Chapter Fifteen

 

 

They arrived back in Helskel shortly before noon. The driver of the AMAC maneuvered it into a fenced-in compound behind the saloon, parking the vehicle between several motorcycles that were locked into stanchions and a pair of open-canopied dune buggies. There was a fueling station with two gasoline pumps situated on a concrete apron in the center of the lot. Two sec men armed with the compact Tec-10 machine pistols guarded it.

 

Everyone disembarked and trooped to the saloon. Fleur beckoned to a couple of the compound guards to carry Hellstrom and his chair out of the AMAC.

 

Upstairs, Krysty and Mildred made it plain that a bath was their first order of business. Doc, Jak and J.B. opted for naps. Ryan, who felt soiled and grungy, collected a fresh shirt and pants from the backpack and went to the first-floor bathroom.

 

The tub was old and deep, but it was equipped with running water. A cake of homemade lye soap the size of a ham was on a stool. Ryan filled the tub with hot water, removed his clothes and eased his body into it. He sighed with relief. For a few minutes he occupied himself with the ordeal of shaving by feel. He nicked himself twice before he'd rid his face of the stubble.

 

He scrubbed himself with the soap until his skin prickled, then lay back, closing his eye, hoping some of the tension and worry would ease from his muscles and mind. He was on the verge of dozing off when he heard the bathroom door click open. He reached for his blaster on the stool.

 

"No need for that, Cawdor."

 

It was Fleur, wearing a pink silk wrapper, the cuffs of the voluminous sleeves edged with brightly colored feathers. With her long hair tumbling about her shoulders, she looked astonishingly feminine, despite the eye patch and the X scar.

 

"What are you doing here?" Ryan demanded. Unconsciously his knees drew together.

 

With an easy smile, the woman replied, "I want a bath. No one told me this one was occupied."

 

"As you can see," Ryan said, "it is. Close the door on the way out."

 

"All right," Fleur said, but she didn't seem inclined to hurry.

 

Ryan angled an eyebrow at her. "Yeah?"

 

"That tub looks very accommodating. I think it might hold two."

 

"Don't even bother to test that theory."

 

Instead, Fleur strode forward. She casually raised the hem of her wrapper, sat on the lip of the tub, swung her legs over the top and plunged her feet into the water.

 

"What do you want?" he demanded.

 

"If we're to share the title of Helskel's warlord, we need to talk."

 

"I haven't made up my mind about accepting the appointment, yet."

 

"That's what we have to talk about, Cawdor."

 

"Why?" he asked.

 

Fleur's face acquired a solemn, quiet expression. "I don't care to share my position with anyone, unless it's someone I can trust."

 

"Makes sense."

 

"And I can't trust someone who doesn't know where I came from, or how I came to be."

 

"Tell me, then."

 

"When I was twelve, I was crossing the Rockies with my parents, as part of an overland wagon train. We were out of Seattle and were heading for Colorado. Turned out our guides led us into a trap. A bunch of mercies swept down out of the hills and chilled everybody."

 

"Except you," Ryan said.

 

"Except me. Since slavery was one of their sidelines, they figured they could trade me to Baron Alfred Nelson, leader of the Vista ville."

 

Ryan managed to keep the surprise he felt from showing on his face. Nelson was one of the many barons he and his group had run afoul of, and like many others, the man had lost his life when he sought to enslave or chill them.

 

"I tried to escape several times," Fleur continued. "The last time, I got this." She touched the patch covering her eye. "One of the mercies buttstroked me with his rifle. He was a little too enthusiastic, and I was instantly damaged goods."

 

"They didn't trade you to Baron Nelson, after all?"

 

The corners of Fleur's lips twitched in a small, bitter smile. "They didn't have the opportunity. The very next day a war party of Lakota swooped down. They butchered the mercies, just like the mercies had butchered the people on the wag train."

 

"Let the punishment fit the crime," Ryan intoned. "What did the Lakota do to you?"

 

They took me with them. They knew I was a prisoner, so they more or less rescued me. They took care of me."

 

 

"How long did you stay with them?"

 

Fleur frowned. "Can't say for certain. Four years at least, mebbe five. It wasn't a bad life, though we were on the move a lot. I learned their language, they taught me to hunt, to track, to use weapons. To kill."

 

"How did you hook up with Hellstrom and his Family?"

 

"We came across the patriarch and his people struggling through a mountain pass in the winter. There weren't very many of them, and they were slowly starving to death. The patriarch wasn't taking any food, but gave what little they had to the strongest members. They were even eating their own shoes. My band of Lakota took pity on them and allowed them to share the winter camp."

 

Fleur closed her eye, as if viewing the past. "The patriarch and I made an instant connection. I knew, somehow, that he was a born leader, a messiah who would carve an empire out of Deathlands, one who would rule forever. I was shown that my white blood was far superior to that of the savages I'd been living with."

 

Disgust welled up within Ryan. He guessed that Hellstrom had psi-scanned everyone in the Sioux village and found Fleur's mind the most malleable, the easiest to influence.

 

"The patriarch and one of the tribal leaders, Touch-the-Sky, agreed to a pact," Fleur went on. "The Lakota would allow the whites to remain in this country as long as they didn't go anywhere near Mount Rushmore."

 

"The Lakota knew about the freezies up there?" Ryan asked.

 

Fleur opened her eye. "Oh, yes. It was a source of great anger to them. They viewed them as monstrosities, a monument to the predark evils that they had hoped were forever destroyed."

 

"Of course," Ryan said with a mocking smile, "Lars broke the pact at the first opportunity."

 

"And why not?" Fleur demanded, her eye suddenly shining with near-religious fervor. "Who are the red savages to order their superiors around?"

 

"This is their land, for one thing." A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Was Zadfrak part of Hellstrom's group?"

 

"Yes," Fleur admitted reluctantly. "He fell in love with Touch-the-Sky's sister, Many Stars. When the patriarch and his Family left, Zadfrak took Many Stars with him."

 

"And you went, too?"

 

"Of course. It was my destiny, wasn't it?"

 

"I think I understand now," Ryan said. "When Touch-the-Sky saw Lars had made a beeline for Mount Rushmore, he feared that he would ally himself with the freezies up there. A war party followed you, a fight broke out, Many Stars escaped and the seeds of the hatred between the Family and the Sioux were planted. Then, of course, after Many Stars gave birth, Helskel was established, Zadfrak returned to the Sioux just long enough to find that his son had died of rad cancer and he killed the woman."

 

Fleur nodded. "And was cast out. Until you returned him."

 

"If I knew then what I know now, I would have left him for the Sioux or the screamwings."

 

"That's all past, Cawdor. We need to discuss your future with the Family."

 

"I don't see much of one, Fleur."

 

"You had better, or you won't have any future at all. That goes for all of your people, including your pet mutie bed mate."

 

Forcing down his anger, Ryan took a deep breath and said, "I'm listening. What's your take on my future as co-warlord of Helskel?"

 

Fleur leaned forward, her hand moving beneath the surface of the water to stroke Ryan's thigh. "After the ceremony, when your appointment is made official, you and I will enter into a contract. A bonding."

 

"Like a marriage?"

 

"Somewhat. My life belongs to you now, Cawdor. Together we will expand Helskel's influence, especially after you win the tech inside Mount Rushmore. You, me and the patriarch will be the most powerful people in Deathlands."

 

"You're forgetting a few things," Ryan said, trying to get control of his body. "I have a responsibility to my people, and I have a son."

 

"They'll enjoy a privileged status in Helskel."

 

"And my 'pet mutie bed mate'?"

 

Fleur lifted the corner of her mouth in a half-smirk, half-smile. "She'll just have to get used to the new arrangement, won't she?"

 

"No. Because whatever I decide, the arrangement you're talking about will never happen."

 

Fleur moved her hand farther up his thigh. Her fingers brushed his testicles, and her smile widened. "Don't let your pride lead you into making a foolish choice, Cawdor. After you're with me, you won't want any other kind of arrangement."

 

As her hand made a move to caress his penis, Ryan grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her arm, jerking her into the water. He used more force than was necessary, and she cried out in surprised anger.

 

"Get away from me," he said, his tone containing a deep, rumbling tone of menace. The scar that seamed his face glowed red. "Get away or I'll break your neck. You have my promise on it."

 

She didn't try to wrest away from his grip. "Our lives are intertwined now," she said, a note of urgency in her voice. "Mutual destinies. Between us, we have two eyes and can see further than anyone. We'll share one vision. Don't you understand?"

 

"I understand perfectly. Your life is your own. And I don't need your eye to see the truth."

 

He released her. Fleur stood in a rush and stepped from the tub.

 

"You've made an enemy today, Cawdor. Mebbe the last one in your life."

 

Ryan expected her to slam the door behind her, but instead she closed it with a quiet click. He swore and concentrated on regaining his sense of comfort. It wasn't easy. His mouth was dry, his heart was beating fast and a part of his body was still reacting to the womanand not to his disgust and anger with her.

 

The water was turning cold, and he was grateful for it. His body was soon answering to his mind again. He climbed out of the tub, dried off and dressed quickly.

 

Back upstairs in his room, he found Krysty stretched out on the bed, wearing only a towel around her torso. Ryan sat down beside her and leaned over to kiss her lips, rubbing his smoothly shaven cheek against her face.

 

Krysty said playfully, "Now that I don't have to worry about beard burn" She undid the towel and tugged at Ryan's belt.

 

Sighing, he reluctantly pushed her hand away. His eye drank in the womanly beauty of her form, from the full breasts tipped with hardening nipples, to the flat-muscled belly and down to the crimson tangle at the juncture of her rounded thighs.

 

"You have no idea how much I want you, lover," he said with a smile, "but I have to call a tactical meeting. With everybody present and fully clothed."

 

Krysty frowned for a moment, then sat up, reaching for her clothes. "It'll keep, I guess."

 

"God, I hope so."

 

While Krysty dressed, Ryan fetched the others. It took longer than it should have to rouse Doc. Ryan was a little concerned by how exhausted he was. The old man had often displayed a stamina astounding for what his body had been through at the hands of the whitecoats, but today he looked as if he were feeling every second of his two-hundred-odd years.

 

Back in his room, Ryan told everyone about his encounter with Fleur. No one made any jokes, for which he was grateful, but Krysty's eyes flashed with emerald fire.

 

"Do you figure Hellstrom sent her?" J.B. asked.

 

"Mebbe, though I doubt it. She trotted out the old 'my life is yours' horseshit, even though crawfishing on debts seems to be part of Helskel's basic philosophy."

 

"What you do?" Jak asked. "Be warlord?"

 

"It very much appears that is your sole option," Doc said. "Otherwise" He drew a thumb across his throat.

 

"If I accept the offer," Ryan replied, "then we'll be bound to take on Hellstrom's mission to breach the Anthill. Mildred, you know anything about the Continuity of Government program? How much of Hellstrom's story about the installation can be matched up with actual history?"

 

Mildred shook her head, the beads in her plaited hair clicking. "Some of it, all of it, none of it. Keep in mind that paranoia was rampant during the last decade of the twentieth century. There was a historically high level of distrust in the government. There were rumors of secret deals and an exchange of technology with the Russians, and even, believe it or not, with extraterrestrials."

 

"Extraterrestrials?" Krysty echoed.

 

"Yeah. One school of thought was that the Star Wars defense program was designed to protect earth from an invasion from space, not to intercept nuclear missiles. Anyway, Ryan, to answer your question, all I can say is, I don't know. Since the technology existed to time trawl and teleport living matter across the world a century ago, I don't find the concept of bionically altered predarkers living in a cryonically controlled stronghold all that incredible."

 

J.B. took off his spectacles and breathed on the lenses. "If it is true, we'll have access to the mother of all stockpiles. We could write our own tickets, anywhere in Deathlands."

 

"And Lars Hellstrom can and will punch those tickets," Krysty said grimly. "We can't trust him to keep his word."

 

"It is a rigged game he wants us to play," Doc said. "And there is only one way to win at a rigged game. That is to quit."

 

"Or rig the game in our favor," Ryan replied. "Any suggestions?"

 

"Chill Hellstrom," Jak said.

 

"That'll be our final hand to play. No, I think our best tactic is to keep a low profile for the next three days. Mebbe during that time we can find an ace on the line."

 

"And if we can't?" J.B. challenged. "Then what?"

 

"Then I'll accept the appointment to warlord and we'll go from there."

 

Krysty shook her head in frustrated anger. "I hope this teaches us to be more careful about what we promise dying men in the future. A good deed never goes unpunished."

 

Ryan nodded thoughtfully. "That's one way of looking at it."