James Axler - Arcadian's Asylum

The convoy started up and began to rumble down the flattop. The companions stood back and watched it disappear around a bend in the road until the last wag, and its exhaust, had cleared their view. Even the sound of the engines had become a distant rumble, fading beneath the rustling of the groves at their backs.

“Well,” Doc said brightly, “do we press on for pastures new? Or do we find out what this crazed baron really wants?”

“You calling someone crazy,” Mildred snorted. “Now that really isn’t a good sign.”

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.