Mutant City

by Steve Feasey

  ‘That’s dangerous talk, Silas.’

  ‘These are dangerous times, Miss Cowper.’

  ‘So where do I come into all of this? You knew the children’s existence had been uncovered. It seems to me that the last thing you would want would be a nosy reporter snooping about the place just as you were gathering them all together.’

  The older man offered her a resigned smile. ‘I want you to meet them. I want their existence, hidden for so long through no fault of their own, to be documented and recorded. If Melk is intent on erasing his grubby little secret to save his and his son’s political careers, I want people to know the true story.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I would have thought something like this was every journalist’s dream, Miss Cowper. I don’t believe in coincidences, and I think your decision to cross the wall when you did happened for a reason. This is that reason.’

  ‘Have you really considered what all this might mean? If these children really are as powerful as you say they are – and Melk fails in his attempts to apprehend them – have you thought about what might happen next?’

  ‘Yes, I have. But perhaps you’d be so kind as to tell me what you think?’

  ‘I think there’ll be trouble. Big trouble. Maybe even war.’ She glanced across at him. ‘What?’

  ‘There is a man coming here by wagon with a girl called Anya. The people who know this man call him Tink or Tinker, and he has been a good friend to our hidden children over the years. Tink also has a “gift”, although he would describe it as a curse. He has the gift of foresight. He has visions, revelations about possible futures. I asked him once if he’d ever had a vision that involved the children, and he told me he’d had many. He told me that one day they’d be discovered; that they’d be drawn into a conflict; that they’d be at the centre of a fight for freedom.’

  ‘And how did he say the conflict would end?’

  ‘He couldn’t, or maybe wouldn’t, say.’ Silas paused. ‘For too long now, the mutant inhabitants of this world have suffered in silence. They have had no choice but to do so – how can you stand up to people who have all that technology and weaponry at their disposal? Maybe a display of what some of us are capable of will make them stop and think.’

  She smiled, giving a small shake of her head. ‘You said “us”. You’re not even a mutant, Silas.’

  ‘I was referring to all of those who live outside the walls, Miss Cowper. You’re one of us too now. I’ve told you all this in the hope that you can show the city dwellers what has been happening out here, and what their leaders are capable of. None of us wants a war, Tia, but that’s exactly where we’re heading if we can’t put a halt to this madness.’ He stood up. ‘As soon as you’ve made your mind up, will you please tell me what you intend to do? I will completely understand if you want to simply go back to your life inside the city.’

  It was Tia’s turn to smile and shake her head. ‘That may not be quite as simple as it sounds. Besides, as you said, this is the journalistic opportunity of a lifetime. I’m staying put. Whatever lies ahead, I’ll do my best to see that the people know who was at the heart of it.’

  Melk

  Zander stood in the hallway, looking through the glass section of the door at his father in the room beyond. It was dark except for a glowing heat panel on the far wall, the light it emitted casting long, fuzzy shadows. In the short time since he’d last seen him, the old man’s health appeared to have deteriorated further.

  Unaware he was being observed, the former head of Bio-Gen sat hunched in his chair, a shadow of the formid­able figure who’d done so much for the Six Cities and their inhabitants. The old man coughed, a nasty sound that carried and made Zander cringe. Pushing the door open, he cleared his own throat to signal his presence.

  His father immediately straightened up and turned, beckoning his son to enter and take the seat opposite his own.

  ‘Father.’ Zander nodded.

  ‘Junior.’ His father knew how much he hated this moniker, and the smirk on his lips said as much. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’

  ‘I’ve come to update you on that little matter we spoke of the last time we met.’

  ‘The items that were taken from me, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you’ve found them? They were at the locations I gave you?’

  ‘No.’ He watched as the old man’s shoulders sank.

  ‘None of them?’

  ‘None of them.’ He paused. It was unkind, he knew, but he was enjoying watching the old man squirm. He glanced at his watch. ‘However, it seems that our search was not entirely in vain. Despite our failure to reach them, your chickens appear to be coming home to roost.’

  His father remained still, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of his son’s words. Always insightful, it took only a few moments for realisation to dawn. His face lit up. ‘They’re here?’

  ‘In Muteville. Three of them, at least. One, a girl, has joined the man Silas and his albino friend. Two others arrived in the slums this morning and are in Green Ward. They’ve been put up in what the inhabitants believe to be a safe house.’

  ‘Jax,’ the old man said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The albino. He has telepathic powers, although I had no idea they were powerful enough to communicate across such distances. He’s called the children back.’

  ‘Why?’

  The old man ignored the question. ‘What of the eldest? The one called Brick?’

  ‘The healer?’

  ‘Don’t toy with me, Junior.’

  ‘We’re pretty certain he’s one of the two who arrived today. It seems he has already used his powers to cure a sick mutant. That’s why they’re still in Green Ward: it appears that in helping cure the sickness, he’s left himself weak and unable to travel – for the time being at least.’

  ‘You said there were two?’

  ‘It seems he’s travelling with a younger boy – about fourteen years of age – they arrived together.’

  ‘This other one – any indication that he has a special gift?’

  ‘Not that we know of.’

  The older man began coughing again, his face going from red to purple as he gasped for air. Eventually he stopped and mopped at his chin with a handkerchief. Unhooking the oxygen mask from the tank by his side, he put the thing over his mouth and turned a lever, releasing the gas in a sharp hiss and taking a few lungfuls before putting it to one side.

  ‘How did you find all this out?’

  ‘I’ve formed an unlikely alliance with a mutant hoodlum – a man rather appropriately named Steeleye, who has spies everywhere. One of his informers is the cousin of the girl cured by your healer. It seems this family relation has aspirations to take over the running of the ward, and Steeleye has –’

  ‘What are you planning to do?’

  ‘We have three spy drones in the air overhead as we speak.’ He looked at his watch again, then got up and crossed the room to the huge screen on the wall across from his father’s chair. ‘I’ve arranged for the live feed from the drones to be patched through to here from the command room. A crack squad of my best men is about to raid the place. You and I will have the best seats in the house.’ He waved his hand across the front of the device, stepping a little to one side so his father could see the images as they appeared on the screen.

  President Melk sat perfectly still. His body might be giving up on him, but his mind was as sharp as ever. He looked up at the images from the unmanned surveillance drones. They were over an area of the slums, the infrared cameras relaying odd green-and-black images that were not always easy to interpret. The live feed switched from one to the next as those in the command room sought to get the best view of proceedings.

  ‘Call them off.’

  ‘What?’

  His father gave him a stony look. ‘Call them off, Junior.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. And don’t call me that.’

  ‘You came here today to show me you can
be decisive and determined. I admire that, but you haven’t thought this through.’ He held up his hand when his son started to protest. ‘For once, that is not meant as a criticism. Sometimes age and experience allow you to see things more clearly than is the case for those blessed with youth. I may have failed as a father to you, but I have tried to be the best advisor I could.’ He paused, briefly lifting the mask to his face before continuing. ‘Now, despite the fact that this mess is entirely of my making, you are the one having to clean it up. I apologise for that. I can’t turn back the clock and undo my mistakes, but I can help you make the right decisions regarding them. Clearly it’s no coincidence these children have all turned up here together.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘We discovered their whereabouts, and rather than try to hide them again, they’re called back here. Why?’ The old man sighed, narrowing his eyes, thinking things through. ‘Maybe I’ve misjudged our friend Silas . . . again. I’d always assumed his original rescue of the children from the Farm was nothing more than the man’s dislike for what had gone on in that place – an act of compassion and nothing more. But what if he had something else in mind, a plan that was hatched back then but is only coming to term now?’

  ‘That would be far-sighted of him.’

  ‘My brother had a brilliant mind – I’ve already told you that. Maybe his genius was also Machiavellian in nature.’ He paused. ‘Do you know what a sleeper cell is?’

  Zander rolled his eyes. He hated it when his father lectured him. ‘Enlighten me.’

  ‘Back in the days before the Last War, terrorism was rife. Individuals or radical groups struck fear into the hearts of governments and world leaders because they were difficult to trace and apprehend. Some of them were part of the very communities they were to attack – a sleeper cell – remaining dormant until they were activated by a prearranged signal to perform acts of violence. The establishment of these groups required a strategy over a long period of time.’ He stared pointedly at his son. ‘We discovered Silas’s sleeper cell, and because of that he’s had to call them into action. The mutants are already revolting – demanding rights and privileges they have no claim to – and now they’re ready to take their uprising to a new level. This gathering of the children is an act of aggression against the people of C4 and the other cities. He’s been playing the long game, son. Now he’s getting ready to make his first big move!’

  ‘You don’t know that. You can’t just assume –’

  ‘I’m telling you, this is an act of aggression!’

  ‘Then why do you say we should call a halt to the raid on Green Ward?’

  ‘You yourself used the analogy of chickens coming home to roost. Well, we should wait for all the chickens to be safely inside the coop before we send the foxes in to do their work.’

  ‘What about your healer?’ Zander looked pointedly at the oxygen tank.

  ‘I’ll have to hold on for a little longer, won’t I?’ The old man’s face softened. ‘Look, I know your pride will be telling you to push on with this. To be a big man and show me what you can do. I understand that. But what if it goes wrong? What if something happens? You won’t know where the others are –’ he nodded at the screen – ‘and you might even lose the ones you do know about. Trust me. Call the raid off.’

  Zander stood looking back at the man. Try as he might, he couldn’t help but feel like a small child again. Everything his father said made perfect sense and he could appreciate that calling off the raid was strategically the right call, but . . . dammit! He cursed under his breath and tapped the palm of his hand to activate the embedded comms unit, the purple glow painting his face. He was on the verge of saying the name of the man he’d put in charge of the operation, when he stopped. What was he doing? Caving in again to his bullying and hectoring father – a man who clearly had no respect for him or the decisions he made! He, Zander Melk, was running for president! And a real president called the shots; they didn’t kowtow to a sick old man forced to suck air out of a bottle.

  He closed his hand, switching off the device. When he spoke again, it was in the formal and clipped manner he used when addressing members of his staff. ‘I respect your views, Father, but as of right now I think it better to act on the information we have. Capturing these individuals will give us a bargaining tool with which to flush out the remaining parties.’ He turned his back on the man, concentrating his attention on the images showing on the screen.

  The father narrowed his eyes in his son’s direction. He wanted to say more, but it was clear there was nothing he could do to change Zander’s mind. Instead, he held his tongue and turned his face to watch the events unfolding on the monitor.

  Steeleye

  Steeleye looked down at the gun he’d been given by Zander, turning it over in his hands again.

  ‘Brand new, state-of-the-art,’ the younger Melk had said when he unpacked the thing from its crate and handed it to the mutant.

  ‘What does it do?’ Steeleye asked, bringing the strange-looking firearm up to his shoulder and sighting down the top of the short, wide barrel at the front.

  ‘It’s a non-lethal entrapment weapon. We had it designed especially.’

  The Mute slowly lowered the thing from his shoulder and glowered across at the politician. ‘Entrapment weapon?’ He looked at the other men getting ready in the ARM barracks, all of whom appeared to be packing guns very different to his own. ‘Why don’t I get one of those PEGs?’

  Zander glanced over his shoulder. The regular members of the squad all carried Pulsed Energy Guns. Although these too were supposed to be non-lethal, in accordance with the Principia’s weaponry directives, Steeleye knew that the men would have had them customised so they could unofficially be ‘dialled up’ to kill. They worked by firing a concentrated invisible pulsed beam, creating exploding plasma inside the cells of the body, and he knew from bitter personal experience that, even on their lowest setting, they could leave the target writhing on the floor in a state of agony.

  ‘Because I’m entrusting you, and only you, with this.’ Principal Melk had a big grin on his face. ‘If these mutant kids try to make a run for it, I want you to employ this to stop them. The rest of the team are under strict instructions not to use the PEGs on them unless it’s absolutely necessary; something could go wrong.’ He nodded at the gun in Steeleye’s hand. ‘This one is designed to entrap the target in a rapidly expanding ball of sticky foam that becomes more gluey as the ensnared person struggles.’

  ‘A glue gun?’ Mange spat. ‘That’s what this is? A glue gun?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘You’ll also be carrying the hydraulic ram . . . for the door.’

  ‘Let me get this straight. I get a glue gun and a ram?’ He glanced across again at the other ARM members who were strapping all kinds of weaponry on to their belts and vests.

  ‘A hydraulic ram.’ Zander smiled up at the big mutant. ‘You said you wanted to join up? Well, this is what the new recruits do until they’ve completed their training.’

  Steeleye opened his mouth to say something else, but decided to bite his tongue instead. He badly wanted to tell Zander Melk where he could shove his glue gun, but even more, he wanted a chance to get his hands on that albino. Matching the politician’s goofy smile, he shrugged and walked off, mumbling to himself under his breath.

  That had been a little over an hour ago. Now the squad was on the outskirts of the ghetto, waiting for the go-ahead to storm the safe house where the kids were being kept. It was a foul night – the cold blowing in from their backs made the regular men huddle together, huffing into their hands for warmth. In spite of having cut the arms off his ill-fitting uniform, Steeleye stood up straight, apparently immune to the cold.

  ‘How much longer we gonna have to wait?’ he called across to the squad commander.

  The man turned away, ignoring him. Nobody stood near the mutant. He’d been left alone since it was announced, to the
regulars’ collective disbelief, that he would be joining the raid. Not that he cared; as far as he was concerned the men in the ARM unit were all pussies, and he was certain he could wipe the floor with each and every one of them – individually or collectively. But they were his chance to get these kids and some payback. And if there was one thing Steeleye liked more than anything else, it was payback.

  Rush

  ‘You should stay away from that window,’ Janek, Yesmin’s nephew and neighbour, said to Rush. The man had been sent to the safe house by his aunt. He’d been surly with them the entire time, and in the last hour had turned downright hostile.

  ‘It’s fine. Nobody can see me; the lights are out.’ There wasn’t much of a window to look out of anyway. Planks had been nailed across it on the outside, leaving only small gaps to peer through.

  ‘Not all the lights,’ Janek said, looking across at Brick, who was sitting on the edge of a low pallet, the wind-up torch held in his lap so the beam shone directly up into his face.

  ‘He doesn’t like the dark,’ Rush said in his friend’s defence.

  ‘A great big thing like that, afraid of the dark?’

  ‘Leave him alone.’

  Janek grumbled something under his breath, and Rush felt like reminding the ungrateful oaf how Brick had helped save the life of a member of his family, but he couldn’t be bothered to argue with him. Instead he returned his attention to the world outside. The safe house was built at the end of a narrow mud lane flanked on both sides by ramshackle houses that leaned forward precariously. From where he stood, Rush could see right up the street. Apart from the large rats making the occasional scurrying run, it was deserted. When Yesmin had first brought them here, he’d been alarmed that there was only one way in or out, until she showed him the hidden door that opened out into an even narrower alleyway at the rear.