Gears of war, p.16
Gears of War, page 16
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A little more than a mile north of mile marker 807 brought the travelers to a gravel road winding up through some trees to a small, elegantly built hunting lodge. Unlike the one on the Stroud Estate, for this home the builders had drawn inspiration and raw materials from the local area.
Flat slate slabs covered a patio to the front. The logs for the cabin all glowed with a honey-colored varnish, save for the darker ones with the bark still on, which had been inserted into the pattern for decorative purposes. Large enough to house a dozen people easily, it also had a carriage house and stable, a smaller building housing a generator, an icehouse and a couple of cozy cabins, likely for extra guests or overflow staff.
As they rode up an older man sat on the steps halfway between the front door and the patio, with a shotgun across his thighs.
“That’s about as far as you want to be coming up here without an invite.”
Brandon let his horse take a couple more steps. “If you have the time, we’d be obliged if you could answer a couple questions for us. I’m Brandon Turrall. My associate is Marcus Fenix.”
The old man’s gray eyes hardened. “Fenix. You went to prison, that right, for slugging your CO and disobeying an order?”
“That was me.”
The old man chuckled. “I did two years for the same thing a whole lot of long times ago. What do you want to know?”
“Guy calling himself Dodger from near Hanover used to trade out this way. He had your address in a ledger.”
“Yes, that’s right.” The man jerked a thumb toward the cabin. “Griffin Imulsion Corporation down to Char owns this place and they got me caretaking it. Have for the last twenty years. Used to have sales meetings up here and the like. Used to be if I needed something I sent an order down the hill to Mercy or Char and I’d get a delivery.
“With the grubs crawling all over, deliveries stopped. Dodger, he’d always have a thing or three I needed. I’d trade for that and maybe hire some of his boys to help out around here. I know they weren’t no good, and I might not have questioned where they got some of the things I bought off them, but they didn’t give me no trouble.”
Marcus rested his hands on the saddle horn. “They had a grub they used as a watch dog. You ever see it?”
“No, but I know a bit about it.” The man scratched his unshaven jaw. “Not too long after the big explosion down to Mercy—month later, maybe two—I started hearing things at night. Seem to come from Fletcher Bend, just down the hill and around north a bit. Long time ago they did mining down there, but that’s all abandoned. Dodger came through and I had him and his boys take a look. They never did come back to me, but lit out from there.”
“So you don’t know what exactly they found?” Brandon frowned. “Whatever it was ended the noises you heard?”
The old man spitted Brandon with a stare. “I ain’t so foolish as I’d go after a grub by myself with this scatter gun, but I do my fair share of hunting up here and I can read a track. I backtracked them to one of the abandoned mines. They didn’t go very deep, but I read grub signs there. I did some looking after they left and… Well, wait here for a bit.”
The old man stood and headed back into the cabin.
Brandon looked at Marcus. “Just a coincidence that Aaron Griffin owns this place?”
“I’m sure he has plans for it, too, but I think he has a hate on grubs after all the damage done in Char.” Marcus shrugged. “He doesn’t like Gears very much, just so you know.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Here, I found it.” The old man descended and tossed Marcus a black plastic box about the size of a playing-card deck, but twice as thick. It had been scuffed up and cracked open on one of the narrow ends. He looked inside but only saw black char and caught the faintly acrid scent of melted circuitry. The baseplate had four protruding screws, one in each corner, two of which had flattened fasteners on them. Two wires also protruded from the box, one being twice as long as the other, and Marcus felt certain they’d been snapped off.
He tossed the unit to Brandon. “Take a look at the bolts.”
The slender man peered closely at them. “Looks like drywall fasteners. Push these into the wall and turn the screw. They expand, locking things up tight. But there’re scraps on these. Is that tissue?”
“I think so. Grub hide.”
Brandon glanced at the caretaker. “Will you take us to where you found this?”
“I might could do that.” The old man nodded. “Not ’til morning, though. Now, how you going to make it worth my while?”
Marcus smiled easily. “We can get a message to Aaron Griffin letting him know you’re still here and the place is in great shape.”
“Well, that would be plenty nice of you.” He scratched at his throat. “Or you could tell him I’m dead and this place is a complete loss. He’s got enough to worry about down in Char, I figure.”
“I believe we have a deal.” Marcus swung from the saddle and felt the flat stone in his pocket. “One more thing. We’re also looking for a girl. This tall, black hair. She’s funny, sense of humor. Answers to Sierra. We think Dodger might have gotten his hands on her about the same time he’d have been around here.”
“No. I don’t recall a girl with them, then. I do remember Dodger getting into his cups one night, said something about how he liked bringing me salvage parts because when their cargo had to be pretty, he had to be careful. ‘Junk don’t scream when I drop it,’ he told me.” The old man scratched at the back of his head.
“Now I do recall a time when Dodger headed up north from here. Had a couple women with him. He went west, sent one of his boys riding hard back here and traded me for a set of silverware. It was one of about a dozen, so I didn’t think anyone would notice it missing. I don’t know why they’d want it and I ain’t seen it making food taste better, but weren’t no bother of mine. That was about a year ago, maybe two.”
Brandon glanced to the west. “How many settlements out there, do you guess?”
The caretaker shook his head. “Don’t know. Haven’t really paid it any mind, but you boys find anywhere they’re wanting silverware or fancy things like that, we can do some business.”
“We’ll bear that in mind.” Marcus heard the words and about a second later realized he was the one saying them. Is this the future we’re reduced to? Trading people and artifacts from the old world until it all collapses into decay?
“Well then, gentlemen, take the carriage house to make yourselves at home in.” The old man gave them a gap-toothed grin. “Tomorrow morning, I show you the hole where I found that box, and might even load you up with some silverware as traveling samples. Mr. Griffin don’t ever need to know.”
8: MINISTRY OF PUBLIC WORKS
EPHYRA, SERA
25 BOUNTY 18 A.E.
Anya sat on the Ministry steps finishing the bread, butter, and sun-dried tomato sandwich she’d brought in for lunch. She made it last because while she missed Marcus fiercely, the folks Roger Hahn had sent over to work on the estate brought bread-making skill and a generous supply of food which had been preserved from that year’s harvest. Roger had said it was only fair that they share, and that if Anya wanted to keep accounts and settle them when harvests came in next year, that was fine by him.
The sun was warm but the air was cool, and as she ate she watched crews of volunteers clearing the streets of crystalized Locust remains. Damon Baird’s reports about the effects of the crystals on plant growth and animal development had stunned the other ministers, moving clean-up to the top of their priority lists. Gloved and masked workers dug the corpses up and loaded them into carts. Other crews cleared the holes of contaminated dirt. The corpses and crystal shells and dirt got hauled off to dumps or to fill in E-holes, which were then sealed over to prevent leakage.
“It is fascinating to watch them work so hard on this project, as if their lives depend upon it.”
Anya turned and looked up, seeing only a silhouette with the eclipsed sun as halo, then shielded her eyes with a hand as the figure descended a few more steps to the street level.
“Minister Hasterwith, what a surprise.”
“I could say the same of you, sitting here as if you were a normal person, spectating.”
“But I am a normal person.” She brushed some crumbs off her lap. “Had you come sooner, I would have offered you half of my sandwich.”
“A generous offer, to be sure.” The man turned toward the street. “It’s remarkable that people, when told of a danger in an authoritative voice, fail to question the veracity of the fact. As well you know this is simply because danger invokes fear, triggering an emotional reaction. Emotions, in turn, deny access to critical thinking. So fear trumps logic, and prompts people to act without thinking.”
Anya stood, pulling her jacket tightly around her. “Are you saying that you doubt the research concerning the Locust dust?”
“You and I both know it is preliminary, and that we have no solid data despite the fact that we’ve been killing Locust and the Imulsion-derivative toxins in their tissue have been leeching into the ground for well more than a decade.” He gave her an indulgent smile. “And by we, of course, I mean you and the other Gears. And that, Minister Stroud, is why you are not even close to being a normal person.”
Anya’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t tell if you mean that as praise or condemnation.”
“Consider it a token of my respect for you. While I might philosophize about what the effort to clean up the Locust dust tells us about the nature of mankind, I do admire your organizational skills and drive to deal with this issue. Those are assets which I should hate to see squandered.”
She caught something in his manner, the way he turned slowly to face her, that sent a jolt running up her spine. “How would my skills be squandered?”
“How well do you know Jamila Shin?” Hasterwith’s smile diminished ever so slightly. “You were her invited guest to the museum gathering, and she chose for you beautifully from the clothing collection. Surely you noticed that not everyone was so perfectly accommodated?”
“I’d not met her before the reception. Her family and mine were acquainted, but my mother was estranged from the family.” Anya glanced back at the Ministry building. “I believe Colonel Hoffman recommended me to her, and I have enjoyed working with her.”
“What do you think her goal is in all this?”
Anya frowned. “What are you expecting me to say? I think she has been transparent in her goals. She would like to organize things so mankind can survive.”
“Can you possibly be that naïve?” Hasterwith looked at her closely, puzzlement opening his expression. “You think something like this, like cleaning up the streets, is her end goal? My, my, Minister Stroud, can I have overestimated you?”
Please believe you have overestimated me. And let me help you. “Minister Hasterwith, I accept her at her word that she is working for the common good, to get us through this winter. I haven’t looked past stabilizing humanity. My goal is our survival. Once we are on solid footing, then I look forward.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” Hasterwith tapped a finger against the point of his chin. “You were always an operational person, then tactical, never strategic. This makes sense.”
Anya arched an eyebrow. “And you are a strategic thinker?”
“When running a large industrial firm, one must be. So, yes, I am, and a rather good one. Thus is it my want and desire to contribute to the solutions of the immediate problems and, simultaneously, anticipate problems so I can pivot to deal with them most effectively. Take for example the discussion of money.”
Hasterwith lowered his hands. “Granted Minister Pendergast has focused too much on the nature of the currency, what it should be called, who should be represented on it, all under the guise of needing cash in the short term. And—to give the man his due—wanting his father on a coin was to be expected, but that led to a discussion which, frankly, overshadowed the reality of our existence. If we are to survive, we will need a currency so goods and services can be paid for. Bartering for vegetables and eggs has an expiration date, as such things spoil or are consumed.”
Anya tucked a lock of hair behind her right ear. “So having a pocket full of gold coins is the solution to our problems?”
He swept a hand toward a team of four men, levering a cluster crystal containing a half-dozen corpses out of a shallow depression in the ground. “Which will run out first, do you think, Minister Stroud? Locust crystals, or the volunteer enthusiasm to dig them up? I will tell you that the winter, with its snow and bitter temperatures, will arrest the enthusiasm almost immediately. And then next spring, as we need to be plowing fields and tending to crops, people will be consumed with their own short-term survival. They’ll clear crystals from their fields. They’ll make walls out of them or maybe even repair homes with them. Getting them to return to the backbreaking labor they’re doing now will be nigh unto impossible.”
“Yet you think that giving them coins will motivate them to return to clearing the streets?”
“You would be surprised at how much motivation a bribe can be, Minister. Now, we would have two choices: either we pay people money to do this sort of work—any work, really—or we coerce their cooperation by denying them things. If they do not work, kick them out of housing, deny them water or access to medicine. Not humane in the least, no. Horrifying, if I read your expression correctly. By organizing an economy, not only can we provide for the people, but we can curb anti-social behavior, and we can encourage people to innovate in rebuilding humanity.”
Anya shook her head. “But this leads us to the issue of reestablishment. To whom do we give money, and why? Do we start with a pool of a million credits and parcel them out evenly among people?”
“Money is a tool. You give it to those who can do the most with it.” Hasterwith smiled. “You do not give a toddler a hammer.”
“There’re not many adults I’d give a hammer, either, Minister Hasterwith. Look, Pendergast clearly backs a plan that would see everyone restored to their relative levels of wealth from some arbitrary point in the past. You, Pendergast, Griffin…”
“…and Jamila Shin…”
“…and Doctor Shin, would all fare very well under that system. But what about people who have lost everything and have no records of how much they had, how much they lost? How can you justify condemning them to a life of poverty?”
“Poverty is relative, Minister Stroud.” Hasterwith smiled. “Take your case. Your family had money, but you grew up modestly. Denied your family’s wealth, you will do quite well because the standards you have set for yourself are modest. Pendergast, Griffin, myself, have worked hard to earn what we had, and much of our work involved making investments to grow the economy. This is what we understand how to do. We are wealth creators. With prosperity comes opportunity, and it’s opportunity which we sincerely need at this time.”
Anya shook her head. “I understand what you’re saying, but I do not agree with it.”
He pointed a finger at her. “And there, Minister Stroud, is how your talents will be squandered. You are very good at what you do. You make operational some very difficult tasks. Aspire to more, aspire to power, and you will find yourself without the skills and resources to succeed. I do want you to succeed, Minister. Do that at which you are best. Let others worry about the rest.”
“Or?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“The implied threat. Usually when someone gives another person a directive, there’s a punishment for disobeying. Care to elucidate?”
Hasterwith laughed. “Oh, Minister Stroud, if that’s the impression I’ve left on your mind, please forgive me. I would never threaten you. I’m merely pointing out that within the realm of politics, one swims with the current, or one drowns. We can’t afford to have you drown. You are far too valuable to us for what you do. Were you to stray from your lane, I simply think you would be unsatisfied, so I suggest that you avoid making such a foolish decision.”
“Well, then, thank you for your concern.” Anya mounted the steps. “If you have other insights, Minister, don’t hesitate to share them.”
“Of course.” The man sketched a bow. “To the betterment of mankind.”
She continued up the stairs and to her office within the Ministry. The game Hasterwith had been playing at was one hundred percent the reason she hated politics. He clearly wanted to influence the future for his personal benefit. He didn’t care who would get hurt to fulfill his ambitions. She had no doubt he would employ whatever means he could to get his way, and that he’d already had talks with other ministers to warn them against standing in his way.
“I haven’t seen a look that dark on your face since the day you decided you had to join us in the trenches.”
Anya looked up and smiled as she entered her office. “Baird, I didn’t expect you. Did I miss a call?”
The blond man shook his head. “I didn’t want to entrust this to devices, and I needed to get out of the lab.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It is, but so is feeding my towering genius.”
“I believe the word is pronounced ‘ego’.”
“Sharp as ever.” Damon pulled a chair around to face her desk. “First thing, I’ve looked at the photos Marcus sent to you, of the plastic box. Definitely circuitry, but there’s not a hope in hell of telling what sort of programs the chips had burned into them. However, given that it was bolted to the skin of the grub he made a mess of, I’m going to hazard a guess it’s some sort of training device. The sort of collars people used to put on dogs to stop them barking or wandering too far from the control unit. They used to call it an invisible fence. As the animal wandered, the pain increased.”
Anya sat behind her desk. “But a shock wouldn’t even slow down a grub.”
Damon shrugged. “The Imulsion Countermeasure killed most of them, but clearly not the one Marcus ran into. The pictures he sent of it aren’t good enough for a definitive analysis, but the burn scars have me thinking along these lines. The grubs that survived might have been sickened, but like getting sunstroke and a bad sunburn. When your skin is so badly burned, hot water will be agonizing. Maybe the ICM made them more sensitive.”
