Borderlands: The Fallen (9 page)

Still—it was just one guy to sneak by. Cal noticed an open metal box on the far side of the fire from the sleeping gunman. Looked like the kind of thing someone might store food in. He could swipe the box. Maybe it’d contain a communicator of some kind, something he could use to call for help. But he had to do it silently …

Heart hammering, Cal crept forward on hands and knees, wincing when his stomach growled. He kept moving, hoping the crackle of the fire would cover any little noises he made.

He got closer to the box, closer still … then heard a clatter, loud as a fire alarm in his ears.

Cal looked down, realized he’d stumbled into a piece of string stretched tautly over the ground between two half-buried sticks. And strung on one of the sticks a cluster of empty tin cans was dancing, jangling together.

He jumped up, turned to run—and stopped in his tracks as a big, rough hand closed around his throat. He found himself looking up into the grim face of a scowling black man—the one who’d been sound asleep a minute ago.

The man’s grip tightened around Cal’s throat, and he demanded in a rumbling voice, “
Who
the hell are
you
?”

“How much you think we can sell ’er for, Vance?” asked Dimmle, as he leered at Marla. Sitting across from her in the boat, Dimmle was the bearded, scarred one, his face crisscrossed with old, blue-ink prison tattoos, mostly words, phrases like:
Rip Up & Rip Off … Die Slow, Die Fast, But Die … Call Me 4 QuickFux
…
Mama, May I? …
and
… First the Knife.

“That I don’t know,” Vance said, rubbing his big jaw as
he eyed Marla. He had his hand on the engine tiller of the open boat, steering without having to look where he was going.

There were six of them, five sea thugs and Marla, riding a ten-meter inflatable boat out toward an island—a dark blotch on the horizon picked out by a few lights. Vance was at the stern of the boat, to Marla’s left, where a glowing purple cylinder hummingly propelled them through the smooth sea. At the prow of the boat was an electric lantern.

Marla was thinking of throwing herself into the sea. She might drown, or be killed by some vicious aquatic predator. Better than dying slowly in the hands of human predators. Her hope of coming out of this intact had shriveled when they took her uni from her. Vance had it.
“Won’t have you checking for signals, lady,”
he’d said.

She leaned over a little, trying to reposition herself to dive in the water …

Vance shook his head. “Forget it, lady, you try to jump overboard I’ll grab you by the hair. And I’ll drag your pretty behind inboard—none too gently!” He grinned at her, his smile broad and gleaming white. Despite the threat, there was something boyish about this brawny man. Maybe this Vance could be manipulated, tricked into giving her a chance to escape, if she waited for her moment.

“You wouldn’t let me kinda rent her for a night, would you, boss?” Dimmle asked. “I’d pay ya good. Wouldn’t leave her the worse for wear. Mostly.”

Marla shuddered.

“Not a chance, Dimmle,” Vance said, his growl surprisingly affable as he went on: “You and the others’ll keep
your hands off her or I’ll lop your fingers off and feed ’em to the Cruncher.”

Dimmle scratched his crotch meditatively. “Don’t do no harm to ask. We don’t see women away from the settlements much.”

The other men in the boat, gawking at Marla, nodded and sighed sadly at that.

“True, true, we don’t see ’em much,” Vance said. “Might be the raping, killing, dying thing that keeps them in the settlements. Of course, there’s always Broomy.”

Now it was the men’s turn to shudder. “Don’t talk about Broomy,” Dimmle said. “I’ve still got the scars on my thighs.”

“Looks like we’re almost home,” Vance observed.

Marla turned and saw the island looming up close to them. It wasn’t very big, for an island, maybe a couple of football fields’ worth of junk, spiky growths, steel barrels chained together, shacks, dirty sand, and hulking shapes she couldn’t identify in the dimness. Boats of various sizes, including a large, shabby houseboat, were tied up at a pier, and in a moment so was the inflatable craft.

“Okay, girlie,” Dimmle said, leering, pointing a pistol at her. “Climb out and don’t make a run for it—you’d run into worse on this island than you’d be running from.”

Marla climbed onto the pier, Vance, Dimmle, and the others close behind her. She walked ahead of them, the rising wind fluttering her hair.

Then they got to the place where the pier joined the island, and she stopped, confused. The island seemed to be rippling. Moving.

“Is there an earthquake?” she asked.

Vance stepped up beside her, chuckling. “You’ve a good eye, woman! Grunj’s Island isn’t solid land—it’s a vessel, several of them, chained and netted together, most of them hidden under all the camouflage we’ve laid down over them! We move it around at night, use it as a kind of Trojan horse to get to other vessels … Sometimes their crews just walk onto the island and we get ’em that way … Works dandy!”

“Oh, well, that’s …”

“Creative and resourceful!” Vance laughed. “I know! When we need a hideout—we just move the island. Come on, down this way …”

He led her along a “beach” covered with sand—as they walked along she could feel wooden planks under a thin layer of grit. Faces peered out at her from the shacks nearby … she saw tongues flickering, eyes gleaming, gun barrels catching light. There were footsteps behind them …

Vance turned to see Dimmle and two other men following. He hefted his assault rifle. “And where do you think you’re going?”

Dimmle cleared his throat. “If we could just, you know, share her around, for an hour or two, we promise not to leave any marks, boss!”

“I told you—no! I’ve got the woman under control—she’s staying in my den and I’m going to sell her first chance! We’ll end up fighting over her! Use your money, and buy some women at the slave market on the Coast if you want some!”

Dimmle snorted. “Those women! Precious few—and what there are is all used up and ugly! And some aren’t
even women, some is just painted men! But this one …” He stuck out his tongue at Marla and wiggled it. “I’d like to taste ’er little—”

“Dimmle—back off!” Vance barked, cocking his rifle.

Dimmle’s mouth curved downward in a perfect inverted U, almost a cartoon of a frown. “Vance—you like to play boss. But you’re only second in command. Might be that Grunj’ll want to decide this.”

“Then let him—when he gets back from the land raid. Till then, I call the shots. Now go on to Hell Hut—there’s a case of whiskey behind the bar you can share with the boys! Knock yerself out!”

Grumbling, Dimmle led the other men away. Vance glared after them, muttering, “They’re getting uppity. Going to need a lesson, and soon!” He gestured at Marla with his gun. “And I’m in no mood for nonsense from you either, woman! Head on up the beach! I’ll be a step behind you.”

She shook her head, holding her ground. “ ‘Woman’ is my gender, not my name. My name’s Marla Finn. And if you want a good ransom for me, you’d better see to it no one molests me—no one at all.”

Vance raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Ransom? What makes you worth a ransom, woman? We listen real damn close to all the orbital chatter. Far as I’ve heard, ain’t one’s looking for you. If you’re the kind to be ransomed, there’d be a damn search party out already.”

Her heart sank at that but she lifted her chin defiantly. “My family is wealthy. They may believe I was killed when the ship exploded. But if we let them know I’m safe … they’ll pay to get me back.”

All lies, of course. Her family wasn’t wealthy—her parents weren’t even alive, and she wasn’t sure her husband and son were either. Zac had barely scraped together the money to make the trip. But she figured if she could convince Vance that a ransom might be coming, she could stall him from selling her off to slavers.

“
Marla
, hey?” Vance flashed his bright grin at her. “I like it! I’m Vance Sletch, and proud of it! Wanted on seven planets! I kill only when I have to, lady, and I’m no rapist. Don’t enjoy it the way the others might. I like a woman to open her legs to me because she wants to. So you can stop fretting for right now—only, if Grunj decides to sell you to the slavers, why, no way to know how you’ll be treated. Some owners might treat you decent—some might treat you like a skag pup treats a bone, and it could go harsh with you.”

“But if you ransom me …”

“Ah yes. Just how much you think we could get for ya?”

She shrugged, tried to lie as casually and convincingly as possible. “A million or so.”

“Is that right?” He rubbed his prominent chin. “Well well well. You might be overvaluing yourself, Marla m’dear. But we’ll just see. Come along to the den, and we’ll get something to eat, and talk it over …”

Marla went along quietly—and gloomily. She was fairly sure that he hadn’t believed a word she’d said.

“What the devil am I gonna do with you?” the big black man asked, slapping a pistol in the palm of one hand as he glowered at Cal.

Cal was sitting on a low boulder at the stranger’s camp.
The stranger holstered his gun—a relief to Cal until he saw the man crack his knuckles. Big knuckles in big hands—made a big sound.

Cal gulped. “You could let me go. Then I’d just … be outta your hair. Gone.
Noooooo
problem.” He stood up. “In fact—now that I’ve apologized for sneaking around in your camp, I’ll just go …”

That powerful hand clamped down on Cal’s shoulder, spun him easily around, and sat him down on the rock again. “Nah. You’re staying here. I don’t like X factors, mysteries, or riddles. I need to know who you are and what you’re up to. You say you crash landed in a lifeboat near here?”

“Sure. Down the gulch there, a kilometer or so.” Cal pointed.

“That way? Yeah right. That’s a hangout for spiderants and skags. You’d have been eaten alive.”

“I almost was! I tricked the spiderants and the skags into fighting so I could get away! Got one bunch to follow me to another.”

“Did you now.” The big man put a hand over his mouth to cover a smile. “Pretty smart. Or lucky. Did the same thing myself not long ago with some Psycho Midgets and a Nomad.” He frowned. “What’s that noise? That your stomach?”

“Probably,” Cal admitted.

“So you were after food, huh? Why didn’t you ask for it?”

“I uh … didn’t want to disturb you.”

“More likely you thought I was a bandit. Might mean you are pretty smart at that. I’m not a bandit—but that’s
mostly the kinda people you find out here. A few mercenaries, armed scavengers like me, take the occasional job. There’s a fair number of murderin’ lunatics too. The bandits, now, they belong to outfits, gangs, and they got certain styles about ’em—take fanatical pride in their crazy classifications. Bruisers, Badasses, what have you. You’ll learn to recognize ’em.”

This encouraged Cal. It didn’t sound like he was about to be killed. “My name’s Cal—Cal Finn. You hear of anyone else with that last name around? Other people coming down from orbit, out here?”

“Cal, huh? You can call me Roland. Naw, I haven’t heard of anyone else lately. I did see an explosion in the sky, if that’s what it was. Meteors—debris coming down. You get separated from your folks?”

Cal nodded. “My dad came down ahead of us. In a DropCraft. My mom was in another lifeboat. We got separated …”

Roland nodded. “Well kid, if I hear about ’em, I’ll tell you. But I wouldn’t want to give you false hope. They made it down alive, chances are …” He shrugged. “This is a mighty rough old planet. You know? My own partner got himself killed recently. And he was tough. McNee—the damn fool …” He turned around, hunkered, rooted through a box. Cal thought of taking the chance to run. But he was too tired, too hungry, and he was afraid to leave the firelight. Anyway, maybe it was true—maybe the guy wasn’t a bandit.

On the other hand, he could be a psycho-killer, just playing cat and mouse. Planning to murder Cal later and do something horrible with his body. With the reputation this planet had—you never knew.

Roland turned around, tossed Cal a package. “Eat that. When you expose the stuff inside to air, it’ll suck up some moisture. Turn into something like bread and ham. Synthetic protein mostly, and vitamins, but it’ll do you good …”

Hands shaking, Cal tore the package open, and immediately the little rectangle, no bigger than a candy bar, expanded to the size of a poorboy sandwich in his hands. “Never saw one of these. Camp food, huh?”

“Beats skag meat. But you can eat most of the local four-legged critters in a pinch. Chow down, I’ll get you some water.”

Cal chowed down, and though the food varied from tasteless to mildly disgusting, he felt better right away. He hadn’t realized how shaky, how empty, how scared he’d been, till he was able to sit by a fire and eat something.

Roland sat near him, watching, elbows on his knees, clasped hands covering his mouth. Roland didn’t like to show when he was smiling, but Cal could tell he was.

“You some kind of professional soldier?” Cal asked, when he’d eaten.

Roland passed him a canteen. “Yeah, I guess. I hire out to people when I feel like it. Take a mission here or there. Scavenge what I can. Used to work for one of the corporation armies. For Atlas—Crimson Lances.” He shook his head. “Don’t care for that anymore. They’re not much better than the bandits.”

Cal drank deeply from the canteen, amazed at how much flavor there was to water when you were really thirsty. “Wow. I needed that.”

“You think your people are looking for you?”

“If they’re alive—they’re looking for me. That’s why
you gotta get me to civilization—if you want the reward.” Cal assumed there was a reward for finding him. There should be. How could there not be?

“A reward? For a scrawny little kid like you?”

“Hey, I’m not scrawny! Anyhow, even if I were—what’s that got to do with it?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Living here, we value people for how they can survive. Scrawny doesn’t usually live long—though those crazy Psycho Midgets can surprise you. They don’t give up easy …”

“But I am a survivor!” Cal insisted. Now that he was no longer scared of Roland, he didn’t like getting ribbed by him. “I beat those skags and spiderants today!”