Arcadian's Asylum

Chapter Three

If they had wondered why Toms had taken them about fifty miles out of the ville before stopping, then they had their answer soon after they opted to return. In many ways, it was a simple decision to make. Ahead, they knew, lay only Jackson Spires, over 150 miles away, on a road that was surrounded by territory that was certainly far from friendly.

Go that way, and they had no idea what lay between themselves and the next ville. And at the end of the road would be a ville that was a satellite of Arcady, along with a convoy full of wag crews who would know from their leader the possible consequences of not playing along with Baron Arcadian.

It was trouble whichever way they chose to look at it.

To go back was what the baron expected. Going against his expectation would give them some edge of advantage. But this way they knew the land, as they had recently passed it. Besides which, fifteen miles was going to leave them a lot less exhausted than 150 would. They would need to be on top of their game for whatever they faced.

“So that’s why it was such a strange distance,” Mildred said with a sigh as the sight hit her.

“Think he wants to test our ability?” J.B. asked with a sardonic edge.

“Play games, might get kick in balls,” Jak warned.

Ryan, Doc and Krysty just stood and looked, lost in their own thoughts. It hadn’t been obvious as they approached the sharp bend in the flattop, but as soon as they crested the angle of the bend, they could see that Arcadian’s people had been busy in the short time since the convoy had passed this way.

The road was impassable. Linked chains of man-traps, interspersed with land mines, had been laid across the surface. Barbed-wire barricades had been erected at regular intervals between the chains and mines. Wires that threaded through the barbed strands trailed away to generators that lay at the far end of the track made by the road modifications. It was possible that the generators weren’t operational. It was possible that the mines were inactive. There was little doubt about the man-traps. There was also a strong possibility that there were men waiting to take potshots at them if they slowed as they crossed the tracks, which they inevitably would.

There would also be men watching them in the groves as they went off-road. They all knew this.

“So is this is a test of our ingenuity, or does he wish to see how we cope with the mangroves?” Doc mused.

“Mangroves…yeah, guess you’re right there, Doc,” Mildred said. “I wonder why he’s cultivated shit like this so far from where it’s supposed to grow?”

“Perhaps,” Doc said heavily, “if we pass his little tests, then we may be permitted to know why he deems such things necessary.”

Ryan nodded. “That’s about right. Guess we should get going, then. Don’t want to disappoint the man. That can come later.”

Indicating the direction they should take with a wave of his arm, the one-eyed man led his people off-road, moving to the right of the road as they faced Arcady.

“MOVING WEST. Quasi-military formation. The one with the glasses is taking point. The albino is at the rear. One-eye and the redhead are sandwiching the old man and the black woman. Suggests that they are considered the weak link—no, correction, not weak, but rather not as strong. There is no suggestion in their behavior that they consider any of the group to be inferior. Perhaps it is, rather, a system based on knowing the strengths and weaknesses of the group, and moving accordingly. Suggests excellent reasoning skills. We will pursue at a distance. They’re moving toward Sector Five. We may be forced to drop back and lose them. Team Six should stand by.”

The squat, muscular man in black dropped the small handset from his mouth and nodded to his companion. Taller, more angular and also clad in black, he acknowledged, and in silence the two men moved off.

The undergrowth was thick, and it was slow progress to move through the shrubs, tangles of bramble and vine, and twisted tree trunks. Overhanging branches with viscous leaves that seemed to suck at the men’s faces as they pushed through them appeared to bar every possible path. The two watchers found it difficult going, and they were used to the territory. It came as no surprise that they made ground on their target group with relative ease. Yet it was at the same time impressive to observe the manner in which the targets under observation were making progress. The one-eyed man and the one with spectacles were using a panga and a Tekna knife—a fine piece, rarely seen in these parts, they observed—to hack their way through the thickest of the undergrowth. In so doing, they were making little noise, which in itself was testament to their ability. The others followed in their wake, careful to actually cover the trail that was being cut as soon as they had passed through. It showed an admirable caution.

As, indeed, did the fact that the albino hung back, keeping a sharp eye on their tail. Once or twice, it seemed that he knew he was being watched, necessitating that they pause. They couldn’t afford to be discovered. They could, however, afford to let the observed pass on.

“The albino seems to have acute senses. I suspect we have been spotted, if not positively identified. They haven’t returned for us, but rather than risk confrontation before they’re truly tested, I suggest that Team Six take over…”

“FIREBLAST AND FUCK!” Ryan cursed through gritted teeth. Their progress had been slower than he would have liked, but it had been steady, and there had been nothing to impede them other than the thickness of the undergrowth itself.

But not now. Now there was this…

The random patterns of the undergrowth resolved themselves into a series of regular structures: a maze that ran for as far as they could see on either side.

“Figure it runs both sides of the road?” J.B. queried.

“Got to,” Ryan replied. “Probably around the ville on all sides, leaving only the road as the one clear way in and out.”

Without another word, he sent Krysty and Mildred one way, Jak and Doc the other, to try to define how far the maze stretched. They returned shortly, neither pair with anything he wanted to hear.

“Tell you what,” Mildred said, “I’m betting this proscribes one hell of a circle. Tested it, too. I figure part of the reason for this shit—” she flicked at the creepers, vine and brambles that snaked between the trees “—is to cover this, like camou. If you feel underneath, there’s stone behind the green.”

Ryan grimaced. “I hate these bastards,” he muttered. “Dead ends and traps. Can’t even figure on it being fixed,” he added, recalling the maze they had encountered surrounding the ville of Atlantis. That time, movable walls had made their task almost impossible.

“We could mark our path as best as possible,” Mildred added, “but I’m telling you, we don’t have much to do it with. Not without losing stuff we don’t want to lose.”

While they had been talking, Jak had taken a step back and was looking up into the dark canopy that lay over their heads and extended across the top of the maze. Doc noticed, and stepped back to join him.

“Sure we followed,” Jak said bluntly. “Good, though. Can’t be sure where are.”

Doc knew that if Jak had trouble locating their tail, then they were skilled trackers. He also figured that they were keeping back for a reason.

“Jak,” he said slowly, “are you perhaps studying the top of the maze for a reason. Say, for instance, that if the trees extended over the length of the maze, then they may provide us with a route, albeit a precarious one, over the obstacles?”

Jak nodded. “Could be. Not much life here. No big predator. Not much birds. Got to be reason.”

Ryan and J.B. had stopped their own conversation and, like Mildred and Krysty, were taking note of Jak and Doc. Both glanced around, then looked up.

“Why leave the top of the maze exposed?” J.B. queried. “Up and over? Too easy.” He was thinking of their previous experience with a maze.

Ryan was ahead of him. “Last time it was clear across the top. This gives us some cover. Besides, with all this—” he slapped at the vine and bramble covering the stone “—who’d want to risk some nasty fucker resting up there just waiting for fresh meat? You’d take your chance on the ground, right?”

“Right,” Krysty affirmed. “Except the chances are that there isn’t anything up there. And if there is, we’ll be ready.”

“They not pick us off anyway,” Jak said mildly. “Want see how we do this. Even if they do see us.”

“How do you know?” J.B. queried.

“The young man affirms that we are being tailed,” Doc said with a wry grin. “I see no reason to disbelieve that—after all, if this is a test…”

Ryan barked a short laugh. “Good point. Still take it triple red, though. Let’s go.”

“TEAM SIX IN POSITION. These guys are good. They didn’t just walk in. They’ve scouted it, and they’re not going to be hurried. Thinkers as well as doers. I figure Toms wasn’t wrong, Chief.”

The haggard-looking man let the handset drop. He was gaunt, lines of trauma and experience etched into his face. His slight stoop told of too long spent hunkered down on surveillance. Like the previous observers, he wore what was an approximation of old military black commando fatigues, as was the younger, more muscled man of a similar height who accompanied him. His shoulders were squared, and he was almost visibly bristling with energy.

“They’re not going in. They’re going to climb it?” It was half question, half exclamation. “But surely they’d suspect—”

He was stayed by a hand from his superior. “Keep it down. Yeah, they know the risk, but they’ve figured some odds and are taking the ones that come up best. This should be real interesting. Obs post Delta will need to take this up. We can’t follow without being spotted. And the little guy knows we’re here. Just can’t place us.”

“Probably just as well,” the younger man said.

The haggard observer grinned without mirth. “Yeah? For who?” He lifted the handset. “Look, Chief, we can’t take this on anymore. Delta needs to use the scopes if they’re going up and over. So far, though, I’d say your judgment was bearing up well.”

He let the handset fall. The younger man was giving him a dubious look.

“What?” the haggard man questioned. “Look, you know what the chief is like. A little ass-licking always goes down well with him. It’s not like he doesn’t realize…”

AS HE SAID THAT, he was unaware that his words were being monitored. All handsets were adapted so that they transmitted at all times, no matter what the user might think.

The recipient of the observer’s comments laughed softly as he heard them. It wasn’t, as the haggard man suspected, anything that was new to him. But to hear it confirmed that the men of his sec force weren’t stupes. That was good. Intelligence was always to be rewarded in his world.

And that was what the ville of Arcady meant to Baron Arcadian. It was his universe, and one that he intended to expand—for which he would need able assistance, in all departments of his research and expansion. When Toms had told him—boasted, in truth—of the one-eyed man and his companions, then Arcadian knew that he would have to assimilate them into his organization.

So far, things had been going according to plan. His smile broadened as he recalled how easy it had been to make the little fat man yield to his will. Pleased with the new recruits to his convoy, Toms had been less than willing to strike the bargain. But he was easily bought. His greed, like that of any trader, was transparent. Appeal to that and his vanity, and it became easy to manipulate the result required. A new territory for the convoy to plunder. A few baubles for the man’s vanity—in this case, some old vids and books that were of little consequence but touched that secret desire within Toms—and he had soon acquiesced.

Arcadian stretched, yawned and stood. He had been seated in the communications room of his palace, deciding to oversee this operation himself. The radio tech had been dismissed, and the baron had taken his place. Five paces each way, and he had covered the room. Its walls were painted yellow, and although the brocaded chair was comfortable, the desk equally so, the room had no windows. Arcadian could see how the radio tech could grow dissatisfied and bored on a long shift. It was more like a cell than a place of work. He made a mental note to change the location of the room. Somewhere with more air and light.

Yet this was no altruistic urge. Arcadian believed in treating well those who worked for him not because he spared the merest thought for them as human beings; rather, he knew from long research and empirical experience that a man who was at ease in his place of work was better able to concentrate, and to do a good job.

And that level of performance was his minimum requirement.

Arcadian pushed his flowing, curly, black hair back from his forehead. He was a handsome man, well-muscled. He kept himself in shape, training hard. He was, he knew, the result of careful breeding. His forefathers chose the mothers of their children with care, to maintain the highest level of physical and mental condition in a world stripped of certainties by the nukecaust. It was his duty to look after what he had been given. It was a gift, and one that he had to pass down to his successors, when he had selected a mother for his offspring.

Stretching cramped muscles once more, he settled down in front of the receiver and sent out a message to Observation Station Delta. Located on the edge of the ville, positioned on a tower fashioned from two of the tallest trees in the vicinity, the men of Delta were on a camouflaged platform equipped with tech that had been salvaged and maintained through the decades. Tech that included heat-seeking scopes and infrared taken from a military base where the founders of Arcady had once lived and worked.

If the trial group—as he thought of them—was taking a route over the top of the maze, then this tech would locate them with ease.

He liked their thinking, though. He had to admit to that.

NEGOTIATING THE CLIMB up the side of the maze wall was the easy part. Although the leaves on the vines were as slippery and oily as those that hung from the trees, it was easy to get a grip on the thick stems of the vines. Each of the companions was able to get strong hand- and footholds, feeling the vine stem—as strong as wood, yet more pliable—move and give way to their weight, shifting so that it settled beneath them, actually helping to support them as they climbed, rather than have the rigidity of wood, forcing them to bend to positions awkward to balance.

Jak took point position, pulling his light frame up with ease, snapping back any observations about the way that the vine moved, and how the bramble could be avoided. Not only painful, a thorn in the hand from the stringy growth could also spell infection. They had no idea if the thorns were poisonous, and no intention of finding out the hard way.

When he had reached the top, Jak lay flat along the edge of the maze wall. The closely intertwined growth of branch, vine and bramble made it impossible to move in anything more than a crouch. Despite the fact that he was higher than before, he found that—if anything—the light here was reduced. It was almost as though the growth had been trained to develop more densely at this point, perhaps to make the maze darker. For there was no roof to the maze other than the canopy of foliage. As he looked along, he could see dimly the shape of the maze, described by the top of each section of the wall. It seemed to stretch on to infinity, the darkness swallowing any shape into black.

Beckoning the others to follow, Jak waited until they had started to ascend—Krysty and Mildred, then Doc, with Ryan and J.B. keeping watch at the base of the wall before following on—before striking out in the gloom. Mindful of any birds or tree-dwelling reptiles that might be along the way, Jak forged a path through the overhanging branches and leaves. The dark green foliage seemed to cling to his clothes and skin as he passed. It was an unpleasant sensation, but if that was all the obstruction they would face, he would be more than satisfied.