DIRE : BORN (The Dire Saga Book 1) (30 page)

Martin stood still for a second, his face gone blank. Then he smiled. “We do, don't we? Shit, maybe we can add in some more zeroes after all. C'mon, let's go talk to the dude.”

“He's back?”

“Oh yeah. Brought a whole bunch of shit over in an old pickup truck. I didn't know better, I'd say he was cookin'.”

“Dire didn't see anything like that from the air.”

“That's 'cause he took over the showerhouse. Said it was safest in case the phlogiston hit an impurity, the walls would funnel the blast up and away from camp. That's about the point I backed off and let the man move his shit in peace.”

“No more showers?” My voice came out a little more plaintive than I thought it would, and Martin laughed.

“Shit, he probably ain't using a stall or two. Just gotta watch your feet don't turn green from the chemicals or stuff. C'mon, let's go.”

I pulled on the fur coat, and followed Martin out into the cold. People waved at us as we went, and I nodded back, squinting at some of the new faces. “Dire doesn't recognize some of these people.”

Martin sighed. “Yeah. We got maybe fifty more in the last hour or so.” He gestured toward the new tents, and I grimaced as I saw that they'd multiplied in a very short time. Heartening to see more flocking to our banner, so to speak, but it made the area harder to defend. Too spread out, not enough fighters.

“More mouths to feed. Joan will—” I caught myself, shut up. She was gone, and I pushed the pain that rose in me aside.

Martin was quiet for the rest of the trip, and I felt bad for raising her memory, so soon after she had left us.

Plumes of thin smoke rose from the showerhouse, and acrid odors wafted across us as we made our way to the entrance. I wrinkled my nose. “Perhaps she'll wait on a shower.”

“Can't blame you on that. Serious ass stank. Yo, Khalid, it safe to come in?”

“Enter,” came the terse response.

I looked around at the piles of brass and copper containers, the rows of glass alembics filling the shelves, and the tubing that zig-zagged throughout. Several beakers were bubbling, and the plumes of smoke rose from what looked to be brass kettles. For once, my memory filled in none of it. This was chemistry of a sort that baffled my knowledge.

“Don't mind the crucibles,” Khalid smiled, as he stepped around a curtain, green smoke billowing around him. He was wearing black, a thick leather apron over slick-looking cloth. His spectacles had been replaced by goggles, the right side of which had a rotating arrangement of different colored lenses. “Though I would advise against breathing in too much of the smoke. Your lungs cannot heal as well as mine do, after all.”

“You set this up in an hour or so?” I looked around the mass of equipment. “Dire's impressed.”

He shrugged. “I have had a lot of experience in evacuating quickly, and setting up new havens just as fast. After a few centuries it becomes rote.”

“Still can't get over the fact you ancient, man.” Martin shook his head.

Khalid laughed. “There are those older than I out there.” He sobered up, and his face grew serious. “God permitting, we will end one here, before long. We must.”

I waved a hand toward him. “Working on it. To that end, Dire's made contact with a villain group called the Steampunks.”

“I think I have heard of them. Though, I pay little attention to most heroes and villains when possible,” he said. “Too much drama.”

“They fight Barbatos and his men right now. They may be willing to aid us, but it will take money. Much of it.”

Khalid twisted his hands, spread them. “I have little of that. What I have I need, and much of it is out of reach until phones and computers work again, to be honest.”

“Right,” said Martin. “But answer me a question. How much of that whole alchemy lead-to-gold thing is a myth, and how much is it real?”

“Ah.” Khalid scowled. “That.”

“Not real?” Martin asked.

“Real. But it takes time. And... it might get me in a lot of trouble. Gold has mystical properties to it, you see. Alchemical gold does not. If I start making much of it, and someone or something with magical clout ends up holding it, then they may take offense at being given false currency. General rule of thumb in the magical community is that when that happens, the alchemist who transmuted the gold is held responsible. As such, the few practicing alchemists left today are usually unwilling to take the risk without dire need.”

“Ah, okay. Sorta like cutting the good shit, and passing it off as good shit.” Martin nodded. “Still, what if it don't go to the magical guys? The Steampunks are about as magical as mulch, from what I know.”

“Yes, but gold doesn't go bad,” said Khalid. “A decade down the road if it ends up in the hands of something like the Senate of Order, or god forbid a
dragon
, I could still face retribution.”

“Wait, whoa. First vampires, now dragons are real, too?” Martin was skeptical.

“Yes,” Khalid said. “Pray you never meet one.”

They were getting off track. “Without dire need, you say?” I grinned. “She's standing right before you. Dire needs this. But the choice is yours. It comes down to how badly you want the Locust dead.”

He gnawed his lip, turned from me. Turned back. “The Militia spoke of how you killed Stigmata. And the two draugr, without knowing what they were. And you did this all before coming here, to fight again. Those are the actions of a hero.”

“Dire is no hero,” I snapped. “Just ask Ballista.”

He shook his head. “I come from a different time. Was Caesar a hero? Was Solomon a hero? I think so. Their crimes were many, yes, but they were... ah, how to say it. They were of myth. If you were on their side, they were heroes beyond compare. What you have done here, what you are doing now? It strikes a chord.” He smiled at me. It faded after a second. “Don't go getting cocky, though. You still have to win here, or we're all damned.”

“She isn't standing here because she plans to lose,” I folded my arms. “Gold or not? Choose, because time is scant.”

He nodded. “You ask, rather than order. Very well. I shall make you six bars, and stamp them with sigils that proclaim them alchemical in origin to those who know. Hopefully they do not get melted down any time soon. If they do, eh, six bars' worth probably won't be my life. Maybe a few years of servitude, but not my life.”

I nodded. “Good. Dire shall take them to—”

“Naw,” Martin said. “Leave four of them here, take two with you. Offer them one up front, up to two if they dicker. Bring all six, you'll tempt them to jump you.”

Khalid nodded. “Wise. Good to have a proper merchant here, it makes things much easier. Speaking of that, I will need these things.” He handed Martin a rolled up piece of paper. The youth unfolded it, scanned it.

“The hell is cinnabar?”

“Mercury ore. Sometimes treated as a semi-precious stone.”

“Wait, I know this. I seen like dragon carvings in antique stores, and shit like that. Yeah, I can get that. The other stuff on this list don't look hard.”

“Good enough,” I said. “How soon can you have the gold done?”

“So eager?” Khalid asked.

“So pragmatic,” I replied. “We won last night. We have an advantage, but we need to move quickly or we squander it. Too many dead for Dire to want that to happen.”

He nodded. “You'll have them by tonight. I need to finish cooking the Greek fire, interrupting the process now wouldn't be good for any of us.”

“Greek fire,” I mused. “Is that the stuff that you threw last night that burned everything?”

“Yes. That's the stable form. Right now it's much more volatile.”

I flicked my eyes around the showerhouse, looked at Martin. He turned pale, and slowly edged out of the room. Khalid chuckled. “Before you go, please remove your pants.”

“What?” I stared at him.

“Your leg. I want to check it.”

“Ah. Right.” It felt most of an eternity, since he'd applied that goop to it, but it really hadn't been that long. I slipped free of the sweat pants, and he knelt, poking at the bandages. A nod, and he pulled out a small knife, started cutting them free. “The remedy worked well. The bone will be weaker there for a few months, though. I recommend a diet high in calcium, if possible.”

“When it can be arranged.” When he was finished, I slipped my pants on again. From the doorway, a noise, and I glanced back to find Martin looking away, clearing his throat. Huh. I wondered what had him so bothered. “Anything else?” I asked Khalid.

“We're good. I'll come find you once your gold is done. Please get me the items I requested, Martin?”

“Uh. Yeah, sure. Think we got most of it around the neighborhood...”

I strolled out, heading back towards the laundry tent. I had time to kill, plans to make, and gravitics to fix. Martin muttered an excuse and went his own separate way, presumably to fill Khalid's requests.

I broke out the tools that I'd need to fix the gravitics and went to work on my armor. It took longer than I thought, and when Abernathy tapped me on the shoulder, I looked up to find the sun in a different position. She offered a bowl of soup, and I tucked in with gusto. I really needed to eat more, if I was going to fight so often. “Thank you,” I said between slurps.

“Noooo problem.” Abernathy smiled, the light shifting off her glasses as she looked up to the section of highway I'd asked her to search. “So, there's a lot of electric cars up there. After a while it got easier to start marking the hydrogen ones. That's when I got the red paint. Anything that's not splotched should be salvageable. Though now we've got that beauty.” She pointed toward the APC, and smiled wide, showing white-and-silvery braced teeth.

“Going to have to leave that one intact as much as possible,” I said, finishing up the armor and putting the tools back in the kit. “It's going to have a job to do. Speaking of which...” I moved toward a familiar-looking wheelchair, and Sparky and Roy looked up at me as I stopped next to them. “Sparky, we're currently down a turret thanks to the Militia. Want to be the replacement turret?”

He laughed. “Sure, what the hell. Gonna be a bit exposed up there, though.”

“A wooden mantle worked before. Abernathy, can you rig him up something for this go-round?”

She pursed her lips, looked from the empty turret socket to Sparky, and nodded. “Sure! Easy as a three-dollar hooker.”

Roy burst out snickering. “I like you, kid.” He squeezed her shoulder, and she punched his arm. He flexed it in mock agony, and looked my way. “We got anyone who can drive one a' those suckers?”

“That's where I come in, I think.” I jumped a bit, glanced behind me to find that Bunny had moved up while we were talking. Rifle over her back, mug full of soup in her gloved hands, she nodded to me and I nodded back.

“You can drive that?” I asked.

“Drove it here,” was her reply, followed by a long sip of soup.

“Good. That'll be your job tomorrow.”

“Whoa. Tomorrow?” Abernathy said, blinking at me in surprise.

“Well, yes. Got a few preparations to wrap up, but we can't let the Black Bloods sit tight for too long. Dire wants to end this as soon as possible.”

“I— Wow. Uh. Okay. Are we gonna have enough time for salvaging cars and upgrades?”

“That's Dire's project for tonight, after a side-trip. Got some allies to purchase. Hopefully.” I frowned. “In the meantime, get some rest. We're going to be working through the night.”

“Sir yes ma'am!” Abernathy gave a sloppy salute, and bounced off toward a small, green tent. Roy chuckled as he watched her go. “Man, if I was thirty years younger...”

Sparky jabbed him in the side. “You'd be married, ya dumbass. Focus.”

He snorted, rubbed his ribs. “Careful. They're gonna be weak for a while, the Janissary said. But anyways, Doc, where do you want me? You got Sparky in the APC, Bunny driving. You want me on the door in back?”

“Actually, Dire has a different plan in mind. Walk with her.” I drew Roy aside, and his eyes narrowed as I told him what I wanted done.

He glanced around the camp at the end of it. “You really think that's a possibility?”

“We can't afford to overlook it,” I muttered. “That's why she needs you on it. We won the battle last night, but lost people. Lost Joan. Dire doesn't want to go through that again.”

He nodded, then his bearded mouth split in a smile. “Knew you'd be a good Ell-Tee, Ell-Dee.”

I punched him in the shoulder where Abernathy had hit him, and he raised hands in mock surrender as he laughed.

I laughed too, but sobered up quickly. Still so many things to do... “All right. No sign of Khalid, so she's going to go work on salvaging the cars above. Any idea where Dire could scavenge a lot of strong ropes or lengths of chain?”

Roy looked puzzled, but he gave me a few locations. I nodded, headed back to my armor.

“What for?” He called to my back. I glanced over my shoulder briefly.

“Plan C,” I admitted. Then I entered the laundry again and folded myself into my suit. A few tests satisfied me to its integrity and I stepped outside. From there it was a short gravitic hop down the coast, scavenging ropes and chains from the closed marina to the southwest. Once I had a few hundred pounds worth I hopped back and up onto the overpass, getting to work. I alternated between tying ropes and chains, and cutting out choice components. As the sun started to set in the west, I slowly became aware that I wasn't alone.