Lost Gates

The squat sec leader waited until the task had been completed and his man had fallen back into his place in the circle. With a grunt of approval, he gestured that they move.

If being drugged and spirited away to a strange ville while bound and stripped of their weapons could be called a surprise—and Ryan would be more inclined to term it stupe bastard carelessness—then this was the second one to assail them in the space of a few hours. For they didn’t move toward the lights, shapes and sounds of the ville, which was what they had expected.

It was difficult for the companions to move at the pace that the sec men tried to set. Their bonds made it difficult to move with more than the smallest of steps, despite their being loosened. Blood flow to previously numb feet made them tender and treacherous. J.B. stumbled into Krysty, who found it hard to keep her own balance. Doc fell over many times, face-first into the dust before levering himself up by his elbows. Mildred went to help him up the first time, but the barrel of a Kalashnikov jabbed in her ribs dissuaded her. Only Ryan and Jak kept to their feet with any sign of ease. That was deceptive in the one-eyed man’s case. It took all of his concentration to maintain the appearance of ease. Despite the pain and the effort, he didn’t want the sec leader to see that he was struggling. When the time came, he wanted the man to have seen no chinks in his armor. But for Jak, there was no such effort required. The innate skills that made the albino the hunter he was were more than enough for him to compensate for a minor—and temporary—disability.

The guards around them tried to force the pace, but it was of little use. The shackles of returning circulation and the bonds that were still in place made it impossible. Finally the sec leader had to compromise. With a curse and a sigh he stopped the party, directing that the ropes around their ankles be severed. He even allowed them a few moments to massage circulation back into aching ankles.

Krysty’s glance flashed across the circle, catching Ryan’s eye. He knew what she was asking, and shrugged. He had no idea why they were being led away from the ville when the baron had paid for them to be delivered to him. Was this some kind of plot by the sec boss? Or was there something else that they couldn’t as yet know?

Ryan thought that both he and Krysty had been discreet. Obviously not as much as he had thought, for as they shuffled and stumbled to their feet once more, the sec boss spoke.

“Yeah, weird that Crabbe wants to see you so bad, yet you ain’t getting to see the baron’s palace. Am I right?” He paused, then laughed harshly. “Yeah, sure I am. But you’ll see soon enough. And if you’re who he hopes you are, then you’ll understand.”

With a gesture to his men, he ushered the party onward. There was no chance for the companions to communicate in any way, even though that was what they most urgently needed. Thoughts were whirling inside their heads. They were being marched across terrain that was rough and uneven, uncertain under their feet. Their weapons were achingly just beyond their reach, carried by one of the sec men ahead of them in the guard circle. It would be so easy to just make the effort—to stumble the short distance and make a grab—and yet if they did, any one of them, they would all be cut down before anxious fingertips could touch gunmetal.

The sky overhead was dark and unforgiving. Chem clouds scudded across the void, whipped along by winds that were at high altitude, in contrast to the stillness through which they trudged. The near-full moon was only briefly and fleetingly revealed, its wan shafts of light revealing nothing that seemed to matter. The ville lay far behind them now, and ahead there was only wild and desolate wasteland.

Still, it seemed that the sec boss knew where they were going. Whatever his aim, at least it was possible to see that he had one. And, by the pace that he was setting, the goal was still some distance away.

They continued on through the night, their energy sapped by the after-effects of the drug and the cramping, crippling effects of the subsequent confinement and constriction. As the chem clouds became suffused with the light of early dawn, turning from gray and black to a gray that was tinted orange and red as the sun attempted to signal a new day, it seemed that they had walked at least as far as they had been driven. It was almost impossible to determine direction without the map of stars denied by the cloud cover, and so it was ludicrously possible that they may be walking all the way back to Hawknose.

That idea vanished when the sec boss turned to them and, with a sly grin, said, “Well, what do ya know, kids. Looks like we’re here.”

For some time they had been ascending a shallow incline. Now they had reached the summit and could see that it fell away sharply beneath them. At the bottom of the drop was the remains of an old road, a single-lane blacktop that led through the rusted tangle of a chain-link fence until it came up against what had once been a disguised doorway. Concrete, receding into the earth, and roughly seven yards in diameter, it was now as plain as the dawning day—the entrance to a redoubt.

“Thought that might make you jump,” the squat man observed as he closely watched the companions’ reactions. Despite themselves, all except Jak had registered some sense of surprise. The albino teen had remained impassive, as ever, despite his inner feelings echoing those of his friends.

Ryan’s jaw set hard. He should have expected this. There had been hints in what Valiant had said before they had been drugged. Crabbe had pieced together a kind of history. He knew some facts, had made leaps of imagination between others, but had the basic ideas. There had to be a reason why the story grabbed him. Why not because he had found his own, personal redoubt?

So where was this going to lead them?

The squat sec boss’s face broke into a grin. “Yeah, the looks on your faces, I’d say that names and shit aside, Crabbe knew what he was looking for. And that cob-up-his-ass jerk-off Valiant is a lot smarter than I’d give him credit for. Looks like his people are halfway to the rest of that jack.”

With a gesture, he bade them to start down the slope. It was dry and dusty, the loose earth rising in clouds around them and making it hard to keep a foothold. Small rocks and stones turned at their ankles and slipped away from under their feet. Each of them was concentrating too closely on keeping their own footing to notice that the sec force surrounding them had spread out a little to allow them more room.

With good reason—the squat man knew what would happen, and wanted to keep his own people out of the way of the impact. Choked and blinded by the dust that rose around them, ropes pulling at ankles forced apart by slipping feet, balance proved to be an impossibility. Doc was, inevitably, the first to go. His feet shot out from under him and he fell heavily, rolling on his hip and pivoting sideways.

Despite catching him from the corner of her eye, and trying her best to avoid being taken down by his falling frame, Mildred couldn’t move her own feet quickly enough. A combination of uncertain terrain and limbs dulled by constriction made her clumsy where usually she would be sure.

The pair began to tumble down the incline, gathering momentum and dislodging earth and stone as they fell. It made the ground around them begin to move. For J.B., Ryan and Krysty—all of them, like Doc and Mildred, disabled to a degree by the binding and constriction of their limbs—it made things that much harder. The already unsteady ground beneath their feet was now treacherous, and the way in which Doc and Mildred had fallen made it that much more apparent that it would be all too easy for each to follow.

All of the sec men had fallen back so that they were at the rear of the group. They were surer on their feet, partly because they were unshackled, and also because they were able to pick their way around unsettled terrain with greater ease. They took the pace more slowly—no need to hurry when your captives were in no condition to make a break.

The only exception to any of this was Jak. The albino youth was always fleet and sure of foot. Even with the remnants of the drug in his system, and his ankles still partially numb from their binding, he was able to pick up speed, nimbly jumping the larger rocks that sought to disturb his balance. He rode the scree of stone and earth that began to move like a river beneath him, using the currents within it and adapting his own rhythms to run with it. When he reached the bottom of the sharp drop, bringing himself to a halt before he hit the remains of the black ribbon, he turned and looked back up the incline.

The sec force were three-quarters of the way down, picking its way carefully over the wake of the companions’ descent. The sun had now risen enough to light their way with ease. They were strung out in a line, with the squat, bearded sec chief in the center.

He stopped short when he saw that Jak was glaring at him. Their eyes met, and in the early light of morning the albino’s red eyes glowed with a passion that he usually kept masked. A shiver ran down the squat man’s spine. The albino teen had said nothing, and his face remained fixed. But those eyes said it all—if ever he had the chance, he would take vengeance for this humiliation on himself and his friends.

By the time the sec force had reached the bottom, Jak had long since turned away. He helped Ryan to his feet, and then between them they assisted the others to right themselves. Limbs ached and were bruised, there were a few contusions, but there was no major damage. Mildred murmured that she would tend to the wounds when her hands were freed. Ryan wondered why the sec men had been content to watch them fall.

When he looked toward the exposed concrete of the redoubt tunnel, there was an answer. There was a wag to one side that hadn’t been there before. As the area around was flat and open, and they had seen nothing approaching for several miles from their initial vantage point at the top of the incline, it could only have come from inside the redoubt. That impression was reinforced by the way in which the men standing on either side of the wag were dressed. There were three of them, two on the left, one on the right. Two cradled Kalashnikovs, while the third was carrying an SMG of some sort. At this distance, even J.B. couldn’t tell the model. But it was a blaster, nonetheless. As was the canon mounted on the back of the wag. No one was manning it at present, but it looked capable of serious damage over serious distance.

No wonder the sec force following them was in no great hurry.

The sec men from the incline reached the bottom and fanned out to cover them once more. The three men by the wag, two with rifles, began to move forward to reach their compatriots. The man with the SMG slung it and climbed up onto the back of the wag, covering them.

“You’re taking no chances,” Ryan observed wryly as the sec boss approached.

The squat man shrugged. “You should be proud, Brian or Ryan. Shows we take you seriously.”

“I’ll remember that next time I see a shitload of blasters ready to take me out when I’m unarmed. Makes me feel real proud.”

The squat man grinned. “I could grow to like you, Brian…if I could be bothered. Now get moving.”

He gestured to them to move. Slowly, the captive group moved toward the entrance to the redoubt. Seeing that their guards were in control, the two sec men from the wag returned to it, one of them getting behind the wheel and firing up the engine. He maneuvered the vehicle so that it faced the redoubt entrance, the SMG on its back swiveling with the movement so that it always kept the captives covered.

The companions walked slowly up to the redoubt doors, which stayed resolutely shut.

“So what now?” the one-eyed man asked, turning to the sec boss.

“Little test for you,” he called. “See if you’re who we think.”

“I thought you knew that,” Ryan countered.

The sec boss laughed, a short, barking cough. “Reckon I do. But mebbe Crabbe would like more proof. He suggested this, and who am I to go against my baron? Now stop fucking about and open the doors. If you are who we think, then you’ll know how to do it.”

“And if we’re not?”

“You’d be triple stupe to try and bluff it out, if that’s what you’re thinking. We’ll just chill you now, and not waste any more time.”

Ryan surveyed the sec force facing them. All were armed. And then there was the SMG.

They’d do it, all right. He was certain of that.

“J.B.,” Ryan muttered.

The Armorer stepped forward, raising both bound hands so that he could remove his glasses and wipe the dust and dirt from them before placing them back on the bridge of his nose.

The keypad, discreetly hidden, was directly in front of him. He punched in the three-digit entry code that was common to all redoubts.

The doors groaned into action, opening to reveal a tunnel that sloped gently down to a dogleg corner. The brightly lit interior was clean and empty. It looked like any other redoubt they had seen.

Except it was far from empty farther down.

Baron Crabbe was waiting for them.

“Move on in. Slowly,” the sec boss ordered. “Wait,” he added as the companions began to enter. “Four in front. We don’t want them to be pulling down any of those other doors and leaving us on one side, them on the other, do we,” he added.

“Smart. Wouldn’t get us anywhere when you’ve got people in there already,” Ryan said, as four of the black-clad sec men moved in front of them, reversing so they could move backward, keeping the companions covered all the while.

“Mebbe. Wouldn’t want to look stupe in front of the baron, though,” the sec chief replied. “Now you can go.”

They moved down the tunnel and into the interior of the redoubt.

Chapter Four

The wag followed them as far as the first dogleg, where it turned off to go into the vehicle maintenance bay. J.B. followed it, noting that there was only one other wag in the bay. If that was any indication, there were few sec men at the redoubt other than those they already knew about. That information could be useful.

Moving down the corridors from level to level, they began to move deeper into the bowels of the earth. All the sec doors within the redoubt had been propped open, and apart from a few areas of darkness in the distance, where lighting had failed, it seemed that the redoubt had been in good condition when discovered and hadn’t been ransacked. As they descended past the level where the armory was housed, J.B. once again cast a look toward the closed rooms that he knew would house the redoubt’s weapons. Had this Baron Crabbe stripped it, he wondered, or were there rich pickings that would serve them well? Always assuming, of course, that they could escape their captors long enough to reach the armory. Looking at the limping, dirty and exhausted group around him, it was an option that seemed a thousand miles from possible.

While J.B. was thinking of the armory, Mildred was wondering about the medical facilities. Meds and dressings would make it a lot easier for them to handle the pain and the minor injuries they had sustained. And handle it was exactly what they would need to do if they were to leap on any avenue of escape that might present itself. Krysty and Doc, meanwhile, thought of the dorms and showers they had passed. A hot shower would soothe many of their aches, and clear their heads. And they’d need clear heads if they were to make a break.

Ryan was thinking of all that, while at the same time trying to observe his companions and assess the level of punishment they could risk. There was no doubt that the night had taken a toll on them. Whatever Crabbe wanted, the longer it took him to explain, then the better it might be. At least time would give them the opportunity to snatch some recuperation.

Jak wasn’t bothered by the dirt, the pain or the need to rest. He just watched everything carefully, noting the areas where the sec men were weak or sloppy, noting where the lighting had dimmed, providing places to hide and strike. As soon as the chance came, he would be ready.

With all these thoughts preoccupying them, the companions were silent as they were led farther into the military installation.

Finally they reached their destination—the control room of the mat-trans unit.

The sec man in front of them pulled back, revealing an open door. There were noises from within: low, whispery voices and the shuffling of movement. At a gesture from the squat sec man, the companions moved into the room.

Two men stood by one of the comps. One was tall and thin, slightly stooped and balding, with long strands of hair falling around his shoulders in contrast to a pate that shone under the lights. He had a list in his hand, and Ryan recognized the type of paper. They had seen these before: single sheets, laminated to protect against constant use.

Did the sheet tell the two men something about the mat-trans? Had these men worked out how the mechanism worked? Ryan knew from experience that the companions weren’t the only ones who used the mat-trans system.

As the group entered the control room and shuffled to a halt, the two men turned. Ryan had assumed that the tall man was Baron Crabbe, but as the second one turned to face them, there was something about his expression that said otherwise. He was shorter, and stout, yet there was a hardness about his frame, and the squaring of his shoulders, that suggested the fat had formed a layer over solid muscle. He was clean-shaved, with hair cropped close to his bullet skull. Scars showed through, as did some on his face under the stubble. As he saw them, his face broke into a satisfied grin, his mouth raising only on one side, the other paralyzed by the scar that ran from the corner and down his chin.

But it was his eyes—they bored into the group, examining them minutely and flickering from one to the other. At each, he paused before nodding shortly. His eyes blazed brightly with excitement.

“At last,” he said finally. “All this time, and then you go and land virtually at my bastard feet. It seemed too good to be true.”

“They passed the code test, Baron,” the squat sec man reported. His deference was in complete contrast to the way he had spoken to his captives, and Ryan found it both amusing and instructive. Another clue on how to handle the man when the moment came.

“I knew they would, Nelson,” Crabbe snapped with a tone that veered between irritation and anger. “Stand back, let them settle. Please, be seated,” he added with a more unctuous tone, although only indicating the floor.

“It would help if we weren’t tethered like a bunch of pack animals,” Mildred said as they started to lower themselves.

“Of course, of course,” Crabbe said, although in a tone that suggested it wouldn’t otherwise have occurred to him. He gestured to his sec chief. “Nelson, cut them loose.”

The squat man moved carefully in front of the group. He had holstered his blaster and held J.B.’s knife in his hand—a deliberate move, no doubt—and used it to cut free their wrists and ankles. He brandished the knife close to Ryan’s artery as he sliced at his wrist, a grin flashing across his face as he caught Ryan’s eye. A provocation, and then he was gone again, vanished to their rear.

Crabbe, satisfied that they were now comfortable enough to listen, began while they each massaged life and full feeling back into their hands and feet.

“This must be a familiar room to you all. At least, if you’re who I think you are. You have knowledge I need. Mebbe I have knowledge that will help you make sense of what you know. It’s like that,” he added, appearing to go off at a tangent, “what’s left of the predark world. Bits and pieces, some of which make sense, and some of which makes none at all. And then you get some small glimmering that suddenly makes the previously insane seem somehow sane. Things that make no fucking sense at all suddenly seem to be transformed into things that are just so blindingly obvious that you think you must have been a stupe not to see it before.

“Like the stories of this guy, Trader,” he continued, emphasizing the name and watching them carefully. After Valiant’s explanation, they were expecting this, and so Crabbe didn’t get the reaction he wanted. His words were met with a blandness that did nothing to inform him, and little more than irritate him.

“Have it that way, then,” he said softly. “See, the thing I could never understand about the legendary Trader was his seemingly limitless supply of stuff. A hidden predark stockpile my ass. He had an underground base. I just know it My men found this one when we had a quake. The shit covering it dropped off like so much crap. Took us a long time to figure out a way in. Now that I know how it works, it’s a marvel to me that we did it all. Punching those fucking keys in any order… Now that I know how these doors work, I take it as a sign that we got in here. It’s meant.”

“What is meant?” Doc asked.

“Why, my using my knowledge and the knowledge that I get from you to run the whole of this pesthole and make it great again. I know, from what I’ve seen in here, that this land used to be the one that everyone else looked up to. Now there must be a whole chunk of world out there that’s still got people, even if it’s like us. We should be great in their eyes.”

“Ah, glory…” Doc said absently.

From the slightly glazed expression, which puzzled Crabbe, Mildred could tell that the old man was still slightly concussed.

“But not gold?” Doc added.

Crabbe’s brow furrowed. “Gold? Well, yeah, of course I mean that, too. Hell, I’d be stupe if I didn’t. Ain’t that what everyone wants? Ain’t that the same thing as glory? Glory gets you respect, and so does jack, gold. Goes hand in hand, I’d say.”

“If it’s the way to glory and jack, then why didn’t Trader take that? Why haven’t we? Suppose we are the people you say. Ask yourself why we were doing shitty jobs in Hawknose waiting for the next convoy out,” Ryan said.

Crabbe eyed him shrewdly. “Fair point, Brian. But this is the only place like this around these parts. I know that ’cause I read that there map.” He indicated the area behind them. On the wall over a row of comps lining one side of the room was a clear glass screen, outlined with a map of the predark United States. On it were marked the locations of redoubts across the continent. “The way I see it is this—somehow you wandered away from one of these places. I bet you’ve been to lots of them. Mebbe that’s what you do. Go to one of these, see what you can pick up, then move to the next. Mebbe you got a stockpile in one of them, mebbe you’re looking for the next big stockpile. Whatever, I reckon you left one of them, got into a fight and ended up stranded in the middle of nowhere. Fact is, you ending up at Hawknose may have been no accident, now that I think about it. Mebbe the reason you landed there is because you were headed for the nearest one you knew…here.”

He finished with a triumphant flourish. In the silence that followed, Ryan was unsure as to whether the baron expected them to cave in and admit that he was right. The demonstration of reasoning that had got Crabbe to this point was disturbing. What other assumptions had he made about Trader? About them? And what, as a result, would he expect from them?

Ryan decided that the only way to find out would be to play him at his own game.

“Okay, so you got us. And you’re right. Question is, where does that get you?”

Crabbe looked at Ryan closely, studying him as though to somehow discern whether he was being deceived. Ryan held the baron’s gaze, steady, impassive.

The baron’s weathered features creased. “Knew it. I fucking knew it. Didn’t I tell you, Sal?” he asked, turning to the tall, thin man.

Sal simply nodded, his face unreadable.

“So where does that leave us then, Baron? All cards on the table.”

“Huh?” The baron looked confused for a moment. “Ah, you mean everything out in the open, right? ‘Cards on the table’—what kind of a stupe expression is that? Something you’ve picked up from the old ways in your travels?”