by Eyal Kless
“That . . . still looks uncomfortable,” I said.
“My grandpa used to say that everything’s relative. He read it in a book. He could read.”
“Sounds like you had a smart grandpa,” I said as I turned around and climbed over the seat, trying to find a stable foothold among the sacks of onions.
“Oh, he was very smart indeed. We lived out in the country, but he wasn’t into growing things, my grandpa. He remembered the old world, still knowing some old ways and old words, too. Had crazy ideas and stories to tell, wrote them down on some old paper. He had plenty of real books, too, with paper in ’em as thin as air. But he died when I was just a boy, and one winter we had no coin for wood, so my mother burned his books and notes to keep us warm.”
I sat myself down on a half-filled sack and tried to move things around to make some sort of a sleeping space.
“Best you stick to a corner,” Gret advised, still chewing on the lamb. “That way the sacks will hold.”
The end result was as far from a comfortable bed as could possibly be imagined, but I’d slept in worse. I slowly and deliberately put the scabbard of the short sword next to me, making sure Gret saw it, but he seemed satisfied with the meat he held in his hand. I found a fleece blanket but after inspection decided not to use it. Instead I lay on my back and shuffled around until no onion was stabbing my vessel’s back. I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing. One of the many perks about having a vessel for a body was the ability to control your heartbeat and blood pressure. This made staying underwater for almost ten minutes, surviving extreme temperatures or falling asleep on onion-filled sacks possible.
Chapter 24
Mannes
Mannes felt no specific pain as he regained consciousness. The restraints and the emergency crash foam and air bags had worked their magic and his body was intact, but he still felt as if he’d come out of one of those ancient machines that people used to tumble-dry clothes in. His entire body ached, which was, in a way, a good sign. It meant he was alive.
His actions were illogical. He should have gone straight to the space hub, but all he could think of was Deborah. His piloting skills and sheer adrenaline had brought the shuttle to the edge of Earth’s atmosphere, but Mannes was wise enough to relinquish control to the AI to pilot the rest of the way, and thank God for that. They came in on the wrong side of the globe, zigzagging as death rained from above and rose from below. They passed through several hostile airspaces, and the enemy radar spotted them immediately. Despite the distinct civilian aircraft signature, three ground-to-space missiles were fired at the shuttle. Mannes guessed that at that point everybody was shooting at everything, so they thought they were better safe than sorry. Perhaps Armageddon cancelled any concern for civilian casualties. Luckily, Tarakan satellites spotted and recognised the shuttle, too, and the missiles were shot down from space as they approached, but the last explosion was close enough to send the shuttle into a tailspin. Mannes lost consciousness almost immediately from the G forces. His last thought was of his daughter. Still, whoever had programmed Norma’s crash-to-Earth piloting skills did an excellent job. By the looks of it, she had somehow regained control over the shuttle and landed it safely. Although—Mannes groaned as he shifted in the foam-coated seat—the heroic save must have come at a price.
There was no emergency siren or flashing red lights. The cabin was eerily silent. He moved his hands and gritted his teeth at the pain in his shoulder and back as the emergency crush foam slowly melted away. His first sight was the shuttle’s control board, and beyond that, outside the pilot’s window, several dozen crushed trees.
Mannes drew a slow, careful intake of breath before uttering, “Norma.”
“Yes, Doctor Holtz.” Her voice was the usual calmness of a program well in control.
“Where are we?” He grimaced and whispered “Holy fuck” under his breath.
“I could give you the exact coordinates—”
“Show me on the screen,” he snapped and immediately regretted the involuntary neck movement that came along with it.
“The forward screen is damaged, Doctor Holtz.” The AI’s calm voice did not waver, but this was the first indication that the landing was not a perfect affair. “I could send the map to your left retina.”
“Yes.” Mannes blinked as the semitransparent map appeared in front of his left eye. He tried to control it while holding down the bile rising to his throat.
“Reduce . . . reduce . . . wait, magnify . . . No . . . wait . . . Where are we?” He had never been all that competent in geography. “Where the fuck are we?”
“Kyrgyzstan, four hundred miles from the town of Boldoy, three hundred and twenty-seven miles from—”
“We’re in fucking Russia?”
“The Republic of Kyrgyzstan gained independence from the second Russian Empire in twenty-one seventy—”
“Okay okay, stop.”
Yes, Kyrgyzstan had declared a second independence during the fifth Russian civil war, most likely with the subtle push of Tarakan influence. The Russian government had never been famous for its humanitarianism. It was a bloody affair, and the fact that the war was not decisively won this time was a symbol of the former empire’s demise. After a decade of brutality, the land became a lawless region where everything and anything was up for grabs or for sale. It was also one of the farthest places on Earth from Tarakan.
“What the fuck are we doing in here . . . no . . . don’t answer.” Mannes sighed; he knew the protocol. The AI would always seek to emergency-land where chances of survivability were best. Kyrgyzstan had been just a pile of rubble since the civil war. The folks living on this land were now reduced to hunting and smuggling. Chances were no one would waste too many AOBs—anti-organic bombs—or even a good old Nuke on this place. Nuclear missiles. Fucking nuclear missiles. And death rays from orbit, and AOBs and cluster bombs and EMPs.
Mannes leaned back in the pilot’s chair and replayed their landing on his retina up until an EMP took out the outer sensors. He was no military expert, but he’d seen enough weapons discharge to know this was no small outburst of local violence—no, this was IT. Satellites were shooting down other satellites. This was the war no one believed would happen but everybody had geared up for. He remembered the communication with the space hub—the Guardian Angels, they were going berserk, shooting. This couldn’t be just a terrible malfunction, and it happened a short while after he’d relinquished his part of Cain’s code. It could have been a coincidence, but . . . was he responsible for all of this, a world war? Armageddon?
“Start engines. We’re taking off.”
“We are unable to start engines, Doctor Holtz. Engines are shut down due to an EMP missile explosion.”
“What? How did you land—never mind.” Mannes tried to still his shaking body. There was no way he was stuck in this place. “Send a full engineering diagnostic to my retina.”
Mannes’s vision was filled immediately with line after line of damage reports. Even for a trained engineer with more than forty years of experience, it was mind-boggling. He studied the list with growing dread. It seemed the only undamaged equipment were the two emergency medical bots.
His back hurt. “Norma, do you have any medical skills?”
“I am trained in field medicine, diagnostic and emergency surgery, disease, dental—”
“Fine. Thanks.” Small comfort, but he needed to get home, and he needed more than a healthy pair of legs to get there.
Deborah!! he suddenly thought. Tarakan Valley was peppered with underground shelters, and everyone was trained periodically on how to get into them safely and quickly. They even trained for it in schools, calmly lining up and filing into emergency bunkers. But this . . . he tried not to think of her experiencing the full brunt of an attack, or having to face a squad of berserk Guardian Angels. His little girl . . . Mannes shook his head, trying to wipe away the images he was seeing in his mind’s eye.
“Norma, hail Tarakan on all
channels,” he blurted.
“I am unable to comply with your request, Doctor Holtz. All communication is down.”
That took his breath away. “What do you mean all communication? We haven’t landed on Mars, and even if we did, we could find some—”
“All global lines of communications are down, sir. I have established a connection to a satellite on far orbit, around Jupiter, but it would take several weeks for a message to reach it, and we have no control over where exactly it would end up—”
“Do it. Give our coordinates, ask for help, reveal my rank, and say I need extraction.” It was unwise. He was in no-man’s-land but still in what was considered enemy territory. His rank was high enough to warrant a search party so they could torture every bit of information out of him. He didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care. He’d give them everything they wanted to know and then some, as long as he could see his daughter again, or at least know she survived.
Mannes buried his face in his hands, and for a while all he could do was sob in panic. Thankfully it was a short affair.
“I could dispatch a sedative, Doctor Holtz.” There was just the right hint of aloof concern in Norma’s voice to snap him back.
“No, I’m all right.” He sniffed and wiped away tears, feeling oddly embarrassed.
“Are you feeling all right? Any pain? My cabin diagnostic sensors are also down, so I must rely on your own input. The emergency bots are fully functioning, so I could mend most—”
“We’ll do a full physical diagnostic soon, but I’m okay, I think,” he interjected. There were more important things than broken ribs or aching joints. With the foam gone, Mannes unstrapped himself and rose shakily to his feet on the third try.
“Any threats?” he asked. “Anything coming our way that could vaporise us?”
“I am not detecting any inbound missiles or other weapons of mass destruction, but my long-range sensors are down. I can detect threats only in a twenty-five-mile radius.”
“Well, that’s . . . comforting. How is the radiation level outside?”
“Slightly increased but not life threatening. This land is surrounded by mountains, and they form a natural shelter. However, should winds change to the northeast I foresee a dramatic increase in radiation. You should retain your suit and carry the helmet with you at all times.”
“Yeah, okay.” This location was far away from any place of importance, but mountains or not, radioactive clouds would soon be reaching all corners of the globe.
“There is a small military base three and a half miles south of here. It is mostly abandoned.”
Mannes shook his head slowly. “‘Mostly’?”
“I was a little busy trying to land us belly first on the side of a mountain with half my instruments and an engine blown by EMP while avoiding heat-seeking surface-to-air missiles, so, yes, ‘mostly.’”
That was an oddly emotional response from an AI, but Mannes guessed it was meant to prompt him into action, and it succeeded.
“Yeah, all right. I’ll investigate.”
“I can mark the places on your retina map.”
“You do that.” Mannes stretched carefully and regretted it immediately. “And I’ll take the pain sedative now, please, and a nourishment pill. Then I’ll go out and see what’s left of this world.”
Chapter 25
Peach
A whistle, followed by the lash of a whip. Summer’s braying and a jolt woke me up from the light doze I’d finally managed to get my vessel into. I can’t say I was feeling refreshed, but I hadn’t frozen to death nor had I been forced to kill anyone trying to rob or rape me. I stretched. Concentrate on the bright side of things, I told myself, and tried my best to ignore the gross discomfort and awful smell.
A cacophony of sounds was rising all around the cart. Honking horns, cursing drivers, and the lowing of cattle. The cart was already moving forward at walking speed when I got up to a standing position. Every few steps the line would stop again, and I used the next pause to manoeuvre back next to Gert. He had the front cover pulled up, and the morning’s breeze hit my face like a cold shower. In front of us was another cart, pulled by two ponies, and in front of that was a rickety, heavily patched-up pickup truck. In order to save fuel the driver kept the engine off, and he and his helper got out of the truck and pushed the vehicle forward every time the line moved.
“Morning, Mistress Peach.” Gret seemed to be at exactly the same level of jolliness he’d been the night before. “Would you like to break your fast?”
The menu was exactly the same as the night before: onion, stale bread, and moonshine. I decided to pass this time.
“Slept well?” Gert asked, his mouth still full.
“Considering. I’ve slept worse.”
“Now that would be a story I would like to hear.” He chuckled, then pointed at my power sword with half an onion. “Does it work, your metal?”
I pulled out the sword and examined it again. Grossly unbalanced and with a dull edge, without power the sword was basically useless. There was still dried blood on the metal, and I used the hem of my tunic to clean it.
“Ran into trouble before, eh?” Gret remarked as he urged the mule to take several more steps forward.
“I can handle myself,” I answered drily. I pressed the power button of the sword. There was a soft, barely audible hum, but nothing happened.
He extended his hand. “May I?”
I handed the sword to Gert and accepted the reins and whip from him.
“Just whistle and crack the whip in the air. Summer’s a good mule,” he said as he turned the sword in his hand. “Must have busted the power relay because it’s not recharging. Maybe I could fix it.”
“You know how to fix a power sword?” I regretted the disbelief in my voice, but Gret just chuckled.
“When your farm is two days’ ride from the nearest village and a week from the city, you learn to fix things yourself. My pa used to have a power hammer just like this, with a solar recharge battery. It got old as me and would break when I hit too hard with it, so I ended up trading it for a fossil-fuel tractor, a pair of horses, and potato seeds. The horses were sick and died after two weeks, the tractor survived a season, the potatoes, well . . . we drank most of them potatoes.” He laughed, and turned the sword pommel up. With what must have been a feat of grip strength for an old, organic human body, Gret pulled open the pommel.
“I thought you said you lived in the city,” I said, watching him.
“Yes. My missus and I, we had some land, but we moved to try and find her a cure, you know.” He pointed at my groin as a reminder and an emphasis. “I never liked the city, but my missus said it was better than slaving on poisoned land all of our lives. After she be gone, I thought to go back, but what’s the point of owning land when you cannot give it to your family? Now, see here?” Gret pointed at the bundle of wires inside. “A Gadgetier would charge you an arm and a leg, but what you’ve got here is quite a simple fix.” Gret bent down and rummaged under his seat. When he straightened back up he held a small box, which he laid at our feet.
A honk and a yell reminded me to urge Summer forward. When I turned my attention back to Gret, he’d already pulled out a shabby-looking screwdriver and several wires. The operation took a while and was only partly successful. When Gret pressed the power button and blue energy burst around the metal I felt a definite pang of satisfaction, but Gret was not happy.
“Ain’t fixed yet, to be honest. You’d have to keep pressing the button for the sword to function, see?” He lifted his thumb from the power button and the energy winked out immediately.
“Don’t know why that is, and I guess that might be a problem in a fight.” He handed the sword back to me and traded back the whip and reins. I pressed the power button and carefully moved the shimmering sword around. He was right. Fighting while maintaining pressure on the power button was awkward at best.
“Sorry, that’s the best that I could do. But a Tinker would be
much cheaper than a marked Gadgetier, that’s for sure.”
“What’s the difference between a Gadgetier and a Tinker?”
“Oh, easy, Mistress.” Gret waved a hand absentmindedly. “The Gadgetiers are marked, you see? Head to toes with those damn tattoos of theirs. Not hard to find in Tinker Town or the upper parts of the city but really expensive. I mean really.” He shot a warning look at me. “I once had one of them charge me a month’s profit to fix an irrigation system, and I ended up trading that as well in the end. Tinkers, on the other hand, are unmarked so they aren’t considered as good. They are cheaper than Gadgetiers, and a lot more of them go about among the villages and farms, fixing things for a meal and a bed, but you have to be careful for hacks and cheaters.”
We moved a little closer. The truck ahead of us turned, and I got the first glimpse of the bridge of light. It used to be one of the most beautiful ways to enter the City of Towers. A pedestrian bridge with a light train in the middle of it, all made of shimmering bright energy. At nights it would change colours periodically and was considered a must visit for couples in love. Now only the base remained and instead of energy, planks of wood and sheets of metal were laid on top of each other to create a precarious bridge that could support only humans. When I zoomed I could see scores of people walking up and down the high bridge, carrying goods on their backs. I spotted a few beasts of burden, too, being whipped to walk reluctantly up the precarious bridge.
“Ain’t what you were expecting?” Gret’s comment caught me off guard. He was not a fool.
“No,” I managed. “Must have been a different bridge.”
“No other bridge to this city.”
“Then I guess someone told me a fairy story.”
“People are sometimes like that.” Gret cracked the whip in the air and Summer moved a few steps forward. “Making up things so they can feel good about their lives. It takes courage to face the truth.”
We locked gazes.
