“What?” he croaked. “Shut up.” He got up and passed her, rubbing his eyes. “What do you mean? Did Saburo get with that girl – the one with the pretty mask?”
“Oh no, it’s better than that. Our beloved leader. Loma.”
“Shut up,” said Kirwyn in a weary voice.
“No, seriously!”
Kirwyn stopped in his tracks. “She told me she was married, I think?”
“Well – sucks for that guy,” said Alana flippantly.
“What a mess.”
They continued on. He suddenly laughed. “What a combo,” he said.
“I know right? He tried it on with me, did you see?”
“No, I think I was outside.”
“Oh, well – he dances with me, then he starts telling me how beautiful my eyes are, how he admires strong women—” Kirwyn laughed. “—and I don’t know what to say, he takes that as his cue and starts – groping me – essentially, I tell him to fuck off and he throws a hissy fit.”
“Oh yeah, he was annoyed,” said Kirwyn sheepishly.
“Yeah. They deserve each other. No, actually, he’s worse. She’s just annoying, he’s a prick.”
Kirwyn nodded slightly, and they walked along. The Matriarch and her entourage approached them, the Matriarch held both his hands and wished him luck, they said their goodbyes, then parted ways.
Kirwyn began again: “He was telling me about his gang. I think he was trying to impress me, all the battles he’s fought in. Oh and then later he asks my permission, for him to pursue you. Like I’m your dad or something.”
Alana laughed. “Why did he ask you?”
“I don’t know, I think he – I don’t know.”
They had reached the beach house. Loma was there, her back turned to them. She was wearing her black suit, her helmet stuck in the crook of one arm. She turned to face them, a blank look on her face.
“We’re leaving soon, get ready.”
“Of course,” said Kirwyn who avoided eye contact, went upstairs to retrieve his sword and travelling rags. Saburo followed, walking sideways between the two women. “Ladies,” he said, casually, nodding, his hair damp with sea water. Neither responded, though Alana smirked. He climbed the stairs, passing Kirwyn, who had stopped. “Kirwyn,” he said. Kirwyn nodded politely.
They rode for Lundun. Saburo lead, with Kirwyn gripping his shoulders like a terrified hawk. Loma followed, Alana hugged her waist, rested her head on Loma’s back, increasingly regretting her rudeness that morning.
25
Gabriel sighed. It was a small trade convoy. They had pack animals laden with bags, they toured the southern towns. There were 40 or so people in the convoy, the number fluctuated with each stop. They were men, women and children and they took their houses with them, painted caravans pulled by horses. They travelled long into the night, candle lanterns hung from their caravans.
The Immortals fell upon them from either side of a dirt road in the hills. Foot soldiers, men and women of limited genetic and mechanical augmentation fired old ballistic weapons from dirty bandaged fingers. Some of the soldiers were piebald, some had lidless eyes, extra rows of teeth, some were hauntingly beautiful – faces of perfect symmetry. All wore robes that covered their faces, their features could only be made out in fleeting moments of muzzle flash. Officers led them, they were more heavily modified – they fought with true devotion, believing eternal life to be close to their grasp.
When the horses were all killed, and any stray guardsmen on the perimeter picked off, the hooded foot soldiers and their officers would retire back to their hiding places, drawing pot-shots from the surviving convoy members.
Then the golems would be released. There were four of them, unnaturally tall and muscled with odd proportions, facial features and pigmentations, ranging from volcanic black or arctic white. They were a genetic dead end, carriers of the Marius Gene. They crept into the caravan like snakes, sewing chaos and misery in their wake. They threw men like potato sacks, broke wrists like bamboo, tore throats with their fingernails and ate living flesh from bone like dogs. Many caravan guards would flee at the mere sound of them – their deep breathing.
Gabriel pressed a button on his arm rest with his little finger – a high pitched tone blared – the golems were tortured into obeying it. They ran on all fours, tumbled, rolled to the signal. If any caravan guards remained they would try and follow, taking shots at the fleeing beasts. The Immortal foot soldiers would then return to cut down the remaining few guards. Advancing as they did so.
Gabriel observed all this with all the emotion a normal man might muster viewing an ant fighting another type of ant. His skin was pallid grey, with blue veins that coiled like old phone cords up his temples and down his neck. His eyes were bloodshot and yellow, and he had only a sprig of white hair covering his forehead. His head was enormous, the back was completely obscured in machine parts, chrome and plastic – with the occasional wire or clear tube snaking through. Such was his condition he could no longer stand, but was constrained to a sedan chair, with four mechanical arthropod-like legs that took him to and fro with a thought. His hands were also large – with long thin fingers that crept over his arm rests. Every twitch and movement of these digits sent ligaments and veins bouncing, visible through his moist, hairless skin.
The survivors, mostly children and the infirm were rounded up and brought before Gabriel, and were forced to kneel before him. He rested his giant face on one giant hand, eye bags drooping like a hound. He cleared his throat, and spoke, the sound of his voice silenced the mewling of the crowd. It was a voice so fine, so rich and right, so sure of itself, so warm. Utterly incongruous with the appearance of the man – If he was a man.
“We are the Immortals,” he said. “Death is a horrid thing, but it would have come for them eventually. And it would have come for you, soon after. I am sorry for what I have done, but I had no choice. One day you will understand. I offer you… two choices: Die here with them. Or live forever, with me.”
26
The four of them rode into Lundun, weaving through abandoned vehicles, paint chipping and metal rusting, windows long since smashed. There were buildings as big as mountains, blocks of white concrete with softened corners, pyramids of shattered glass, spires and old fortresses. It was completely empty. Even the sky was bare, the sun beat down on them with not an atom of cloud to be seen.
It felt more like an insect colony than any human habitation Kirwyn had seen, it baffled and amazed him to think that at one time the place was crawling with people, more people than now existed on the whole world, he supposed. Alana and Saburo had never been to Lundun either, but they had seen it at a distance, and knew of it by reputation, it was avoided by all sensible travellers. People who stayed too long in the old capital got sick, their hair and teeth fell out and their gums bled. Some of the rural people suggested that the city was haunted, or cursed, or something worse.
They parked a little outside their target location, in a large square plaza surrounded by red brick shops. In the centre of the plaza was a large dry fountain that dipped into the earth. They lay their bikes here, and had a good vantage point for viewing anything that approached, they remained inconspicuous if they crouched.
“I programmed these for you.” Said Loma, handing out flat metal disks, the size of palm. “It’s very easy. Just press the underside and—” A blue 3D chevron faded into existence, it pointed back at Loma. “It’s based on my suit’s position. You’ll never get lost now.” The three primitives tried their devices and were impressed.