Borderlands #2: Unconquered Read online

  “Looking for Brick. Seen him?”

  “Saw some broken walls and broken bodies that have his stamp on ’em, you might say. There’s a mine out east of the settlement; that’s where he hangs out, I’d guess. If he’s still guarding the mine from bandits.”

  “East, huh? Due east?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. But anything Brick can do I can do better—and I need a job.”

  “Anything he can do, Mordecai? Really? How about picking up an outrunner and throwing it at somebody?”

  “Okay, not anything, but a lot. Did he really do that?”

  “According to rumor. I guess you’d be a help on this mission. Come along, then. I’ll give you the lowdown later. A good long-range shot might be more useful than—”

  “Are you nutless wonders going to come over here and give us some action or not?” Broomy demanded, her voice so raucous it made Bloodwing’s sound melodious.

  “Or not, I’d say,” Roland muttered, looking at Broomy and Cess.

  “You guys are in my damn way,” said a woman’s voice behind him.

  He turned to see a small but heavily armed woman. She was black-eyed, pale, and unpretentiously pretty, with short, glossy jet-black hair. There was a combat rifle slung across one shoulder, two knives in a V of sheaths worked into her tight-fitting skag-leather jumpsuit, and on each hip was a pistol. Her bare arms were spiraled with tattoos of words in a language he didn’t recognize. With her was a scar-faced, spiky-haired redhead in black leather, strapped with a dozen throwing knives plus a pistol on each side of her wide hips. The redhead returned him stare for stare.

  Roland stepped out of their way with a mock bow, and the two women sauntered to the bar.

  “I kinda like the look of that black-haired one,” Mordecai murmured. “Never saw her before. The other one’s part of Gynella’s gang—her so-called army—like those two at the bar.”

  “Gynella, huh? I’ve heard something about her . . . but what I don’t get is where all these women are coming from. Four women in one room—on this planet? Most I’ve ever seen in one place.”

  “Yeah, well, General Goddess has a cadre of fighting women, her special forces. Some of this bunch’re on leave, they tell me.”

  Roland nodded. The way he’d heard it, the army of General Goddess was right in his way. It’d be good to find out more about them. “Come on. Let’s suss this out.”

  He crossed to the bar, he and Mordecai both stepping over a dead man he hadn’t seen before, half hidden in a pile of rubbish.

  “Who’s the stiff?” Roland asked, almost whispering.

  “Some miner. He said no to Broomy too,” Mordecai said out of the side of his mouth. “Only he wasn’t as nice about it.”

  “Ladies, let’s have a drink,” Roland said as he stepped up to the bar. “This bottle’s on me. But not the way you put one on Mordecai. I need my skull in one piece.” Broomy cawed laughter at that, and he tossed a small stack of paper money onto the rusty metal countertop. The Claptrap, barely visible behind the counter, snatched the money and rolled away to make drinks. “I’ll have whatever they’re having,” Roland added, although he didn’t plan to actually drink any of the swill they sold here.

  Broomy was already swaying—she closed her right eye as she peered at him with the left; then she closed her left eye and peered at him with the right. It was hot in the Steel Incisor, and the smell off Broomy, of rancid sweat, was hard to take. Roland edged away a little and glanced past her at the other two women, who were in close conversation with Cess.

  “What makes you think you got what it takes to soldier up with General Goddess?” Cess demanded, looking at the pretty one with the short black hair with evident suspicion.

  “Oh, Daphne’s okay, Cess,” the redhead said, eyeing Roland. “She’s changing over to our side. Ain’t working with that big lug at the mine anymore . . .”

  “I didn’t ask you, Khunsuela,” Cess growled.

  Khunsuela shrugged and swaggered over to Roland, who was pretending to drink his Kerosene Kooler.

  So her name is Daphne, he thought, looking at the compact woman in the tight skag-leather outfit.

  He suspected she might be the notorious Daphne Kuller. He’d never run across Kuller the Killer himself, but rumor in New Haven said she was a small woman, lithe and quick, a feared hired assassin used by intergalactic criminal gangs against other intergalactic criminal gangs. The Daphne he was thinking of had come to Pandora a couple of years back to hide out from some gangsters who’d taken it a little too personally when she killed their boss. If this was her, it seemed Daphne Kuller was looking to sign on with Gynella.

  “I can handle myself, Cess,” Daphne said, shrugging. She sipped her drink and made a face at the mug. “What the fuck is that? It’d gag a trash feeder.” She put the mug down and pushed it away.

  “Say, uh, big guy,” Broomy said, sidling up to Roland, clacking her drink down on the bar. “Howzabout we—”

  “Hey, Broomy, I was just about to make my move!” Khunsuela snapped, shoving herself in between Broomy and Roland. “Back off!” Khunsuela put her hand on Roland’s arm and spoke purringly to him. “Come on, let’s get in my outrider. I know a place where there’s decent drinks, narcojuice, anything you want.”

  “Easy, ladies,” Mordecai said, jeering. “There’s enough of him to go around. How about if you both take him on at once? One of you could straddle him while the other—”

  “Mordecai?” Roland said. “Shut up.”

  Khunsuela was running her fingers up Roland’s arm. “Nice muscle sculpturing there, big fella—”

  She broke off, gasping, as Broomy’s enormous hands, coming from behind, closed around her throat, squeezing.

  “Bitch!” Broomy snarled into her ear.

  Then she bit Khunsuela’s ear off and spat it out. Roland had to duck the bleeding ear as it flew by.

  While he was ducked down, he noticed a minicom almost coming out of Broomy’s side pocket. The miniature computer and communicator might just have some data on Gynella’s movements, since Broomy was in Gynella’s inner cadre . . .

  Khunsuela shrieked, clasping the bloody rags of her ear with one hand and with the other she pulled a knife and stabbed it deep into Broomy’s wrist.

  Broomy roared, her back arching, her grip loosening so that Khunsuela was able to break free, gasping, spinning on her heel, and whipping out two throwing knives.

  Distracted by pain, Broomy didn’t feel it when Roland tugged the minicom from her pocket.

  He got out of the way just in time to avoid being caught in the crossfire as Broomy pulled a small Maliwan Firehawk pistol from under a breast and opened up with it, firing repeatedly. A knife just missed Broomy’s head; another chunked into her left shoulder and stuck, but she didn’t seem to notice it—she was too busy shooting holes in Khunsuela’s throat. One of the shots glanced off Khunsuela’s shield, making it sparkle with the impact, but the shield ended at her collarbone. Above that she was unprotected.

  Khunsuela staggered back, choking on her own blood, and fell over a steel spool that was being used as a table. She thrashed on the floor, spitting out bloody phlegm.

  Roland looked the dying redhead over, wondered if he could maybe get her some Dr. Zed, help her out, but it was too late; her eyes were already glazing.

  “Broomy, that’s gonna piss Gynella off,” Cess observed. “She just got that girl trained!”

  “I don’t give a dirty damn!” Broomy hissed, jerking the knife out of her shoulder. She threw the knife at the spasming Khunsuela. Grunting with pain, Broomy pocketed her pistol and poured green liquor over the wound in her shoulder. “Ouch, shit! Anyway, I had to shoot ’er. She was tryin’ to knife me when all I was doing was givin’ her a little warning choke. I wouldn’t’ve killed her. Prob’ly.”

  “What about her?” Cess asked, nodding toward Daphne, who’d been coolly watching the fight.

  Roland noticed that Mordecai was staring hungrily at Daphne.

&
nbsp; “You know what?” Daphne said. “Forget it. I don’t join up with people who sneak up behind their own crew, start in choking them over a man.”

  She started for the door, walking casually, unhurried. Mordecai hurried after her, so quickly Bloodwing was startled into the air, to flap around over them in ragged circles.

  “Daphne!” She turned to Mordecai, frowning, as he said, “Wait! How about if, uh, we offer you another job? Me and Roland. I mean, if you can use all those guns. We could do some target practice, maybe have a little competition. See if you can shoot.”

  But Broomy was seething, glaring at Daphne and Mordecai. “You, Mordecai! You don’t go near her! I decided I want both you and your big pal. And I don’t want that slick female around here talking about how I’m sneaking up behind people.”

  Daphne looked at Broomy, pretending mild surprise. “Grabbing somebody around the neck from behind’s not sneaking? Looked kinda like tunnel rat bullshit to me.”

  “Tunnel rat!” Broomy howled. “You’re going down, you skuzzy, bad-mouthin’ little—”

  Mordecai stepped between Broomy and Daphne, raising his hands palms outward toward the big woman. “Easy, Broomy, don’t make me have to—” He reached for the gun on his hip—and then realized he didn’t have one there. “Don’t make me . . . uhhh . . .”

  Broomy started toward him, and so did Roland, taking bigger steps, passing her, just as Mordecai turned to Daphne, saying something about how maybe they should get out of there into the fresh air.

  Broomy was jerking her pistol out again, aiming at Mordecai because he was in her way. Then Bloodwing dipped down and slashed at her face. Blood spattered. Broomy screeched and fired at Bloodwing, missing. It hovered, jabbed at her, pecking a hole in her cheek, then lofted to fly into the shadows of the rafters.

  Roland cracked Mordecai on the back of the head with his sidearm—and he did it expertly. Mordecai went down, out cold. Roland figured that was the surest way, in the circumstances, to save Mordecai’s life—just get him out of the melee.

  “I took him out for ya, Broomy!” Roland shouted, reaching down and grabbing Mordecai by the collar. Following Daphne, he dragged Mordecai outside as Broomy swiped at Bloodwing, shouting imprecations.

  A few moments later, relieved to be out in cleaner air, Roland eased Mordecai to the ground in the middle of the street. Bloodwing swooped out the open door and began flying around in tight, low circles overhead. Daphne looked up at the creature in amusement.

  “Is that thing his pet, or is he its pet?” she asked wryly. “Nasty-looking buzzardy object. Feathers around its neck but leather wings. Can’t make up its mind what it is.”

  “A lot of us suffer from that,” Roland said distractedly, slapping Mordecai’s cheek. “Hey, man, enough loafing. Wake up!”

  Then Broomy burst out the door, waving Mordecai’s rifle but blinded by blood. Bloodwing had torn the flesh of her forehead, doing only superficial damage but releasing considerable blood flow.

  “Where’s that bird thing? I’m gonna kill it!” She tried to swipe blood from her eye with one hand.

  Bloodwing swooped past and shrieked mockingly at her. She fired in that direction, and a grazing round knocked a few feathers off the creature but did no real harm. It dived at her, raked her hand. She yelped, dropping the gun, and staggered back into the saloon, undone by her temporary blindness. She shouted over her shoulder, “When I get my eyes clear, I’ll catch that critter and wring its dirty damn neck!”

  Mordecai was sitting up, groaning. “She hit me from behind . . . really is sneaky . . .”

  Roland decided not to disabuse Mordecai of the notion that Broomy had knocked him out. “Sure, sure, let’s get outta here before she comes back. We gotta find Brick.”

  Mordecai got to his feet and picked up his rifle, then turned to Daphne. “You coming with us? I don’t know how you are in a fight yet, but I’m guessing you can hold your own, if your skill comes anywhere near matching your nerve.”

  She smiled thinly. “No thanks. Got something else waiting.”

  If she had something else waiting, then why, Roland wondered, had she tried to sign on with General Goddess?

  She turned and hurried off, ducking between two buildings, and Roland tugged Mordecai in the other direction. “Come on, goggle eyes, she’s not into it. Let’s see if we can find Brick.”

  The outrunner was jouncing through the badlands, with only the moonlight to fend off the deepening night. Roland was driving, Mordecai riding shotgun. Bloodwing was perched on the back of Mordecai’s seat, hunched down against the wind of their passage.

  Luckily the terrain was smooth around there, not too risky in the dark. But you never knew, Roland reflected. It was always possible to fall into a tunnel rat trap or blunder into an unexpected ravine.

  Thinking about that, he slowed down, peering east, trying to make out anything like a mining camp against the gloomy horizon.

  “I saw you swipe something from Broomy’s pocket,” Mordecai said, drinking another vial of Dr. Zed’s best. “Anything I should know about?”

  “I dunno yet,” Roland said. “Just figured she might have some intel we could use.”

  “Yeah, about that—use doing what, now?”

  “Hunting Eridium crystals—on the hoof.”

  “On the hoof! Oh, you mean crystalisks? I’m up for anything but what I’ve been getting, which is hammered on the noggin. Man, my head’s killing me. First they smash bottles over it, and then she cracks me on the brainpan with her gun.”

  “Yeah, uh, you think that mining camp’s around here?”

  “We’re there! Don’t drive into that pit!”

  Roland just managed to veer around a mining pit, the outrunner careening along the upper edge to the trestle-like structures of the mining camp.

  “I don’t see anybody around,” Mordecai pointed out. “Could be bandits took the place down. You gotta shield on?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not switched on. You?”

  “Nah, I’m short on gear. That’s why I need work. I gotta replenish—whoa, look out!”

  Brick was suddenly there in front of them, scowling—an enormous, muscle-bound, brick shithouse of a man, standing in the cone of light from an electric lantern hanging from a mining trestle. Roland hit the brakes; the outrunner skidded, but it ran into Brick—that is, into Brick’s outstretched hands. The big berserker skidded back a little, then dug in his heels and stopped the outrunner cold. Then he dusted his hands and shook his head disapprovingly. “Roland, you’re a, whatta they call it, a reckless driver.”

  Roland looked at the front of his outrunner. “You dent my vehicle up there? You did, didn’t you!”

  “I’ll dent your fool head!” Brick said, his voice a volcanic rumble. “I nearly took you out with a rocket launcher. We’ve been under siege by the second division of that crazy goddess woman for two days.”

  “I didn’t see any troops around here.”

  Brick rubbed his massive jaw thoughtfully. “Could be they got the word to go after easier pickings. I must’ve killed thirty of the bastards.”

  Roland shut off the outrunner and got out, Mordecai following. Bloodwing yawned and tucked its beak under a leathery wing for a snooze.

  Brick looked the same as ever, with a face that seemed carved from stone, all heavy angles, just a crew-cut fuzz of hair on his close-shaven head, powerful bare arms. He wore an armored vest and fingerless gloves decked out with spikes and bolts—the same kind of bolts on his heavy boots. Around his neck was a chain, and the pendant on it was the mummified paw of a dog, Brick’s beloved hound Priscilla, now gone to its maker. He had a length of pipe tucked through his belt; it seemed as if he’d been carrying that chunk of pipe around for years. How many heads had been stove in by it? Slanted across his broad back was a strapped-on rocket launcher. Brick loved explosives. And he could be an explosive himself, in a way—he had a berserker state of mind he went into, seemed to make him something both more and less than huma
n. Roland had never faced it and never wanted to.

  Brick looked Mordecai over. “You! I remember you.” He said it as if remembering the time someone slipped skag droppings into his beer.

  Roland smiled. “Mordecai’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but he can shoot, Brick. He can take out the left nut of a Primal at thirty yards.”

  “Why’d anyone want to shoot off a nut when they can blow off a head?” Brick asked. “Makes no sense.”

  As was often the case, Roland wasn’t sure if Brick was kidding. “He’s also a good hunter. That’s something I’m going to need. So Brick, I was thinking that—”

  “You want me to shoot ’em, Brick?” came a familiar female voice behind him.

  Roland turned his head very slowly, not wanting to startle anyone into shooting, and looked over his shoulder. Daphne was standing behind him, with a pistol in each hand, one pointed at the back of Roland’s head, the other at Mordecai’s.

  “I knew she couldn’t stay away from me,” Mordecai said dryly.

  “Why shoot us?” Roland asked.

  “Because,” she said, her arms unwavering as she pointed the pistols, “I don’t trust you. Why take a chance?”

  “I don’t trust you either—you were gonna get a job with Gynella.”

  She chuckled. “Nah. I just wanted to hang around ’em, see what their plans were. I heard Cess say that General Goddess’s Second Division would be pulling out of the area. So I came to tell Brick the good news. And what do I find . . .”

  “You find the guy who tried to save your ass from Broomy,” Mordecai said.

  “I didn’t need saving.”

  Roland could believe that. “Your arms are eventually gonna get tired. And my neck’s already getting a crimp.” He turned to Brick. “You’ve been working with her?”

  “My partner in protecting the mine.” Brick gestured for Daphne to lower the guns. “Mining engineers pulled out this morning. I don’t think the bastards are gonna pay us our ‘kill fee.’”

  “We got a pretty good deposit,” Daphne said, holstering the pistols.