This is not to say that Brevians did not understand Latin. Ravenwood assumed their desire to master alien languages, especially ones that served as the root of many other Humani languages, had induced them to learn Latin. But they lacked the imagination to link together words spoken by a Karazan captive screaming in Sahir with a lone word of Humani origin. They missed it, but he had not. He knew the Karazan was trying to tell him that the drone was carrying a message.
The Brevian stared at Ravenwood, still hesitant to allow him to enter the cell block behind her. She was clearly stalling. Ravenwood was certain she had sent a message to her superiors, probably Pendu Barka, seeking guidance on his unusual request.
“Interacting with a prisoner, even a drone, should not be done without the assistance of a properly trained interpreter,” said the Brevian.
Aha, thought Ravenwood. Barka must have responded to the Brevian. Time to play the role of the angry diplomat.
“Not to pull rank here, my friend,” said Ravenwood. “But as you know, I am the Humani ambassador to the Dewar. I have considerable influence with Chancellor Penawah, and I am not used to being denied such requests. I can understand why you would not want me to speak directly to the Karazan; those interrogations are quite sensitive. But the drone? Honestly, not one among you has given the little creature a second thought since it and the Karazan were captured. So, unless you want me to express my displeasure to the Chancellor, I suggest you allow me to see it.”
“I know of your position, Ambassador Ravenwood,” said the Brevian. “But I’m afraid…”
“That will be all,” said a voice from behind Ravenwood. He and Beth turned around to see the familiar face of Pendu Barka. She looked remarkably calm for someone who no doubt had to rush to get there before the situation became unmanageable.
“Ah, Ambassador Barka,” said Ravenwood, feigning relief. “You’ve come to my rescue. I was just explaining to your colleague that Consul Styles and I would like to see this specimen of a drone captured on Tuska IV. We’ve never encountered one and would be interested in seeing it firsthand.”
“I see no problem with that,” said Barka with a mildly stern look at the Brevian behind the console, a look that Ravenwood knew was entirely for his and Beth’s benefit. “In fact, I will escort you personally.”
“Oh, thank you, but that won’t be nec…”
“Open the door,” said Barka to the other Brevian.
Barka gestured for Ravenwood and Beth to proceed through the now open door past two Tullan guards. They did as requested and entered the holding cells beyond, Pendu Barka trailing right behind them. Together, they walked past twenty opaque cell walls until they reached the end of the row. When they did, the dark wall suddenly became clear, allowing them a complete view of the interior. Inside was a small creature only as tall as Ravenwood’s waist. It was cloaked in tattered black robes and was scurrying around the cell performing the tasks imprinted deeply into its genetic code, which in the case of this specimen involved regurgitating fluid used to create and repair walls.
“What is it doing?” asked Beth.
“There are many types of drones, each with its own set of skills to perform particular functions. This one is a builder drone. It is very good at tunneling through hard rock and building walls and partitions. To do the latter, it produces a viscous liquid which quickly hardens into very sturdy building material.”
They watched for a few moments as the drone worked on a half-constructed brown wall toward the back of the cell.
“Sadly for the drone, it cannot secrete any more of the liquid. And although we have attempted to feed it, it has rejected all nourishment.”
“So what will you do?” asked Ravenwood the drone quickly scurried back and forth in a state of high agitation.
“What can we do?” asked Barka with a shrug. “It is dying and we are helpless to stop it.”
Ravenwood glanced at Barka, noting her faintly creased brow and pained look in her eyes. Again, these signs were for Ravenwood and Consul Styles’ benefit. He had no doubt the Brevian cared as little for the drone as she did for the dust on the bottom of her cushioned shoes.
“Open the door,” said Ravenwood.
“I don’t think that would be wise,” said Barka. “Though small, the drone’s behavior is quite unpredictable. It might attack you.”
“We will take that risk,” said Beth.
Barka was about to say something else, but upon seeing Ravenwood’s determined expression and Beth’s challenging stance, she waved a finger at the observation monitor attached to the ceiling above. The door disappeared.
The drone did not look up from its pacing or vain attempts to secret more fluid to build its wall.
“Greetings,” said Ravenwood in Sahir, causing Barka to raise an eyebrow in surprise upon hearing the language of the enemy coming from Ravenwood’s mouth. “What is your duty?”
The drone did not respond.
“What is your purpose?” asked Ravenwood.
Still, the drone kept going about its business.
“Who is your master?” he asked.
Nothing.
Ravenwood watched the drone scurry about for a minute or two, but the drone took no notice of its visitors.
“Are you sure it understands you?” asked Beth. “The Brevian outside said they speak a simple language of their own.”
“Yes, but they understand Sahir,” said Ravenwood. “I’m certain of it.”
“Come,” said Barka quietly. “You have satisfied your curiosity. Come and I will show you the latest results of the Karazan interrogation.”
Ravenwood took a final look at the drone then nodded his head. Perhaps he’d misunderstood the coded message he’d received on his PDD.
“Thank you, Ambassador Barka. We would like to see that.”
He and Beth turned and walked toward the door when the drone emitted a clicking sound and an extremely high pitched series of chirps. Ravenwood looked back at the drone, which continued about its work, then at Beth and Barka. The Brevian had heard it too, but did not seem to understand. The drone repeated the sounds. This time, something in the back of Ravenwood’s mind seemed to take special note of it.
There it was again. Ravenwood took a step toward the drone and got down on one knee. He looked at the pale, hairless, almost childlike face under the dark hood. Did its pure black eyes glance at him? Had it taken notice of the Humani staring at it?
More high-pitched chirps and clicks. Now whistles were added to the mix.
The little corner of Ravenwood’s brain that had registered the drone’s noises was now fully alert.
“Drone!” demanded Ravenwood in Sahir. “Type, task, function, break!”
The drone immediately stopped its frantic activity and looked at Ravenwood.
“Builder, wall, base, break!” responded the drone in a strange clicking language that sounded nothing like Sahir but Ravenwood understood nevertheless.
“Drone! Status, purpose, action, break!”
The drone paused for a moment before clicking and chirping its response. “Weak, message, Humani, break!”
Masking his surprise as best he could, Ravenwood looked at Beth then Barka. Beth was watching the drone intently, but the Brevian merely smiled. Barka had understood nothing of what the drone was saying. He could tell that her mind was working furiously, but she drew no meaning out of the drone’s strange clicks, chirps, and squeaks.
Ravenwood returned his attention to the drone. “Drone! Humani, break! Message, break!”
Upon hearing those words spoken in Sahir, the drone proceeded to emit a long string of clicks, squeaks, and burring sounds. As he listened, Ravenwood merely stared at the little creature, his face an impassive mask. Then the drone stopped speaking just as abruptly as it had started and returned to its prior activities, paying no further attention to Ravenwood.
“What did it say?” asked Barka when they were once again outside the cell and walking down the corridor.
> “I’m not sure,” said Ravenwood. “I did my best to understand, but the meaning of those clicks and squeaks escapes me.”
“Ambassador Ravenwood,” said Barka. “Are you certain you understood nothing? Your commands spoken in Sahir were quite specific and it appeared as though the drone comprehended them.”
“Afraid not. But I’m sure you recorded the exchange. I suggest you replay it. If you decipher it, please do let me know. I find these little creatures very interesting.”
With that, Ravenwood and Beth strode away.
When they had walked for a few minutes, Beth quietly asked Ravenwood if he had understood the drone’s words.
Ravenwood did not immediately answer. Then he looked at her and said, “Consul, how would you like to go on a brief excursion? If we hurry, we can catch Cap and Lena before they depart.”
“How long will we be gone?” she asked. “We need to get to Agurru before Admiral Var-Imar locks down the khâl. We also need to speak to Ghorla about his war plans.
“We’ll get to Agurru in time. I promise. But there is something we must first attend to or we will have missed a great opportunity.”
“What kind of opportunity?” asked Beth.
Ravenwood flashed a polite but disarming smile. “I’m not prepared to share that now, but I promise you will be the first to know when I am.”
Chapter 42
Not all who wander are lost.
- Anonymous.
Cursing under his breath, Carlos lowered a field scanner from his eyes and looked around, trying to see between the many tree trunks and swaying branches that surrounded him, but the forest was too dense, limiting his vision to just twenty or thirty meters. Above his head, a late spring breeze gently tousled the treetops, causing the canopy of leaves to dance and shimmer in the late afternoon sun. Birds flitted from tree to three, branch to branch. The twee-twee-twee-too-too-too of the cardinal and the elaborate whistles and caws of the mocking bird filtered through the forest. The whistles of many other bird species joined the cardinal and mocking bird to fill the air with their music as brightly adorned males of each species sought to demark their territories.
Carlos adjusted his wide-brimmed hat then raised the field scanner to his eyes once again. He looked in what he believed to be the correct direction but still could see no signs of habitation or recognizable landmarks. He grumbled a few words to himself in Spanish while looking at the old, worn map in his hand then traced his finger along a winding river. He tapped a spot on the map a few times before slipping it into the inner pocket of his long, brown coat.
Though very familiar with the backwoods and trails from Columbus to Pittsburg, he’d never ventured this far south and had only a vague notion of where his intended destination lay. The map indicated that he should have already reached it, but all he could see were trees, trees, and more trees. Maybe the map was too old to be of any value. Maybe the Travelers who had given it to him were playing games. He knew they had never trusted Carlos due to his Septemberist connections. Was this how they entertained themselves? If so, Carlos was not amused.
He reached down, lifted his small backpack, and slipped it onto his shoulders. Picking up the rifle that was leaning against a nearby tree, he struck out in a southwesterly direction. As he pushed through thickets and brambles, Carlos kept a wary eye out for signs of danger. After Attika’s murder in the supposed safety of The Residence, Congress increased security, but the measures had failed to prevent a rapid escalation in daily raids on government facilities and assassinations of high ranking officials. Congress declared martial law and deployed the full force of Constitutional Guards, fifty thousand ardent supporters of the Septemberist Revolution, but they were too few to police the entire nation. Their effectiveness was further hindered by their growing fear and anger at being targeted for assassination. The Conguards were turning on the local populations with increasing frequency and ferocity. Severe reprisals for alleged Storm Front collaboration or perceived sympathy were becoming commonplace. And on those rare occasions when the Conguards did manage to directly engage against Storm Front forces, they were clumsy and brutal, causing many unnecessary civilian deaths.
As the violence spiraled out of control, all attempts to locate the Storm Front’s secret base had failed. No one knew where they hid themselves nor how they entered heavily guarded precincts and escaped without being captured. They appeared out of thin air then vanished without a trace.
He leaped across a small creek which bubbled down a high hill into a slow-moving river about a half a kilometer away which he glimpsed through the trees. He stopped once more to consult the old map. The river wasn’t supposed to be there. Had he travelled too far south? Damn the Travelers and their tricks! Peering through his field scanner, he noticed that the river flowed into a wide loop to form an oxbow. The feature was nowhere to be seen on the map, but he was not surprised. The map the Travelers had given him predated the Impact and therefore still showed ancient roads now swallowed up by forests, long-abandoned towns and villages, and bridges that had collapsed into the rivers they once spanned. This was wild country now, wilder than anything he’d ever seen. Whatever it had been like before the Impact, this great swath of forest-covered land was now home to more bears, badgers, and foxes than people.
He slung his rifle across his shoulder and followed the little creek down to the valley floor where it emptied into the river. He walked along the river’s edge and looked at the tree-fringed bank on the far side. The channel was only about two hundred meters wide at this point, but he could see no place to easily cross it. He dropped his backpack to the ground then took a sip of water from his canteen. Wiping his thick beard with his coat sleeve, he surveyed the channel once more. He shook his head. It made no sense. Perhaps he was on the wrong side of the river.
As he looked up and down the channel, Carlos caught a glimpse of something moving to his right. He quietly retrieved his rifle and watched as the figure of a man emerged from a curtain of tall reeds on the far side of the little stream Carlos had followed through the forest. The man got down on his knees, gently reached into the water, and took hold of something below the surface. Carlos quietly crept forward until he reached the cover of a chestnut tree about fifty meters from the figure, but still he could not get a good look at the man’s face.
As Carlos watched, the man suddenly looked up and stared directly into his eyes. “Hello Carlos,” he said loudly.
Carlos laughed and stepped out from behind the tree. With a broad smile on his face, he walked forward.
“Hello Kane,” he said. “I finally found you!”
Kane smiled and pulled his hands out of the water. He was holding a fish trap made of woven twigs and reeds. Inside the trap was a large thrashing fish.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” observed Carlos.
“I try to keep my ear to the ground,” Kane replied. “Strange that you found me, though. Travelers must have given me away.”
“Don’t blame them,” replied Carlos. “I had some damn good gear to barter. And they made me wait at Thorson’s Wallow for nearly a week before telling me where you were. Plenty of time to get word to you. You knew I was coming.”
Kane shrugged enigmatically then studied Carlos for a moment. The big man with the thick dark beard was tired. More than that. He was exhausted, weary right down to the bone, weighed down by a thousand troubles.
“C’mon,” Kane said with a gesture toward the hillside behind him. “Let’s put some food in your belly. Then you can tell me all about the problems of the world.”
Carlos collected his backpack then trotted to the edge of the creek. Kane was already climbing up the opposite bank, holding the fish by its gills in his right hand. Carlos hesitated as he looked at the knee-deep water that separated him from the other side.
“I’m not going to carry you across, if that’s what you’re waiting for,” said Kane over his shoulder.
“I hate getting my boots wet. Leads to blister
s and stinking feet.”
“Living in the Capitol District has made you soft, Carlos.”
“They don’t call it that anymore,” said Carlos as he reluctantly splashed through the water. “Now it’s called Liberty.”
“That’s great. First rule for revolutionaries – change all the old names,” said Kane as he crested a little ridge. He turned to his right and quickly ascended the slope.
“Changing the names is rule number two,” said Carlos as he loped up the hill after Kane.
“What’s rule number one?”
“You don’t know?”
“No. Tell me.”
“Go ask the Guardians. They’ll tell you.”
“Except for Harken, the Guardians are dead,” said Kane.
“Exactly.”
Kane led the way up the valley for a few minutes then broke to the left and walked about two hundred meters before arriving at a narrow, dry gulch. Just beyond the gulch was a small cabin constructed of well-fitted timbers and mortar made of mud, lime, clay, and grass. The cabin stood upon a foundation of stones of various shapes and sizes. A roof of wooden poles topped with reeds and sod covered the little structure, and a chimney made from large stones caked in thick mud anchored the far wall. They crossed a footbridge over the gulch and walked toward the cabin. Carlos saw that part of the hill to the right had been excavated. Judging from the size and color of the stones, it appeared as though it had served as a quarry for the structure’s subflooring and chimney. On a flat patch of land about ten meters to the left was a garden boasting a variety of herbs and vegetables. A smokehouse stood next to the garden. To the left was a fire pit ringed with large rocks.
The Renegade Page 38
