“Doesmaelstrommean anything to either of you?”
“It’s tattooed on the back of my neck and is also written on Little Mo. This is a mech bug that follows me.” She indicated Little Mo, who’d sneaked into the tent and sat waiting beside the inner tent wall. “Maelstrom was the last experiment done by Dr. Nietz to try and defeat the Ghoul Lords.”
“Fuck me. Really?” Her fingers stilled in her hair. “So you might be some sort of remnant of a last weapon? I… am going to organize a meeting to discuss this. I’m on the Worshipper council.” She levered herself to the front of her chair and tapped the desk. “If there’s anything else, any other information you have, you can say it there. Also bring this critter here.” She pointed at Mo. “We need to do something more than just say words.”
She sure hoped so.The energy in this woman. “Yes. True. Let’s do this.”
“At dusk. It should be organized by then. People are out doing stuff. Be ready. Explore the place or go sleep in the meantime, just stay in the camp. We retreat into deeper rooms when daylight hits. An old habit even though the GLs don’t seem to bother us anymore. Least, not until you and your caravan arrived.
“And keep that critter with you so nobody lights it up with a weapon or kicks it over the edge. People are suspicious of anything new.”
“Okay.” She stood. “Thank you. There’s no payment required for this?”
“No. Gratis. What would you pay me with?” She grinned, her tongue licking out to her top lip and back in.
“Well. Thank you again.”
It struck Cyn at how that reflected on this new world. Values had been reorganized. Sexual favors and relationships of all sorts were, perhaps, more valued than material goods, for those could be unearthed everywhere. Decaying, but everywhere. What had the caravan brought that was worth anything to the Worshippers? People?
Vargr put both hands on her butt for a second then rose to his feet and moved aside. “Thank you, Willow. I like where this is going.”
When Willow stood, he reached forward and shook her hand. Cyn did the same.
Yes, yes. Things were happening. Cyn felt as if her eyes were on fire.
Damn, this was promising.
24
Together,they wandered the green Parklands area, visiting the stalls people had erected where tables of goods were displayed. This was a market but one where payment was arbitrary and seemingly random. A cooking fire wafted high the smell of smoke and roasted meat, as well as a hint of burned plastic, and dancers swayed and twirled around the fire. People swapped things, kissed, and hugged. They discussed where they’d found the clothes, the food, the weapons, or the other pretty things they’d souvenired.
These souvenirs gave forever. Free ones. Objects stolen from the dead and gone. Yet laughter was common. The place was lovely, bathed by moonlight that lent a fine blue tone to the side of anything and anyone facing the opening. A backdrop of stars and those faraway hills. She’d grown used to the whole seeing-in-the-dark phenom.
She had to pause and look.
The height and breadth of this place the Worshippers had chosen took away one’s breath and gave back awe. Trees and grass and people doing everyday things, even if this wasnighttime. It made her feel accepted and a part of something special and magical.
What if the Ghoul Lords attacked? They never did at night, she was told. Never. Why? That was her next question, and no one knew the why.
You have to sit on the edgeand check out the Below, was said to them by many. The last who said it was a beaster trading his found and re-assembled weapons. TheTophad become a place while she slumbered those five years, and now she found out the ground had too. It was theBelow. Another hundred years and it’d be a mythical place. Who would go Below when death was your reward? The GLs might not live there, but they obliterated any people who dared to try.
During the early days of the invasion ordinary people had tried. Later on, beasters had. The Worshippers had tales of seeing them die or be lured away.
Oblivious to her musing, Vargr was chatting to the stall owner.
“Like this, Cyn?” He held up a pistol like his own, with a well-worn leather holster. The gun was a blued-steel revolver with gold accents and some adaptations surely borrowed from the Ghoul Lords. The grip bulged curiously, and the barrel was a triple cylinder with wires running to it. “It’s not a revolver anymore. It fires energy bolts and has to be recharged. Thadd will be envious. Kiko here has worked out the adaptation.”
“I’m allowed a weapon now?”
“Course you are. You’re a bonafide goshdarned beaster.”
“Yeahhh.” She took the gun from him. Did nanite in your blood truly equal beaster? It was a question she couldn’t answer, yet.
Kiko grinned, displaying a mouth missing a couple of front teeth. Though he had small horn-like bumps on his hands andarms, the blue arm markings were similar to Thad’s and Locke’s. A weaponsmith then. She smiled and shook his hand.
“You can fix things better due to your nanites? I’m guessing it’s some sort of instinctive knowledge or a skill?”
“Ahhhh.” He looked contemplative. Brow furrowing, he scratched at his chin. “I can do things better, yeah. I can do things with my head even, inside really tiny, intricate mechanisms and circuitry. Ask me how. No fucking clue.”
