by David Hardy
While she still couldn’t have risked the flyer on it, because someone would see and report the strange vehicle, even if there weren’t a bulletin out for her, she could walk along it and hope someone would stop and give her a lift. She could be female, and young and appropriately vague about a crash “somewhere” behind her.
Before she hit the road, she set her backpack down and tore into it for the extra clothes she’d packed, if the ones she wore became part of a fugitive’s description. They weren’t, of course, but the thing was that she was going to have to entice someone to stop and give her a lift. And what she was wearing was her every-uniform of short tunic and blue pants. Very appropriate and all, and half the girls her age dressed that way. Which was exactly the problem. No one worth his salt was going to stop and give a lift to a seventeen year old, particularly not one like Molly who looked maybe sixteen. They’d assume that any girl that age let out of maternal surveillance would be laden down with coms and other means of calling for help. So they wouldn’t be enticed into being her white knight.
At that, Molly did have the means to ask for help. But only in extremity and this was not extreme. Yet.
She pulled a tailored tunic from her backpack, a black, molding thing she’d bought when Mom wasn’t looking at the terminal. The pants were the same kind. Normal black pants, but ones that molded and outlined her figure. Someone – at least someone male – was more likely to stop when glimpsing her from behind now. She added jewelry, cheap but appropriate – the idea was not to give the impression she’d be willing to sell it for three narcs – and then she applied makeup by touch. There were benefits, it turned out, to being the youngest of eight siblings in a family whose modest means were devoted to serving the cause of their Usaian faith. There was no way she got access to one of two freshers or one of three mirrors early morning. She’d long ago learned to apply makeup on by touch, at least for those occasions that needed makeup which were, fortunately, rare enough.
She took the time to do a proper job, and make herself look natural, just somewhat prettier, and somewhat older.
And then she’d taken the weapons from the backpack and distributed them in various ways around her figure, only somewhat hampered by relatively revealing clothes. Fortunately this was part of the training for the Sons of Liberty. How to hide guns was right up there with “keep your clothes and weapons where you can find them in the dark.” She was left with the backpack. Which was combustible.
Finding a relatively tree-free area, she set it on fire, then spread the ashes among the soil. And set off towards the road.
That was another thing they taught you in the Sons of Liberty. She’d resented it like poison, the weekends in the woods, sleeping on cold ground in all weathers, having to do forced marches, and having to walk without being tracked. But it was all instinctive now: choosing the path on which she was less likely to leave tracks; being mindful not snap any branches; trying to make as little noise as possible, so no one nearby heard her pass and remembered it later.
When she hit the road, which was, as she’d surmised, just a dirt track, probably kept clear of trees only for the convenience of locals who didn’t want to climb to regional traffic levels for small jaunts, she assumed a more casual stance, walking as normal people walked, just throwing themselves around.
It took a long time before she heard a flyer behind her. This was both good and bad. The further she got down the road from a straight line from the insurgent’s wrecked flyer, the better. On the other hand, she was starting to wonder if this road was used at all, when she heard the sounds and turned in time to look behind and up, with a look of distress.
The flyer was big, dark brown, and dented. It pretty much looked like it had been used to run the sort of rough air race where touches and sudden landings were common.
There was a moment, as the flyer continued to fly forward, when Molly thought it wouldn’t stop at all. Or even slow down. But then, with a big and ponderous “chuuuuuuffff” as though it was letting out a sigh, it started to lose altitude, and hovered lower and lower, till it stopped just ahead of her, its belly on the dirt of the road.
Molly said a little prayer that it might be a family. Ever so much safer a family was. She had taken in all the sensies about pretty things lost in the woods, after all, who usually ended up dismembered in someone’s back lot. But then she had training in fighting. And, more importantly, she was armed.
The passenger door of the flyer opened as she jogged towards it. Peeking in, she sighed. She should know better than expect prayers to be answered. Daddy had dinned into her often enough, that God helped those who helped themselves.
The man behind the wheel was young. Probably not many years older than her. He was also big, with rough hewn features, hair that he must have cut himself without benefit of a mirror, and the sort of clothes that were assembled from parts of other clothes that had got destroyed in rough work.
She expected him to grunt, or perhaps make gestures, but he spoke at her in a language she didn’t know at all.
She blinked.
He sighed and changed to a surprisingly cultured Glaish, with hints of an accent, “I’m sorry. You’re not local.”
Well, true, and she probably was not going to manage that, even if she tried to. In these small communities, everyone knew everyone else. She shook her head, tentatively. “No. I was flying to Sea York, my flyer developed problems, and I landed on the closest land mass.” She tried not to bat eyelashes, because that was way too obvious, but the idea of batting eyelashes was there, at the back of her mind, and she felt it communicated itself as she smiled tentatively. “I left the beast somewhere back there in the trees, and I need a ride, if you would?”
He glared at her. Or at least it took her some moments to realize it wasn’t a glare, but the painful expression he made as his brain tried to work. “I could take a look at it, if you don’t mind walking back there.”
Oh, brother. “The location mechanism has been broken,” she said. “And it would take me forever to find it. Besides, I’m afraid it’s terminal. It’s been failing for several years, but I’m the youngest in my family, so I drive the wreck.”
She was fully prepared to take him on a long circular trek through the woods, and then declare herself lost, if that’s what it took. “It’s a little one seater, so it’s under trees. I don’t even think you can see it from above.” As she said that, she realized that she should have made up a different story, like escaping an abusive boyfriend. It wasn’t normal for people to ditch even duos in the deep woods, and never mind what happened to them. It wasn’t normal at all. Even used, destroyed duos were worth something for salvage. But then if she made up an abusive boyfriend, this big, slow giant would probably make it a point of trying to drop her off at a peacekeeper’s station. That was all she needed now.
But after he wrinkled his forehead a while, he said, “Where did you say you were headed?”
“To my aunt and uncle in Sea York,” she said. “But if you just drop me off in the nearest large city, I’m sure I can figure out my way there.” Which was true. There were several safe houses and other places where she could get hold of a vehicle and alter her appearance even more.
The frown increased as he looked her up and down. “That’s fine. I wasn’t doing much the rest of the afternoon. Just dropped off a load of wood at the Long Farm, and now my time is my own. Hop in.”
Which was fortunate, but would have other problems of its own. After all, there was no way she could tell him exactly where to stop. Never mind, there would be time for that. She touched the tiny cylinder attached to her charm bracelet, looking like an innocent trinket with her name and date of birth written on it. It contained, compressed and tightly folded, a tiny piece of a flag that had once flown over the quasi-mythical USA when it was still a nation comprised of landmass and laws, as well as beliefs. It was a sacred reminder of her faith. If the USA was to be reborn, if men were to be free again, she had to take risks. They all
did.
She’d never have climbed onto the flyer if she didn’t have more burners stashed about her person than some small municipal police forces owned.
At any rate, as she climbed on and tightened the harness, she wondered if she was in danger of other things. Fleas, or maybe lice.
The inside of the flyer had been stripped, so that the seat she’d taken was the only one besides the driver’s. Everything else had been covered in ceramite, which was pretty scratched. The seats themselves were old. Or at least the coverings had long since worn away, leaving bare stuffing, which had, in turn, been covered in piles of blankets and a rather colorful quilt, in the case of the passenger seat. Blankets and quilt were thrown on any which way, so you could see the bits and pieces of several of them protruding under the quilt. At least the harness seemed secure.
The giant’s fingers moved with surprising agility, programming a new course. When that was done, and as the flyer climbed up and entered the stream of monitored traffic, he turned to her, and offered one of his huge hands, “Blaise Morel. And you are?”
Molly knew they didn’t have her description and so were unlikely to have her name. All the same, she changed it. “Mary. Mary Smith.”
If he thought the name too unlikely, he didn’t say it, just smiled and nodded. “Nice to meet you, Mary.” And, showing he’d seen her hesitant look around the flyer, he said, “I too am the youngest child, and neither of my sisters wanted this big boat when dad was done with it. So I got it. It’s okay. I use it to haul wood and stuff. Make some money.”
She nodded and hoped she wouldn’t have to make small talk. It was so easy to betray yourself with small talk, particularly as she judged they had a good two hours from this provincial continental settlement to Sea York. She leaned into the seat and pretended being sleepy, even as she hoped that no one was tracking this takeoff or linking it to the burned flyer some miles off. For one thing, the flyer would still be burning and there was a chance they’d think she was inside it. For another, surely the locals took trips outside the continental area anyway, surely?
○●○
Blaise wasn’t buying her story. Not for one hot moment. For one, girl like that, petite and really young, there was no way someone had let her fly long distance – between seacities? She had the look of a sea-bird about her, someone born and raised in a seacity in relative ease – without having ten or twenty trackers on her, and fifteen coms so she could call home in case of trouble.
Nah. She was one of several things: running away from home; escaping a date gone sour; or on some seriously inadvisable errand. Blaise knew girls. For his sins he had two older sisters, and had been exposed to the entire panoply of their tricks, growing up. This girl, Mary – not that he believed for a moment that was her real name – was up to something. And it was something dangerous. Which was why he was about to ruin his afternoon and fly into the hell-traffic of Sea York to save her from her own stupidity. Pa was right. He was an incurable good Samaritan who ought to have his head examined.
But girl like this, so young and obviously so innocent was bound to get in serious trouble if someone didn’t look out for her.
If someone had looked after his oldest sister, after she’d left the house. If she hadn’t fallen in with those crazy USAians.
○●○
She woke up with a start and just about stopped herself yelling something about founders’ blood. She’d had a dream that Blaise was searching her. But when she opened her eyes, he was asleep in the driver chair, his mouth slightly open. It occurred to her for the first time to wonder whether he was really dumb.
Seriously, everyone knew that people who took the money offered to go and settle in the territories, those parts of the continents just coming back to life after being deforested and depopulated in the time of the Mules, were not the brightest. It wasn’t as though those places attracted lawyers, doctors, or even many businessmen. No brains were needed to run simple machinery and raise animals and plants. And yet—
And yet, she wasn’t sure. She suspected her dream had come from suspicions aroused by his easy acceptance of her false name. Who bought “Mary Smith” that easily?
She sat up cautiously, and stretched to look over at the screen.
“Where did you say you wanted to go?” he asked, waking up.
She didn’t roll her eyes. He was doing her a favor. “My aunt and uncle in Sea York.”
“And they are?”
She knew the real address, of course. She had memorized it. She couldn’t give him that, though, because if she did he would follow her. And she didn’t think he was one of theirs. She assumed that the jabber he’d first spoken at her was French, and they didn’t have much penetration in those territories under the sway of Liberte seacity. Some but not much.
So she rattled off another address that should be nearby, and he gave her a really odd look, which she wasn’t sure how to interpret.
○●○
Blaise wished he knew what she was playing at. Now, he didn’t spend his life in Sea York. No one sane did, who wasn’t born and bred there, but he had been there often enough. For one it was one of the few places within a day of flying that had parts for a flyer as old as this one, and he’d been keeping this flyer going for five years now, since he started driving it at fourteen.
The thing was that the address she had given him was one of those part and flyer repair stores that he did know. A place where he was well known.
He set the address on the flyer, and stood by for instructions to join the traffic stream controlled by the towers, and he wondered what it was. Bad boyfriend she didn’t wish him to know about?
Well, he had heard as much about the white slaver groups operating out of some seacities – though he’d never imagine Sea York had that type of neighborhood – and he wasn’t about to let her be captured by one of those.
He decided he’d play dumb and let her out, then follow her. He’d been hunting with Dad since he was five. He should be able to follow prey without alerting it to his intents. And if she was just meeting with some young man as silly as herself, he’d ignore it. If it was something more complicated… well, that’s why he had his burner in his jacket. And if that failed, he’d still be fine. As his father always said, there was no such thing as dangerous weapons, only dangerous men.
○●○
Molly had played it very wrongly. Turned out her hastily made up address was a mechanics shop. And yet, Blaise did not seem the least bit surprised. Maybe he was a big simpleton. She looked him in the eye and had trouble accepting that. No. There was too much understanding there, perhaps even… cunning for him to be a simpleton.
On the other hand, she thought, squaring her shoulders and smiling at him in a ladylike way, as she extended her hand, it was entirely possible that he didn’t see anything strange with this. She had said she was going to visit her aunt and uncle, and after all, her uncle could own a mechanic’s shop, right? “Thank you,” she said, smiling. “It was most kind of you to fly all this way just to help me. I do appreciate it.”
He held her hand a little too long, but said, in the tone of a kind brother, “I hope you’re not about to do something dangerous.”
It sent a shiver through her but she hoped it didn’t show. She smiled and shook her head slightly, trying to look like she had no worries at all.
And then it was down from the flyer, thanking him again. She walked into the parts store and flyer repair shop, because she wanted him to see her go in, but, spying a side door to the parking lot, took that and lost herself amid rows of flyers. Not that she thought he’d still be looking, but just in case. She crossed the parking lot to a side street, then using her memorized instructions, walked rapidly down three blocks and across one, to the address she’d been given, which was a deli. She’d been given a code to use in order to deliver her message. For the first time she felt nervous. She’d trained. You could say she trained for this ever since she was conscious that her parents were Usaians and
that the religion was forbidden, so it had been at least ten years. She had trained. She’d run simulated missions.
But this was her first one.
This deli was supposedly safe. Supposedly every employee was a Usaian. She approached the first one and smiled. “Mr. Jefferson sent me.”
For a moment it looked like he didn’t understand her, then he nodded. “All right,” he said. “Come with me.”
This was not how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to deliver her message, and then hand over her pendant, the jewel in which was a data gem containing, in code, the list of people suspected by the authorities. But the man insisted, “Come with me.” He came out from behind the counter, removing his apron. She hesitated but then started to follow him towards a back door. It was when he opened the door for her that she took alarm. No, it made no sense. The old courtesy was still very much in place, and many men opened the door for a woman. There was just the sense, as she faced the narrow, dark hallway, and the man opening the door put out an arm as though to flank her and prevent her from backing up, that sparked sudden alarm.
She backed up in a hurry. He grabbed for her. She ran out. There were shouts behind her and what sounded like “Catch her.”
She ran headlong down the street. And hit a large man head first. She started fighting before she even looked at him, but he immobilized her and turned her around, and she realized he was Blaise. “Oh,” she said. “It’s you.” She felt greatly relieved, but he was looking over shoulder, and pulled her away at a run. She looked over her shoulder and realized that men were chasing her. Men in peacekeeper’s uniforms. She half expected Blaise to push her away, but instead, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into an alley, then into the parts store. He said something to the man behind the counter and the man looked startled, but led them to a flyer on the lifting platform, opened the door and let them in, then pressed something to lift the flyer.
