by Arthur Byrne
“There’s a simple solution.”
“Oh, do tell.”
“We need more map runners.”
“How is that a solution?”
“We put out a call for more runners, maybe a couple dozen, and we announce that we are cutting the pregnancy penalty in half—to forty-five days.”
“The point of the penalty is that they don’t survive.”
“I know.”
“And map runners need a lot of training to be effective, or they tend to not come back.”
“Exactly.”
Frank wasn’t sure what his sister had in mind, but he knew from the look on her face that it was brilliant. He just didn’t understand why.
“Last year there were four approved pregnancies. The celebration at each of those births did wonders for morale. The mourning over the two unapproved pregnancies that resulted in the deaths of the fathers wiped out all of the benefit of the others.
“We need to be able to allow more of the children to be born and to do that, we need more casualties.”
“How is cutting the penalty in half going to help? If the guys start surviving...”
“It’s about perception. You need to make people believe you understand why they’re so unhappy. If you announce that you’re cutting the penalty in half, reiterating the importance of trying not to get pregnant and reinforcing the need for the law, but couching it in terms of trying to find a win for everyone, you’ll look benevolent.”
“I still don’t see how making it easier to survive helps our...”
“Seventy percent of the fathers make it to day forty-five, but that’s only because they’re mostly playing defense and staying in known areas. If we build a campaign for quicker explorations, because you desperately want to find a safe place for expansion, then you’ll look good.”
She could see he still didn’t understand the math. “Every time we’ve aggressively tried to map further out, our casualties go up. If you start a new class of map runners, to demonstrate the importance of finding a new expansion space, we’ll lose some of them. And the survival rate of fathers at the forty-five day mark will drop from seventy percent to less than five. That’s one out of twenty.
“Interesting. Sending out more runners with a survival rate of five percent or less means we will lose more people overall. If we lose enough people, we can approve more pregnancies and that will make the natives less restless.”
Fiel didn’t say anything else. She let her brother mull over her plan.
CHAPTER FOUR
Nash remembered Tempest helping him up to her place, then something about her slipping into something more comfortable, and that was about it.
There was a strange bruise on his shoulder. That sort of thing happened when he passed out in her bed, and she couldn’t wake him back up.
He lay there a moment to let the ceiling slow down to a crawl. There didn’t seem to be any sound of Tempest moving about, so he figured it was safe to get up.
Tempest was a mixed bag. Sometimes he’d piss her off and the next day she’d make him breakfast like nothing had happened. Other days, well, she earned her name. She was a Gemini.
Sitting up was a minor struggle. He looked around the bedroom floor and didn’t see his shoes. That wasn’t a good sign. It could mean she had hidden them, because she needed to pop out for a bit and wanted to make sure she got her pound of flesh when she got back, or maybe they were in the family room.
Nash pulled on his pants but couldn’t find his shirt. Tempest had stolen plenty of his shirts over the years, so he stole one back.
The shoes didn’t seem to be anywhere. The best plan was a tactical retreat to his locker at the gate, where he always kept an extra pair of boots.
The apartments were just shipping containers that had been converted to living space after their contents had been used. The entire city was a mess of containers stacked on one another--sometimes without much thought as to pesky details like getting around--and it resulted in a jumbled maze.
There were three routes out from Tempest’s place. If she had gone out for food, which seemed likely because she never kept much in the house, his best bet was to head away from the gate, circle through the builders’ enclave, and then come out behind the hydroponic vegetable farm containers.
It would be hard on his feet but less painful than running into a woman scorned. With his hangover, he couldn’t take her mouth.
Nash made it to his locker unscathed. He showered, shaved, and, when he was done, felt like a new man, or at the very least a used man that still had a couple of good miles left on him.
PJ came in just as he was lacing up his boots. “Did you see the bulletin?”
“No, I never read that crap.”
“They’re looking for twenty-four new runners.”
“Good. With the size of our crew, and Frank’s obsession with Bay 36, we are barely making any progress. You going out?”
“Yep.”
“Which direction?”
“I’ve got a five-day run, right and then down, at that spot where the blast mark looks like a duck.”
“You’re going through the duck hole?”
“That’s what he said.”
Nash didn’t like it. “I’ve been down there once but only for about twenty minutes. There wasn’t any power or atmo, and way too many signs of scavengers. That’s a pretty tough assignment for a rookie.”
“I can handle it.”
“I’m not saying you can’t, but you better be damn careful. Getting back up the hole isn’t an easy climb, and there’s no way to make it out with a Navereen chewing on your ass.”
“I’ll go slowly.”
“You go in slowly, quietly, and then find a safe spot where you can defend yourself. Then, you wait and listen. Sit there until your tanks are at thirty percent, then you get your ass back up the hole and recharge. I think there’s an air station about fifty meters past the hole.
“Got it.”
“You go check and make sure that station is working before you drop down, okay?”
“Will do.”
“Once you’ve got a safe spot, and it seems clear, then try to find a second one, and repeat. Keep your eyes out for anything useful while you’re down there.”
“I know how to retrieve. I found a case of unopened circuits last time out.”
Nash lowered his voice. “If you find anything good, you put it in your first camp. This is uncharted ship. If you find an extra empty tank, you go fill it up and then save it. If you find ammunition or weapons, you save them. If Frank wants this area mapped, then that’s all he gets. Don’t worry about your quota.”
“Yeah, but it isn’t really that far from the recovery drop zone.”
“You’ll need anything you find much more than 37 does.”
“But the rules are clear.”
“There’s only one rule: survive five days.”
PJ seemed convinced, so Nash left. He went straight to Frank’s office. The door was open and Frank saw him.
“Come on in.”
“I hear you’re sending PJ down the duck hole.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re looking for recruits?”
Frank looked up and seemed surprised. “You read the board?”
“PJ told me.”
“Yes. We can’t maintain things the way they are; we need to step up our efforts.”
“To what end?”
“To survive, we need more space. We need another secure base.”
Nash couldn’t argue with the commander. He knew it was true, but his gut told him that if there were another place like 37, then it would probably have an army of Navereen or scavengers in it defending their turf.
“Are you sure he’s up to it? Maybe I should take this one.”
“You’re in no shape to go out.”
“Hey, I showered.”
Frank raised his voice and shouted, “Oh, really?”
Nash winced.
“Just as I suspected, hung over. You’re not scheduled to go out for three more days. Try to get some rest and try not to be a mess the day you leave. You’ll need to be sharp.”
“Where am I going?”
“I don’t know, and I won’t know for three days. We’ve got three runners going out this morning. If any of them find something promising or even hinting at promising, then that’s where you’ll be headed.”
Nash nodded and left. Frank seemed almost pleasant. It was as if he had become a slightly less annoying person with just a spark of humanity. It was almost like he had learned to be a leader.
Something was definitely going on, and Nash needed to find out what. There were alarm bells going off in his head, and that didn’t mix well with the hangover.
He had to talk to Calvin.
CHAPTER FIVE
The gate was constructed in the first year after the attack. The first few months it was enough to post guards at the doors, but once scavengers tried to make it inside, Frank had all but one door welded shut.
Shipping containers created a massive five-story building, with a tunnel running up to the only remaining working door for Cargo Bay 37. If the day ever came that the door was breached, the attackers would find themselves in a tiny courtyard, surrounded by eighteen-foot-thick castle-like walls.
The kill zone, as it was called, was where goodbyes were said before one entered the wild. Misila Hoffman stood with Holly, waiting for PJ to come down the tunnel.
Misila wasn’t used to her boyfriend being a runner, and it still filled her with dread each time he left.
Holly said, “He’s going to be just fine. Nash says PJ’s one of the best he’s ever trained, and it’s only five days.”
“I know. He’ll be fine...I hope.”
Nash rounded the corner, with his helmet strapped to his waist and his gear bag in hand. The suits were a hybrid, designed to offer breathable air when needed, but were not meant for long periods in the absolute zero temperature and vacuum of space.
Though there were sections with massive damage that were 100 percent exposed to space, the map runners focused on the areas that had some level of protection.
“Come to see me off?”
Misila gave him a hug. “You be careful out there.”
“I always do. I hear getting killed isn’t so much fun, so I avoid it.”
Holly said, “Where are you going?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
“I’m a tracker now. You can tell me.”
“I’m going to follow the yellow brick road until I get to Oz.”
Misila looked at Holly, who said, “I have no idea what it means, but Nash says it all the time.
PJ gave Misila a kiss and signaled to the door operator up in the booth.
A voice said, “Please clear the courtyard.”
Misila and Holly walked back down the tunnel and heard the doors at both ends close. A faint click told them the door to the rest of the ship had opened, and then they heard it close.
Holly linked her arm through Misila’s and said, “Let’s go to the window deck.”
It was a long climb up the eight flights of stairs to the main dock door control center. It hadn’t been used in ten years, and the elevator power had been routed elsewhere. It was Holly’s favorite spot to go because of the massive window.
They stood and looked out into space. Misila said, “Do you think we’re moving?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t look like it, but even if we were, I’m not sure the view would change much. Everything is so far away.”
“It’s beautiful, though.”
“That’s why I like it here.”
Most people didn’t like seeing the vastness of space because it reminded them they might never leave their tiny metal world. Holly saw only possibility among the stars.
***
PJ didn’t need his helmet right away. He kept his pistol out and moved down the hall. There were signs of battle within the first hundred meters of leaving the gate, but they were from years ago.
It took over an hour to get to the sealed door before the hall that had the duck hole. The quality of the air on the other side was believed to be subpar, but it had been a long time since anyone had been in this area. PJ held out hope there had been a change for the better.
There was a story that had been passed around by the runners of a robot that seemed to be randomly fixing things on the ship. Nash had said he’d seen it, but his friend wasn’t a reliable source; he wasn’t beneath telling a whopper or two just for the fun of it.
Still, it was the sort of thing a person could hold onto when exploring. If there was one robot, maybe there were others, and maybe the ship could be healed.
PJ put on his helmet, checked his air tank levels, and unlocked the door. He closed the door behind him and walked another 100 meters before taking a reading. Nothing had changed.
The duck hole was a hole in the floor about two meters long and one meters wide. The opening dropped down four meters to the floor below. A voice in his headset said, “PJ, do you copy?”
“I’m at the duck hole.”
“All systems are green across the board.”
“PJ Out.”
The trackers always knew where a runner was. The system in the suit sent back a constant stream of updates, but it wasn’t always reliable, and some areas of the ship caused interference.
PJ and his tracker didn’t talk much. He preferred to avoid distraction and only wanted to be bothered if there was an update from another runner that related to his mission.
He unpacked his gear for the descent into the hole. He used the short-haul cable system to lower himself down to the floor below.
Nash’s words of caution stayed with him. PJ checked his tanks and the time remaining. He had six hours left before he would be on reserve and need to find a station to recharge. PJ started the timer on his heads-up-display and hooked back up to the cable. It pulled him up and out of the duck hole. He then jogged farther down the hall to find the charging station. He plugged in and topped off the tank.
It took less than three minutes from the moment he started his ascent until he was hooked into his air tank.
With a full set of tanks, he returned to the duck hole and descended again. The landing space wasn’t very large. It looked like it must have been some sort of storage room because there were shelves and little else. The only light was from the tiny green indicators along the baseboards that said the artificial gravity was functioning at 100 percent.
PJ’s boots were a clever design created four years earlier that, with the flick of a switch on his belt, would cause the soles to pump short, rubbery spikes down through the metal base. It made walking easier and much quieter. If PJ needed to climb up a wall, he could switch back to the magnetized base and have at it.
The boots were a huge leap forward in Navereen-evading technology. The Navereen were not subtle, and sneaking wasn’t really their strong suit.
PJ listened and heard the comforting sound of nothing. He scanned the room, sent back an “all clear” ping, and moved to the open door. The long hallway beyond ran perpendicular to the one he had just dropped down from. To the right, it looked like the hall ended at a door; to the left there was a turn in the distance. There was also some debris, which might have been blocking another door. That could be a camp.
It was just as dark in the hall, and at that distance PJ couldn’t really tell what the debris might be, so he eased himself towards the right. The sensors still read that the air was foul, but the carbon dioxide in that direction was one mil lower than the toxic levels in the room he had dropped into.
One part per thousand wasn’t significant at levels that high, but in the dark of an uncharted area, everything positive was noted.
PJ reached the door. It was still quiet in the hall, but he had no idea what might be on the other side. Doors were tricky because they made a distinct sound when they opened and closed. If there was a
camp behind him, the chances were fifty-fifty they’d hear him open this door.
If there was danger on the other side, well, he would have to run blindly down the hall, past his escape route, and hope there was a place to hide. There wouldn’t be time to get back up the duck hole, and he knew it.
PJ hit the sensor pad, and the door whooshed open. PJ didn’t move; he listened for any sound and heard only emptiness. He glanced back, but the area with the debris was too far away to even make out in the darkness.
The other side of the door opened up into some sort of production facility. There was a red warning light in the corner near the ceiling to the left. He wondered if he had tripped it.
The room was large. He did a scan and found it to be sixty meters by one hundred meters with a twelve meter ceiling. PJ realized he was standing on a metal platform and that the shop floor was around two meters below him.
In front of him there were steps leading down, and to the right the raised walkway looked like it went to the corner and then continued across the right wall.
PJ closed the door. If anyone came back through, he’d be able to hear them. He crept along the wall, considering whether he should use his shoulder lights.
The Navereen were not at all sneaky when they moved, but they had been known to hide and wait for prey, which in this instance would be him. He decided a snail’s pace was the best option.
He reached the corner, turned along the wall, and then found an open door. It was completely dark inside, and when he scanned it, he found the space to be fifteen by twelve meters with a three-meter ceiling. PJ flipped on his shoulder light in blue mode.
The first thing he saw made his day. The desk had an inbox, several folders, a lamp, and—aside from a layer of dust—was perfectly neat. Then it got better.
Along one wall were two racks of guns: M-514s, which were heavy assault rifles, and P-100 plasma demi-pistols.
The neat desk meant the Navereen had not been there; the guns said that scavengers hadn’t either. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed unlikely that anyone had been in this facility since the attack.
