Leonard could only hear the pounding of his heart as he headed into the office. More blood and shells. The mirrored display shelves were smashed to pieces, and there amid the shining wreckage was the crumpled body of the baron. Kneeling on the glass shards, uncaring of the cuts received, Leonard tenderly turned over the body, hoping for a miracle.
The entire universe shrank to just the ruined face of the man who had saved him from the stickies in the desert as a small child, raised him, taught him to write, to sing, to read, bandaged his leg when he broke it in a fall, indoctrinated him as a warrior, the sovereign leader of their ville.
“Father,” Leonard cried, hugging the bloody corpse to his chest. “I’ll get her, Father. I swear. If it takes my whole life, I’ll kill that bitch for you…”
THE GURGLING of the nearby river was a low background noise to the sec men walking along the top of the Alphaville wall.
“Damn flies,” one of the men grumbled, waving a hand about. Something had buzzed past him, and he could only assume it was one of the fat black bugs that bred in the river. Horrid things, the bites stung worse than the rain and took weeks to heal.
There was another buzz, and a man several yards away made a juicy noise, falling to the ground and dropping his blaster.
“Billy? You okay?” he asked, coming closer, working the bolt on his rifle. Something strange was going on here. Then the buzzing sound came again and he stopped caring.
A FEW MINUTES LATER, the still of the night was violently shattered as a bright flash washed over the ville, followed by a roll of thunder.
“What the hell was that?” a grizzled sergeant demanded, walking out of a guard shack holding a cup of steaming soup. The man started to take a sip, but the cup dropped from nerveless fingers as he watched a column of flame stretch into the sky, along with assorted bits of machinery, the blast echoed by the crackling crash of a thousand windows shattering.
“Holy shit, the brewery blew,” a private gasped, coming out of the barracks and sliding on suspenders.
“Damn fools got drunk again,” another man drawled, chewing on a pipe. “Quality control, my ass.”
“That blast must have taken out every greenhouse for blocks.”
“What?” a young private said, suddenly wide awake. “But without them, we starve!”
Sergeant Zanders turned. “No shit, genius. Corporal Linderholm!”
“Sir!” the sec man barked, coming to attention in his underwear.
“Beg, borrow, steal blankets, then get your squad over there to cover those bastard plants before the night chill aces the whole fucking crop!”
“On it!” The man dashed off.
“MacPhillips, gather civvies and start lighting torches around the greenhouses to keep the area warm.”
“Will that help?” the man asked, sliding on a boot while standing on one foot.
“Am I a farmer? Get!”
Not bothering to salute, the sec men rushed to the task, knowing their lives depended upon moving fast.
Window shutters were opening in every building, throwing shafts of light onto the streets. People stumbled out asking one another endless questions and gawking at the running sec men.
An officer sauntered from the tavern on the corner. “What’s the commotion, Zanders?” Removing a small box from his vest, he took a dainty sniff of the pink powder inside, closed the box and returned it to his pocket, instantly more alert. “Muties? A jail break?”
“Stuff it, ya junkie!” the sergeant snapped hatefully. “Go wake the glazers and get their furnace going. We start repairs, right fucking now!”
The officer stared at the noncom coldly. “I’m in charge here, Sergeant,” he said sourly.
“Great. What are your orders, sir?”
A minute passed as the lieutenant buttoned his jacket closed. “Carry on. I’ll alert the glazers.”
“Fucking officers,” Zanders muttered, tapping the revolver at his belt. Then his expression melted as a rain of flaming debris plummeted from the sky across the ville, crashing onto stores, tents and rooftops.
“Sound the fire alarm!” the sergeant shouted to a group of gawking sec men. “Now, ya fools!”
Soon a metallic clanging sounded and people charged into the streets, carrying buckets of sand and brooms. Some beat at the small scattered fires on the street, while others started forming a bucket brigade to smother a large chunk of blazing debris dangerously close to the gaudy house. Inside, the naked women were screaming and throwing things out the windows.