gamma world Red Sails in the Fallout Page 15

  “Dizzy. The room’s turning around. I can’t stand.”

  Wig-wig brought in sheets, a drink, and a pillow for Shaani as Xoota took the wheel. The ship was making a steady forty kilometers per hour, heading due east. The razorbacks were once again being outrun.

  Xoota breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Wig-wig, check for damage. See if those spears did anything other than busting the rear water tank.”

  “Okay.”

  Shaani kept her eyes closed, lying on her blankets on the floor. “Wh-what happened to the water?”

  “There’s no need to worry. It’s only minor. Make sure you sleep.”

  “My word but we seem to have really pissed those razorbacks off.”

  “Apparently.” Xoota leaned down to close Shaani’s eyes with her fingertips. “Shut up and sleep.”

  The rat obeyed. Xoota took a quick look at the compass, noted the direction and speed on Shaani’s charts, and settled down to putting distance between the Sand Shark and her enemies.

  Far behind her, a band of razorbacks crossed the ridge. Xoota watched them in the side mirror and scowled.

  “Yep, we pissed them off all right.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Two more days of long, steady run across the desert. It was far more lifeless than before—just sand and baked red stone. No one had ever penetrated that far into the dead lands before. The place seemed eerily lifeless and dry; a faint tinge of radioactivity seared the breeze. The total silence was creepy. At night, nothing moved. No geckos skittered on the sand; no beetles roamed. But there was a horrible sensation that the ship was being watched.

  On the third day, the ship was riding onward in the pink light of the dawn. The sails were taut, the wheels humming. Xoota simply tied the wheel and let the ship look after itself for a while as she helped Shaani up into the open air.

  They sat the rat girl down against the mainmast. Wig-wig clustered around her, glowing and fussing, working his healing trick. Shaani breathed more easily, her head clearing at last. She reached beneath her spectacles and gratefully rubbed her eyes. “Thank you, Wig-wig dear.”

  Xoota squatted in front of her and held up one hand. “How many fingers?”

  In a world full of alpha mutations, that could be a more complex question than it seemed.

  Shaani blinked through her glasses and squinted. “Three?”

  “Close enough.”

  It was a beautiful, fresh morning. Budgie was up in the bow, hanging his head over the rails and into the wind. Benek was at the stern, performing ritual calisthenics with cool, arrogant efficiency. All in all, things were normal.

  Shaani blinked and tried to feel herself from within. “Urrr, what are my alphas today?”

  “No idea. It’s probably something really useful, like the ability to talk to fish,” replied Xoota.

  “How about you? Anything interesting?”

  Wig-wig raced around the place and tittered.

  Xoota shrugged wearily. “Yeah, I’ve got one.”

  “Gleeeee.” Earwigs jumped and dive-bombed her from the mast, backsides first. They bounced off an invisible force field surrounding the quoll and shot happily away to be caught in the sail. The game had apparently been amusing them for hours.

  “Will you just quit that? It’s really annoying,” said Xoota as her antennae splayed flat.

  Shaani raised one brow. “Kinetic shield?”

  “I guess. Damned useful but I have to move slowly when I’m reaching out for a sandwich. Thinking of which …” The quoll produced two clumsily made sandwiches made from damper. “Breakfast. Here. Cheese and honey.”

  They ate together in companionable silence, sharing a giant, blue-striped mug of tea. The ship was moving across perfectly flat, hard-packed sand, riding so smoothly that the motion scarcely trembled the hull. The wind meter showed a steady breeze. Oddly enough, there were clouds to the north.

  Shaani looked at the food in her hands, grateful for the sandwich. Xoota was watching her carefully.

  “You’re all right?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks to you chaps.”

  “Well, just don’t let that chainsaw get you carried away. When in doubt, flee.”

  “I suppose so.” Shaani sighed then perked up her pink ears. “The thought occurs: Do we still have hordes of razorbacks on our track?”

  “We do. I’m sure I see dust wa-a-ay back on our trail. Benek wants to lie in wait and ambush them. I don’t want to risk the ship.”

  The rat girl rested a loving hand on the deck of the Sand Shark. “But the ship’s all right?”

  “It’s all right. We lost a strip of railing and some deck planking. I tried to fix it, but I’m not any good as a carpenter.”

  Shaani picked up that something was being left unsaid. She lowered her glasses and looked at the quoll. “What else?”

  “Water.” Xoota was clearly worried. “We lost about half our total water supply.” She shook her head. “We’re down to about four hundred.”

  It was a puzzle. Shaani sat back against the mast, frowning at the western horizon, where the razorbacks were presumably still struggling along in the Sand Shark’s wake.

  “The razorbacks can’t possibly operate this far into the desert. What the hell are they planning on using for water?”

  “I think they plan on using ours.”

  Shaani delicately explored her healed ribs.

  “That sounds … less than stable. They must be insane.”

  “Well, they are weird-ass, radioactive mutants.”

  The rat shrugged. “Well, so are we, but that doesn’t mean we all have to take leave of our senses.”

  Xoota scratched her ribs. “Maybe they just really miss those tents?”

  “Could be.”

  Shaani rose and stretched, thankful that the world had at last stopped spinning. She felt a backstay, feeling the tension on the masts. The ship was running beautifully. Xoota seized hold of an empty mug, poured some of the tea from the large mug they were sharing into the smaller one, then moved back into the control cabin to take the wheel.

  The northern horizon retained the red light of sunrise. The color seemed to be spreading. Shaani frowned up at it for a moment then ducked into the control cabin.

  “What’s the barometer reading?”

  Xoota blinked. “What’s a barometer?”

  Shaani turned. “The little tube thing with the dial on the bottom that was on the wall over here.” The place was conspicuously empty. “Where’s it gone?”

  “Ah, we kind of broke it.”

  “Kind of?”

  “Well, we definitely broke it. It fell off and smashed.”

  “Bother.” Shaani went back outside. She scowled up at the red sky. Moments later, Xoota’s voice drifted out of the cabin behind her.

  “Do you know you have whole bottles of acid stored in your lab?”

  “Well of course I do. Takes me ages to make that damned stuff.” The rat blinked. “Wait, you broke the acid bottles?”

  “No, no—I’m just saying …”

  “Oh, well, don’t worry about it. If the bottles break, just run.” The rat decided to risk climbing the rigging. She certainly felt well enough. Wig-wig had done a sterling job of healing her. She swarmed up into the rigging and found Wig-wig aloft, helpfully cleaning out the bearings on the anemometer.

  The entire northern horizon seemed to be a solid wall of pink. Wig-wig instantly sensed Shaani’s concern. Earwigs climbed onto her shoulders to join her in staring at the north horizon.

  “Hey, ratty lady. What is?”

  “Do you see that?” The rat pointed north. “All that color in the sky?”

  “Wig-wig not have distance vision.” The insects politely sat and looked anyway. “Is something in the sky?”

  “It’s something.” What was that rhyme in the book on navigation? Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning? Shaani leaned out from the rigging and called down to the deck.

  “Yoo-hoo. Xoota. Ahoy t
here.”

  After a few minutes of calling, Xoota’s voice finally answered. She sounded annoyed. “What?”

  “You know, it’s quite possible that we’re in for a bit of a blow.” Shaani sounded impatient.

  “It isn’t the season for it.”

  “What?”

  “The season. It’s the Big Dry. You don’t get sandstorms until next season.”

  “Oh, good.” Shaani smiled. “Well, that’s a relief.” She climbed back down onto the deck and tromped happily about her daily affairs.

  The storm, when it came, reached thousands of meters up into the sky, a vast wall of red dust borne on a ferocious wind. It slammed across the desert, moving fast. Shaani was the first to see it coming and bellowed for Benek. Madly they started winching down the sails. The cogs blurred as the sails sank down the masts. Shaani made a noise of panic, trying to turn the handle faster as the wall of dust thundered toward the little ship. Shaani’s gaff-topsail finally reached the deck. She lunged for the ropes to tie it down.

  “Xoota, turn stern-on to the wind,” yelled Shaani. She could see Benek fumbling about with Wig-wig trying to show him which ropes went where. “Wig-wig, take cover,” the rat called out to him in warning.

  The earwigs would be horribly vulnerable to the storm, but so would white rats for that matter. Shaani ducked flat, yanking down her sand goggles and shoving her hat into the front of her shirt. When she turned to call out to Benek, the sand wall hit the ship.

  The impact caught the vessel as she turned to starboard, causing her to keel over onto her wheels, the port tires lifting off the ground. Shaani squeaked as she slid, clinging to the railings for dear life. Able to hold on, she ended up dangling over the sand, with the entire ship threatening to roll over on top of her.

  Somehow Xoota turned the ship, and she righted herself with a slam, masts whipping back and forth and the rigging cracking violently through the air. One cable lashed against Benek, hurling him back against the railings. Shaani clambered through the broken starboard rails, desperately holding on, but the whole world had disappeared, utterly engulfed in red dust. She had lost sight of Benek, lost sight of the masts entirely. She pulled her scarf up over her snout and tried to breathe normally.

  Benek was hurt, but he would have to wait. Xoota had turned the ship stern-on to the wind and set the hand brake. Shaani felt a stay to see if the jib was still intact. The little triangular sail still seemed to be flying. The rat groped her way to the control cabin door and managed to wrench at the handle. The door flew open, and she spilled inside, bringing the dust and chaos of the storm with her.

  “Xoota!”

  The quoll was at the controls, trying to add the foot brakes to the hand brake. Shaani had to shout to be heard over the storm. “No brakes. Keep moving.”

  “Moving?” Xoota’s goggles were down. The windows showed nothing but a raging cloud of dust outside. “We can’t see to steer.”

  “Keep us moving or we’ll get bogged and buried.” Shaani could feel sand and dust sluicing against the hull. If the sand swallowed the ship, they would never get her free. “The jib’s still flying. Go downwind.”

  Xoota yanked off the brakes, and the ship instantly moved, heading straight downwind. The anemometer was off the scale. The ship surged. She easily made sixty kph, riding with nothing but her little jib. “Should I try to slow us down?”

  “No, we don’t want to lose the jib sail. It will split if we don’t keep her moving.” Shaani opened the floor hatch that led to the inner hull. “Note the direction and speed, or we’ll never navigate to the pipeline.” Shaani fed herself down through the hatch. “I have to find Benek. I think he’s hurt.”

  She left the steering in Xoota’s tender, foul-tempered care. Beneath the main deck, the ship’s working heart was dark and cool even as the hull boomed and the mast shanks creaked under the stress of the storm. Shaani crept forward, keeping a tight hold on the handgrips. She passed the capacitors, which smelled strongly of ozone in the dust, past the foremast and the spare cordage and the bales of food. Inside the main hold, Budgie was lying flat on the floor, eyes wide in fright as he looked up at the hatch where dust and sand drifted down through the cracks. Shaani found the walls covered with quaking earwigs, who were caught in Budgie’s awe-struck sense of fear.

  “Wig-wig, where’s Benek?”

  “Not know. Wig-wig be scared.” The insects rubbed their forefeet together and lamented. “Doom.”

  “We’re not doomed. I designed her to take all possible weather.” Shaani tapped her foot, wanting everyone to be sensible. “Stay here. I have to go topside.”

  The rat looped a rope around her narrow waist and tied it fast then knotted her lifeline to one of the ladder rungs. Earwigs held on like grim death, clinging to the cracks and walls as Shaani fought open a hatch. She opened it the merest crack, slithered out onto the deck, and found herself hammered by the storm.

  “Benek?” she shouted into the sand.

  The wind came hard and viciously fast, driving sand particles like needles through the air. Shaani crawled flat across the deck, the sand scything beneath her shorts to sting her derriere. Her tail whipped around in the wind as she moved crabwise, finally finding the starboard rail.

  “Benek!”

  She found him huddled against the sleeping cabin wall, trying to make his way toward the door. The man was cradling his arm. With no sand goggles, he was utterly blind. Shaani reached him and put her hand on his back, only to have him shake her off.

  “Benek, I’ll get you to safety.”

  He shrugged her off yet again, but Shaani was persistent. She moved him in the simplest possible way; she grabbed his injured arm and towed him by it. The huge man bellowed, moving toward her to take the pressure off his broken arm. She steered him to the tiny patch of wind shadow at the bow end of the sleeping cabin and let go.

  “Stop being a fool.” She pulled open the cabin door. “Here, this way. Take my hand.”

  She managed to wrestle the man through the door and slam it shut behind them. The sudden drop in noise level was an absolute relief. There was sand all through Shaani’s fur. She shook herself then ran to look at Benek’s face. He had sand in his eyes and was rubbing at his face. She fetched water and quickly washed his face then carefully bathed his eyes. “Keep still. This is causing you distress. We’ll get your eyes clear.”

  Benek tried to turn his face away. “A pure human needs no help from animals.”

  “Well, we help you every day, old chap.” Shaani was too polite to let much of her shock and disapproval show in her voice. Nevertheless, her tone became prim. “In any case, I am a rat: humanity’s spiritual and intellectual partners.”

  Shaani was damned put out, but she did the right thing by her comrade. Benek’s forearm had been snapped by a savage lash from a breaking cable. Only his armored vambrace had saved him from having the whole limb taken off. Shaani removed his dented armor and carefully prepared a splint.

  “Wig-wig? Wig-wig. Are you there?”

  An earwig appeared, peeking up through a knothole in a plank. “Wig-wig is here.”

  “There you are, old thing. Have you any more uses of that healing mutation today?”

  “All gone.”

  “That’s all right. We’ll do what we can.” The rat opened up her first-aid, field-surgery, and tree-lopping kit. She produced splints and began immobilizing the limb beneath a sheath of bandages. “Is everything all right belowdecks?”

  “A little. A jar broke. I cleaning it up.” The earwigs watched her, their antennae quivering, sensing her emotions. They looked from Shaani to Benek thoughtfully. “Wig-wig will come upstairs now and stay with Shaani.”

  “That’s all right, love. Why don’t you run forward to the control cabin and make sure Xoota is all right? Bring her a drink—that sort of thing.”

  The earwigs worked their chops thoughtfully, eying Benek. Wig-wig turned around and scuttled off, clashing his forceps, as if to make his thoughts
felt.

  Shaani sat neatly on the floor with her beautiful tail curled around her. She flipped a cloth over, folding it into a sling. The rat tied the sling in place around Benek’s neck, making the knots with her customary efficiency. She patted him on the shoulder to inform him that she was done then rose and cleared away her equipment.

  She left without speaking to him further.

  Benek didn’t thank her.

  The dust storm held the ship tightly, pushing her south inside a churning, screaming mass of sand. The windows showed nothing but a dense, dark cloud of dust, lit by flashes of static lightning. Running blind, the ship took hills and ridges on the fly, her suspension slamming as she raced through unseen terrain. Xoota and Shaani took turns at the wheel, fighting the bucking ship as it plowed onward through the sand. Stomachs lurched as the whole ship almost took to the air, flying over an unseen hillcrest and slamming home onto the sand. The Sand Shark took the punishment and kept on going, driven onward by the flaying, screaming wind.

  The violent storm was still with them by nightfall. Twelve numbing hours into it, they had been blown some seven hundred kilometers off course and still the ship raced onward in the dark. Reading the instruments by the light of an electric bulb she held in her mouth, Shaani tried desperately to keep track of course and speed. She was worried about the great southern cliffs, the thousand-meter plunge that seemed to seal off all access to the world beyond. She totted up the numbers, feeling more and more worried with every passing hour.

  The noise of the wind was deafening. Electric flashes from the dust clouds flicked and blinded them as they drove. Wig-wig dragged in sandwiches and flasks of cold tea for them, and he spliced a failed electric cable in the hold. But there was nothing for the others to do except to shelter in the hold and ride it through.

  At four in the morning, the wind seemed to change direction, finally blowing to the west. The ship changed course, unable to do anything but run with the storm.

  The ship’s clock showed that it was dawn, but the skies stayed dark. The sandstorm was so dense, the windscreens showed nothing but a wall of dust. Xoota was at the wheel, desperately trying to see the way ahead. The ship’s headlights showed nothing but sand swirling thickly. Suddenly an image of a really, really bad future flashed into her mind. Her antennae stood stiff with fright. She hauled on the steering wheel. Tires screeched, and the ship tilted wildly. Shaani gave a yell and clung to her seat.