by James Axler
Some of it could have been said by the man who stared, openmouthed, at the screen, lost in a world that was a million miles away from the woman standing next to him.
Krysty reached out and touched him. He looked around, his blank eyes seeming even more distant, and then gradually seemed to become aware of his surroundings. His face broke into a grin that was almost bashful, and for the first time she saw it reach his eyes.
“Sorry,” he said eventually in a small voice, “this always has this effect on me. It’s all I’ve been striving to be. But I don’t expect you to understand this quite yet. Most of these old tapes are too fragile to play now, but fortunately my predecessors transferred everything to computer, so it can be accessed. I just like the feel of the tapes…to look at them, to read the boxes. It’s as though…as though I was back there, I guess. The same goes for the books and comics,” he added, indicating the shelves behind him that were jammed with old volumes and thin paper magazines. “I like to get them down and look at them, feel the paper and think about the people they recorded. They were more just times, and these people made it so. That’s so very important, don’t you think? But all the same, when I read them I do so from the computer screen, as I’m so very scared of damaging them. It would be like losing the past. And that’s all I have until I’ve built a new present. Come…”
He beckoned to her, not making the mistake of trying to touch her or offering her his hand. This way, she figured, he wouldn’t feel embarrassed, perhaps felt more in control.
And she had a nasty feeling that control was a big part of what made him tick. And that meant that, at some point, he would want to control her.
And that moment would be decisive.
She took a deep breath and smiled at Howard, following him as he led her out of the general quarters and into the kitchen area. It was sparse and clean. The food, he explained, was stored in vast freezers and airtight containers. He went into a long explanation of how the air was sucked from the airtight rooms every time they were opened and then resealed. Machinery was obviously a fetish with him. Krysty pretended to listen attentively, but all the time her attention was flicking around the room.
It seemed as though no one ever used the kitchen. The surfaces were gleaming, the tools hung from the walls and ceiling in serrated rows of knife edges. Weapons, if necessary. There was no sign of any food preparation. No sign of habitation.
“It’s all so wonderfully clean.” She burst in on his monologue with a faked ingenuousness she hoped sounded more real to him than it did to her.
Howard stopped, looking momentarily puzzled. “I suppose, from what I’ve seen so far, this level of hygiene is probably unheard-of on the surface world as of yet. Hammill and Sid have a team of workers who deal with this. They’re extremely efficient. I prepare all my own meals, you know,” he added in a boyish tone. “I haven’t had to rely on any help for a long time. Not since my sister—” He broke off, looking away. “Anyway, in time…Meanwhile, there is still much for you to see.”
Krysty followed him as he left through the far door, thinking that perhaps he had given away more than he wanted.
How many workers, for Gaia’s sake?
The tour continued. They went through labs with closed-off Plexiglas partitions. It was here that his chem weapons were synthesized from existing stocks, or premade and stored. There were two armories that would have made J.B. faint with pleasure, weapons that she sure couldn’t identify, along with a lot that she could and that she knew to be deadly in their effect. And there was ammo for all that ordnance.
The odd thing was that she was used to seeing labs and armories in the harsh sodium glare of fluorescent lighting, with bare concrete floors and functional walls. This was weird. All that she had seen so far was like some opulent mansion from one of those old vids that lined the general quarters. The walls were in pastel shades, a thick carpeting in contrasting hues dulled their every footfall, and there were pictures on the walls. Some were paintings that she recognized from books, and others were photographs. A number of them featured individuals or groups that had people with a resemblance to the man in front of her.
“Howard, what are these?” she asked eventually. He stopped, looked back at her with the mildest of puzzlement on his face. It was hard for her to keep in mind that this seemingly childlike figure was also a coldheart chiller.
“Some of them are individual family members, others are groups. As you can see,” he added with a grin. “What I mean is that they are those who went before and made all this possible. It was their efforts, and the efforts of those who worked for them, that ensured our survival after the nuclear winter.”
“Those who worked for them?”
“Oh, yes—they were plenty smart, but they couldn’t have done this alone. They recruited the best brains of their generation to assist them in this project. Their reward was to be that they, too, would survive. And they did. Without them I would not be here now, talking to you. And the work goes on.”
“But there are no pictures of the others here,” she said.
He looked at her as though she were a stupe child. “Of course not. They aren’t family,” he said simply. “Now, if we continue, we’ll come to the motor bays. You saw one of these yesterday, when we arrived. That’s where I was this morning, before Sid informed me of your waking. And I hate to be impolite, but I must soon return to my work if I am to keep to my schedule.”
He led her through to the bays, but his last words were preying on her mind. What was the schedule? How short was it? And what the hell was the aim? There were too many questions, and although she’d had hints of answers that he’d unwittingly given away, there was still far too much that she needed to find out before she could work out a course of action.
The bays were much as she would have expected from the night before. They housed a variety of vehicles, in states of repair and maintenance. Heavy tools and equipment littered the bays, and she was pretty sure that if she could get down here on her own she could hot-wire one of the wags, fight off any opposition and…and what? Until she could study the sec systems in any way, there was no guarantee she could get out of the exit tunnel in one piece.
And where was everyone? This, like the other sectors she had seen, was deserted except for the two of them. He was keeping her apart from the others he had spoken of, and she didn’t like the idea of going up against an unknown quantity. Another thing she had still to find out.
She feigned interest in what he had to say, waiting for the moment when he would leave her and she would be able to work out her own plan of action. He spoke at length, saying nothing that made any sense to her, before indicating that it was time for him to return to his work. If she followed the same route back, she would be able to find her way to her room—as it was now designated. She could stop and look at the books and vids if she wished, but if she had any requests she was to ask Sid, who would relay them to the computer terminal in her room, as the originals were too fragile.
That caught her attention. She couldn’t remember seeing a terminal in the room. Perhaps if she used that for the innocuous business of watching old vids, then she might be able to access the mainframe and find out a little more about what exactly was going on here.
She waited until he had finished, signaling this by turning to the mechanics he had been working on earlier that morning, and then made to leave. She walked directly to the door from which they had accessed the bays, yet all the time she was scanning the area, noting other doors, positions of possible weapons. She left Howard to his task and retraced her earlier steps.
Sid—whoever he may be—automatically opened doors as she approached, signaling her path. She wanted to detour, to try one of the other doors along the way, one of those that had been locked or closed to her.
She couldn’t make it look too deliberate. She had noted the doors that had been unlocked previously, and she made for one of them.
“What are you doing, Krysty Wroth?” Sid’s u
nseen presence asked her in the mildest of tones.
“Just curious,” she replied in as offhand a manner as she could muster. “It must be okay, I was shown this before.” She opened the door and looked in on the plushly furnished room. After a pause, she said, “Sid, Howard ran through things a little quickly, and I think I must be a little confused, still. I can’t remember whose room he said this was?”
“He did not say,” Sid replied with the mildest note of censure in his voice. “In point of fact, it belonged to a now deceased family member.”
“Just like my room,” she murmured. “How many of the family have bought the farm, then?”
There was a pause.
“Sid?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Wroth, I was not immediately familiar with the term. I understand you to be asking how many of the family are now deceased. Am I correct?” She nodded, knowing that he could see her. “The numbers are unimportant. What you have to remember is that we have been down here for several generations, so many have passed naturally.”
“‘We,’ Sid? Are you one of the family.”
“No. I am one of those who serve.”
She waited, but the voice was not forthcoming with any more information. Like it was going to be that easy.
She continued on the route back to her new quarters, stopping a couple of times to look at unlocked rooms.
“What is it you require?” Sid asked.
“I’m just acquainting myself with the place,” she answered in as neutral a manner as she could muster.
The distant voice did not reply. She took that as a good sign. He wasn’t actively dissuading her, so if she made an error of some kind…
She continued down the route until she had looked in another two rooms, then went to a door she knew was locked, or at least had not been actively opened to her the previous occasion. She tried it and was less than surprised to find that it would not budge.
“Ms. Wroth, what are you doing?” Sid’s voice carried the mildest of rebukes. That was no indication. She’d met many a coldheart who sounded as soft as summer rain yet would chill you without blinking.
“My mistake,” she replied. “I thought this was one of the rooms that I saw earlier.”
“Please do not lie to me, Krysty Wroth. Just because I am not with you in presence does not mean that I cannot tell what is going on. You are attempting to gain access to rooms that were not on the route given to me by Howard. Please explain yourself.”
“Why did Howard only allow certain rooms to be opened to me?”
“You have not answered my question.”
“And you haven’t answered mine.”
“Very well,” Sid intoned after a pause. “There is a simple and innocuous answer to your question. Howard wished you to see family rooms, as you will become part of the family. The other rooms are of no concern as they are worker rooms.”
The phrase about becoming part of the family caused a cold chill to run down her spine, but she elected to ignore this in favor of pressing home the fact that she had got Sid to reveal something.
“Why can’t I see workers’ rooms? In point of fact, why haven’t I seen any of these workers who Howard talks about? Where are you? Why am I being kept from you?”
“Really, Ms. Wroth, there is little I can say. Howard would not be pleased with this discourse as it stands. All I can say to you is that there has been no reason for you to encounter any of us. Howard is our master by birth, and we must obey him.”
“Why? Your ancestors built this base for his ancestors. You were the brains and the hands. His people were just the jack.” She was taking a chance here, and she knew it. But she had to test the territory sooner or later.
She thought she’d blown it, as Sid was quiet for some while. Then, when she was sure she’d pushed too far and sec guards would descend on her, he spoke.
“You do not understand, Ms. Wroth. I could not expect you to. Howard is not a bad man, so please do not judge him as such. Indeed, compared to some members of the family who have come before him, he is positively saintly. Yet consider this—would it be possible to be born, live down here, and come from a limited gene pool without being in many ways incomprehensible to such as yourself? Howard is good to us, to what we have become. He does not abuse his powers when it comes to the workers. Certainly not in the way that many who preceded him have done.”
Krysty frowned. “I don’t think I understand you. Not completely. I think that your boss is completely mad, and probably very dangerous. Not bad. To be bad he would have to know what was good, and I don’t think he has the capacity for that. But that doesn’t make me any the less easy about being down here. And I still don’t understand why I haven’t seen anyone else. Why are you being kept from me?”
“Perhaps for your own peace of mind, Ms. Wroth. Had you considered that?”
Krysty gave a dry, humorless laugh. “It’s hard to consider anything when I’m standing out here talking to a voice without a face or body.”
There was a long pause. “Those are, perhaps, unfortunate choices of words, Ms. Wroth. But I feel—and I suspect that those of the others who are capable of such feeling may share this—that you can be trusted. Not, perhaps, in the way that Howard thinks. But maybe in a more real way. I will show myself to you. Please go to the fifth door on your left.”
Krysty looked back along the way she had come. One of the doors gave a soft click, although it did not open.
With measured tread, slightly apprehensive at what she may have put in train, Krysty walked toward the door. It did not open, not until she was right in front of it.
“I hope you are ready for this, Ms. Wroth. I know from intelligence sources that you have seen many things. Hopefully, this will not be too big a shock.”
As the door opened, she could see the length of one wall. It was painted white. A simple bed and a tiled floor. The bed was dusty, as though it had not been used for many years. There were no decorations on the walls, no pictures to relieve the white. As the door swung wider, she could see a long-unused desk and chair, both empty for many decades.
It was only when the door opened to its full extent, back against the wall, and the whole room was revealed, that she understood what Sid had meant.
“Gaia!” she exclaimed before a string of curses escaped her lips.
HOWARD HAD EXPECTED many things from Krysty Wroth, but her behavior still baffled him. He had shown her respect and hospitality, and yet she had repaid him with fear. Her reluctance to touch him in case he hurt her had shown him this. It was a pity. He had a great desire to feel her skin against his as their hands touched. Human contact was painful and odd to him after this time, and he desired to rectify that.
But as he busied himself on preparing the land cruiser so that it could augment the bike, and act as a vehicle for them both, he felt more reassured than he had just a short time earlier. It was the living shadows of the old movies that had brought them together. For his own part, he knew that the records of those times before the nuclear winter never failed to entrance and inspire him. It had been that way since Jenny had showed them to him when he was young. But he had not expected the same from Krysty.
And yet she had joined him, watching the course of justice follow its natural path. She had said nothing, had not questioned…It was more than he could have expected. She knew! She instinctively understood what motivated him, as it motivated her and her traveling companions.
Ah, yes, the others. That was why he was preparing the land cruiser, after all. The idea that she should be shown the way and understand it—as he felt she did—and then help him convince the others to join him. That had been the plan, and a good one. A task force for justice. But now, it seemed to be…not so good. Why, he couldn’t quite tell. Only that there seemed an imbalance to it. The idea of Thunder Rider and Storm Girl, though, that had a certain symmetry to it that he found appealing. For that was what she should be called. All across the lawless wastes would know her name, and tremble in
fear if they were wrongdoers. For she was wild, like the storm that swept over the land, cleansing the earth. That hair, a red fire that…
He shook his head. He was getting too carried away. For all he knew, she would wish to be reunited with her companions, especially the one-eyed man, Ryan Cawdor.
The nut he was tightening with a wrench sheared from its mount, spun across the floor. He watched it, aware that it was an extra turn from him that had done this, aware of the anger that had built in him with a rapid rage, boiling over into that one violent action. And he knew why that was: Ryan Cawdor. He was not worthy of one such as Storm Girl. He was a good man, admittedly, but no crusader for justice and truth.
There was only one who was right for Krysty: that was Thunder Rider. They would be the perfect team.
He had only to make her see that. He returned to his work, selecting a replacement nut to tighten on the underside of the chassis. He felt sure that she was already seeing this. That was why he had allowed her to return on her own.
He could trust her.
“SWEET GAIA, what have they done to you?”
Krysty walked closer to the metal lab table, breathing shallowly and quickly, trying to come to terms with what she could see.
“And the other workers? Are they…?”
“No. Myself and Hammill are like this. We were, perhaps, the lucky ones.”
“How can you say that?”
For the first time since she had been in the complex, the omnipotent voice of Sid showed some emotion. He laughed, a low chuckle that gave her a feeling for how he had to, at one time, have looked.
“It must seem strange for you to hear me say, Ms. Wroth. I’ll admit to that. But the others have lost far more than I. They may be ambulatory, but they have lost that vital spark.”
Krysty looked at Sid—or what was left of him—and frowned. “Say that plain. There’s a lot of words there that haven’t survived outside.”
