by Oliver Higgs
The guard isn’t alone in his bizarre fashion. As it turns out, at least half the town’s residents are “Plastic People.” They’ve utilized different skin-tones and materials, given themselves shapely bodies, even dressed in human clothing. Some have stitched real hair into their scalps. Many wave and smile at us–which only makes it worse, because their faces don’t have the proper muscles to convey the nuances of human expression. Their smiles end up looking slightly psychotic. It’s like walking through a town full of demonic human imitators.
“Why?” Echo whispers, staring around in horror as the four of us enter a bustling marketplace.
“They want to be human,” Jarvis says, shrugging. “Weird, isn’t it?”
“Pathetic,” Starbucks says. Aside from an occasional frown, he refuses to acknowledge any of the passing robots. Jarvis looks through the stalls in the marketplace for various trading posts. We stop as he pulls arcane goods from the wagon and hurries off to various merchants.
“They’re Minkowski-4’s,” Starbucks says, seeing that we’re still watching the Plastic People.
“I’ve heard of those,” I say.
“Then you know it’s a substandard neural embryo. Makes good service-oriented minds, but the individuals end up a bit slow and … lacking. There was a group around here some years back that used to hunt robots. They’re gone now, but back then the M-4’s couldn’t handle it. This was how they adapted. Being a robot wasn’t good enough anymore. To serve their creators, they had to become their creators. Not that you created us anymore than evolution created you. Ask me, all you people did was imitate your own biology and screw around until something good popped up. But that’s how the M-4’s view your people: as creators. Now this nonsense is a mark of pride for them. They even hold pageants to see who can be the most human. It’s absurd, not to mention degrading. Have you no shame?”
This last question is directed at a passing Plastic Person, whose smile is stricken from his face as he shrinks from Starbuck’s angry glare. Starbucks towers over everyone in the marketplace. I’m tempted to make some kind of joke about him dressing up like me or Echo, but I’ve seen how easily he decapitates things.
Deeper into the crowd: the flash of a blue jacket with red and white shoulder pads. A white star inside a circle is emblazoned upon the back. All levity of thought dries up in my head. I grip Echo’s forearm by reflex.
“Cove,” I say.
She pales at the sight of man. There’s no way of knowing if this particular soldier was one of those who helped burn Farmington, but the sight of him fills me with blunt, unmanageable hatred. I should put a bolt right through that star.
“Over there,” Echo says, nodding in another direction. Other soldiers are scattered throughout the marketplace. There’s even one on horseback passing at the edge of the crowd.
Jarvis comes back with a purse full of coins, but his smile fades when he sees our faces.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Men like that burned our village,” Echo says, nodding toward the nearest soldier.
Jarvis looks confused.
“From Cove? But–they’re good,” he says.
Echo’s eyes bulge, but she swallows her anger and shakes her head.
“Good at setting fires, yeah. They did an excellent job of murdering our families,” I say, feeling a deep bitterness rise. Echo and I huddle unconsciously close together. A fierce loyalty and solidarity arises between us.
“Let’s move along,” Starbucks suggests.
We do, though the joy has been sucked out of this town. All I can do is look for more soldiers. I try to focus on something else but shifting my attention is like pushing at a brick wall. I manage to trade the toy cars and a few other scraps I picked up the horde territory, but that’s it. They use copper coins in Hapsburg, so I end up with a purse-full, which Starbucks tells me is an even deal for what I traded. It’s hard to say how much time passes before Jarvis sells a third of the booty from his wagon. He’s ready to quit by then, so he saves the rest for Apolis.
“Guy over there says a caravan is heading north in two days,” he tells us as the sky darkens to a deep navy blue.
“What guy?” Starbucks says, looking through the crowd.
“Can’t see him now. But what do you do you think?”
“We’ll see.”
“What about the river? Do any boats go upstream?” I ask–somewhat absently, because I’m imagining putting a bolt through another star.
“You don’t want to take the river,” Jarvis says.
“Why not?” Echo asks.
“Same reason we didn’t follow the z-line. Raiders watch the waters. Passenger ships are just begging for an ambush. A guarded caravan is the safest way to go. We took one here on the way south. We should probably wait for another–don’t you think, Star?”
“We’ll see,” Starbucks says again.
We find an inn for the night. It’s attached to a tavern, and Jarvis wants to treat us to a late night meal, but his kindhearted efforts to improve our moods are doomed to failure. He cracks jokes and tries to entertain Echo, but she and I are preoccupied with vengeful thoughts. We sit in a booth under the flickering orange torchlight and stare moodily about the room. I’m not used to crowds, so I’d be anxious even on a normal night … then three Coven soldiers make their entrance, striding boldly to the bar, and all hope is lost.
“Are they always here?” I ask.
“I’ve seen some around but never this many,” Starbucks says, monitoring them coolly with his glassy black eyes.
“Come on, guys. Let’s just enjoy our food,” Jarvis says with a pained expression.
“I’m not hungry,” Echo says.
“Wait. Foundry was sending an army to Cove. Why are the soldiers here?” I ask.
No one knows. I try to calculate the travel-time. Surely Foundry’s army would’ve reached the opposing city-state by now. They were only a few days behind us when we fled the Library, and from there it was maybe a week to Cove. Did the battle already take place? It must have.
“I wonder what hap–” I begin.
And then time stops.
He’s sitting across the room, looking back at me, and I’m staring at him before the rest of my mind can catch up. The shaven head. The square jaw. The cynical gray eyes laughing at the world. The same bandolier crisscrosses his chest beneath a black leather jacket. The scimitar and shotgun aren’t visible, but I’m sure he’s armed.
Cabal.
He sees me about the same time. He sprouts half a smile with something like amused disbelief, and one hand strays toward his hip, though he doesn’t draw a weapon, just sits there watching, eyes glittering with malevolence.
I’m transfixed. He can’t possibly be here, but there he sits. Neither of us can look away. Has he come for us? A cold thrill of fear spreads through me. A trap. I see our imminent end in a dozen involuntary flashes. This goddamn fear has ambushed me again.
Cabal says something to another guy at his table. Then he rises to his feet.
Things are moving too fast. I need to time think. I’ve day-dreamed about another confrontation, my vengeance has been accomplished in a score of impressive imaginary scenarios, but now there’s only panic.
Coward, I curse myself. Conan would leap from the table and cut him in half. Pathetic. Loser. My mind labels itself.
I can do this.
“Ow! Tristan, what …” Echo says.
I’m gripping her leg, squeezing it.
“He’s here,” I whisper through a dry throat.
But there’s no time to explain. He’s already crossing the tavern, walking our way. His eyes flick sideways at the Coven soldiers as he passes. He watches them warily.
“Well, well, well,” he says quietly, standing in front of our booth.
Echo’s breath catches. Her muscles go tense, her fingers digging like talons into the flesh of my arm. Cabal leans over, planting both hands on the table. He
relishes the moment, though I sense the fury and pain just beneath the surface. He’s a cyclone in a cloth sack, and the string is loosely tied.
“Always nice to see old friends,” he says.
Jarvis and Starbucks are looking back and forth with concern.
“Mind if I sit down?” Cabal asks, pulling over a chair from another table.
I force my grip on Echo’s leg to relax. I try to breathe normally. I have to be ready with the crossbow. Yet my hands feel wooden. I’m afraid I’ll screw up the attempt. Maybe I should use the axe instead? It’ll be awkward to pull free from this position. I’m undecided.
“What do you want?” Echo asks.
He spreads his hands. On his face is mock bafflement, pretend hurt.
“Can’t I say hi to familiar faces?” he asks. “So few around these days. And look at you two. Cute as a button. Good to see you both together. I have to say, I didn’t think you had it in you, Tristan. Last I remember, you were cuffed to a wall. How’s this go again? You get loose, shoot Ballard, and take the whore for yourself. Is that it? Oh man, you must really like blondes. Bravo, Tristan. Bravo.”
“Cabal–” Echo starts.
“Hey, don’t get me wrong. She’s good. I enjoyed her too. It’s just I didn’t think you had it in you, killing Ballard and Fin?”
I need to speak, but the words stick in my throat. Cabal looks at all four of us. He frowns.
“Or maybe … maybe it wasn’t you. I mean, how did you get free? Maybe she just needed someone new, eh? Got tired of Ballard’s … tools. Did she tell you, Tristan? About our time in the desert? Oh, but I’m sure it wasn’t the way she said. Don’t let her fool you. She was practically begging for it. The look on her face, with her hands and knees in the dust–”
“Shut up!” Echo snaps, and I can hear the savage hatred in her voice.
“Quiet whore, the men are talking,” Cabal says, his eyes never moving from mine.
“You can’t talk to her like that!” Jarvis almost shouts, springing half to his feet, as much as the table-space will allow.
“Pipe down, pip–”
But then he makes a mistake. Cabal has turned toward Jarvis and his finger jabs at the boy’s face threateningly when there’s a whirl of motion and Starbuck’s silver-white hand is locked around his forearm. The big robot leans forward.
“The next time this arm crosses this table, I will rip it off,” Starbucks says. He might as well be asking to pass the salt. Cabal looks at him a moment.
“Fair enough,” he says, and Starbucks lets go.
Cabal turns back to Echo.
“Interesting choices you’ve made in your new life. Tristan was bad enough, but a robot and a boy too? I don’t know which is worse. What is he, twelve? Tristan not doing it for you, huh? Ballard was right about you from the start. He knew what you were, the moment he–”
“Shut your goddamn mouth,” I manage through gritted teeth.
“Oh. Tristan, you can talk. I almost forgot you were here. Ah, no, no–let’s not lose our heads,” he says, seeing my hands shift on the crossbow beneath the table. His eyes move off to one side briefly, toward the soldiers by the bar. That’s why he won’t try anything here, why he doesn’t dare start a fight in public. He might be crazy enough to shoot, but he doesn’t want to attract their attention.
“How about I just call them over,” I say, nodding at the blue-coats.
“I think that would be a poor choice, considering that they’re looking for us,” Cabal says.
“You mean you.”
“I mean us. Aren’t we sitting together? Weren’t you in Foundry’s army?”
I scowl.
“Starting to ride my wave?” he asks. “You tell them I’m with Foundry, then I’ll say, ‘You got me, guys, now how about my friends? They were scouts too, oh yes. Especially that blonde one with the tight ass.’ You think they’re going to wait for proof? And Echo really was a scout, or have you forgotten? They’ll hang us all and be done with it–well, maybe not you, Echo. You, I suspect, might make even more friends. Or do you think Cove’s soldiers are above taking spoils. Let me ruin the suspense: they’re not.”
There’s a brief silence. Cabal examines the four of us. I glare at him, breathing slowly. The emotion is stifling. I can barely think. He leans forward and sighs.
“Anywho. I’ve had a wonderful time chatting with you all, but the standards of this bar have really gone downhill. I think I’ll try someplace new. Robot. Boy. Enjoy the whore. Tristan, Echo … One day I’m going to kill you both.”
He gets to his feet.
He means to walk away, but I grab his forearm. My face is hot, my jaw tight. I want to say something scathing. Something clever. Something to put the fear in him, or at least wipe that stupid look off his face. But the words never come at the right time. I just sit there instead, and all I can manage is, “This isn’t over.”
“If you’re trying to hold my hand, Tristan, I’m sorry, but you’re not my type,” Cabal says. He jerks his arm free and disappears into the night.
Chapter 13.
Following Cabal’s departure, there’s a tense silence at our table. Jarvis is the first to break it. He’s asking questions, but I can’t focus enough to answer. I’m looking back at the door, wondering if Cabal will be back, maybe with friends. Should we leave?
At the same time, I’m seething with anger and shame. Why was I so afraid? How could I let him talk to us like that? I want to kill him. I’m going to kill him. I should’ve put a bolt through him the moment he walked over.
“Where are you going?” Echo asks, grabbing my arm. I’m poised at the edge of the booth.
“Huh?” I ask.
Starbucks is saying something too, but all I can think about is Cabal. I’m scared to go after him, to confront him, but it must be done. He’s got to be staying somewhere in town. I need to find out where.
“ –you listening? Tristan? Tristan,” Starbucks says.
“What?”
“I can’t have a threat to Jarvis. If we’re to travel together, even in a caravan to Apolis, I need to know what’s happening here.”
“Uh-huh.”
I’m trying to get up again.
“Tristan,” Echo says, yanking me back. “Let us help you.”
I look at her. I take a deep breath and try to relax.
“I don’t want to look over my shoulder my whole life. We can’t let him leave here alive,” I say.
There’s a moment of silence. I’m essentially suggesting that we find out where he’s staying, go there and kill him–in his sleep, if need be. Could I do that? Could I kill a man in his sleep? If it’s Cabal, maybe. In my current mood, I’d say yes again and again, but when does life ever follow fantasy? Then I think of Lectric twitching in the desert, of Echo crawling toward New Sea, and I’m ready to do it right now. Let’s end this.
Echo is trying to explain things to Starbucks and Jarvis. I’m pretty sure she leaves out some of the unfortunate details, like how I shot Ballard when he wasn’t even armed. I thought he had a gun, but that’s not something you can really explain or apologize for, especially to Ballard–oops, sorry about your eye popping out; didn’t mean it, so no biggie, right? Sure.
“Jarvis and I are going to bed–” Starbucks begins.
“Star, we have to help them!” Jarvis says.
“No, we don’t. Your mother has entrusted you to my care, and this is not our fight. Tristan, Echo, we’ve come a little ways together, and you seem like good people. But Jarvis and I cannot be involved in this. Handle it any way you want, just leave us out of it. The caravan leaves in two days. We’ll be taking it to Apolis with or without you.”
Jarvis protests, but Starbucks ushers him out of the booth and they head to their room.
I take a long look at Echo. We stand together and cut through the crowd to the bar. The two men Cabal was sitting with are gone. I should’ve paid more attention to them. I’m not sure I’d even recognize them now.
; At the bar I order a drink, though what I really want is information. The bartender isn’t overly friendly, but he talks enough when we question him. Echo’s blue eyes help him open up. We learn the blue-coats are indeed hunting down fragments of Foundry’s shattered army. Cove won a decisive victory to the south.
“Cove’s got some crafty commander,” he tells us. “Way I hear it, they knew Foundry was coming, so they had a dozen guys in camoshift with night-sights and long-range lasers creeping along in the dark. They lay up on some hills and started sniping at their camp one night in the dark. Just put holes in their heads while they slept. No noise, no flash. Invisible in the camo. Way them blue-coats tell it, two hundred were dead before the rest of the army even knew what was happening. The Black Baron’s own son was among them. They followed that up with poison gas and long-range artillery. Foundry fired back. Finally, Cove brought in the cavalry. Foundry started a retreat, and some of those blokes broke north–that’s why the blue-coats are crawling around Hapsburg.”
I hate Cove only a little less than I hate Cabal, so there’s no real joy in their victory. When the bartender comes back, I engage him again with a more specific request. I’m looking for someone, I tell him. He recognizes my description, but he’s not interested in the subject. I bribe him with the copper. He blows out his cheeks and says, “Hold on.” He talks to the robot who handles the rooms. Cabal isn’t staying in this inn, he says, but there’s another one up the road. It’s the only other inn in Hapsburg. I want to leave right away, but Echo stops me.
“This could be just what he’s expecting,” she says. “He’s not really a planner, but he’s clever and cruel when it comes to violence. He might’ve sat down and talked to us just to make sure we’d come after him. He’ll be watching for us. Let’s wait a while. Let him think we’re not coming.”
I can’t stand the thought of doing nothing, but Echo knows him better–a lot better, by the way he tells it, and that’s not something I want to contemplate. We sit in the room. I pace back and forth. I’m plagued by suspicious sounds, but each time I check the hallway, it’s empty. The more I dwell on it, the more I think Echo is right. Cabal has likely improvised some trap. He’s hoping we’ll come. We’ll have to be careful. We’ll have to be smart.
