Chapter 22
22
So busy. He was getting itchy just seeing them all, milling about.
Mercantor had fewer people and a less-imposing camp. Trees—hadn’t seen those up close for ages, and three stories of open space above? Fuck. He craned back his neck to look then found Rutger had returned. Still had not decided how to react to this horned ‘god-monster’.
He’d trespassed on his territory—Cyn.
After a fast goodbye, Rutger waved them onward to the center of the crowd. Vargr nodded, distracted by his memory of the blood roaring in his ears when he’d been told about this beaster feeding Cyn his come.
“I have to go punch some walls. Locke will find you and take you to the biotechie we have here. She’s called Willow.”
The memory faded when Rutger left and headed for a grand set of stairs leading downward. Trees, grass, plants were a big part of the scenery here. Some of the green stuff was artificial, some not. It was real over by the observation area… That looked out over the landscape.
Out over the fucking outside .
He shook his head. Were they insane here? This must be vulnerable to assault?
“People everywhere,” Cyn murmured.
“Yeah.” He ran his hand over his head, gaining a strange comfort in the hard-soft triangles of his hair.
The caravan idea was a hit, with the packs on Toother being unstrapped and unloaded, as well as the two bodies. He helped to lower the bodies and place them to one side. Blood had seeped through the cloth in which they were wrapped.
Orm was one of these. His mouth twisted in sadness. The first dogrider, first to train a nanodog, and he’d been so proud of that. Toother hadn’t stopped looking puzzled at how Orm no longer moved, and even now he was poking the wrapped bundle with his nose.
“We’ll have to think what to do with Toother.” What if he ran wild?
Tom nodded. “Yeah. He’s a good boy, though.” He reached up and scratched the creature under the ear.
“We need another beaster like Orm. Someone who wants him too.” Without that empathy Orm had, he doubted Toother would respond to them or obey.
They’d made plans to have a funeral ceremony later.
Though the dead, their gnawed or partly mummified skeletons, were found in every hall, every second room, every shopping mall and street, this hit hard. They hadn’t lost anyone for more than a year. Two was a high percentage of the tribe.
He sighed and looked aside. Dwelling on death was a fast track to depression.
Little Mo, he realized, had vanished. Which didn’t say much for them keeping an eye on him. He prayed nobody would spot the AI and blow it away.
“We haven’t brought much to trade.”
Tom shrugged. “The idea is good, as long as we have something the Worshippers can’t get easily.”
“Yeah. If nothing else, we can talk, do strategy stuff. The Ghoul Lords aren’t leaving in a hurry. Least if they are, I missed getting the bloody memo.”
“Me too!” Tom punched his shoulder. “I’m going to see what fun they have here. An unattached female would be nice. There’s a Worshipper guy called Locke looking for you. There he is. There.”
The nod led Vargr to see the beaster in question.
“You go do that, Tom. And keep an eye on Maura!”
He didn’t like the man’s chances. Not in all this lot. Any nubile females would have partners. Even for Maura not to have a mate surprised him. He’d been deliberately celibate, but there were more males than females. Course, some of the beasters preferred men or other beasters. Not that anyone was getting pregnant. It was all in the name of lust and love, unless they figured out how to restore fertility.
Babies, now babies in this new world would be both wonderful and terrible.
Bad things happened way too often.
“He has a punching room?”
“What?” He realized Cyn had been watching Rutger lumber down those stairs. “Shit. Forget him. We got our own business. He can go punch all the rooms he wants to. Here. Him.”
He took her hand, clasped it to point at Locke, the Worshipper beaster.
A weaponsmith type from the looks of him—all short and broad, like someone had tried whacking him into the ground with a big hammer. Blue ran in long squiggles down his biceps and forearms, wayward stripes of inkiness. His sandy hair and starter-pack beard were thick, same as Thad’s.
“Hi there.” Locke pulled at his beard and looked thoughtful. “Cyn and Vargr? Follow me. I’m to intro you to Willow.”
They followed, weaving past the curious who gathered about the nanodog. He’d forgotten how strange it would be to see a tame one. Lucky they’d not shot him.
All in all, this camp was familiar. Or the beasters were, by type if not by actual name. Only this extreme openness gave him a panicked feeling in the stomach. There were seats, park benches on the bright green arti-grass, gazebos, pots with fake flowers, and there were real trees, scrabbling roots over the soil.
They’d brought dirt up here just for this.
He supposed he must’ve read about this place, once, but had forgotten. The Mercantor Quarter had nothing similar. Glass as thick as his leg lowered from above in a huge visor shape that spanned the rectangular opening. He estimated the opening to be… Vargr screwed up his forehead. A quarter of a mile in breadth?
“Fuckin’ big,” he muttered.
“It is.” Cyn sucked in air, her hand still in his. “Impressive.”
He decided he liked how she was hanging onto him.
Moonlight shone over a range of hills. Out there was a wildlife preserve. No buildings, just air and a drop to the ground, and those distant hills.
They were accosted along the way by curious Worshippers who wanted to shake their hands and say hi, or express sadness over the dead and the unusual attack. The ghoul guards had been quiet for years, and certainly none had ventured this low. If there were over a thousand beasters at this camp, he figured about three hundred were here now. The rest would be out patrolling, hunting down fresh food and supplies, mapping, arranging fuel and electricity where possible, same as his own tribe.
They stopped near the edge at a bright pink tent with its open flap aimed toward the view. With dawn coming in a few hours, this would be flooded by light. He cringed internally.
“Willow.” Locke bowed and swept his arm in an arc. “Behold our biotechie. She takes no nonsense, so be nice to her or we boot you over the edge.” His grin said he lied.
“Hi there.” Inside the tent a young woman in red jeans and a storm-gray shirt slumped comfortably on an upholstered chair.
Her neon-blue hair teased at her shoulders and weaved about in Medusa-like snakiness. Her arms lay on the rests, and a small, varnished table before her was stacked with cards, a collapsed telescope, and a cup of something that steamed. Around her eyes and hands, the blue ran in veins. She had that slightly fragile, elegant aura he’d noticed in some biotechies. They were quality porcelain while he and most beasters were stoneware.
“Tea?” she asked, gesturing at a teapot set on the floor canvas the tent was pegged to. “And pull up a chair.” There was only one, to her right. “I hear you want to have your blood checked, girl. I was out looking at your arrival, but it was crowded. This is my space. Some of us like making a little home. My tent is it.”
Crowded? He agreed though. A hundred and a few more people were that. Five years ago, that would’ve been thought crazy.
“I’m Vargr. Nice tent and view. This is Cyn.” He stood to one side of the opening to let Cyn go past.
There was something about being in one place that made you want to construct a permanent abode. For him, standing at the edge of Mercantor was enough: peering out at the adjacent quarter, with your feet knowing this building here was where one belonged.
“I am looking for that.” Cyn boldly picked up and set down the other upholstered seat then sat. “I need to know what I am. I need to convince everyone I’m like you and not some creature sent by the Ghoul Lords.”
“That’s… more history than they told me. Why ever would anyone think you’re from the Top?”
“Because I am.” Smiling, she shifted in the chair. “I fell from the sky into Vargr’s arms. After I escaped from the Ghoul Lords.”
“Shit.” Her gaze flicked to him, lines tightening around her eyes. “Really?”
“She’s safe. We’re bondmated. Unusual pedigree but safe. I know she has nanites like us beasters, just we are searching for what sort, why she has them. Anything that helps us figure out what happened above.”
And he was hoping it’d lead to some sort of redemption. A way to kill the GLs. A way to find his sister, even though every day that passed chiseled away at his hopes.
“You know.” Willow paused a moment, assessing them both. They’d shocked her, but the truth would’ve come out, even if the only other people at that meeting to decide Cyn’s fate had been Orm and Rutger. One dead, the other wanted into Cyn’s pants, which seemed a damn good clue he liked her.
For all he knew, Tom or one of the others carried a written request from Boaz.
“Okay. I can try. If you’ve nanomachines in you, Cyn, I can see those. Your eyes tell me it’s likely even if red is unique. I do health checks too. Sometimes I can even fix a problem. Some cancers. Liver disease. Infections. It’s been quite the trip learning what I can do, these past years.”
For a few moments, her unfocused gaze fell past them. He knew that look. Most beasters wondered about their changing bodies. The whys could haunt you.
However… Only one seat? He grinned and figured now was a good time for some skin on skin. He stooped and picked up Cyn, with one arm slid under her butt, then sat down himself, and rearranged her so she faced Willow. Her protests were spluttered and many, but so far, he lived. This was promising.
Willow only lifted her brows and smiled. “Don’t mind me. I get how it is.”
“Uhhh. How what is?” Cyn tried to lever his hand off her thigh but he jiggled his leg.
Bondmating, of course.
Willow was right. He was being driven by more than the normal desires, but what did it matter when he had a lapful of female?
“Sit. Stay. Behave.” Fuck that felt good to say. If she protested, he’d do what Rutger had once suggested she needed and upend her over his knee. Spank her.
That, he might not live through, but it’d be awesome.
“Vargr you are not my daddy or whatever.”
Daddy? Well that’d made Willow’s eyebrows climb even higher and her blue eyes dance.
“Shhh. I like having you on my lap. Admit it, so do you. Talk to Willow.”
This was like sticking his fingers in a bear trap and hoping the mechanism wasn’t working on this day, when it had definitely worked yesterday. The thrill was giving him a hard-on—that and her sitting on his dick.
She grumbled but relaxed, heaved in a breath. “Fine.