The Nine Page 6

  Perfect.

  Perry noted that Whimsby didn’t open the doors for anyone else.

  Stuber hitched himself up to the rest of them, casting scrutinizing glances around them. “Did you kick out at least a hundred yards?” he asked Whimsby.

  “I did indeed.”

  “You weren’t gone that long.”

  “I move fast.”

  “I didn’t hear you moving.”

  “I move quiet.”

  Stuber’s eyes narrowed on Whimsby. “Full three sixty?”

  Whimsby just smiled back. “It wouldn’t be a perimeter if I didn’t check the entire perimeter, would it?”

  Stuber gestured backwards. “I have excellent night vision. Never saw you cross back behind us.”

  “Did you not? Well, perhaps your night vision isn’t as stellar as you think it is.” Whimsby moved past Stuber, towards the cargo bed.

  Stuber watched him go, his lips pursed, but saying nothing.

  Sagum let out a low whistle. “Damn, Stuber. Guess you’re losing your edge.”

  Stuber let out a raspberry. “Hammers don’t need edges.” He reached out and batted at one of Sagum’s slender arms. “All they need is something skinny to pound.”

  At the cargo bed, Whimsby had opened a trunk box and from it withdrew a squat, cylindrical contraption, and a smaller box with a carrying handle on top. “Anyone hungry?”

  They all stared in something akin to shock, and yet none of them spoke. The same thought that was going through Perry’s head must’ve been going through all of them: We don’t know this guy. Do we really want to eat his food?

  Whimsby appeared not to notice. He walked a few paces from the side of the buggy, to an area of relative flatness, and he set the cylinder and the box down. He pressed something on the top of the cylinder, and four squat legs hissed out of it, elevating it a few inches from the ground. The top opened as it completed this transformation, and then sparked, and a bright yellow flame erupted from the center of it.

  Whimsby squatted in front of the flames and began to rummage in the box. “Don’t be shy. Come to the fire. Get warm.”

  Perry was the first to break down and approach. They were all standing around like scared kids, but how idiotic would it be for Whimsby to risk his life rescuing people from a hive of insectoid polymorphs, only to poison them thirty minutes later?

  Perry stepped into the glow of the flames, felt their warmth, and immediately the tension went out of him. He extended his hands, the skin of which he hadn’t even realized was cold until he put them out to hover over the billowing heat. Gods, but it was significantly colder here. The Glass Flats had always been cold at night, but now he guessed they had gained significant altitude in this range of mountains, and the wind that scoured over the rocks wasn’t just chilly, it was downright biting.

  Gradually, the others sauntered over, creating a ring around the fire. Stuber kept his back to it, his eyes directed into the darkness. Preserving his precious night vision.

  Whimsby pulled out a few packages that looked like food to Perry, though they seemed very small. Hardly enough to feed all five of them. He wasn’t complaining—they’d been running low on supplies and their rationing left them all hungry, even immediately after their scant meals.

  His stomach growled and ached, reawakening with the prospect of a meal. But his mouth and throat were parched. “Do you have any water?”

  Whimsby reached into the box and produced a stack of silver cups, all nested inside of each other. He flipped one of these out and handed it to Perry. “The buggy carries a thirty-gallon water bladder. It’s filled. Very good water. Sweet and refreshing. The spigot is on the right side of the cab, near the bed. Help yourself.”

  The other three in Perry’s party watched him take the cup, and then approach the spigot on the side of the buggy. They watched him put his cup under it. Turned the tap. Cold, clear water splashed out. He filled the cup halfway, then cut the tap, brought it to his lips, and tasted it.

  It was exactly as Whimsby had said. Perry thought he’d never tasted water so pure and sweet. Of course, he’d been drinking underground lake water held in a plastic water skin for the last two weeks, so maybe his taste-buds were easy to please.

  As he gulped the rest of the cup down, he stopped, staring into the empty cup, and wondered, He might not try to poison us to death, but would he try to drug us?

  After a moment’s consideration, Perry went with fuck it, and refilled his cup.

  Sometimes you just had to decide to trust someone.

  Teran was the next to accept a cup from Whimsby and step over beside Perry, and Sagum quickly followed. Stuber still stood at the edge of the firelight, being vigilant. Perhaps unnecessarily so.

  As the spigot splashed into Teran’s glass, she eyed Perry. “You gonna ask him, or are you waiting for me to do it?”

  Perry looked at her over the rim of his cup, easing the icy water down his throat. For a flash, the moment reminded him of another, quiet chat they’d had, at a bar named The Clementine, in a place called Karapalida. That was back before Perry knew what he was. But apparently Teran had known then. Funny, he’d never thought back to those conversations before. How she’d known him better than he’d known himself.

  He lowered the cup, and, without answering her, he walked over to Whimsby and sat down on the man’s left side, legs crossed on the hard ground. “Whimsby.”

  “Yes, goodsir?”

  Perry frowned, momentarily side-tracked. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

  Whimsby shrugged. “Decorum. It might not be very civilized out here, but we at least try to act like it.” He ripped open one of the packages of food. “Was that all you were going to ask?”

  “No.” Perry watched him as he poured what looked like crumbs into a small pot, and then set about doing the same with the rest of the packages. “How did you know where to find me? And how did you know I was in trouble?”

  “It’s my job to know things.”

  “That’s not much of an answer, Whimsby.”

  “Is it not?” Whimsby never paused in his preparation of the food, now finishing with the last packet, and setting the small pot onto a grill that sat over the flames. “I’m sorry.”

  Perry felt that irritation bumping up in his chest again. Like Whimsby was being intentionally vague. “Did someone see us? Did someone tell you we were coming?”

  Whimsby retracted his hands from the pot and turned to face Perry. His expression was calm and earnest. “I observed the approach of your party to The Cliffs through our long-range scanners at Praesidium. At that point, I headed out to meet you with all haste, hoping to catch you before anything undesirable befell you. I was, unfortunately, too late for that. But I did observe the species of polymorph that had taken you, and I’m aware that they all reside in The Warrens. Does that answer your questions?”

  “But The Warrens,” Perry said, shaking his head. “They’re huge. They’re a maze. How’d you know where I’d been taken?”

  “As I said, it’s my job to know things. One of those things that I know is how to track. Plus, I’ve been in The Warrens before. Regrettably.”

  “You’ve been in them before? Why didn’t those things kill you?”

  “While not all polymorphs are what you might call ‘sentient,’ the ones that are mixed with human DNA tend to have at least a rudimentary intelligence. Those ones moreso than others I’ve come across. They know me. They know better. They know what I can do to them.”

  “But they did try to kill you. I saw them do it.”

  “On the contrary, they tried to kill you.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder. “And your companions. Which, naturally, I could not allow.”

  Perry toyed with the silver cup in his hand. “Why are they afraid of you?”

  Besides the fact that your weapons handling is super-human.

  “Because if they hurt me, Praesidium would turn The Warrens into a slagheap.” He said it flippantly. Casually. “Like I
said, they’re smart enough to know which battles to pick.”

  Perry nodded with understanding. “That’s why you took up the rear guard. That’s why they didn’t chase us through the tunnels.”

  Whimsby smiled and winked at him. “Stick with me, goodsir. I’ll get you to safety. You and your friends.” He straightened up, looking at the pot, and raised his voice in a pleasant sing-song. “Dinner’s ready.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  RUSTIC CUISINE

  The others were as reserved with their food as they’d been with the water. At first. Perry had no such compunctions. He’d already decided to trust that this guy wasn’t trying to poison them. Probably not trying to drug them. He ate with gusto, and after a few bites, the others did as well.

  Through some form of culinary magic and technology that baffled Perry’s mind, Whimsby had transformed the bags of what looked like crumbs into a hearty substance that looked like meat, diced vegetables, and a bready substance.

  Whimsby apologized to them for the “rustic cuisine.”

  None of them made a reply to that. It was a far cry from the miserly portions of two-year-old canned mystery meat they’d been subsisting on for the last week.

  Perry made note of the fact that Whimsby did not take any food for himself. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  Whimsby smiled and shook his head. “The supplies provided are for guests. I’ll be fine until we reach Praesidium.” He settled back into a reclined position. “Which reminds me. If you’re not here to reach Praesidium, as you stated you were not even aware of its existence, then what would motivate four weary travelers to hazard a journey across the Glass Flats?”

  Perry chose that moment to take a massive mouthful of food, to give him time to manufacture an answer.

  Sagum had no such reservation: “We’ll call it a pilgrimage, Whimsby.”

  Whimsby tipped his hat back and regarded Sagum from over the glowing stove. “How delightful. A pilgrimage for what?”

  Perry cast a sidelong glance at Sagum, and discovered that Teran and Stuber both looked at Sagum the same way: Watch what you say.

  But Sagum was relaxed, and ignored them. “A pilgrimage of truth. We’re truth-seekers. Doubters at heart, I guess you could say. A kind of philosophical journey of discovery.”

  Whimsby appeared to consider this earnestly. “Most intriguing. I myself am somewhat of a student of philosophy. A truth-seeker, as you say.”

  Sagum leaned forward. “A fellow doubter?”

  “I suppose so. After all, one cannot seek truth without first having doubts. What is it that you doubt, Master Sagum?”

  “Oh…” Sagum pushed his food around in his bowl, his eyes twinkling with the subtextual conversation—so much said, and so much more omitted. “The word of gods. And the word of men who believe they know better.”

  Perry felt heat rising to his cheeks. It was no secret among the four of them that Sagum wondered about the veracity of the message from Cato McGown. Many campfire discussions under the night sky on the Glass Flats had revealed that Sagum wasn’t entirely convinced that Cato McGown had the full story. It wasn’t that Sagum doubted Cato’s truthfulness. Only that he didn’t know where Cato had derived his information. And Sagum was not the type to take things on faith.

  It rankled Perry. He knew that his father would not have given him this mission without good reason. His only solace was that Sagum’s doubts did not seem to affect his desire to continue their journey. So Perry allowed him to question it. In the end, he would see that Perry’s father had been right all along.

  “What about you, Whimsby?” Sagum asked, speaking around another bite. “What do you doubt?”

  Whimsby looked up at the night sky. “Existence, I suppose. What makes a man a man. The origins of consciousness. A philosopher long ago coined a phrase: Cogito ergo sum. It means ‘I think, therefore I am.’ Is thinking the only prerequisite to consciousness?” Whimsby lowered his gaze to Sagum. “Consider the plight of a mechanical man. Have you ever encountered one?”

  Sagum cast a wry look in Perry’s direction. “Yes. We’ve encountered one.”

  Whimsby smiled and nodded. “Of course you have. Now, the mechanical man thinks. So is it conscious? Is it a man? When it dies, does it go to The After?”

  Sagum frowned. “Well, a mechanical man isn’t truly conscious. It’s not a real man. It doesn’t actually think, it just follows its programming directives. So, no. I would say that a mechanical man does not go to The After, because it has no soul, and it doesn’t actually think for itself.”

  “Hm.” Whimsby touched a finger to his lips and regarded Sagum for a long time. “Perhaps.”

  Perry wasn’t certain why, but the conversation died after that.

  Once they’d eaten, Whimsby set about erecting a series of bedrolls that inflated as he put them out, as though this were some exotic camping trip, and not simply survival. Was he going to apologize for the rustic sleeping arrangements? Compared to sleeping on dusty plates of rock-scorched-to-glass, this was luxury.

  Stuber took up residence at the edge of the firelight again, staring out into the darkness. The faded scraps of his old legionnaire’s cape stirred in the wind that rushed down the ridge. Perry watched him for a time, wondering if he were deep in thought, or if he was simply being his usual, hyper-vigilant self.

  Silence was not Stuber’s way, but he seemed oddly reserved.

  Whimsby took note of Stuber as well. “I assure you, the perimeter has been secured.”

  Stuber simply gave the other man a sidelong glance. A slight dip of his head in acknowledgement. And then went right on back to watching.

  Perry stood up and walked over to Stuber’s left side. He looked out into the darkness with him, wondering if Stuber saw anything besides mottled shades of black and charcoal.

  Perry crossed his arms against the chill. “Go ahead. Let me have it.”

  “You’re a boot-fucking peon.”

  Perry nodded. “That’s been established.”

  “But…”

  Perry hung on the word. What was this? Another one of Stuber’s expertly delivered back-handed compliments? He could hardly wait to hear it.

  “You made a bad decision for the right reason,” Stuber finished. “So, since you acknowledge your peon-ity, my ire is assuaged. You may carry on.”

  Perry rocked back and forth on his heels. “Huh. So what are the right reasons?”

  “Trying to keep the people around you safe,” Stuber replied. “Admirable. But not always possible.”

  Perry considered this. Less and less he found himself pushing back against Stuber’s abrasive way of speaking. More and more he found himself listening to the man. Which wasn’t to say that Stuber wasn’t still singularly capable of pissing him off. It was just that…well, Perry had seen what was really inside of Stuber.

  When they’d first met, Perry had loathed Stuber. For what he represented as a former legionnaire, as well as simply a conflict of personalities. But after being forced to be around the man nonstop for the past few weeks—which, in terms of a relationship, gave it the patina of something developed over years—he’d discovered that, despite his devil-may-care façade, Stuber actually cared.

  Had Perry done what he’d done because he really cared? Or was it because he had something to prove?

  Perry shook his head at himself, feeling his ears burn, despite the chill in the air. He did care about them. He cared enough to put his life on the line to protect them—or at least try to protect them, even if he’d failed miserably.

  But it was also true that he’d needed to prove something. To himself. To them. He’d wanted to prove that he was capable. That he not only deserved the faith of his father, but the faith of his companions as well.

  “How’s your face?” he asked, in an attempt to atone.

  “Bah. Peasant-ass bee sting can’t keep me down for long. You’re much smaller. The affects were probably exaggerated due to your tiny body size.”

 
Perry rolled his eyes but smiled. “I doubt you’d be shrugging it off if the peasant-ass bee sting had gone through your skull. Which, by the way, you’re welcome.”

  “Ah, yes. I meant to thank you for that. Your flailing about with the longstaff did land a few decent blows. Here and there.”

  “Oh, come on. That was ‘intense and direct application of violence.’ I might’ve killed more than you did.”

  “First off—not possible. Second off—you literally couldn’t miss. We were surrounded by targets. An ideal situation for someone to flail with a longstaff.”

  “You want me to light a fire it? I’ll do it right now.” Perry doubted that he could. But he was willing to try again, on the off-chance that he might succeed this time, and wouldn’t that feel satisfying?

  “We already have a fire,” Stuber sniffed. “A very nice one from our very well-prepared guide.”

  “You’re just still hurt because you didn’t see him sneaking around.”

  Stuber cast a more serious glance over his shoulder. Perry followed his gaze. Whimsby chatted at Teran about something to do with the beds he’d laid out. Teran’s eyes were glazed and she looked like she just wanted to collapse into the bed and not be told everything about it. Sagum listened, looking fascinated.

  “Yes,” Stuber said, lowering his voice. “He is a bit of a sneak, isn’t he?”

  “You don’t like him.”

  “I don’t know him enough to like him or dislike him. But I don’t trust him.”

  “You ate his food.”

  “I was hungry.”

  “Well, you trust him enough for that.”

  “Please. The man slings guns like no one I’ve ever seen before. He doesn’t strike me as the poisoning type. Why would I not eat his food?”

  Perry shot Stuber a dubious look. “You’re sure you’re not just bent outta shape because he out-warriored you?”

  Stuber chuckled. “There’s a phrase I was taught by my long-dead decanus: ‘You are the man until you meet the man.’ I know there are others out there that can ‘out-warrior’ me. I’ve never doubted it for a second.” He shrugged. “I haven’t met any of them yet, but I’m aware that they do exist.”