by James Axler
The Mags wouldn't be employing flashlights, relying instead on their night-sight visors. As a hybrid, Baron Sharpe's eyes possessed a natural sensitivity to high light levels, and so his vision functioned more efficiently in shadows.
Kane knew very little about Sharpeville or its baron, simply because there was little to know. All villes in the network were essentially the same, laid out identically, each with its own Magistrate Division. The contact between different Mag divisions in different villes was a routine exchange of Intel, and most of that was forgettable.
Still, Kane knew he faced four hard-contact Magistrates, presumably just as highly trained and as zealous in the performance of their duties as he and Grant had been. He knew what to expect from them. Baron Sharpe and his vertically impaired doom-sniffer were the random elements, the wild cards. A baron's presence on a dark-territory probe was utterly without precedent, sane or otherwise.
Under his breath, Kane repeated Lakesh's thumbnail description of Baron Sharpe "He's mad, like Emperor Caligula was mad."
Whatever that meant, it didn't sound encouraging.
A melodic voice, brimming over with cheery high spirits, echoed down the throat of the stairwell. "I know you're down there, my friend. Is the game to be hide-and-seek, then? If so, let me warn youI'm very good at it."
Kane's jaw sagged open slightly in astonishment. His finger rested on the blaster's trigger.
"Here I come, ready or not!" cried the voice in a lilting singsong.
A shadow shifted far above. Kane pressed the trigger.
The bullet smashed a shard out of a step ten feet below the stairwell opening. The round ricocheted away with a buzzing whine, like an angered insect. It bounced four times from wall to wall before finally crashing to a stop.
The deep boom of the shot reverberated for some seconds. All three of the Magistrates instantly recognized the report, and the type of blaster that produced it. ^Cameron was the first to exclaim, "A Sin Eater! Some bastard is shooting at us with a Sin Eater!"
Baron Sharpe cast mildly interested eyes in his direction. "Your point being?"
Cameron swallowed hard, glancing from Deylen to Miles for support. They didn't step away from him, but they studiously avoided making eye contact.
Clearing his throat, Cameron said, "It's the official Mag Division side arm, Lord Baron."
Baron Sharpe lifted a brow ridge haughtily. "Indeed? Am I supposed to find that significant?"
Cameron had no easy response. Ericson had briefed them on the op, glossing over the reasons why the first squad had been sent out. He had touched only briefly on the subject of renegade Mags from Cobaltville. If the baron didn't know about them, it certainly wasn't Cameron's place to repair his lord's ignorance.
"No, my Lord Baron," he muttered at length.
Baron Sharpe shook his head in exasperation and looked down at Crawler. "I confess I am a bit bemused," he said. "If my new friends want to play a game, why are they shooting at me?"
Crawler's face creased in a relaxed grin. "Isn't it apparent? They know you cannot dietherefore the use of firearms is only to add spice to the game. Something like tag."
Comprehension dawned in the baron's eyes. "Oh, I
get it. Instead of tapping each other with our hands, we use bullets instead, right?"
"Just so."
A line of concern appeared on Baron Sharpe's normally smooth forehead. "But if I tag my new friends with bullets, won't they die?"
Crawler chuckled patronizingly. "By no means. They, too, have crossed over and back. That's why they want you to join them in their play. Afterward all of you will have a celebration in honor of your immortality."
Baron Sharpe laughed, clapped his hands in delight and nearly dropped his Copperhead. He caught it, aimed it down the dark stairwell and squeezed off a round. The shot echoed hollowly, followed by the whine of a ricochet.
Uttering a grunt of irritation, the baron fiddled with the selector switch, put the Copperhead at his waist and depressed the trigger. The blaster stuttered, shell cases raining from the ejector port, tinkling down at his feet. Whooping loudly, he directed a full-auto stream of bullets down the stairs.
Cameron groaned, "Oh, fuck us."
Kane cursed and skipped clumsily to the far edge of the landing as a hailstorm of slugs chopped out chunks of concrete and ripped long gouges in the walls, striking sparks from the handrails.
Far above, a smear of orange flame danced in the shadows. Over the steady hammering of the Copperhead, he heard a high-pitched yell of exuberance.
Holding his helmet in his left hand, he backed down the stairs, wincing at every step, keeping very low. Ricochets zipped through the air over his head. Pieces of stonework pattered down around him. At the bottom, he began limping down the corridor.
The fusillade stopped, and so did Kane. Taking advantage of the respite, he put his helmet back on, hoping he might be able to eavesdrop on comm-link chat between the Mag squad. He heard nothing, which didn'j/ surprise or disappoint him overmuch. Sharpe-ville Magistrate frequencies were different than Cobalt-ville's. If nothing else, the visor would protect his eyes from flying pieces of concrete if the autoblaster opened up again.
The baron's musical voice, raised in a shout, carried down to him easily. "Did I tag you? If I did, you have to tell me! That's the rule!"
Kane grunted in disgust. Baron Sharpe sounded as fused out as a Pit jolt-walker, and the notion disturbed him. Although he had reason to know the baronial oligarchy was not semidivine, it had never occured to him members of it could fall prey to insanity.
The possibility should have comforted him, since it was another indication of the barons' vulnerability, that they weren't the anointed god-kings they claimed to be.
Instead, the madness of Baron Sharpe shook him at a primal level, and he wasn't sure why. Perhaps his reaction stemmed from thirty years' worth of conditioning, over half of that spent in the service of a baron.
Intellectually he knew the barons were born of science, of bioengineering, not mysticism, but his ville breeding caused him to hold them in superstitious regard.
Or maybe the concept of a madman wielding the power at Baron Sharpe's command frightened him the most. Where there was one mad baron, there was bound to be another, sooner than later.
"Here we come!" trilled the baron's voice. "Ready or not!"
Crackling autofire erupted from above, the muzzle-flash an orange twinkling of flame. Kane looked around for cover, saw very little and decided he was as ready as he would ever be.
Bounding down the steps two at a time, flanked by Crawler, Baron Sharpe fired the Copperhead in short bursts, voicing ebullient shouts each time. Cameron, Miles and Deylen followed at a more conservative pace, spread out across the width of the stairwell.
Into his helmet's transceiver, Deylen whispered, "Are we just going to go along with this bullshit?"
The question was transmitted to the comm-links of his companions. Bitterly, bleakly Cameron responded to the query with one of his own. "What else can we do? He's the baron."
Miles said, "That fuckin' mutie whoreson is planning something."
"Like what?" Deylen demanded.
"Like how in the triple-fireblasted hell would I know?" Miles raised his voice a bit in baffled anger. "Like, what the fuck really went on here with the first squad? What's that black shit all over the place? How'd that guy lose his head?"
Cameron shushed him, but there was no need. Neither the baron nor Crawler could hear anything over the uproar they were making.
"You think we got a Mag down there?" Deylen asked, bringing his Copperhead up to his shoulder.
Miles murmured, "I think we'd be better off if we never found out."
Kane took up position a dozen yards down the corridor from the foot of the staircase. He flattened himself against a closed sec door within its recessed double frame. He chose the spot because of its location within a patch of shadow. The light strips overhead were completely dark for about ten f
eet, yet closer to the stairwell, they still functioned, albeit weakly. He would be able to establish visual target acquisition before he was spotted or before he came within the twenty-five-foot range of the Magistrate's light enhancers.
A whisper emanated from his helmet's trans-comm. Brigid's voice asked, "Are you there?"
Very, very quietly he replied, "Here."
"When we heard the shots"
He interrupted, "Are you in the gateway?"
Peevishly she responded, "Yes, and we're waiting for you."
Laughter floating down the passageway commanded his attention. "You'll have to wait a little while longer."
Scrambling sounds echoed, and the blond-haired figure of Baron Sharpe appeared on the third-from-last step of the stairway. Crawler dragged himself along at his heels. The mutie swiveled his head to and fro, like a hound casting for a scent. A trio of black-armored wraiths followed at a distance of fifteen feet, pausing on the landing.
Baron Sharpe hummed to himself, swinging the barrel of the Copperhead in short arcs. Crawler reached out and tugged him to a halt by a wide pant leg.
"Your friends don't want to play with them," he said petulantly, gesturing behind him to the Magistrates. "Tell them to wait here for you."
Baron Sharpe obligingly turned around, waving the Mags back. "Stay there. Don't follow me. You'll spoil the game."
"But, Lord Baron" began Miles.
Crawler twisted half around, screeching, "Obey your baron!"
The Magistrates stared, dumbfounded, at the crippled creature. Despite his status as a favorite of the baron, he was still a mutie, and muties did not speak disrespectfully to norms, especially if the norms were Magistrates.
"You piece of shit," snarled Deylen, "who do you think you're talking to?"
Crawler made a derisive, spitting sound. "Show him, Lord Baron."
"Okeydoke," replied Baron Sharpe amiably, and squeezed off a 6-round burst from his subgun at the Magistrates.
The baron's aim was pathetic. Out of the six rounds he fired, only two found living targets, and then on the inoffensive Cameron and Miles. The bullets didn't penetrate the armor, but the kinetic shock hurt them, numbed them, sent all three men, crying out in pained surprise, retreating hastily up the stairs.
Kane watched the events with wide, confused eyes. He didn't feel relieved or grateful to Crawler for taking three opponents out of the play. Rather, his mind raced with suspicions and extrapolations. The doomie had an ace on the line, but Kane had not the slightest shred of an idea what it might be.
Crawler tugged peremptorily on the baron's belled pant cuff. "Let's go."
If Baron Sharpe noticed the distinct lack of deference in the mutie's tone, he didn't show it. He obeyed as Crawler slipped off the steps onto the floor and took the lead.
Within moments, they were abreast of Kane's hiding place. He tracked the baron's overlarge head with his blaster, intending to allow him to pass by, then step out behind him once he was certain he had the drop.
Instead, Crawler came to a halt. Thrusting his head forward, he peered into the darkness. Kane sensed a wispy touch, reminiscent of the time the blind psi-mutie Morrigan had telepathically probed him.
The sensation vanished almost immediately. Crawler, with a harsh laugh in the back of his throat, pointed directly to Kane. "There is your playmate, my Lord."
Baron Sharpe turned swiftly on his toes. Eagerly he exclaimed, "Good! This game was starting to tire me. Come out! Olly-olly-oxen-free!"
Treading stealthily, Kane stepped out of the doorway, leading with his Sin Eater. Quietly he said, "Both of you make like statues. Lose the blaster, Baron."
Baron Sharpe gazed at him for a moment, then his high-planed face registered deep disappointment. "He's only another Magistrate. You've truly let me down, Crawler."
The mutie ignored the accusation. Addressing Kane, he rasped, "What are you waiting for? Chill him."
Both Kane and the baron's eyes fixed on Crawler. Kane instinctively knew the astonishment glimmering in Baron Sharpe's eyes was a mirror image of that in his own. His face worked through a number of emotions, finally settling on an expression of incredulous anger.
He kicked Crawler full in the mouth with the toe of his boot. He barked, "What kind of cheap trick is this?"
Crawler spit out blood and trembled with laughter. "A trick to rid the world of a disease!"
Baron Sharpe cried out in fearful fury. He stepped back, swinging up the Copperhead, leveling it at Kane. "Treachery! My own servants plot against me!"
Crawler wiped at the scarlet streaming from his lacerated lower lip. "He knew nothing about it. It was the plot of only onea broken man, a man your poxed great-grandfather ruined, a man you turned into a beast."
Baron Sharpe snarled, "You're not a man!"
Crawler laughed again. "Once I had a wife, and sons and daughters and property. That made me a man. Then my sons were murdered by Sharpe's sec men, my wife and daughters raped and slaughtered. I was tossed into a stinking cell in a zoo. I was crippled. I was no longer a man, so I was left there to rot and die. But I glimpsed the future and knew that if I struggled to stay alive, I would one day regain my manhood and have my revenge!"
Kane felt like a spectator to the final curtain of a generations-long drama. At the moment, all he could do was watch the last act wind down to its conclusion.
The baron's eyelids flickered madly, as if he were trying to stem a flow of tears. He stammered, ' 'I took care of you, Crawler. Nurtured you. Loved you."
Crawler shrieked with hate-filled laughter, blood spraying from his mouth. "If you loved me, it was as a pet! I heard an old saying once...'every dog has its day.' This is my day, hellspawn!"
The baron trained the subgun on Crawler's head. "Your last day. Your life is over."
"If I had a hundred lives, I'd sacrifice them all to buy your doom." Crawler's gaze slid back to Kane. "Chill him now. I saw the hatred you harbor for the barons in your heart. This is your opportunity to release it. Cfjl him."
The temptation to do so was so intense, Kane's finger fluttered over the Sin Eater's trigger. He had not followed through on killing Baron Cobalt, even when he had throttled the half-human monster unconscious.
Baron Sharpe stared at him, wide blue eyes wondering, not frightened. Kane realized the insane, hybrid wretch didn't truly comprehend what was happening.
Kane relaxed his finger on the trigger. He wasn't about to be manipulated, used like a pawn to commit someone else's murders. He had done enough of that as a Magistrate.
"No," he said in a whisper. "You do it."
Crawler croaked desperately, "I have no weapon."
"I thought you could sniff death in the offing. Didn't your doom sight clue you in that if you want this sick son of a bitch dead, you'd have to do it yourself?"
Baron Sharpe tilted his head up at an arrogant angle. "I cannot die." He turned his back, the rhinestone letters TCB glittering dully. "Do you know what that stands for?"
Kane ventured, "The Creepy Bastard?"
"No!" The baron whirled back around, fringes whipping to and fro. "It means I have already crossed over and back."
Crawler's shoulders shook, his body heaved as if in a spasm. Throwing his head back, he laughed until the walls of the passageway rang. Tears flowed down his cheeks in a floodtide.
Baron Sharpe stared down at him impassively, then his lips twitched, parted and he began to laugh, too, a high, quavery titter with notes of hysteria in it. Kane watched and listened and felt slightly ill. He recognized the emotional bond between these two, a symbiosis of hatred and dependence so complex and strong it was the only passion either one of them felt.
Like the interdependent relationship he had shared with Salvo, they needed that hatred as a confirmation they were alive. But Kane had ended his relationship with a bullet.
Crawler plucked urgently at the baron's leg. "Chill me, my Lord," he said, his voice choked by sobbing laughter. "Do me this one favor."
Baron Sharpe cackled. "You got it."
He leaned down and placed the bore of the Copperhead against Crawler's forehead. "Crossing over isn't that bad, you know."
"I'll wait for you in Hell," Crawler promised.
"Don't do it, Baron," Kane said warningly.
Baron Sharpe glanced at him, stuck out his tongue impudently and returned his gaze to Crawler.
Kane's finger reflexively pressed the Sin Eater's trigger. The blaster thundered once, a short spurt of flame licking from the muzzle. The bullet caught Baron Sharpe high in the chest, smashing through the clavicle, the sledgehammer impact shattering ribs and bowling him off his feet. The Copperhead clattered to the floor.
The baron fetched up in a half-prone posture against the far wall. He continued to voice ghastly laughter through a gurgle of blood gushing from his mouth. "Oh, bay-bee , that hurts !"
The mutie crept over to the baron, picking up the subgun as he did so. In a liquidy burble, Baron Sharpe announced, "I'll cross back and we'll play another game, right, Crawler?"
Cradling the baron's head in one arm, Crawler crooned, to no one in particular, "My vision was a true one^One last prophecy to fulfill."
Reversing his grip on the blaster, he put the bore under his chin and without even a microsecond of hesitation, pulled the trigger. The bolt of the Copperhead snapped loudly on an empty chamber.
A keening wail worked its way up Crawler's throat. His finger closed around the trigger twice more, producing nothing but dry clickings. He cast a look Kane's way, tear-clouded eyes shining with a mixture of guilt and horror. He flung the gun away from him as if it had suddenly scalded him.
"Do you think he knew?" Crawler's question was a parchment-dry rustle.
Kane lowered his arm. The Sin Eater dangled at the end of it, seeming to weigh half a ton. "You're the doom-sniffer. Why ask me?"
A great stain of wet crimson spread out over the white front of the baron's jumpsuit. His chest rose and fell spasmodically. Crawler moaned.
"He's dying," Kane said gently. "Leave him. Come with me."
"To where?"
"Sanctuary."
Crawler smiled sadly, flicking a strand of fine blond hair away from Baron Sharpe's forehead. "No, I'll stay. Just in case he crosses back. I expect he'd want me to."
