Siren Song. James Axler

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СКАЧАТЬ types, making the roads seem almost as if they had been color-coded like a landing strip. Phyllida and her companions pointed out several interesting features, including a grand meeting hall that was circular in design and covered enough ground to house a battleship. The women were clearly proud of their ville, and they were open and upbeat in welcoming these outlanders to their home.

      Ryan listened without comment, nodding as social protocol demanded, but adding little insight of his own. He was too busy taking in everything: the towering buildings that reached six or seven stories into the air; the covered drainage system that ran along the sides of the streets; the series of water pumps erected at regular intervals in the gated community. There were people, too, all of them dressed well, and happy. A lot of children under five ran up and down the street, herded by women in formal-looking attire, their hair pinned back neatly.

      One child ran over to take in the companions, stopping fearlessly in front of Ryan and staring openly at him. The child had black hair that had grown a little long so that it was hard to tell if it was a boy or a girl.

      “You’re dirty,” the child said cheerfully.

      Ryan looked from the child to his clothes and realized that, at least by the standards of the ville’s other occupants, he and his companions were pretty dirty at that. He smiled at the child. “We’re hoping to get cleaned up,” he told him, “if we’re allowed to stick around.”

      Phyllida turned back to Ryan, her blond hair catching the morning sun in a shimmer of gold. “That won’t be a problem, Ryan,” she assured him. “We have facilities here for bathing and for cleaning clothes.”

      Ryan nodded once in acknowledgment. “We’d be grateful, ma’am.”

      The dark-haired child was being called by one of the neatly dressed women, but didn’t seem to notice. “Patrick! Patrick, come back here,” she cried, trotting briskly over on low-heeled shoes. Finally the child turned when the woman was almost at arm’s length.

      “That man’s got a blaster,” Patrick told her without a hint of fear in his voice.

      The woman looked at Ryan and smiled. She was young and pretty, with red hair a little darker than Krysty’s. “Sorry,” she said to Ryan before turning back to her charge.

      “I’m sure he won’t use it,” she explained, taking little Patrick’s hand. “While you need to get to school before the bell goes, otherwise you won’t learn anything.”

      Patrick seemed reluctant to go for a moment. “Are you going to teach us about blasters, miss?” he asked.

      “Well,” said the woman, evidently Patrick’s teacher, “you’ll only find out when you get to school.”

      This seemed to satisfy the child, who’d probably have forgotten the conversation by the time he got to school anyway. The redhead turned back to Ryan just once as she departed with Patrick. She looked apologetic, but Ryan thought he detected something else there, too—she was eyeing his weapons, the handblaster at his hip and the Scout longblaster slung across his back like the Grim Reaper’s scythe.

      “Kid seemed surprised by my blasters,” Ryan said to Phyllida. “Don’t you have weapons here?”

      “We have no need of them,” Phyllida replied, “though we do understand that things are somewhat different outside these walls.”

      “Yeah,” J.B. observed dourly. “You could say that.”

      What struck Ryan, however, was not the lack of weapons but the educational program that was apparently in place. Growing up as the son of a wealthy baron, his life had been one of privilege. Ryan had learned to read and to write and he had had a good schooling in history and other subjects, despite the mess the world at large was still in following the nukecaust of 2001. Ryan was one of the lucky ones, and his travels around the Deathlands had made him very aware of that.

      Most of the people in the land that had once been called the United States of America scratched their living day-to-day, feeding on what scraps they could find and preying on one another. The strong used, abused and chilled the weak to satisfy their whims, and there was little opportunity for formal education or for the sharing and exploration of ideas. But what they saw here, with the children being herded to school like sheep in a pen, told Ryan something that no discussion would have—that this settlement, Heaven Falls, was progressive. It was a society with its eyes on the future, on building and on betterment. In short, it was the very thing that he and his companions had sought for so long as they’d traveled the broken roads of the Deathlands—the sprouting buds of new civilization.

      * * *

      THEGROUPSOONreached the complex of tall towers. Each stood as wide as a house and five or six stories in height, with gently curving sides in a hexagonal design. The cluster of towers was arranged in a circular pattern, six on the outside with a single, broader tower in the middle. As she looked at it, once again Mildred was put in mind of church organ pipes.

      Despite the beauty of their surroundings, however, Mildred was conscious that Ricky was in pain. She called to the closest Melissa, the black-haired girl called Nancy. “Is there anywhere here that I can look over my friend without being disturbed? He took a hit and I’m trained in medical matters.”

      Nancy smiled warmly. “Of course,” she said, and after a brief exchange with Phyllida, she led Mildred and Ricky to one of the towers that surrounded the central spire.

      “Mildred,” Ryan called, and she turned. “Why don’t you take Jak with you?”

      Jak nodded, taking his cue and bounding after Mildred and Ricky.

      Phyllida’s brow furrowed as she watched the albino charge away. Ryan saw that, and he offered a reassuring smile.

      “Who knows how long she’ll be,” Ryan explained. “You have a smart-looking ville here and Jak’s our best tracker—he’ll make sure they don’t get lost or lose us.”

      Phyllida seemed reassured at that. “You call it a ville?” she asked.

      “Yeah,” Ryan replied. “Like a village.”

      The Melissas laughed, and one of the others spoke up—the honey-haired one who seemed to have attached herself to Doc. “We call it Home,” she said. “You may, too.”

      “Thanks,” Ryan said uncertainly. Despite the friendly atmosphere, he was not quite sure whether he could trust these people. Ryan and his companions had seen a lot of bloodshed and a lot of duplicity over their travels.

      * * *

      MILDRED, RICKYAND Jak followed Nancy across the flower-lined path between the towers toward an entryway. The entrance was broad, with a rounded arch completing its design, and no door. “This place is beautiful,” Mildred said, gazing at the gleaming buildings.

      “One should be able to take pride in one’s home,” Nancy said, escorting the three of them into the tower.

      The floor was paved, and it echoed their footsteps as they walked inside. Mildred smiled as she saw the entry room. It was spotlessly clean and featured a high ceiling that had to have taken up three floors of this lobby area, at which point the walls gradually began to angle inward as if they were inside some kind of conical pyramid. The grand lobby featured Impressionist-type art on the walls, great murals of swirling colors and abstract shapes. The place was lit by some trick СКАЧАТЬ