Robinson Crusoe 2246: (Book 3)

by E. J. Robinson

  Robinson nodded and slipped the glasses into his shirt pocket.

  Next on the table was a bundled, tubular bag.

  “What’s this?” Robinson asked.

  “A sleeping bag. There’s no padding, so it’s uncomfortable, but it will keep you warm up to negative thirty degrees. The exterior is also crafted with nano-coated light diffusers that will let you blend in with your environment. It won’t make you invisible, but it will make you hard to detect, especially at night.”

  “The ancients had this?” Robinson asked.

  Pastor nodded. “Most of it was in the hands of the military, unfortunately, which meant it was useless when they real trouble began.”

  Robinson turned his attention to the next item. “I recognize this.”

  “Do you?” Pastor asked. He picked the firearm off the table. “Guns, like the one you used, have been outdated for centuries. Not only is gunpowder unpredictable, but they don’t work in water, sand, and can be taken away and used against the owner. This one is different, though it was designed to resemble an old revolver. Of the six chambers, only three are capable of discharging. But they don’t fire bullets.”

  “What do they fire?”

  “Kinetic energy. Sound.” He flicked open the cylinder, revealing six shells, two of which had blue, red and green dots. “The blue chamber fires a sonic blast equivalent to a running kick to the chest. It will put a man down hard but not kill him. The green chamber fires a blast with twice the velocity and impact of a normal forty-five caliber pistol.”

  “And the red?”

  “Let’s just say if you have to topple any buildings, it will give you your start. Whatever you do, don’t fire it at close proximity. You can switch chambers by toggling this safety switch here. Also, there’s a recoil commensurate to the output of energy. Newton’s Third and all that. Lastly, there’s a DNA reader in the grip so only you can fire it.”

  Robinson nodded and slipped the pistol easily into his pants. Pastor rolled his eyes and moved on to the last piece of tech.

  “It’s a bird,” Robinson said.

  “A drone,” Pastor corrected him, “designed to look like and mimic a hummingbird in every way. This is my special gift to you.” Pastor couldn’t take his eyes off the bird. “For a while, she and I were friends.”

  “Friends?”

  Pastor struggled to continue. Robinson thought he looked strangely vulnerable.

  “It isn’t easy being an outsider in a city like this. Even working in the forest, I was prone to loneliness. Scout … lessened that for me.”

  “Scout?” Robinson asked.

  “Named for a young heroine of literature who learns that the evil in humanity can only be purged with love and understanding.”

  In all the days Robinson traveled with Pastor, he never felt closer to him than in that moment. He was kind of enough to look away when he saw the man’s eyes water.

  “She has some AI,” Pastor said with a clearing of his throat, “so she follows commands. She’s an excellent tracker and can warn you when danger’s coming.”

  Pastor whistled, and Scout rose to her feet and chirped.

  “Scout, this is Robinson. He’s your new master. You’re to go with him, do as he asks, and keep him safe. Understand?”

  Scout chirped once, regarded Robinson, then flew into the air and perched near the exit door.

  “Thank you for this,” Robinson said.

  “It’s the least I can do,” Pastor replied. “I owe you, after all.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Oh, I do, son. More than you know.”

  Robinson stood at the Medica window in the new clothes Pastor had provided him. He stared at the love of his life motionless on the other side. In the fading afternoon light, she almost looked peaceful.

  “Friday, I know I promised we’d never be apart again,” Robinson said softly, “but this is something I have to do. I just wanted to say, if you wake up and I’m not here, please don’t be afraid. And don’t hate me.” Robinson felt his lip tremble and grit his teeth. “Leaving you and our child is the hardest thing I’ll do, but I know you’d do the same. That’s what being an Aserra is really about, isn’t it? Not the training or the fighting, but the willingness to sacrifice everything for those you love. Someone very important tried to teach me that once, but I didn’t understand it then. Now, I do. I love you, Yolareinai-esa-tu-shin-zhi-ma-coctera-wal-pan-bayamasay-fri. And I will see you soon.”

  Robinson kissed his fingers and held them up before turning and walking away. He never looked back because knew Friday wouldn’t have either.

  Pastor was waiting outside next to the roan Wapasha had given him.

  “She’s a good horse,” Robinson said.

  “She won’t be happy about her change of diet—or locale—but she’s well trained. She’ll serve you well. I only wish I was coming with you.”

  “I didn’t want to ask.”

  “The oath prevents me from leaving the city. And even if I didn’t take the oath, I’m not sure I could handle it. The losses are too painful and the gains are even worse.”

  “Ah, you’d only get in my way anyway.”

  Pastor’s head snapped up, but when he saw Robinson grin, he shook his head.

  “Then I don’t feel so bad about this.”

  Robinson’s brow knit in confusion. Then Pastor looked over his shoulder. Robinson turned and felt his chest tighten as the mute sister approached on a horse of her own. She road with her bow across her back and never once looked at Robinson after she arrived.

  “Four weeks,” Pastor said.

  “More than enough time,” Robinson replied.

  Pastor watched Robinson whistle loudly before Scout passed by overhead. Robinson nudged his horse to follow. The mute sister glanced once more at Pastor before following, her silence conveying more than enough words.

  Pastor stood in place until they disappeared over the first rise.

  “Why do I feel like I’ve just done something terrible?” Pastor said.

  “Because you’re sentimental,” Lysa answered, not bothering to ask him how he’d heard her approach. “It’s one of the things people like about you.”

  Pastor grunted, but said nothing.

  “Don’t look so glum. We needed the boy to convince the body the dangers of the second strain were real. And he succeeded.”

  “But if he fails in this task?”

  “Then our point is made and finally we’ll be allowed to act.”

  “It’s not right, Lysa. People aren’t pawns to be sacrificed. Those two deserve better than that. They’re better than us.”

  “Well, if they’re as good as you say, they’ll succeed. Though that would only lead to a different sort of tragedy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Imagine, going through all that only to return and find your lover passed.”

  “She might survive. It’s only a month.”

  “William,” Lysa said, as if talking to a child. “She won’t last the week. I fear her illness is about to take a heartbreaking turn. Are you coming?”

  After what he’d just heard, Pastor found it hard to speak. He cleared his throat and smiled instead. “Of course,” he said.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Waiting in the Groves

  The return journey to Saah’s farm went smoothly, save for two incidents. The first came two days after they’d left the valley outside the City of Glass. They travelled south until they came across the 18 Freeway and then turned east until they arrived at the town of Mission. The attack came quickly and on horseback, but the enemy’s bows and arrows were no match for the explosive projectile Viktor launched at them from a grounded tube. When four Indians and their mounts were eviscerated in a moment, the fight went out of the others and they turned heel and ran.

  The second attack came eight days later, after a mind numbingly dreary and hot ride east on highway 20 in the former state of Nebraska, which offered a lev
el expanse of featureless corn and soybean fields and not much else. The wild crops with the occasional river trawl meant they needed less time for hunting, which was a boon to both men but hell on the alpha, who snarled and gnashed at the bars of its cage so often the planks beneath its feet turned black from blood.

  The alpha had set both men on edge as its restless frenzy gave them little time to sleep. Somewhere mid-state, however, the beast’s demeanor suddenly changed, and it lay down at the bottom of its cage and only rose when Saah returned with fresh game. Otherwise, it sat and watched the men. Saah saw intelligence in the creature’s eyes and knew it was waiting for them to make a mistake. It would only need one.

  The second attack came from a surprising source, a wild pack of dogs. The company was a motley assemblage of lean hounds intermixed with a handful of wolves. They came at night. The first warning came in the form of a low growl from the alpha that stirred Saah and Viktor from their slumbers. Then, the night exploded with thrashing howls as the wild grass bucked all around them. Viktor stoked the fire as Saah scanned the field with his rifle, only to have the mongrels emerge and encircle them. For the first time in a long time, Saah felt fearful. Then the alpha howled, and the mob halted.

  The leader of the flea-ridden curs, a silver and black wolf with gnarled ears, strode several paces in and bared its teeth. But when the alpha slammed against the bars and snarled, the wolf leaped back and fled. Its flock faltered in confusion before they too turned and disappeared back into the grass.

  Neither man could shake the incident from their minds. For Saah, the alpha had displayed nature’s order in its purest form. It stemmed from dominance. And true dominance could only come from one place: dread. The citizens of Isle Prime had feared Saah, but they did not dread him. That had been his mistake. It was one he would not make again.

  Viktor’s contemplation of the incident was less self-serving. For months before their departure, he’d been stymied by two things: his ability to control humans in the same way he controlled the afflicted and his inability to control subjects in their most frenzied, primal state. The alpha’s actions now had him thinking in different directions for both. Viktor knew the Master would want to rebuild his pack as soon as possible. He would need time to get it right.

  They arrived at the farm at sundown, fifteen days after leaving the City of Glass. The gate was open, the barn door swaying in the breeze. Flesh and gore littered the grounds around the field. Afflicted flesh.

  When Viktor saw this, he leaped off his mount and ran for the barn, crying out inside. Saah entered to see that only a handful of Viktor’s augmented Renders remained alive. The rest had been fed to the beast of the field.

  “Who would do this?” Viktor asked.

  Saah knew. He found the man inside his own home, asleep on Saah’s bed surrounded by empty bottles of corn alcohol all around him. The man pleaded as Saah dragged him outside.

  “W-we didn’t think you was coming back,” the man said. “Please, Master. We was only having fun.”

  “If it’s fun you want,” Saah said. “Then you shall have it.”

  Saah started to drag the man toward the field when Viktor called out.

  “I could use him for my experiments.”

  When the man’s eyes widened in horror, Saah relented.

  As Viktor’s surgery on the man commenced, Saah took the remaining six packmates on a hunting trip to gather more Renders. They set traps within a ten-mile radius, and those garnered sixteen living subjects. A few short hunting excursions rounded up another five. Viktor had implanted them all with control devices and weapons by the following day.

  “What about her?” Saah nodded to the alpha. The mechanism implanted at the rear of its head blinked, but the dog’s eyes hadn’t changed.

  “I can’t understand it,” Viktor said. “She is still resisting the implant even though her amygdala is no different on any Canidae I’ve developed before.”

  “Ah, but this one is different. Unique. She has been an alpha since the day she was born.”

  “Even more reason to put her down. You’ll never break her.”

  “All beasts heel to the lash eventually, Viktor. Even nature’s perfect killing machine. From now on, she is only fed by my hand. Understand?”

  Viktor said he did. Saah took a step closer to the cage. The alpha’s growl was low.

  “You will be my fiercest champion,” Saah said to the alpha. “The omega to my alpha.”

  The alpha growled again but lowered its head to the floor in pain.

  “How progresses my army?” Saah asked.

  “I lost two on the table,” Viktor said. “Twenty-five others should be fit to travel within a week.”

  “It’s not enough. I need one hundred, at least.”

  “Let me show you something,” Viktor said, rising and heading toward the back room.

  When Saah entered the room, he found the man sitting in irons chained to the floor. Dried blood covered his face and shirt. His hair had been shaved. A control device had been implanted just above his forehead.

  “Well?” Saah asked.

  “Watch,” Viktor said.

  He raised the pipes to his lips and blew a flat note. The man looked up but remained sitting.

  “That’s it?” Saah asked. “Is that all he does?”

  “The note only alerts him that a command is forthcoming. The subject will respond to any order that follows.”

  “Do it again,” Saah said. Viktor blew the note. “Stand up,” Saah said to the man.

  The man stood. Viktor smiled and blew another note. Saah pulled a knife from his waistline.

  “Take this and kill yourself,” he said.

  The man took the knife and raised it to his throat.

  “Stop,” Saah said, but the man didn’t stop. His body fell to the ground once he was done.

  “The subject will only follow one command per note,” Viktor said. “Apologies.”

  “You’ve perfected the process.”

  Victor shrugged. “Herd mentality. I saw how the alpha established dominance over that pack of canines and knew if I could identify the part of the brain that governed those instincts, I could replicate the process and assume total control.”

  “You’ve done well,” Saah said. “If only that underground facility was closer, I would have my army tomorrow.”

  “You’re forgetting something, Master,” Viktor said. Saah raised an eyebrow. “While that place is several hundred miles away, there is a small town only twenty miles from here. There’s no need to wait ’til tomorrow. You can have your army today.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Tracks

  The roan nickered, and its pace lessened as it caught the scent of the small stream ahead. Robinson allowed it to turn from the path so it could sate its thirst. The mute sister followed, and both dismounted their creaking saddles to fill their water reserves and wash the sweat and chafe from their skin. It was their fourth day on the road.

  “Let me know if you see Scout,” Robinson said as he walked behind the underbrush. The mute sister made no reply. It’d been like that the entire time. Him leading, her a length or two behind. Still, the gap between them was as wide as a canyon. Though she couldn’t speak, she had other ways to communicate. The fact that she didn’t use them made the silence even more taxing.

  There was little question the mute sister blamed Robinson for her brother’s death. He couldn’t say why. Maybe it was because Robinson had led them to the small village where her brother ultimately died. Or perhaps it was because he’d left to pursue his own affairs rather than stay through the winter and help with the homesteaders’ defense. If Pastor was right, his presence wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The village was overrun in the dead of night and few escaped. Given Robinson’s disdain for retreating, odds are he would have died too. He suspected the mute sister knew this, but like all people, she needed someone to blame for the cruel vagaries life inflicted.

  The one bright spot of the
trip so far had been Scout. The drone had looked and sounded like every hummingbird Robinson had ever seen, and yet it replied to commands as Pastor had said it would. When Robinson asked each morning if it could track Saah, it chirped once. When he asked if there was any danger each night Scout chirped twice. Robinson wasn’t sure what powered the bird. It never rested. Still, when it wasn’t under orders, it remained close to Robinson and warbled oscine songs that pleased him.

  For the first few days, Robinson worried over Scout’s fragility. Several times he’d seen larger birds of prey—hawks and a falcon—give her chase. Scout outran them all but once. The exception came when Robinson and the mute sister were watering the horses. A red-tailed hawk swooped in above Scout, but the bird didn’t run. Instead, she turned and assaulted her attacker with her dagger-like beak that left the hawk bloody and screeching in retreat.

  Robinson didn’t worry about Scout again.

  Despite the added security, Robinson and the mute sister still split up the watch duties. Both had traveled on the road too long to put complete faith in an inanimate object. Robinson took the first shift as the mute sister would wrap herself up in one of Pastor’s concealment sleeping bags and almost immediately blend in with the terrain around her. When they slept in grass, the bag would take on a green sheen. In dry cornfields, it would turn brusque and yellow. Even the fire failed to reflect of the material.

  Robinson was impressed with it.

  For his part, sleep was elusive. Robinson had been through enough experiences to know the abject necessity of sleep. Doing without it quickly hampered the mind and sapped the body of resources essential to survive. And yet every time he closed his eyes, he saw Friday motionless in the Medica. At least in Sweethome he could operate under the conviction that her insentience was medically induced. In the City of Glass, it was her own body that had shut down and was failing. Friday’s life now relied solely on him.

  Friday and their child.

  He knew little of babies and less of childbirth. In New London, those duties had always fallen to midwives and governesses. Though Tannis and Tallis had grown up in his shadow, their mother and Vareen had cared for them. He remembered the crying, the feedings, and the noxious cloth diapers, but he had no experience with the soothing, the caring, and the loving a child truly needed. And how could he begin to imagine those things now when he wasn’t certain the baby would even be born? Or if it was, but as a monster?