by James Axler
"But-"
"Never say that word!"
"It's what we're going to do," Ryan continued, with as much conviction as he could muster. "With or without your help."
Shaking his head, Shard placed both hands over his ears.
"If you want to come along, then talk to us. Describe the outside."
"Better yet," J.B. said, "we'll tell you. There's a big courtyard in front, and the whole place is surrounded by high stone walls, topped with spikes."
"To keep the muties out," Dean continued.
"And everybody else in," Mildred added.
"Beyond which is..." Krysty prompted.
"Farms," Shard said, looking about nervously.
He scratched his beard and spoke fast. "And our town. After that, it's rad pits and muties. Forever and ever, all the way to the boiling sea."
"The town is called what, Detail?" Ryan guessed.
Shard stared. "How'd you know?"
"By Gadfrey, this is a prison," Doc said, understanding at last. "Or perhaps a federal penitentiary. Fascinating. I had never before considered the fact that a prison, designed to keep people in, was by necessity well designed to also keep people out.
High stone walls lined with guard towers, one single massive armored door, facilities for hundreds, maybe thousands of prisoners, hospital, library, machine shops, kitchens, morgue. Yes, a prison makes a natural fort."
Mildred frowned. "After skydark, the warden proclaimed himself ruler and used the prisoners as slave labor to make the place self-sufficient."
"And the town is called Detail," Dean said slowly, as if working out the problem as he spoke. "Like in a work detail."
"No help there," J.B. groused. "Not out of a whole city bred from folks who keep their heads low and always obey orders."
"Sheep," Jak snorted.
"The carrot," Ryan corrected, "to the stick of the twisters."
Shard shrugged and said nothing.
Unexpectedly, brilliant lights crashed upon them from the ceiling.
"Electric lights!" Doc gasped.
"Wait," Mildred said, tilting her head. The last in line, she leaned toward the closed door. "I hear footsteps, a lot of them coming our way."
"Stay loose, people," Ryan ordered. "Krysty, sense them out and give me clues to follow. I'll do the talking."
"Oh, now, don't you folks worry none," Shard stated with a broken smile. "They're not coming to lesson you none. Not on your first day."
"So we're okay?" Dean asked, furrowing his brow.
Shard's smile faded. "No, lad. You're not, and be sure about it. But nothing will happen to you today is all. Nothing to your body, that is. But we're in for a show."
"What kind of a show?" Ryan asked.
"Like nothing this side of hell," Shard stated, retreating into his cell. "And you gotta watch, or else they'll make ya."
"Make us how?" Mildred asked. "Whip us?"
"Don't ask. You don't want to know." The marching became audible, then stopped. The stout door was loudly unlocked, and a group of people entered the room. One man was naked except for an array of chains. He could barely shuffle under the tremendous load. Surrounding the prisoner were a dozen men in flowing white robes, and one obscenely fat bald man wearing only a loincloth and biker boots. A pack of dogs milled about him, barking and snarling at the prisoner, but never leaving their master's side. The chained man was dragged to the center of the room and hauled into the air above the drain.
"Baldy is a eunuch," Mildred muttered, contorting her features.
"That bad?" Dean asked.
"Torquemada specialized in using them," Doc said, gritting his teeth. "Mostly because they have a special perverse pleasure in torturing normal men."
His hairless head shining under the bright lights, the eunuch waddled over to Ryan and smiled. "Welcome to Novaville. I am Eugene. This is your first lesson in obedience," he said in a girlish voice. "Watch everything that happens, but don't look away. Vomit, if you wish, scream whenever you like, but you will and must watch. It has been ordered so." The fat man drew a small curved blade from inside his clothing. "If necessary, I'll remove your eyelids. But all must watch."
"No problem," Ryan said, forcing a smile.
"Mebbe we like to see a good show."
The eunuch seemed taken aback. He stared openly at the one-eye warrior, worked his mouth a few times, then waddled away, casting suspicious glances at Ryan over his pudgy shoulder.
"Students," Eugene said, spreading his fat arms dramatically wide, as an assistant opened a box of surgical instruments. "Pay close attention and watch what I do, and why."
The slavering dogs were chained before the terrifled prisoner as portable braziers full of hot coals were fanned to flaming life.
"I'm only a thief," the captive cried. "I already gave back the food! There's nothing more I can tell you!"
Eugene smiled as a white-hot iron was pressed to the prisoner's side, and he piteously screamed.
Forcing himself not to turn away, Ryan knew the captive wouldn't be feeling that pain yet. The pain was so intense with burning like that, a person's nerves simply shut down for a while, unable to handle the overload. But when the flesh cooled, then agony would come. However, Ryan doubted the prisoner would still be alive then. And if he was, the minor pain of a branding wouldn't be noticed.
"Nothing can save you, thief." Eugene smirked, pulling shiny steel pliers into view and snapping them in the air. "Because we don't want you. You don't have anything we need. You're merely an object here, a thing for the students to practice on. A demonstration to show the valuable inmates what will happen to them if they decide not to talk."
Laboring for breath, the prisoner somehow managed to spit at his obese tormentor.
The eunuch laughed shrilly and wiped his face clean with a forearm. "Excellent, you still resist." He leaned in close. "I might just enjoy this. They usually die so fast I haven't the time for a little fun...'
Krysty glanced at Ryan and softly rattled her chains. Ryan sadly shook his head. He knew she could summon more than enough strength to break free of even these iron bounds, but afterward she'd pass out from the effort. This wasn't the time or the place for them to risk fighting to escape. The poor bastard was on his own.
"Let us begin," the fat man whispered, kissing a scalpel. The crowd of students closed around the hanging man and the screaming started in earnest.
THE BLOATED INSECT Sat just below her eye, its body pulsating slightly as it sucked the blood out from underneath her skin. Judging the swelling and discoloring were reduced sufficiently, Amanda ever so gently plucked the leech from her cheek and dropped it to the floor. Sated with blood from the bruise, the bulging bug scuttled away for the molding. Standing, she deliberately crushed the insect, her left shoe leaving a red print for a few steps as she crossed the room to embrace her brother.
"You did well, my sister," whispered the deputy ward hoarsely, running a hand softly along the golden waves of her hair. Richard gathered a fistful and inhaled the perfume. "Oh yes, very well indeed. The Beast and the Sons, both gone." The man couldn't take his sight off her. In a white dress and with flowers in her hair, she seemed an angel.
"From heaven," Richard said aloud.
"There are no more obstacles. The Wheel is ours to loot, beloved," she said, her bruised cheeks dimpling. He held out his arms, and they kissed, bodies pressed tightly together, loins aching for what couldn't be.
"Was it terrible?" he asked. "Did they assault you? Beat you, strip you naked and use you as a common gaudy girl?"
"Yes. Oh, yes. The Sons of the Knife did. Four of them at the same time."
The deputy ward moaned. "How I wish I could have seen."
"You will, dear brother, you will," Amanda promised deep in her throat.
"And the prisoners downstairs in the school?"
Unexpectedly, Amanda broke away from him.
"No," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "They did not."
&nb
sp; "Impossible!"
"Fact. I practically threw myself into the arms of their leader, and then his young son."
"Perhaps they can't," Richard started, hitching the leather belt about his trim waist. He was adorned in delicately embroidered livery, a red velvet cape with a topaz silk shirt and mauve satin pants. But two big autoloading blasters rode their accustomed places at his hips, the checkered grips worn from use. "Some men from the Deathlands are no longer able to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh."
"Then again, father and son, perhaps they..." He left the possibility open.
She shook her head. "I don't think so."
"The more fools they, then," he growled, stepping in close.
Demurely, she placed both hands against his chest, holding the man at bay. "No, sweet brother. We can't, must not. It's immoral. Illegal!"
"Yes," he said, his hands traveling freely over her form, the white cloth tearing in spots. "We must not. Forbidden."
Amanda grabbed a fistful of hair at his temple and pulled him away. He stared at her like an animal, his face flushed red. "Not until Father is dead, and you are leader," she brutally reminded him. "The maker of laws. Not until then!"
Reluctantly, the deputy ward released his sister and took a step away from her. "Yes, agreed. Of course. Now if you will excuse me..." Turning on a heel, he left the room, his shoulders hunched as if carrying an invisible load.
Amanda watched him go, amused at how childish men were. Give them a treat, then a slap, and they danced like puppets. Once the fool was baron, soon she would become his wife, then the sole, widowed, ruler of Novaville.
"Captain of the guard!" she called out, crossing the bedroom to a predark nightstand and mirror. The sheet of glass was nearly intact, only the tiniest chip in a corner marring its silvered perfection. Even her best servants hadn't been able to patch glass, and many had died trying.
"Captain!" Amanda repeated, taking a seat.
An elderly man bustled into view from behind the curtains of a doorway. "Yes, my lady?" he said, groveling dutifully. "How can I serve you this morning?"
She said nothing for a minute, studying herself in the mirror, letting the man sweat out her displeasure.
But Amanda had no plans to debase the elderly fool today. There were more important matters to attend to. "Find me a female servant of good health and my age.
"Certainly, my lady." He bowed.
"Make sure she has good teeth," Amanda said, tonguing the inside of her mouth, then grinning to display her broken smile. "And bring pliers."
Chapter Twelve
The door closed with an echoing boom. The spotlessly clean walls were now splattered with gore, and a ragged thing of mostly bones hung from the ropes above the clogged grating. In the, corner, the water hose was still neatly coiled, completely unused.
"God almighty, that was a bad one," Shard said from his cell, a tremor breaking his voice. He leaned his forehead against the bars and closed his eyes at last. "They must really want you folks."
"They have our vehicle," Ryan told him, his stomach an aching empty void, the sour taste of bile in his mouth. The stink in the dungeon was beyond describing. "But they don't know how to operate and maintain the equipment."
"Radar is pretty much magic in these fine days of clubs and arrows," Doc said. The elderly man leaned against the cold stone wall. "I thought I was going mad a few times, and actually wished I would slip away to another time."
"Me, too," Jak stated. The albino teen was staring at the floor. concentrating on his breathing. "Killed before. Lots times. But nothing like...that."
"It was pathological," Mildred uttered in barely controlled fury. "Madness! That eunuch is a sadist of the highest order."
Finished with a prayer for the dead, Krysty asked, "When will they be returning? For us."
"Tomorrow. We sleep with the mess tonight," Shard said, slumping to the hard floor. "Then in the morning we gotta clean it up, and you go see the ward."
In spite of himself, Ryan admired the technique. This would soften the minds of most people. The dead man's screams and pleas for death were still ringing in his ears. But his friends had seen worse. "J.B., let's get out of here."
Slipping off a boot, J.B. wriggled out of his sock and groped about in the vomit on the floor. "Good thing barfing was allowed. I was afraid we'd have to wait till it worked its way out my other end."
"What did you swallow?" Mildred asked, perking up. "A lockpick?"
"Yep. While the bikers were attacking. I figured it couldn't hurt."
"Good thinking."
Stubby toes worked in the slime. "Dark night, it's too slippery. I can't get a grip."
Dean hawked and spit, hitting the tiny sliver of steel amid the semidigested military rations.
"Good shot," Ryan said, watching the door. "Try again."
"What's the hurry?" Shard asked, gripping the bars. "We're here for the night."
"The sooner we leave, the more distance we can get between us and this bastard pesthole."
"Got it," J.B. announced, lifting the pick into view. Groaning with the strain, he raised his leg inch by inch, higher and higher. "Can't hold on much longer- Shit!"
The lockpick tumbled from his grasp, spinning for the floor. It bounced once and Krysty kicked it gently with her cowboy boot. The steel probe lofted high and landed flat in Jak's outstretched palm. He wiped it dry on his shirt and tossed it to J.B. The Armorer made the catch easily and started on his manacles. A second later, there was a click and the cuff fell off. Less than a minute later, the other companions were freed.
Removing the cuffs from the end of his chain, Ryan slid the links through the retaining bolt, then wrapped the length around his fist, leaving a good foot dangling loose. Jak and Krysty followed the example. It was a crude bludgeon, but better than nothing.
Dean stumbled to the water hose, refraining from glancing at the hanging corpse, and washed off the vomit with lukewarm water. Doc joined him in the ablutions, then drank deeply in greedy drafts.
Keeping near the walls to avoid the puddles.
Krysty and J.B. hurried to the door. Listening intently, he undid the lock when she gave the okay.
"Hey," Shard whispered, hope brightening his features. "What about me?"
J.B. checked with Ryan. He nodded, and the Armorer started over to unlock the cell door. "The more the better."
Shuffling into the dungeon, Shard stood upright
Even in his bare feet, he towered over the tall Doc Tanner.
"Know the way to the armory?" Ryan asked, holding the loose end of the chain to keep it from jangling.
"Armory?"
"Where they keep the blasters."
"Oh, the hack room. But you can't get in. There are always guards."
"How many, and how are they armed?" Ryan asked. "Any backup? Vid cams? Booby traps?"
"Tell us everything," Krysty urged.
THE DOOR SWUNG aside on oiled hinges. Stepping into the hallway, the friends saw that torches on the walls illuminated a hallway. A barred window was deeply set into a thick wall to their left, and a long curving corridor stretched to the right.
"It's night," Krysty said, looking out the window. "Stars are out. Close to midnight, I'd say."
"Good," Mildred said, scowling. "Maybe most of them will be asleep."
"Guards work in shifts," J.B. reminded her. "There's always somebody on duty."
"Too bad for him," Jak said, swinging his heavy chain once around in a deadly circle. It smacked into his palm with a dull thud.
"Why are we in a tower," Ryan asked, "and not underground?"
"Why no guards?" J.B. asked suspiciously. Jak snorted. "Same reason. Smell." Doc inhaled and gagged. "By the Three Kennedys, this place stinks worse than an abattoir. No wonder nobody wants sentry duty."
"Odors rise. Stink up the whole place."
"No need anyway," Shard said. "Nobody has ever...you know, before."
"Escaped," Ryan said sternly. "The word is escaped.
Get used to it"
A plush red carpet ran down the center of the hallway and around the curve out of sight.
Walking carefully between the wall and the carpet, Krysty kept fidgeting. "There's a bad feel to this place," she whispered.
"Many have gone to school," Shard said, shuffling along In his bare feet.
"Stone may be dead, but it holds the screams of the dying."
"Not feasible," Doc retorted.
"Foolishness," Mildred stated.
"Yes," Krysty said, her hair moving in concert with her consternation. "You're correct Gaia is here only because of us. This is an unholy place."
Ryan kept his own counsel on the matter, paying close attention to the possibility of spyholes, or other hidden guards. The rug ended at the top of three flights of stairs, leading down to a large foyer.
"Don't touch the banister," Shard directed.
"Why?" Ryan demanded, a hand hovering above the wood railing.
"Never seen any of the sec men or the heirs do it," he replied. "And they don't let servants. So mebbe it's old and will fall over."
"Or booby-trapped," J.B. said.
Slowly, they proceeded down. The staircase led into the main hail, a cavernous room with vaulted ceilings. Muttering voices, garbled by distance, sounded somewhere. Feeling incredibly vulnerable, the companions stood in the hail, ready to flee or fight. That decision had been made in the aerial dungeon. They would fight to the death before letting the fat man get hold of them.
"Well?" Ryan demanded, looking at Shard.
"We go right toward the branching corridor." He lowered his voice. "No talking. We'll be near the barracks room."
Ryan frowned and took the point position. Krysty was backup. Jak at the rear position.
As they entered the hall proper, the torches were replaced by electric lights In chandeliers. A roaring fireplace threw out waves of heat. A sleeping dog lay prone on a bearskin rug before the crackling flames, its hind legs moving as it chased imaginary quarry. Ryan moved quickly and swung his chain once to build speed, then struck. The dog jerked at the impact, then went totally still. Mildred and Doc rolled the dog in the rug and shoved it against the wall behind a chair.
