A Town Called Dust: The Territory 1 (13 page)

Squid and Lynn sat on one side of a long table. Darius, Glenden and Rusty sat opposite them. Lynn stared across the table, refusing to break eye contact with Darius, whose eyes were flicking up and down. They were in an empty room, long and narrow. It was unique in the Academy in that there was nothing on the walls: no paintings, no hangings, nothing but the flickering gas lights and the table at which they sat. The door opened and The Bear and Lieutenant Walter entered, followed by the Dean of the Academy, a tall gray-bearded man named Rupert Peroni. The Dean sat at the head of the table and The Bear and Lieutenant Walter took their seats either side of him.

“I don’t usually trouble myself with matters of discipline,” the Dean said, “but Major Essenburg and Lieutenant Walter have discussed your punishment with me and I must be present for certain ceremonial reasons. Please continue, Major.”

“Boys,” The Bear said calmly, “we are at war and the Territory is in greater peril than any of you realize. A horde of ghouls is coming that threatens our very existence. The Diggers are the only hope we have. You, with your petty squabbles, have done little but show that you do not have what is necessary to become one of us and fight for the common good. I have better things to do than discipline Scants, and the fact that Lieutenant Walter and I, and more importantly the Dean, are even here, should be indication enough that you have screwed up for the last time.”

Lynn wanted to yell at them for their stupidity but she held her tongue. Her anger had done enough today.

“Lieutenant,” The Bear said, “please inform them of our decision.”

Lieutenant Walter nodded and turned to look at Darius’s side of the table first.

“As you know, young Tank has received a severe enough injury that he is being discharged for medical reasons. Earlier, however, he came and spoke to me and confessed, in great detail, that the plot to attack Max and Squid had been his idea all along and that he bullied you others into becoming involved. He claimed that Darius in particular was against the whole thing.”

Lynn looked at Darius and could tell that he was fighting to hold back a smile.

“As convenient as this sudden development of conscience is, and as unlikely as it is that Tank could come up with any scheme whatsoever—”

“I caution you to keep your personal opinions to yourself, Lieutenant,” The Bear growled.

“Yes, sir. In light of this evidence,” Lieutenant Walter continued, “the decision has been made that Tank’s discharge will be altered to a full dishonorable discharge. Rusty and Glenden will be transferred to the Workmen Corps, and will never serve as enlisted Diggers or Apprentices, and Darius, given that you were apparently a reluctant party in this, you will be bumped down to the next intake of Scants and will repeat your training with this incident to remain on your permanent record.”

“Sir!” Lynn interrupted. “Darius was behind the whole thing. He made Tank say that!”

Lieutenant Walter looked at Lynn and then back to The Bear. The Bear indicated to Walter that he should continue. Walter took a deep breath and then spoke. “Squid, you are to continue in the current Scant group to complete your training, with this incident being noted on your permanent record. Max, we are well aware that you were as much a victim of this attack as Squid. However,” Lieutenant Walter paused again, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing, “the decision has been made that due to your excessive use of violence and lack of restraint—”

“And you struck a superior,” the Dean interjected, “let us not forget that.”

“Sir,” Lieutenant Walter said to the Dean, “I hardly think, given the circumstances—”

“Lieutenant,” The Bear snapped, “deliver the verdict as written.”

Walter inhaled deeply again.

“Yes, sir. Max, you are also to receive a discharge from the Diggers.”

Lynn knew she should have been angry—she should be protesting with every fiber of her being—but she didn’t have any fight left. Instead she felt empty. She had achieved nothing. She would have no choice but to return to Alice and the fate that awaited her at the hands of the Sisters. She fought against the tears she felt coming, she fought hard, but she knew everyone must be able to see the sheen over her eyeballs.

“But—” Squid shouted.

The Bear stared at Squid. “Speak your mind then, Squid,” The Bear said. “You seem to know everything
—
what do you think we have overlooked?”

Everyone in the room looked at Squid expectantly.

“Sirs,” Squid said, “Max was just trying to protect us.”

“We are aware of what happened, Squid,” The Bear said. “He still showed a dangerous lack of restraint that could have resulted in worse than what happened.”

“Then,” Squid said, “I want to be discharged as well. I won’t stay here without him.”

Lynn turned her head to look at Squid. What was he doing, the idiot boy? She mouthed the word “no,” hoping that Squid would recant, but he said nothing.

The Bear looked at Squid for a moment.

“Very well then,” The Bear said. “You shall both be discharged, effective immediately.”

Lynn’s insides cooled. Across from her Darius couldn’t contain his smile anymore and it spread over his face like opening crow’s wings. Lieutenant Walter placed his hand over his eyes.

“Right,” said the Dean all too cheerily, “that closes the proceedings then.”

Melbourne looked around as he lifted the saddle off his horse. This was the furthest from home he’d ever been, even further than the Rock, and that was almost three hundred miles from Alice. They were well away from everything that resembled civilization in the Central Territory. Not even Outsiders like the filthy dirt farmers or stinking miners lived this far out, at least none of any significance. They were probably only fifty miles from the massive horde of ghouls that had breached the fence more than three weeks ago now. Not that he was scared, of course—he was a Digger, and the most promising Academy graduate in decades. He wouldn’t be scared.

They were here, General Connor said, to patrol for any ghouls that were far ahead of the main group. Ghouls moved in a haphazard manner, seeming to lack any purpose, wandering through the desert until they sensed moisture. Luckily the boundary riders who had been tracking the main horde said their progress had been slow. But although they wandered at random, sometimes even moving in a large circle, they ultimately continued inward, and eventually they would get a whiff of the Territory’s population and their pace would increase. Until the fall-back fence was in place and the Diggers were ready to tackle the main horde, patrols like the one Melbourne was on would deal with smaller groups of ghouls as best they could. They were on their way to meet up with a patrol group led by Captain Regis, a Ranger, bolstering their numbers and allowing them better odds against larger groups of ghouls.

Falling night had only made Melbourne’s feeling of isolation worse. The sliver of moon lit up the ground in a grayscale that bleached the world of color and restricted his vision to the immediate surroundings. It was disconcerting to be out in the open so far from safety and unable to see further than a few hundred yards in any direction.

After more than two weeks of traveling together Melbourne was well acquainted with the other Diggers. They were members of the elite General’s Guard, and that made Melbourne the most junior by far. Major Tungsten and Sergeant Heath were men Melbourne knew. Both had been Academy instructors, Sergeant Heath in swords and Major Tungsten in tactics. The other six men, troopers Lance, Cross and Burnley, Corporal Finch, Sergeant Percival and Lieutenant Glad, Melbourne had not met before.

Melbourne had been paired off with Trooper Lance as a scout tasked with riding out each morning and returning later to report on what was ahead. This was usually repeated several times each day. They alternated this duty with troopers Cross and Burnley, but it was still exhausting.

They had only just returned from a scout, which was why the other soldiers were already relaxing and Lance and Melbourne were still fixing down their mounts.

“So,” Lance was saying as he brushed his horse, “are you going to give me a rematch?”

Three days ago Melbourne had beaten Lance in a mock duel and Lance had been making excuses ever since.

“Of course,” Melbourne said, though he was more and more tired at the end of each day and didn’t know if he’d have the energy. It wasn’t that he couldn’t keep up with the others, it was just that they’d never ridden so far in so short a time at the Academy.

“Maybe tomorrow then,” Lance said. “I’ll show you that you just got lucky last time.”

“Sure,” Melbourne said.

“Hurry up, you two,” Sergeant Percival called.

Sergeant Percival was a tough-as-nails Digger through and through. He had been coordinating the scouts and was a hard taskmaster, but Melbourne liked him. Percival had often asked Melbourne to recount stories from his time at the Academy. Melbourne had also taken a liking to Lieutenant Glad, a happy man who joked frequently, usually at the expense of Trooper Lance, which Melbourne was certainly in favor of.

Melbourne finished the work on his horse after Lance and went to join the others, who were sitting around a fire that was just beginning to crackle softly in the cooling night air. Thin tendrils of smoke rose up toward the black sky and a comforting halo of light began to encircle them. They were laughing. Melbourne wondered whether they had even noticed the darkness pressing in, ready to suffocate them if they weren’t alert.

“How do you know it’s even real?” Major Tungsten was saying. “They probably had a hundred of them out the back of the stall. You got screwed, I’d say.”

Lance held an object in his hand. It was a small rectangular thing with numbered buttons on the front. “It’s a genuine pre-Reckoning device, he told me.”

“What does it do?” asked Lieutenant Glad.

“It doesn’t really do anything,” Lance replied.

“Ha,” Lieutenant Glad cried. “I’d say you’ve been fleeced by a dodgy merchant.”

“I’m going to have an engineer look at it when we get back,” Lance said. “They might know something.”

“Useless old sycophants,” Major Tungsten said.

“Need I remind you that they are the inventors of the mechanical rifle, Major Tungsten,” General Connor said, “and they managed to harness bio-diesel and gas. I won’t have you disrespecting the engineers. They are eccentric, I’ll admit, but the artillery guns alone should ensure they are appreciated.”

The general saw Melbourne approaching. “Come, Trooper Hermannsburg, sit, have some wine. Lieutenant Glad, pass the boy the wineskin.”

Lieutenant Glad handed Melbourne a leather bag. Melbourne took it and thanked him. The bag was about half-full, and as he lifted it to his lips a rush of fruity red wine spilled over his chin, down the front of his uniform and onto the ground. Lieutenant Glad laughed.

“Now you look like a true Digger,” he said. “Wine stains all over your clothes.”

“A waste of bloody good wine is all that is,” Major Tungsten said, snatching the wineskin from Melbourne.

Wentworth Connor gave Tungsten a disapproving look. “Take it easy on that wine, Major. Share it with your brothers.”

“Certainly, sir,” Tungsten said, having another quick swig before passing it across Melbourne and back to Glad. “You’ve had your share, boy,” he said to Melbourne. “It’s all down your shirt.”

“Tungsten,” the general said, his tone growing more rigid, “I have seen you spill more wine than that in one animated conversation.”

“Sorry, sir,” Major Tungsten said. He pulled the wineskin away from Lieutenant Glad’s pursed lips and passed it back to Melbourne.

“Thank you,” Melbourne said, “but really, it’s fine, I don’t care much for wine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, boy,” Major Tungsten said. “And don’t go soft on me. You think I can’t take a few stern words from the general? Drink the bloody wine and tell us some more about your time at the Academy, perhaps of how you bested the previous wrestling champion or how you won the Around the Rock foot race.”

Melbourne opened his mouth to speak but was cut off as Major Tungsten appeared to have another thought.

“Actually,” he said, “why not tell us how you beat the general’s time through the Gauntlet?”

Melbourne looked from the major to the general. The look on General Connor’s face revealed nothing of how he felt about this. Over the last few weeks Melbourne had delighted in sharing tales of his exploits at the Academy. The group had listened most attentively when he’d told them how he had beaten even Training Master Berant Essenburg in the arena, and how he had scored a perfect one hundred percent on his “Politically Motivated Assassinations,” “Theory of Swordsmanship” and “Brief History of the Territory” exams, but until now no one had dared ask this question. How had he beaten the general’s long-standing record through the harrowing challenge that was the Gauntlet? That had been a record most people had considered unbeatable.

The general looked at him. “If you are to become General’s Guard,” he said, “it’s only fair that you share your talents with the others.”

“General’s Guard?” Melbourne said, unable to keep himself from smiling. No trooper straight out of the Academy had received that honor since the general himself.

“Why else would I have you join these men?” the general said. “This is your chance to prove you belong among the elite. They told me you were some kind of prodigy. I thought you’d figured that out already.”

“Yes, sir,” Melbourne lied.

“Good, then,” General Connor said. “So how exactly
did
you beat my time through the Gauntlet?”

“Well,” Melbourne said, “I’m not sure how far the rest of you got, but I’m sure you remember the first obstacle. I knew the first swinging blade was a matter of timing. I could see it swinging from side to side past the broken-glass walkway. I knew that in order to get the best possible start I would need to make good time from the beginning. I guessed how quickly I could clear the glass and waited for the perfect moment before starting my run. It worked, and I ducked past it. Then I came to the spiked balls …”

Melbourne recounted a lengthy, blow-by-blow tale of how he had ducked and weaved his way through the Gauntlet, an obstacle course all army recruits were put through consisting mostly of very fast-moving sharp things. Knowing that most people didn’t make it past the first few obstacles before turning back, Melbourne populated his Gauntlet adventure with all manner of near misses and triumphant moments. Though nowhere in his story did he mention the mission he had undertaken the night before to loosen the machinery that drove the obstacles, causing them mostly to get tangled against each other and allowing him to simply run through.

Throughout Melbourne’s story General Connor remained silent. The other troopers added “oohs” and “ahs” at the appropriate times, while Lance commented often that he was sure he too could master the Gauntlet if he were given another shot at it.

Melbourne’s story drew to a close with the extraordinary moment of him diving feet first through the closing gap of four inward-slicing giant blades, and his losing enough hair that he hadn’t needed a haircut for four weeks. Among the admiring cheers and slaps on the back that followed, Major Tungsten declared that while it was of course a worthy feat, it had been quite a long and detailed account and he was ready for bed.

“Yes,” the general said, “we should retire for the evening. Thank you for the story, Trooper Hermannsburg. I always enjoyed the competitions in my day. Encouraging a competitive spirit is certainly healthy, except for the live combat competitions, of course.” He laughed. “They weren’t healthy for the loser, or even the winner on many occasions. But alas, they don’t have them anymore, do they?”

“No, sir,” said Melbourne.

“Shame, shame,” said the general. “It’s these safety laws they’ve got now. This is training for war, I told them, not a tickling competition. I’m sure you must have been disappointed you didn’t get to compete in live combat?”

“Yes, sir,” Melbourne said. “I mean, we did use full sharps and armor in our final semester.”

Wentworth Connor leaned across, slapped Melbourne hard on the back and laughed again.

“Yes, but you weren’t trying to kill each other. Things are different then.”

Melbourne laughed, a little.

“Good night, gentlemen,” General Connor said, rising. The other men followed his lead, retiring one by one to their beds. Lieutenant Glad, who had drawn first watch, settled by the fire, stoking it with a long charcoal-ended stick. Melbourne watched the orange embers float upward on the river of warm air. For a place where it was hot enough during the day to fry an egg on a helmet, the nights were unnaturally cold. Moving to stand and go to his own sleeping roll, Melbourne saw the general beckoning to him. “A word, please, Trooper.”

When they were out of earshot of the others, the general spoke to him again. “Tell me, how did you really beat the Gauntlet?”

Melbourne hesitated. “I … I just told you, sir.”

“I said how did you
really
beat it?”

Melbourne took a deep breath, then raised his eyes to meet the general’s gaze. “I beat it the same way you did, sir.”

“Oh?”

“I cheated.”

General Connor’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you insinuating that I cheated during my time at the Academy, boy?”

“No, sir.” Melbourne swallowed.

“That’s what you said, wasn’t it, or did I hear you incorrectly?”

“It wasn’t so much cheating as improving the odds,” Melbourne said. “I took every advantage I could to increase my chances of success.”

“Really?”

“Everyone said the Gauntlet was unbeatable,” Melbourne said. “You were the only one who had done it. I did some research, studied how you could have managed it, and once I figured it out I just did the same thing.”

“And what was that?”

“I went in the night before and loosened all the blade connections.”

General Connor stared at Melbourne and then began to smile.

“Very good, boy,” he said. “Very good.”