As I Walk These Broken Roads (24 page)

* * *

A blackened
pit; a kilometre wide gash in the land; an ancient mine squatting in a gear-worked crevasse. Trees bordered on three sides, but in the south-west a jagged cliff sloughed down to a neon-green acid lake. Machines tears, rust, and forgotten poisons left scars on local plant life. A thin mist of exhaust fumes still bled from the earth.

The mine
’
s structures were still standing; the shack
s by
the main entrance, the central cluster of hangars, chalky in the moonlight. Scattered throughout were the fossilized
remnants
of excavation machinery. They hulked like dinosaurs, foreboding and impotent.

Long ago this had been an advance post in mankind
’
s struggle against an indifferent universe; the local plants and wildlife a casualty in the war against
entropy
.
A century later they were a casualty no more. Now they were a testament.

Along a forested ridge looking down into the mine, Wentworth watched the last stragglers of Slayer
’
s army succumb to their soporifics. The bonfire had long ago burned down to embers, and a pall was settling over the valley.

Lowering his binoculars, he took in the scene as a whole. A deep breath worked its way through him, as a feeling of sanctuary condensed out of the cool air. He was in a forgotten corner of the world. The darkness of his outfit merged into the surroundings, and soon the small forest noises told him that not even the wildlife remembered his presence.
Lying
still, he was as untraceable as when speeding down forgotten roads on his motorcycle. Vector was the key: keep the target moving, and limit your opponent
’
s knowledge –
keep the ball bouncing, the talk fast, leave
‘
em blind and confused!
Tonight he was riding a curved road, cutting deep through a hidden valley. An impenetrable gulf separated him from the prying eyes of the world. Tonight he was untouchable, inscrutable, and alone.

A placid smile
took over
.

To the front his immediate enemy slept without knowing they were watched and hunted – a disparity which doubled the gulf. To his left his rifle shined black and ready;
two kilometres to the
north-west Raxx
’
s truck waited, hidden under the hangs of a willow. T
he vectors were smooth. Confide
nt in this brief freedom, he waited through the silent hours, observing and analyzing.

Pulling out a notepad, he jotted down what he saw.

The freedom of solitude
.

The sun cracked the horizon with its ancient, unforgiving rays. The chirp of morning birds followed, setting off a slow-burn in his arteries, and an ache in his cartilage. A deep greyness weighed heavily on his eyes,
and
the light was too sharp. His teeth felt musty. The dawn
’
s gradients of renewal washed down on him like slaps to the psyche.

The Mechanic had been twitching for over an hour. With a final jerk, he rolled over into a tense pose. He was not yet awake; face stony, eyes ticking. Internal metrics were measuring and quantifying. Wentworth watched him with
a
mild umbrage.

Gradually Raxx
’
s pose softened and his eyes grew lucid.

“
Sleep well?
”

Raxx considered t
his, worked his jaw and grimacing
.
“
Well enough.
”

Wentworth nodded. Down in the mine site, their opponents were still lying where they
’
d passed out the night before. The growing light seemed to emphasize the wreckage of last night
’
s party, as the rays made their pass across the valley.

“
Should be bright enough now…
”
He pulled out a pair of cigarettes and lit them, passing one over. He remembered the man leaving his cigarillos in the truck.

“
Thanks.
”

Wentworth nodded, then retreated into himself. He took his first drag – he
’
d on
ly puffed when lighting them – i
t sent a wave of blood rushing up his spine. It was almost painful, this sudden infusion after hours of withdraw
l
. Shards of iridescence blossomed in his mind, activating each neuron. He rode the wave of dizziness, the outer layers of his cortex vibrating, until the second and third drags brought him
back
down to normal. He opened his eyes and looked at the world, smoke curling against his skin. The light
’
s angles were no longer so drastic.

He finished his cigarette and ground the cherry into the earth. After shaking off the loose tobacco he tucked the filter into his pocket. By this time Raxx had already started assembled the implements
and ingredients
for heating breakfast.

“
Mind handing me some of that jerky?
”

“
Sure thing.
”

He began preparing diagrams, and chewing on the beef
.
Upon finishing he glanced over and spoke.
“
Raxx;
”
the man had almost finished with the coffee.
“
It
’
s my turn to get some rack now, but before I do I
’
m going to set you up so you know what to watch for,
”
he handed over the notepad.

Raxx looked it over.
“
‘
Salute
’
–
isn
’
t that
something from the
medieval era
?
”

“
Pretty much. It
’
s a good
aide de memoir
for communicating on the battlefield – which isn
’
t exactly what we
’
re doing right here, but it
’
s still a good framework for organizing your thoughts. It stands for Size, Activity, Location, Uniform, Time, and Equipment – let
’
s start with the first one: Size.
”

“
You wrote down fifty
.
”

“
Right. That was a bit of a guess, since we can
’
t see all of them right now. You
’
re going to need to double check it. If you notice them broken down into any sub-groups or teams, you should put that down there, too. Next one: Activity?
”

“
Well, they
’
re passed out still… I dunno, it looks like some of them are… couples. Maybe. And they were drinking last night… I don
’
t really see anything else.
”

“
Sounds like you
’
ve got the hang of it – it
’
s not just what they
’
re immediately doing that
’
s important, but also how they do it – whether they
’
re lazy or not, what times they sleep, et cetera. Anything that seems note
worthy should be marked down… b
ut anyway, next one – Location?
”

Raxx raised his eyebrow.

Wentworth fought back a jolt of irritation. The desire for sleep was dogging his heels.
“
I know they
’
re all down there, but is there anything you notice about the arrangement?
”

Raxx stared down at them, considering.
“
Well… there might be something – I see a couple different groups, maybe three – but it might just be some accident of how they passed out. Unless if you
’
re talking about Slayer and his friend? I don
’
t see them anywhere.
”

Wentworth nodded,
“
They disappeared into the hangar – must have a room in there, or something. Honestly,
‘
Location
’
normally just means the grid-coordinates – like I said, SALUTE
’
s usually for communication - but sometimes the location can give you hints as to what their plans are, if you consider it the right way… speaking of which: Uniform?
”

“
Damn – I
know
that
word. That
’
s… that
’
s what the
constabulary
in Hope wear
s
, right? So we
’
re looking for how many pockets they have? If they
’
ve got bandoliers or not?
”

Wentworth chewed his lip.
“
Yes and no. I guess
it
’
s
a bit archaic nowadays, but what it means – in this sense – is what unit they belong to, what sort of group are they? So in this case, yeah, what you said would pretty much sum it up – I mean, if these guys had been part of something larger
–”
Raxx
’
s brows furrowed,
“
-then we
’
d be asking: Are these guys the cooks? Are these guys the elites? Are they conscripts? Stuff like that – but right now, the question basically boils down to what their individual skills are – maybe there
’
s a medic, or a sapper, or something else we
’
d want to know.
”

“
Uh-huh.
”

“
Next we
’
ve got Time – of course you should write down the time next to anything you write down, but I kept that one in case something important happens that doesn
’
t fit into one of the other categories. And if nothing much happens, you can use it as a log – I set the Datapad to beep each hour, to remind you. So that brings us to the last one: Equipment. I didn
’
t bother with it last night, because it was too dark to make out details, and I don
’
t think they have anything beyond small arms and a few vehicles – but if you want to update the list, that
’
d be great.
”

“
I can do that.
”

“
Good
. In that case, I
’
m going to crash – I
’
ll only need a few hours, but don
’
t be afraid to wake me for anything.
”

“
Okay, but I got a question, first – why didn
’
t we just shoot Slayer last night? I
’
m pretty sure you could have hit him, and they were too drunk to do anything but shoot back an
d miss. We could
’
ve got away.
”

Wentworth mulled over this for a second.
“
Yeah… I
could
have… and we could have got out of here, probably
,
without any of them seeing us
… but something was itching
at me. T
here was some reason I didn
’
t want to do it. At first I thought it was that I didn
’
t want to rush into things like we did last time – but that wasn
’
t it.
I dunno…
just because you think you see
a tactical advantage,
doesn
’
t mean that it
’
s actually there
.
”

“
What are you saying
?
”

“
Well… what do you think all of those guys down there would be doing today if Slayer wasn
’
t there to keep them in check? This isn
’
t a case of cut off the snake
’
s head, and the body will die – this is a case of kill the Master, and the hounds will be set loose.
A few of
them might suicide,
and
the
others would kill each other, but the rest would just run off to spread havoc everywhere else.
They
’
d become
new Slayers… no, when this batch goes out, we take all of them out. There
’
s a way to do it… I just don
’
t know
what
that is
yet. Shame about
that
kid
last night
, though.
”

It was hard to tell at that distance, but the pile of bloody rags by the base of the broken cross might have been his remains.

“
Anyway, I
’
m not going to figure it out without some sleep.
I told you I wouldn
’
t rush into this.
”

He
turned over, and within moments Raxx was on his own. He looked over – during their conversation the fuel tab heating his coffee h
ad burned out. He checked it –
the temperature was just right.

He sipped at the cup and watched – not
quite
sure what he was looking at.

* * *

Uniform.
The word felt strange on his lips.

His uncle had been smart.
That old M
echanic he
’
d met in Steeltown had been smart. But Wentworth…

The man had no head for engines, but other sorts of dynamics he seemed to look through
as if they were
glass. The callousness he
’
d shown during the crucifixion had bothered
him
,
almost as much as the crucifixion itself. His sleep had been plagued with nightmare
s about it – the kid
tied there,
screaming for mercy,
as a
dark mirror of himself, dressed in helmet and goggles, stood there and laughed… He
’
d barely been able to look at
the other man
after waking – but had
he
really been callous
? Or had he just seen past it? In retrospect,
Wentworth was
right – if they
’
d tried to save the kid,
they
might
have
both
died
, and a lot of others
…

But
there was the way he spoke. He kept saying word
s
, turns-of-phrase
s
, which left Raxx in the dark, but… what was it he
’
d said about the old myths? That, even if they were unknown, they
’
d be recognizable to people today? Most of his sayings s
eemed to fit into
that
category…
most of them. And they weren
’
t bad saying
s
, or
even
bad ideas;
regardless
if a lot of them seeme
d pre
war… but there was
that computer he trusted his life on.

T
he man was so damned dismissive of everyone
he
met, as if –

The computer beeped.

Damnit! Slaved to a device… he spent the next few minutes writing a summary for what had occurred that hour. His hand was unaccustomed to writing letters. The sloppiness frustrated
him
,
and
his hand cramped up
. Occasionally he
’
d blush in shame, wondering whether a particular word
was
spelt with one
‘
L
’
or two. Wentworth
’
s writing was neat
and precise
.

Uniform.

Where had his thought
train been? Wentworth… the man was smart, but there was something about his attitude; it was bad enough that he was unapologetic for using the computer… not just unapologetic, but arrogant about it. It was a symptom of the same thing that made him dismissive
of
- of everything! Every city, every person, every idea…

Of course, people were always like that - they thought their ideas the best. When you visited a foreign city you kept your manners abou
t you, going along to get along,
but Wentworth… well, to be honest, he wasn
’
t bad with people. For a man who incited so much wariness
upon
first
impression
, with Raxx
’
s help
they
’
d
managed to woo their hotel-manager, to get Tracy and her staff to fall in love with them… he treated people…

He treated people the same way you treat a pack of
pariah
dogs.

It wasn
’
t that he
demanded
his city be above all others – he
accepted
that
it was, and
they were all beneath it! He treated
everyone like the
deformed waiter
at the Roadhouse – as if it would be unfair to expect more than failure!

Uniform.

Assumptions… they were always complex. He
’
d once assumed that an engine sensor – one out of over a dozen, none of which he
’
d had the equipment to test – had been faulty, but it
had
turned out to be nothing more than a dirty fuel-filter. He
’
d w
asted a lot of money fixing tha
t.

Uniform.

Wentworth
’
s arrogance had blinded him to something about this group – something he ignored about every group – but this time it would
prove
critical to outsmarting them.

Uniform.

Who the hell
were
they?