by James Axler
He slid his chair along the track, checking the monitor screens in front and above his head. Krysty was in her quarters and seemed unconcerned by what was happening. In truth, she seemed absorbed in what she was watching on the terminal in front of her.
“Sid? What is Krysty doing?”
“She has one of the old videos online, Howard,” Sid’s smooth tones replied.
“She seems very interested in it,” he commented. “Have we got audio as well as visual?” he continued, frowning as he tried to bring up the sound on her monitor, and was met with a fuzzy blur of white noise.
“There seems to be a minor malfunction,” Sid answered. “Perhaps it has not been noticed before as the room has not been in use for some time, and resultantly the equipment has not been called into use.”
“Hmm…Get a worker in there to effect repairs next time the room is vacant,” Howard commanded.
“It has already been logged, and will be realized at the earliest opportunity,” Sid replied.
Howard sat back. If she was that absorbed in an old video, then so much the better. She would not notice what was going on, and she would be immersing herself that much more in the culture of Thunder Rider, becoming Storm Girl.
IT WAS TRUE to say that Krysty was absorbed in an old video, but Sid had not revealed the whole of the truth to Howard. He could not lie. Part of the computer programming that had become melded with his identity over the past century had made this an impossibility. But Sid and Hammill still retained enough of their humanity, despite the gross physical distortions they had become, to be able to think outside of the box, to defy the logical paradigms of the machine. They were able to exchange ideas and thoughts and, at the same time, to bypass the memory of the mainframe that would record those exchanges and make it possible for Howard to stumble upon them if he should ever suspect.
They knew that they could “lie” to Howard when necessary not by telling mistruths, but by an assiduous pruning of the truth: by omission. If they did not tell Howard the whole truth, if they were selective about what they said, chose their words with infinite care, then it would enable them to only let him know that which they wanted him to know.
Of course, for the vast majority of the time, while he was alone in his bunker, this was not necessary. But they had both known that such a time would come. They had been ready for it, and had been prepared to test their theory to the limit, whichever of them had been called to task.
It just so happened that it was Sid. For instance, the question of the lack of sound on the monitor from Krysty’s quarters. Sid had not lied to Howard when he told him that there seemed to be a minor malfunction. He knew this to be the absolute truth. He knew that for one simple reason: he had sent a worker in there earlier to cause this malfunction. But as Howard had not asked him that, and he had chosen his words with care, he had not lied. Sid and Hammill knew that they were trapped. They were in a half-life, in thrall to the man who was now the last of his line. After him, as things now stood, there would be nothing. They would be left to their half-life existence in the twilight world of the empty bunker forever…or at least for the thousands of years it would take for the nuclear-powered facility to finally die. Even if they were to be invaded by outsiders, they would be inactive as none would hold the genetic key to open up the system. But at least in such an instance they could hope for a frustration-fueled destruction to take away their torment.
But now they had another way. Sid had genuinely taken a liking to Krysty Wroth. She had divined the sadness and dilemma that lay at the root of the surviving souls of both Hammill and himself. She did not blame them. She also realized that Howard was not responsible for who he was, while at the same time realizing the threat he could represent.
Sid felt sure that she could be their salvation. She could end their suffering and eliminate the threat that Howard could represent to the outside world. From their intelligence, they knew that it was a far from perfect world. But Howard was not sane. He had access to weapons that could cause far more harm than good.
That was why Sid had downloaded the file now playing on Krysty’s terminal. It was an old video, as he had told Howard. It was not one of Thunder Rider’s favorites, as he had assumed.
It was the last sane testament of the intellects that had built this place before it had become a travesty.
KRYSTY HAD BEEN WATCHING the vid play out for she knew not how long. She had almost forgotten that something in the outside world was happening that had caused Howard to want her isolation. She did not know how much time had passed, she only knew that she was transfixed by the woman on the screen in front of her. She had a slight figure, her thin limbs and painfully twisted torso belying the porcelain-perfect features and the cultured, fluting voice. She sat uncomfortably on a chair in this very room, at some time in the recent past, speaking directly into a camera as though she were speaking directly to Krysty—though, of course, she could have been speaking to anyone who viewed this, even her own…what was he? Brother, son of her sister?
The woman had chosen her last few days alive to record, in a series of sessions, her personal history, that of her family and her concerns for the sole survivor she was soon to leave behind. And to do it in a manner that left Krysty in no doubt as to what she had to do.
The woman began by revealing that her name was Jenny, and that she and Howard were the last ones left alive of what had once been one of the most prosperous, powerful and influential families of predark times. This much Krysty knew from what Sid had told her. But what she hadn’t realized was the extent of that influence.
“OUR FAMILY HAS MANY antecedents with what are these days disparagingly known as WASPs. ‘These days.’ In truth, I feel sure that the savages above the surface no longer have any idea that a wasp was an insect, let alone that it means White Anglo-Saxon Protestant. Nor what that means. Lord, it becomes hard to rid oneself of such assumptions, and to seek to explain for any who may see this. Even if you are what I have just termed a savage. Perhaps you are not, but you see, to myself and to Howard, trapped down here since long before our own birth by fate and accidents of that very birth, that is what you are. Different standards, ways of viewing the world. That is what…No, I must do this in the right order.
“As you can see, I am soon to die. I know this, and in truth I am afraid of it only in one way. Not for myself, but for the poor boy I’ll leave behind. Whatever he has done to lead you to this recording, it is not his fault. He cannot be held responsible for the actions of many previous generations.
“Our family had a lot of power in the old world. It’s hard to explain to those of you who have no reference. Some records have survived, so perhaps you will know. Howard is named after one of our family who had no children acknowledged in his lifetime. However, genetics are strong, and this man who was a pioneer of air travel and weaponry, and owned studios that were dream factories, left a strong imprint on all of us. The family was good at making money, and was good with technology. In times when war is rife, these are good gifts. And, as I’m sure you have found in the outside world, even though there is not so much in the way of money and of technology, war is always rife.
“Money and technology make contacts. Our family was thus aware of what was about to happen long before it was actualized. Our companies, and those that were at least in part owned or who relied upon the contracts supplied by our companies for their own existence, were pressed to action. Much of our work was sanctioned by governments, utilizing technologies that were developed by their military arms. This made our own defense and safety simple. In the longer run, because we were able to call upon that expertise in order to build this underground complex in which you now sit. In the short term, because we were able to quell any opposition by using the power and influence we held. And where that did not work, well, it is probably nothing to be proud of, but man is a venal beast. Bribery and blackmail have been tools throughout history, and I suppose it is no different on the surface now.
“The family owned a vast amount of land in this state—or should I say, what used to be this state—and we had many of the elected officials who owed their very election to our power and patronage. So it was easy to avoid too many questions as this place was excavated and built. Many of them probably thought this was a government project, anyway, and so were afraid that too many questions would lead to them being taken away in the night, never to be seen again.
“So this place was built. One of us, in a spirit of fun, named it Murania. That was an underworld kingdom in an old film. We have it on video. Howard loves it dearly, and if that fool ancestor had known what he had set in motion, he would have been ashamed to have chosen such a name…No, perhaps not, shame is not something that has ever come easily to us, if I choose to be honest. So we were named after a joke. A prophetic one, as in the film the kingdom is destroyed by its own hubris. Much as we have been.
“We had family and servants. To ensure the maximum use from them they were dehumanized into the worker robots you may see, and Sid and Hammill, the living elements of the computer. They know how I feel about this. It is something that has tainted my life, that I can see the awful existence they have to endure because of the arrogance of my ancestors.
“But, having said that, has the fate of those of us who have followed them been any better? They were not stupid people, but they did not believe in diluting the family. The consequence of this, of course, has been shown over the last century. Children were born as lust ran riot. There was, after all, little to do in the long night of the nuclear winter. There were plenty of diversions, but nothing can replace the need to be outside of this box. And so the children begat children. Inbreeding…I know from intelligence reports that filter in via our systems that this is a problem for isolated communities. We were just as isolated, albeit in greater luxury.
“The children had things…wrong. They were deformed, prone to illness, mad. Miscarriage became more common as the combinations of family members became more labyrinthine, our DNA more entwined. Or do I mean our genetics? I suppose it doesn’t matter if I have that correct. It’s the results that matter.
“And the result was that life cycles became truncated. Gradually, deformities and illness claimed us before old age. As you can see, I have many things physically wrong. I count it as nothing short of a miracle that I have made it this far. I have, thankfully, not been blessed with issue, as they used to say. But my sister was—she was impregnated by our father, shortly before he died. Howard is the result.
“And this is what you must know. Howard is the first of us to look physically perfect for some time. And he is. For in him the taint is not visible. But it is there. He is, in many ways, a sweet and innocent boy. He watches the old videos, reads the old stories, and he is immersed in a world that takes him away from the sterility of our reality. But that is what I fear.
“When I am gone, there will be none to temper him. He has no notion of reality and fantasy. He believes only what his own insane logic will lead him to believe is the truth, no matter how much he has to bend what is before him. He has no idea what the world is really like out there. You do. You must, as to see this you would have had to…I’m sorry, I’m beginning to ramble. My illness is growing worse. My body is as twisted inside as it is on the outside. Every breath has always been a battle, and now it grows more and more a battle that I cannot win.
“But Howard…Since he was a small boy, and so strong and virile, I have always counseled that he should not be allowed outside. There was talk between my sister and father that he should go, as he was strong, and the surface is now relatively safe. They may have been insane and inbred, as possibly am I, but they were lucid enough to realize that I could not conceive, and any hope for the future line lay in Howard going beyond and of necessity tainting the bloodline. I wonder, am I the mad one in this setting that I saw the possibility of my mating with him as repulsive? If the insane becomes the norm, then do the sane become the mad?
“It doesn’t matter, really, does it? I win as I was left standing as they died. Howard has been allowed out of the underground as he grew. There was nothing I could do to stop him. After all, he is big and strong and I am…not. But I was careful to limit him, to set boundaries that he stuck to because he loves me, and wants to make me happy. There were excuses about why he must not go far. He was happy to believe them, as he was content to believe me. He has never been beyond the boundaries of the old ranch, always limited himself to the old marking posts.
“But I will soon be dead. I know this. I can feel it creeping upon me, and in truth I do not fear it. For myself, I will welcome relief from the endless struggle of staying alive. But I fear my death for Howard. He will have no one except Sid and Hammill, and they can do nothing but obey him. I know that there is technology down here that would have been formidable in the old world. In the world as it is now, it could do untold damage to whatever rebuilding is taking place.
“Howard believes implicitly in the old stories as though they were truth, as though human behavior were that simple. To him, it is. When I am gone, there will be no hand to stay him. I fear for him. He will, eventually, do terrible things. He will not mean them to be. But it is in his nature to see the world in such a simplistic manner. And the madness…I fear that the taint will lead him into awful acts. His temper is strong, and emotionally he is still a small child.
“It pains me to say this, for I love him, but without a steadying hand, I fear for what he will do. Only he has the power to actuate the destruction of this place. It’s all genetics, you see. That and the randomness of numbers. Only he can destroy, but the threat can be stayed. I fear that he must be stopped, even at the expense of his life.”
THE VID RAMBLED ON for a while longer. Jenny was obviously in great pain, and very near to buying the farm when she recorded her statement, but there had been enough moments of clarity for Krysty to see that the woman was saner than the young man she had left behind. And the points she had made only reinforced what Krysty had been told by Sid, and what she had concluded for herself.
The problem she faced was no easy one, though. The entire complex was geared toward Howard, as he was the only one of his genetic line left. How could she effect the destruction of the complex and her escape when nothing would respond, except to him?
She hit a key, the screen went blank.
“Sid? Am I still locked in?”
“I’m afraid so, Krysty,” he replied in his sibilant tones. There was a longing in his voice.
“I know, I know,” she murmured.
And what was going on aboveground that had precipitated this?
NIGHT WAS FALLING FAST. Jak was now squatting on the back of the wag, still and silent, eyes scanning the horizon. Like Mildred and Doc, he had recovered from the mild concussions of earlier, and the only sign of his injury was the dressing that covered the cut on his temple.
Ryan and J.B. were still standing by the side of the wag, as though they hadn’t moved for hours. The chill wind of a desert night began to flick tendrils of cold air around them.
In the wag, Mildred and Doc were preparing a meal, the old man experimentally clicking his bruised jaw every now and then to see if it would still move. The noise was irritating the hell out of Mildred, who kept giving him vicious glares to which he was oblivious.
“How long wait?” Jak said eventually. Ryan could have sworn that not even his lips moved, he was so immobile.
“As long as we have to. Force the bastard’s hand,” the one-eyed man said softly.
J.B. looked sideways at him. He could tell from the mildness of tone how much his old friend was keeping his temper reined in. He knew that Ryan’s temper could only hold for so long.
Longer than Jak’s.
“Nothing soon, make recce alone. See what draw out.”
Ryan shook his head. “We can’t risk it.”
Jak sighed. Still, seemingly, without moving a muscle. “Can’t go like this. Chill slowly.”
&n
bsp; “I know,” Ryan answered in a whisper. “But what the fuck else can we do?”
J.B. frowned. “It could…We’re in the right area, I guess.”
Ryan looked at him sharply. “For what?”
J.B. shrugged. “If you’ve still got that locket Krysty gave you…”
Fireblast! Ryan could feel it burning a hole in his pocket. That was what had been nagging him. His anger and grief at losing Krysty had clouded his reason, made his thinking blurred. Not for the first time, he thanked whatever fates there may be that he had J. B. Dix as his friend.
The locket just might be the edge he was looking for.
Chapter Ten
“Sid,” she said softly, “can you hear me?”
“Yes, Krysty, I can divide my attention between posts and talk with many voices.”
“Nice trick. Sid, how are my friends?”
“The armored vehicle they were using is outside the minefield. They are safe. They are, however, still within range of our missile strike. But I suspect Howard does not wish to harm them. At least, not yet. I still have enough of my humanity left to be able to assess his mood. His is loath to dismiss his original plan to incorporate them into his mission, using you to persuade them, assuming, as he has, that he has your approval.”
“He does?”
“He thinks this.”
“Guess he sees what he wants to, right?”
“I think it would be fair to say that he has a view of the world that is self-focused to an almost unnatural degree.”
Krysty allowed herself a smile. The man-machine’s careful phrasing amused her.
“The guy’s fucking nuts, Sid. Not his fault, but he is.”
“Blunt, but fair,” Sid replied with a dry chuckle in his tone. “But as I’m sure you’re aware, this makes him volatile. Currently, he is waiting for them to make the next move. He has no experience of tactics outside the formulaic fictions of the past that he sees as history. His patience is wearing thin, but his indecisiveness is their safety for a short while longer, at least.”
