Slave Empire - Prophecy (2 page)

At the city's
outskirts, they grew more cautious, dodging from building to
building to avoid the police patrols that were meant to keep
raiders out. Dawdling guards outside a red-brick building gave away
the site of a food store. The ruined top floors sprouted twisted
girders, and rotting planks covered the windows. Crouched behind a
crumbling wall, they watched the bored guards pace up and down with
measured strides.

"That's the
place," Rawn whispered. "Only two guards, and they're bored stiff.
That place hasn't been raided for a while. It's perfect. Time to do
your stuff, Ray."

Years of
fleeing irate store guards had given Rayne an unusual turn of
speed. She could out sprint the fastest guard, creating an
effective diversion while Rawn stole food. The guards, knowing
their master would reward them for catching her, always vied for
the prize. She had to keep them interested long enough for her
brother to do his part, then escape. Afterwards, she would meet him
outside the city. Rawn patted her shoulder, and she stepped out
from behind the wall and walked towards the guards.

They spotted
her and shouted, drew their guns and gave chase. Rayne sprinted
down the street while Rawn ran to the doors and picked the padlock
on the chain that secured them, slipping inside. There he would
fill his rucksack from the masses of food bars stacked on the
shelves, and, if his luck was really good, he might find ammunition
too.

Rayne ran
across a road and into the street beyond, glancing back at the
panting guards, who flagged after just three blocks. Slowing, she
faked a limp so they would not give up too soon, and their yells of
triumph rewarded her. Their occasional shots were wild, and she
loped on for another block, then swerved and ran across a vacant
lot into another street. By the time they walked back to the store,
Rawn would be long gone. She entered a more dilapidated area of
crumbling ruins inhabited by a few thin, dirty people so scared
they even hid from each other.

The guards
followed, shouting in frustration. She glanced back with a smile as
she rounded a corner. Something slammed into her midriff, and she
rebounded and sprawled. Gasping with shock, she struggled to rise,
staring at the sleek grey hover car that blocked her path. The
airtight door seal broke with a faint wheeze, and a gush of
conditioned coolness washed over her, scented with strange perfume.
An autocrat stepped out, his shiny black robe covering all but his
face. Rayne scrambled to her knees, shaking her head to clear the
spots from her eyes, broken glass slicing into her shins. She
staggered to her feet and backed away just before he came close
enough to grab her.

He raised a
hand. "Wait! Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."

Rayne
retreated, and he followed, a hand extended in a parody of
friendship, his tone soothing. "It's okay. I only want to help you.
You're hurt."

Rayne knew an
autocrat would never help her. His beady brown eyes, set close
together in a thin face with a bony nose and a rat-trap mouth,
roved over her in a way that made her skin crawl.

Spinning on
her heel, she sprinted down the street, hoping to put a good
distance between herself and the autocrat before he started his
car. He cursed, then the car's soft whine pursued her, catching up
fast. She could not outrun a hover car, and there was nowhere to
hide. She dodged burnt-out car wrecks and avoided twisted girders
and rubble. The shock of her fall had sapped her strength, her
lungs laboured and her legs grew weaker with every stride. The
autocrat followed, waiting for her to tire while he called his
men.

A doorway
ahead yawned dark and forbidding, but she dived through it and
stopped, panting. He would not dare to follow her into such a
dangerous area, even though he was armed. The old building provided
a perfect place for an ambush.

Rayne listened
to the hover car's whine, gasping in the building's damp, smelly
gloom. He could wait out there all day, and would have called for
men to send in after her. Walking further in, she stumbled over
garbage, startling a few rats. The building stank of urine, faeces
and decay, and pollution ate away at its crumbling walls. Icy
fingers of fear marched up and down her spine, but she forced
herself to go on. A square of light beckoned ahead, and she
quickened her pace.

The door led
into an empty lot surrounded by high buildings, some of which had
partially collapsed, filling the area with broken bricks, twisted
girders and glass. Hurrying across it, she entered the building on
the far side, where she rested in the musty darkness, contemplating
the dangers that still faced her. She had to get to the meeting
place, which meant running the gauntlet of hazards with which this
ruined world was rife. At least she knew what they were, and how to
avoid them. A lifetime of training had prepared her well.

Walking to the
doorway, she looked up and down the dirty street. A group of
vagrants huddled around a fire, cooking a rat, but they were far
away. Further up the street, a manhole cover flew off with a clang
and a ragged figure wriggled out onto the road, then sprinted for
the shadow of a doorway. Seconds later, three more ragged men
emerged, looking up and down the street for their prey before
setting off down an alley. The group that had been cooking the rat
had vanished into a building, leaving their little fire.

Rayne waited
for the men to return. They had to be raiders or desperate vagrants
banded together to hunt others. After several minutes, the distant
vagrants re-emerged and fought over who would eat the rat. Still
she waited, all her senses alert. A movement at the end of the
street caught her eye, as four police hover cars entered it and
moved towards her. The vagrants broke off their argument and
retreated into the building behind them.

The autocrat
must have ordered the police to patrol this block in search of her,
so she could not venture out. Retreating, she found a room with a
single dirty window and settled down to wait, piling damp cardboard
boxes into a makeshift seat. Periodically, she rose to peer out of
the door, where the police still patrolled. Her stomach rumbled,
and she thought of Rawn, by now enjoying the meal he had stolen
from the autocrat's food store.

Rayne piled up
the rubbish on the floor as darkness oozed into the city in a tide
of shadow, and set it alight it with her precious lighter, which
Rawn insisted she always carry. He had one too, but made her carry
her own, so if they were separated she could at least light a fire.
As the night chill settled on the city and a corrosive mist filled
the street outside, she longed for her brother's warm, comforting
presence. They had not been apart for a night before, and she toyed
with the idea of trying to sneak past the police in the dark. There
were too many dangers at night, however. This was when the mutants
usually hunted. Safety lay in numbers or concealment, and she
huddled close to the little fire, hoping no one would find her.

Rawn ate some
stolen food while he waited in a grove of dead trees. Dusk sent
long fingers of shadow through them, bringing with it a growing
fear for his sister. His imagination conjured up visions of her
caught or injured, alone and frightened, somewhere in a ruined city
filled with pitfalls and dangers that could kill even a
street-smart girl.

The more he
thought about it, the more horrible his imaginings became. Rayne
had been reluctant to go to the city, and he had persuaded her. He
paced about, racking his brains for a plausible plan of action. If
he went after her, he could be caught too, and, even if he was not,
he would not be here if she did make it back. He had to do
something, though. The inactivity made him frustrated and angry.
She could be fighting for her life while he procrastinated, but the
task was enough to make anyone pause. Even if he knew where to
look, there were many places in the ruins where she could hide. If
she had been captured, his chances of rescuing her were slim to
nil.

Rawn gathered
up the stolen food, his mind made up. Stuffing what he could easily
carry into his pockets, he stashed the rest under a rock and
stamped out the fire, then headed for the city. If she had been
caught, she might be at the market. The only way to get into the
market unobserved was in a guard's disguise, and for that he needed
a uniform. He knew where the market was usually held, and made his
way to it. Without a gun, travelling through the city at night
would have been suicide, but the sight of it on his hip would deter
most would-be attackers. He traversed the ruins with confidence
only an armed raider would display, and, although he sensed the
scuttling of vagrant gangs nearby, none had the courage to take him
on.

When he
reached the market, he crouched behind a ruined wall and watched
the guards, waiting for the right opportunity. Soon a man wandered
off to relieve himself, and Rawn crept along the wall until he was
close enough to pounce on the guard, clamping a hand over his
mouth. Dragging him into the shadow of the wall, he knocked him out
and stripped off his clothes. Stashing his leather jacket, he
donned the uniform before walking out into the street.

The uniform
was too tight across his shoulders, but he hoped no one would
notice in the dark. None of the guards gave him a second glance as
he walked past them into the market and took up position just
inside the door, where he could see the merchandise.

The building
had once been a grand theatre, but now the heavy velvet curtains
around the stage hung in rotten, filthy tatters. The wooden stage
and panelling crumbled, eaten away by pollution, adding its stench
to the general air of dilapidation.

A few
autocrats and mistresses sat in a bored-looking cluster on several
rows of refurbished chairs, laughing and pointing at the dozen or
so slaves on the stage where once great actors had given their
oratory. The autocrats sipped exotic beverages and discussed the
miserable group assembled on the stage. The naked slaves tried to
cling to what little dignity they had left by covering themselves
with their hands. Most were thin, woebegone creatures who hid their
faces and hunched their shoulders in cringing servility. A few
lifted their chins, their feral eyes bright with hate. These, Rawn
decided, were captured raiders; tough, stringy men and women of
about his age, who possessed an air of savagery and strength.

Rawn seethed
with silent rage at the humiliation visited upon his fellow man.
Now that man had wiped out all the animals, save for insects and
rats, he had no one to inflict his cruelty on but his fellows. Rawn
studied the pathetic group, making certain his sister was not
amongst them before he quit the market. He had no idea what he
would have done had she been, since his planning went no further
than the disguise.

Even as he
pondered his next move, the autocrats rose to leave, many exiting
via sky ways to other buildings, some going by hover car. The
market emptied, and Rawn wandered out too, depressed and angry. Had
she been there, he could have planned her rescue, but now he would
have to find her first, which meant searching the city.

He walked into
the darkness, pulling off the uniform.

Morning found
Rayne stiff and tired after a cold, restless night that the
scuttling and squeaking of rats had disturbed. She rose and
stretched, eased her aching back and rubbed some feeling back into
her legs. She shivered in the morning chill, chafing her arms as
she went to the door to peer out. The street was almost deserted,
only the vagrants from yesterday were back at their fire, haggling
over another rat. After waiting several minutes to see if anyone
else appeared, she left the doorway and trotted down the
refuse-strewn street, her eyes darting into dark alleys, on the
lookout for danger.

The vagrants
paused to regard her with glinting eyes, and she tried to act as
confident as an armed raider. Her ploy seemed to work, for they
returned to fighting over the rat as she loped away. She stayed
away from buildings, which often harboured vagrants and raiders who
waited to ambush unsuspecting passers-by. Heading towards the
suburbs, she kept her pace to a steady jog that ate up the miles.
As she approached the outskirts, the ruins of office blocks gave
way to demolished houses. Far fewer human vermin hid here. Most
congregated around the city centre, where rats were more numerous,
since the rats lived on the food in the autocrats' stores. She
stayed in the middle of a road, trusting her ability to run more
than the possibility of hiding from a threat, which could get her
cornered. She looked up in alarm as a shadow fell on her, then
stopped in amazement.

A giant,
blood-red saucer hovered about twenty metres above her, light
shining from portals along its edge. More lights flickered across
its belly in random patterns, and it hung there as if on invisible
strings. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, sending chills
down her spine. For a moment surprise kept her frozen, then she
edged towards the side of the road, where the houses' safety
beckoned. The alien ship filled her with foreboding, and something
told her it was not friendly. Vagrants emerged to point and stare,
but Rayne backed closer to the derelict buildings, her eyes fixed
on the ship.

Turning, she
sprinted for the nearest house. As she dived through the doorway,
crimson fire erupted where she had been instants before. The
explosion blew her off her feet, and she threw out her hands to
break her fall. Glass imploded from the few intact windows,
whizzing past her in a shower of razor-sharp shards. Her leather
jacket protected her from most of it, but splinters stabbed into
the back of her legs. She hit the ground with a muffled cry,
raising a cloud of fine white dust. Lights danced in her eyes as
she gasped in dust, coughing.