Axler, James - Deathlands 60 - Destiny's Truth Read online

  "Out here—now," one of the men snapped. "Quick, sharp!"

  Ryan led his people into the corridor. The sec force parted, so that two stepped backward to head the procession, and two would bring up the rear once the rest of the group had moved out of the self contained cell.

  "They're not taking any chances," Dean remarked as the head sec pairing began to move.

  "Silence! No talking until you're asked questions." shouted the sec man who had spoken previously, and whom Ryan took to be the sec chief on this patrol.

  "Touchy, isn't he?" Mildred muttered, almost to herself. She was at the back of the group with J.B. and Dean, and was taken unaware by the sudden blow in the small of her back as the sec woman at the rear of the group swiveled her laser rifle and drove the butt into Mildred's kidney.

  Mildred yelped in pain and surprise, buckling as her weakened system received a buffet, the pain sweeping over her in a wave of nausea and faintness. J.B. caught her as she slumped toward the floor.

  "No stopping, keep moving," the head sec man intoned.

  J.B. looked up and glared at him, mentally noting the man in case the chance came later to chill him first.

  They continued along the corridor, Dean helping the Armorer to carry Mildred and keep up the pace set by the sec squad. The callous action had determined them even more—if that was possible—to eradicate the menace of the Illuminated Ones.

  Coming to a junction, none of the companions were prepared for what they saw next. Turning left, the sec squad took them along a corridor for another fifty yards until they came to a sec door. As they approached, the door sprang upward, and they found themselves walking out onto an open catwalk that was suspended over a deep chasm.

  "Hot pipe! What's that?" Dean whispered as they swayed along the catwalk, which moved with the shifting weight of the party.

  It was the fact that they couldn't go more than three abreast along the catwalk, and the sec squad was obviously under orders not to chill any of the companions, that saved Dean from a sharp blow with a rifle butt such as the one that had injured Mildred. For any blow or disturbance to his balance could have catapulted him off the open side of the catwalk—over the thin handrail that was the only guard—and down the chasm.

  The incredible sight that had prompted Dean to break silence wasn't the chasm itself, incredible though that was. The catwalk extended for about three hundred yards across a natural cavern that stood about forty feet above them, and dropped into the blackness below. However, there was a rock shelf that encircled the gaping hole situated about twenty feet beneath the catwalk. Its edge was fenced in, forming a walkway that extended around the chasm's circumference. And on this shelf, which was twenty to thirty feet in width at any given point, lumbered a number of creatures.

  The creatures were misshapen, but appeared to be humanistic or apelike. Some were upright; others dragged their knuckles almost as though on all fours. Some were covered in hair, while others were hairless, and there were those in the middle that had a soft, downy covering over their whole body, through which could be seen their pinky-gray skin. There were troughs for food and water set around the shelf, and the creatures were naked. It was warm in the abyss, and probably maintained at a constant level. They shuffled and walked without purpose, seeming to just kill time. And even though the companions were twenty feet above, they could plainly see that many of the creatures had growths and tumors on their bodies, some of which had developed sores.

  "That's sick," Mildred said. Unable to contain herself, and unthinking of any further injury, she turned to the sec behind her. "What the fuck do you do that for?"

  "Shut up," the woman who had hit her said sharply, "or you'll get some more, bitch. Could be you, if you're lucky."

  "Quiet!" the leader snapped, turning back. His eyes burned with fury at the sec woman. "You talk too much. Leave it for the leader."

  This gave all of the companions much to consider. They knew that they were being taken to the head of the Illuminated Ones—at least, the head of this redoubt—and that they could be lined up for more experiments if they allowed. Each of them knew that they and their friends would rather die fighting than give in to such treatment in the hope of a few more days or weeks of life, but it seemed that the Illuminated Ones didn't expect such an attitude. That could be an advantage.

  The sec door at the end of the catwalk rose, and they passed through and into a regular corridor. They had assumed they were at the deepest level of the redoubt, but the chasm threw that into doubt. There had to be, at least, a corridor leading to the shelf. Supposing the redoubt had been built, and this feature added later? The roof of the cavern would only have interfered with one higher level, so it was possible that this geographical factor had been ignored when the base was originally constructed.

  Mildred's mind raced. For her, it wasn't the redoubt layout that mattered right now, but the creatures. What sort of experiments were being carried out on them, for it seemed to be some kind of vivisection or study of infection. Perhaps more importantly, what were those creatures, and how did the Illuminated Ones get them? They bore no real resemblance to any muties that she could recall seeing, and looked horribly like the evolving stages of mankind.

  She shuddered as a thought crossed her mind. Surely the Illuminated Ones hadn't degenerated to such a base level?

  Any further reflections along that line were stopped by the sec squad's sudden plunge into the heart of the redoubt. The companions were led into an elevator, with laser blasters jabbing into them as the sec squad made sure that no sudden action would be taken. They were whisked up three levels by the elevator, and came out into a corridor where all the sec doors were open, and the normal life of the redoubt continued as usual. This activity had been proceeding unheeded for the entire time that they had been directed down into the mat-trans chamber, and it was frustrating to consider that the normal activity of the Illuminated Ones had continued unimpeded.

  Mildred tried to look through the open doors as they passed, hoping that she would catch sight of something that she could store for future reference, something that looked like a medical lab where experimentation had been taking place. But all she could see, much to her chagrin, were weapons labs, the armory, and kitchens and shower rooms. There were also offices where comp terminals flickered and hummed, manned by personnel who took no notice of their passing. They all seemed to be busy, and Ryan wasn't the only one of the companions who wondered what they were doing. Were they keeping in touch with other Illuminated Ones in other redoubts? Or were they in some way plotting, mapping and planning for a world after the devastation of their disease?

  It was a question that concerned all of them. If there were other bases, then where were those bases? How many of them were there, and how many personnel in each? Or was this the only base? On leaving the redoubt from where the Gate tribe and the companions had followed, had they, so to speak, come home?

  Looking around, the base did seem to be sparsely populated for one that contained the original redoubt crew and those who had come from the previous location. Was it a larger base, with more levels in which these people were working? Or had they then traveled on to other bases?

  There was one option that Mildred did not dare to consider: all along, the companions—particularly herself—had worked on the assumption that the Illuminated Ones had some sort of inoculation or antidote for the smallpox variant strain that they had let loose across the land. To unleash it without would be beyond madness; it would be a work of pure idiocy.

  Yet was it possible that they had released the pox without having an adequate defense against it? If so, then it would have decimated their own numbers, which may account for the seemingly sparse population of the redoubt. It could also account for the experiments they had seen in the chasm—a last desperate attempt to beat the chron and find a cure before they themselves were wiped out.

  If that truly was the case, then everything that the companions and the Gate had done was all in vai
n. Their efforts were wasted.

  Mildred desperately scanned the faces and hands, the only exposed skin, of every Illuminated One that they passed, searching for some kind of sign, a skin discoloration, a blister, a red mark, a sign of temperature or fever…

  She could see nothing. But that didn't reassure her. Those who were infected could be hidden away in some sick bay, isolated in the hope of somehow containing the disease.

  J.B. and Dean could see Mildred staring at every Illuminated One they passed, but didn't understand her reasons. They were confused, and the confusion was shared by the others…except for Doc. He had reached a similar conclusion, but in Doc Tanner's mind, there was no attempt to reason for a solution. Doc's face was set like stone, grim and harsh. To him, if this was the way in which it had to end, then so be it. It made a kind of sense that the last remnants of the decadence that the Totality Concept represented would be eradicated because of its own small minded stupidity.

  The sec squad turned another corner, into a smaller corridor leading off the main. At the far end was a closed sec door, the only one in this section that had been closed.

  Ryan chewed his lip thoughtfully. The fact that it was closed made it significant. Were they about to learn the truth at last?

  The leading sec duo turned as they reached the door, leveling their blasters on the companions. At the rear, the two people who had been keeping watch on the tail stepped back and also leveled their laser blasters. There was no way that any of the companions could make a move without incurring a hail of laser fire.

  "You're about to meet the leader," the sec chief said softly. "That makes you very lucky people. Even we do not get to be in his presence very often. He's a busy man, planning for the time when he will take his rightful place as the leader of the new earth. While the other scum in the transport section are considered expendable, for some reason you are considered important—at least, for now. Remember that you have no arms, and that we would take great pleasure in chilling you."

  The companions stayed silent, biting tongues that held ready replies to such arrogance.

  "Be ready to be admitted to the presence of glory," the sec leader said, reaching behind and pressing the single key on the sec door keypad.

  Deep inside the room on the other side of the door, they could hear a buzzer signaling their presence. What kind of a man was the leader that he had no keypad or sec code for his door? That he isolated himself from his people in this manner, so that they could only signal their presence and hope for an audience?

  As the sec door finally rose in response, they knew they were about to find out.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The companions found themselves hustled through the open door by the sec squad, pushed through the narrow opening without a real chance to recce the room beyond before being pushed into it. Doc and Mildred almost stumbled as they were prodded by the butts of the laser blasters.

  "Move—he mustn't be kept waiting," the head sec man rapped out as he cajoled the group… and was that a note of fear that Ryan could detect in his voice? The leader of the Illuminated Ones was obviously a man who was held in awe by his people.

  Now inside the room, the companions had a chance to take a look at the surroundings. First thing should have been to look at the leader himself, but the room was an immediate attention grabber by its sheer opulence and grotesque clutter. It was only slightly larger than the usual office rooms found in redoubts, and wasn't even the size of a larger bunker such as the armory or a med bay. But its size was hard to estimate accurately because of the vast array of ornamentation and treasures gathered within.

  They had all seen or heard of things like this. There were some barons who had the accumulated loot of what remained after the nukecaust, and for Mildred and Doc it was a reminder of the world from which they had been expelled. But no one had seen such a collection in such a small space: there were finely carved antique Louis XVI chairs; gold-and-silver ornaments displayed in fine mahogany cabinets, polished to a sheen; beautifully framed oil paintings by artists from Leonardo to Picasso; tapestries and carpets of the finest weave; and—instead of the usual military issue desk—a large oak writing desk with intricate carving decorating the scrolled legs.

  To see such predark riches in one place was unexpected enough, but to have them crammed into a relatively small space and bearing down as soon as the room was entered—in stark contrast to the bare corridor outside—was overwhelming. There was so much sensory overload that it took a second for them to notice the man seated behind the desk.

  How someone such as this could remain anonymous was a marker of how overpowering were his surroundings. The man, although seated, was a giant. He had enormous girth and was squeezed tightly into his silver-gray uniform. It stuck to his more than ample form and showed rolls of fat dripping from his ribs and overhanging his vast stomach, which was wedged behind the desk. His head seemed almost too small for such a body, with dark hair short and swept back from a furrowed forehead over deep-set eyes, a thin nose and full, fleshy lips. His jowls hung as heavily as the rolls of fat on his body, and he appeared to be breathing heavily even in repose.

  "So glad you could make it," he said in a cold, sardonic tone that was familiar. His had been the voice that they had heard over the PA system in the chamber. "I would offer you a seat, but you're dripping all over my carpets and frankly I wouldn't want you to stain the seats on the chairs."

  Mildred curled her lip. "I wouldn't want to be soiled by anything that was yours."

  J.B. moved quickly, seeing the rifle butt from the corner of his eye as it was directed toward Mildred's kidneys once more. He deflected the blow so that it grazed harmlessly off to one side, but was rewarded by the back swing, which caught him in the chest. He raised his arms and warded off the full weight of the blow, but it was enough to send him staggering backward, where he was halted by another blow across the back of his neck and shoulders, driving him to the ground.

  Ryan, eye blazing, turned to help his friend, but found the muzzle of a laser blaster jammed into his face.

  "Children, children, desist from this stupidity," the fat man said wearily. "I really do not wish to have my chambers destroyed by anything as sordid and petty as a fight. I have wanted you to be kept alive thus far, but believe me, I would have no compunction in having you chilled where you stand rather than risk any of my belongings. They've survived a nuclear winter, so I'm sure they can survive you."

  J.B. pulled himself to his feet and rejoined his companions while the sec squad stood off.

  "You okay, John?" Mildred asked. He nodded, but stayed silent. Instead, it was Krysty who spoke.

  "This is all very pretty," she said with barely disguised sarcasm, "but what does it all mean? What point is there in keeping it all hidden down here, safe and warm, and never daring to venture even out of the room?" The woman chose her words carefully, watching the fat face as it reacted to her words.

  Unless her intuition had let her down, she had hit unerringly on a sore point. It would seem that the fat man was indeed confined to this room by something. Looking at the desk, she could see that there was a comp terminal and a sec monitor built in to the ancient wood. There also had to be a microphone with the terminal.

  Why would he never set foot outside the room?

  "Madam," the fat man began in even, measured tones that were all the more suspicious for being such, "your petty jibes may be intended to wound, but they will have no effect on me. I have greater matters to concern me."

  "So tell us about them," Krysty replied simply. "They must be something incredible if they confine you here."

  "They do not confine me," the fat man barked. "I stay here by choice, until such time as the world is fit for me to enter once more."

  Suddenly, Ryan realized what had made Krysty dig at their captor in such a manner. For whatever reason—either physical or psychological, the fat man who was the Illuminated Ones' leader was unable to leave this room, which would account for wh
y it was crammed with all his accumulated treasures. He had to bring them to himself as he was unable to go to them elsewhere. It also explained why the companions had been separated from the Gate. He had to have them brought to him, as he was unable to go to the chamber.

  And then it hit him: the fat man's words had been "until such time as the world is fit for me to enter once more." But if the fat man was unable to leave the room, then he would never be able to leave the room. And the world would never be fit.

  Was this why he was intent on spreading the foul disease across the land? If he could never go out into the world, then he had to eradicate it, make it fit for himself by destroying it?

  Psychology was a dead form in the postnukecaust world. Virtually all written records of the science had been eradicated, and it lived on only in those few enclaves where the predark sciences and disciplines were kept alive…and in most of those the sciences were perverted and distorted by insanity and mutation. But as a practical form that had no name, it was still very much alive. The art of judging a man and second guessing his intent and action were the very things that kept the companions—and many like them—alive as they tried to exist in the world above the redoubt. And the longer you survived, the better you became at this unspoken and unnamed psychology.

  Looking at Mildred and J.B., Ryan could see that they had also guessed or half guessed the reasoning behind the spread of the disease. It did have a certain twisted logic: in a country that was hollow and empty, then the man confined to one room could truly be king of all, not just of what he surveyed, but of the emptiness that lay beyond.

  The fat man behind the desk studied them intently. He had expected more from them, certainly, his sec squad had kept them under close watch as he was sure that they would try to escape into the redoubt and fight against him. Yet here they were, doing nothing except standing and exchanging puzzled glances.

  His confidence grew, and he signaled for the sec squads to stand farther back. He rose from behind the desk, his vast bulk wobbling in the tight-fitting uniform, which seemed to barely stretch over his skin.