GeneStorm: City in the Sky Read Online Free PDF Page B

place to buy electric power generators, home made light bulbs, good swords and the best riding animals. It also made some extremely weird liquor. Little trade caravans from afar were thus a common sight – all of them trundling slowly and carefully towards the town’s bounty.
    The far south had more rain than the north – and some decidedly dangerous plants. Acid-jet plants could cause third degree burns on the unwary – but fearless farmers cultivated them in droves and collected the acids into hefty jugs made from primitive glass. Acid was vital for making gun cotton and percussion caps, as well as for charging the hefty batteries made by Spark Town’s workshops. It was a useful trade, and it welded the little communities together. News, ideas and people made the long, difficult treks between the communities every few months. They had lived in peace with one another ever since the GeneStorm.
    Snapper came riding through the twilight, heading towards a neat wagon laager that had been laid out in a protective circle about some tall old pepperbark trees, linked together by cables. There was a cook fire, and smaller watch fires maintained twenty metres from the ring of wagons. Snapper whistled and called towards the pickets as she approached, drawing the attention of two men with guns.
    “Wagons ho! Rider coming in!”
    “Rider ho!” A caravan driver armed with a long musket rose from behind a bush. “Approach the fire!”
    Snapper rode Onan in through the picket line. With the fall of evening, she had brought out her pelisse – slinging it from one shoulder in conscious imitation of an ancient hussar. As the guards opened a cable and let her in amongst the wagons, two dozen travellers arose from their evening meals to stare at her in amazement. Snapper sketched a salute towards the clear leader of the expedition– a shockingly stylish, handsome man apparently part fox, and part golden pheasant.
    “Snapper. Spark Town.” The shark pointed with her carbine to the north. “Douse the fires! You’ve got Screamers up in the hills about three k’s away!”
    A tall man came walking over from beside the cook fire. He was human – well, human enough, if you ignored his tail – and kitted out with a broad dusty hat and a decent Spark Town breech loading rifle. He gave the shark a laconic nod and dusted off his hat.
    “G’day. Tammin – up from Rust Ridge. Caravan master.”
    “Good to see you.” Snapper dismounted, still pointing to the north. “I’ve been tracking some Screamers. They’re just up the hills there to the north.”
    “Screamers!” The man looked north in astonishment. “How many?”
    “Maybe a hundred – a hundred and fifty.” Sunset had become twilight. Snapper looked quickly back to the stark, black hills. “They might have dispersed into packs, but some of them will be headed this way.”
    “You sure?”
    “I’ve cut my way through some already.” The shark took a pull from her canteen. “What’s in the wagons?”
    “Cotton, zinc, copper ingots, chemicals…” The man Tammin slapped a heavy wagon beside him. “They’ve been waiting for this for months!”
    Half the cargo was stuff used for making brass cartridges and ammunition. Snapper looked quickly up and down the wagons, trying to judge their speed.
    “We’ll have to get the wagons through to town!”
    A caravan guard had joined the conference – part kingfisher and part cat. The man slapped his hat free of dust. “Screamers? Actual Screamers?” The cat-bird shook his head. “My grandad said those buggers were fast! We’re gonna have to abandon the wagons and make a run for it.”
    “The town needs the cargo.” The caravan master was adamant. “The last couple of shipments never got through.”
    “Then hitch ‘em up!” Snapper rode Onan towards the fires. “Get moving! Screamers will have seen your fires!”
    People immediately gathered their weapons. Many of the travellers were armed with crossbows, or