by S. Cushaway
It wouldn’t work, though; with Scrappers offering such services and charging half the price, there was little need for game hunters now. Becoming a Scrapper was out of the question, too. Vore had told him all about that job. The sharpshooter had come from the Scrappers a dozen years before, when N’jian Printz had not yet taken the post as high commander.
“It’s not too much different than bein’ an Enforcer, except it’s a lot rougher,” Vore had said. “Lots of those boys would be bandits if they could. It’s the officers that keep them in line, but you wouldn’t want to work with some of them. And if you think we stand around a lot here, well, consider doin’ laps around Pirahj eight hours a day.”
No, he didn’t want to be a Scrapper.
The black cloud of despair rolled in, so thick and heavy Zres wanted to lay down under it and stop. Stop moving. Stop thinking. Stop everything.
“I’m stuck.” There was no one to hear, but he kept talking anyway. “I’m stuck with my bean badge, watchin’ Mama become Lucy Moad, the professional whore.”
Zres stood, swung the rifle to his shoulder, and stared at the low ceiling. A long-legged spider had set to spinning a web in the corner. Maybe it would catch the big fly that had been eating on the lizard. He could hear that fly humming now, or one just like it. Instinctively, his gaze roved from the ceiling toward the source of the sound. He expected to see a nasty, glistening insect buzzing outside the window, ready to come land on his sweaty brow.
But there was no fly, only a long stream of dust cutting across the heat waves, rolling toward the Dogton gates. Zres stared in stupefied, open-mouthed confusion. Flies did not leave big clouds like that. Antelope didn’t, either. Only machines did.
It’s a sand bike. Comin’ damned fast, too.
Zres hoisted the rifle and peered through the scope. That dark tunnel opened to a narrow view of the scrubland, where he saw the sand bike. The rider was coated with so much red it was impossible to see who he was, but the bike didn’t look like any recognized, and certainly not one from the Dogton Enforcer fleet.
Heart thumping, he lowered the weapon. It might be someone with news about Leigh and the missing crew, or someone from Pirahj coming to tell Neiro a Bloom had started. Zres knelt, and—holding his rifle with one hand—lifted the floor hatch before starting down the rickety ladder. He jumped the last few feet and his boots thumped hard in the dust as fine powder clogged his nose. As the bike's engine strained over the rocky terrain, the faint humming grew steadily louder. The rider didn’t slow to a cautious crawl like most of the caravaneers did, though; if anything, he pushed the sand bike harder.
He’s Pihranese. That looks like a Scrapper uniform. Shit-brown fatigues.
Zres raised an arm, signaling the man to stop. “I’m an Enforcer of Dogton, ordering you to halt by the watchtower here and identify yourself. You’re on Dogton property, under the authority of Neiro Precaius and—”
“Printz . . . is he here?” the man called over the engine. He slowed the bike and yanked up his goggles with his free hand. “Get N’jian Printz and Neiro. Get them now, Enforcer!”
Zres only blinked at him; dried blood stained the Scrapper’s left pant leg from knee to ankle.
“Enforcer, I need N’jian Printz! Let me through the gates if you won’t take me to him.”
“I . . .” Zres shook his head, tearing his gaze from the bloody fatigues. He met the man’s eyes and cleared his throat. “Identify yourself and present all weapons. I can’t let you through the gates until—”
“Boy, this is no time for protocol. Karraetu has an entire Scrapper battalion on the way, not a day’s ride behind me.” Grimacing, the Pihranese man slid off the bike and gripped his leg as he limped closer. “And if you don’t get me to Printz or Neiro, there will be shit in the well.”
Sweat popped along his brow, strangely cold despite the desert heat. Zres shivered, swung the gun from his shoulder, and pointed it at the Scrapper. “Stop right there and identify yourself. Toss your weapons down, too.”
“Damn you.” The man sucked in a breath, dark eyes clouded with pain. “I’m Field Sergeant Mal-eyio Ghaesh.”
“Ghaesh? Wasn’t that Broach’s real name?”
“S’em Ghaesh . . . Broach, yes. My brother,” Mal-eyio said. “But there’s no time for it now, Enforcer. Karraetu has led a coup. Most of the Scrappers have gone under his command and they are coming here!”
“A coup? Against Printz? I thought—”
Mal-eyio leaned close. The rifle barrel pushed right into his stomach; he didn’t seem to feel or see it. His strong, calloused hands groped for Zres’s shoulders.
“Hey! Get back, or I’ll have to shoot and call it self-defense!”
“Fuck your check-ins and protocol. We don’t have time for it! Boy, they are coming. Evrik Niles, Aurlin, Karraetu, and a whole battalion—enough to wipe this town out if that’s what Karraetu orders.” Mal-eyio exhaled sharply. “Get on the bike. I’ll ride behind. Take me to Printz and Neiro. Now.”
Zres looked at the broad Pihranese man as if he were some sort of weird, inhuman beast his brain could not comprehend. His lips parted, tongue trying to form a word. But the connection between mind and mouth had gotten cut off somewhere, and nothing came out.
“Did you hear a word I said? Do you want to see this town under Evrik Niles? You been to Glasstown lately, boy? You know how he runs things up there?”
“N-no . . .” Zres glanced over his shoulder across the half-mile distance toward Dogton. Only a little peak of the fence stuck up above the slope of rocks, but he could see the Senbehi mountains and the foothills behind town. He’d seen them every day of his twenty years of life—big, sleepy giants, all red and brown. As much as he hated Dogton, it was home.
“Boy.”
Zres’s head snapped around. The Scrapper had a hand on the pistol at his belt, his eyes hard, his dusty face grim.
“I’ve got to talk to Neiro and Printz. One way or another, I am going to do that. With your authorization or without it. My leg still has a bullet in it, but I’ll drive myself if I have to. I’ve made it this far.” He jerked his chin in the direction of Dogton. “I can make it another half-mile, though I'd rather have your help. Drive me in to Dogton, Enforcer.”
My old man will kill me.
It was that thought, brittle and hard as flint, that brought the smile.
Let him be pissed. He was gonna leave me behind again. I guess I can make my own call on this.
“Don’t call me ‘boy’ again,” Zres said, lifting the rifle back onto his shoulder with a nonchalance he did not really feel. His grin widened. “My name is Zres Corrin. I’m Captain Orin’s son. I’ll take you to Dogton. Move back.”
“Zres. Thank you. Your cooperation is appreciated.” Mal-eyio slid onto the bike, wincing as he bent his leg
Zres eyed the Scrapper for an instant, then shrugged and handed the rifle over. If Mal-eyio had wanted to shoot him, he’d have done it already with the pistol.
Mal-eyio hefted the weapon onto his lap as Zres kicked the bike into gear. Sand churned under the back tires as the bike began to move, picking up speed until it flew across the packed dust. In a moment, all of Dogton would see him differently, once he had helped save the town.
And maybe, just maybe, his mama would change her mind about Moad after all.
Two in the Dark
Leigh screamed as Lein Strauss grabbed her leg and hauled her over Romano’s decaying body, making a smear of maggots and congealed blood stick to her boots. Her shriek died with a sharp click of teeth as she hit the hard-packed ground. She stifled a groan, vision muddy, tongue bleeding where she’d bitten it. Before she could get her bearings, Strauss hoisted her up by the legs and let her dangle. Leigh kicked, but her struggles had no more effect than if she’d been a child’s rag doll flopping against his chest.
Finally, she gave up, sliding limply across the sand as he dragged her. The brilliant sunset raked over her face; she focused on the red-gold sky, wi
shing she could fly to it, far away from horrors such as Lein Strauss.
With a curse, Strauss dropped her next to Felix, who squatted beside a campfire, attempting to coerce a few flames into a real blaze. Leigh blinked the dust from her lashes and stared dazedly at the scrawny Estarian. He wore a familiar threk-hide duster that seemed out of place on anyone other than Kaitar Besh.
Felix smiled at her. “Hi.”
“That all you got done?” Strauss pointed at the pitiful line of smoke.
“Damned hard to get this lit with no firebox,” Felix muttered. A small pile of matches lay discarded at his feet, too old for use. He fanned the weak flame, grinned in triumph, and rocked back on his heels. “But I got it. Where’s Marty?”
“She went behind that outcrop to fuck around with those clothes we got off that Harper bitch. Maybe the threk got her by now. They’re damned close.” As he crouched next to the fire, Strauss peered at Leigh with a vaguely thoughtful expression. “You ever seen someone get ate by a threk?”
She pushed her face into the sand to avoid smelling the rotten blood on her pants.
Gren. Romano. Smears on my leg. That’s all that’s left of them.
“I’ll take that for a no.” Strauss smirked. “Suppose I ought to go drag the snake over here. Then we can enjoy each other’s company a while. Got half a mind not to bother taking you to Bywater. Maybe just leave you both tied up here, for the threk. Gotta think on it more.” He hauled himself up and lumbered toward the low wagon.
Leigh licked her dry lips; her throat screamed for water, but she was afraid to ask for any. Cautiously, she studied her surroundings. Craggy granite boulders lined the twenty-foot walls of the ravine, some so large they dwarfed the low wagon.
This is Bywater Gully. The northern edge of it, I think. How did they make the drive to the bottom?
She scanned the sheer banks again. There, almost invisible between the jagged lines of rock, she saw where Strauss had brought the rover down. The path looked newly made, rough and treacherous, too narrow for more than one vehicle to pass at a time.
He’s been here before. This has to be some regular pit stop for them. A spring nearby, maybe, or—
Her thoughts snapped off as Strauss approached, pulling Kaitar by the long coils of his thick hair. The half-Druen knelt, one knee grinding into the small of the scout’s back as he wrenched Kaitar’s head up, yanking so hard Leigh expected his scalp to tear away.
Strauss pressed close to Kaitar’s ear. “Bet you’d like to skin me right now. Well, I’m not a fat Sulari slug waiting for you to come slit my throat. You remember last time we met, Kaitar? You remember how you thought that Enforcer tagging along with you hit me damned good? He did get me. But it didn’t kill me. Takes a lot to kill a Druen. Guess you figured that out by now.”
Kaitar bared his sharp teeth and hissed.
Strauss laughed. He stood and shrugged off his goatskin coat, revealing a filthy shirt beneath. Lifting the edge of the shirt, he pointed at the puckered, twisted flesh running from his hip to his chest. The skin shone as if it had been melted and then molded back onto his frame.
“That Firebrand shot hurt like hell.” Chuckling, he rubbed at the hideous scars. “But his aim was off.”
Marty appeared from a rocky outcrop a few dozen yards away. A large pair of sunglasses hid her watery eyes and a stained calico frock hung off her bony frame. But it was what she wore over that frock that gave Leigh pause.
“That’s Gren’s!” Forgetting her fear, she struggled onto her knees. “That’s his coat!”
Marty lifted the sunglasses, the Harper’s cross insignia on the frames flashing red in the dying sunlight. “Was that his name?” She shrugged, fingering the brass pin on the lapel. “Well, it’s a nice jacket. Didn’t fit Strauss, and Felix already has two new coats. One from the Shyiine and the other from that Pihranese guy we tagged last month. He don’t need this one, too.”
“He was a scout,” Felix corrected. “Not just some guy. A Dogton scout.”
“Broach . . .” Leigh inched forward on her knees, almost falling. Her legs trembled, stiff and numb from being bound so long. “You’re talking about Broach. You were the ones raiding the caravans and killing people. Not the Sulari squatters in Bywater. It was you.”
Strauss laughed, his mouth opened like a reeking cave. “Well, the Sulari there didn’t stop us. After all, I’m King of Bywater now, and they’re just a bunch of shriveled-up crows pecking at my garbage.”
His huge hand shot out, clamping down on Leigh’s head and squeezing so hard she thought her skull might crack. She tried to wrench away and only succeeded in toppling over. Strauss slammed a boot into the small of her back, forcing a muted scream from her lips.
“You want to go join ’em?” he asked, jamming his heel down harder. “Maybe I’ll make you my queen for a while. You’ll eat good till I get bored of you. Then, you can go poke around with the rest of those black bastards until someone sticks a knife in you, or you get sick and die.”
“Heh.” Kaitar rolled to his knees and tottered unsteadily to his feet. “King of Bywater. Biggest line of shit I ever heard.” The dried blood around his mouth flaked away as his lips parted in a grin. “But I owe you for Broach. And Gren, too. It’s me you really want to kill, isn’t it? Why don’t you go get my yatreg from the front seat of your wagon there? I’ll let you use both of them. We’ll see if you can kill me before I take them from you. And then we’ll count how many holes I put into you before I slit your filthy throat.”
Felix blinked, an uncertain smile plastered on his grimy face. “Lein, I think he just insulted you.”
“He’s trying to keep me from this woman, that’s all.”
The boot lifted from her back. Leigh gasped, a full breath exploding from her lungs. Red-hot pain radiated through her pelvis and settled in a low cramp deep in her belly. Strauss prowled toward Kaitar, fists curled tight, eyes full of sardonic humor.
“Don’t kill him yet,” Marty whined. “I ain’t had no fun in a while. You’re too big, and Felix over there’s limp as an old rag.”
“It ain’t limp.” Felix frowned and poked at the fire with a twig. “Just tired of the same old hole.” Smiling sheepishly, he glanced at Leigh.
Leigh gulped in as much air as she could before she struggled upward. Her bruised back throbbed dully where Strauss had stomped on it. “Dogton will pay you water for our return. If you have a radio—”
“Shut up,” Strauss said. “You open that mouth one more time, I’ll ram coals down your throat.”
“Easy to threaten someone when they’re tied up, I guess,” Kaitar said. “Untie me, and we’ll see if you still talk so bold, hm?”
Strauss loomed over him. “You think you could kill me just because they used to throw you in a pit with some other scrawny Shyiine and make you fight? Heh. No. I got bigger plans for you, Kaitar. I ain’t gonna let you die easy. I didn’t let that Enforcer who shot me die easy, either.” He grinned. “We cut Gren up real slow. Made him watch while we roasted his balls.”
A trill rang out in growing dark, echoing in a high Chirrr-uuup! along the canyon walls. A pair of eyes flashed an instant later, brighter than the fading sunset. Leigh’s breath caught in her throat as a dizzying sense of déjà vu swept over her. No one moved or spoke, but they all watched the high, steep banks in silence. Waiting.
A threk materialized two-hundred yards away, black against the deep hues of red and violet. It peered at them intently before vanishing around the northern bend.
“Shit.” Marty pushed the sunglasses up. “You see how big that one was?”
“Must smell your cunt,” Strauss said. “I might just let it come eat you, so best keep quiet.”
“Your scout’s an idiot,” Kaitar said quietly. “Camping in a blind gully at night. Heh, I thought you had more sense than to—”
The half-Druen backhanded him across the face. Kaitar landed heavily and spit out a mouthful of blood. Then, he laughed. “Holed up just like
a s’rat in a snake den. Idiots.”
“I’m not an idiot. They don’t like fire,” Felix said. “Ain’t gonna bother us none.” Freeing the pistol at his belt, he stood, gazing at the twenty-foot incline. “They get too feisty, we’ll shoot ’em.”
Marty peeked around Strauss, smiling at Kaitar. “Hey, is it true what they say about Shyiine men?”
The scout either didn’t hear or didn’t care; his eyes narrowed at something in the gloom. Leigh looked too, but could see nothing in the overhanging shadow.
“Marty!” Strauss’s voice echoed through the canyon. “Stop flaunting yourself at that snake and go fetch my gun.”
“But you said earlier I could—”
“You never mind what I said earlier. Fetch the gun, or I’ll knock you out with your own teeth.” Strauss brandished his tooth-laden knuckles, then shoved the woman roughly. Marty toppled onto her ass, legs splayed, a gaping scowl plastered across her face. The look faded when Strauss clenched his fist. She scrambled to her feet and meandered toward the low wagon with what dignity she could muster.
“And bring back the food and water,” Felix called after her. Tilting his head at Leigh, he added, “You know, I could share some with you, if you’re nice to me.”
“I’d sooner take a bullet to the head than food from you.”
“You know the rules,” Strauss warned. “Felix, you get whatever I leave you, and might not be much left when I’m done.” He leered, tugging at his groin. “She’ll keep a while yet, though. After dinner, maybe. And after I kill that threk. It shows up again, I’ll drill it. Ask Kaitar what a good shot I am. He can tell you.”
“Not that damned good,” Kaitar said.
“I hit you once. From over a hundred yards away, and you were on the move.”
“Did you hit me? Or did I just make it look that way?” He flashed another bloody grin.
“Liar.”
Kaitar didn’t respond. Snakelike, he wriggled closer on his belly; had her arms not been tied, Leigh could have reached out and touched him. The scent of blood lingered around him like a grim perfume. A dark bruise showed high on his cheek where Strauss had backhanded him, and his top lip was split. A dull look of pain lurked in his eyes, but his voice was almost gentle as he spoke. “You all right?”
