Borderlands: Gunsight (20 page)

“No. We’re past that bunch now—for the moment. We’re about to be taken inside, seems to me. So maybe we can play the game for a while . . .”

Someone knocked on the window and pointed an enormous Eridian blunderbuss at him. Mordecai smiled, nodded at the sentry, and opened the truck’s door. He got out.

“Good to be home,” he said.

The sentry, a man with dull, droopy eyes and equally droopy mouth, looked doubtfully at him. “If you were any more full of crap, your goggles would steam up,” he said. “Come on. No weapons. They want to see you inside.”

Then Bloodwing leapt out, on his shoulder.

“Shit, what’s that thing?” the sentry yelled, stepping back to aim the gun at Bloodwing.

“Don’t shoot! It’s just my pet!”

“Your pet doesn’t have permission to come in! That thing looks dangerous.”

“Okay, fine. Bloodwing. Off you go. You’re free to fly around and eat something dead till I, uh . . . get in touch.”

Bloodwing looked at him, head cocked. He winked at her. She winked back and leapt into the air, flapping into the sky.

Disarmed and without shields, Mordecai and Brick were escorted at gunpoint out of the technical and across the street to the great steel building. Like some horrid, bloated variant on stone lions, two SlagSlugs reared, gurgling, to either side of the doorway into Reamus House. Their moronic faces shuddering with bloodlust, they hissed and wriggled as Brick and Mordecai approached.

“Those big worm people are ugly,” Brick remarked, unnecessarily, looking with puzzlement at the hideous wormlike mutants.

“Yeah and mentally challenged, too,” Mordecai said. “Which is good. If they were smarter, they’d be even more dangerous. They can spit acid or glue. Don’t get too close.”

Mordecai had given up pretending they belonged here. It would soon be violently apparent that they didn’t.

They strode boldly between the slugs and through the open doors. Inside, two burly Reamers awaited in the big, high-ceilinged stainless-steel entryway, the black-clad soldiers aiming powerful Eridian rifles at them. The Reamers wore jet-black skag leather fighting suits, with lots of pockets and zippers, and the sign of Reamus on their shoulders: an
R
within a halo of outward-pointing spears. The same symbol hung from a banner, red and black, above the big steel hallway behind them. To the right glowed a four-meter-high digital image of Reamus—gigantic, four-armed, insanely muscular, face both brutal and wickedly intelligent.

“Don’t do anything but walk, and keep your arms close to your sides,” said the Reamer on the right.

“Be kind of awkward to walk that way,” said Mordecai mildly. “But anything to please.”

“Come on, this way. Stay between us.”

Mordecai heard Brick growl to himself. It had taken some convincing to get Brick to agree to this passive entry into the den of the enemy. Mordecai was afraid the big guy was going to lose control and start smashing things, and people. And in here it just might get them both killed. “Take it easy, big buddy,” Mordecai muttered, as they walked down the hallway with the Reamers. “Timing, it’s all timing . . .”

“My timing is, it’s time to bust some heads.”

“What was that?” asked a man stepping up to block their way at the end of the big entryway. “Something about
busting heads? What a colorful expression, so pungently old-fashioned . . .” The stranger was pasty-faced, his cheeks almost doughy, with red stained lips, tattooed eyeliner, and a high, florid three-tone hairstyle, red, yellow, and blue like his clothing; very off-world, Mordecai thought. The man wore a silken variant of Reamus’s fighting livery, but in red and yellow, with high red boots. A powerful Pangolin shield projected from the unit on his chest cast a translucent sheath of blue energy around him. The guards had stopped, clearly respecting the man’s authority, despite his innocuous appearance. “Whose heads will you bust?”

“Brick here just likes to break things, including heads,” Mordecai said, chuckling. “Take no notice. It’s a kind of hobby he has. Hasn’t had a chance for any recreation in a while. Getting bored. We want to be of service to Reamus—busting heads.”

“And breaking arms,” Brick added, thoughtfully.

“My name is Fluron,” said the stranger. “I’m Reamus’s consort and secretary. Also his security chief. Do not speak of breaking arms in his presence. He has four of them and he doesn’t like that kind of talk. So this one is the fabled Brick. And you?”

“The fabled Mordecai.”

“I haven’t heard that fable. Well, come along, then.” Fluron glanced at the Reamers. “You boys bring up the rear, and keep a close eye on them, guns at ready.”

“Yes sir,” the men snapped, almost simultaneously.

Mordecai wondered how this Fluron could command these great thuggish Reamers. Then again, Mordecai himself didn’t appear dangerous, to a good many people . . . And they found out differently.

They walked through several shining metal-walled rooms, where even the furniture appeared to be stainless steel fused with the floor. The only decorations, apart from ornate steel frames around the tall, narrow windows, were flickering digital images, showing Reamus in various stages—from his original body to his mutated four-armed form. The air was chilly; their footsteps echoed metallically as they trod through room after room. At last they came to a heavily bolted black-metal door, embossed with the spear-haloed Reamus
R.

“Personal identity: Fluron,” the man muttered, at the door. A computer analyzed his voice and opened the door; it was bank-vault thick yet it swung back whisper-silent.

And within, standing at a holographic projection table, under digital banners, his four huge arms bare, massive bare chest crisscrossed with red leather, and about three meters tall, immense bald head crested with crystalline spines, towering over all the others in the room . . .

Reamus.

He’d once been a man. Now he was a gigantic Eridium mutant, hugely altered through genetic modification, with a craggy, grim face like a statue’s after being worn down by the weather for several hundred years. He turned his emotionless eyes on them as they were led into the room.

On the hologram table was a reticulating image of the town of New Haven—where Mordecai had friends. Was Reamus planning an attack against New Haven? The image was a three-dimensional projection, like the one Jasper had shown him of Tumessa, but larger, more detailed, like a model of the town on a table. But one that would vanish at the touch of a button.

“Here are the imposters, Reamus,” said Fluron.

Reamus nodded and turned to stare balefully at Brick.
“This
one,” Reamus said, his voice like an avalanche, “is dangerous. But—I’m too busy to kill anyone now.”

Brick growled again. Louder than the last time.

Mordecai almost poked Brick in the ribs with his elbow—but that might’ve gotten him killed. By Brick.

“We are keeping a close eye on them both, Reamus,” Fluron said. “So—kill them now or later?”

Brick growled even louder.

Mordecai said, “Spare us. Give us a job. And I’ll give you some vital information.”

Reamus turned to him. His four arms rose, the four hands clenched into fists. “Do you imagine you could ever keep information back from me?”

“I expect you could torture it out of me,” Mordecai conceded, smiling faintly.

“I’d do that myself,” Fluron interposed. “With pleasure.”

“But,” Mordecai went on, “you’ll lose some good employees. And waste time. Jasper will be there soon.”

“ ‘Good employees?’ ” Reamus made a low animal barking sound that was his version of laughter. “You stole one of our trucks—you could have been with the bunch who . . .” He broke off, stepping closer to loom over him, frowning down. “Did you say Jasper?” A frown on Reamus’s face reshaped his features gruesomely, turned his countenance into a gargoyle’s mask.

Mordecai was a bit taken aback. He pretended to clear his throat, so he could get a moment to recover. “I—yes, I said Jasper. Boss Jasper himself is going to be in Corpse Crevice tomorrow morning, with a small army! In it—or close to it.”

“What’s he doing at Corpse Crevice?”

Mordecai shrugged. “Don’t know every detail. But from what I gleaned, it’s a forward encampment. He’s preparing a sneak attack on you. He’ll have a whole big flock of Buzzards down there, they’ll take off first and attack Tumessa, keep you focused on them. They’ll mostly get knocked down but not before they weaken your defenses. And all the time he’s sending out divisions to take you down from the ground.”

“Why should you know all this?”

“I was in the room when the plans were made. I was just doing some sentry duty but I got an earful.”

“You could’ve been sent by Jasper to spread disinformation, too . . .”

“Perhaps I might send up a drone,” Fluron said. “We could see if there’s any movement from Gunsight toward Corpse Crevice. Maybe confirm the story?”

“Do it,” Reamus said, pointing at Fluron with all four of his hands. “Do it now!”

Fluron nodded, gave a rather showy salute, and strode off.

Reamus looked at Mordecai. “Now as to killing you now or later . . .” He paused, thinking it over. “Now—or later. I think—”

Mordecai quickly put in, “If the drone confirms my story, that would confirm that I’ve changed sides. Sure, we
were
with Jasper. But he’s a loser—and you’re not! We want to work for you. I wanted to show you I’m valuable. You can set up an ambush and get rid of your biggest enemy. All I want in return is a good job for me and my partner here—something high in the organization. I could be captain of the Reamus House guard maybe. You should make Brick here one of your top commanders—he’s deadly on the battlefield . . .”

“Hmm. Jasper sends out sorties all the time,” rumbled the
big mutant. “You’re definitely saying he’s going to be there,
in person
?”

“Yeah! Jasper’s easy to spot—a big, round, goofy-looking bastard. Your spotters won’t miss him. He’ll be there.”

Or so Mordecai hoped. With a little luck, Jasper would be there—if he’d taken the bait.

Through Commander Ripper, Mordecai had told Jasper the same thing, but in reverse: That Reamus would be in Corpse Crevice, or close by, to try to set up a surprise attack on Gunsight. And of course he’d told Jasper that Reamus would be there in person. And by the way, what an ideal situation for an ambush . . .

As far as Mordecai was concerned, both Reamus and Jasper were enemies. They both had to go down. Be nice if they could take each other down for him.

Reamus grunted thoughtfully and put his four hands together—he made “tents” of the fingers of the two upper hands; the lower ones clasped, and seemed to be doing some kind of dynamic-tension exercise. The mutant’s pectorals and biceps bulged, veins throbbing with life.

Anything with veins on it can bleed out and die, big mutant.

Mordecai glanced at Brick, sensing growing restlessness. Brick was shifting his weight from foot to foot, hands balled into fists, lowering his head in that bull-on-the-attack way he had.

Brick despised subterfuge. He’d only agreed to this because Mordecai had said it would get him in close where he could pit himself against Reamus personally. Brick’s way of thinking was, he either took a real job working for the guy—or he took him on. Having seen Reamus, Brick wanted to match himself against the fabled four-armed giant.

But just then Reamus turned to them and grimaced with his lipless mouth in his approximation of a smile. “If it turns out that Jasper is where you say he is, why, I shall be very pleased. Meanwhile—you two can stay in our guest suite.” He turned to their escort and pointed with two of his hands. One hand pointed to one sentry, the other to the other sentry. The lower two hands cracked their knuckles. “You two, take them to the back bedroom. Make sure they’re very, very comfortable. And do it now.”

“This way, gents,” said one of the sentries gruffly, lowering his weapon.

Mordecai looked at Brick—who shrugged back at him.

The sentries had lowered their weapons so all must be well. They were in with Reamus.

Mordecai and Brick followed the two men through the opposite door, down a hall, and into a big freight-size elevator. The sentries chatted about what was on the menu in the commissary that night. Then they reached the seventh floor, got out, and the head sentry unlocked a door, and gestured the two men into it. Mordecai and Brick stepped in—and stopped cold. They were on a ledge, out in the open, and down below them was a giant monster with six limbs.

Mordecai turned and went for the door—but it was shut, locked, and unbreakable.

“N
ot much of a guest suite,” Brick said, looking at the half-meter-wide steel ledge.

“I
thought
those two bastards were smirking, in the elevator,” Mordecai said, turning back to the ledge. “I should’ve known when he said ‘make sure they’re very, very comfortable.’ That’s always a dead giveaway.”

He looked down—and the Bullymong looked up at him.

It was a hideous creature with four gigantic arms, two comparatively small legs, an enormous chest. It looked top-heavy to Mordecai. Hard to imagine how those small legs held it up. Partly it was the fact that two of its long, thick arms were almost right behind the other two and could extend back enough so the creature kept its balance on its relatively small feet. The Bullymong was mostly the color of the stainless steel that made up the building—and the ledge they stood on.