable.
Ryan felt about as puzzled as Jak appeared. He stopped yelling, the sound dying away to an embarrassing silence.
“What was that about?” Ryan said in a softly puzzled voice, almost to himself.
“About ask you same question,” Jak commented.
Ryan pulled himself up to a sitting position. He frowned. His ribs actually felt a little better than before the jump, even though he had moved gingerly, expecting the opposite to be true. Carefully, he stood. Nothing. He prodded at his rib cage experimentally.
“Feel good?” Jak asked. Ryan nodded, and the albino youth chewed on his lip. “Yeah, triple weird. Jump usually makes puke. Not this time. Feel okay.”
Ryan was still feeling across his injured torso. “Strangest fucking jump dream I’ve ever had, and there have been a few. Like I was drowning. But now I wake up and it doesn’t feel like I’ve cracked a rib. It’s sore, but…”
“Like being born,” Jak stated. Ryan looked at him, puzzled.
“Dream drowning. No. In womb, waiting be born. Like what we are during jump.”
Ryan shook his head. “Mebbe. Tell you what, I don’t really give a shit right now. Felt weird, but not as weird as this rib being okay now. Mebbe that’s why Doc was so normal when he came back with Mildred.”
“Won’t matter if Crabbe chills all.” Jak spit pithily. “Find weapons before too late.” He fingered the hem of his patched camou jacket as he spoke. He felt naked without it, the glittering metal shards sewn into it concealing the places where his beloved knives were kept. If only there was some way he could hold on to one or two of them when they returned. But even then, it wouldn’t be enough against the sec men’s blasters, not if his friends remained unarmed.
Ryan grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “It matters, Jak. Crabbe and that coldheart scumsucker McCready think we’re getting weaker as we jump. They won’t be expecting much of a fight. Good. Let the bastards underestimate us. Even better, now that we feel stronger, we can try to take advantage of whatever we find here. We can face off whatever’s outside that door a whole lot better.”
“Mebbe.” Jak shrugged.
Ryan laughed, a low, growling chuckle in his throat. “Shit, Jak, we can take on anything that gets thrown at us now. I’ve got a good feeling about this, like we’ve just pulled ourselves out of the shit and can smell the sweet air.”
“Better get going,” Jak said simply.
Ryan nodded, and without wasting any more time on words, the two men prepared to leave the mat-trans. Blasters and other weaponry checked, they exited using the procedure that had, for a time, become second nature to them.
Once he was out of the mat-trans and into the anteroom, Ryan saw that the control room was in semidarkness, with much of the overhead lighting not functioning. There was a patina of dust and grime over the consoles and the wall-mounted tables, which still carried maps and papers in the disarray with which they had been discarded when skydark hit. Whoever had been here had wanted to get out in a hurry. And by the look of it, no one had been here since. The dust and grime suggested that parts of the automated system had also ceased to function effectively, an impression that was only confirmed by the staleness of the air they were breathing.
Without a word the two men exchanged looks. Ryan nodded shortly, and Jak moved to the control room door. He keyed the sec code to open it and stood back as it shuddered to life, opening slowly with the stiffness of a mechanism that had been too long out of use.
Light flooded in from the corridor outside, but the quality of air remained the same. There was the same musty and stale aftertaste to it that suggested that it had been recycled with a decreasing frequency. It was breathable, as no oxygen had ever been extracted from it, but age hadn’t flavored it with any sweetness.
“No one here, and not been ages,” Jak commented. “Should be safe.”
“Still, keep it frosty,” Ryan said, moving ahead of the albino youth and out into the corridor, his trusty SIG-Sauer loose in his grasp. His eye scanned in either direction. The corridor was empty, and like the control room, a patina of dirt covered the walls and floor, smearing dust and grime over the lighting. Webs of dust and dirt had formed in the curves of the corridor’s wall and ceiling. The floor was undisturbed. Any footprints or tracks would have shown in the dust.
“Come on,” Ryan said, beckoning to Jak to follow as he headed toward the curve of the corridor that would take them on an upward path.
The albino teen fell in behind him.
There was a quiet that hung like a pall over the redoubt as they ascended to the next level. Jak kept his attention focused, keeping an ear out for anything that may betray the presence of another living creature. Yet his instincts, working on a more subconscious level, spoke to him of the lack of life.
“We might just get lucky here,” Ryan whispered. Even as he did, it struck him as absurd that he was keeping his voice low. What need was there for him to do that? The redoubt was deserted, of that he had little doubt. Yet there was something about the sepulchral silence of the corridor stretching in front of and behind them that caused him to speak quietly despite himself.
“Lucky?” Jak responded, puzzled.
Ryan nodded. In response to Jak’s normal tone, he endeavored to raise his own voice. It rang in his ears and the empty space of the corridor.
“Yeah, lucky. Think about it. This place has been deserted, since the dawn of skydark, by the looks of things. It looks like whoever was here got the hell out in a hurry. If they didn’t clear up after themselves in all the little things, chances are that they weren’t too bothered to hang around for a major evacuation, either. And it sure as hell doesn’t look and feel like anyone else has been down here since. So what are the chances of the armory having been moved out, or looted at some point since? And if that’s the case, then chances are that there’s some weapons there that we can use.”
“Have to be small,” Jak mused. “Something can hide from prying eyes.”
Ryan nodded. “Grens. Small enough to not be seen. They’ll only be looking
to take back our own blasters and blades. Shit, they haven’t looked for anything else so far.”
Jak’s face broke into a crooked and humorless grin. “Yeah. Bastards are shit sec men, but no chance slip shit past yet.”
Ryan’s grin matched Jak’s. “Mebbe that’s all about to change, eh?”
The two companions continued their climb to the level where the medical facilities and armory would be kept. They didn’t bother to waste time, as they saw it, looking in any of the other rooms that they passed. Some doors were closed and would remain so for the rest of time. Others were open, the briefest glimpse as they passed showing that there was nothing inside but the debris of a hasty evacuation. In one dorm, clothes, bedding and magazines lay strewed across the mattresses and on the floors, hastily tipped over as belongings were grabbed before the long gone inhabitants had run for…what? Most likely their own hastened demise.
This mute testament to the panic of the nukecaust went unremarked as the friends headed for their goal with the determination of those bent on vengeance. They were intent on getting the weapons they needed to gain the upper hand in the unspoken battle with Crabbe, and to do it with the maximum amount of time to spare.
In a redoubt such as this, deserted and with nothing that could deflect them from their course, it should have been a simple matter to achieve their goal.
At least, that was how Ryan saw it as they reached the level on which the armory was housed. Ahead of them was a door that had been closed for well over a hundred years. The one-eyed man exchanged a glance with Jak. From the level of grime and dust that was gathered on the corridor floor in front of them, the armory was as intact as it had been when predark military stalked the corridors.
Ryan looked at his wrist chron. It had taken them no time at all to secure the area and move from the mat-trans unit to this level. They had plenty of time to take a leisurely look around to see what was inside, take their pick of the ordnance that had been stored there since skydark and return to the mat-trans with ample time to spare. Ryan grinned and motioned Jak to the armory entrance.
With a brief nod, Jak stepped forward and keyed in the code that would open the armory after so long.
With a squeal of protest, the door began to open. They had a brief, tantalizing glimpse of the ordnance within before all hell broke loose.
ALL WAS SILENT in the mat-trans control room. Krysty was huddled over a comp desk, not wanting to look up and so catch the eye of the baron. Crabbe, for his part, was pacing the floor, muttering to himself. Sal, lurking in the background, was trying as much as any man could to render himself invisible. He didn’t want to catch the eye of his baron. Far too often over the years he had felt the force of Crabbe’s anger, even when he had been achieving the kind of near miracles that any other would have rewarded him for. Crabbe demanded high standards of himself, and was driven by an overwhelming ambition. He expected the same of all others that served under him, expected it even if they didn’t share that ambition.
McCready didn’t have that ambition, but he could fake it. And he had for a long time. When the baron became old and lost his grip on his ville, then he would be ready to pounce. Meantime, he would play the loyal lieutenant and say “yes sir” and “no sir” when Crabbe demanded.
For now he would keep his men with their blasters trained on the outlanders. It was a no-brainer that the old man would want them chilled at the end of the mission. He didn’t give a shit about the disk the old man kept going on about. If he got it from the two missions that were left, then he would be difficult. If he didn’t, the disappointment would drag him down to such a level that maybe—just maybe—the time would be here sooner than he could have hoped.
He looked at his men, and then at the three outlanders as they sat at his feet. As it should be, he figured. Jock and J.T. were sitting quietly. The old bastard had a smug look about him, and it was bugging McCready. He wanted to shake down the old geezer before the one-eyed fucker and Snowy came back. They were the worst ones. Mean streak in the pair of them, and they looked like they could handle themselves more than the others. Millicent was a tough bitch, but at the end of the day that’s all she was. She was looking around, sizing things up, and trying to look for some kind of opening. He’d trust her as far as he could throw her. No, not even that far. It was like she was trying to communicate with Kirsty. Not that the mutie bitch wanted to look up. Running scared or holding secrets. Weird. He was sure there was something going on. Come to that, he was less than happy when he looked at J.T. Under the lighting, the way he was sitting, the light was reflecting off his glasses and shielding his eyes. It was impossible to read him. McCready didn’t like that.
Maybe he should do something before the one-eyed freak and his bastard dwarf sidekick came back.
J.B. WAS OBSERVING the sec chief, knowing that the way he had tilted his head would make it impossible for the man to know that he was being watched. He figured that the sec chief was getting jumpy. Whatever might go down, the squat man was liable to be a loose cannon, a danger to the baron as much as to J.B. and his companions—and that made him a liability that would need dealing with as soon as possible.
Both Mildred and Doc harbored their own thoughts, kept their secret clutched tight to them as there was no way that they could share it with Krysty and J.B., much as they wanted. There was a moment when they would have to act. Without this action, they were doomed. If not from Crabbe, then from his sec man. But how to judge that moment?
The air was tight with the tension between them, so tight that it was almost impossible to breathe.
The question was, would it crack before Ryan and Jak returned?
Chapter Fifteen
For a moment they got a glimpse of what lay within the redoubt. It was, as they had hoped, a fully stocked and untouched armory. More than that, the quality and range of the weaponry showed that this was more than just an ancillary base. The racks of rifles and SMGs, the open cabinets of handblasters and the crates of grens and ammo—this was only to be expected. But there were strange-looking blasters, as well, that were of an odd design and a strange white metal. The barrels ended in molded shapes that would allow for no conventional ammo. They looked like the kind of pulse and laser rifles that Jak and Ryan had seen before, and which they thought were a rare commodity. There were also strange weapons that were like flame-throwers but were of a different hue. They had base packs like flame throwers, but the nozzled handsets ended in dishes with protruding antennas.
It was a treasure trove, the likes of which would have astounded J.B.
But there was no chance for them to really take it in. Even less of a chance for them to select anything that they could take back and use against the baron and his hateful henchmen.
For their vision was suddenly restricted by the way in which the lighting around them cut out for a second, to be replaced a strobing red light that was accompanied by a Klaxon that sounded at a deafening volume. Even as it started, a Plexiglas screen descended from the ceiling, sealing the contents of the armory forever beyond their grasp.
Ryan looked up and around. The hair on the back of his neck began to prickle. There was more to this than just an alarm.
Jak grabbed his arm and tugged. The sirens were so loud that it would have been pointless to waste words on speech. Ryan had instinctively stepped back from the Plexiglas screen as it had fallen, and now he looked around in the direction that Jak’s movement indicated. It was hard to make out anything in the strobing light: a dark, crimson slash of red followed by a blinking of the blackest night that gave his eye no chance to adjust to the contrast and the bleeding of the spectrum.
As such, it took a fraction of a second before he understood what it was that the albino teen was trying to bring to his attention. And when he did comprehend, he knew that the fraction of a second was something that he could no longer allow himself. There would be no time if this was the shape of what was coming their way.
Knowing that, like Jak, it would was
te time and breath to try to yell above the blaring siren, Ryan simply turned and began to run, beckoning to his companion that he should follow. In truth, Jak needed no second bidding as he took one look at the bizarre mechanical creatures that were fast approaching through the alternating red and black, the strobe effect rendering their progress strangely jerky and unreal. He had never seen anything like them before, and he was damn sure that, like Ryan, he had no desire to stick around to see what they were like up close. His every instinct was screaming at him that these were stone-cold chillers, whatever they were.
If Krysty had been with them, she could have told him that they were likely to be the automated remnants of soldiers who had once served at the base. During her brief and bizarre encounter with the man who called himself the Thunder Rider she had seen such machines. The last insane descendant of a megarich and powerful predark family, he had lived among the remains of his ancestors’ wealth and privilege, including military tech that had taken the family servants and housed their brains in machines that would never wear out or buy the farm. Perhaps such bizarre experiments were what had happened to some of the soldiers stationed in the redoubt.
Right then, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that these bizarre creatures, remnants of a time long since past, had been drawn out of the shadows and into life by the intrusion of Jak and Ryan. And for whatever reason they had been released from a point between the armory and the level that housed the mat-trans unit, in effect cutting off the duo from their effective escape route.
Looking back over his shoulder as he ran, Ryan could see that the machines were gaining on them. It was like a nightmare—you kept running, you looked back and saw them at your rear, and then for a moment the world went black. Then, when the light returned, poor as it was, you could see that they had gotten closer, as though leaping in time as well as space. The strobing actually made it impossible to judge just how close they were, or how fast their progress was. All Ryan could see was that these inhuman monsters, already seeming to move in an even more alien manner because of the disorienting light, were gaining on them far too quickly for his liking.
