Nearby was a huge looming metal structure, rusting badly, that seemed like it had been made of gigantic metal banana peels. In the drizzle, festooned on its lower half with overgrowth, corroded and dripping, it had sinister, imposing look. Lumler glared up at it and then nudged his friend.
“What the fuck’s up with that?” he asked, jerking his head at the thing.
Santiago looked up and smiled. “That, my friend, is what they call sculpture. Art, don’t you know.”
“Huhn,” said Lumler and shuddered slightly. “Gives me the fuckin’ creeps.”
“Yeah, like it is now, anyway. The amazing thing to me is that it hasn’t been torn down to go into the perimeter. Guess they must’ve missed it.”
“Eh, whatever,” Lumler grunted. “Who gives a shit?”
“What’s eatin’ you?” asked Santiago, after a short pause. “I mean, aside from the obvious.”
Lumler grimaced and shook his head. “Aw, I’m sorry, man,” he said, practically contrite. “It’s just… I dunno, the whole thing, I guess.”
“What whole thing?”
“This,” said Lumler, waving his thick arms. “All of this. The whole New America thing. I guess it just ain’t what I thought it’d be, you know?”
Santiago laughed bitterly. “Man, you got that right,” he said. “And the screwy thing? There’s only one guy who likes it the way it is! But hey, this is pretty big, coming from you!”
“Whattaya mean?”
“Well, you’re a Police Force officer,” said Santiago with a shrug. “And you’ve always been, well, what you might call a loyal follower of the Governor. No offense.”
“Naw, yer right,” said Lumler morosely, waving off the apology. “I used to think he was the greatest thing since flush toilets. But lately…” He trailed off meaningfully.
Santiago waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, Santiago sighed and took out a half-smoked cigarette. He lit it and smoked, waiting. Finally Lumler found the words.
“It’s like the other day,” he said, his voice low. “I had to go with the Chief to see the Governor. Regular thing, we gotta make this weekly report, you know? Tell the Big Man what we been doin’, who we arrested, all that. Usually, it’s pretty boring, but with all the Reformist agitation lately, well, the Governor’s been pretty jazzed about keepin’ tabs on us, you know? So anyhow, we go into the Governor’s office like always, and I read off the weekly blotter, like always, and then I sorta sit back an’ wait while the Chief gives his summary and the like, highlights of the week, blah, blah, blah. But right then, for the, like, very first time, I start lookin’ around at the Governor’s place. I mean, really lookin’, you know?”
“And?”
“And shit,” said Lumler plaintively, “the guy’s got more gold and jewels and expensive little doo-dads and paintings and shit than you could imagine! Like he’s some sorta king, you know? Or like one o’ them crazy rich oil sheiks from Before. Hell, he’s even got this chair that’s so big it’s like a damn throne! Got his name carved on it an’ everything.”
“Yeah? So what’s so bad about that? I mean, it’s not like any of that stuff has any intrinsic value anymore, is it? Not like ammo or gas or food.”
“No, but that ain’t my point,” Lumler frowned, struggling to express himself.
“OK, so what’re you saying? He lives too large?”
“Yeah, sorta,” said Lumler. “Aw, fuck I dunno. Maybe it just gets to me when I see some o’ the other folks around here an’ how they live. I mean, some o’ these people hafta work all day, seven days a week, an’ they live in fuckin’ shitholes, you know? Oh, sure they got running water and juice an’ all, but they also got rats and roaches. And half o’ them apartment buildings are practically fallin’ down around their ears! So I dunno… I guess it just bugs me is all.”
Santiago flicked his cigarette butt into the bushes, grinned widely, and shook his head.
“What the fuck’re you smilin’ at?” Lumler rumbled.
“You!” said Santiago. “You and your conscience! You actually care about these people, don’t you?”
“Well, yeah,” said Lumler. “I mean, most of ‘em, anyway. But it just seems unfair, you know?”
“Yes, I do know,” said Santiago, the smile fading. “I see these people every day. Well, I see the sick and wounded ones, anyway, and I know exactly what you mean. But then, what can we do? It’s the Governor’s show. He gets to call all the shots.”
“Yeah,” nodded Lumler. “The fat little creep. But I dunno. Maybe things’ll change.”
Santiago cocked an eyebrow. “Change, you say?” he said. “Or maybe… Reform?”
Lumler stiffened and glared at the Medico. “Don’t even say that,” he growled. “OK? Don’t even. That kinda shit’ll get you tossed into the IC in a fuckin’ heartbeat, Medico or not. Hear me?”
Santiago nodded gravely. “Yeah, OK, I hear ya. And I won’t say another word about it.”
“Good.”
“Hey, you brought it up, man!”
“Yeah, I know,” said Lumler. “But let’s just drop it, alright? Forget I said anything.”
Santiago nodded again and they sat in silence for a while. Finally Lumler grunted and, remembering that he was hungry, took two sandwiches he’d made at home from his voluminous coat pockets. One he handed over to his friend, the other he unwrapped and began to eat. Santiago unwrapped his and looked at it skeptically.
“What’s in this?” he asked, peering between the slices of hard, brown bread.
Lumler raised and lowered his wide shoulders. “Meat,” he said simply. “And some tomatoes and mayo.”
“What kinda meat?”
Lumler stopped chewing and looked blandly at his friend. “Look,” he said, “it ain’t human, OK? Promise.” Taking another bite, he frowned at the sandwich. “Personally, I think it tastes like horse.”
“Uh huh,” said the other, re-wrapping his sandwich and gently putting it down on the fountain edge. “Well, thanks for the generosity, my friend, but I think I’ll pass.”
“Suit yerself,” said Lumler, un-offended. “More for me.”
As Lumler ate, taking big bites and chewing deliberately, neither really tasting nor enjoying it, Santiago contented himself with another cigarette. Around them, the drizzle had let up and now the wind was starting to rise, bringing occasional whiffs of burned wood and gasoline from the front lines to the west.
“You hear about the mines?” asked Santiago, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “These abandoned mine shafts they say the deformos use?”
“Sure,” said Lumler. “It was in the paper the other day. What about ‘em?”
“Think it’s for real? Think they really live down there?”
“Could be,” said Lumler, tossing his sandwich wrapper—an old issue of the Patriot—into the weeds. “This whole neck o’ the woods was, like, riddled with mines. Coal, lead, zinc, salt, all kindsa stuff, you know? They used to have all kindsa trouble with cave-ins.”
“That right? And now they think the Muties are down there? But why? Why live in some broken-down old mine shafts when there’s plenty of open spaces and abandoned buildings and all?”
“Maybe they don’t live down there. Maybe they just like, use ‘em, you know? I mean, think about it. How come the deformos always show up where we least expect ‘em? Huh? How come all the surprise attacks and ambushes?”
“So,” said Santiago, “you think they’re using the mines as… what? Trenches? Infiltration routes?”
“Call ‘em what you want,” said Lumler. “But you gotta admit, somethin’ like that would be pretty handy for ‘em, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah,” said Santiago thoughtfully. “But haven’t you looked for these things? I mean, it seems like if you found one, you could just blast it, cave it in, you know?”