gamma world Red Sails in the Fallout Read online

“Well, it puts a chest on your chest.” Xoota drank again. “Cheers.”

  Shaani drank then smiled at the pleasant taste—not sour, not sweet, with just a hint of omega particles. Beside her, Wig-wig tucked in to a full meal of stew, grasshopper bread, vegetables, and beer. Shaani ate and drank with delicate decorum, keeping her long whiskers clear of foam.

  Xoota poked a long spoon at Shaani’s plate. “Are you going to eat your locust bread?”

  “What? Oh, no, do be my guest.” She jabbed at the stew with her spoon then stirred it and sniffed the nice aroma. “So this is your tavern? Your haunt?”

  “This is the place.” Xoota sighed. Kack, she was broke. The meal was going to wipe out the last of her funds. “More ale?” She might as well drink while she had the opportunity.

  “I’m not sure we should,” cautioned Shaani.

  “Oh, live while you can.” More ale came, thicker stuff from the bottom of the keg that glowed an interesting hue of green.

  “Drink up. Here’s to friendly encounters.”

  Shaani drank her ale. She continued to poke at her stew, but she downed the cactus-fried potatoes enthusiastically. The earwigs ran around, cleaning everybody’s plates. Relaxing somewhat, the rat gazed around, watching the tavern slowly fill up with the evening crowd.

  She blinked then checked under her arms. “I’m growing tentacles. What a bother.”

  Xoota shrugged happily, drinking another ale. “Had to happen eventually.”

  “I suppose so … Still, it is better than the time I accidentally grew a rubbery shell. I suppose they’ll wear off eventually.”

  “ ’Spose so. Meanwhile pass the cheese.”

  A long tentacle pushed the cheese platter in Xoota’s direction. All over the table, contented earwigs rested on their swollen abdomens and sighed.

  Xoota flopped, tired and contented. “Well, with this feast, I’m broke.”

  “I’m afraid I’m running dry on funds as well.” Shaani rested her head, propping her face up with a tentacle. “We should find somewhere to stay.”

  “We can has a room.” An earwig waved a lazy foot. “Bridal suite.”

  “Really? The blue man told you that?” asked Xoota.

  “All paid for. No one using it.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s pay for this and scoot.”

  It had been a long, eventful trek through the desert, but she didn’t bring anything home to barter. Xoota was going to have to find a paying job just to cover her own food and seed for Budgie. It didn’t bear thinking about until morning. Bone weary, she collected Shaani and the earwig swarm and headed up the rusty steps that led to the rooms.

  Sharing accommodation with a rat and a swarm of empathic bugs …

  Ah, well. How bad could it possibly be?

  The immense bed came with an actual sheet and anteapocalypse feather pillows. There was enough bed for two people to sprawl and feel happy.

  It was best to keep your distance when sleeping near Shaani, she was good enough to inform Xoota. For one thing, she sometimes gave off an odd, green glow at night. For another, when she dreamed happy dreams, she gave off electric sparks. Luckily the bed was big enough that she thought it wouldn’t be a problem.

  Having accommodations for the night meant Xoota did not have to wake up long before dawn, saddle a chattering budgerigar and tramp off into the dust. She could sleep in, luxuriating in actual sheets and an ancient mattress with actual springs. She sprawled, naked and happy, drifting off into the wonderful oblivion of sleep—until a noise ripped right through her skull like a buzz saw.

  It was like someone using a file on an upright metal spike, like nails dragging down a sheet of slate. The noise actually made Xoota’s eyeballs bulge. She jerked upright in the absurdly huge bridal bed, its canopy festooned with snoozing earwigs.

  Over beside the speckled mirror and wash stand, Shaani was looking at herself in the mirror, industriously working away on her incisors with a great, old file. The noise was utterly appalling. Xoota felt horrified.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Ah. G’morning.” The rat cheerfully waved, apparently ready for yet another day of high adventure. “Doing the full grooming thing. Sorry. Do you need the mirror?”

  Xoota rubbed at her eyes. It wasn’t even dawn, and she already had a headache. Her antennae flopped down to either side of her head. “Why are you doing that to your teeth?”

  “Ah. My incisors grow at a set rate per week. If I don’t keep them down, they might eventually pierce the roof of my mouth and impale my brain.”

  Xoota collapsed back onto bed and seethed. Darwin, let it be soon …

  Anyway, it was time to get up. She was broke, not even enough for a stake to get back out there and explore, which meant going out and making some sort of deal with idiots out there in the town—courier work or caravan escort to the south.

  Damn.

  The room had a bucket shower suspended above an old bathtub. Shaani flicked a significant glance from the bucket to Xoota. The quoll bowed to the inevitable and levered herself up out of bed. Working a bad taste from her mouth, she trudged over to the tub, poured a bucket of water up into the overhead, and endured being made wet and miserable.

  Whiskers drooping, she soaped herself. At least all the bathing seemed to have exterminated her fleas. She held up one hand, rubbed at her eyes, and examined her fingers.

  A little glimmer of light flickered about her fingertips. When she concentrated, it grew brighter. Xoota gave a sigh. “Damn it. Why do I never get any cool alphas?”

  Alpha mutations were the periodic and unpredictable effects that resulted from the different energies at play in the world. Sometimes they altered a creature’s physical nature, activating a piece of junk DNA, for instance, turning the mitochondria into something new and different. Sometimes they altered the mind’s ability to affect reality. Sometimes it was a matter of unlocking the secrets of the dark matter in the universe. Whatever the case, it was usually something weird, and not always helpful, but it was seldom permanent.

  “Hmm?” The rat girl had removed the braids from her hair. Loose, it cascaded all the way down past her rear. She still had her silly tentacles from the night before, waving sinuously from her back. “Did you get a change in the night?”

  “That stupid omega ale.” Xoota rinsed off under a second bucket of water. It tasted a little brackish in her mouth. “Some people? Laser vision. Me? No. I just have to go all sparkly at the edges. Could that be any more lame?”

  “Some might find it appealing.”

  “Then they’re idiots.” Xoota found a well-worn piece of sacking to use as a towel and rubbed herself dry. Her newly cleaned fur stuck out at a thousand silly angles. She shook herself in an effort to make the stuff behave. “Why don’t the damned earwigs have to bathe?”

  “They groom themselves very nicely, thank you.” Some of the female earwigs were sleeping with their own young stacked on top of them. “Wig-wig is really rather neat.”

  Wig-wig had also managed to sleep through all the noise. Many of the earwigs snored—truth be told, in imitation of Xoota. Others worked their pincers and blearily gazed around before deciding to go back to sleep.

  Xoota found underwear, boots, and trousers.

  “We’d better get the hell out of here before the blue guy gets over his DTs.” She managed to open a hole in one of her socks as she tried to pull it on. Damn. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

  The rat was braiding her hair, her fingers skilled and nimble. “We’re broke,” said Shaani.

  “No, I’m broke and you’re broke,” said Xoota, sitting in her heart-spotted underwear. “Two very separate things. Two unconnected individuals.” She jerked on her pants.

  “Ah, can any individuals be truly unconnected? When each particle can influence every other, when each observer changes the universe simply by the act of observation, does that mean any of us can truly claim disconnection from our fellows?”

  “True.”
Several earwigs peered over the bed, waving their feet. “Science.”

  “Science.” Shaani took an earwig into her hand and tickled it under the chin. “Quite so, dear chap.”

  “Glee.”

  “Who asked you?” Xoota speared the earwig swarm with a dark glance.

  “He is empathic. He senses a deeper truth.” Shaani was dressed for action. “The three of us, all together. Companions in adversity.” The rat girl pulled on her straw hat and settled her goggles on the crown. She slammed her entrenching tool into its sheath at her side. “Never fear. Science will show the way.”

  “Science will show the way …” Xoota grumbled and gathered up her gear. “All right, mighty scientists. Well, I have to go and look for work. Alone, if you please.”

  “An excellent concept. We can distribute our efforts more efficiently if we spread out and conduct an individual search.” Shaani and the earwigs hastened after Xoota as she stomped down the stairs. “We’ll meet at the well. Midday.”

  Xoota headed out into the dusty streets.

  Shaani watched Xoota leave the common room then girded her loins and looked around the tavern. She found a single waitress quietly enjoying breakfast in one corner and marched over to address herself to business.

  Wig-wig, meanwhile, swarmed merrily up and over tables. In a gloomy corner of the bar, the gambling boy from the night before rested his horned head in his hands. He sat, glumly regarding a meager, glittering pile containing his last few coins.

  Earwigs climbed up to sit on the table beside him. “Aw, down on luck?”

  “Not for long.” The boy seemed determined. “I’ll get my money back. Just you see.”

  The earwigs clustered around the boy and beamed. “We’ll see. We’ll see.” The earwigs began to dance. “Glee.”

  Out in the stark light of the morning, Xoota stomped about her business. She made sure Budgie had a new seed bell from her store of feed and fresh water, though the water smelled a little strange. Then she walked off to see a few contacts and try to rustle up some coin.

  The scrap dealers and artifact merchants weren’t interested in subsidizing any journeys. It had been years since the last decent store of omega tech had been found, which had given the town an official tally of two laser pistols and an energy whip that worked only one time out of ten. Still, it helped keep the razorbacks at bay. But no one had any confidence anymore. The desert was all played out—there were no more bright, new treasures to be found just under the sands. The world was bounded by thirst, sand, and salt, and the days of rich pickings had come and gone.

  Xoota tromped over to the general store, where there was sometimes news of caravans that needed a guard or two or a parcel that required delivery to another village. As she stepped into the store, she drew a blank. All travel seemed to be halted; the Big Dry was upon them, and no one wanted to travel during the dry season.

  She ended up at the mechanist’s forge, where she sold off the gears and cogs she had found out in the desert. The fat, genial store owner had a metallic skin caused by a nanite plague he had picked up in an unfortunate sexual encounter as a youth. He seemed to have come to terms with the affliction and had a metallic wife who helped him mind the store.

  Xoota sat and discontentedly counted out the coins she had just been paid. They were trade tokens in silver and gold, fifty domars. Polishing his newly acquired cogs, the store owner sat himself down at his bench.

  “Good stuff. Good stuff. Looks like they might be useful.”

  Xoota wrinkled her snout. “Yeah, well, I’ll be charging more for those in the future. There’s less and less out there these days.”

  “Work’s drying up?”

  “I’m open to commissions.”

  The shop owner brightened. “Well now. Well now, well now, well now. Had a chap in here earlier today who might have work. Human chap. Jolly good skin. Asking about guides for a trip into the wilderness. Cash in plenty. Seemed the genuine thing.”

  Xoota’s antennae tested for pitfalls and found nothing but a tingle. “Really?”

  “Absolutely. He’s getting tailor-made armor being crafted across the street. Had all the gear …”

  “Can you point him out to me?”

  The merchant beamed. “ ’Course I can. ’Course I can, ’course I can, ’course I can. That’s him right over there.” He pointed to the armorer’s across the way. “With the chin that looks like a backside.”

  Over the road, a massive figure emerged from the armorer’s. He was huge for a human, far over two meters tall, broad and horribly powerful. The man had cold eyes and stark, blond hair. With perfect human teeth and unblemished skin, he was the most photogenic individual to accidentally step into budgerigar poop in the town of Watering Hole. Xoota examined the man, feeling a tad confused, and rubbed at her neck.

  “That’s him? He looks a bit … well polished.”

  “That’s the man.” The merchant shook his head in admiration. “Beautiful speaking voice.”

  “Oh goodie.”

  Ah, well, it might be just what the sawbones ordered. Xoota gathered up her coins and headed out into the street.

  Mister Adonis—the world’s most perfect man—was admiring the fit of his brand new, tailor-made plate armor. His gear seemed high on polish and low on practicality.

  Xoota twiddled her long whiskers then walked over to the man and gave a nod of her head. “G’day. The guy over the road said you were looking for guides?”

  The strong man turned. He looked down at Xoota from on high, towering over her. His sheer bulk of muscle would have intimidated anyone less foul tempered and ornery than a quoll.

  The human seemed to hesitate before he spoke, as if wondering if it was worthwhile speaking down to her. “I do not normally work with animals.” The man’s voice seemed to dwell on the term. He drew in a sour breath. “However, I am told that entering the desert requires a guide. I need the services of the most skilled personnel possible.”

  Xoota measured the man for a swift kick to the happy sacks. But she needed money. “Well, we can discuss it. Where are you thinking of heading, Mister?”

  “Benek.” The man did not look at her as he spoke. “You may know me as Benek.”

  “Well, you may know me as Xoota.”

  “Is that your title?”

  The quoll sucked on a fang. “Well, my actual title is Great Sage, Equal of Heaven. I tend to just let it drop.”

  Benek gave an uncaring shrug. “Xoota will suffice.”

  Oh, this is going to be fun. Xoota’s antennae drooped ill temperedly beside her face. “Well, Benek. Should we go to the tavern to discuss your business?”

  “I do not pollute my body with alcohol. My germ-plasm must remain utterly pure.”

  “Fine. How about a bun and a cup of tea?”

  “That would be acceptable.”

  They made their way over to a nearby bakery. Although Xoota was essentially a carnivore, she did like to gnaw on something sweet. She had also missed her morning mug of tea, which might possibly have explained her fraying temper. She led the way over to the settlement’s little bakery, asked for tea and a sweet pepper-seed bun, and sat herself down on a bench beside the shop. A eucalyptus tree spread shady branches above, making the whole place tolerably cool.

  Benek chose a multigrain bread roll and contented himself with pure water poured from his own canteen. Xoota sipped her tea and made a face; the damned stuff was strangely salty.

  “So, Benek. You have a mission in mind?”

  “I do. A mission of the gravest import.” The constant breeze stirred the air beside the shop. Benek checked his perfectly set hair in the bakery window’s reflection. “I have to be taken to an ancient installation, a slice of an omega world.”

  He produced a bag and poured its contents out across the table. There were several bright, new photographs printed on stiff plastic; a small, oblong box with a window in it; and an old power cell with a decent amount of charge left on the meter.


  Xoota poked at the odd box. “What is this?”

  “Ah, it’s a military training tool of the ancients. In this small screen, mutants and zombies approach. The trainee must destroy them before they reach his base.” The man put the little machine away. “I have the current high score.”

  “Wonderful.” Xoota pulled over one of the photographs. It showed a line of tall, cylindrical structures that gleamed red and copper, white and gold. “And these?”

  “Those are our target.”

  The man spread out the photographs. There were three main points of view, all from along a fence line that ran beside a series of flamboyant buildings. Beside the buildings, a row of immense, gleaming darts stood on their tails with their noses pointed at the sky. Benek ran a thoughtful hand over the images.

  “It is unlikely that you would recognize the technology, but this is a starport, what you would term an omega-tech facility.”

  Xoota restrained an urge to bite the man. Was he talking down to her because she wasn’t human? “I see.”

  “What you won’t see from the photographs is the desolate surrounding area. Clearly its sheer isolation has kept the site from vandalism,” Benek said pedantically.

  That isolation might be the teeny, tiny detail of difficulty about the job. Xoota tapped a photograph against the table. “If the site is isolated, then where are these photos coming from?” she asked.

  “Downloaded in real time from an ancient device. The screen worked for three days before it finally failed.” Benek drew forth another photograph. He looked at the image in reverence. “The treasure of the ages …”

  The photograph showed a long, dark cavern, an enormous hollow lit by a cold, blue glow. The walls of the cavern were covered in booths, frost-smothered glass cylinders festooned with power cables. Benek looked at the image and smiled.

  “Cryogenic booths—still operating. These hold two thousand female colonists, genetically perfect human women once destined to populate the stars. But now they shall help reclaim the savage earth.” The man slowly flexed his fists. “So when I say I have a mission, understand that it is my genetic destiny to restart the human race.”