by Corey Ostman
The road was empty.
“Where did the workers go? The ones ahead of us,” Grace said.
“The mechflesh encampment is nearby,” said Avonaco. “Southwest.”
“How long has it been there?”
“Mass relocation began seventeen months ago.”
“Did they leave in response to compstate hostility, or—?”
“They were forced to go.”
“But not forced out of work.”
“Of course not,” said Avonaco. “Employers need the specialty upgrades their mechflesh workers have. It is better than resorting to robotics. AIs might take over!” He sniffed. “Besides, no one else is willing to work for so little.”
“Folks still use loafers.”
“They are constantly tested. If you look closely, you will see the inspection stamp on each one. And the loafers are dumber than they used to be.”
The wind shifted, and Grace’s hat brim flopped upward. She tugged it back down, wishing she had a proper cowboy hat.
“How many camps are there?” she asked after they’d walked a piece.
“Six. The one called Geneville is just over this hill,” Avonaco said.
Sure enough, it appeared as they crested the hill. Grace paused, looking down at it. Where once was rolling prairie, now squatted a hodgepodge of plastic sheeting, corrugated metal, and stacked earthen blocks. The structures were imitations of proper buildings, seemingly thrown together with whatever scraps Port Casper discarded. Clothes hung on lines strung between buildings, and spliced electrical cables lay across the higher rooftops, servicing lower buildings that remained in the shadows. A barbed wire fence surrounded this side of the camp. She wasn’t sure if the mechflesh had erected it for protection, or whether compstate had done it for imprisonment. She suspected the latter. A breeze brought the sour reek of decaying garbage.
“I can’t believe this exists in compstate,” Grace said, her voice husky.
“You might not believe,” Avonaco said, “but I know better.”
“Compstate was founded on equality. The cooperation between genetic modifiers, cloisterfolk, and mechflesh. The mechflesh perform physical labor, the protectors ensure security, and the gene addicts provide financing and governance.”
“Those who work, those who fight, and those who pray.”
“What?”
“It is a medieval system,” said Avonaco. “Worse, you seem to think it is some kind of ideal. What kind of history did they teach you in cloister?”
“What, was it better before compstate?”
“The comparison is immaterial,” said Avonaco. He gestured to Geneville. “This is what you have now. The three clades did not include AIs in their bargain. Their terror of people like me rules them now.”
Grace stood still, attention riveted on Geneville. Mechflesh used to be touted as the responsible alternative to thinking machines. Now they were treated like the machines they sought to replace.
“We should keep moving,” Avonaco said. “The monitors by the camp are sophisticated.”
She turned to him and felt a sudden wave of nausea. For a moment she felt like two people stared into his eyes, each with different thoughts. Frustration and confusion; love and protection. Wondering what life as a synth was. Worrying about Avonaco, growing up without her in Port Casper. The race to rescue Tim. The need to not be caught. And just getting to cloister with her mind intact.
“We’re out of Port Casper,” she said. “When we get a bit farther, past the camp, can you take the grafty out?”
Avonaco shook his head. “No.”
“Why?”
The boy seemed to contemplate her question, then shook his head more forcefully.
“I want Doctor Chanho to perform the removal. If we try it here, it might cause damage.”
To Jaya, she thought, but kept it to herself.
They walked onward. Eventually the road veered to the left and climbed, winding around an outcropping of rock marking the entrance to the Laramie Mountains.
“Any surprises for us up there? Other mechflesh camps?” Grace asked.
“Actually, I am hoping to find one of our old stashes. Jaya’s, really.”
“What’s in it?”
“No telling. It has been a long time. But it is a good shelter,” said Avonaco.
A transport whizzed past on the highway, taking the steep climb with ease and disappearing over a crest in the road. The grasslands had fallen behind and they were entering the alpine forest. The tangy smell of blue spruce and pine, wafted along by the crisp mountain air, helped push away the memory of Geneville’s squalor, of her thoughts about Jaya.
“Come on. We are close,” Avonaco said, and began to jog.
Grace kept pace. “Don’t go too fast!” she warned him. “I’ve been in low grav a long time.”
He began to run faster, sprinting ahead of her.
“Hey, not fair!”
She refused to slow to a walk, panting after him until he crunched to a stop, gravel beneath his boots. She followed his gaze up the hillside, to a circle of pines with dark, fire-scorched trunks.
“There?”
“There,” he said. “Race you!”
They ran up the slope, scattering gravel around them. Grace surprised herself by laughing. Jaya? No, it wasn’t Jaya. This was fun. Back on Earth, running in the mountains. Even if she was losing.
“I win!” Avonaco proclaimed.
He’d climbed a rock and held up his arms. He had such a happy expression that she knew she couldn’t complain about the odds.
“That you did, Avonaco,” she said, and was rewarded with a genuine smile.
Still winded, Grace removed her harness and grabbed her canteen. “You sure this is the place?”
“There is a cave. Right over there. It is hard to see because of the overhang and the brush.” Avonaco pointed toward a shadow in the side of the hill.
“All right. Let’s take a look.” Grace took a long drink, stowed her canteen, and grabbed a camp flashlight from her bag.
“Always loved caves,” she said as she flipped the light on. “My mom and I explored all the ones we could find on the ranch.”
“Did she have stashes, too?” asked Avonaco, sounding more like a child than he usually did.
“No. But she made maps,” said Grace. “Beautiful ones of galaxies, colored inks. By hand.” She walked over to the dimple in the shadow of the hill and sat on her heels. She could feel the cool air from the cave entrance. It soothed the unease of barely remembering her mother.
Grace pulled back the brush, eager to return to the task at hand. “No markings near the entrance,” she said. “And no animal droppings.”
“Jaya always had me go in. It is cramped,” Avonaco said.
“Nah, I can do it. And we already know it’s vacant,” Grace said. “I’ve dealt with smaller places than this.”
“Ok,” he said, sounding uncertain. “I will keep the light on for you.”
She nodded, handing him the flashlight. “Thanks.”
Grace stepped to the mouth of the cave, its craggy opening a meter wide. She knelt and crawled forward, staying to the right so Avonaco’s light reached ahead.
“I don’t see anything. You?” she asked.
“My infrared vision reports everything as cold blue. Nothing furry and bitey that might fancy a human meal.”
Grace stretched out on her belly to see deeper into the cave. Her fingertips brushed gravel.
“What am I looking for?” she asked.
“The lip of the cover. Underneath is the stash,” he said.
She patted along the gravel until she found a smooth surface. Some kind of thin plating. Grace used both hands as she located the forward lip, lifting and tilting it so the gravel rolled off.
“Found it!”
Grace dug through the stash, tossing a total of four pairs of synthetic running legz behind her. There was also a deer totem carved from a hackberry tree, and a red devil mask. She ga
thered the totem, and at the last minute, pulled the mask over her head.
“What’s with the mask?” she asked, wriggling out of the cave.
To her delight, Avonaco laughed. “Jaya wore it to frighten children during campfire stories,” he explained.
“She saw children other than you?”
“Jaya liked children.”
Grace suddenly had a memory. Dancing orange light, rippling on upturned faces. Their eyes wide, some peeking behind finger shields.
“And I would say ‘boo’ and they would all—” she began, when she saw Avonaco frown. Grace bit her lip. She shook Jaya’s memory out of her thoughts.
“So you think these legz still work?” Grace knelt next to the hydraulic limbs.
“They should. The power packs are good for fifty years.”
“Fully charged?”
“Of course,” said Avonaco.
“I’ve never used legz before.” Grace stretched and stood. She looked up the side of the mountain, gauging the footing. “How fast can we go?”
“Last time we crossed the Laramies—” he began, but stopped as Grace held a finger to her lips.
“There’s someone moving just up the hill,” she whispered. She heard the sound of breaking branches, saw a blur as someone moved between tree trunks, keeping low.
Avonaco tapped her arm and motioned to the legz, but she shook her head.
“I don’t want to take the time to strap them on or make any unnecessary noise. Let’s just ease down the hill and see if our visitor leaves us alone.”
Avonaco cradled both legz and looked up the hillside.
“See anything?” said Grace.
“Something. About two hundred thirty-one meters above.”
“Who is it?”
“Cannot tell. Trees and rocks in the way. I catch glimpses.” He blinked. “Now it is at a hundred and thirty-five meters. Low to the ground.”
“Moving fast!” said Grace. “Come on!”
They backed down the slope. Just as they reached a thicker strand of trees, a mountain lion burst from the brush and stopped on the edge of the clearing. It paused and sniffed the air, right where they had been standing.
They froze. It was a beautiful creature, with soft tan fur and a white underbelly. Its muzzle was white, save for a darker area where long silver whiskers protruded.
“It’s all right. Mountain lions rarely attack people,” whispered Grace.
But soon its stare fixed on them, and it began to snake among the trees, ears up and locked on their position.
Grace’s heart pounded in her ears.
The big cat stopped and crouched. She could see its muscles bunching up.
“Avonaco. Climb a tree,” she said.
“But—”
“Go!”
Suddenly the cat moved toward them, fast and fluid, like water flowing downhill. It growled as it closed the distance, so low to the ground it was all white fangs with fur trailing behind.
Grace stood her ground and extended her arms. She tried to seem larger, more threatening. But the lion still rushed her. She scooted back and kicked gravel toward it. Her hand banged against her hip, where she usually kept her holster. She remembered her disguise too late: the phasewave was in her duffel with Tim’s parts!
“Grace!” Avonaco shouted.
The mountain lion charged again. This time, Grace shuffled to one side before darting to the other. It seemed to confuse the cat, but only momentarily. Soon it was circling her with its tail swishing.
She glanced toward Avonaco. He had reached a tree with low limbs, but hadn’t climbed it. Instead, he seemed to be preparing one of the legz. Legz or not, he could have outrun the cat, she realized. But he’d stayed to make sure she could, too.
The lion had gone low for a pounce. Grace screamed and growled at it, kicking gravel, hoping it would respond. But its only action was to leap toward her.
In a single, fluid motion, she crouched and bent to her left. The right front paw of the lion snagged her shoulder and she shrieked in pain, but the claws didn’t stick. The beast’s momentum carried it past her.
She heard its huge paws hit the gravel behind her. They both spun. The cat’s body and tail formed a graceful arc as it repositioned. She wasn’t going to be able to get to Avonaco.
“Legz!” she shouted, motioning with her open palm.
The lion surged forward, crouching low with its rear legs pumping.
Avonaco threw one of the legz at her. It sailed higher and further than a boy should be able to throw, on perfect target. She heard the satisfying thrum of the energy pack as she caught it.
But there was no time to put it on: the lion leapt. It roared, filling her entire field of view, blocking out the forest and sky.
She roared back and swung the legz hard.
Solenoids whined as the legz impacted the lion’s skull. She heard a crunch as she fell backwards, her white hat rolling away, the sun in her eyes. Was it the gravel? The legz? But the lion wasn’t moving, and as she looked down she saw she was covered in blood.
“Avonaco?” she said as she rolled to her side.
Avonaco moved in. “Its respiration has stopped.”
“Dead then?”
“Dead.”
“Thank God,” Grace said, rubbing her eyes.
Avonaco unstrapped their water condenser and helped her wash the blood from her body. Most was from the lion, but her right shoulder stung from a bad puncture wound. The cool water made it feel better.
Avonaco tore off a long strip from the lower hem of his shirt.
“We’ve got an emergency kit in my pack,” Grace said.
“I know, but I am not sure how much blood you have lost.” He tied the strip around her arm, and continued washing away the blood. “You are lucky. It looks like most of this is the lion’s. Umm, how bad is your shoulder?”
“I don’t feel it much.”
“Adrenaline. You will feel it soon enough. Take these,” he said, handing her some pills.
“Thanks.” Grace grabbed a canteen and swigged them down.
She stood up and inspected the lion.
“This guy’s over two meters long, and must be close to a hundred kilos.”
“I have seen a few mountain lions before,” said Avonaco, digging through his pack. “With Jaya. Never so close.”
“Me neither.” Grace frowned. “It was acting oddly.”
Avonaco joined her. “Odd in what way?” He started putting ointment on her puncture wound.
“Not like an animal. When I changed directions, which I know is a normal thing for its typical prey to do, it seemed confused. And the way it tracked us—right out in the open—”
“Why, do you think?”
“I don’t know.” Grace leaned down next to the lion, turning its gory head. “But with one this big, maybe it’s tagged. We could send—”
She paused. There was a collar of mimic fabric, similar in color to the animal’s fur—a deliberate camouflage. And just beneath the jaw, an octagonal control box.
“What is that?” asked Avonaco, leaning down.
“A push collar,” she said.
Chapter 14
Grace turned to Avonaco. “We don’t use push collars in cloister. But they use them on borderland herds, right?”
“I do not know. What are they?” he asked.
“Push collars are used to drive livestock in a particular direction,” she explained. “But there’s no reason to use it on a lion.”
“Maybe to keep the lion away from a herd,” said Avonaco, “without having to kill it?”
“It would be the same as killing it. The commands you give a push collar are simple. Go a specific direction. Find a specific thing. It wouldn’t be able to hunt for food.”
“Attack humans, though?” said Avonaco.
“Maybe,” said Grace. “I think we ran across somebody’s cruel joke. One of the borderlands folk that grew up torturing insects. We were just in the wrong place at—”
“No,” he interrupted. “I doubt that somebody would collar a lion and that we would happen upon its precise path. We are being targeted.”
“By what, Avonaco? Compstate wouldn’t use an animal.”
“Are you sure you know what compstate would do?”
“They wouldn’t be this sloppy. Look around. Do you see backup? Another lion? Surveillance?”
“No.”
“Then it’s not compstate.”
They both looked at the big cat, at its sleek fur and its bloodied skull.
“I am sad it is dead,” said Avonaco.
“It wasn’t gonna leave us alone.” Grace felt anger in her chest. The beast had been modified without consent, had tech forced upon it. Like it had been forced upon her, too many times.
“Should we bury it?” Avonaco asked.
Grace kicked the dirt. Beneath the gravel, the ground was hard and rocky. “No,” she said, reaching for her harness and strapping it on. “Too much time.”
“What about turkey vultures?” he asked.
“Let the buzzards have the poor thing,” Grace said, scanning the sky. “With our legz, we’ll be twenty kilometers away by the time the carrion patrol finds the dead cat and alerts compstate security.”
She pulled one of her legz from under the lion. It was reasonably free of gore.
“Here.” Avo handed her its mate.
Grace set one of the legz upright on the ground and opened the cages that would wrap her calf and thigh. She leaned against a tree and stepped her right foot in, snapping the cages shut. The hydraulics whined to life. She balanced on the single legz to get used to it, then stepped into the left and repeated the process. She walked a few steps tentatively. It felt oddly natural, like she’d done it before. She realized she was drawing from Jaya. The strange combination was creepy at first, but using the legz didn’t make her feel nauseated with memories. Maybe, Grace hoped, Jaya’s grafty would simply become extra expertise with time. She could live with that.
Grace started to bounce, testing the response of the hydraulics. First one meter high, then two, then five. The acceleration as she sailed upward was exhilarating, like being in zero gravity. The bassy ka-thunk as the hydraulics absorbed the impact on landing felt empowering. I am invincible!
