Borderlands: The Fallen (33 page)

“That shuttle. Is it—?”

“Yeah, it is. Atlas Corporation. Executive Shuttle. Meaning it’s got Atlas execs in it—some of the most sneaky, treacherous sons of bitches around.”

Z
ac blinked, his eyes stinging as he woke. He groaned, realizing that the alien had effortlessly put him to sleep again. It made him feel completely helpless. The thing could switch him off and on like a lamp.

He looked around, feeling sick. He was
inside
the alien. Maybe the damned thing, in time, was going to digest him.

But he didn’t think that it had lied to him. That voice—it was impossible to imagine that voice lying. The alien would do what it had said it would: if it decided to kill him, he’d become part of some biological sample collection, somewhere. Like the preserved animals he’d seen in natural history museums …

How could he be inside the creature—and in a chair?

But it wasn’t organized like the animals he was familiar with. It had just as much control of its insides as its outsides. It could change the shape of its “interior storage
spaces.” He was sure that “the monitor” was in fact an extension, telepathically controlled, of the alien. It was as if it could send its eye out, flying around on its own, and its eye could see things for it, and pick things up, bring them back, and store them in a compartment inside it.

Now, that’s pretty damn alien,
Zac thought.

Maybe he could escape. Maybe the alien’s attention was occupied elsewhere. It wasn’t omniscient. It had limitations. Maybe he’d awakened on his own and he could slip out of this chair and find some way out …

He tried to stand—and was sucked back down onto the chair, by a force that was like a very specific gravitation.

“I have not yet released you,”
said the alien, in his mind.
“I am aware of your thoughts, your motions. You cannot surprise me.”

He felt like sobbing. But all he had left was his dignity. So, hoarsely, he said, “You going to tell me now what you’re doing with me? You going to kill me? You promised me a painless death, remember …”

“I have not yet decided. Decisions that involve life and death, with us, are generally thought over, not decided impulsively—we are not impulsive like your jackass knucklehead people.”

“Hey—you’ve got that sneering tone again. Listen, you creatures evolved too, didn’t you, from simpler forms. Right?”

“Yes.”

“Well don’t you think
you
guys were jackass knuckleheads at some point? You know—in an earlier stage of evolution? Come on, fair is fair. Easy to sneer at a lower order of being. You think I bother to sneer at ants?”

To his surprise, the alien seemed to hesitate.
“You actually have a point. That’s not quite enough to show you have that Hidden Thing of Interest—but it’s enough to add a little bit to the scale on the side of keeping you alive longer.”

Zac felt a flicker of hope. “Look—I’m convinced I did wrong in coming here! I repent! I shouldn’t have messed with you. Let me go, and I won’t touch your … your parts. You can gather them up and you can go home, when you’re finished regenerating or whatever. And I’ll try to make my people better. Just … give me a chance.”

“It’s not a case of being ‘better.’ It’s a case of being worth bothering with at all, really.”

“Listen, we’ve got all kinds of good stuff you’re not aware of. We’ve got art, poetry, music … good stuff. Even some philosophy. I’ve heard.”

“I’m aware of some of your music through your mind. It’s low-dimensional.”

“I might not be the best source for appreciating our musical gifts. Listen—I can’t stand this anymore. Just tell me what you plan.”

“It depends on the others. You, yourself, are too ambiguous. I wish to see what those others out there will do. The ones gathered nearby. There’s a woman, a young one, two men, on the cliff above; there are three others below. There is an orbit shuttlecraft I invited and which I’ve allowed to land, in which still other men arrive.”

“You invited the shuttle?”

“I transmitted a message to it, to the effect that the previous barrier against landings nearby, from orbit, has been lifted. I want a few more of you creatures to examine. It keeps me busy while I conclude regeneration. I’ll decide if I should destroy
them—or permit them to go on. I don’t wish them to know too much about me. Unless they have the Hidden Thing of Interest. In which case—”

“Wait—did you say a woman and a child? Do you know their names?”

“No.”

Could it be them? He’d sent his wife the coordinates. Could it be really be Marla and Cal—and an orbital lander? Could it be that help was outside and it was just beyond his reach? His family might be there, close by, yet impossible to reach …

… because he was trapped by an alien who was still deciding if he would live, or die.

A sparse trail, probably left by animals, threaded down the steep slope of the gulch under the debris field. Roland descended on the animal trail, sometimes almost having to rock-climb to get down, sliding a little, ducking behind outcroppings and scrub whenever he thought he was too easily visible from the floor of the gulch. He didn’t want Crannigan to know he was coming any sooner than necessary.

When he got to the bottom, Roland heard a whirring sound coming from up the gulch, near the orbital lander. He hunkered down behind a rock as something passed over, its shadow flickering by. He looked to see what it was—but it was gone. Maybe a scouter platform. Not good. Whoever was on it could be up to anything—but his first guess would be that they were on their way to scout the debris field. No way he could catch up with the platform. He hoped Marla and Berl and the kid had the
sense to keep their heads down when the scouter platform floated by them.

Roland got up and jogged toward the lander, which glinted in the morning sun. A little farther and he came to the edge of the flattened bowl in the gulch, where he saw Crannigan, Rosco, and Rans talking to Gorman, the young suit from Atlas on the vehicle’s ramp, about twenty meters off. The sleek young man might not be a
young
man at all, of course. Atlas execs were comped the best rejuvenation—this man could be two hundred years old.

Roland flattened in a small copse of plants, like a canebrake that grew where a stream sometimes cut through the gulch. The streambed was now dry. He’d better keep an eye on it—it could suddenly erupt with scythids or spiderants.

Behind Gorman stood one of the armored bodyguards. This one was in red-tinted full body armor. It wasn’t impossible that he might be a robot—but more likely he was Crimson Lance elite. The bodyguard carried an Atlas AR24 Glorious Ogre combat rifle, which looked almost small in his big metal-gauntleted hands. His helmet, the face completely shuttered behind darkened glass, kept turning as he scanned the area for threats.

How many bodyguards did Gorman bring this time?
Roland wondered. This bodyguard in the red-tinted armor seemed different than the other two he’d seen the last time. The elite had the best shields. Did Crannigan really have a plan for taking them down when he made his move? The armored elite wouldn’t die easily.

The smart thing to do, Roland figured, would be to walk away from this whole thing right now, take Marla
and Cal back to New Haven whether they wanted to or not. They should all admit they couldn’t help Zac and just say the hell with Crannigan, Atlas, armored bodyguards, Rosco, and the extraterrestrial crash site. Because if he stayed and took this bull by the horns, he was caught between whatever was in that alien ship, and the armored elite.

But he’d befriended that kid. And once Roland made a friend—he was stuck. It’s just the way he was.

He sighed. He wasn’t going to do the smart thing. He was going to step right into the hornet’s nest.

Roland waited till the red-armored elite was turned to look another way—then he stood slowly up and started walking toward the group of men, his rifle in his hands but pointed unthreateningly at the ground.

“I’m comin’ in, Crannigan!” he called.

Startled, Crannigan and the others turned and stared at him. The elite raised his rifle and trained it on Roland, covering him. His amplified voice came from his helmet. “You know this one, sir?”

“Yes,” Gorman said, seeming amused as Roland strolled up. “I’ve just been told that he was dead.”

Rans, his face twitching, looked especially uncomfortable at the sight of Roland.

Roland figured the only way into that alien ship would be with enough firepower. Maybe if he got in with this bunch, he could get Zac Finn out alive. Reunite the kid with his old man.

Roland, you’re a sucker,
he told himself.

Aloud, as he walked up to the other men, he said, “Who told you I was dead, Mr. Gorman?”

The baby-faced exec smiled. “Crannigan here told me that.”

Crannigan shrugged. “You didn’t come back, Roland. Figured the stalkers got you.”

“Like a man once said, the reports of my death are exaggerated. Stalkers, you said? You knew about stalkers being here, Crannigan?”

Crannigan scratched his chin. “Only after we got here. I caught a glimpse of ’em, up there on the cliff. I’d have called you—but you didn’t have a communicator. Only one I’ve got I needed to keep.”

“So you could call Gorman here?”

“Gotta brief ’em sometime.” Crannigan looked at him with a small, ironic smile and a raised eyebrow—it seemed to hint,
Don’t worry, I’m gonna set them up and take it all. Just like we planned.

Roland gave him a faint nod. But he didn’t trust Crannigan.

“You get close to that crash site?” Roland asked.

“Some. We got close enough to see a couple of guys in there ahead of us—one seemed like he was getting broiled by a drifter. The other one got caught by some kind of flying drone outta the alien ship. Definitely not Eridian. Whatever that thing is, it’s not any alien artifact I’ve ever seen.”

Gorman nodded. “We’ve established that it’s the crash site of an unknown species of extraterrestrial.”

“How’d you get this close?” Roland asked. “Was it bullshit about how you couldn’t get here from the air?”

“No,” Gorman said, looking at him coldly. Clearly he didn’t like Roland’s tone. “We just got a transmission that
said we were clear to come down. The energy signature associated with the skybeam that knocked down our exploratory drones was gone. I thought the ‘safe to land’ transmission had come from Crannigan. Turns out it wasn’t him. We’ve been puzzling that one out. I assume it wasn’t you either.”

“So who’s that leave?” Roland wondered aloud, glancing back toward the crash site. No one had an answer for that.

“I see you haven’t got the kid with you,” Rosco said. “Find his body?”

“No,” Roland said, glancing at Rans Veritas. “’Cause he’s not dead. I … dug him up. Alive. Truth is, he got out of that little hole on his own. I’ve got him stashed somewhere safe. Don’t worry about it.” There was no need to tell them anything they didn’t need to know—like about Berl or Marla.

He looked steadily at Rans as he asked Gorman, “This lying backstabber here—do you need him for anything, Mr. Gorman? He’s not somebody you can trust. If he’s at the end of his usefulness …”

“Do you have a problem with our dear old friend Rans?” Gorman asked coolly.

“He hit a friend of mine in the head and dropped him in a hole, is all. A hole filled with tunnel rats. And he did it for no good reason other than pure cussedness.”

“The boy is lying, if that’s what he told you!” Rans spat. He turned to Gorman. “You going to let this seedy road warrior threaten me? You never even hired him! You and me have a deal!”

“Yes, well—you may be of some use to us yet, Rans.”

“Seems to me,” Roland pointed out, “you won’t need him. I saw a scouter flying in close to that crash site. They’ll tell you anything this scumbag could.”

Gorman nodded. “Yes, I sent two other guards to scout out the site. They may make our Rans here superfluous. We’ll see.”

“Now look, Mr. Gorman,” Rans snarled, taking an angry step toward the exec, pointing a grimy finger at him. “You can’t take that
maybe, maybe not
attitude. We got a deal—”

Gorman turned to the armored bodyguard and made a “just a little bit” sign with his thumb and forefinger. The bodyguard said, “Yes, sir.”

He stepped up to Rans and backhanded him with a gauntleted hand—hitting him “just a little bit”—so that the schemer staggered backward, down the ramp, to fall flat on his back with a grunt of pain.

“He could have easily killed you, Rans, with very little additional effort,” Gorman said. “Do not approach me in a threatening manner again. I’m going to tell the drones to set up camp. Keep an eye on the perimeter, Red.”

“Yes, sir,” said the amplified voice.

Grinning, Rosco helped Rans up. “Oughta watch your mouth, old fella.”

Rans growled to himself and limped away, to sit pensively on a low boulder nearby, wiping blood from his lip and staring at the ground, face twitching.

It appeared Roland would have to put up with Rans Veritas for a while longer. Two men who had earned a reckoning. And there were a lot of others to deal with out of necessity …