by Julian North
“And this man from California who Alissa saw you with—Harrison—he’s a Jobsian?”
Frost-Bell shook his head. “He serves the Unification Party—the current governor of California’s political faction. A kind way to put it is that the Jobsians ‘introduced’ me to Harrison recently, as part of some political bargain they made with the Unification Party. That’s a recent development. The Unification Party is trying to figure out how they can blackmail me to bring about their goals, which include the liberation of America on their terms. I’m not a senator anymore, but my position at Tuck makes me potentially useful, I suppose—I’m in a position to know a great deal about people, such as my black-hearted student, Arik Timber-Night. But in truth, I’m just a man caught in the middle. California politics is slightly more bizarre than our own, but no less deadly, I’m afraid.”
I frowned. It was more of the same. California or Manhattan or wherever—it was the same stupid games. Ordinary people always suffered.
“I know it isn’t what you wanted to hear. California is hardly the last bastion of freedom that some would idealize them as.”
Nythan came up beside me. “Still, they are our best hope. They have the best technology in the world. Your description of what this clinic does is cutting edge, and even with the loss of my original viser from the platform, there is still plenty tucked away in here.” He tapped his shaved head. “If we can get Alexander to that clinic, and combine their technology with the information that Alissa’s father and Jalen have, that gives us the best chance of saving him.”
I looked at Frost-Bell. “Can you arrange that? Safe passage to California for us, our friends, for Alexander?”
“Yes, that part won’t be difficult. They are obviously concerned about this civil war, and about Virginia. My guess is they’ll gladly trade political asylum for the information you have about Virginia’s chipping program. But I must caution you that once you are there, you will be in their power. The Jobsians have been generally honorable, their recent betrayals notwithstanding. But my limited experience with the other factions is that they are every bit as cutthroat as the Orderists. Do not expect paradise.”
“I need to take care of my blood first. That means going to California. I will worry about the rest later.”
Frost-Bell flicked his viser. “I’ve sent an alphanumeric code to your viser. Use it, and the spoken code word ‘Woz76’ at the border. Make sure you cross from Nevada between thirty-six and thirty-eight degrees north latitude—that’s Jobsian territory. Those codes will get the right people talking to you, but only if you’re in the correct place. I’ll make the proper arrangements once I get back to Manhattan.”
“How do we get Alexander there?” Nythan asked. “Jalen and the Southern States are not going to give him to you for humanitarian purposes. If you break your word to Jalen, he will not deal with you again.”
“Let me speak to Jalen,” Kortilla said.
Nythan shook his head. “Kortilla, I know almost every guy—”
“Cut the crap, Nythan,” she snapped. “I know Jalen Aris-Putch doesn’t do anything because I ask it. I’m just saying we should reason with him, not try to deceive him. He is a person like us, better than most, and I know people. He’ll tell you directly what he needs from you. You just need to decide if the price is worth paying.”
“The war is going badly for the South,” Frost-Bell said. “If Charlotte falls, there is no telling if they can keep their rag-tag forces together. Jalen Aris-Putch may be looking for refuge in California himself before too long.”
The room became quiet. I realized everyone was looking at me. Somehow, this had become my decision. “Okay, let’s—”
Kross burst in. “A drone is heading our way, moving fast. We better start haulin’.”
Chapter 17
“It looks like a surveyor,” Nythan said, squinting at the flying machine in the distance. “Not armed.”
Frost-Bell craned his neck to get a better look out the empty window frame. “Its flight path is abnormal. It appears to be heading directly for this location rather than doing a slow, wide circuit of an area, which would be more typical. Something has attracted its attention, or it has been sent here.”
I did a quick tour of the gas station’s other windows, studying the surrounding terrain. The same reason this had been a good place to meet also made us vulnerable: there wasn’t much cover nearby. The rugged urban sprawl of Newark was a good twenty miles away.
“We’ll draw it away from you, Daniela,” Frost-Bell said. “I’ll take one of your cars and ride off in one direction. Wait five minutes, then your companions take another car in the opposite direction. The drone and any backup will focus on those targets. Once we have drawn them off, take my bike. Head south—you can stay off the road on that thing and it is easy to conceal under trees or inside fallen buildings like this one. You will be far harder to track from the air than if you were confined to the roads.”
“That ain’t bad, fancy man, but I don’t like leavin’ Dee alone again,” Zippo declared. “Got a responsibility, ya know?”
Kortilla rolled her eyes. “She can take care of herself a lot better than you can.” She slipped one arm around me and one around Nythan. “I know you need to bring Nythan, not me. But I don’t like letting you two out of my sight again either, though for different reasons.”
“I’ll get word to you about your dad when I can.” I looked over at Zippo and Kross. “Spread the word of what happened at Fishkill. We beat them once. We can do it again. This isn’t over.”
Kross smiled, his mouth a shattered, glittery mess. “Don’t you worry ’bout that. There were blood brothers from everywhere in that jack-hole you burned down—from Philly, Boston, D.C., you name it. People will know what happened. And what you did, Nui Cohete.”
I wanted to scream that I’d done nothing except put more people in danger, but I clamped my jaw shut. That wasn’t what people needed to hear. I had a plan that could work, and this had to be part of it. Deuces.
I said what needed to be said, even if I didn’t like it. “Let’s get going.”
Frost-Bell headed out first. He insisted, even though that was the riskiest position. He headed southwest toward Pennsylvania. The surveyor changed its course to follow. Zippo, Kross, and Kortilla went next, heading due north. Sure enough, a second surveyor drone appeared on the horizon to pursue them.
“We’re up, Nythan. You sure you’re feeling up for this?”
“I’m taking vitamins. I’m fine.”
My eyes narrowed. “Stims? Are you crazy?”
“I’m about to get on the back of a motorcycle that you are driving. Hell yes, I’m crazy.”
I sat on Frost-Bell’s machine and turned it on, revving the engine. It vibrated, sounding angry. The smell of gasoline permeated the air around us.
“This is a model made for highborn,” Nythan said as he slid onto the motorcycle behind me. “All you have to do is press the pedal and steer. It has a stabilizer. It’s like riding a regular bicycle, except easier. It only looks impressive, just like them. You do know how to ride a bicycle, don’t you?”
“I’ve seen it on the net.”
“Well then, maybe…”
I gunned the engine harder than I should have. We took off across the uneven ground. Even with the stabilizers the ride was hardly smooth, but the motorcycle could move with speed. Debris flew upward. I had Frost-Bell’s helmet, but Nythan had to settle for using my body to shield himself from whatever the bike kicked up.
“You’re headed the wrong way,” Nythan shouted over the roar of the piston engine. “The Southern States are in the South.”
“We’re not going there. At least not yet, but there was no need to let anyone else know that in case they get captured.”
“Good plan. Where are we going?”
“Newark—to the safe house that Katrina stashed Alissa and her mom at. I’m betting there’s a secure channel to contact Jalen there. Or, if we aren’t too
late, we can hitch a ride with Alissa. Safer than trying to make it through a war zone on a motorcycle.”
“Newark, huh? Well, shouldn’t have much trouble with the Authority there. They only enter the city in force, with armored vehicles and plenty of enforcers to back them up. Of course, we might get killed for this bike. You might want to switch it to electric when we get close—this thing is like an alarm bell.”
By the time the giant rusted cranes and rotted rail tracks at Newark’s edge came into view, I had started to enjoy riding the motorcycle. The sensation was a bit like running a race, except I didn’t have to do anything except steer. Plus, I could cut across roads and fields, seeking cover whenever necessary. I pushed the bike harder—it was getting dark.
Newark made Bronx City seem like Manhattan. There wasn’t a fully intact building in the whole place. Fires burned in metal garbage cans on corners, sometimes in the street. Young men and women wore knives and machete-type blades openly around their waists, like outlaws of legend. We stayed off the rutted roads wherever we could, using the old railroad tracks and back alleys of the dilapidated city as makeshift pathways. My viser guided us to the address, which was an old row house, the third among a dozen on each side of a narrow, garbage-strewn street. The place was dark, but so were all the neighbors’ homes. At least the street was empty. I had my force pistol, but I didn’t relish an encounter with the locals.
“You sure this is it?” Nythan asked dubiously.
“I’m sure this is the address Katrina mentioned, and I’m sure this is where my viser’s positioning system took us. I guess we’ll find out about the rest. We better take the motorcycle with us.”
Nythan and I each took hold of a handlebar and pushed the machine up a half flight of stairs. The door was fabricated wood, with a knob and a press card lock that could’ve been fifty years old. There was no bell or other comm system, so I knocked. The door opened, seemingly of its own volition. I took that as an invitation. If we’d been at the wrong house, people would’ve ignored us or shot at us.
Nythan and I looked at each other and pushed inside, bike first. We entered a bare, poorly lit living room with graffiti-covered walls. The windows were covered with plastika sheets that blocked the dim interior lights from showing outside. The only furnishing was a large table which had been turned onto its side so that the top faced us.
A slender woman with midnight hair rose from behind the table, force pistol pointed at my head. I gasped at the sight of her. It was Katrina.
“Close the door. This house is supposed to be empty.”
When it had been shut, the woman slowly edged out from behind the table. I studied her movements, her eyes. Something was not quite right about her brows and her steps. This woman looked like Katrina, but she wasn’t.
“You’re her sister. Katrina’s twin.”
I got a cold stare in return. “And you are one of the people who helped get her killed.”
People around me always got hurt or killed. “I didn’t send her on that mission. She saved my life and that of my friend. I honestly don’t know why she did it.”
Katrina’s sister shook her head in disgust. “She thought she owed this country something for taking us in, that she owed Jalen something. I let her talk me into this too.”
“I thought she was from Kansas.”
“She liked to think that, and it is true in a way. We grew up in Kansas, by way of Lithuania. We were siege kids whose parents died smuggling us onto a freighter—an ArgoGood ship. When the crew found and reported us, Galena Aris-Putch took an interest in our fate. Millions starved and died back at home while we went to Kansas. But nothing’s free, is it? Today was the day Katrina paid in full.”
“So it seems.” I nearly whispered it.
Katrina’s sister still hadn’t lowered her pistol. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to speak to Jalen. There must be a way to contact the South safely. If not, I need a ride down to the South.”
“You should’ve taken the direct flight from Fishkill when you had the chance. Or maybe not.” The gun came down slowly. “I’m Jess, by the way. I’ll take you down to the safe room to talk. These walls are paper-thin.”
She walked away without looking to see if we followed, leading us through a collection of debris and unattached pipes that had once been a kitchen. Behind a fabricated wooden door beside the old sink was an unlit basement staircase. Jess descended into the darkness.
“We are really going down there?” Nythan asked.
“Not much choice. She could’ve shot us at the doorway if she wanted to.” I stepped past him.
The basement was in far better condition than the rest of the house. There were lights, a fabric couch, a wall screen, and even a fabricator, all running off a portable generator in the corner. There was a small bedroom as well. Alissa and her mother, Sung, were waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs.
Alissa wrapped her arms around me. My first instinct was to pull away. She was still the girl who had lied to and betrayed me. I told myself there was no point in making a scene that would lead to questions and the rehashing of painful history. In truth, it was nice to get a hug. I was exhausted and grateful to have one fewer person to hate.
“Thank you for getting my father out of that place. Jess told us he made it—your brother too.”
I said nothing. Jess’s sister was dead, and it didn’t seem right to rejoice in her presence with the wounds still raw.
When Alissa released me, Sung added, “It’s good to see you again, Daniela. It has been too long. I too am grateful for what you have done.”
“This is such a joyous reunion and all that.” Jess sounded annoyed. “Now it is time to speak of problems.”
Every eye turned to her. “The extraction team’s razorFish made it safely to Charlotte. However, it is Charlotte itself that is no longer safe. Indeed, none of this may end up mattering.”
My heart sank. “What?”
“The Northern army is twenty miles outside the city. Charlotte is being hit by rocket and artillery fire as we speak. Jalen doesn’t believe the defensive lines will hold under the current conditions.”
“What happens if the city falls?”
Jess shrugged her ignorance. “I imagine President Hoven and his illustrious officials will retreat somewhere else. Perhaps to his hometown of Atlanta—the South has gotten quite good at retreating. Or this may be one defeat too many and what’s left of their government and army will collapse.”
“Is that why we’re still here?” Alissa asked. “We were supposed to go to Charlotte.”
Jess inclined her head. “As you might imagine, whatever the South has left is being put into the fight for the city. Soldiers, pilots, equipment. Not much left to help refugees or their stranded minders. We are on our own.”
“What happens to my father if this goes bad?” Alissa demanded.
I had the same question about Alexander, but I already knew what Jess would say: “I don’t know.”
I looked around the room for a terminal but didn’t see one. “You seem to have some method of secure communication with the South. Can I speak to Jalen?”
“That is dangerous. Northern drones are monitoring all communications.”
“I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t critical. If you want all this to mean something—if you want your sister’s sacrifice to have a purpose—get me in touch with him.”
Instead of answering, Jess made a circuit around me, scrutinizing me as if considering a purchase of livestock.
“There is a way,” she said finally. “Voice only. Wait here until I call for you.”
She walked into the adjacent bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Even though the door and walls looked old and thin, not a sound emerged from inside the room. Soundproofing must’ve been added. It took almost ten minutes before the door opened again and Jess popped her face out.
“All right, Daniela, you can come in.”
Nythan trailed after me w
ithout asking for permission. He let out a petulant huff of outrage as soon as he saw the so-called covert communication gear.
“You’re using old copper wire cables! That was my idea!” He sounded like the old Nythan as he said it.
Jess handed me the handset of an ancient rotary dial telephone, its hardline cord connected to the floor. “We use encryption scrambling technology as well. It functions more like an ancient telegraph line, with the signals reassembled into voices at each end. So even if someone is listening, it would be difficult to decode.”
I held the phone’s strange form awkwardly against my ear and mouth. The plastic felt brittle, like a single squeeze would shatter it. “Is this Jalen?”
His voice was strangely distant and garbled by static, but it was Jalen. “Daniela—why did you not return on the extraction craft with the others?” He sounded more annoyed than angry.
“You have your war, I have mine. I told you that place needed destroying.”
“We do not have time for games. The situation here is critical. Did you learn how Virginia is turning our people against us?”
“No, I’m sorry. But I have… I have Nythan. And perhaps another piece of the puzzle. If I discover the answer, I will get word to you. But I must ask—”
“Daniela, it is very important that you understand that time is short. You must listen very carefully. I took a gamble sending you there, and that mission has failed, despite a few useful clues we have obtained. I take the blame for my failures. I am only one man among many. If you do not know the answer to the key question, there is nothing more we can discuss or that I can do for you.” He no longer sounded upset. Quite the opposite—he reminded me of a concerned parent. Not like Jalen at all.
“Jalen, I know Charlotte is in danger. Please, Alexander—”
