“I’ll try,” Ghaazi says.
The scenarios I run through in my mind all lead to our death. If we don’t land near a village, in this weather, we will all die of frostbite, hypothermia, or both, trying to find one on foot. The flight from containment over the sea and now over the Himalayas has been nauseating. The vibrations of the air-transport, the cries from the children, the stress of what’s to come echoes in my mind until my fears give me focus.
“We need to drift down to a lower altitude. We’re losing oxygen, Ashiva. Now!” Ghaazi yells.
I get on the comms and say, “Brace yourselves.”
Ghaazi takes the air-transport lower and we hover. I think it’s over. That we’ll recover and keep going. But the cloud coverage and storm make visibility only a few meters, and that’s not enough. Turbulence shakes the transport like a ragdoll, and we spiral.
“Air’s too thin for the rotors. I’m going to try to land it.” Ghaazi says, through gritted teeth.
“Everyone hang onto something!” Suri yells.
The air-transport careens like a wounded bird and I fight to stay focused. Ghaazi’s flight prowess is clear. A former pilot in the wars, he never sweats, only calculates; he’s been here before. His face is an unflinching grimace. “There, there we’ll land.” I can’t see what he does, and I hope it’s enough of a runway.
He counts, “Brace for impact in five, four, three, two . . .”
When “one” comes, we all stiffen and close our eyes. It feels like being in a whirlpool caught under the waves. But then, just as suddenly, it ends with a massive jolt and we land. The aircraft is on its side and I’m dangling from my seat awkwardly. Synch is okay. Taru seems fine. Ghaazi nods at me and lets out a nervous laugh. Suri coughs, but is alive.
“Well done, Ghaazi. Well done.” Then I scramble to unfasten my harness and grab the comms mic. “Please help those you can. We will need to gather our gear and send our search party out right away.”
Moments later, we all stand at the aircraft’s ramp as it lowers. The same one Masiji closed with the mecha-suit. I shudder, but blame the cold; I can’t think about her yet, not yet. Ghaazi and I are wrapped in layers of clothes, everything warm we can find. The rest of the hundreds of children will stay inside the air-transport. Better safe here until we know how far we are from the nearest village. The stories about the North, it’s hard to know what’s true. Is it even here? Is what Ghaazi says true? Are they waiting for us?
“Where are we?” Taru asks as we stand shoulder to shoulder. The snowstorm spirals before us.
Ghaazi looks at his tablet. “Close. By my calculations, we are only a few kilometers from the nearest village. At least, well . . .”
“What is it?” Taru asks.
“Where the nearest village was, about twenty-five years ago. The landscape has changed drastically. Let’s just hope they’re there. At the monastery.”
A gust of frozen air pushes against us. Even with all the clothing we have wrapped around us, it won’t be enough. My shoulder is stabilized with bandages and numb from the injection Suri gave me on the transport. Ghaazi and I go ahead; we all agree with his navigation skills and nothing is stopping me from going. I can’t risk another life today. We can’t wait for the storm to pass. We need food, water, and shelter immediately, in this unpredictable area.
As we step down the ramp, I look at Ghaazi. “You sure it’s only a few kilometers?” The rush of cold air steals my breath and causes me to yelp uncontrollably. I’ve never been so cold in my life. None of us has. It’s remarkable.
He shakes his head and laughs at the ridiculous blizzard already covering our faces in snow. “I do hope so.”
I turn, and look at Synch and Taru before descending into the blizzard, “I’ll see you soon.” I don’t wait to hear what they say; leaving the conversation unfinished gives me hope that we will return.
It’s white and blinding, like the sun. Sometimes it’s soft. Other times the snow falls with clumps of ice that bites and stings. The land all around is more gray than white, like a bone that’s been out in the sun too long. I laugh even though it’s painfully clear how hard hiking through the snow will be. I’ve been fighting the effects of the sun and heat for so long, and now I wonder if all the heat I’ve built up in my body will sustain me through this place. The wind whips our faces and I follow in Ghaazi’s footsteps so as to not lose him. All I hear are our footfalls crunching and my breath. Hours pass. It’s timeless here. My usual markers in the sky are useless, white above, white below. I keep my flesh hand against my body, all the while wishing I still had my replacement. I feel vulnerable, deprived of my cyborg arm and weapon. We take many breaks, but it’s easier to keep going.
Suddenly, a calm falls upon us like a blanket, and the sound and sight of the storm recedes. And then it becomes clear just how beautiful the world is we’ve been walking through.
“Wait, Ashiva.” Ghaazi pulls the fabric down from around his face and I can make out his massive grin. “Look, Tiger!” He points above us. “Look!”
The snow blinds, and my eyes burn with glare. Things take shape slowly, as I try to readjust my sight. We are standing at the top of a crest, peering up at the mountains above us. Ghaazi is crying. And still I see nothing but white. So I take his binoculars. Looking through the lenses, I finally see what he does. Before us is a snow-covered mountain, with sharp, gray rocks jutting here and there, like dragon spines. The buildings built atop the mountain are so perfectly matched to their surroundings that if he didn’t turn my shoulders and face me in the right direction, I’d never see them. The entryway, the monastery. Our first stop to finding the Northern Fort. If this is real, maybe the Fort is real too.
As we walk up toward the tidy, small, white square structures that are snowy, like the surrounding rocks and outcroppings, a village comes to view. It’s as though it was carved out of the mountain itself. The monastery and village look like they’re trickling down the rocky terrain, and in the center, above the tallest building, is a massive hole in the mountain. A cave. There I see one or two dim lanterns flickering. In the distance, on the lowland, there’s a thin strip of blue and gray, sharply contrasting against the endless excess of white. The river. This all lines up with the stories I’ve heard about the North. I fall to my knees and weep. The scene is the most beautiful I’ve set my eyes on. The air is cold, cleaner than in the south. And it’s quiet.
Ghaazi and I climb up to the village, and when we walk through the archway leading to the center, the first five people we see look at us like we are ghosts. We might as well be. The roads have been impassable for decades, from mudslides and avalanches and the altitude. People haven’t attempted the journey for fear of radiation, and the myths of the beasts that survived the fallout. Soon, others meet us in the narrow alley between the buildings. There are families, women, men, children, monks and civilians.
“Where did you come from?” A brave child yells from the comfort of his mother’s robes.
Ghaazi says, “We came a long way, child. Can you help us?”
His mother comes toward us and holds out her hand to me. “You must be very tired. Come.”
She leads us into a stairwell, then through a small doorway that enters into a room with pillows on the floor and a roaring fire at the front. She asks us to sit down and wait. Her smile is clear of fear, and there is only kindness on her lips and in the way she moves. I don’t know how to respond. The buildings have reddish wood doors and frames, and massive wood beams run along the low, white ceilings. I’ve never seen a place like this before, untouched by technology. But then I see it’s wired. There’s a local network running along the walls. The very sophisticated tech gives me pause. This place isn’t what it seems. It must be a front for the Fort.
“Ghaazi. I, I can’t believe we made it.”
“I know.” He is overwhelmed too. “It hasn’t changed at bit. Not in twenty-five years.”
“So, you have been here.”
He grins. “
I thought it was destroyed in the mecha wars. The nuclear bombs dropped north of here, and we heard there were avalanches and earthquakes. I really wasn’t sure it was still standing.”
A man and two children enter a few minutes later, with metal cups of hot tea and a bowl with a thick paste inside.
“Yak’s butter,” he says. “It’ll warm you.”
He scoops out a dab with a spoon and flips it into each cup. It floats and creates a slick oily surface atop the tea that coats my throat when I take a sip.
“There are more of us. In the valley. We escaped the Narrows, outside the Unsanctioned Territories of the Central District,” I say, not wanting to say too much, but just enough.
The man takes us in without acknowledging my words. He smiles. “Wait. He’ll be here soon.”
I nod. Ghaazi told me about their leader. How the region considers itself a sovereign area independent of the SA, even though the SA doesn’t see it that way. As long as they stay off the grid, they can do what they want.
A man who tells us he is Governor Tenzin enters the room with a plate of porridge. Ghaazi and I share it, and my hand shakes.
“Sir, we wish to claim exile status.”
He nods. But his silence doesn’t inspire confidence.
Ghaazi asks, “Is there another? Another leader we need to address?” His eyes glimmer with hope. I wonder . . .
Tenzin says, “Let us help you first; then we can talk.” He leaves and sends in a woman to care for us. They take Ghaazi into a separate room for privacy. At first, being alone feels impossible. But my shirt is peeled off, stuck to my skin with blood, and the kind woman drapes a towel over my chest for modesty. As she cleans my arm, and the blood that has long since dried on my body, with a wet sponge and hot water, I give into the feeling of comfort, one that’s unfamiliar to me. The water in the bowl turns red quickly, and then a brownish color, and it swirls as she dips the sponge again. You can’t wash off the past so easily. Her touch is too gentle. This will take hours.
“It doesn’t hurt, it’s numb. I had a replacement. I lost it. In a battle. It’s gone now.” My words feel hollow, silly.
“Astonishing,” her voice has an unfamiliar accent that cuts her words short and she smiles as she speaks. As she changes my bandages, it’s clear she’s interested in my metal shoulder joint. She gives me a towel to dry off with, and offers me fresh maroon robes and thick boots to change into. I am thankful to get rid of my blood-stained clothes. The new ones are warm. Maybe we can begin again, here. At least we can start anew and take the time to build a plan, regroup properly. She leads me back into the large room where we ate.
“Ghaazi will meet you later. For now, your presence is requested. Please.” She points to the front of the room.
There’s a figure standing so close to the fire blazing in the stone hearth that I worry he’ll catch fire. His back is to me, and all I see is his tall form and his impossibly broad shoulders, leaning forward, hand against the fireplace wall, pushing with so much pressure it looks as though he’s holding up the whole building. A cornerstone. The shadow he casts is epic and meets my boots as I enter the room. I stop, paralyzed by the possibilities. Is this the person who holds our fate in their hands?
“Sir, I am Ashiva, Chrome Tiger from the Red Hand Narrows outpost. We just freed the civilians from the Narrows who were illegally held in the dark off-site known as the Void. We are exiles seeking assistance to reconnect with the remaining Red Hand members.” My voice echoes in the room. “Sir?”
The figure breathes in and out. Is this whom I’m supposed to be speaking to?
I continue, “Sir, we need to hurry. There are still many young children left in our air-transport a distance away. They need our help. Please.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t even acknowledge my presence in the room. I clear my throat, unsure what to do. Maybe he didn’t hear me.
“Many died. We are being hunted now and need help. Maybe you—”
He turns and faces me. My heart stops. It’s him. But how?
“General Shankar?!”
Thick bandages run across his face and neck, but for the most part, he’s still an icon, the one I saw for the first time in the Red Hand Council meeting days earlier. “General Shankar, sir. I thought you were dead. The fires. Oh, thank the gods.”
“Don’t thank the gods, Ashiva. They had nothing to do with it.” I think he smiles, at least as far as he can. Maybe it’s more like a grimace; the burns and ghosts in his expression only allow modest levity. “Or should I call you Commander?” He smirks and presses his right replacement hand to his chest, and I long to do the same. I use my left hand instead today.
“I’m no Commander. I’m not even a lieutenant yet.”
He shrugs. “Well, maybe not. But you could be, one day.”
The Red Hand lives. For the first time I feel like we actually have a chance, we have a leader. He points to the floor and we both sit cross-legged on the thick pillows before the fire. “I knew The Mechanic set a trace on me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to.”
“I know she didn’t give you a choice. I would have done the same. The Mechanic and I have trust issues. Always have.” He clears his throat.
“She did it. I didn’t know it then. But she brought you all in the Narrows. I bet she faked the hack on the system too.”
He nods, lips thin with certainty. “I knew she was a double player, but how far it went . . . I didn’t trust the summons to her meeting. I dodged your trace and tried to leave right after the first strike. Not soon enough, but at least . . .”
“You’re alive. The Red Hand is alive.”
“Some of us are. I’m not the only one.” He turns and points to a person standing in the doorway.
“Hello, Tiger.” The woman stands, and she looks even more childish and haunted than ever.
“Poonam Auntie.” I rush toward her and she puts both of her arms around me. “I’m so glad you made it.”
“I did. Can’t kill a cockroach, right?” She laughs at herself.
“You’re not a cockroach, Auntie. You’re amazing.”
She smiles awkwardly and says, “Yes, I made it.”
“Did she, though? The Mechanic?” General Shankar asks.
“No.” The memories come rushing back. Of Masiji wearing the mecha-suit, protecting me. But why? “She went down in the explosion on the dark off-site facility.” If she survived the explosion, she would have drowned in the ocean afterwards. This stays with me, a nightmare.
General Shankar says, “She had her reasons. She couldn’t move on from her contribution to the Solace algorithm. She loved the children, but she couldn’t let go of the idea that her technology would save them. She was a fanatic. I think she knew they were going to clear the Narrows, and she tried to find a way to get the children out—even if it meant offering them up for testing for the Z Fever vaccine.”
“We’ll never know,” Poonam Auntie says.
He nods. “We are regrouping now. The External Hand has been reconnecting with Red Hand operatives across the world. But we can’t stay here forever. We can’t risk bringing conflict to this peaceful village. If the SA tracked your transport . . .”
“Right, of course.” And all my dreams of never leaving this paradise dissolve. “Maybe some of the children can stay. The ones unassociated with the Red Hand?”
He nods.
“Let’s get the Children of Without.”
50//
Ashiva
156 N.E.
0900 HR
A week has passed and my first lesson in this new place: the stars are brightest when the sky is clear and impossibly cold. We’d never seen snow before we arrived in the Northern District, deep in the Himalayas. And now we’re surrounded by sheer cliffs of stone peaked in snow, endless cold, and limitless stars at night. Stars that were sitting under the heavy, polluted air of the SA. They were there all along. I realize that cold feels like just fire if you close your eyes. Most
of us are still awake at night and sleep during the day, our rhythm to avoid the Narrows’ heat. On my night walks, I see galaxies spin across the sky, some older than time, some stars already dead, reminders of the infinite. Of what exists beyond this world. It makes me feel small, yet somehow miraculous.
Learning that this pristine place always existed while we fought to live, to breathe, to die with dignity, cuts deep. Our work has just begun. The Northern District welcomes us as exiles. They have an independent tribal leadership that governs the village. Central’s UAVs aren’t here. They aren’t being watched. When I ask why, Governor Tenzin says, “They can’t fly at high altitude.” They’ve been here since before the neocity. Most people have always lived here. We are the first to come, to fight our way over the mountain. Saachi and Zami send a comms to us on the underweb, they will find a way to meet us soon. That they are safe. We’ll wait for them.
At the first community meeting since our arrival, we listen to Governor Tenzin and General Shankar talk about their limited resources. Taru nods and stands, “The Children of Without are trained in all aspects of survival. Some of us are Red Hand, with experience in medicine, comms, and military training. We are not just children, we are an army. We will be useful to you, not a drain on your resources. We will work. You will benefit from our presence.”
Her confidence is alarming. Governor Tenzin nods. “An army, you say?”
“Yes, sir. We can help train your people.”
To this, he smiles subtly. “We will have to expand our farming and ration the yaks, but we will make it through the winter. Together. The smallest children will live with each family in the village, and contribute to the farming needs and defensive needs of the District. There are some of us who are also like the Red Hand. We can work together.” He winks at Taru.
We survived. The children survived. And now we will combine our efforts.
Rise of the Red Hand Page 30
