Borderlands: Gunsight (5 page)

•  •  •

He was waiting on the roof, near a cannon emplacement, smoking an enormous stogie and muttering to himself inaudibly as he gazed out over the city. Nearby stood a dozen armed men, including three hooded Nomads. They all stared at Mordecai as he and Commander Ripper strode from the elevator housing over to their boss.

Jasper was a squat, muscular man in chain mail, skag leather, and a high-capacity fast-recharge Pangolin shield; his massive arms, sleeveless, were tattooed with ideograms and lettering from various planets, but nothing local—confirming Mordecai’s suspicion that Jasper was a relatively recent emigrant to Pandora. The Boss of Gunsight had small eyes, a stub of a nose, and round cheeks. When Jasper bared his teeth they gleamed and sparkled: they were gold, encrusted with diamonds; his long beard was divided into three perfect spikes, each spike a different primary color: red, yellow, blue. His head was shaved and on its very top was a small mechanism that seemed built into his skull—it was almost periscope-shaped. But it pointed backward, scanning about when Jasper moved. Mordecai guessed that the device actually allowed the boss to see behind him when he chose to: an electronic “eye in the back of his head.”

On Jasper’s hip was an Eridian Thunderstorm shotgun-style energy weapon—he wore it in a holster the way a smaller man would wear a pistol. Jasper was almost as intimidating as his fortress.

The boss grinned glitteringly at Mordecai. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly high and fruity. “There he is. Matching up with his file photo, right down to the scavenger riding around on his shoulder.” He then muttered something else to himself in a low voice, quite inaudible, and gestured for Mordecai to join him at the battlements. “Over here, Mordecai. Want to show you something . . .”

He strode past a hovering cone-shaped service-bot, over to a silvery metal box on a tripod, set up right at the edge of the battlement. Mordecai strolled coolly to join Jasper, not wanting to seem as if he was in a hurry to comply. He had to
pretend, for now, that he was working for Jasper, but he had his pride, too.

Beyond the parapet, Mordecai could see the town spread out in ragged rings around the fortress. Smoke rose here and there. A gunshot thumped, and then another. Someone screamed, thinly, in the distance. Directly below was the Buzzard pad—too far for anyone to jump down to it without breaking his legs. There had to be some better way to get there . . .

“Now, sir,” said Jasper, “you’ll note that we’re on the Frostbite Highlands, overlooking the rolling hills of Tumess. Beyond those hills, on the Staggering Steppes, you’ll find the town of Tumessa . . . an armed camp, of course . . . Oh, by the way, would you like a hot drink? I have been trying to work on my manners as a host . . . I do tend to forget, since I have to actually kill most of my visitors and . . .” He shrugged apologetically. “Well, I do need to learn how to relate to people in other ways if I’m going to thrive in interstellar commerce. Perhaps you’ll join me? A nice mug of hot wine?”

“Ah, well—no, no thanks.” Mordecai would’ve liked something just like that—it was biting cold up here, his ears were aching with the sharp wind, and it was all he could do to keep his teeth from chattering. But he didn’t trust Jasper not to drug him.

“Suit yourself.” Jasper beckoned to the service-bot, which drifted over to him. “Hot mulled Zorian wine,” he told it. A small door opened on the bot’s side, revealing a steaming mug exuding a deliciously spicy smell. Jasper sipped the hot wine, grunted with satisfaction, and turned back to the metal box. “Now . . . I tap the far-seer here, and as it’s voice activated . . . I merely say,
Tumessa!
And hey presto . . .”

The box was a holoscope of a kind Mordecai hadn’t seen before—it simply materialized a miniature, 3-D image of a town in the air between Mordecai and Jasper.

“That’s where you’re going, Mordecai—Tumessa. Ever been there?”

“Nope.” And he didn’t plan to go, either.

“Its reputation is bad, even worse than Gunsight’s! And no wonder: it’s run by a scummy, scuzzy, sleazy, backstabbing, sneaky heap of skag droppings named Reamus. Naturally the place is scummy, scuzzy, and sleazy, too.”

“And why am I supposed to go to Tumessa?” Mordecai asked. He had a sinking feeling he might actually end up going anyway.

“Reamus. He’s up to something there—some kind of secret project. I want to know what it is. Rather not spend hundreds of trained men invading the place to find out—so I need someone with finesse. Someone slippery. Someone good at killing quietly, when he’s got to. I heard that describes you, Mordecai.” He sipped his wine, cleared his throat, and added blithely: “You see, Tumessa is surrounded by killer robots, mutated Psychos, SlagSlugs, auto-turrets, varkid pits, and acid moats. All I want you to do is kill your way into it, quietly as you can, find out what Reamus’s secret project is, kill
him
if the chance arises, kill your way back out, and then come back here to report to me. You’ll get your lady back and a nice paycheck. And I’d prefer you do it all alone. So—what do you say? Or should I simply ask—when can you start?”

M
ordecai stared at the 3-D image of Reamus’s armed camp.

He walked slowly around it, looking at the holostructed image from different angles. Tumessa appeared to be a really large mound on the flat land of the Staggering Steppes. The fortified settlement was a high, ovoid hill; a rounded-rectangular anomaly sticking up out of the plains that stretched out for long flat kilometers beneath Frostbite Highlands. Four roads wound up Tumessa’s four sides, meeting at the top, where a triangular metal tower rose from a pentagonal fortress. Along the roads were huts, concrete domes, shacks, and cannon emplacements.

“Can we zoom in, at the front there?” Mordecai asked.

“Certainly,” said Jasper, smacking his lips over his hot wine. “Holo zoom at touch.” He reached out and touched the spot indicated, and the three-dimensional image zoomed in.

“Are those Hyperion killbots?” Mordecai asked. “Those big robots standing guard, there, with all the firepower by the front gate?”

“Those?” Jasper said, blinking, all innocence. “Well. I suppose so.”

“And . . . there . . . what’s that bubbling stuff the bridge is going over . . . ?”

“That’s the acid moat I mentioned. One of them. Bridge is retractable.”

“Naturally. And that thing?” He pointed at something that seemed to slither along like a giant slug.

“That’s a SlagSlug. It’s . . . well it might once have been human. Now it’s a legless thing, kinda big, mutated by Eridium slag. They kill almost anything that’s not carrying a special deflector . . .”

“A special deflector. And do you plan to equip me with one of those?”

“Haven’t got one, I’m afraid. They disintegrate if the wearer is killed. I haven’t gotten around to training my men not to kill prisoners. It’s a refinement we hope to get into soon.”

Mordecai sighed. “And there . . .” He pointed at what appeared to be guard towers behind the killbots. “And there . . . snipers, yes? And it looks like Bruisers, down there, at the bottom, quite a number of them . . .”

“Yes, indeed. You’ll have to kill your way through those.”

“Oh, naturally. And then through that seemingly impenetrable fortress.” Mordecai tugged thoughtfully on his small, pointed beard. “Suppose I was to approach it in a Buzzard . . . ?”

Jasper shrugged sadly. “They’ve shot every flying vehicle . . . or creature . . . that’s gotten anywhere near the place, night or day. SmartRadar, don’t you know. Good installations. Getting some myself. But Reamus is pretty tight with Hyperion—did a lot of work for ’em. Gives him a bit of an edge. They’ll sell him tech they won’t sell me.”

“What’s your beef with this Reamus, anyway?”

“Why—” Jasper looked at him in surprise. “He’s a thief!”

“No!”

“Oh, yes! I’ve had my caravans raided, over and over, in the last couple of months! They’re coming in with hard-earned loot taken from my . . . my objectives around the planet.”

Mordecai nodded slowly. “So you’re looting all these settlements—and he’s stealing the loot from you?”

“Yes! Plus killing far too many of my men! And those men are expensive to replace!”

“You could, of course, work out some sort of deal with him. Give him a taste, that sort of thing.”

“I had a stab at it—but he’s a lunatic! A madman! I mean, you have no idea. Besides being a repulsively mutated quasi-humanoid, he’s some kind of stim addict, half crazed on the stuff all the time. Not really someone you can make a deal with.”

Mordecai nodded once more. “Right. Well.” He smiled, putting on his best expression for bald-faced lying. “I will take the job . . .
if
we can come to financial terms. And of course you release Daphne to me.”

“I release her only when the job’s done, Mordecai,” Jasper said smugly, refilling his mug at the floating bot.

“Ah. How do I know she’s even alive and well? I need to see her, talk to her. If she’s all right, well treated—then . . . you have a deal.”

Of course, Mordecai planned to do nothing of the sort. It looked impossible to pull off, even with a small army. Let alone one man.

His plan was simply to rescue Daphne. But before he could do that, he had to know where she was.

“Very well,” said Jasper, belching. “Ripper! Show him the woman! But make sure he’s unarmed before he goes down there—check him closely! And take four good men with you! Take no chances with him!”

•  •  •

Daphne Kuller was stalking back and forth in the cell, pacing like a caged panther. The sight of her in Jasper’s jail cell made Mordecai angry.

Very, very angry.

But he kept the rage down; kept it coiled, inside him—for now.

“Daphne!” Mordecai called lightly, as he walked up between the armed guards. There were four Marauders about him; two behind, two in front. He smiled and waved at her as if they were meeting for a first date.

She stopped pacing, and stared at him. “You’ve come!” She snorted. “Took you long enough.”

Mordecai nodded and paused in front of the cell. He glanced back at Ripper, who was standing near the door, shotgun in hand, frowning. Then he looked back at Daphne.

“Any thoughts, Daph?” he asked, smiling urbanely.

She shrugged, as if she didn’t know what he had in mind. But she’d noticed his eyes flicking first toward Bloodwing, perched on his shoulder, and then to the Tediore Cobra assault rifle the Marauder on his left was carrying. He noticed that the Marauder, a big Bruiser in a full mask and gloves, also had a sonic key on his hip . . . this might be the jailer.

“Volto!” Commander Ripper called, from behind them. “Be careful! Don’t stand so near his—”

But it was too late. Mordecai was hissing an order at Bloodwing—who was up, twisting in the air, clawing at
Volto’s eyes. Volto screamed and put a hand to his eyes and Mordecai was already jerking the Cobra out of Volto’s other hand, turning it on two other guards, opening up before they realized what was happening. He hammered them at close range, as the fourth one tried to shoot at Bloodwing, only to get Mordecai’s gun butt cracking into his teeth. The fourth guard went down—and Volto was still standing, screaming, blinded. At the other end of the hall, Ripper was cursing and aiming his shotgun.

Mordecai grabbed Volto, spun him around, and stepped behind him—the blast from the shotgun caught the blood-faced guard in the chest, two rounds ripping into him. Mordecai fired the last of his clip past the dying man toward Ripper, hitting his shield—it flared with the impact and Ripper stepped back through the door, shouting for backup. Mordecai turned to grab the sonic key off the crumpling Volto, before the man had quite hit the floor, and triggered it toward the cell door. The lock
clicked,
the door swung open, and Daphne rushed out of the cell, in the same swooping motion snatching up an autopistol and a shotgun from two of the fallen Marauders as Bloodwing flew shrieking overhead, blood dripping from her claws and beak. Mordecai grabbed a couple of grenades off Volto’s body and followed Daphne down the hall.

Mordecai and Daphne jumped over bodies, heading for the door at the end of the hall. Mordecai tried the sonic key on the door Ripper had locked behind him—and it clicked within itself, swung slightly open.

“Hold tight,” he said. Daphne stepped back as he activated a grenade and tossed it neatly through the opening so it bounced off the wall beyond the door, and rattled down the
hall that opened to their left. There was an explosion and the sound of men yelling in pain.

Mordecai was already rushing through, reloading the Cobra. He fired from the hip, killing one Marauder, splashing his brains against the wall. Two others were dead, blown apart by the grenade that had left a bloodied burn spot on the walls and a pall of gray smoke. Down the hall, he saw the shadows of men coming from a cross-corridor. Commander Ripper’s backup had arrived.

“Let’s try this way,” Daphne said, pointing at a closed door just past the explosion marks on the walls.

They ran toward it, Bloodwing fluttering along behind, as Ripper led a group of gunmen into sight at the cross-corridor. Daphne fired with both hands, and her rounds sent men staggering, but unhurt—they were Nomads protected by shields. Mordecai was already tossing the other grenade.