GeneStorm: City in the Sky (11 page)

Samuels was leaning his head upon one hand. He made a sharp clack of his beak.

“And outran them one legged.”

“The wiles of a junk prospector know no bounds! We’re canny buggers when roused!” The old man was unperturbed by heckling. “Came out of the whole deal down by one leg, but up by a ten kilo satchel full of silver chunks, and a hand-held healing machine!”

Samuels cleared his throat. “Which broke thirty seconds after it supposedly cauterized your leg.”

“A hand held healing machine!” Uncle Toby was triumphant. “Best salvage you ever clapped those bird brained eyes of yours on!”

The two old men cleared the dishes, arguing with one another all the while. Kitterpokkie leaned over as genteelly as she could, and murmured into Snapper’s ear.

“How exactly did the gentleman lose his leg?”

“To a dozen Chompers, like the man says!” The shark stretched, fluffing her long hair out behind her. “An unenhanced story is like an unpolished jewel! Buff it up, and it’s the same substance – just has the facets all sparkling.”

Samuels came past, and heaved a heavy sigh.

“Pay no attention to either of them, my dear. We students of the truth are long suffering.” The raven placed towels upon the back of an old string chair. “Jemima my dear! I imagine you will be wanting a bath? And your friend as well, I trust.” The man placed a scrubbing brush, a bottle of oil and a long yellow bar of home made soap beside the towels. “Leave your laundry in the basket.”

“Ah.” Kitterpokkie plucked at her travel stained clothing. “I may perhaps have to merely rinse these out and wear them wet…”

Throckmorton advanced his little pack of luggage.

“You may have my handkerchief.”

Snapper patted the plant. “That’s ok. She can borrow some of my gear.”

“You do not look to be the same design.”
The plant peered from one female to the other.
“You are taller, with larger upper swelling.”

Snapper puffed out her chest somewhat. “Well, we can knot her a shirt or something.!”

“Also she is not as fat.”

“Hmm.” The shark regarded the plant across her spectacle rims. “Why don’t you just… manure yourself, or whatever you do. Hang out with a few bees or something.” Somewhat annoyed, the shark led the way to the bath house. “Come on Kitt, I’ll get the chip heater going. Let’s lose ten kilos of dirt.”

The bath was an absolute godsend. Kitterpokkie soaked in the great big tub – a concrete cylinder scavenged from somewhere or other by the industrious household of prospectors. It utterly restored her, seeping into her very chitin. She lazed for a wonderful long while, finally emerging to find some lengths of purple cloth waiting for her beside her towel. She contrived a skirt, and a band about her breasts, wandering out and feeling a wonderful sleepy good will.

Snapper came plodding towards the bath house, having re-stoked the heater and replaced the water. She sent dusty clothing sailing into the laundry basket, and clambered naked into the tub, wincing as she found the water just a touch too hot. She eased her nethers into the water in stages, finally sliding in and utterly disappearing beneath the surface. She remained underwater for so long that Kitterpokkie felt quite alarmed. The mantis had started half way back towards the bath when Snapper quietly surfaced and let out a huge sigh of joy. The shark swam about for ages, then set to work upon her skin with soap and scrubbing brush.

“Hey! Once we’re dry, we should head down the pub!”

“The pub?” Kitterpokkie had never been a great aficionado of her local village tavern. After so long on the road, she was keen to eat a decent dinner and find a bed that was free of rocks and bug-mice. “The pub, you say?”

“Yeah! The wagon guys owe me drinks! And we can tell folks about the Screamers. Which makes us heroes. Which means even more drinks!”

“Ah.”

“Total win-win!” The shark untied her ear plaits, then began lathering up her hair. “The food’s great up there! They do a great bug-gazie pie!”

Snapper finally emerged from the bath, her hide scrubbed clean and gleaming, long black hair washed, brushed and oiled. Combing out her hair she then sat to once again put in her braids. She placed a pair of little lead balls beside her as she worked.

“Cadanettes.” The shark jostled her braid. “Ear braids.”

“Indeed?”

“With a pistol ball at the end to keep them hanging down. It’s a hussar thing!”

“Ah.” The mantis peered closely at the pistol balls. “Hussar?”

“From my favourite book! ‘Cavalry of the Napoleonic Wars’! My mum found it in the ruins. I used to read it every day!” Snapper finished one braid, and set to work upon the other. “And there’s some digital images, too. Part of an old movie! On an old hand screen Toby pieced together. I just love it!” Clearly she was besotted. “Passionate, hell for leather, in-the-moment men. Some of them were poets!” Still dressed only in a towel, the shark finally finished with her braids. “But yes – the pub!

‘The Swan doth like the water clear, so too the hussar good ale and beer, so come my lads, let's have no fear, come list today and drink!”

Snapper was delighted. “I get to wear my town outfit! It’s got skulls and crossbones on it!”

Kitterpokkie could only nod. “It sounds… excellent.”

Snapper lunged indoors to dress. She was a practical creature in everything but her one odd passion. There was a great stamping and a clashing from indoors – the sound of cupboard doors clashing.

She emerged resplendent, clad in black and white, with a frogged jacket hanging from her shoulder. As promised, there were skulls and crossbones on the sleeves. Snapper’s sword hung in place, but she still lacked a pistol. As she came down out of the house she wound a striped barrel sash about her waist.

“First thing tomorrow, I’m gonna cash in those motors. Then I’m going to see Ralph about a revolver pistol. With those Screamers around, we might be needing more firepower…”

No one was listening. Toby had his good evening coat on, and was deep in conference with Kitterpokkie, showing her a hand drawn map of the city beyond the cliffs. But he was avidly moulding a shape for her in mid air, with a faraway look in his eyes.

“I saw it, my girl. I tell you, I saw it!”

“A flying city?” Kitterpokkie was full of awe. The technology certainly existed, but to think that one might actually be real…

“Most certainly!”

Samuels stood some distance away, speaking to Throckmorton. Snapper came over and nodded towards Toby.

“Oh dear. The flying city?”

“The flying city.” Samuels gave an expressive shrug. “There’s no stopping him until he’s done. Come, we’ll walk and talk.”

They bid Onan a good evening, and wandered out into the dusty street. It was a fine blue evening, with the first lights just starting to glimmer in houses – strong, yellow-white electric light. The main street was hung with coloured light bulbs, and as the evening deepened, it looked like a fairy land. Some families were out strolling the streets; elsewhere several households gathered in a garden, where food was already sizzling over grills. They called out to Toby and Kitterpokkie, Snapper, Samuels and Throckmorton as they passed.

The group waited a moment to let a group of militia walk past – citizen riflemen heading up to take their turn upon the walls. As they walked onwards, Throckmorton paddled gently along through the air beside Samuels and Snapper. The plant politely raised up his tentacles to talk.

“What is the flying city?”

Snapper scratched her snout. “Well, if you believe old Toby, it’s a legendary flying city. The great ghost story of the age! When the GeneStorm plague came, a whole lot of the elite sealed themselves up in there, and they just never let anyone come aboard. So while the rest of world went through the plague, they just sailed on above it…”

Kitterpokkie emerged from her avid conference with Toby. “Clearly something happened to it. The city has disappeared. One would guess that the virus found its way aboard – or the power plants had a catastrophic failure…”

“No, lass! Not catastrophic!” The city was Toby’s passion. “She’s up there still! Locked into a journey that never ends!” Toby told the tale with relish. “A vast city filled with everything the scientific elite thought would allow them to restart a civilisation! Weapons, vehicles, generators, medicines! Libraries with vast masses of knowledge. Tools and wonders! Tools and
wonders!”

The mantis moved her claws together in thought.

“Even if one could find it, the place would surely have been sealed? Did you not say that they had cut themselves off to avoid the plague?

“Ah – but there were keys left behind. Genetically primed to respond only to the families of the elite!”

Samuels glowered. “If they were all sealed inside the city, how did that little gem of information manage to find its way out?”

“Through the ire of those individuals who were banned or left behind!” Toby clearly relished the tale. “As the monsters of the GeneStorm claimed them, they lay their dying curse upon the city and all those who sailed in her. So now she’s nothing but an empty tomb, circling endlessly up there in the skies.”

“Yes…” Kitterpokkie looked thoughtfully at the evening sky. “Though no one has ever seen it.”

“I did.”

Toby spoke with utter conviction. For once, there was no drama in his voice.

“When we were in the city of the ancients, I saw it. Through the tree canopy. It was there, shimmering above us, moving slow and silent. Almost close enough to touch, it was!”

Samuels spoke quietly – his tone kindly.

“The rest of us did not see it Toby.”

“It was there.”

Out across the plains, the sun was setting in all its glory. Rose amber, indigo and beige flowed across the horizon. Overhead, raucous flocks of bird-mammal hybrids flew wheeling around and around before settling into the trees along the riverbanks. The group stood and watched for a while, until Snapper stirred them on.

“Come on. We’ll watch from the beer garden over a flask of good green wine.”

As they marched up to the hill toward the lights of the merry pub, Snapper fell back to walk beside Kitterpokkie. She spoke quietly, looking back towards the sunset.

“Don’t take it too much to heart. The thing to bear in mind with Toby is how much he loves to plump up his wonderful lost treasure tales. He spins dreams.”

“Yes.” The mantis turned her pink eyes upon her friend, feeling a sudden clear thought.

“But you want to chase dreams. That’s the sign of a true knight – a cavalier.”

Kitterpokkie linked her lower arm through Snapper’s and walked with her up into the lights.

“That, my friend, is a noble thing.”

Chapter 4

The Dancing Dugite was a wonderfully eclectic edifice. On one side, it overlooked the town towards the Chip-Chap river, with its water wheel and workshops. To the other, it looked off towards the far distant hills. The town stables were right nearby, filled with brightly coloured riding birds and beetle-horses of a dozen hues. In the evening, the rooves of Spark Town were mellow with countless shades of colour. Windmills turned quietly in the river breeze, and strings of electric lights lit up the open streets.

The Dugite had its own large windmill generator, and had festooned itself with coloured light bulbs. The beer garden had an arbour of cute little snappy plants, whose grinning mouths occasionally latched onto an unwary backside. Inside, the tap room was busy with the evening crowd. The garden afforded old bench seats, sturdy tables, and mellow views towards the slow brown river.

The caravan passengers and crew were very much in evidence inside the main tap room. The Dugite had a refrigerator, and so its beers, wines and ciders were wonderfully cold. She also served cocoplod nuts with the creamy insides half frozen, mixed with a shot of sourberry juice and a hefty shot of rum: the perfect post-apocalyptic sundowner.

Snapper entered the taproom like a true cavalier, with a wave and a shout to the barkeep – a glistening snake man with a handsome striped hide. The shark sailed to the bar, ordered five cocoplod cocktails and the best dinners to be had.

Throckmorton passed cautiously through the doors, peering this way and that. He made his way over to the caravan master, who was paying red chips out to his caravan crews. Throckmorton received a bag of fine bright chips, rattled them merrily in his tentacles, then whirred off over the crowd. A few other aerial creatures perched up in the rafters waved him a hello. He deposited his crossbow on a table, then flittered about inspecting several card games and a merry group of people playing darts.

Kitterpokkie gazed about herself in great satisfaction. The cheerful rooms held perhaps forty people. There were all manner of gloriously colourful folk: splicers descended from dingos and foxes, possums, cats and birds, frogs, cacti, rats and moths, and everything inbetween. The waitress – a part canine-part kangaroo girl who sported a pattern of bio lights – dodged about distributing drinks and dodging wandering hands. Kenda, the green-skinned guard from the caravan, was speaking coolly with another caravan guide, clearly arranging his next job. A group of humans dressed in dour grey robes sat well away from the other guests, contenting themselves with soup, bread and beer. An exciting looking game played with coloured tiles occupied a corner table. People were eating, drinking, reading books, trading. It was all wonderful to behold.

Kitterpokkie examined the pub crowd in delight. They seemed a wonderfully busy, yet casual kind of folk. A great many carried pistols and swords. Men coming off the range or back from militia duty on the walls left their rifles in a rack beside the door. Accents were thick, full of cheerful invective and heart.

Snapper clapped a group of dusty riders on their backs. She ruffled the scales of the lead rider – a huge reptile muscled like a giant – stirring up a cloud of dust.

“Youse blokes just in?” The shark gave a cough at the rising dust. “No bath at your place?”

“Business before pleasure, mate! Gettin’ a beer.” The big reptile raised a tankard to Snapper. “Just in yourself? Could have used you out there. Half a bloody herd of cocoplods went missing. We’ve got thirty head lost somewhere down in the gullies!” The riders were all dog tired and drinking steadily. “Going to hire a few more riders and make another sweep tomorrow.”

Snapper posed with one boot on the foot rail and her pelisse hanging splendidly. She looked thoughtfully at the range riders.

“Where was this? North range?”

“West range. Down in the draws.” West and slightly south of the town, there were a great many dry gullies and weird old sink holes. “Bloody things just vanished.”

“Keep your men in groups. Keep your bundoos handy.” Snapper was suddenly quite serious. “We ran into Screamers out to the north-east. About a hundred of ‘em.”

“Screamers?” The reptile scratched at his scales. “You sure it was Screamers?”

“Straight out of your grandad’s horror stories. Damned dangerous.” Snapper motioned to Kitterpokkie. “Without that lady there, that whole wagon train would have been nothing but a smear on the ground.”

“What did she do?”

“Turned a wagonload of cotton into the biggest bomb you ever saw!” Snapper patted the fellow farewell. “Blew them straight to hell.”

The dapper Captain Beau was in one corner of the bar, surrounded by admirers and modestly telling tales. He was the darling of several ladies, but his attentions seemed particularly fixed upon a rather sleek young thing – a girl largely human in appearance, though with pointed ears, grey skin and a long cat’s tail. Snapper took a moment to swirl over to Beau. She beckoned him out of the clutches of his admirers, and leaned in to quietly whisper in his ear.

“Chevalier to chevalier, my friend, you might wish to set your charge at another target.”

“Hmm?” Beau waved the advice away, clearly utterly entranced with the grey skinned girl. “No no no no no. We are merely friends met by the wayside. Clearly she appreciates tales of derring do,”

The shark moved away with a resigned flip of her tail. “It may be a case of derring-don’t! But I have warned you.
Noblesse oblige!”

Such was life! Snapper walked out to the beer garden and found her companions ensconced about a table and gazing approvingly at the sunset. The first round of drinks had arrived and were being enjoyed with great approval. Throckmorton’s roots were dipped into his cocoplod nut shell, and already seemed to have slurped the drink dry. Snapper caught the waitress’ eye and signalled for another round, then slung herself down into a chair to join the colloquy.

“We’re debating high philosophy?”

“In a sense!” Kitterpokkie made certain that Snapper received a drink. “We were just musing upon the distribution of ancient ruins. Why there are cities in some areas, and yet only scattered finds in places such as these.”

“Well, it was never a crowded continent, or so we’re told.” Uncle Toby pointed off towards the north. “I suppose they concentrated within a very few large cities rather than scattering into smaller towns.”

“That is quite probable.” Samuels set aside his empty cocoplod nut. “Legend has it that humanity had set forth to colonise the stars. Why have we never heard from them? Did the colonists simply leave, never to return?”

“Perhaps.” Kitterpokkie gave a frown. “On the other hand – they might have fallen prey to viruses, or computer flaws… Perhaps their infrastructure was too damaged to allow them to return?”

It was decidedly a mystery.

They started on their second round of drinks. This gave the mystery poignancy, if not any further clarity. A pleasant buzz was settling, and Snapper was utterly enchanted by the colours of the sunset. The evening was warm, with just the right amount of breeze drifting through the trees. Snapper finished her second drink, then settled back to consider a world filled with possibilities.

“So Kitt! What sort of protective gear would we need if we were going to explore a route through the radiation fields?”

“Oh, it will take a little engineering! All topping good fun. Thankfully, lead is not a problem.” The mantis clicked her grappling claws together as she thought. “I would think protective suits, airtight, made out of leather. Thin sheet lead to line the suits. And filtration masks - something sufficient to screen out dust particles. If we take care not to raise dust – if we stick to high ground and exposed rock, and above all if we are swift, I believe it can be done.” She laced her fingers. “Your original pass up through the barrier cliff is likely still there. We only need find a route to reach it.”

Samuels nodded. “And your flying friend there could reconnoitre from above and help spy out your route…”

Throckmorton made an easy gesture.
“If wind is not too strong.”

“He would have to keep fairly high.” Kitterpokkie mused. “Suits for the riding animals, of course. And sealed containers for all the gear...”

Uncle Toby scowled. “Pack animals?”

“That will all depend on funding.” Kitterpokkie frowned. “The suits are the limiting factor. We must raise the funds and undertake construction.”

Snapper was already making a list in her head.

“Water skins. Filtration box. Fodder. Ropes. Block and tackle. Rations. Ammo. I want a decent revolver. We need a full field kit for Kitterpokkie – mount, saddle, camp gear, pistol and a good bundoo…”

The mantis arched her antennae. “Bundee?”

“Bundoo! Rifle! Long-arm.” The shark waved a hand. “A carbine if you fight from the saddle, or a good breech loading rifle if you work on foot.”

“Well I have a perfectly wonderful rifle! The most elegant thing in the world!” The mantis waved one of her long grappling claws. The drinks might have gone somewhat to her head. “It is a leap in technology! A true advancement! Well, as soon as a few minor flaws are ironed out.”

Toby hoisted his drink. “You young folks have a ton of work ahead. But I think we have us a plan!”

“We do!” Snapper was overjoyed. Cups were clacked together, and the dregs were drunk. “I’ll sell those two motors in the morning. We’ll raise some money and get to work.”

Dinner arrived in all its glory. For Throckmorton, a weird soup of broth, minerals and nitrates, along with a bowl of sugared fly balls. For the others, soup and crusty, buttered bread, with a salad of pickled preserves, followed by a basket of crispy fried bok. Kitterpokkie was becoming perhaps overly merry, and so Snapper was ready to drink juice rather than wine, but Toby ordered a jug of fruit cider punch. Kitterpokkie applied herself to both meal and punch with equal zest, becoming extremely enthused as she described some of her scientific experiments. She waved her arms and claws about as she tried to describe her success at generating hydrogen from iron filings (and the subsequent explosion – not really her fault at all!) Samuels extracted himself after a while, and went to confer with fellow councillors in a quiet, intense voice.

The presence of Screamers in the far ranges was a cause of immediate concern. There would have to be a town meeting – no one should be out in the wilds unless in a well armed, well mounted group. And some sort of reconnaissance had to be done – the source of the incursion needed to be found. The town council went over the obvious steps while sharing a beer at the bar. All about them, the evening became rowdier and rowdier, with Beau sitting with an arm about his grey cat girl, and the waitress bustling past with brimming tankards of beer. More riders were coming in, as well as townsfolk keen to pick up the evening’s news. The volume of the background babble was full of energy.

With dinner done, Snapper managed to organise some ice cream – that great glory of Spark Town. She passed brimming bowls to Toby, to Throckmorton and to Kitterpokkie, and they sat enjoying their treat. Below them, just across the way, the town corral was trying to bed down for the night. Dray beasts and riding beasts from the caravan were all being bedded down next to new stock that the ranchers had brought in for sale – budgerigars, beetles and a black cockatoo. Snapper cast a professional eye over the new riding beasts, and then let her gaze rest upon Kitterpokkie.

“Say, can you actually ride?”

The mantis was almost incensed. “Can I ride? What sort of question is that? I am a scientist! A scholar! Nothing is beyond my compass!” The mantis waved towards a gaggle of unbroken cockatoos strutting about below. “I shall demonstrate! Take me to the most unruly beast down there, and I shall bend it to my will!”

“Ooooh, no more punch for you.” Snapper moved the carafe further along the table. “But you
have
ridden? It’s just that we’ll be going a long, long way.”

“Well in fact, I have not. But the theory seems simple enough. And if there are malfunctions – if the beast should lose its focus – I can always jump off.”

“Hmm.” The shark kept her thoughts on the matter to herself. She leaned over the railing and cocked an eye at one of the beasts in the corral, then called down to a rancher who stood beside the railings.

“Brent! What the hell is
that
thing?”

The rancher – one of the more equine inhabitants of Spark Town – looked up at Snapper and shook his head.

“Ooh, don’t go near that! It just sort of turned up in the pen. That thing’s wicked. Take a bite out of your arse as soon as look at you.”

The creature in question was at once one of the most magnificent, and one of the most wicked things that Snapper had ever seen. It was a titanic flightless moth with six powerful fluted legs, an impressive abdomen and a thorax plush with deep fur. The fur itself was a rich burgundy red, edged with white, complementing its velvety flightless wings. Broad feathery antennae sifted carefully at the winds.

It also had a face better suited to a scheming, sniggering ancient demon.

The creature was clearly also partly avian. Its long beak, like a magpie or a butcher bird, was serrated and heavy enough to shear through a man’s arm. The creature somehow exuded an air of barely concealed malice, and the ranchers apparently kept it well and truly out of harm’s way.