by Paul Kidd
“Hmm?” The shark was keen to show Beau, Throckmorton and Kitt the rear of the forge. “Oh! Do you want to see them grind an edge on some blades? They have a mill wheel that drives the grinder!”
“Snapper?” The mantis tried to remain quite calm. “Snapper my friend? I believe I must leave this place, or become copiously sick.”
“What? Oh, sure! Come on – the short cut’s through the back!”
Throckmorton tried to make a getaway, but Snapper towed him along behind her like a kite. They ducked through a room where the local water wheel was being used to power a trip-hammer. The current job seemed to be the punching of armour scales out of a piece of sheet metal. Over in a corner, a table held a clutter of ancient weapons – energy guns in various states of disaster. Snapper beckoned Kitterpokkie to take a look.
“There’s about eight old plasma weapons here. Three rifles, and three big heavy things. Toby and Samuels dragged in most of them. I dragged in the others.” She gestured to the guns. “All busted up – the chambers are melted through. Do you think any of them could be fixed?” Snapper seemed concerned. “We have a lot of walls and limited people. If Screamers ever come in force, I’d feel a lot better knowing we had heavy firepower up there on the walls.”
Kitterpokkie gave a swift glance along the table. She was still feeling blurred. “We would need new focus coils. My gun uses some salvaged from an old generator… but proper spare parts would be the only way…” She took a glance at the generating chambers. “We would need access to superconductive coils, old monopoles…”
“Yep.” Snapper thought for a moment, then rapped upon the table. “And the best place to find those is in the lake city.”
She patted the table in thought, then moved on, towing Throckmorton along behind. “Right! Brain cures! This way.”
Behind the manufactory, a heavy shaft ran to the town walls, then out through a narrow hole and off to a great, slow water wheel. The river gate was wide, guarded by a woman armed with a rifle. The entire town took part in militia duty for a few weeks out of every year, and citizens took the job seriously. The guard nodded to Snapper and her friends as they walked past.
Downstream of the gate there was a broad area where riding animals were being scrubbed down and watered. But to the upstream side, there was a huge old shade tree, some boulders, and a barbecue fashioned out of ancient bricks. Snapper found an armload of twigs and old branches on the ground, and stuffed them into the barbecue. She set the fire going, watched it for a while, then threw on some larger chunks of wood to coal up nicely in the heat. An old metal grill was wiped down with leaves and dragged in place across the flames. Snapper slung her pistol belt and sword belt up over a rock, and gave a great almighty stretch.
“Who’s for a swim?”
Throckmorton was the only taker. He cruised down to sit in the shallows of the cool, slow river, spooning water over himself with his long leafy wings. Kitterpokkie sat against the largest and coolest of the boulders, enjoying the soothing river breeze. Everyone looked to Beau, who stood ready to tend the fire. He looked about at the others, the feathers of his cape and tail glittering in the sun.
“Oh! Well I don’t really… Ah…” He gave an expressive motion of a hand shaped like a pheasant’s claw. “I’m not much of a swimmer. I might paddle about later.”
“You are all flaccid and weak!” Snapper stripped off her boots and pants, leaving only her underwear. Her belly gleamed a delicious white, and there were stripes all over her blue grey back. “Let the grill cool a bit before you put on the snags!”
There were three kinds of sausages: some were crayfish and wild onion, others were smoked and laced with bacon fruit, and the rest were made from wine and wild game. Spark Town was famous in the weird-lands for many things, but the settlement’s sausages destined her to be praised for aeons to come. Beau set the sausages sizzling and rolling on the grill, while out in the river, Snapper plunged and swam – a thing beautiful to behold. A sinuous, powerful creature in the water, she relished the cold against her skin. Finally she came wading back up out of the shallows, breathless and thoroughly in love with the world.
“You guys should come in!”
“Oh hush. I’m coming.” The mantis winced her way carefully down into the water. Her mantis abdomen flinched up behind her backside. “I’m doing it…”
“Just jump in!”
“I shall do it in my own time!” Kitt steeled herself, then finally bobbed down, immersing herself up to the neck in the decidedly cold water.
She was definitely not a good swimmer, having been raised in an area where the deepest water available was in an old enamel bathtub. But Kitterpokkie was happy enough to stay on the shallow banks, crouching in the water. She splashed about and discovered that she was suddenly feeling far, far better. The cool water had cleared her head, and the sausages now smelled heavenly. Kitterpokkie relaxed and began to enjoy her day.
Throckmorton discovered he could make a cup from his tentacles and squeeze out a little squirt of water. He sat floating on the current, squirting here and there, paddling about and enjoying himself. A dorsal fin cut through the water nearby as the shark swam underwater with a sinuous swish of her tail.
Snapper finally came walking and dripping up out of the water. She stood under the tree and shook herself off, then sat on a rock in her underwear to dry. On the town walls above, Kenda had appeared. Leaning on his elbows he frowned critically out over the river, looking dissatisfied with life. Snapper waved to him and called.
“Kenda! Did you find a new gig?”
The man looked down at her for a moment, then shook his head. “There is to be a town meeting. No caravans are leaving until afterwards.”
“Come on down – have a sausage.” The shark waved towards the grill. “I think I know some ranchers who’ll be looking for extra guards.”
“I can eat elsewhere.”
“Come on! Take the weight off!” Snapper waved at the rocks. “There’s always room for sausages.”
A few minutes later, the man came carefully down through the river gate and joined the party on the rocks. He gave a nod to one and all, and finally went to sit upon a rock beside the water.
Beau took off his shirt and pants, then wandered to the river’s edge, dressed only in a pair of old boxer shorts and a small blue and white medallion that hung on a thong about his neck. He dabbled in the water up to his shins, but seemed too nervous to go much further. He called nervously back to Snapper, keeping an eye upon the current.
“Are there predators here?”
Snapper scratched at her neck. “Well, there’s crocadillos. Sort of half crocodile, half armadillo. Oh and some sort of tiny electric eel thing that tries to burrow up your urethra!” The shark watched Beau leap back out of the water. “There’s no predators there, you damned baby! Biggest thing we have round here is a flipper frog. And those are just tasty!”
Still damp, Snapper arose and turned the sausages one last time. They were charred to barbecue perfection. She rescued them with a pair of dented tongs, piling them onto a plate next to some sliced bread and a little brown jug of sauce. “Lunch is on! Help yourselves!”
The entire group closed in upon the grill, and the pile of sausages diminished rapidly. The little group sat all about the rocks eating and watching a billy can come to the boil over the fire. Snapper lounged back, consuming sausage with appreciative snaps of her sharp teeth, and looked up through the branches above toward the flawless sky above, then observed the latest arrival more closely.
Kenda had a heavy single-shot pistol, and a very interesting sword. A long weapon, straight bladed with a bell guard. Excellent steel and very clipped, clean workmanship, complete with silver inlay. Definitely not Spark Town manufacture. The shark polished her spectacles and looked the sword over. It was no weapon for a fast moving cavalry skirmish. More like a duellist’s blade.
“So Kenda! Where are you from? Blue Valley?”
The man thoughtfully
ate his sausage, and slowly shook his head.
“No. A ranch east of Iron Towers.”
“You ran cocoplods?”
“Ran a bit of everything. Boks, plods. Lot of hunting.” The man looked out over the river. “Dry land. No rivers.”
“First time in Spark Town?”
“Yes. An impressive place.” Kenda flicked a glance back at the walls. “Most impressive.”
“Well, we’ve got plans to make it safer.” Snapper motioned vaguely off towards the north. “We’ll find some salvage that’ll get us some heavy energy guns at last.”
“Plasma guns? Heavies?” Kenda looked to the north. “Now that would be a coup indeed. But it’s death to approach the barrier…”
“We’re pretty sure we can make our way through.”
“Others have tried and died.”
“Yeah, but they weren’t as smart or pretty as we are.” Snapper licked sauce from her fingers. “We know a pass – and a way through the radiation belt.”
Beau got back into his clothes, and went to place his medallion back beneath his shirt. As he gripped the medallion, it glowed with a soft golden light. Snapper immediately raised one brow.
“Beau, what the hell is that?”
“It was my mother’s.” The fox-bird looked upon the glowing plastic medallion fondly. “She gave it to me. It is the family talisman, passed from parent to eldest down the years. Keeps us safe!”
Kitterpokkie leaned close, peering at the medallion in interest. It was a small piece – ancient – a smooth oblong interlaced with tiny patterns deep inside. Kitt peered at a stylised symbol etched into the top.
“That is a symbol for the wind.” The mantis was deeply interested. “A mistral.”
The chip did not light up in Kitterpokkie’s grasp – nor when Snapper touched it. But when Beau reached back to take the chip, it glowed between his fingers. Kitt was extremely impressed. She tapped at the medallion with one dainty claw.
“Fascinating. I think this might be genetically keyed. Some old keys were designed only to work in the presence of a set DNA.”
Snapper looked at the curling symbol on the medallion - then at Beau, then at the symbol, then at Beau once more. She suddenly waved both hands and backed away.
“Oh no! No no no no no! Do not tell Toby! He’ll go into total overdrive!”
“But he must be told!” Kitt was wonderfully pleased. “Oh surely he must be! Then he can entertain us tonight with all the lore, rumours and tales he might have heard.”
“Yes. Yes he will. For hours and hours and hours…” Snapper gave a sigh. “All right. Beau – hide the medallion, and hide those pecs! We’re weak females after all.”
The group all dressed, then headed back up towards the river gate. It was a fine day, and there was work to be done.
Kenda hung back, looking thoughtfully at the river. He turned ideas carefully over in his mind. Hand on sword, he walked slowly back to join the others.
“I am intrigued. What do you need for your expedition?”
“Chips.” Snapper heaved a sigh. “We need to get guns, trail gear and some very special equipment.”
“Chips.” The man nodded. “I shall think on it. I may be able to assist you.”
He left them just inside the gate. “I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow night?”
“We’ll be there. Guess we’re all star witnesses.” Snapper gave a wave. “Later, cavalier!”
Beau, Throckmorton, Kitterpokkie and Snapper walked onwards, heading up towards home. Throckmorton ate a passing fly, and chewed thoughtfully as he spoke.
“An odd man.”
“Yep.” Snapper led the way up hill. “Interesting sword, though.”
Chapter 5
The next day saw the population of the town slowly swell as ranchers came riding in to attend the town meeting. The heads of the ranching families came, bringing their vaqueros, families and senior staff with them. Farmers from outlying fortified farm houses arrived as well, coming in by wagons hauled along by genial fuzzy dray beasts. The guest rooms in every house were full. The Dancing Dugite was filled to capacity, and the streets seemed to suddenly have grown a swarm of racing children. It became something of a festival day, with incomers heading out to wander the little shops and stalls.
Throckmorton, that useful creature, had managed to hire on as an extra hand at the bar. He not only had multiple tentacles, but could also drift above the crowds, making him an ideal waiter. The flying plant delivered drinks and retrieved empty glasses, lowering his blackboard so that customers could write down their orders for food. His speedy service had earned him a steady flow of gratuities.
Kitterpokkie, while not a rapacious beast, divined an opportunity from the wandering visitors. The mantis set up a booth in the most visible possible place, down between the Dancing Dugite and the town’s main gates. She advertised her services as a photographer, displaying photographs neatly printed upon fine handmade paper – pictures of Snapper, Samuels and Uncle Tony, even the dapper ‘Captain’ Beau. With a little shielded shed as a dark room, her turnover had been rather good. Range riders, married couples and brides-to-be gave her a steady stream of customers. She was having an extremely busy day.
Enterprising children had set up a lemonade stand a few metres away from Kitterpokkie’s booth. They had a great supply of colourful fruit – guava lemons, fizz melons and some sort of titanic strawberry, which they combined with ice they had clearly stolen from the Dancing Dugite’s refrigerator. A great stack of empty fruit rinds had been piled up behind them, and the children were earning white chips hand over claw. Kitterpokkie suspected that the children might be lacing their punch with cactus whiskey, but when she sampled some herself, the drink seemed entirely innocent of alcohol. Still, neither of the children, a crayfish girl who sliced the lemons, and a spotted boy child who might have been part bandicoot or quoll, looked as if they could be trusted.
Kitt set to hawking her wares. She spied a group of men who came walking solemnly down the street, having made purchases at some of the local shops. They were apparently the human gentlemen she had spied in the Dancing Dugite the other night – all dressed in long grey robes. The mantis stepped forth from her booth and gave a polite genuflection that utilised all four of her arms.
“Sirs! Gentlemen! Might I interest you in a photographic portrait for your records? Or perhaps as a gift to loved ones…?”
The men swung about and rested level glances upon Kitterpokkie. Even in the colourful world of the aftermath, she was more startling than most – an orchid mantis resplendent in pink and white, with a slim, shapely feminine figure and a head that would have seemed almost demoniacal on any other creature. The girl gestured to her little booth with one elegant grappling claw. “Alternatively, I can also offer my services as a technical consultant? Is there a chemical or scientific process you wish designed, or perhaps equipment in need of refurbishment?”
The grey hooded men turned away and simply walked on. The mantis visibly deflated a little.
“Oh I say!”
Snapper came riding down the street, mounted upon the ever-merry Onan. The bird nodded a greeting, flashing his pink crest high into the air. Snapper eased down out of the saddle, pushing back her helmet and looking over Kitterpokkie’s booth in with approval.
“That’s amazing! You’re doing good business?”
“To an extent.” Kitterpokkie was charging customers the cost of her chemicals, and three red chips in profit. “I believe I may have managed perhaps sixty red chips in profit thus far.”
“That’s amazing!” Ten red chip’s pay per day was typical money for manual labour. “Wow!”
“Yes, but the population is finite. So this is clearly a one-off chance for profit.” Kitt scowled off towards the grey-robed humans, who gave the nearby lemonade booth a wide berth. “The population also seem to have a rather rude quotient! Who on earth are those men in the grey robes?”
Snapper cast an eye towards the tight
group of men.
“Oh, that’s the Brotherhood of the Pure. All unmodified humans – well, as unmodified as you can get these days. Keep to themselves. Don’t talk to splicers unless they have to.”
Kitterpokkie arced her antennae. “Indeed.”
“They’re not really hostile. Just weird. They think the whole GeneStorm thing was a punishment for mankind’s sins.” The shark gestured to the south west. “They have a settlement on a hill way out, about three days ride. Brotherhood only. Splicers never get inside the walls. They just come here to trade.”
“What do they trade for?”
“Guns and ammo, riding birds, food and paper. Tools and leatherwork and stuff. They make a mean brandy, so I guess they have stills.” The shark waved the whole problem away and triumphantly laid two pistols on the table. “Anyway – here! We have begun. Take a look at these!”
The two guns were brand spanking new – Spark Town’s finest work. One was a revolver – well made and finely balanced, with grips carved from crosshatched red-gum. Kitterpokkie bent over the weapon and inspected it with interest, admiring the excellent workmanship.
“Ah! You have purchased a replacement pistol.”
“A definite improvement. I’ve needed one of these.” The shark picked up the weapon and looked along the bore. “If we’re heading out into Screamer country, then it’s better safe than sorry.”
“Excellent. A very useful technology indeed.” The mantis took note of the other weapon. “A second pistol?”
“That one’s for you. I’d prefer to see you carrying one.” The shark holstered her own pistol so that it balanced her hefty sabre. “Break action two-shot. I couldn’t afford a second revolver.”
“Oh, it shall be quite sufficient.” The mantis gingerly picked up the pistol. “I already have a perfectly splendid plasma gun.” She realised Snapper was making a face. “I have ironed out a few minor teething problems.”
“Hmm, well this is for those important moments when things go pear shaped.” Snapper demonstrated the use of the weapon to her friend. “This has one hammer. A cam alternates it from left barrel to right. So when you break her open and reload, you have to remember to put the hammer back to the left. You got that?”
