James Axler – Zero City

As the door closed behind them, the elder Strichland took the chair behind the massive cherry-wood desk and put his boots on the mirror-smooth surface. “Report,” he ordered.

“Three people came in yesterday,” Leonard said, placing his armload of papers on an empty chair. “But they were chased by only six wolves.”

“Bastard birds, or whatever the muties are, have been breeding again,” Strichland grumbled, cracking his knuckles, as his hair stirred with impatience. “Every time we find their nest and burn it out, they’re back again in a couple of months.”

“We may never find the main nest,” Leonard stated.

“Obviously.” Gunther sneered, his hair coiling in response to his tension. “If it weren’t for my searchlights, the things would have destroyed Alphaville months ago. Are the lights in good working order?”

“Yes, Father. Perfect shape. I check them myself every day.”

The redhead smiled benignly. “Good lad.”

“We could send in more men to search the ruins,” Leonard suggested.

Gunther shook his head. “And risk one of them finding the old baron’s secret weapons cache and starting a war over the ville? I think not.”

“Why did the old baron hide his weapons outside the ville?”

“You’ve never asked me that question before.”

“It never seemed important before,” the boy said.

“And now?”

“I…It is my duty to know such things.”

The baron placed his boots on the floor with a thump and beamed proudly. “At last, you’re taking an interest in ruling our land. Excellent. Baron Harvin did that so in case of a rebellion, he could regroup sec men outside the ville and blast their way back in to seize control.”

“But none of the troops stayed loyal.”

“A lesson to remember, future baron,” the man said sternly. “Always stay on the good side of the troops. That is why a gaudy house was the first thing I built, even before the greenhouses. The sec men go there for free, which makes them happy. None of the farmers’ daughters or wives are attacked, which makes them happy, which increases the production of food, which makes everybody happy. These people would willingly march into a rad pit for me!”

And they would someday, too, Gunther added privately. Every last one of the stinking norm bastards, once he had a real son to replace him as baron. That was, if he ever managed to father a true heir and he wasn’t saddled with this obedient milksop for the rest of his life.

“Father?” Leonard asked urgently. “Something wrong?”

The middle-aged man smiled gently. “Nothing, my son. Nothing.”

Rising from his chair, the baron started to pace the room. “The searchlights, which keep away the muties, also attract more people. Both good things. However, a larger population means more noise, and more activity, which attracts the muties. It’s a vicious circle. Our only defense weakens us and makes us more of a juicy target. For ten months, we’ve been walking the razor’s edge. I took the ville from the monster who controlled it before. There are no more random beheadings, no more rape or cannibalism. We have greenhouses and grow enough food for an army. We have trials, and gaudy houses. The population has tripled since I took over. Tripled!”

Gunther stopped at the mirrored wall and toyed with the teakwood box for a moment before replacing it on the shelf. “We have over a thousand people here, son. That’s bigger than most predark cities. Clean food, and we burn wood to make charcoal to purify the mountain water. Nobody has gotten ill from the river for months. But we must have those blasters to kill the bats! If the lights should ever fail during an attack, our people would be slaughtered.”

“We could use alcohol bombs to set fire to the whole city,” Leonard stated, then, seeing his father’s darkening face and lashing hair, quickly relented. “Perhaps not.”

“Not if we want the weapons. And that has always been the twix, and we must soon decide. The bats or the blasters. It seems we can’t have both.” Strichland paused, knowing this request wouldn’t please his adopted son. But it was time for him to learn that running a ville was often bloody work. “Get the old man.”