Authors: Steve Feasey
Mutant City (30 page)
The noise in the hall was deafening now, the crowd whipped into a frenzy by the news, delivered in Melk’s fervent oratorical style.
‘Now I know this is not the way this parliament is run. I know that there are procedures and processes. But desperate times require desperate measures, and I say we don’t have time for niceties! I want the Principia to vote. In fact, not just the Principia. I want all of you here tonight to vote, to give me your mandate. I want you to tell me, this very night, that you will let me lead you in ridding ourselves of the mutants for good!’
An ocean of noise broke over him. It seemed as if every voice was shouting out in support of his proposal. He’d played his hand very well.
As planned, he left the podium, nodding to his right for the speaker of the forum, who just happened to be one of his oldest friends, to take his place.
The man addressed the audience, asking them for a show of hands if they were willing to allow Melk to continue as president for an unprecedented fourth term. There were few dissenters. And those who did try to make their voices heard were quickly shouted down. Even so, Melk made a careful note of who they were, not in the least surprised to see Towsin Cowper among them.
Nodding his head, Melk left the great hall wearing a grim expression. It was only once he’d passed through the door at the rear, and was safely in one of the antechambers, that he allowed his features to break out into a satisfied smile. Waiting for him was General Razko. The assembled crowds didn’t know it yet, but these two men together would become an all too familiar sight in the coming months.
The military man turned to his president, raising one bushy eyebrow in a characteristic gesture. ‘That went surprisingly well. I must say, sir, I expected more resistance from the members of the council.’
‘I didn’t. They’re soft. They proved that when they stifled so many of my bold plans in the last few years. I can assure you, general, they will not do so again. There are one or two that may prove troublesome, but I’ll deal with them.’
‘When do we strike back at the mutants?’
‘Not yet. I want our response to be decisive and brutal. That requires a full assessment of what military forces and armaments we have at our disposal. Things have been allowed to slip a little in that regard, I’m led to believe.’
‘The Principia
has
made a number of cuts in recent years, sir. We’re horribly undermanned and under-resourced.’
‘Then you and I will have to put that right, won’t we?’ Melk gave the other man a searching look. ‘Tell me, Razko, what happened to Project C-27?’
‘The cyborg programme?’
‘Yes.’
The general paused, considering his response. ‘Officially it was scrapped.’
‘And unofficially?’
‘I had it put on ice.’
‘Then I think it’s time it was thawed. And I believe I have the perfect candidate to use as our first test case.’
There was a jolt – a flash of blinding light and pain that made him grunt and jerk on the cold, flat surface. As his faculties slowly returned, he became aware that he was not alone in the room.
Steeleye Mange lay on his back. He opened his eyes, one of which had not worked for a very long time, but now, amazingly, appeared to be relaying data: facts and figures about the visual input signal as well as information regarding the current status of various systems operating within him. He paused and shook his head.
Systems?
Without any idea how, he knew the images and data he was receiving came via his HUD, or Heads-Up Display, and that it had been installed in his right eye socket where the ball bearing had been. He turned his head to look in the direction of the people his perimeter scanners told him were occupying the room with him.
The two men and the woman were wearing white coats. The information in his HUD told him the one staring back at him was called Dr Arnak. The other two – Drs Svenson and Levitt – were too engrossed in the analytical data displayed on their omnipads to pay him any attention. Their identities had already been programmed into his information database. He frowned and shook his head again, a wave of terrible nausea washing over him.
Information database? What the hell was going on?
‘We have lift-off,’ Arnak informed his colleagues, a dry smile ghosting across his lips. He turned his attention to Steeleye again. ‘Welcome back, Commander Mange. Now, things are going to feel rather strange to you for a while. The reorientation of your organic body to your bionic augmentations will take a little time to get used to; that’s perfectly normal and as expected. We’d like to run a few diagnostic tests on you before you have the chance to meet the person responsible for your . . . rebirth. Would that be OK with you?’
Commander Mange?
Steeleye sat up and, ignoring the doctors’ pleas, swung his legs round.
The first thing he noticed was the high-pitched whine of the servo-motors as his motorised legs sprang into action. The feedback in one part of his HUD was a stream of data about the orientation and speed of the limbs, but he completely ignored it and concentrated on getting upright. His stomach rolled, making him feel as if he might throw up, and he felt light-headed. The solid
clunk!
noise as his feet made contact with the floor was like two bowling balls being dropped. He had no idea how much he weighed, but it must have been one heck of a lot.
‘Well, that was very impressive, but I suggest you –’
‘What the hell have you done to me?’ Steeleye asked, raising first his human right arm, complete with its covering of tattoos, then the matt steel one in place where his left one had once been. ‘Where are my legs? And my arm?’
‘As I say, I suggest you –’
‘ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!’
‘We’ve . . . enhanced you.’ Arnak shot his colleague Dr Levitt a glance. ‘Get Melk and Razko.’
On one wall was a series of viewing panels, designed so that observers could see what was going on inside. Right now, the observation area was empty and dark, transforming the glass panes into black mirrors.
Steeleye approached, staring at himself.
One side of his face remained, along with his nose and mouth. On the other side, from the back of his jaw, up his cheek and through the centre of his forehead, a metallic skull looked back at him. Wherever the two interfaced was an ugly ridge of puckered flesh that appeared to be riveted to the metal beneath. Bloody tissue still lined these borders and would clearly take more time to heal. His natural eye took in its domed plaziglas partner. Despite the lens being tinted, mechanical parts could be seen moving behind it as the optical device constantly adjusted focus. He lifted the arm again, this time holding the hand out before his face and flexing the articulated metal fingers. He could sense the power in the thing. Everything he did was accompanied by a flow of information streamed right into his brain.
He turned to the doctors again, his look unreadable. He was amazed at how calm they were, considering they were shut in a room with a huge half-man, half-metal monster.
‘You made me into a ’borg?’
‘As I said, all will be explained to you when –’
With a roar Steeleye threw himself at them, his robotic arm pulled back, ready to pulverise them all into bloody little pieces.
‘SVENSON!’ Arnak barked, and the woman jabbed at a button on the omnipad she was holding.
Steeleye froze.
His organic self was still fully operational – he could breathe and feel his heart beating. But his mouth wouldn’t work, and he guessed that, despite leaving the soft tissue of his lips and tongue in place so he could talk, they’d mechanised his jaw. He was still able to move his eyes, and information streamed across his vision, in the centre of which flashed the words EXTREMITY MOTOR FREEZE.
As if on cue, two men appeared in the doorway. Steeleye’s HUD identified them both: President Melk and General Razko.
The older man, the politician, entered, taking in the situation. He turned to the scientists. ‘Why’s he frozen like that?’
‘He was getting a little . . . excited,’ Svenson said.
‘I see. Can he hear me?’ Melk looked to Dr Arnak for confirmation before stepping forward and narrowing his eyes at Steeleye. ‘Well, it suits my purpose to have his undivided attention right now.’ He pointed a finger at the mutant cyborg. ‘I’m guessing that the last thing you remember is the botched raid on the mutant safe house. The one my son allowed you to be part of. Would that be right? The Mute kid hitting you with the rock.
Bam!
’ He smacked a clenched fist into his other palm. ‘Straight in the middle of your head – like David slaying Goliath!’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘Well, that blow caused a huge amount of harm. Even with a thick skull like the one you had, the doctors tell me the impact resulted in untold damage to your brain.’ He paused for a moment before going on. ‘Bad things have happened since then. My son is dead, and I’m now back in charge.
‘Before his death I was made aware of the deal you two struck – that you wanted to join our forces for a chance to get revenge on these troublesome Mutes we’d been looking for. The very same Mutes that tried to kill you during the raid.’ He locked eyes with Steeleye, letting this sink in. ‘And I thought you deserved a second chance. I said to myself, in honour of my son, I will give this man that second chance. Now, if I get these good people behind me to unfreeze you, are you going to behave yourself? Hmm?’
Steeleye grunted something that sounded vaguely like agreement, and Melk nodded at the scientists.
There was a whirr of motors coming back to life and Steeleye was able to move again. He lowered his arm and straightened up to his full height.
‘Do you still want your revenge, Mange?’
‘What do I have to do?’
‘All you have to do is find them.’
‘And when I do?’
‘They’re all yours.’
Escape had been straightforward. But the knowledge of what they were leaving behind weighed heavily on all of them. The children at Silas’s school were collected, many of them fast asleep, and along with Dotty were put aboard the stolen vehicle or Tink’s wagon. Silas got word out to ward leaders and other mutant heads that trouble was coming to Muteville and that everyone who could should leave. There was little else he could do. No doubt Melk’s revenge would be terrible, and those left behind in the slums would be made to suffer, but Silas and those he was directly responsible for knew they could not stay; they had to get away, and hope others heeded their warnings to do likewise.
They headed north, always looking over their shoulders for pursuers that didn’t appear. When they eventually stopped, it was at a fishing community established at the
edge of a huge lake. Silas knew the people there, and the fisher
folk agreed to give the group shelter in a large outbuilding they used to build boats. It was only a temporary arrangement for the adults and teenagers; not so for the younger members of the band. The young orphans would stay behind when the others moved on. Despite the tears and upset this arrangement caused, everyone knew it was for the best.
‘What’ll happen now?’ Rush asked Tink that first night. They’d all eaten a meal of fresh fish, and the pair had volunteered to do the washing-up down at the waterfront.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know, or you won’t say?’
Tink gave a sigh. ‘Things’ll get bad for mutants – all mutants. But they’ll be worst for this group. You’ll be hunted, and you’ll have to fight to stay alive.’
‘Will we all make it?’
‘Now that I really do not know. What I do know is you’re far stronger together than you are apart. Nobody needs a vision to tell them that.’
They finished up and went back to rejoin the others. When they were all together again, bellies full, Silas stood and addressed them.
‘For a long time now, I’ve fought for mutants to have rights. Nothing special, nothing unreasonable – rights you’d think everyone was entitled to in a world where man cares for his fellow man. But these things have not been granted to us, so now it’s up to us to try and take them. What we did back at City Four, rescuing Brick like that, was the right thing to do. But President Melk will turn it into something else. We’re outlaws now, and he’ll do whatever he can to bring us to justice, at least that’s how
he’ll
see it.
‘For now, we have no choice but to run. But we won’t run for ever. We owe it to ourselves and to all mutants to see that
true
justice is done. It’s time the Mutes made a stand. It’s time we said no to the tyranny we’ve been made to suffer for so long. It’s time for a mutant rising!’
Stories can be belligerent so-and-sos, and at times it seems they are doing their utmost not to be told. When this happens, an author needs a strong team behind him to make sure the tale he wants to tell can come about. For this book there is a special trinity who need a big ‘thank you’:
My agent, Catherine Pellegrino, and I had a brief parting of ways before I realised that, although there are others out there, none of them ‘get me’ like she does. I’m glad to have her back and grateful she found this book such a great home at Bloomsbury Publishing.