Peace in an Age of Metal and Men (10 page)

Tucker Hale was a son of a bitch.

In fact, Tucker Hale was the son of a bitch that other sons of bitches looked to when they wanted to feel like charitable gentlemen.

In the war, he’d been one of my closest buddies. We were both naturals back then, capitalizing on our poverty and heritage to slip between the cracks in the enemy lines. Before I got my metal arm, I was one of the best. Tuck was better. He didn’t hate tech the way I did. Once we slipped past the scanners he’d improvise weapons and wreak more havoc than a full frontal assault could possibly muster. He was handsome too and would often use his charm to woo his way into the secrets of those city-dwelling bastards.

He didn’t look so handsome older and upside-down. I was the one upside-down, actually, but the effect was the same. His long, stringy gray hair and bulbous beer belly didn’t do his square jaw many favors. His grin was missing a few of its teeth and all of its warmth.

There was plenty of time to contemplate how good Tucker had always been with traps as I spent the better half of the afternoon hanging upside-down from one of the half-dead trees on his estate outside of Dead Oak.

Tucker took a swig from a bottle of bourbon. “You dropped your hat.”

I scowled at him, knowing full well that scowls have a funny way of not working upside-down.

“Wasn’t sure if that’d hold you,” he said. “Made it for them coyotes that’ve been skulking around lately.”

It was a good trap. Thin metal cables held my feet while my metal arm was pinned to my body by another set of razor-sharp cables. My metal arm was strong enough to break the lines binding me, but if I tried I’d likely cut myself in half.

Tucker picked up my hat and put it on. “Well, J.D.,” he said, “it was nice talking, but I’m going to be seeing you. You’re not the sheriff anymore, so I’m going to assume you’re just trespassing.” He paused. “In fact, I’ve been getting a lot of trespassers lately. You know anything about that?”

“I ain’t here to give you any trouble. Just talk.”

He raised an eyebrow and took another swig. “Talk? Really?”

I nodded.

“I had no idea.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Was that what you were here to do last time when you rolled in, guns blazing, and ran me and my buddies up to Iowa?”

Iowa was a prison plantation near the Canadian border. I had sent Tucker and his crew up there for a spell. “That was twenty years ago, Tucker.” My head pounded from the rush of blood. “And you had it coming. You were robbing banks.”

He chuckled. “We sure were. Them banks needed robbing, and you know as well as I did that it was nothing but city money we were taking. We were doing good.”

“You were breaking the law.”

He nodded, took a swig, and then turned to walk back to his house. “I was breaking their laws, J.D. Not any laws I recognized.” The big, metal door closed behind him, leaving me to hang from an old oak.

An hour later, he came out, looked at me with feigned surprise, then returned to his house. I tried to call out to him, but my voice was nothing but a rasping whisper. The sun pounded down on me like it was trying to have me cooked in time for supper.

It seemed like hours after that when Tucker came out of his house again. He walked up to me, reached up, and loosened the ties around my feet, dropping me in a heap to the ground. Using a metal hook, Tucker snagged the wire wrapped around my feet and dragged me into the house. Razor wire dug deep into my arm, soaking my shirt with blood. Once we were inside, he cut the wire and let me loose.

Tuck’s place closely resembled my own. He had a single chair, a single bed, and a single table. Light from circles on the walls suffused the room with a bluish glow. My place was mud and his was concrete, but otherwise we lived similar lives.

Tucker reached into a cooling unit under the bed and pulled out a couple of brown bottles with resealable caps. He popped one open and handed it to me, then popped the other and took a swig.

I sipped cautiously, feeling the cool fizz on my cracked lips. The brew was smooth, with a touch of bitter at the end. It smelled like honey and wheat, like fresh-baked bread.

“Good beer,” I said.

“My own brew.” He took another swig. “Gotta keep myself busy when I’m not robbing banks or holding up rich folks for their pocket change.”

I smiled. “You always give folks such a warm reception?”

“You always send your war buddies to prison?” Tucker eyed my metal arm like he thought it was going to fly off and attack him.

I took another swig and rolled it around in my mouth. My side still stung where the wire had cut into my skin, but I was careful not to show any pain to Tucker. It would be a shame to give the cruel bastard that kind of satisfaction.

After a time, I broke the silence. “They say it’s getting hotter next few days.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Sure.”

“Unless it’s got something to do with brewing beer, I steer clear of the tech and trouble.” He tipped his bottle at my arm. “Unless it comes looking for me.”

“Can’t help what I am, Tuck.”

“Only what you do.”

We sat in silence for a time, sipping beer and hiding from the heat in Tucker’s little home. A few times I wanted to say something. An apology sat at the tip of my tongue for minutes, but never quite formed. What was I going to apologize for? Arresting him when he broke the law? Leaving him to fight the war after my arm had been severed?

“What are you here for, Crow?” He leaned forward in his chair. “You just here to reminisce?”

“Nope.”

“Then what?”

“Need your help.”

He raised an eyebrow and leaned forward some more. “Maybe you misunderstand the nature of our relationship.”

I shook my head. “Believe me, Tuck. If I could leave you out of this, I would.”

“Well, you’re going to walk away disappointed, then.” He stood up and stretched. “You’re looking at my life here. I don’t help people just for asking.”

“Sure, but I have something you might be interested in doing.”

“Spit it out.”

“I want your help robbing a bank.”

By the time he stopped laughing, I’d finished my beer and got halfway through a second. I told him everything that had happened in the past few days, from Zane’s first visit to my little talk with Court. When I told him about the coyotes that I’d seen, his face got real serious.

“They ain’t right,” he said. “Them things are dangerous.”

I thought back to the coyotes that looked like they were trying to get into Josephine’s junkyard. “How dangerous?”

“They’re smart. Big too.” He bit his lip with crooked teeth. “Smart enough not to get into any traps I’ve put out, but I’ve seen them around. They’ve been close.”

I nodded. “I saw tell near Overpass too. Bunch of them were up on a bridge over the town. More genetic modifications, I figure. Somebody let a population get out and we deal with the fallout.”

Tucker grunted, took a big gulp of beer, and belched.

“So,” I said after another minute. “Are you in?”

“What’d you get from the gang?”

I dug out my glow cube and pulled up the list of supplies. The image quivered in the air and it took me a minute to figure out that it was my hand shaking, not the cube. Tucker stared at the image for a minute, a grin spreading as he did.

“You have yourself a deal, Sheriff.”

“I’m not a sheriff anymore, Tuck.”

“No,” he said. “No, you sure as shit are not.”

The sun’s heat ravaged the ground below, but above, where the sky stretched forever, the air was cool. The world was at peace. With the skidder’s new bubble activated, the sharp chill couldn’t penetrate. I was alone without loneliness. It was serenity with none of the restlessness that comes with life. Nobody depended on me for justice or peace.

Loneliness had always been a part of me down below. It was only in the sky, truly alone, that I understood how that loneliness pressed on me. Shaped me. Even as a sheriff, when I was the heartbeat of a living, thriving community, lonesomeness ruled over me. I never had a real connection with another person. Maybe the war made me unable to connect with people. Maybe my mutilation made me too ashamed to try to connect with anyone who would care for me.

What would it feel like, not being alone?

Men of violence are always alone. Texas wasn’t ever peaceful, far as I could tell. A gun or a fist were always worth more than a word and a pen. After the war, when I was a lawman, it was my gun that held the peace. My gun was the one that brought justice to hundreds of criminals and gangsters. But was it right? Was holding the people to some rules by force really doing anyone any good? Life used to seem so simple. Shoot the criminals; save the victims.

Except, nowadays everyone was a criminal. Everyone was a victim.

I’d left my gun at home because there just wasn’t any way I could justify shooting anyone. I’d shot a mother in front of her kid. Sure, she was mixed up in some bad stuff. Sure, she was going to kill someone if I didn’t act.

She didn’t deserve death any more than anybody else. But she got it.

The gun at my hip weighed on me. I’d given up shooting, but here I was carrying a gun again. I could have dropped it from the sky. Something made me hold onto it. Maybe it was fear or an old habit, but the gun felt right at my side, even if I didn’t plan on using it. Maybe it made me feel less alone.

According to Ben Brown, his brother Francis had gone missing. Francis had contacted me, and even if I didn’t know where he was, I might be able to help. The Brown ranch was below, just as I remembered it. A stout farmhouse jutted out of the dry earth, and a short distance away the enormous cattle barn sat in the red earth like a black, cancerous lump. The place was surrounded by squat black windmills, collecting power from the sharp wind and searing sun of the Texas climate—two resources that were in ample supply.

I drifted down, making for a spot near the barn where I could see a dark form working amongst the dry grass. As I got closer I could see that it was Ben, no longer the kid I knew, but bigger. Harder. He was tall, nearly as tall as myself. Ben was independence and rebellion shoehorned by circumstance into the drab routine of life. His mohawk was spiked and metallic. The black poncho that he wore seemed to shift with a will of its own. His left hand was a finely crafted steel limb, which he used to direct several humming drones. His jaw was set as he worked, as if he were pushing himself forward through sheer force of will.

“J.D.,” he said without turning to face me. “Thought you’d forgotten about me.”

My skidder lit gently on the dry ground, thrusters igniting the dry grass. I hopped off and used my metal hand to smother the fire before it could become dangerous.

Ben waved his hand to send a couple drones south across the sea of windmills. “Go home, old man,” he said.

I patted my pockets looking for a cigarette, but didn’t find one. Instead, I plucked a piece of grass and stuck it in my mouth.

He turned to look at me. “Well?”

“Seems to me you still need help.”

“Not from you.” He waved his hand again and a couple more drones zipped away. “I called you days ago. Days.”

I grunted. “Came as soon as I could.”

“Great.” He stepped up and put a finger on my chest. “Leave as soon as you can too, then we’ll be even.”

Shaking my head, I leaned back on my skidder. “Wanna tell me what’s happening first?”

“No.” He bit his lip. “Well, kinda.” Waving a hand, he sent the last two drones to the east. “Hell, I’ve got nobody else. Francis is gone and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“What about your big brother? What about the rest of your family?” When I’d last seen the Brown family there were more siblings than I cared to count.

“Gone.” His shoulders slumped. “Jason took the rest of them away to live in Austin. Said it wasn’t safe to have them way the hell out here.”

I nodded.

“Not with Francis, anyway.”

That got my interest. “What makes you say that?”

“Francis hasn’t ever been right in the head, but since Ma died he’s been…”

“Worse.”

“Yeah. Not a lot at first. Mostly just quiet. Six months ago, he suddenly got interested in some of the old junk in the barn.” Ben kicked a metal harness, and it scattered into pieces across the cracked dirt. “That’s why I’m going through this stuff. Something in here might give me a clue as to what he’s up to.”

A hot breeze rose and tugged at my hat. My lips were dry and cracked, thirsty from all the work I’d done in the past couple days. Still, I felt bad for not visiting Ben sooner. He needed help and I’d ignored his pleas. I picked up one of the pieces of the harness, wincing at the pain the movement caused me. Ben’s eyes lost focus and a light flashed in them. He bit his lip at what he saw, but didn’t say anything.

“Why do you do that?” I asked.

“Do what?”

Gesturing at his whole body, I said, “All of that. Arms, hair, eyes, ears. Every time I see you there’s less of you to see.”

He cocked his head to one side. “We do what we do to get ahead.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Or at least keep up.”

“You do it ’cause everyone else does.”

“Something like that.” His eyes flashed again, and he smiled. “It’s better, though, you know. I mean, you got your arm. Don’t you think it works better than flesh and bone? It’s just science, man. Full upgrade all the way through.”

I looked at my massive metal arm. “I hate this damn thing.”

“Do you?”

“It’s not the same as what you got. You got a choice. When you upgraded it was because you looked at what was out there and you wanted it.”

“I was a stupid kid sometimes, but yeah.”

“Mine was done to me by people I thought I trusted with the sole purpose of making me a better soldier.”

“So, replace it.” He held up his metal hand and wiggled his fingers. If they didn’t shine in the sunlight, it might be hard to tell that they were fake. “Modernize.”

“That’s just it, though. Once you get into that upgrade loop you’re stuck in it. Better arm might be nice, but how long till I want better hearing or eyesight.” I pulled off my hat and ran my fingers through my hair. “Better hair.”

He seemed to consider that for a moment. “End is the same, though, isn’t it, whether you choose it or not? You accept what you are or you don’t. Seems like you don’t.”

“Did Francis accept what he was?”

“Nobody but nobody understood what was going on in my brother’s head.”

“Is it possible he met someone six months ago?” I asked. “Could someone have finally figured him out?”

“Dunno.” Ben hesitated, like he was considering his words carefully. “He’d always been pretty secretive. He’d be on his optics pretty much all the time messing around with the tech. I tried to stop him a few times. I’m supposed to be in charge, right?” He looked to me like he wanted an answer, but I didn’t give one. “Well, it didn’t go well. He fought. Little guy’s fierce too. You ever met someone stubborn as you, J.D.?”

“Nope.”

“Well, you should give Francis a look. He’s got some chops.”

“So he stayed on the optics?”

“Yeah. And I didn’t have the heart to just shut them down. So, he could have been in contact with anyone. His tech was top notch. Ma always got him all the best stuff right from the start.” Ben pulled a cheroot from a hidden compartment in his metal hand and lit it using a flame that snapped up from his thumb. He nodded at the house and started walking in that direction.

I followed. “So he might have contacted someone out there. You think there might be foul play? Was he kidnapped?”

“Maybe.” He shook his head. “I don’t think so, but maybe.”

We walked in silence for a minute before something clicked in my thick skull. Ben was hiding something. There was some piece of the puzzle he was holding back. “Francis contacted me yesterday,” I said. “He wanted to show me something.”

Ben seemed more worried at this. “Can you call him back?”

I shook my head. “Not that I can figure. He covered up the call so when I call back it doesn’t go anywhere.”

“He wanted to show you something, but didn’t give you a way to get back to him?”

“That about figures it.”

“See, it’s things like this. He’s been more and more erratic like this for a while now.”

“He’s a kid.”

“He’s a smart kid. Really smart.” Ben took a drag on his cheroot.

“Tracking a tech trail isn’t really my thing. Why call me and not the sheriff?”

“I think you know.”

“You think he’s into something illegal. You don’t want him sent away.”

Ben nodded.

We reached the house. Ben poured two glasses of lemonade from a chilled carafe sitting on a small table on the porch. He offered me one and I gladly downed it. The drink was sweet and tart, and the icy chill swept through me in a wave of relief. It was just what I needed.

“So, what do you say?” Ben was looking at me with stubborn defiance. It was hard for him to ask for help. If he was coming to me, then I suspected there wasn’t anywhere else he could turn.

“Yeah, I’ll help.” I held up the harness I’d picked up earlier. “But you have to tell me what this does.”

He studied my face for a minute, then looked down at the harness. “I don’t know.”

I held it up, spreading it out with my huge metal hand. “See the shape of it?”

“Horse?”

“Yeah.” I handed it to him. “What’s all this tech good for on a horse?”

He squinted at it. “It’s neural tech, but I’ll need to mess with it to figure out how it works.”

“Do it,” I said. “And I’ll help you find Francis.”

“You were going to help, anyway.”

He was right. There was a weariness behind his eyes that made me think of how harsh life had been to him. It made me wish I could be there for him, help him out more. But I hadn’t done anything for him. Four years ago, he had been the rebel of the family. He could have left once tragedy hit. He didn’t. I’d help him find his brother if I could.

“He’s out there.” I slapped Ben on the back. “We’ll find him, Ben, but right now I have someplace I need to be.”

“Where?”

“You wouldn’t believe me.”