by Kate MacLeod
Warrior’s mood was still undetectable, her eyes hidden by the reflective lenses, but Scout could see she was staring down someone in the front of the rover and followed her gaze past a cluttered table—even the built-in benches were covered in an array of tablets, half-disassembled appliances, and machine components—to a woman holding an electric prod, the kind used to get livestock to move along. She was alternating aiming it at Warrior and at the still-growling Shadow. Behind her was another woman, further in the front of the cabin of the rover and a few steps up. Her hands were on the cattle prod woman’s shoulders, but whether to restrain her or to encourage her, Scout couldn’t guess.
The woman in front looked decades older than Warrior with silver hair cut short and bristling up off her scalp. Her deeply sun-damaged skin together with the prod in her hand suggested a life out on the ranches far to the south—farther than Scout had ever gone on her bike, although she would encounter the drovers in town from time to time and knew the look.
The woman behind her was also advanced in years, but with paler skin and salt-and-pepper streaks in the hair she wore tied in a tail at the nape of her neck that ended in a blunt edge just below her shoulder blades. Her hands squeezed the other woman’s shoulders and the other woman moved the end of the prod, aiming it down at the still-growling Shadow, then back up to Warrior again. Warrior’s arms were crossed loosely, the picture of unconcern.
The air inside the rover was much cooler and Scout pushed the hat back off her head, letting it dangle from the string tied under her chin as she ran her hands through her sweat-drenched curls. The cold air felt so good on her scalp.
Now she just needed a drink. Jolo would be divine, but water would do. She eyed the mini-fridge Warrior was leaning against and wondered what was inside.
“Shut up that dog,” the woman with the prod said. Warrior gave Scout a nod.
“Hush, Shadow,” Scout said, catching the dog’s collar and running a hand over his head. Shadow gave another growl, this one with more of a questioning tone, then looked up at Scout. Scout petted him again and the hairs on his back lay down.
“We’re not looking for trouble,” Warrior said. “Just needed a lift.”
“You just hijacked our rover,” the woman said, eyes narrowing.
“Yes, I did,” Warrior said without apology. “But it’s not going to be enough, is it?”
Scout felt a chill run up her spine that had nothing to do with the coolness of the air. What did she mean, not enough?
“No, it isn’t,” the woman without the prod said. “Not this time.”
“What are we talking about?” the woman with the prod asked before Scout could.
“Your hull,” Warrior said. “It’s not enough.” She uncrossed her arms, retrieved her alert device, and showed the screen to the two women. Scout leaned in to take a look at it. The screen rotated through a series of images, measuring current intensity, then a future forecast of intensity reaching a number Scout’s cheaper device didn’t even have on its dial.
Then a duration prediction.
“Four days?” the woman said, lowering the prod as she leaned closer to the little screen. “Four days, at that level?”
“Best estimate,” Warrior said as she put the device back on her belt. “We need to get under a dome.”
“Too far,” the woman at the top of the stairs said, turning to disappear inside what Scout guessed was the cockpit.
“Underground then,” Warrior said, more loudly so her voice could carry up the stairs. She gave the woman with the prod a pointed look. The woman raised the prod again, fingers gripping tightly enough to turn her knuckles white, but then changed her mind and shoved the prod aside, tossing it onto the tabletop and sending bits of equipment raining down over the benches to the floor. She spun and pulled herself up into the cockpit, sliding into the seat opposite the one her companion was already in. Warrior climbed up after, putting a hand on the back of each seat to lean in and watch what the women were doing on the panels.
Scout crept closer but couldn’t see the displays, only the reactions on the women’s faces. There was more light here, a watery sort of sunlight penetrating through thick panes of scratched glass set in a narrow band around the top of the cockpit. A person standing between the seats could see in all directions from there, if just along the horizon.
“We’ll never make it to any of the cities before that intensity spike,” the woman in the driver’s seat said. “This buggy wasn’t exactly built for speed. The hull might be able to handle the worst of it—”
“No, not remotely,” Warrior said.
The woman looked back at her. “You’re not from here,” she said.
“Obviously. But I’m not unfamiliar with coronal mass ejections.”
“Can you get this rover up in the mountains?” Scout asked. “I know some caves.”
“Big enough to fit this beast inside?” the woman who had held the prod asked.
“Maybe—”
“No good,” Warrior said. “Anything with an opening we could drive through would be too open.”
“But you said underground,” Scout said. “There isn’t anything else out here.”
“Isn’t there?” Warrior asked the two women. They looked over all their panels and shrugged.
“We’re a bit outside of our usual stomping grounds, but nothing is on any of the registered maps, and nothing is pinging on any of the comm channels.”
“Let me,” Warrior said, moving to put a knee down between the two seats. She took something off her belt and plugged it into a jack.
“That’s what I meant,” the woman in the driver’s seat said. “Your tech. You’re not from here.”
“Yeah, how did you hijack our rover?”
“I have access to certain overrides,” Warrior said. Scout could see maps from the screen on the panel reflecting off her lenses, zooming in and spinning and zooming out again.
“How? We’ve owned this rover for decades now. It hasn’t been serviced in years. When did you install an exploit? How?” The prod woman looked at her wit’s end, raking hands over her close-cropped hair. “Blazing stars, why would you?”
“It’s not you,” Warrior said, still focused on the maps. “The exploit exists in all vehicles of all types and I have access to it.”
“Who are you?” the woman demanded.
“Leave it be, Ottilie,” the woman in the driver’s seat said calmly.
“But—”
“Just leave it for later,” she said again.
Ottilie slumped back in her seat, still fuming but now silent.
“There,” Warrior said, pointing at something on the panel.
“What is it?” the older woman asked, leaning closer.
“A landing beacon. Very old-school, probably been there for decades, pinging away.”
“What good does that do us?” Ottilie asked. Scout could tell by the tight grip of her hands on the armrests how hard she was fighting to keep the abrasiveness out of her tone. “A landing field?”
“No, look,” the other woman said. “The signal is coming from underground. At least a dozen meters underground. That will be good. That will be enough.”
“What if we can’t get down there?” Ottilie asked.
“You know this place?” the woman asked.
Ottilie leaned in to look closer at the map but shook her head. “No. This isn’t my neighborhood.”
“What about you, Scout?” Warrior asked, turning her body sideways so Scout could lean past her. She looked at the flashing light in the center of the map, then found a few other landmarks to orient herself.
“I’ve been near there,” she said. “Never seen anything but grainfields.”
“It’s our best bet,” Warrior said. “Set the course.”
The driver nodded and started pressing buttons. Ottilie’s eyes opened wide but she said nothing. The rover beneath them lurched back to life, turning around three quarters of a circle before straightening out and lum
bering ahead at a somewhat faster speed.
“Set the auto,” Warrior said. “We should ride this out in the back. More shielding.”
“Yes,” the woman agreed, pushing more buttons. Warrior tapped Scout’s shoulder and Scout crawled backwards, back down to where the dogs waited. Girl had flopped down in the door niche, fast asleep, but Shadow was still standing, looking around with little jerks of his head from object of interest to object of interest.
“What do you think it is?” Scout asked as Warrior gathered up the junk on one of the benches and set it on the counter in the kitchenette so she could sit at the cluttered table and consult one of her gadgets.
“I already said, landing beacon. Old model, probably like this rover from the first wave of planetfall before the colonization got underway.”
“Is that a coincidence?” Scout asked.
“Well, yeah,” Warrior said, directing those blank lenses Scout’s way briefly before looking back down at the device in her hands. “Solar flares and killer heat aside, your planet is quite tech friendly. Calm weather, nothing particularly corrosive in the atmosphere. No reason for things to fail.”
Scout gathered up an array of plugs, piling them back in a plastic crate and setting it on the floor so she could sit across from Warrior. She cast a glance at the mini-fridge. “Any jolo in there?”
“Jolo? Haven’t had that in years,” Ottilie said. She had come to the bottom of the stairs but was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed as she glowered at the intruders at her table.
“Water then?” Scout asked.
“We have water,” the driver said, brushing past Ottilie to head to the kitchenette. Ottilie scowled but turned to pull the hatch shut, blocking out what little light came through the band of windows. She spun the lock until it engaged with a grinding clang.
“Here,” the driver said, giving a little smile as she set a glass of cool, clear water in front of Scout. “I’ll get a bowl for your dogs.”
“Thanks,” Scout said, taking a cautious sip. She’d expected the faintly metallic taste of water from a recycler but was surprised by the crisp, clean taste of it. “Fresh?”
“Bottled from the glaciers at the pole,” she said. “I like to splurge on the little luxuries.”
Scout took another sip. It didn’t have the caffeine/sugar double whammy of jolo, but it did get the clay taste out of her mouth.
“How long?” Warrior asked, not looking up from her gadget.
“An hour,” the driver said. “Assuming no obstacles.”
“I think it’s time you told us who you are,” Ottilie said.
“Just a stranger caught out in the storm,” Warrior said. “The kid and I needed a ride to safety, and you were all that was in range. I’d apologize for the inconvenience, but clearly without me here to locate that beacon for you you’d have been trapped out in it as well. You would’ve lasted a day or two longer, but not through the whole storm.”
“That still might happen,” Ottilie said. “What if we get to this beacon hidden underground and can’t get down to it? What are we going to do, dig?”
“One thing at a time,” Warrior said. “Do you have shielding suits?”
“Two,” the driver said. “They’re old.”
“Can I see them?”
The driver turned to head to the back but Ottilie caught her arm, holding her still while she stared Warrior down. “Still didn’t catch your name.”
Warrior didn’t look up.
“I’m Scout,” Scout said to break the silence. “The rat terrier is Shadow. The other one is Girl.”
“Ebba,” the driver said, putting out a hand for Scout to shake. “And this is Ottilie.”
“She’s Warrior,” Scout said, indicating the woman across the table from her with the tip of her head. “Pretty sure that’s a fake name, but mine is real.”
“So are ours,” Ottilie said, narrowing suspicious eyes at the oblivious Warrior. Ebba murmured something, brushing Ottilie’s hand off her arm. This time she let her go.
“Where does one get a device like that to summon rovers to rescue you whether their drivers are so inclined or not?”
“This doesn’t do that,” Warrior said, thumbs running over buttons on the front of her device. “If you’re interested in such an item, getting closer to the galactic center would be a good start.”
Ottilie snorted, crossing her arms and slouching back against the closed cockpit door. “You’re from outside the system? No way. The Space Farers would never let you down here without an escort. And once you got here, you’d get another escort of uppity-ups from the governor’s people.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s true,” Warrior said, at last putting the device away.
Ebba draped two shiny suits across the tabletop. Scout could see circuitry lining the interior. She’d never seen one before, not close enough to touch it, but she knew what it was. The first expedition to scout the planet’s surface had worn suits like this in the archival videos in her history program. The surface hadn’t really been safe until the shield created by the network of satellites up in orbit had been finished, but the first colonizers hadn’t wanted to wait for that to be built before starting work on the surface. The suits had been designed to generate their own magnetic shielding to protect against solar particles.
They had only been marginally effective. The scouts had survived their missions, but every one of them had gotten a bunch of funky new cancers for their trouble.
Warrior ran her hands over the suits, looking for imperfections. Her reflective lenses shone up at Scout briefly.
“Don’t worry, kid. Two will be enough. We’ll just have to take it in shifts.”
Scout nodded mutely, then took another long drink of water.
She had no way of knowing, sealed inside the windowless cabin of the rover as she was, but somehow she could just feel it, the sky full of streaks, long trails of solar particles pummeling against the magnetic shield, desperate to get through and rain down on the surface below. Some things there was just no hiding from.
5
The rover rocked gently as the auto driver maneuvered over the prairie, wheels dipping in and out of ruts and overexposed stones. Scout let her body fall into a rhythm, rolling with the hypnotic motion. Ebba tidied up the table and benches, gathering all the bits of machinery and tools into totes and stacking them in the back of the rover in the bottom of the two bunks. Scout’s brain sleepily observed that this bottom bunk was just a bare mattress. Her eyes traveled up to the top bunk, neatly made up with a faded patchwork quilt spread over it, two pillows under matching quilted covers across the head of the bed.
She looked at Ebba, settling the last of the totes in the bottom bunk. She and Ottilie were both wearing nondescript jumpsuits of faded gray. They probably dated as far back as the rover and the shielded suits, back to the first colonization. The original colonists had come with a large supply of the garments, and given that the fabric was so resistant to damage and even staining, most of them were still in use among Planet Dwellers and Space Farers both. Scout didn’t have one, but both of her parents had worn them nearly every day.
Ebba wore hers fastened up to her throat and down to her wrists but had added a shimmering scarf draped loosely around her shoulders, and Scout guessed by the paleness of her skin that she wore it to cover her head and face before going out into the sun. She’d seen other pale people with similar garments and knew the fabric had UV protective properties.
But everyone she’d ever seen with one had been a Space Farer. Everyone she’d ever seen with skin so milky pale had been a Space Farer.
Scout looked over at Ottilie. Her skin was as dark as burnt bread, creased and leathery and flecked all over with darker freckles and moles. She was definitely not a Space Farer. The sleeves of her jumpsuit were cut off at the shoulder, leaving her lean arms bare. There was a military insignia tattooed on her left bicep—not one Scout had ever seen before, but given that the design centered around a
big gun, she guessed Ottilie had served on the crew of one of the massive guns that had fired on the Space Farer satellites and stations during the war.
Scout roused out of her half doze when a dog’s nails raked over her thigh. She bent down and scooped up Shadow, settling him on her lap. He was just a little too big to cuddle easily anymore, but he had not left the need behind when he ceased being a puppy. She got him situated how he was most comfortable: nose buried in her right armpit, her left arm under his back end to keep him from spilling off her lap. He snuffed out a breath and closed his eyes.
Girl was still flopped on the floor in front of the doorway, four paws all tucked and tangled together. Such huge paws; how could she ever grow into them?
“Slide over,” Ottilie said to Scout.
Shadow protested as she moved down the bench, following the right angle to sit with her back against the outer wall of the rover. The plastic under her thighs was cold. Ottilie slid to sit across from Warrior in the spot Scout had just warmed. She folded her hands together and watched Warrior. Warrior had a device shaped like a tablet in her hands, tapping away with her thumbs as if writing a message, but there was no screen of text, no buttons under her thumbs that she could see. But perhaps Warrior could, projected on the inside of those lenses?
Ottilie leaned forward to look at the object in Warrior’s hands, the flat featurelessness of it, as if she were holding a thin slab of stone. Ottilie glanced over at Scout and Scout lifted her dog-free shoulder in a shrug.
“Here,” Ebba said, setting a basket of hardtack biscuits on the table. “It’s not much for flavor but it will fill your belly, and we have plenty of it.”
She reached farther across the table to set a cloth napkin in front of Scout, the cuff of her gray jumpsuit pulling back from her wrist as she stretched. She had a tiny tattoo on her wrist just at the base of her thumb, a simple insignia Scout knew well. The Space Farer military had no separate units or quads or corps with their own branding, just one stylized upside-down V shape meant to suggest the head of a rocket.
