by John Shirley
Mordecai had to leap headlong to the side to avoid being run over, sliding facedown close to his Cobra rifle. Bloodwing came screeching and diving at Cess, talons just missing her face.
Roland saw his shotgun, several paces away, leaning on a boulder.
Broomy rushed toward Roland, shouting, “Surrender, and you can live to serve me—or die right here!”
Roland snarled, “Broomy, blow it out your ass!” and half turned to lunge for his shotgun, but Broomy was on him then, firing wildly. The rounds ricocheted from the energy field of his shield. She slashed at his face, using a knife like a half-size machete.
Roland slipped past the blade, knocked the pistol from her left hand, grabbed the wrist of her right—and was surprised at how wirily powerful she was. She broke loose, punching him with her fisted left hand, and swung the big knife at his throat. He threw himself backward to avoid the slash, falling, but at the same time kicking out, catching Broomy solidly in the crotch. She bellowed with pain and staggered back, falling.
Roland landed heavily on his back, the wind momentarily knocked from him. He gasped, glancing at the outrider in time to see Cess hit Bloodwing with a fist as she braked the outrider. Mordecai’s loyal flying predator was knocked away, cawing, wings beating at the ground as it tried to get back into the air. Cess moved to fire the outrider’s machine gun, shouting curses as she strafed a burst up the ground to Mordecai. But she was too slow, and the strafe tore up the ground behind him as he ran, Cobra in hand now, ducking behind Roland’s outrunner.
Roland was just getting to his feet and had to throw himself to the side to avoid the strafing machine gun. The bullets almost struck Broomy too, as she scrambled to get out of the way.
“Cess, you damn she-fool you almost shot me!” she shrieked.
Roland got his feet under him, saw Mordecai firing over the hood of the outrunner. Mordecai’s aim was sharpened with adrenaline-honed precision, the bullets striking the magazine of the outrider’s machine gun with two close, static-charged rounds. The magazine exploded, fragments of the wrecked gun shrapneling Cess’s face and shoulders.
She grimaced in pain and climbed clear of the outrider, shaking her head to clear blood from her face, staying low, snatching a shotgun from a gun rack on the back of the outrider. Mordecai couldn’t get a good shot at her. Bloodwing was in the air again and dived at her, slashing, snapping with its beak. She fired the shotgun, missing Bloodwing.
Roland turned to look for Broomy—didn’t see her.
Then he felt the blast of his Vladof, heard the shotgun boom as it struck him, Broomy cackling with sick glee as he was knocked back, staggering against the back of his outrunner.
He looked down at his shield, crackling on his chest—it had barely stopped the shotgun, and now it was damaged, flickering out. He was unprotected, and Broomy was stalking toward him, weapon in hand. She’d gotten his shotgun before he had.
He cursed himself for an amateurish fool, not having his weapon within reach. One good night’s sleep, and a man got sloppy. He was going to have to rush her and hope for the best—
Then Mordecai was firing past him, the rounds crackling on Broomy’s shield, which flickered and went out. She stumbled back with the impacts, and that gave Roland time to turn, vault up on the back of his outrunner. He cocked the turret and then had to flatten himself as he caught Cess firing toward him from the outrider. The shotgun charge buzzed past his head like a swarm of angry bees.
“I had enough of you two ungrateful snobs!” Cess yelled—a clue to the source of her fury with Roland and Mordecai. A woman scorned.
Cess started the outrider, began driving it around the circle of the flat crater of the hilltop—as Mordecai tried to get a bead on her with his Cobra. Bloodwing was flapping after her, screaming warnings.
Roland was getting up, but Broomy was already standing, coming at him, shotgun in her hands—as something the size of a medicine ball, gray and massy, flashed past the outrunner and smashed into the shotgun, knocking it sideways against her chest. The small boulder shattered, and Broomy staggered but kept her feet. The gun wasn’t so fortunate—it had taken most of the impact, and she dropped its broken halves to the ground and turned to run.
Roland smiled as he heard Brick’s familiar rumbling shout, then: “Brick’s here, bitch!”
He turned to see Brick with another boulder in his hand, a chunk of rock about three times as big as his head, which he threw with one hand straight at Cess’s oncoming outrider. The boulder smashed into the engine, blasting it into smoking scraps of metal. The outrider kept coming from sheer momentum, and Brick stepped aside with surprising agility, sweeping an arm to swipe Cess from the driver’s seat. She went tumbling across the ground, rolled, got up, pulling a pistol—but then a dark blur intercepted Cess from her left, a flying kick: Daphne Kuller, slamming Cess hard with both boots.
Cess went down. Daphne did too, but she did a tuck-and-roll and came up, immediately lunging at Cess with a drawn knife in each hand, teeth bared. Cess, still on her back, tried to bring her gun into play, but it was all over in less than two seconds. One knife slashed down to pin Cess’s gun hand to the ground, blade slamming through the bandit woman’s wrist; the other came down to slice down through Cess’s throat, parting the trachea, then the spine, pinning her upper body to the ground.
Cess choked and died, eyes going glassy, blood brimming between her lips.
Daphne got up, breathing hard, eyes bright with excitement, but calm and contained, merely brushing her hands together.
Roland looked around. “Where’s Broomy?”
“Gone!” Mordecai said. “That harridan dived over the rim rock there and . . . I guess we could still catch her in the outrunner. She’s on foot.” He didn’t sound eager for the chase.
Roland shook his head. He had never killed a woman. He’d been ready to do it, but he’d rather not have to. “The hell with her.”
“I wouldn’t mind going after her,” Daphne said, going to the edge of the hilltop. “She’s going to think of me as an enemy now. I’d rather not have her running around loose, looking for a chance to shoot me in the back.” She peered over the rock. “It’s rugged out there. I don’t see her . . .”
Brick pointed at the burning wreck. “See there? That’s how you save rocket shells. Just throw a boulder.”
“Don’t think that’d work for me,” Mordecai admitted, flexing a spindly arm. Bloodwing landed on his shoulder, and he scratched under the creature’s beak. “You okay? She slammed you good once. Don’t see anything broken . . .”
Bloodwing cawed and nestled its bony head against him.
Roland picked up the shattered pieces of his shotgun, shaking his head. “Man, did you have to wreck my only good shotgun?”
“You’re lucky he did,” Daphne said, walking over to pick up her knives. She wiped their blades on Cess’s clothing.
Roland snorted. “I’d have taken her out, all right.”
“Sure you would have.”
Roland kept his temper. He really did not want this woman around on this mission. Just didn’t trust her. Didn’t like her attitude.
But Mordecai was gazing big-eyed at Daphne, licking his lips, as if trying to think of something to say to impress her.
Roland shook his head. Smitten. The way she’d dispatched Cess had won Mordecai’s heart.
“Now,” Daphne said, just a bit of swagger in her walk as she crossed to talk to Roland. “You ready to stop jacking us around about this mission of yours? We need a gig, me and Brick.”
Roland wondered if Brick truly took to Daphne talking as if she and he were a team. He looked at Brick, who was scratching his bristly head, seeming mildly confused. “You and Brick, huh?” Roland chuckled. “Well, I’ll tell you and Brick about it later. Now you can tell me how you happened to turn up here just now.”
“Me, I’m glad they did,” Mordecai said. “Those bandit females caught us with our pants down.” Daphne looked at him with raised eyebrows
, and he added hastily, “It’s just an expression!”
“We’re here,” Daphne said, with a note of defiance, “because we felt like being here. And we don’t like it when people blow smoke up our asses.”
“I knew a girl once liked smoke blown up her ass,” Brick mused, with a look of nostalgia. “Not just any kinda smoke. But, uh . . . aw, never mind.”
Once more, Roland wasn’t sure if Brick was joking or not.
“This is a good camp,” Daphne said. “Brick’s outrunner’s right over there.”
She pointed the way they’d come, and Roland could see the top of Brick’s outrunner and its turret sticking up; it was parked just on the other side of the rimrock, opposite the big plant growths. Which gave him an idea . . .
Daphne went on. “We oughta stay here. Me ’n’ Brick have been tracking you lowlifes for half the night. We need some rest and some grub.”
“Sure,” Roland said. “But who gets the best spot? Most of it’s solid rock. Tell you what, we’ll have a little contest of strength to see who picks the best spot in the campsite. Brick here always wondered which of us was the stronger, him or me—”
“Ha!” Brick interrupted. “I never wondered that. I know.”
“You sure?” Roland grinned at him. “Let’s just test that assumption.” He glanced at Daphne, saw she was tossing wood on the embers of the fire, not looking at him. “See those things growin’ over there, Brick?” He waited till Brick turned to look, then made a sign to Mordecai, a hand gesture known across Pandora. And he nodded toward Brick’s outrunner. Mordecai frowned, glanced at Daphne, but shrugged and muttered something about going to relieve himself. He walked toward Brick’s outrunner, whistling softly.
“Those tree things over there, you mean?” Brick asked, squinting at the growths.
“Yeah, Brick. Now, those things are hard. Not exactly petrified but close to it. Whoever can knock all three of them down using nothing but his body—fists, whatever—why, we crown him the strongest, and he gets to choose the primo camp spot. Agreed?”
Brick rubbed his jaw. “What? Uhh, okay.”
He balled his big, metal-sheathed hands into fists, the knuckles cricking loudly as he tightened them, and stalked over to the trees.
As Roland had hoped, Daphne went over to watch. “What the hell are you two up to?” she asked, following Brick.
Roland picked up Mordecai’s rifle and climbed up into his own outrunner as Brick squared off before the first big, stumpy growth, set his feet, and—wham!—smashed the growth to flinders with a single smash of his powerful, armored fist.
“Ha!” he crowed, stepping up to the next tree. “You wanna take me on, tree?” He laughed. “It’s punch time!” And he smashed the second tree. “Now for you—this is easy!” Crash, the third growth was shattered.
Then he and Daphne turned, startled, at the sound of Roland gunning the outrunner. He drove it straight toward Brick’s outrunner, jumped the ramplike rimrock, and came down on the other side, slamming on the brakes.
Mordecai came running up to the outrunner from behind, laughing nervously, Bloodwing cawing on his shoulder. “Oh man, Roland, I don’t know about this!”
But he jumped into the outrunner, and they were off downhill.
“You fix his outrunner?” Roland asked.
“I unfixed it, if that’s what you mean. I saw your signal and pulled out a few wires. They won’t be driving that thing for an hour or so. But Roland—” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m not sure it’s so smart to piss those two off this way.”
Roland looked back to see Daphne and Brick staring after them, two outraged silhouettes against the sky.
“You win, Brick!” Roland shouted back at them as he gunned the outrunner away. “You get the campsite! The whole damn thing! Enjoy it! See you later, big guy!”
He could see Daphne run to the outrunner. She’d soon find out that it was sabotaged.
“Look out!” Mordecai yelled.
Roland returned his attention to the terrain in front and veered hard to the right, just managing not to slam into a boulder twice the size of the outrunner.
“Whew!”
Then he heard a whistling sound, glanced over his shoulder in time to see a small but solid-looking boulder spinning through the air to make impact with the back of the outrunner in an explosion of rock chips. The vehicle took the impact, jerking forward, fishtailing, but continuing to drive.
“Shit!” Roland said. “That Brick’s got an arm! You see if he did any damage?”
Mordecai looked and groaned. “Oh man. We’re so underweaponed already. You really should’ve loaded up in Fyrestone. Looks like he bent the muzzle on your Scorpio, man.”
Roland swore long and colorfully.
“See, Roland, if we’d just made nice with them—”
“You mean you wanna make nice with Daphne. ‘Oh Daphne, my darling!’”
“Roland—come on, seriously—that woman is tough! She’d be a great partner!”
“She’d probably cut your throat first time you slept with her. She’s Kuller the Killer, man. I’m sure of it. She’s got enemies across half the galaxy. We don’t need that. ’Cause her enemies would become our enemies. You can’t see her straight because you’re sweet on her!”
“Well, so what I’m sweet on her. She’s a babe!” He glared at Roland, as they jounced down to the flatland at the edge of the Salt Flats, and then frowned as Bloodwing seemed to caw laughter at him.
A bullet from behind cracked by overhead, just missing Mordecai. Almost certainly fired by Daphne.
“That babe of yours almost blew your head off!”
“See?” Mordecai said admiringly. “So sweet! She coulda killed me, but she missed on purpose!”
On purpose? Roland wasn’t so sure.
He floored the accelerator and quickly got the outrunner out of gunshot range. Daphne sent no more high-caliber love notes.
They continued on around the edge of the Salt Flats, generally southwest, the light glaring off the white surface of the plain, making Roland reach for his shaded goggles.
“Where’s that army Brick was talking about?” Roland wondered aloud, pulling the goggles on.
“I don’t know, it’s a big country. Maybe we’d better head down into that draw, keep out of sight.” Mordecai pointed into a declivity to the left, a canyon off the badlands close by the edge of the Salt Flats. “Far as I remember, there’s a way out on the other side.”
“You better remember right,” Roland said, turning the steering wheel. They veered down into the draw, into a shallow canyon rimmed with irregularly shaped blue and red boulders and the occasional spike of glittering crystal. The floor of the canyon was smooth blue dust, almost like a man-made dirt road. They passed through most of it without incident, drove up a rise on the other side—and then Roland hit the brakes.
Up ahead, against the sky, he could make out the movement of men, numerous men, and passing outriders.
“This canyon was your idea, Mordecai,” he said. “Get out and scout it, and keep your head down.”
Mordecai slipped soundlessly out of the idling vehicle and, Bloodwing on his shoulder, went quietly up the rise.
Five minutes passed. Roland waited impatiently.
Mordecai came running back down the slope, looking pale. “It’s Gynella’s army. Or part of it. Maybe two hundred heavily armed men up there. And they’ve surrounded the canyon. I saw a few at the place we came in, too. They’ve just set up at that end. I don’t think they know we’re here—but we’re trapped. And they’re bound to spot us.”
She stood alone on the plain, dirty, bloody, and footsore.
There were bruises and welts across her. One of her teeth had been knocked loose. She was dizzy from dehydration, and her feet were bloody in the shreds of her boots. But she’d found the supply lines, just as she’d figured on, and she’d waited—and here they came.
She watched the dust rising in quivering lines, approaching across the p
lain. She knew just what it was. She waited some more.
The engines rumbled, and the rumbles became roars, as the vehicles approached closer and closer. She could make out the marching men, some distance behind them, a rough line, not genuinely orderly but with a unified purpose.
The dusty plumes arrived, their metal cores throwing off splinters of light. Then the engines slowed, the dust cleared, and the vehicles, approaching ahead of the supply column, ground their brakes. The outriders came to a halt near her, their drivers—and the soldiers hanging on, poised on the running boards—leering at her as they arrived: a panoply of deformed faces, masked faces, goggled faces. The skull-shaped G of Gynella blazed red on every outrider, every breastplate or tattooed bosom.
A chunky, short Psycho sergeant she knew to be called Skenk climbed out of an outrider and approached her, shotgun in hand. “You! You’re AWOL, you are. Absent without leave and likely to be fed to the skags for it!”
“Kiss my fragrant ass,” she said, spitting on the ground between them. “I have important information for General Goddess.”
“They’ve been trying to find you, Broomy. And here you are, looking like a trash feeder tasted you and spat you out. Lost your ECHO, didya? Where’s Cess?”
“Dead. So’s Khunsuela. I’ve got information the General needs. And I need to see her in person.”
He scratched his crotch thoughtfully, then shrugged. “All right. I’ll give you an outrider. But you better have something she can use.”
“You bunch are supplying what, Hatchet?”
“Yeah, Hatchet Legion.”
“If they’re where they should be, they need to be told about something. In fact, I’ll show ’em myself before I head back to the Footstool.”
“They’re three klicks off, breaking camp. Watch out for that bunch. They like a kill before breakfast.”
“They’re the ones better watch out.”
