Future Reborn

by Daniel Pierce

  Mira spat on Hardhead before a wry smile tugged at her lips. “Take it. It’s not like he needs it anymore.”

  I swung the head jauntily, as we turned back to the road. We had a debt to collect, and I had a world to conquer. Having a beautiful woman by my side and a thousand coins, made visiting the post into something to celebrate.

  “Hey, never thought to ask this, but do people still make beer?” I asked Mira.

  She looked at me like I’d been kicked in the head. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. First cup is on me.” She regarded Hardhead’s dripping skull and smiled, a wicked grin full of danger and joy. “After that, you’re buying.”

  8

  “Who the hell are you?” The question wasn’t friendly, and neither way the person asking. He was one of three positioned above the post’s walls, guarding a gate made of bound lumber and iron straps like something out of a video game. The gate and walls looked amateur, even if heavily built. I could tell that whatever skills Wetterick’s people had, engineering wasn’t one of their strong suits.

  I considered my answers, holding out a hand to stop Mira, who had a biting retort ready to fly. Her mouth wasn’t just beautiful; it was well-equipped for a lot of different jobs, including cussing like a drunken Marine. The conversation we were about to have could go one of two ways, depending on how big an asshole the sweaty, stinking guard turned out to be. The green and gold vests designed to show off their arms was a total amateur flash move that might intimidate starving traders, but to me, it looked desperate and stupid.

  I chose the friendly route first, but with my own personal edge, but only because I didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding about what was going to happen next.

  “Jack Bowman and this is Mira. I believe you know her, and as for this,” I brandished Hardhead’s enormous noggin, still ripe with congealed blood and a look of surprise on his piggish face, “is my good friend Hardhead. We had a disagreement, but in the end, he saw things my way and asked for a favor.”

  “A favor, you say?” The middle guard was taller, cleaner, and definitely in charge. His bearing was that of sergeant, not grunt. “What kinda favor?”

  “He told me to collect a thousand imperials and blow it all on liquor for the post as a sort of going away present. Said he wouldn’t be able to make it, but you’d understand.” I grinned, waving the head by its nose horn. The smell was incredible, and I made a note to keep the damned thing still until I could unload it and collect. I didn’t want to puke on the sand and blow my credibility with the guards. Or Mira, for that matter.

  The guy in charge rubbed his chin after a quiet conference with the other two guards, then he leaned over the wall, which was only three meters high at most. “Hand it up, and we’ll see to it you get your credit, friend. A damned fine piece of cutting you done there—”

  I let my laughter bubble up and out, wiping an eye before glaring at all three guards in turn. “Do you see a wound on my head that makes you think I’m stupid? Open the fucking gate, or I’ll come through it and find Wetterick myself.”

  “You don’t say?” The big one lifted his brows, then tapped his buddies on the shoulder in amazement. “D’ya hear that boys? He’s going to come through the gate and see the boss on his own. Quite a feat for someone on the wrong side of the fucking wall. Give it here, boy, and I’ll promise to cut you in. I got no need to lie, you got the head, and I’m an honest man. Ain’t that right, ahh—”

  “Mira, you pig.” She glared at the men in turn.

  “O’course, Mira. A lovely desert rose if ever I seen one. Well, Jack, ah, Bowman, if you can hand up that head, we can get you inside for a cold brew. Fresh keg cracked this evening, foam to the stars.” He reached down, a big, dirty hand clasping at air.

  “Sounds good to me, I guess,” I told them. Mira gasped, and the guard smiled, revealing a mouth full of yellow teeth like an abandoned piano.

  Hardhead had been combat, but this was something else. More like the Olympics, but in a desert on hard packed sand. I jumped, drawing on my ‘bots in a single leap that threw me upward into the shocked face of the lead guard, who drew his arms back in a twitch.

  He was too slow.

  My right hand locked around his wrist, and I jerked downward with a savage tug, dislocating his shoulder and sending him spinning to the sand with a muffled scream. He landed like a sack of wheat, groaning once and falling silent.

  “Anyone else want to give me a hand, or does she cut this fucker’s throat to the bone?” I asked the remaining two guards, who looked stricken under their coat of grime and scruff.

  To my side, I heard Mira laugh, a low sound between a hiss and a giggle, followed by the metallic ring of her blade leaving the scabbard. “He needs a shave, Jack. Think I should give him one?” Her lips twisted in a cruel smirk that I found more than a little hot. I made yet another note to keep her on my good side, or better yet underneath me. Women like her were rare in my time, let alone a flyblown shithole where rhinos with human hands ate people on the regular.

  “Not yet, I think. Let’s appeal to reason. Gentlemen, what do you say? Open the gate, and we all become friends, or...” Letting the question hang, I watched their resolve crumble like a dune underfoot.

  “We’ll get the gate,” they answered in unison.

  The shorter one added, “Don’t hurt Stovar, he don’t mean nothing by it. Just trying to make coin. Things have been bad with one side of the post closed because of that—that thing. It’s been out there for two weeks, eatin’ people and stoppin’ trade.”

  The gate began to creak open by an unseen wheel—foot operated based on how the guards were moving above the wall. When it was wide enough to let us in, Mira turned back to Stovar, who groaned lightly into the sand. She drew back a boot and kicked him in the balls hard enough that he screamed, blowing snot and spit into the space below his mouth before collapsing in a quivering mess.

  “Now, you can come get the bastard,” she said.

  I shrugged as we went past the guards, rushing to their friend. “You heard the lady. Now, about that beer?” I smiled at the men as the post opened before me. Dozens of people stopped in their tracks to watch our entry from the closed side. Clearly, we were unexpected.

  “Is it to your liking?” Mira asked.

  In truth, I’d seen worse. It was more than a trading post, it was a medium town, just inside a wall that was built by idiots. My blood hummed at the thought of a new challenge, and I wondered how long we’d be inside the walls before the usual suspects sent their feelers. Seconds, if I was any kind of judge of character. I smiled, breathing the thick air as a dozen or more people began to gasp at what I held in my hand.

  “I like the smell, I’ll say that. Might like it more after we get paid,” I told Mira, who grinned at me in kind.

  “What’s it smell like?” she asked.

  Looking around, I considered my answer. “Opportunity.”

  9

  Wetterick lived near the center of town, which fit my expectations. He would be no hero, using the people as a buffer between himself and the Empty, along with whatever else came howling out of the dunes to slash and tear at easier prey. I waved off any official escort to see him, preferring to meander through the post and get a feel for what—and who—lived inside the walls.

  I made sure to let everyone see Hardhead’s skull, purpling beautifully in the last rays of the day. “Is there an inn? Someplace to eat, sleep? Maybe bathe?” I asked Mira.

  “Several. Want the best?” she replied, pointing to the best path in the town. It was to the right of center, long and straight, more orderly than the rest of the chaotic dwellings and businesses that marked the post. Someone had graveled the street, and there were lamps at regular intervals, waiting to be lit when the sun went down. I saw a pair of boys with a long wooden wick make their way past us, eyes agape at Hardhead, but they moved on to begin lighting the lamps in hopeful displays of civic usefulness. Graveled streets and street lamps we
re a good start. A bath and food would be even better, and then we could see Wetterick when I was in a better frame of mind.

  I considered the post in detail. No building was over three stories, though some were well built and whitewashed over brick. Each business had an awning made of bleached desert hardwood covered in heavy fabric. They stirred in the last breeze of the day, snapping out a rhythm of commerce and civilization with each pulse of wind. The names and purpose of each place were stitched or painted on the canvas; everything from a cobbler to a bowyer, a butcher and vintner and anything in between.

  I could survive here.

  Two armed patrols passed by, warily observing us as we made out way to the best-kept awning on the graveled street. “What is this place, friend?” I asked a young girl, hurrying past with an armload of rolled hide. The newly tanned leather was acrid with a stench that rivaled Hardhead, but she took no notice.

  “The Street of Wells, sir,” she answered before a distant bellow caught her attention. “I must go. Thank you.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “For that,” she said, looking pointedly at Hardhead. I had a fan. My smile broke free as Mira gave her the once over, a hint of jealousy in her features.

  “You are most welcome, lady?” I invited her to give me her name. The call to her repeated from a short distance away, and I saw a burly man that shared her sharp features standing in the street, hands on his hips. Her father, I assumed, impatient but not angry.

  “Da just calls me Scoot,” she said, flashing a gap-toothed smile. She whirled and ran, weaving through the crowd like a fish dodging sharks.

  We watched her go, and I took note of the awning where her father stood. He was an armorer, and I filed that away for later when I had coins in my pocket and more of a plan about what came next. For the time being, my order of business included food, being clean, and after a long look at Mira, some quiet time to adjust my morale before facing Wetterick.

  She read my mind. “If you think I’m joining you in bed with that thing stinking up the room, well, you’ve misjudged this girl.”

  “Am I that transparent?” I asked.

  “You’re a man,” she said but with a smile that meant she was glad of it.

  I paused to rub at the back of my neck, thinking. “Speaking of bed, bigger is usually better. What do you know of that place?” I pointed to a three-story building with partial stone walls and bright, blue paint. It looked cleaner than the rest, and more solidly built. The windows had actual metal shutters that could close, and there was a slender windmill on the roof.

  “I’ve been in the entry, but never in. The House of the Sky is too expensive for us.” A shadow passed over her face, then in a saddened voice she said, “For Bel and me. I can afford a night or two now, though. I’ve coin enough for us to last a week if we don’t gamble.”

  “I don’t gamble. I do eat and drink,” I said and touched her shoulder. It was tight with grief and a life of survival, and I decided to spoil her, if even for a night. She’d earned it, and Bel would have wanted it. “We’ll stay there tonight, and I’ll collect the reward in the morning. After that, I’ll know more about what comes next.”

  Her look was grateful, though she wouldn’t say it. “Then we sleep in the House of the Sky, and the world will look different tomorrow.”

  We wove through the crowd, buzzing whispers and commentary following us like a cloud of flies. In a pleasant surprise, the House of the Sky not only had an iron gate, it also had guards. Before they could speak, I channeled my inner general and assumed a commanding role.

  “A room, a bath, food, and a bag for this until I claim the prize in the morning,” I said, brandishing Hardhead’s skull before me.

  “We—of course,” the left guard said, wearing blue livery that was clean and free of holes. He and his partner held short spears with broad, sharp points. The ease with which they held them told me the weapons weren’t mere decoration.

  In minutes, we were inside a cool, tiled entryway, its ceiling high enough to echo. Blue mosaics were brushed over with white glaze in desert scenes of oasis people doing noble things, like harvesting oranges and singing. I knew the scene was bullshit, but it was pretty and a far cry from the ruins I’d been sleeping in. I took Mira’s elbow to guide her toward an imperious figure draped in white and blue linen.

  “And you are?” he drawled. He was tall and thin, with dark eyes and a nose thin enough to slice paper. A woven braid hung from his chin, ending in a small, jeweled charm that winked silver in the liberal interior light of generous candles and lamps.

  I tossed Hardhead at his sandaled feet, rolling my shoulders to loosen the muscles. “About to be taken to a bath by you or your servants, as is my lady. I’ll need a bag for this as I am reliably informed that my lady, Mira,” she dipped her head in a demure gesture that almost made me snort, “will not share her bed with the beast watching us. She’s quite prude that way.” I finished with a shrug, as if Mira’s request was simply a female quirk I’d have to live with if I wanted her company that night. Based on the man’s assessment of her, he understood and agree.

  With a snap of his long fingers, two porters came scraping up, eyes down and heads low. “Natif will secure a bag and ice for your trophy, sir. Berec will see you to a suit, and baths will be readied immediately. I am Lasser, and I am, of course, at your service.” He bowed low, sweeping his arm out in a motion that would have made a ballerina jealous.

  “Lasser, I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to do business with you,” I said, and I meant every word. I knew people like Lasser. They knew everyone and everything, and they were superb at fixing problems. He’d come in handy for the future, and I made a note to tip him heavily if not try to hire him outright in the event my plans—whatever they were—came to pass.

  “And I you, sir, lady,” he said in turn to us. “May I have your names, for the purpose of our registry?”

  “Mira, and I’m Jack Bowman. Will you be available after our meal and bath? I’d like a word,” I said, baiting the hook.

  “I am always available, sir.” His excellent radar chirped, telling him I meant to talk business.

  “Then we will speak again soon. Natif, if you will? We’ve a beast to bag,” I said.

  “That makes two of us,” Mira whispered, her hand on my arm. My night was looking up, no matter what tomorrow held.

  10

  The bath was good. Dinner was better.

  Dessert put them both to shame. Mira came to me, framed in the streetlamp of our third-floor window. She looked like a statue, perfect and lean, with full breasts that moved from shadow to light as she rose and fell on me, grinding down in a long sigh of sensual relief. When we were done, my body was ready again—a trick I would learn to love, but for now, once was enough. I let her sleep, curled on the bed in the rest of a woman who finally felt safe after a life on the run. I knew the grief over Bel would come back in odd moments and piercing cries until it subsided to a low background hum. That was how we dealt with loss. Each day was a little less shitty until you could finally remember the departed in a way that didn’t make you feel like shattered glass. You felt the good and left the bad behind, but it took time.

  The post unfolded below the window, dotted lamps still lit and throwing buttery circles of civilized light down on the graveled streets. I could hear a distant hound but little else, save the low hum of a tavern several buildings away. For a raucous trading post, it was quiet, but it was the midweek, and Miora told me the caravans would bring chaos upon their return at Endweek. Wetterick and his people kept time differently than I was used to, with a four day week and three days of rest for whatever he could earn a profit from. When I asked Mira why the work week was four days, she gave me a simple reason. Four days to the city, three days for caravans to load, and four days back. The calendar warped to match commerce, and it worked.

  I saw the watcher slip to the left along the window. They moved in the way of predators, smooth and sure with n
o wasted effort, dodging the lamps with ease to arrive across the lane from our open window. It was no accident. I know recon when I see it, and everything about the casual pose of my observer reeked of something intentional.

  “Interesting,” I whispered. My visitor stared up, their face a pale circle in the starlight, and I realized with a shock that I could see some details. It was my new body showing off again, giving me some degree of vision in the low light of a darkened street, but even with the assist from my ‘bots, all I could make out was a thin face, pale skin, and—

  I stopped to watch him—it was a man, I was certain—moving off into the night, his curiosity satisfied by something I could not know.

  Not yet, anyway. I knew I’d see him again.

  I slid beneath the linen. Mira hooked a long leg over me, smiling in her sleep. It was three hours until dawn and the first day of a plan that was taking shape faster than I’d imagined possible.

  I had not chosen the House of the Sky by accident, and tomorrow would prove my instincts were right. To build, you need a base.

  To build an empire, you need an army.

  In the darkened post below, I saw the potential for both.

  11

  “Got the head?” Mira asked.

  I’ve answered a lot of weird questions in my life, but that one was the most interesting. “I do. Feels like money.”

  “Think you’ll be able to keep it?” she asked. We were dressing in our leathers, cleaned overnight by Lasser’s staff, who were nothing short of magical. We’d eaten in the room, a simple meal of fresh bread, small blue eggs, and a fruit that hovered somewhere between a fig and a beet.

  I lashed my boots on with the buckles, then strapped up both knives without a second thought. I didn’t care what Wetterick’s weapon policy might be; I was going in prepared for the worst but hoping for something I could handle without drawing blood. I’d seen how men like Wetterick operated, and the only unknown would be what flavor of tyrant he chose to be.