gamma world Red Sails in the Fallout Read online

  The rat gave a patient sigh. “Well, port is a term we use on ships. Look, left could mean to your left, but port always means to the left side of the ship, facing forward. Right?”

  “Right?”

  “Stop that.” Shaani’s patience did have its limits. “Now we want the breeze blowing three-quarters from our rear. Use the brakes if we go too fast. Yell out to drop the sails if you think she’s running away from us.” The rat pointed to the left of the ship. “Now that way—to port. With the wind fair off our stern.”

  The quoll grumbled and returned to the control cabin. Port, starboard, bow, stern … the boat seemed to be having a damned silly effect on people’s command of the English language. She looked out the windows, made sure her scarf was tied tightly around her head, and disengaged the hand brake.

  “The brake’s off.” Xoota found a sliding panel in the roof and hauled it back. It allowed her to stand up with her head out on the breeze. “Can I put the roof down?”

  “Absolutely.” Shaani stood by at the pulleys, controlling the mainsail boom. “Shall I let her fill?”

  “Let go.”

  The boom swung and the sail billowed and filled. The ship’s hull creaked, seemed to gather, then suddenly she was rolling along the hard-packed sand. Dirt crunched; the wheels rumbled. Wind sighed beautifully through the rigging. Xoota changed course a little and felt the speed increase. The ship leaned slightly off to one side but not dangerously so. She moved happily along the ground, her suspension effortlessly absorbing the rise and fall of the land.

  Shaani yelled down to her in joy. “How does she feel?”

  “She feels good.” Xoota was overjoyed. “Really good.”

  The rat called out to Wig-wig, who had several dozen of himselves sitting with noses in the breeze. “Wig-wig. What’s our speed?”

  “Mister dial, he says twenty-five.”

  “Excellent.”

  Xoota tried some long, slow turns. The ship curved gracefully. Cautious at first, Xoota felt the balance change, the ship tilting. She came onto another tack, feeling the booms shift to the opposite side of the ship, the sails cracking home.

  Shaani gave a squawk and ducked, narrowly missing being given impromptu brain surgery by the boom. Xoota called back across her shoulder. “Sorry.”

  They rode for half an hour, testing the ship against the wind, with wind astern and abeam. She could come up to about thirty degrees into the wind, but her speed dropped to almost nothing. Moving into the wind would be a laborious task, although the electric engines would be handy. Darwin only knew how long the batteries would power the engines, certainly for only half an hour or so.

  They turned the ship and angled back toward the town. Shaani yelled forward to the cabin. “Ready for the second sail?”

  “Raise and let go.”

  The rat called happily back. “Aye, aye.”

  Another sail shot up the rear mast. The ship surged forward, rumbling at speed along the sand plain. The ride was smooth; the equipment was holding true.

  Shaani climbed up into the rigging to check the masts. She looked at the world around her in absolute delight. “I think it works.”

  With her scarf tied around her head and an earwig on her shoulder, Captain Xoota steered her trusty ship for the horizon.

  They came back into town at midday, rolling forward under minimal sail, coasting easily forward. The electric engines engaged and cruised the ship in through the village gates. Xoota took the ship on a great, wide circuit inside the village walls, heading back to the tavern square with her bowsprit pointed at the gates. The quoll shut off the engines and braked, bringing the ship to a halt a dozen meters from the tavern door.

  Xoota raised her goggles, put on the hand brake, and heaved a satisfied sigh. With happy earwigs swirling all around her, she walked contentedly aft to greet Shaani.

  “A name. We should give the boat a name.”

  “Yes.” The rat girl looked over her craft. “Whatever shall we call it?”

  “She, all vessels are ‘she.’ ”

  Wig-wig clustered happily on the rigging. “How about Fred?”

  “Fred?” Xoota was confused. “Why Fred?”

  “Wig-wig once met a man called Fred.”

  “No, it has to be something more exciting. More evocative.” Xoota waved her hands. “Something that makes you think about adventure.”

  “Hmm.” Shaani agreed. “Well, it was a huge effort to make it, and it was a very good idea. How about Enterprise?”

  “No, that sounds silly.”

  “Spooverwekki?”

  Xoota was taken aback. “Spooverwekki?”

  “I just like the sound.” The rat looked up and down the ship, feeling a little lost. “I’m not really very good at names.”

  Xoota thought back to the day she and Shaani first met.

  “How about Sand Shark”?

  “Sand Shark.” Shaani looked at the ship and smiled. It had a good sound. “Ooh, I say. I like that.”

  They christened her with a jar of omega ale. With the foam still fizzing green and purple on the sands, the crew of the Sand Shark headed in to the tavern to organize their supplies, meet the village council, and make their preparations to depart.

  It was a long afternoon of hard, unglamorous drudge work, all except for Wig-wig, who was utterly unsuited to packing supplies into a ship. Wig-wig enjoyed himself, sticking his multiple noses into boxes, bales, and bags until someone finally requested he get the hell out from underfoot.

  With villagers helping, Xoota and Shaani struggled to load the vessel with food for a two-month journey. It was all dried, preserved, and desiccated stuff: potluck stew from the tavern somehow dried into powder, dried meats, and sausages made of pounded insects for the quoll. There were boxes of hard ship’s biscuits made with flour and bone meal and dried sand fish, dried berries, and goober nuts for the budgerigar. A thousand liters of water, all carried bucket by bucket from Benek’s private stores, were dumped into the cistern. Finally they took on two kegs of ginger beer, and the inevitable omega ale. Xoota topped it all off with precious boxes of tea leaves.

  They worked through the night, loading by the light of a windmill-powered electric lamp and a light bulb hanging from Shaani’s tail. Xoota took a careful stock of her equipment, spending cash to replace anything that looked too scuffed or broken.

  Carefully stowing her chemical lab equipment in baskets full of dried grass, Shaani locked everything down.

  Snappy, the crustacean owner of the tavern, helped by cutting twine and cord with her pincers. She was working grimly, trying to be of help. “How long will the journey take?” she asked Shaani.

  “Ah, problematic.” Shaani made a knot learned from her book on nautical skills. “Our top speed is far higher than I estimated. But there are so many variables—wind, terrain …” Shaani had found herself a decent rabbit-fur blanket in case the far east should be cold. “I’m hoping one month. If we then fix the water, fresh water should appear here within a few days after that. So keep pumping the entire well dry to clear out the brine. Ask the frogs to help.”

  “Frogs?”

  “Just yell down the well. Should be the easiest way.” Shaani took a last check of her pockets to make sure she had sufficient notebooks and pens. “Right. We’re off. We’ll fix the water; never fear. Science ever forward.”

  Visitors tramped off the ship. There were boys from the tavern, some children, and the tent merchant. Xoota counted them all off; the last thing she wanted was stowaways. She hefted her shield and crossbow then saw Benek striding purposefully toward the ship. The man was outfitted in his gleaming metal armor with sword, knives, daggers, a short sword, a crossbow … apparently he was preparing for a second apocalypse. Xoota nodded to him, hoping he would just climb aboard ship and shut up, but instead, Benek came to stand beside her and inspect the ship. He looked her over with a dark, dismissive eye.

  “This has taken longer than I had hoped.”

  Xoota w
atched Shaani heft heavy bales up into the hold. “Well, it’s a miracle of postapocalyptic engineering, Benek. We’re sorry if that took you slightly over your schedule.”

  The man gave a sniff. “Are you certain that the rat’s engineering skills can be trusted?”

  Xoota gave the man a sidelong glance. “Yes, Benek. I’m trusting her with my life.”

  “I hope your guidance has been worth the wait.”

  The quoll’s shoulder gave a hunch. “Well, if not entirely satisfied with our service, you are always at liberty to jump off and walk.”

  Wig-wig came racing from the tavern carrying several bags of coins. Xoota gave Wig-wig a considering glance as she watched him bustle by.

  “Wig-wig, have you been stealing again?”

  “No. Yes. A little. Wig-wig won at a game.” The bugs clustered happily around Xoota’s feet. “Then found coins in floor.”

  “All right. You’re a kleptomaniac. You know that?” She waved the bug swarm to climb aboard. “All aboard. We’re making sail in ten minutes.”

  Xoota and Benek mounted the ramp. It rose behind them, locking into place.

  Standing tall, vast, and arrogant, Benek looked along the deck and scratched his jaw. “Which cabin is mine?”

  “Well, there’s a choice of accommodation.” Xoota checked that a dagger was properly sheathed beside her boot. “You can sleep in the common cabin or up on deck.”

  Benek gave Xoota level glance. “The common cabin?”

  “That’s the way. We all bunk in together.” Shaani bustled past. The rat revved her chainsaw, purely for the fun of it. “Top ho.”

  Benek hesitated then strode after Shaani. “I am an over-man. The genetic elite of Gamma Terra. I can’t share a cabin with mere animals.”

  Filled with the joy of departure, Shaani seemed immune to insult. “Cheer up, old chap. We’re giving you the big bed.” Benek disappeared belowdecks. Xoota rolled her eyes.

  Hanging upside down in the rigging, earwigs jostled back and forth in glee. “Are we there yet?”

  The quoll glared. “Don’t make me stop this damned thing. Because I will.”

  All gear was stored. Xoota called down to the villagers, making sure everyone had cleared out of the way. The first hint of dawn gave just enough light for her to steer. Shaani sounded the ship’s bell. Xoota fed power into the newly installed engine rheostat. The ship moved slowly forward, guided carefully down the streets. Villagers—mutant humans, mutant animals, even the frogs from the well—waved. Their faces were anxious. The well water grew saltier and saltier every day.

  There were more warriors on the walls; razorbacks had been seen not far down the coast. Shaani doffed her bobble hat as she passed them. The men on the walls waved.

  They were off. The sails soared up the masts, quickly filling in the breeze. With her wheels humming, the Sand Shark rode the breeze, gaining speed as she headed up the slopes and out into the desert. By the time the sunrise came, the little town of Watering Hole was out of view.

  The Sand Shark performed beautifully, rumbling softly out over the desert. The wind sighed through the rigging, making a wonderful, restful sound. With the wind off the stern quarter, the ship had only the slightest lean. The wheels were spaced widely enough to keep her stable, and springs let her ride smoothly. The ship crested a sandstone rise, steering wide around a stand of quill bushes. The wind over the hill came in at a new angle. The booms turned and slammed into place, all according to design.

  Budgie and Wig-wig were down in the hold, resting atop the water tanks. The hold was a lovely, dark, cool space, made mysterious by all the smells of the food stores and electrical engines. The water tanks made the place far, far cooler than the deck. Budgie was splayed over the water tanks, watching in fascination as Wig-wig clustered around a handheld computer game. The earwigs worked madly away at the controls, some pressing buttons, others working stick controls, all with an entire chorus cheering, heckling, and giving advice. The earwigs squealed in delight as something flashed on the ancient, discolored screen.

  Shaani came in from the deck and leaned over in puzzlement. “What ho, chaps. What on Gamma Terra have you got there?”

  Something blew up on the screen. The earwigs gave a chorus of disappointment. Several of the larger adults turned and waved hello to Shaani. “Is game. I has gotten high score. But I died before I got to next part of story.”

  “Died?” Shaani blinked, her eyes still dazed by the contrast between the harsh light of the desert and the shadows of the cargo hold. “Oh, I see. It’s a computer game. Did you get that from Benek?”

  “He writing in a book. Writing all his plans for how to make new world.” The earwigs seemed pleased. “So we borrowed game.”

  “Well, you really should have asked, dear. People can get a little touchy about their tech treasures.” The rat sat down politely with the earwigs all around her and picked up the game. She pressed a button on the old computer unit, and lurid graphics sprung up onto the screen. “Marvelous. All this data, stored inside some tiny, little thing …”

  “I like it when the bad guys’ head come off.” The earwigs danced in glee. “Raaaar.”

  “Heads come off?” Shaani wasn’t quite sure she approved. She held the little computer screen at arm’s length and focused on the writing.

  “Gene Warrior.” She felt a little ill. “Oh, dear. ‘Destroy the mutants. All must be purified.’ Lovely.”

  “Wig-wig play the other side. He be the mutants.” The earwigs nudged at the computer. “You want turn?”

  “No, no. I shall leave you to it. But do put it quietly back where it came from when you’re finished.” The rat stood up, wiping her hands clean against her shorts. “Don’t play too long, or you’ll warp Budgie’s mind.”

  The rat rose and climbed the steps back up to the deck. She shook off a vague sense of dissatisfaction and walked forward to the front of the hull.

  The sounds of ancient music drifted happily through the air. Xoota was playing Shaani’s music box in the control cabin. She was singing along to a song at the top of her voice, though she had no ear for music at all.

  Shaani smiled.

  The control cabin was also surprisingly cool; a little wind generator up on the hull was providing enough current to run the cabin’s air conditioner. It was pure luxury—cool air in the desert. Xoota drove with her goggles up, sunglasses on her nose, and her armor sitting behind her on the floor. A shirt well open at the cleavage and a pair of loose desert trousers were the best driving gear. Singing away and delighted with the view, she seemed to be quite happy at the wheel.

  Shaani came into the cabin, holding overhead handholds as the ship lurched up over some rocks. Its ability to handle rough terrain was excellent. The rat sank down into the copilot’s chair, fanning her tank top and taking the full blast of the air conditioner.

  Xoota smiled. Her antennae rested easily; with her ability to see a flash of unhappy futures, she was proving to be an excellent driver.

  “Hey, rattie rat. What’s it like up on deck?”

  “Hot. Not too bad, though.” Shaani relaxed in the cool. “I’m glad the coolant system still works.”

  “It only works on low, but it’s a godsend.” The way ahead was long and smooth. Xoota had picked a path that ran along firm ground, bracketed by two ranges of hills a kilometer apart. The ground was dotted with spinifex, smoke bush, and dead grass. “Are the others helping?”

  “Well, Budgie and Wig-wig are sort of available. Benek seems to be in hiding in the sleeping cabin. I asked him to take a turn as sail trimmer, but he never answered.”

  “Bastard.”

  The ship needed a second crewman on call out on deck, ready to trim the angle of the sails if it was needed. Though with the current nice, smooth run, it was hardly likely to be needed. Shaani gave a shrug. “Ah, well, can’t be helped.”

  Hanging from a wire above the center of the windscreen was an ancient talisman rescued from old ruins: two oversized dice
cubes fashioned out of fur. Shaani blinked in the softer light of the cabin, lowered her sunglasses, and looked at the dice.

  “Ooh. What are these?”

  “Ah, votive images to the gods of fortune. The tent maker gave them to me.”

  “Oh, wacko.” Shaani had no time for superstition, but the furry dice did give the cabin a highly cultural air. “Well done.” The way ahead was fairly flat and empty. Shaani polished her sunglasses. “Do you need me to spell you at the wheel?”

  “I’m happy here for a while.” It wasn’t that hard a job. And Shaani’s strange, little music box took the boredom away. “I figure we’ll make it two-hour watches, you and I swap.”

  “What about Benek?”

  “I not want that man at the helm of our ship. No, not Benek. Anyway, he wouldn’t do it. He sees himself as a mighty autarch; we’re just the servants.”

  “Ah, I see.” Shaani carefully poured Xoota a drink of lemon barley water. “That would explain why he won’t talk to me.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s set himself up in the coolest bit of the cabin with a blanket hung up to divide his living space from ours.”

  “Lovely.”

  “He’s not very sociable. I find that odd. Humans and rats have cohabited for thousands of years. We evolved as partners.” The white rat pulled her long, white ponytail down into her lap. “Odd that he doesn’t want to mingle with me.”

  Xoota folded her arms. “That man needs watching. He at least needs to be made aware of just who the hell runs this expedition. As far as I’m concerned, the chain of command runs from me and you, down through the earwigs, Budgie, the algae in the water tanks, several pantheons of gods, and finally ends up with Benek.”

  Shaani chuckled slightly but completely agreed. Benek was definitely not interested at all in science.

  The quoll scratched a moment at her spotted fur then stood up in her chair to hand over the controls. “Did you want to try the helm?”

  “Oh, yes, please.” Shaani took notes, looking at the trip meter, the speedometer, and the sand timer. “Heading one zero one zero for the last hour, at … thirty-five kph. Excellent.”