Ravagers [03.00] Deviate

by Alex Albrinck

  Watching that scene was like watching her grandmother teach her father how to walk. It felt like a reunion with a family she’d lost so long ago.

  “Hold it together, Sheila,” she muttered. “There’s work to do. No time for sentimentality.” She took a deep breath. “Computer, stop playback.”

  The scene vanished, plunging her once more into darkness. She found that the handle for the door possessed a slight luminescence, and she reached it seconds later.

  She checked her watch before heading back to the portal room. The estimated time hadn’t budged, meaning she had another hour to kill. In two hours she’d walked around the island, discovered a mysterious tombstone, had eaten a delicious piece of native fruit that left her refreshed better than any nap, had seen Micah in his infancy… and she still had time.

  The anticipation would kill her. What could she do?

  She snapped her fingers. She’d work on developing her familiarity and skill with the friendly Ravagers, what Micah called nanos. There wasn’t much space in this room; too many batteries. And she didn’t want to risk damaging those batteries lest it jeopardize her trip.

  She moved back to the hallway and practiced there. She formed a chair, a desk, a bed, then clothing, items she’d created before under Micah’s tutelage. She split the swarm up, using the bulk to form the invisible armor with a second smaller batch used to form a pair of sharp knives. She recalled the original activation, how she’d been overwhelmed with new sensory input from the machines, and learned how she could move them around and use them as remote cameras and listening devices, a skill that would come in handy if she needed to look around corners.

  She glanced at her watch, wondering how much time she had left, and nearly screamed.

  The batteries had reached capacity ten minutes earlier. She’d accidentally turned off the alarm.

  She sprinted through the door into the portal room. “I’m coming, Micah!”

  After triple checking the battery capacity indicator and confirming what she suspected, she moved to the main screen. The activation button glowed, flashing at a slow hypnotic pace. It was time to go.

  There was nothing else to do, no other preparation she could make. After confirming that the memory stick remained attached to her arm, secured by the elastic band, she reached out and tapped the glowing red portal activation button.

  The light on the screen turned green.

  A thrumming sound filled the room, growing louder and louder. She glanced at the portal door, watching as the glow seeping out around the edges intensified. She moved to the door slowly, wary at the obvious sizzle of electrical energy, and gingerly gripped the door handle before turning it and pulling the door open. The space inside the frame resembled a transparent gel, so thick was the transport energy generated. The other side was dark; Micah’s portal would send her into a darkened, hopefully empty room.

  She swallowed, took a deep breath, and nodded with grim determination. “Here goes nothing.”

  She stepped through the portal.

  —21—

  DEIRDRE SILVER-LIGHT

  DEIRDRE WASN’T CERTAIN exactly how many days they’d walked; she’d given up counting. Her body ached with the constant work, the poor sleep, the meager and unvaried food, and the constant claustrophobic living and trapped odors inside the Diasteel suit of armor. More than once, she’d come close to ripping the suit and helmet off. Death must certainly be preferable to the life she currently lived.

  Thus far, she’d resisted.

  Her eyes moved to the man who stood waist deep in the lake to her north, and she felt a deep jealousy. They’d agreed they’d alternate bathing days. Yesterday, she’d experienced the simple bliss Jeffrey now enjoyed. She’d climbed into the great lake, opened all zippers and flaps and clasps, and spent a joyous but short time in the heavenly embrace of the clear, fresh water. Jeffrey had performed the task she now performed: using the freed helmet as a bucket, scooping water from the lake onto the shore, thus creating a saturated safe zone against Ravager infiltration. She did her best to avoid soaking the minimal scraps of wood they’d found. The Ravagers had preceded them their entire journey, pulverizing the raw material. The only kindling available now were the twigs and branches floating in the water near the shore of the lake. She wondered how long even that meager supply might last.

  Deirdre skinned the fish and handled cooking duties. Jeffrey caught all the small fish they consumed—with one exception two days before—and started the day’s fire with whatever magic he possessed with flames. He never let her see what he did, and she’d given up asking him to explain his technique. She’d occasionally pull moss and other plants off the water’s surface and they’d eat those as well; she hated the taste, but knew they’d need fiber and the nutrients not available in the fish they consumed.

  The fiber kept them regular, another activity performed sans suit. They allowed each other daily time for that as well, but for not nearly the duration as the every-other-day baths.

  “I need my helmet.”

  Deirdre finished dumping the water in the helmet on the ground. Though they’d left much of the vegetation in this region in ruins, the Ravagers weren’t so plentiful here, making it easier to drive them away. They’d used hundreds of helmets-full of water earlier in the journey to keep the thick Ravager swarms at bay, whereas she’d used only a few dozen helmets-full here. She supposed that with less human development here away from any major cityplex and no initial caches priming the process, there’d be less destruction and fewer replication opportunities. She took steps near the perimeter she’d established, making sure the boots sank into the soft earth to ensure saturation, before she turned around. Jeffrey’s facial hair had grown into a thick, dark beard after so many days without shaving, and his body had thinned out slightly, less due to minimal caloric consumption and more due to the dozens of miles they covered each day in the muscle-enhancing suits. She supposed her own form reflected a similar toning, but doubted he’d notice… or comment. She waded into the lake and out to him before handing over the helmet, which he accepted and clasped atop his suit once he’d zippered back up. He walked out of the water and gave her a few fish—he’d not taught her that trick either—and she set to work scaling them while he assembled the wood and started the fire.

  They ate their simple meal of fish and lichen in relative silence. She finally glanced his way. “Any thought on how much farther?”

  “I think we’re close.”

  She felt her spirits rise. She asked the question several times each day, and in response he’d only grunted… until now. He’d traveled on foot from New Venice to the Lakeplex, so his estimate of remaining travel time had greater credibility than any guess she’d offer.

  “We need to talk about how we’ll approach the facility.”

  She blinked, pausing to chew a bit of fish she’d just stuffed into her mouth. If she had her way, she’d never eat fish again. “Oh? Why?”

  “I don’t think we’re going to get a warm welcome.”

  She’d already made that determination, but survival made any discomfort worthwhile. Still, she didn’t know his reasoning on the subject. “Why?”

  “I’m not on the Select list, Deirdre.” His tone remained bitter. “They’ll figure that out pretty quickly. If I’m not on the list, I should be dead. If I’m not dead, then in their minds I’ve done something evil, committed some crime. How else could I still be alive? To them, I’m essentially a criminal. I’ll live my days in prison… assuming they don’t shoot me on the spot.”

  She stared at him, her horror mounting. “Then… why go?”

  He offered a mirthless chuckle. “It’s nice that I don’t have to explain to you why my assumptions on the topic are correct. I guess that’s an advantage to traveling with the core architect of this whole cataclysm.” He paused before waving his hand at the desolate landscape around them. “This, what we’re doing? This isn’t living. I’d rather be dead, or live in a prison where I’m safe
from the Ravagers, where I’ll eat real food and have the chance to relieve myself without worrying about some damned miniature robot landing on my skin and turning me to dust.” He shrugged. “And I suppose there’s a microscopic chance they’ll decide that my survival means I was misclassified the second time.”

  She felt a lump in her throat. She’d not thought about his predicament, merely her own. “I’m not sure how they’ll react to me, either,” she admitted. She took another bite of the fish, squeezing the morsel into her helmet and fetching it with her tongue. She chewed the dry meat, wishing she had spices available to liven the taste. “My father… well, he’s angered a lot of people over the years.”

  “I’m quite well acquainted with that particular emotion,” Jeffrey muttered.

  “You’re far from alone,” she admitted, trying to sound sympathetic. She’d fully exploited her father’s power, wealth, and clout in the society that had been so recently Ravaged, and didn’t expect sympathy from him about her luck in ending up outside Oswald Silver’s sphere of influence now. “I’m under no illusions that I’ll walk into a fortress full of people eager to treat me well; I suspect they’ll take out any frustrations with him on me.”

  “So why go, then?” He offered a faint smile.

  “Same reasons you offered,” she said. “And… I guess a hope that word of my survival and location will reach my father and I’ll get a ride up to the space station.”

  Jeffrey snorted. “Must be nice.” He paused. “I think your name still carries greater clout than that of someone discharged from the Select list. That means you need to be the one to, well, knock on the front door and request access.”

  She stopped chewing. “There’s a door?”

  “Well, how else would people get in or out?” A smirk masked with curiosity covered his face. “Or do you know how to walk through walls?”

  She paused. “I guess it means that I don’t really think of New Venice as having a doorbell.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t mean it literally. We’ll need to rouse their attention in some fashion, preferably in a manner that doesn’t involve shooting first and asking questions later. Try to avoid mentioning my name if you can, at least until they’ve taken us inside. Make sense?”

  She nodded. She swallowed the last of her food. “Are you ready?”

  He stood by way of answer, and began walking once more to the east.

  Jeffrey’s assessment proved correct. Within the hour, she saw something in the distance, something that was no natural landmark; all of those were little more than dust or Ravagers at this point. They continued their unceasing march, motivated by the imminent end of their journey, and the fortress of New Venice grew upon the horizon, coming into clearer focus. The high Diasteel walls gleamed in the sunlight, and a faint glowing haze hung over the walled city. Jeffrey explained that they’d structured the dome to prevent any wind-aided infiltration by Ravagers, and assured her that they’d worked through the necessary water and ventilation concerns. “It’s as comfortable as anywhere you lived in the Lakeplex,” he told her. She could hear the sudden concern in his voice. “Assuming you’re supposed to be there, of course.”

  She said nothing. And they still walked on.

  Ninety minutes later, they stood only fifty yards away. A vast moat, at least thirty yards wide, ringed the perimeter, fed by a constant flow of water streaming down the walls, acting as a defense against any swarms of Ravagers that managed to evade the moat.

  Deirdre looked at Jeffrey, whose face showed an odd mix of emotions. She understood. He’d once called New Venice home, but now returned as at best an unwelcome visitor, not a resident or citizen. She could see the anticipation, the tension, as he imagined the potential greetings he’d receive.

  She felt guilty breaking his reverie, but had no choice. “Jeffrey, where’s the entrance? I, um, have to go ring the doorbell.”

  He pointed.

  She spotted a door she’d previously missed, then frowned as she noted the location. “How do we get there? There’s no bridge over the moat.”

  “Of course not, Deirdre. Ravagers could use a bridge over the moat.” She heard the sneer, the condescension in his tone, and shot a withering glare his way before looking more carefully.

  She saw what she’d missed earlier. A path weaved from the dry ground beyond the water cascading down around the door. The walkway rose from the depths of the moat, terminating six inches below the surface of the water, She found herself nodding at the logic. No path for the Ravagers, but one humans could easily traverse.

  She’d agreed to alert the residents to their presence, with their mutual belief that her appearance would be less likely to provoke a violent reaction. She clomped into the moat atop the underwater bridge, both unable and uninterested in preventing the splashing sounds as she approached the waterfall barrier and the door. Jeffrey, still tentative about his potential welcome in his old home, followed at a respectable distance behind her. The water splashed off the metal boots, and she reveled in the relaxing sounds of the falls of water sliding down the walls. She approached the waterfall, noting that it acted as a barrier to the alcove housing the door. She glanced up as the water cascaded down before plunging through. The water dripped off her suit, and she found herself standing on dry ground before the door.

  Well, that wasn’t too bad. She looked around for a mechanism she might use to alert the residents of their arrival.

  Sirens wailed and bright strobe lights flashed.

  Deirdre froze.

  Soldiers clad in Diasteel armor appeared from all sides, rifles aimed directly at her, closing in on her in a contracting circle. She didn’t move, didn’t want to give them an excuse to shoot her. They’d know bullets couldn’t pierce the armor; the sheen and coloring of their armor was clearly that of Diasteel.

  She swallowed. Perhaps, knowing that the armor halted bullets, they’d invented new varieties capable of piercing what she’d believed impenetrable. All the more reason to avoid any show of resistance.

  Two soldiers seized her arms while another pair grabbed her legs. They lifted her off the ground, and Deirdre fought against her instinct, resisting the urge to struggle and try to break free. She’d known such a reception was possible and had accepted that risk. She couldn’t decide now that she’d rather roam free outside in the Ravager-infested Hinterlands.

  And besides, they hadn’t shot her. Yet.

  They dropped her on a wheeled cart and strapped her down. She tried to lift her head to see where she might be going, to see what had happened to Jeffrey, but more hands slammed her helmet down and secured it to the cart with another strap.

  “There’s another one out there!”

  She could hear the shouting and splashing as soldiers abandoned her and raced over the bridge of the moat. They’d spotted Jeffrey, and now he’d face whatever punishment they deemed appropriate for returning after his banishment.

  She felt a tear escape her eye and drip down her cheek. Was his punishment something that would live forever on her conscience? It shouldn’t, by all logic; he’d have come here without her given the Ravager outbreak. Yet she couldn’t shake the nagging sense of guilt, an emotion absent from her life until just a few months before.

  She heard more shouts, heard the whirring sounds of the muscle enhancers, felt the vibrations as dozens of heavy metal boots thumped against the dry ground. She heard the now familiar sounds of Jeffrey’s grunts as they wrestled him down. Moments later, she heard his cart roll next to hers.

  “Jeffrey?”

  “Yeah?” He sounded… what? Anxious?

  “You okay?”

  A pause. “Well, I’m not dead.”

  “Same here.”

  “Obviously.”

  The suit reverberated; one of the soldiers had slammed a heavy club against her metal-clad arm. “No talking unless we speak to you first!”

  They stayed silent.

  The soldiers, weapons stowed with the prisoners secured, wheeled t
he carts along at high speed. Deirdre felt the rattles and bumps through the suit. She heard the sound of a door opening, and then suddenly her cart tipped up and forward, standing her upright. The straps released simultaneously, before she realized what was happening, and she tumbled into a sterile room, joined seconds later by Jeffrey.

  She stood and he did the same. “Do you know what—?”

  Her words stopped in her throat as massive water cannons in the walls blasted each of them. She maintained her balance for a few seconds before the force overwhelmed her, even with the muscle enhancers, and she fell to the ground. Additional water cannons in the ceiling enhanced the barrage.

  She made a mental checkmark in her head, a means of keeping her sanity in the wake of the tsunami unleashed upon them. The suits could definitely withstand crushing blasts of water.

  Moments later, the water stopped coursing forth, and hidden drains removed what remained. Soldiers clad in curious, brightly colored suits—made of fabric, not metal—marched into the room. Most stayed back, weapons primed and ready and aimed at her and Jeffrey. Four moved forward. They reached for the clasps on her helmet, lifted the flap covering her zipper, and opened the front of her armor. Deirdre did nothing to stop them. She felt the welcome blast of fresh air wash over her exposed skin as the soldiers pulled the helmet from her head and pulled the suit off her arms. One lifted her from the ground while a second pulled on her boots, completing the removal of the suit.

  The soldiers with the heavy artillery moved forward, weapons aimed at her. “Clothes off.” The voice sounded mechanical, transmitted by microphones embedded inside the bulky suits.

  “What?” She glanced down at herself, clad in little more than underwear. They couldn’t possibly mean…