GeneStorm: City in the Sky (14 page)

“Yes. Yes he will. For hours and hours and hours…” Snapper gave a sigh. “All right. Beau – hide the medallion, and hide those pecs! We’re weak females after all.”

The group all dressed, then headed back up towards the river gate. It was a fine day, and there was work to be done.

Kenda hung back, looking thoughtfully at the river. He turned ideas carefully over in his mind. Hand on sword, he walked slowly back to join the others.

“I am intrigued. What do you need for your expedition?”

“Chips.” Snapper heaved a sigh. “We need to get guns, trail gear and some very special equipment.”

“Chips.” The man nodded. “I shall think on it. I may be able to assist you.”

He left them just inside the gate. “I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow night?”

“We’ll be there. Guess we’re all star witnesses.” Snapper gave a wave. “Later, cavalier!”

Beau, Throckmorton, Kitterpokkie and Snapper walked onwards, heading up towards home. Throckmorton ate a passing fly, and chewed thoughtfully as he spoke.

“An odd man.”

“Yep.” Snapper led the way up hill. “Interesting sword, though.”

Chapter 5

The next day saw the population of the town slowly swell as ranchers came riding in to attend the town meeting. The heads of the ranching families came, bringing their vaqueros, families and senior staff with them. Farmers from outlying fortified farm houses arrived as well, coming in by wagons hauled along by genial fuzzy dray beasts. The guest rooms in every house were full. The Dancing Dugite was filled to capacity, and the streets seemed to suddenly have grown a swarm of racing children. It became something of a festival day, with incomers heading out to wander the little shops and stalls.

Throckmorton, that useful creature, had managed to hire on as an extra hand at the bar. He not only had multiple tentacles, but could also drift above the crowds, making him an ideal waiter. The flying plant delivered drinks and retrieved empty glasses, lowering his blackboard so that customers could write down their orders for food. His speedy service had earned him a steady flow of gratuities.

Kitterpokkie, while not a rapacious beast, divined an opportunity from the wandering visitors. The mantis set up a booth in the most visible possible place, down between the Dancing Dugite and the town’s main gates. She advertised her services as a photographer, displaying photographs neatly printed upon fine handmade paper – pictures of Snapper, Samuels and Uncle Tony, even the dapper ‘Captain’ Beau. With a little shielded shed as a dark room, her turnover had been rather good. Range riders, married couples and brides-to-be gave her a steady stream of customers. She was having an extremely busy day.

Enterprising children had set up a lemonade stand a few metres away from Kitterpokkie’s booth. They had a great supply of colourful fruit – guava lemons, fizz melons and some sort of titanic strawberry, which they combined with ice they had clearly stolen from the Dancing Dugite’s refrigerator. A great stack of empty fruit rinds had been piled up behind them, and the children were earning white chips hand over claw. Kitterpokkie suspected that the children might be lacing their punch with cactus whiskey, but when she sampled some herself, the drink seemed entirely innocent of alcohol. Still, neither of the children, a crayfish girl who sliced the lemons, and a spotted boy child who might have been part bandicoot or quoll, looked as if they could be trusted.

Kitt set to hawking her wares. She spied a group of men who came walking solemnly down the street, having made purchases at some of the local shops. They were apparently the human gentlemen she had spied in the Dancing Dugite the other night – all dressed in long grey robes. The mantis stepped forth from her booth and gave a polite genuflection that utilised all four of her arms.

“Sirs! Gentlemen! Might I interest you in a photographic portrait for your records? Or perhaps as a gift to loved ones…?”

The men swung about and rested level glances upon Kitterpokkie. Even in the colourful world of the aftermath, she was more startling than most – an orchid mantis resplendent in pink and white, with a slim, shapely feminine figure and a head that would have seemed almost demoniacal on any other creature. The girl gestured to her little booth with one elegant grappling claw. “Alternatively, I can also offer my services as a technical consultant? Is there a chemical or scientific process you wish designed, or perhaps equipment in need of refurbishment?”

The grey hooded men turned away and simply walked on. The mantis visibly deflated a little.

“Oh I say!”

Snapper came riding down the street, mounted upon the ever-merry Onan. The bird nodded a greeting, flashing his pink crest high into the air. Snapper eased down out of the saddle, pushing back her helmet and looking over Kitterpokkie’s booth in with approval.

“That’s amazing! You’re doing good business?”

“To an extent.” Kitterpokkie was charging customers the cost of her chemicals, and three red chips in profit. “I believe I may have managed perhaps sixty red chips in profit thus far.”

“That’s amazing!” Ten red chip’s pay per day was typical money for manual labour. “Wow!”

“Yes, but the population is finite. So this is clearly a one-off chance for profit.” Kitt scowled off towards the grey-robed humans, who gave the nearby lemonade booth a wide berth. “The population also seem to have a rather rude quotient! Who on earth are those men in the grey robes?”

Snapper cast an eye towards the tight group of men.

“Oh, that’s the Brotherhood of the Pure. All unmodified humans – well, as unmodified as you can get these days. Keep to themselves. Don’t talk to splicers unless they have to.”

Kitterpokkie arced her antennae. “Indeed.”

“They’re not really hostile. Just weird. They think the whole GeneStorm thing was a punishment for mankind’s sins.” The shark gestured to the south west. “They have a settlement on a hill way out, about three days ride. Brotherhood only. Splicers never get inside the walls. They just come here to trade.”

“What do they trade for?”

“Guns and ammo, riding birds, food and paper. Tools and leatherwork and stuff. They make a mean brandy, so I guess they have stills.” The shark waved the whole problem away and triumphantly laid two pistols on the table. “Anyway – here! We have begun. Take a look at these!”

The two guns were brand spanking new – Spark Town’s finest work. One was a revolver – well made and finely balanced, with grips carved from crosshatched red-gum. Kitterpokkie bent over the weapon and inspected it with interest, admiring the excellent workmanship.

“Ah! You have purchased a replacement pistol.”

“A definite improvement. I’ve needed one of these.” The shark picked up the weapon and looked along the bore. “If we’re heading out into Screamer country, then it’s better safe than sorry.”

“Excellent. A very useful technology indeed.” The mantis took note of the other weapon. “A second pistol?”

“That one’s for you. I’d prefer to see you carrying one.” The shark holstered her own pistol so that it balanced her hefty sabre. “Break action two-shot. I couldn’t afford a second revolver.”

“Oh, it shall be quite sufficient.” The mantis gingerly picked up the pistol. “I already have a perfectly splendid plasma gun.” She realised Snapper was making a face. “I have ironed out a few minor teething problems.”

“Hmm, well this is for those important moments when things go pear shaped.” Snapper demonstrated the use of the weapon to her friend. “This has one hammer. A cam alternates it from left barrel to right. So when you break her open and reload, you have to remember to put the hammer back to the left. You got that?”

“Yes, yes – oh – I can see the mechanism. Very well done indeed.”

“So here’s a gun belt. There’s twelve rounds in the loops.” Snapper tied the belt about her friend’s rather narrow hips. “I’ll get us some more ammo soon. It’s in short supply.”

“Oh?” The mantis peered down at her gun belt. It had a pleasant scent of newly dyed leather. “Is there a crisis at hand?”

“They’ll fix it soon. We need more acid from wherever-the-hell that stuff comes from down south.” Snapper set three spare, loaded cylinders into her pistol belt. “But we’ll be alright for now. When you’re mounted, remember – swords for in close and carbines for skirmishing. Pistols once they scatter.”

A cupcake stall run by allies of the lemonade salesmen provided shark and mantis with much-needed snacks. They sat on a tree stump drinking ice cold lemonade, while Onan clowned about with an old wooden bucket. It was lovely just to sit in the shade.

A distant sound slowly built upon the air – a slow, swelling onrush, like the build up of a storm. Snapper cocked one tall ear fin and frowned, then slowly turned around.

A fight was about to break out. The oncoming sound was the shouts and snarls of an angry mob – a small to moderately sized mob, but one with a great deal of energy.

They were coming right down the street.

Inevitably, Beau appeared upon a rooftop. He had his pants and belt in one hand, and was fleeing across the shingle roof at a great turn of speed. A rain of bottles, rocks and firewood were hurtled at him from behind and below. Two big burly ranchers came thundering across the roof behind him, each man carrying an axe handle. Beau looked back and put on the most amazing spurt, speeding from roof to roof. He leapt clean across a lane, literally flying through the air with arms and tail spread. He lost his pants somewhere in the equation, but kept the belts hung about his neck. He tried to veer towards the river, but a sudden surge of new pursuers came clawing up onto the roof. The fox-pheasant ran like hell, leaping from roof to roof and even swinging from a tree at one point.

Kitterpokkie watched the man run. She cocked her head in honest admiration.

“My, how swiftly he runs!”

“Oh for crying out loud…” Snapper saw Beau come to a screaming halt as he reached a precipice above main street. She put fingers into her mouth and whistled.
“Hey – imbecile!”

Beau saw Snapper and sped in her direction, leaping nimbly into a tree. He slithered down into an alleyway. Behind him, angry ranchers came racing down the street, pointing in his direction and coming hot on his trail. The fox-bird gave a squawk of panic and plunged into a tinsmith’s workshop, upsetting a cacophony of kettles, pots and pans. His pursuers cannoned into a tall pile of saucepans and fell to the ground. Beau leapt over the men and dashed into a side alley – then made an about turn and ran like mad as more men came charging down his chosen escape route. He leapt over the fallen men in the tin smith’s shop again, using them as stepping stones and narrowly avoiding snatching hands. One man’s head became a step to launch himself out of the window and off into the street.

A very large, angry woman reached out through a window trying to seize him by the neck. Beau jammed a cage full of boks down on the woman’s head. He fled down the lane, overleaping another gaggle of boks, then stood blinking in the light next to the photo booth with no idea where to run next.

Snapper pointed to a spot beside the lemonade stand.

“Lie there!
Go!”

Beau flung himself down onto the ground. Snapper picked up the pails that held the lemonade stand’s used fruit rinds and poured them over the man, burying him out of sight. All that remained was the great extravagant tail feathers jutting from the back of the pile. Snapper grabbed a fistful of them, only to hear a pleading screech from beneath the rinds.

“Not the tail!”

She kicked dirt over the tail feathers in an effort to bury them out of sight, and threw the lemonade stand kids a pair of red chips.

“Hey kids! Two lemonades! And keep the change!”

The place still looked like a possible refuge. Snapper seized a trestle table and plonked it down to bridge the gap between Kitterpokkie’s booth and the lemonade stand. She seized the astonished mantis and flopped her face down on the table, pulling off Kitterpokkie’s top. The mantis squawked and covered her breasts, then found herself being sprinkled with oil down her back. The shark massaged Kitterpokkie’s back with big strong fingers and the mantis groaned – astonished, surprised and weirdly gratified. She slumped face down and made a whimper, legs twitching in ecstasy.

A lynch mob of angry ranchers came rampaging into the street, glaring wildly up and down. They were led by an older man – a big fellow, part cat and part colossus. Somewhere in the rear tiers of the mob, the man’s daughter – clad mostly in a bed sheet – was pleading and trying to defuse the situation. The old rancher came storming over to Snapper, and pounded a fist upon the massage table.

“Have you people seen a fox-bird thing go by? A damned womaniser with his pants down?”

Snapper worked away on Kitterpokkie’s four shoulders, needling at muscle knots: the girl was a mess! “A fox-bird, you say? Hmm… Weaselly little guy? Narrow, kind of stupid eyes? Morally bankrupt?” Snapper nudged at the fruit rind pile with a foot as it began to jerk in protest. “That sort of thing?”

“That’s the one!” The big man pounded a fist into his open hand. “That’s the man who interfered with my daughter’s chastity!”

“Oh he
did
, did he?” Snapper kicked Beau in the ribs. “Interesting!”

“And my sister, too!” another man surged forward. “And Mrs Baker!”

“Mayor
Baker?” Beth Baker was tall, curvaceous, and could have snapped Beau like a twig. Snapper shook her head. “The man’s got some energy!”

“Yeah.” The huge old ranger flexed his fists. The knuckles popped. “Well if he’s got energy enough to play patty cake with my Angela, then he’s got energy enough to marry her!”

“Really?” Snapper managed to seem unconvinced. “You sure you want that? I hear those guys have really small genitalia!”

“We want him!”

“He went that way, mate.” Snapper pointed towards the river. “Looked like he was planning to swim.”

The lynch mob surged off in the general direction of the river, with the rancher’s daughter still following behind. The entire procession vanished in a cloud of dust, and peace slowly settled on the street once more.

A minute passed. Beneath Snapper’s feet, the fruit rind pile gave a quiver, and Beau’s muffled voice drifted up from beneath the table.

“Can I come out?”