Thunder Road (15 page)

Sid broke into her thoughts. “You should go. Howard has finished in the mechanic’s bay. He will probably be looking for you. Go to your room, say you have been sleeping. I can loop footage if he wants to check records. There’s not much I can do, but there is that. If you want to know more, I can also allow you access to the mainframe from the terminal in your room, removing some of the security codes. But this can only be done temporarily. Now go.”

It was strange, but Krysty felt reluctant to leave the brain. It looked more alien than human, yet it was more human that Howard would ever be able to know. She wanted to stay—Sid needed her, had fed off her for a humanity that he had missed for so long—but she knew that he was right. At all costs, she had to keep Howard sweet until she had a plan of action.

She left without another word, returning to her room without pause. Her head was spinning with what Sid had told her. That people could do this to each other…The world she lived in was brutal and harsh, but no one had ever taken some poor bastard’s brain and left it to an agonizing half-life, or put a man’s brain into a machine. She had seen and heard of such things during their encounters with the remnants of the past, but had never been face-to-face with the consequences and realized what it truly meant.

As she lay on the bed, she looked at the room around her. The pastel colors, the predark feminine flounces, all seemed to be mocking her. They were the tainted remnants of a corrupt culture. Maybe skydark had been a good thing, if it had cleansed the world of people who did things like this. Then she thought of the people they had crossed. The only thing separating them from the likes of Howard and his ancestors was access to technology.

She lay back to wait for him, and to try to work out what she should do next.

H
OWARD DISCARDED
his coveralls and stepped into the shower. It was not something that had ever occurred to him before, but he knew as if by some kind of instinct that he had to look his best for his Storm Girl. Neat and groomed. That was the way the good guys always made an impression on the girl of their dreams.

Was that what she was? He hadn’t considered it before. He had always seen them as partners in the fight for justice; first with her friends, and latterly on her own. But the girl of his dreams?

As he soaped himself in the shower, perhaps lingering too long over areas that he would previously have washed in a perfunctory manner, he considered why his feelings had changed in this way. In the old tales of those who had gone before, the fighter for justice had a girl to whom he could return at the end of the day. Whether she knew the truth of his whole identity, or just as the man in the mask, or even his cover without knowing his mission, she was always there. She was more than just a girl, more than just a love interest. She was also a representation of all those good things that the fighter for justice was searching for.

He frowned. For a moment, images and words from the intel reports he had gathered came into his mind. It was hard to reconcile those women of story and legend with the woman in the intel reports, but these were harder times, a different land. People had different standards. It was not her fault that she came from an age where there was less justice and goodness. She had proved herself to be worthy in her fights against evil. They all had.

Again the picture of the one-eyed man came to mind. Fury built in Howard until he had to release it. He punched the tiled wall of the shower unit. Blood from his skinned knuckles trickled down the tiles, red on white, turning pink as the water from the shower jets diluted it, washed it away, just as his anger and frustration ebbed away with the pain he could feel in his hand. He looked at the knuckles of his fist, unclenched his hand and flexed his fingers. There was no pain except where the flesh had been exposed.

There was no pain except when he thought about Storm Girl and Cawdor together. Even the realization made the fury begin to rise within him again. It was a revelation to him just how strongly he felt about this. He had read of such things, but had assumed that in this world they would not happen to him.

And yet, it nagged at him. Why, then, had he chosen to take her out of all of them? Logically, now he stopped to think about it, he should have taken old man Tanner or Dr. Wyeth. They had knowledge of the world before, and they would be more likely to understand with greater ease. Yes, you could say that the old man was on the verge of madness. That was reason to leave him. But there was no reason that he could think of to choose Storm Girl over Dr. Wyeth.

Except for one.

He looked down at his naked body, water running over it, dripping off his flesh.

Yes.

There was a reason.

“There is one thing that occurs to me,” Doc mused as the wag steadily ate up the miles. “Our friend the mystery man seems to have access to a lot of technology. So does it not follow that he will have good defenses around wherever he hangs his hat?”

“His what?” Jak frowned.

“His home,” Mildred explained. “Don’t worry about it,” she continued as she saw his puzzled expression. “It’s just a old saying from when I was young—though God knows where Doc picked it up,” she added, raising a brow to the old man.

Doc smiled, his white, even perfect teeth looking sinister in the red glow of the wag’s emergency lighting. “My dear Doctor, I may have been incarcerated during my time at the end of the world, but there were such things as televisions, radios, newspapers and books. My guards were not averse to my having those things.”

“Will you stop talking shit?” Ryan barked. “Bad enough that we’re still on the trail. I’ve been hoping that we’ll run across the bastard when he’s out on that blasted machine. I haven’t been triple stupe, Doc, I have thought about what the hell he could have waiting for us wherever he’s based.”

“My dear Ryan, I was only voicing a question that I knew we had all formulated,” Tanner rebuked mildly.

Ryan turned around so that he faced Doc, Jak and Mildred, seated behind the driving positions occupied by J.B. and himself.

“Shit, I know, Doc. Guess it’s getting to all of us. Not knowing where we’re going, what we’ll find.”

“Way I see it,” J.B. said, without taking his eyes from the road ahead, “our real problem is that we won’t know what this stupe has for us until we hit it, so we don’t know what we’re dealing with. And, more to the point, we don’t know when we’re going to hit it.”

“Meaning?” Mildred asked.

“Think about it. This coldheart has to have a base. Chances are it’s old military. Most of them are pretty well disguised.”

“Most of the redoubts we’ve ever known didn’t have exterior offensive weapons, though,” she pointed out.

“You saw the bike he had. You ever seen anything that looked like that where we’ve been? I know I sure as hell would remember it. So mebbe this base isn’t like any of the others we’ve ever come across.”

“And so perhaps we should be expecting the unexpected,” she finished. “Guess it’s a fair point, John.”

“Don’t know about that, but it might just stop us buying the farm before we’re ready,” he replied in a dry tone.

They had been driving for hours that seemed like days. Even with the air-conditioning, there was still a lingering undertone of stink that each of them was trying hard to ignore. The fact that they were also tight in the space, under the red glow of the emergency lighting, was also beginning to tell. The air-conditioning was good enough to stop them sweating from the heat, but the incipient claustrophobia was another matter. The cabin was not made for five people, and in the well behind the seats for the intended two-man crew they had been forced to find positions where they could sit or squat with, if not comfort, then with a relative ease.

At least it wasn’t dark. J.B. had not been able to fix the wag’s lighting system, but he had discovered that the crazies who were the previous occupants had been unaware of the emergency electrics powered off the engine, which was just as well, as they would probably have driven these to destruction, as they had much else. As it was, J.B. discovered on checking that the system was intact, and so they at least had some light in the interior.

For some time they had driven across the wasteland in silence. Each person had been grimly aware that, although they now had the means to make good time and distance, they had lost so much. So, despite the speed at which the wag could now take them, each of them was silently urging it to go faster, and feeling frustrated that it was not.

The feeling of helplessness was not doing much to abate the rage that each of them felt, and the growing frustration at not gaining ground.

S
HE WAS IN HER ROOM
when she heard it, a two-tone siren, distant from the living quarters, coming from another level. She had been accessing the historical files on the mainframe, trying to piece together the chronology of this place, to get an angle on understanding Howard so that she knew how to deal with him. As soon as the siren began to sound, the comp closed down the terminal.

“Sid?”

“An emergency. Breach of security sensors on the far eastern reach of the defense ring.”

“What are you going to do?”

“There is nothing I can do. Howard is in the shower and is making his way to the main console room. When he arrives, I shall not be able to converse with you. He will have complete control of both myself and Hammill, and we will not be responsible for the course of action.”

“What do you mean?”

“You asked me why I had not tried to end this. The simple answer is that I cannot. Once myself and Hammill were…changed…we became to a great extent part of the computer mainframe. We have no override powers. In effect, we are slaves. The mainframe is geared to answer only to someone with the genetic imprint of the original owners. Only Howard can actuate certain procedures. And if he does, the mainframe programming does not allow any other intelligence to interfere.”

“So if the incoming were to be friendly to me, you would not be able to prevent yourself from firing on them, even if you did not wish to?”

“No, Krysty. Neither myself nor Hammill would be able to prevent ourselves from instigating such actions. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You’re a prisoner here much more than I am. At least I could set myself free by buying the farm. You can’t even do that.”

“I would not recommend such a course of action. I confess, Krysty, that we may be using you as much as Howard would wish to. You could set us free, if you could find the key.”

“You mean if I can find a way to destroy this place, then you would be willing to buy the farm?”

“Ah, I still have enough humor and humanity left in me to cherish those strange phrases…But yes, we would both be prepared to end these lives that are not, if we could be at peace. And I have a suggestion for you. I have been monitoring the files you have been studying, and I think I see your reasoning. In which case, may I recommend that you skip forward to the file I will make available to you.”

“My terminal has shut down, Sid, I can’t—”

“Don’t concern yourself with that. It’s nothing more than a standard procedure when the perimeter is breached. Until Howard comes and inputs his code, the system is in stasis. As soon as he does this, I will send the file to you. He will not know that you have this on your terminal, and he will be too occupied to care about your movements. This is the first alarm that has been anything other than a test procedure. Please, try not to think about your friends. We will do all we can within our limits, but mostly I feel you can trust Howard’s lack of experience. Meantime, study the file when it arrives. I’m sure it will hold the key to all our freedom.”

H
OWARD’S TRAIN OF THOUGHT
was interrupted by the clarion call of the siren. An invasion: something, or somebody, was attempting to breach the defenses on the outer perimeter. This had not happened before. The drills had been regular, and the procedures were as rote to him. And yet he was unsure for a moment, frozen in the excited expectation of action. It was a delicious feeling, part ripple of fear, part surge of adrenaline, that coursed through his body. It was this surge that galvanized him.

“Water off,” he barked as he strode from the shower, his anger of moments ago, and the pain in his knuckles caused by that anger, now forgotten. He grabbed a towel and dried himself quickly, dressing in the Rider costume he kept in the lockers. All the while, his mind was racing. Who was the intruder?

It had to be Krysty Wroth’s companions. They did not realize that she was no longer their Krysty, but about to become Storm Girl, companion to Thunder Rider. They had come to—as they saw it—rescue her, which was a noble act, and not without merit. It showed their honor and loyalty. And for this, at least, he could not bring himself to simply eliminate them. Whether he would wish for them to join him and Storm Girl in his mission, he could not, at this moment, say.

One thing for sure, he would not wish Krysty to turn against him because of his actions. He had to be very careful about what he did. He wanted to keep them at bay for now, but the defenses were geared toward the annihilation of any who should attempt to breach them.

“Hammill, status report,” he commanded as he strode down the corridor toward the command complex.

“Armored vehicle thirty-three degrees east, passing vector seven of the ring. It would appear to be a military vehicle of the preholocaust era. Condition poor. Scanning reveals a low radiation level indicating that it carries no warheads, and that it is run from conventional plant. Scanning for life and ordnance…Readings are not clear. Four, maybe five people within, and nothing that registers on any data base as coincident with conventional ordnance for such vehicles. It has been refitted, but probably at a lower level. It represents no discernible threat and can be eradicated by a level-one strike.”

“Do not instigate at this moment. If necessary, cover fire to drive it back, but do not aim for the vehicle. I don’t want it damaged, or the inhabitants harmed at this stage. I want to have a look at it, so I need it contained.”

“Very good, Howard.”

“Thank you, Hammill.”

“Sid?”

“Yes, Howard?”

“Ms. Wroth—where is she?”

“She is currently in her quarters, Howard.”

“Does she know what the alarm means?”

“She asked me, and I informed her of its purpose. I did not, however, inform her of the possible identity of the vehicle making the breach. Rather, I implied that it was a routine drill by reference to past events.”

“Good. I would like you to keep her in her quarters for the moment. If necessary, lock the door and tell her that it’s part of standard security procedure during such a drill. I don’t want her to know what’s happening until I’ve worked out what exactly I’m going to do.”

“Very good, Howard.”

By this time, Howard had reached the command complex. A long desk set with terminals and monitors took up one side of the room. Screens relaying images from all cameras in sequence flashed in front of him, covering one wall. A chair on a sliding track enabled him to move with ease from one end of the desk to the other. He slid into the chair and automatically set the chair in motion until it had arrived at the section of desk he required. An inset panel, oval and with an indent shaped like a thumb, was in front of him. He put his right thumb in, felt a slight tingle as it scored a small piece of top skin layer for analysis.

“DNA check. Authorization approved.”

The automatic lock on the control complex, which came into operation every time the alarm sounded, was now off. He—as the last of his line and the only man with the correct genetic code—was now in sole charge of all systems.

“Status report, Hammill.”

“The vehicle is another mile farther in. Range on missiles and lasers locked and approved. Mines armed and on link response.”

Link response. If the wheels of the vehicle passed over one and triggered it, then any four in a surrounding arc would also be automatically triggered. It enabled a vehicle to be destroyed rather than merely disabled.

“Disarm link response.”

“Disarmed, Howard.”

“How far are they from the edge of the minefields?”

“Five hundred yards, Howard.”

Only a few seconds for him to consider and act. He did not want them to be injured. Not yet. However, he did wish to keep them at a safe distance. Perhaps…

“Trigger eight mines in a random pattern around their projected path. Let’s give them fair warning.”

“D
ARK NIGHT
! What the fuck—” J.B. yelled, and felt the pull on his arms as the steering of the vehicle bucked and wheeled in his grasp. It felt like an immense force, but it was hard for him to tell as, in truth, he was more concerned about the fact that his vision had been impaired by the sudden rain of sand and dirt flung up by the deafening explosions that had erupted just in front of the wag.

Explosions: more than one, but how many none of them could tell, as they were so close together as to sound almost as one continuous blast. One moment they had been traveling at a constant speed across what seemed like empty waste; the next, the sun had been blotted out by the mountains of dark debris flung up by the explosions. Ripples of impact under the ground had made the unstable topsoil buck and weave beneath the wheels and tracks of the wag, giving it precarious purchase, throwing the front and rear in wildly diverging directions.

Within, the shock to the vehicle had made the emergency lighting black out for a few seconds before the circuit kicked back to life, and in the darkness they had all been thrown around the tiny cabin by the violent impact. J.B. and Ryan, the only ones on secured seating, had just about managed to stay in enough of a position to keep control. Doc was dazed, as his head struck metal, and Mildred and Jak careered into each other with a bone-crunching impact lessened only by the confined space.