by James Axler
"Besides," Lisa said, "how could the heirs find something that doesn't exist?"
Ryan almost smiled. "Official denial. The slaves can have no hope, if they don't even know there is an underground."
"Even saying the word escape is punishable by death," Krysty added.
"Exactly."
"Give me the bottom line," Ryan growled, laying the Steyr on the table between them. Talk nice, but look menacing. It was the second rule of cutting a deal. Another valuable lesson from the Trader.
"You want to leave," Lisa said, ignoring the presence of the Iongblaster. "We want to be free. Help us, and we help you."
"We're armed again," J.B. said bluntly, tapping his Uzi. "What's to stop us from leaving this pit?"
Troy snorted in sour amusement "Nobody can leave Novaville. Once past the walls, there's only one way out of the compound, and the heirs have been lining it with traps for lifetimes as protection against the Beast, should it decide to come here."
"That's why the coldhearts set an ambush for travelers on the road," Ryan said, comprehension flaring. "You're too well protected. I had wondered about that"
"Many times the Sons have tried raids," David said succinctly. "And they always fail."
"You'll never reach the flatlands alive without the machine," Lisa stated forcibly. "That is a fact. Solid as the stone around us. And we have it. Not the heirs, or the sec men, but us."
"You do? Where?" Doc asked innocently. Sometimes, even the wise let slip important things if you asked casually enough.
She stared at him. "I'm small, but not a child."
"My apologies, madam."
Ryan waved the trifle aside. "We kill the heirs and the ward, and you give us back Leviathan, is that it?" he asked her.
"Just the heirs. They control the sleep gas."
"Should be easy enough to avoid the canisters," Krysty said, her hair tensing in unease.
"They can release it anywhere, at will," Clifford said bitterly. "From the walls, the floors.. .and nothing stops it. Predark gas masks, wet cloth, spices, drugs, nothing."
"It's the only real hold they have on us," David stated, hunching his shoulders. "Men with blasters we can fight with pavement stones, drown them in our blood if necessary."
"But any act of rebellion, even to disobey a direct command from the heirs, and you awake in the tower." Kathy hugged herself and shivered. "At dawn, whatever remains is nailed to a cross in the courtyard for all to see."
"Then how did you get us away from them?"
J.B. asked.
Lisa reached in a pocket and withdrew a small glass vial partially filled with a swirling milky fluid. "The heirs drink this and walk through the gas unaffected. My father stole some, and we have been saving it for the proper time. For the right people. You."
"We aren't mercies," Krysty said. "We fight only when we have to."
"As do we all."
"Or when the odds are right," J.B. countered. "And six against hundreds is a poor gamble."
"Dozens against hundreds," David corrected. "We can fight. Will fight. Have fought." He patted his empty holster. "We have blasters, put together from the pieces of broken weapons gathered over the years. We have ammo, knives, explosives! But we need people trained in combat to direct our army.
"An army of whipped slaves, not warriors."
"An army of men," Tray said grimly.
"Think of it as an investment," Kathy said. "Novaville can be your new home. You can stay here, or travel and use it as a haven to come back to in lean days. Blasters, fuel, ammo will be yours for the rest of our lives."
"That much at least we can guarantee," Lisa said. "The ward can't match that. In words, yes, but not in deeds."
Settling back into his chair, Ryan seriously considered the proposition. He knew everybody was watching him and kept his face strictly neutral, but to himself Ryan admitted that he didn't like the whole deal. Only a fool willingly undertook a desperate battle.
However, he had spent a lifetime in the Death-lands with the Trader bartering for supplies. cutting deals with looters, and making treaties with warring farmers. Ryan had once faced down armed cold-hearts with an empty blaster, and killed the man who tried the same on him. Many were the jackals who thrived, not by force of arms, but with lies and deceit. Ryan knew by the fact that he was still alive, that while he might not always be able to detect a lie, he was positive he would know when somebody was telling him the plain unvarnished truth. The companions couldn't leave without Leviathan, and they would never get it except by assisting to overthrow the rulers of the ville. That gave him only one option. Like it or not.
"Done." Ryan held out a hand, Lisa took it and they shook. Her grip was firm, but slightly damp with sweat. It wasn't hot in the cave. Nervous sweat? Suddenly, he had the vague feeling there was something important she wasn't telling him, something she was holding in reserve. He would have his people ready for treachery. More so than usual.
"Liberty, equality, fraternity," Doc said.
"Now we're going to need some information," Ryan stated, resting both hands on the table. "Maps of the yule showing every known attack point with the gas, and everywhere you have dug tunnels. We need to know how many sec men we're facing, what weapons they have and what kind you have."
The others murmured among themselves.
"This is a lot," Lisa demurred. "If this information falls into the hands of the heirs, we'll be destroyed."
"You ask a lot," Krysty reminded. "We aren't fools, or suicides to charge blindly into battle."
"And leave me the vial," Mildred said.
"No. You'll get it just before your attack," Lisa countered.
"I'm a physician, a healer," Mildred explained to their puzzled expressions. "I might be able to analyze the formula and duplicate it. Make enough for everybody."
Conflicting emotions played across the brunette's face.
"No," she decided. "The risk for betrayal is too great. You get the antidote when we say so, not before."
Mildred shrugged in acceptance.
"The ville sec men have blasters," Krysty said, holstering her weapon. "Without Leviathan, we re going to need an equalizer. Something unexpected. Can't conduct a revolution with sticks and rocks."
"Sure can," Jak drawled, pulling up a chair. "Lose."
"Our loquacious teenaged friend is correct," Doc said, leaning on his cane. "Without proper weaponry our efforts are for naught."
"We need a key," Ryan said thoughtfully. "J.B., what can you do with this dynamite?"
The Armorer inspected the top stick in the wooden box. The waxed tube was glistening with silver dewdrops. He replaced it with extreme care. "This is really old. It's sweaty nitro. Dangerous stuff. I can probably stabilize it into plastique. Should yield a couple of pounds of C-4."
"Not enough," Ryan stated, cracking his knuckles. "Any more in stock?"
"That's all we have," Lisa said. "And two men died stealing that much."
"Well, I can make lots of black powder," J.B. told them, scratching under his hat, "if you folks can get me some sulfur. The charcoal we can make from slow-roasting wood, and saltpeter we dig up out of latrines."
"I know the technique for turning black powder into gunpowder," Mildred said. "It isn't plastique, but it explodes better than black powder."
"Couple of hundredweight of that and we're in business," Ryan announced.
"Nails for shrapnel," Jak said.
"Explosives from night soil?" Lisa asked, staring at the companions as if she questioned their sanity.
"Close enough. Crystals form under deposits of waste. The older the better. The crystals are saltpeter, one of the chemicals needed to make black powder."
This news was received with excitement.
"Unfortunately, we have no latrines," Clifford said glumly. "The night soil of the ville is flushed into the river."
J.B. exhaled and tilted his hat backward. "Great. Well, what about silver? Coins, cups, anything will do."
&n
bsp; "We can get some, yes," Lisa said. "But for what purpose? Any supplies needed we don't buy, we steal."
"Then steal me silver," J.B. ordered. "And white sugar. Lots of it. All you can."
"There is beet sugar," Kathy said hesitantly. "But it's reserved for the heirs, and it's much more closely guarded than ornamental metals."
"Get me enough, and I can make us explosives."
"From silver and sugar?" Troy demanded.
"And water and sunlight and old rags, yes." J.B. tapped the wooden box of dynamite with a fingertip. "I'll use these as primers and centers. Should do the job just fine."
David frowned. "Use them to do what?"
"Get us more plastique," Ryan told them. "Plus, grens, ammo and anything else useful we can find."
"Never waste time trying to reinvent the wheel," Doc explained. "Why make crude weapons, when we can steal good ones?"
"Steal." Lisa chewed on the word. "You plan on raiding the ville armory?" Her words ended on a high note.
"Sure. Last thing anybody would expect."
"You aren't cowards," Troy admitted in spite of his reservations. "Invade the Citadel. I don't believe that has ever been attempted."
"Good," Ryan said. "Then security will be lax."
"Excuse me," Dean interrupted, stepping forward, "but I wanted to ask, what happened to Shard?"
"Who?" Lisa asked, furrowing her brows.
Krysty glanced around the tunnel room. "Shard, the prisoner who was with us. Where is he?"
"Shard?"
"Tall skinny guy," J.B. said. "Bushy beard."
The slim brunette looked at her associates, then directly at the companions. "I'm sorry, but we don't understand. There wasn't anybody clse in the courtyard when we found you."
"Are you sure?" Ryan prompted with a scowl.
"Mebbe he got away, or the guards captured him." She shook her head. "Nobody."
Chapter Fifteen
Washlines heavy with laundry wove a crazed netting over the filthy street. Marching in formation, a squad of sec men tramped through the squalid huts, pushing aside everybody in their way with a complete lack of concern. An old woman fell sprawling into the mud and half-naked children ran screaming for their mothers' skirts. Strong men stood silent as the armed guards went by, many of them hiding a clenched fist behind their backs.
"This is it," a corporal said, pointing at a hovel.
The house was made from bits and pieces of plywood and sheet metal, the tar paper roof sealed with mud. The whole thing was bleached gray from exposure to the acid rains from the west.
One savage kick from a private and the door broke apart into kindling, pieces of wood still clinging to the rusty hinges.
Inside, a girl was using a bare stick to stir a pot of something cooking over a small fire of coal fragments. As the sec men entered, she dropped the stick and folded her hands, bowing as low as possible.
"Good sirs," she spoke to the ground, not daring to look directly at them, "command me."
"Where are the strangers!" the corporal demanded, wrenching her face upward. "We know they're loose in Detail. Tell us where." Underneath the layers of cooking grease and dirt, he saw she was a beauty indeed, and wondered why this one had never before been brought to the barracks for a week of bed duty. Sloppy recruiting.
"Strangers, good master?" She blinked, wringing her hands.
"Outlanders, pretty one," he stated, tracing her face with a finger. Her cheek muscles twitched, but she didn't flinch. "Mutie invaders come to kill us all."
"I haven't seen them, master. I'm a good prisoner!" the teenager pleaded. "I obey the law."
The corporal released her and moved aside. Stepping closer, a burly sec man slapped her across the face with the back of his gloved hand. She hit the dirt floor, sobbing wildly.
"Liar," the corporal said, a hint of a smile crossing his face. "Where could you get coal pieces, unless they were stolen?"
The young woman worked her lips a few times, but nothing come out. Everybody stole coal pieces; it was the only way to stay alive. Didn't they understand?
"Perhaps you gave yourself to the miners for scraps," the corporal taunted. "Crime. And now you lie. Another crime."
He smiled openly at her now, his blue eyes shining. "Mebbe a day with Eugene will change your, words."
She grabbed his leg. "No! Please! I have no knowledge of strangers! I obey the law!"
The corporal snapped his fingers, and a sec man moved behind her drew a knife and slid it across her throat. Blood welled and the teenager fell backward, clutching her neck, bubbling crimson.
"Assaulting a freeman," the corporal said, wiping a spot of her warm blood off his boots onto her skirt. "Crime."
Going outside, the sec men found the marketplace empty except for a few stragglers, mostly cripples and young children. But as the corporal glanced at the crude homes he saw motion behind closed curtains and in doorways.
"The girl is dead!" be announced loudly. "As will be all traitors who help the invaders! Assassins come to slay our beloved ward!"
"Praised be his name!" the squad chorused.
"Then may the lord of us all guide their blasters," muttered an old man, leaning on a crutch. From under his ragged garment only one leg reached the ground.
In a fluid move, the sec man pulled his blaster and fired. The villagers watched in horror as the cripple fell to the muddy street, his rags shifting to show the countless scars on his skeleton-thin body.
"You will tell us their location!" the corporal screamed, brandishing his revolver. "Lying is a crime! Crimes are punishable by death!"
Silence greeted this announcement.
"The Deathlands scum aren't your friends!" the corporal screamed. "We are your friends! Tell us where they are, I command it!"
Nobody spoke or moved.
"Failure to obey a freeman, crime!" he bellowed and gunned down two more people at random. "Squad, tear this street apart! Find me the invaders, or find me somebody who will talk!"
Eagerly, the squad began shoving people aside, entering homes and smashing furniture. Unarmed, the people didn't attempt to defend themselves, but merely bowed their heads and prayed for deliverance from the living hell of Novaville.
"HERE THEY ARE," Lisa said, hurrying into the tunnel, her arms full of paper bundles. Troy entered with her but stayed near the disguised entrance, a hand resting casually on his holstered blaster.
Placing aside their plates of food, mostly bread and boiled vegetables, the companions gathered around a table as the brunette spread out a map of the mountain valley.
"This is a survey map," Ryan said, placing a wooden mug on a corner to hold the paper flat.
Doc rubbed the paper between fingertips. "Excellent condition. Where did you find it?"
"There is a cave of bad air," Lisa said, "sealed off with a wall of brick. But there's a door, edged with tar, and anything in that cave Doesn't age or rot."
"Methane," Jak guessed. "From the mine."
Mildred nodded. "No free oxygen. Paper would last for centuries in there. However, food stored in the gas would taste awful. Eventually become poisonous."
Lisa didn't reply, but her face was bright with awe at their great knowledge.
"Is the cave a library," Dean asked, "open to anybody?"
She shook her head. "None may enter but freemen. For a slave to do so is punishable by death.
All crimes are."
"Like feudal Japan," Doc muttered. "Serfs and samurai.
Ryan carefully smoothed out some wrinkles in the rolled paper. The prison appeared to be a large rectangular structure, with high walls and lots of turrets. There was only one gate offering entrance, just north of a four-story building.
"That's where we got gassed," J.B. stated.
"Near the crosses."
"And the gallows," Dean added. "What's that building, the palace?"
"The Citadel," Lisa said, scowling. "I don't know the word palace, but it's where the ward and his spawn liv
e."
Krysty used a cartridge to measure the size of the land around the prison. "Four, no six hundred acres. Damn, that's big."
"Must need that much land to support a hundred," Doc said, thoughtfully rubbing the lion head on his cane. "If the acid rain ever stopped, they could feed thousands off a farm of this size. Maybe more."
"And if the rain came constantly," Ryan countered, shifting his patch to a more comfortable position, "as it does in parts of the Deathlands, then they couldn't feed a rat."
"What's this?" Krysty asked, tracing a ring of tightly clustered squares encircling the huge farms. "A wall of some kind?"
"That's a wall," Ryan said, tapping a finger on a thick black line past the band of squares. "I'd bet these are rows of small huts, homes for the farmers and miners."
"Pigsties," Lisa snapped. "A reward for those who have worked hard enough to live in the sunshine."
"And act as cannon fodder against invaders coming over the outer wall," Ryan growled. "All villes have perimeters, but this is the first that uses its own people as part of it."
"I like your ward less and less," Mildred commented, making a face as if she had bitten into a lemon.
"We don't like him at all," Troy stated from the door.
"And nobody ever goes outside that last wall?" J.B. asked, fanning himself with his fedora. "Except the heirs, and mebbe raiding parties?"
"Not so," Lisa countered. "Some of the oldsters are allowed to hunt with bows in the forest outside Detail. The mountains mostly protect us from the acid rains, and many animals such as deer and bear have returned as in the predark days, although some are not right and can't be eaten."
Ryan took the not right remark to mean muties.
Lost in the rad-blasted desert. he had once been so starved he ate a rattlesnake that had lain dead in the sun for days. But he'd never been hungry enough to risk eating anything mutie. The very thought made his stomach roil. "These hunters, their families stay inside as hostages."
"Any hunter ever leave- in spite of that?"
She rubbed her face. "Once, very long ago. There's a painting on the inner wall showing what the ward at the time did to the runaway's family. None has tried again."
Krysty poured the woman a drink of well water, and she gulped it.
