by K. Makansi
“Last time I was up before dawn was never. Goway.”
I laugh. “Never as in four days ago.” I nudge him with my foot, and he growls and flops over, face down, ignoring me and everything going on around us. I unzip his sleeping bag and flap it open wide only to reveal his broad back and stark white ass. His eyes open wide with the rush of cold air and he starts flailing, trying to cover himself up again.
“What the fuck, Orleán!” he shouts, as everyone stops what they’re doing to watch. “It’s cold out there.”
“Get your naked ass dressed, then!” I cross my arms and look down at him.
“Why’d you take your pants off, anyway?” Soren asks, a bemused look on his face. “What if we have to move fast in the middle of the night? That ass of yours would shine like a lighthouse. Drones could home in on that thing from fifty kilometers.”
Miah mutters something about needing a little more room in the junkyard and then groans as he stands up and stretches. He rubs his eyes and looks around at everyone staring at him—including Remy and Osprey. “What? Never seen such a fine specimen before?” He looks down and laughs. “Guess I’ll go take a piss now. I’ll sign autographs after I’m dressed. And after breakfast.” He picks up the pile of clothes he’d been using as a pillow and heads off behind our tent before turning and looking at Osprey. “We are having breakfast, aren’t we?”
Osprey shakes her head sadly. “I’m not sure we have enough food to fill the needs of such a fine specimen. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
A few minutes later, after we’ve packed up to leave, Remy asks me for a hand up onto her horse. I glance around for Soren, who normally would have been at Remy’s side. But he’s already mounted and looking down at Osprey as she strokes the neck of his horse and points to something in the distance.
I hold out my cupped palms for her. She reaches for the pommel of her saddle and puts a booted foot in my hands. I lift her up onto her horse, and she settles in, grabs the reins, and then turns to look down at me. I let my hand brush her thigh and the warmth of her leg electrifies my fingertips, sending a pulse of heat all the down to my core.
Does she feel it, too?
“Thanks,” is all she says.
But her eyes meet my own for a second before she turns away, just enough time to burn hope into me like the scars on Osprey’s arms.
A few hours later, the bleak wasteland around us is shimmering in the heat. It’s mid-April now and warm spells aren’t uncommon this time of year, but we didn’t anticipate anything like this. In the Sector, we don’t have much data on what the terrain is like this far beyond Sector borders. No reason to. Nothing grows out here, so it’s useless to us. Not to mention dangerous—or so we were taught. Notwithstanding the hungry bearded goats, we haven’t seen or heard much wildlife at all. Some wild dogs or coyotes in the distance, some lizards or wild hares scuttling away from us. But that’s about it.
Osprey leads our little pack on her oiseau, the French word for bird, which is what she calls her hovering motorbike. I notice Soren keeps nudging his horse up so he can ride next to her. I notice, too, that Remy seems perfectly unconcerned that Soren’s taken an obvious interest in Osprey. In fact, she seems to be paying no attention to him at all. She rides quietly by herself, right hand on the reins, her left twisting something absentmindedly in her jacket pocket.
I tilt my head back and try to read the sky. We’re heading northeast, and I notice little flashes of Osprey’s crystalline astrolabe every now and then when it catches the sunlight. I wonder if she’s showed it to Soren already or if she’s keeping it secret for now. I remember when I first met her, how she wouldn’t let the others see it.
“So, Vale,” Miah says, riding up from behind me. “What’d you make of Osprey?” He waggles his eyebrows at me in such a way that I can’t help but look at him sideways.
“Forgotten Moriana already?” I try to keep my voice neutral—and joking—but I must not have done a very good job, because the horror that colors his face makes me instantly regret the line.
“No!” His mouth drops open in astonishment. My heart thuds at the sudden fear I’ve offended my best friend. “God, no, Vale. Don’t think for a second I’ve forgotten her.”
“Bad joke, Miah. Sorry.”
But of course, he’s quick to forgive.
“I just meant, Osprey seems a little out there. Are all the Outsiders like her, do you think? With crazy scars and funky hair?”
“You’re one to talk about funky hair. That mess of yours defies description. And that beard? Wow.”
He strokes his beard fondly. “Fair point. She still seems a little off-kilter, though. I mean, obviously she’s a girl, but she doesn’t really seem … well … you know what I mean … like a girl, like Moriana or Remy or Kenzie.”
“Soren seems to like her well enough.”
“Yeah, and it looks like Remy couldn’t care less.”
I just nod, glad I’m not the only one who’s noticed, but I don’t want to act like I’ve been focused on Soren and Remy when so much is at stake. Of course, Miah probably knows what I’m thinking even before I do.
“Am I right in sensing something’s changed between the two of you? Seems like since Evander … that she’s … well, you know. That she’s softened up. And Soren doesn’t seem to be beating his chest and baring his teeth every time you go near. What happened with you guys at Round Barn?”
I’m almost afraid to put it into words. “She saved my life and then I saved hers … beyond that I don’t know. If anything has changed, I don’t want to jinx it.”
“Well, I guess I’ll hold off on the handfasting present.”
We rode in silence for a while and then Remy pulled up beside me. Miah nudged his horse forward with a little smile, ever the romantic.
“What are you going to say?” she asks.
“What?” I respond, genuinely confused.
“What are you going to say to the Outsiders. About why you’re with us. That’s what they want to know. That’s why they’re willing to meet us.”
“Is that what Osprey said?”
“No, but isn’t it obvious? The mysteriously kidnapped Valerian Orleán turning up on the Outsiders’ doorstep with his kidnapper and two Resistance traitors?”
“I guess I’ll tell them the truth. Chan-Yu knows. With luck, he will have already told them some of it.”
“You’re the make-or-break here. You need to make the case for them to stand with us.”
“What if they don’t want to join the Resistance?” Her eyes harden and flick over me and everything I thought about her softening up toward me evaporates.
“You said you owed me, Vale. You at least need to try.”
“Yes, I do and I will. But we can’t force them. And maybe there’s another way. I want to be sure that you really want me to convince others to join a fight that’s already taken the lives of so many. Your mom, maybe Jahnu. Soldiers, Farm workers….”
“I get it.” She purses her lips and stares straight ahead.
“It could become an all-out civil war,” I say, driving the point home. “You told Osprey we’re not looking for that. But we both know very well that’s what this could mean.”
“I want the Sector to pay.”
“Pay how? In more lives? Is that the currency you want to trade in?” As soon as the words leave my lips, I want to take them back, apologize for questioning her. I want to say I’ll do whatever she asks. But the truth is I don’t want any more blood on my hands.
She says nothing. Her whole body’s tense, her fingertips white as she grips the reins between them.
“Remy, listen….”
She turns to me, pain—and anger—brimming in her eyes. “Why should I listen to you? I thought—” She clamps her mouth shut abruptly and turns away.
“I’m sorry.” I want to grab her arm, make her turn back toward me, listen to me. But I don’t. “You know I’d do anything for you, anything,” I say. “On top of everythi
ng else, I owe you my life. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
Still she says nothing, so I go on.
“I’ll tell them about LOTUS, about taking over the food supply chain, about Eli’s plan to print untainted seeds, but—”
“I didn’t mean for everything at Round Barn to happen like that—”
“I know that, Remy.”
“Then stop acting like it’s my fault. That I want to ‘trade’ in the currency of death. I thought you were—I thought you supported me.”
“I do—” I start again, but she kicks Lakshmi into a trot and moves up the line without so much as a backwards glance. I mouth a silent curse and regret my words, wishing she were back with me, next to me. Even silent and angry, her presence is better than none at all.
The clear skies we enjoyed the last few days have given way to looming clouds, harbingers of rain. The vegetation gradually changes as we ride northwest into higher elevation. The landscape is greener with patches here and there of stately mature trees that appear to be old growth. Up ahead I can see that the higher we climb, the taller and more abundant the trees are. We haven’t passed any ruins in days and I imagine this whole area was either never densely populated or was completely obliterated by the bombings.
My father once told me that nearly thirty percent of the population in North America was killed during the Religious Wars and many of those who survived succumbed during the Famine Years. I don’t doubt him, but now I wonder if those figures haven’t been held over our heads like a scythe, a sword of Damocles ready to fall on Okarian citizens who question our tight control of resources and food and limits on travel and exploration.
“Where the hell are we, Osprey?” Miah demands finally, after at least an hour of dead silence between us all. It’s late-afternoon, and he’s past impatient. We all are. Tired and saddle sore, our patience is wearing almost as thin. We’ve only taken a few breaks—more for the horses than for us—and we’re all ready to be there, wherever there is. We ran our horses flat out on and off this morning, but since then we’ve been trotting at a bone-jarring pace that’s gotten everyone complaining again.
We weave our way around a stand of bedraggled trees and Osprey holds her hand up and brings her oiseau to an abrupt halt while Soren, who was riding beside her, tries to rein his horse in and almost launches himself over its head. I can’t help but laugh, but my mirth is cut short when at least fifteen hooded figures emerge from the rocks and shrubs around us, holding serious-looking composite hunting bows, nocked and drawn, each one pointed at us. I notice they’re all wearing the same kind of cloak Osprey was when I first met her. These must be the Outsiders.
“Well, hello,” Miah says. I keep my mouth shut.
“I told you I’d have them here before dusk,” Osprey says, a big smile on her face as if she’d just been offered a slice of fresh-from-the-oven pie. She turns to the nearest Outsider, a short but broad-shouldered man who lowers his bow when she approaches. I notice his arms are clear and free of scars.
“Osprey,” he says, holding out his palm to her as if in greeting.
“Squall,” She stretches hers out to meet his, a kind of vertical handshake. “Are we gonna have a feast? I’m starved.”
“We’ll worry about your stomachs soon enough. He holds up his hand and the bows come down, though I notice none of the Outsiders put them away completely. He runs a chilly stare over our little group.
“Which one of you is the Orleán?” he asks, casting around between us.
I stare at him, too astonished to respond. How does he not know me? Have they never seen Sector broadcasts before? I know we’re far outside the Sector’s boundaries, but not since I was a child have I met someone who didn’t recognize me at all.
“He is,” Soren says, pointing to me. I glare at him. Thanks for nothing. He just smirks back.
“I’m Valerian.” I sit a little straighter. Might as well own it. Squall stares at me for a few seconds, as if contemplating a response.
“And you,” he says, nodding slightly at Remy, “must be the Alexander.”
She nods by way of response.
“Did you tell them?” he asks Osprey. She hesitates.
“Not yet.”
“Tell us what?” Remy demands.
“For the final leg, we’re going to have to blindfold you,” she says apologetically. “And disarm you.”
“What the hell?” Soren interjects.
“We didn’t come all the way out here to be treated like prisoners—or enemies,” Remy says, more calmly than I’d expected. I, for one, am not surprised. I know too well what the Sector has done to put the Outsiders on edge like this, and I can’t blame them for being defensive.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t come to camp with us otherwise. We can’t risk you telling anyone where we are. And I promise we have food! Lots of it. Besides,” Osprey huffs, “I wouldn’t have wasted all my time dragging you here just to murder you. I could have easily done that yesterday morning while Skaarsgard was shaving.”
Soren opens his mouth to say something, but I beat him to it. “I’ll do it. I trust you,” I say to Osprey. That’s not entirely true—I don’t trust her, at least not completely—but if this is what it takes to pay my debts to Remy, I’ll gladly take the blindfold.
“That’s the spirit,” she says as the buoyant smile returns to her face. She nods at Squall, who pulls a black cloth from a saddlebag and approaches me.
“Weapons,” he says, and I pull a knife from the sheaf in my belt and a hand-held Bolt from the holster strapped across my chest and under my jacket. Everything else is packed in the saddlebags. I close my eyes and let him slip the hood over my head. His hands are deft and gentle as blackness envelops me.
“I’m game,” I hear Miah say behind me. “As long as there’s food on the other end of this ride.”
I hear someone clapping and can only assume it’s Osprey, carried away yet again by her strange enthusiasm. “Excellent!” she exclaims. “I promise you’ll go to bed fat and happy.”
I hear the footfalls of more horses being led near and then the squeak of leather and the soft oomph of people mounting and settling into their saddles. Then someone reaches out and takes the reins from my hand. “Hold on,” Osprey calls out, and I reach for the pommel as he lurches forward.
We ride in the dark for another hour or so, and I can tell we’re going up a fairly steep incline most of the time. By the time a hand reaches up and pulls off my blindfold, the sun is on the horizon and I wince, blinking at the light. I take in the surroundings. We’re up against a cliff face in the midst of a stand of trees—oak, elm, maple and other deciduous species I don’t recognize—and around me spreads what appears to be a small village built of wooden structures that look like they could be folded up and put in a giant’s pocket at a moment’s notice.
It’s astonishing to see something built for a transient lifestyle when all I’ve ever seen is permanence. Some buildings are narrow structures that resemble overgrown PODS from the capital’s mass transit system and are grouped together with extendible hallways that connect the pods into larger units. Others are long boxes that appear to easily disassemble, with walls that open flat to the outside. Still others are little more than elaborate tents, buttressed with flexible wood struts, draped in reflective shields and topped with pine boughs. Everything is built and arranged for secrecy and mobility, and yet nothing looks crude or rudimentary. I think of Assembly Hall back in Okaria, the main governmental building where my office was located, and remember how much I loved the glass walls and floors, draped with hanging gardens, living machines that helped filter the interior water, and natural ventilation systems. These Outsiders and the Sector designers might be surprised to realize they have at least something in common—an elegant, inspired-by-nature aesthetic that makes me smile despite myself.
“No wonder no one can find them,” Remy says, blinking into the light.
“They’d be practically invisible from the air
,” Miah chimes in.
“That’s the point,” Osprey says. “You’ll be sleeping in that one.” She points to a structure that looks like it’s built out of sticks and covered with hide of some kind. “Leave the horses. We’ll take care of them and unpack your gear. Tonight we eat. Tomorrow we talk.”
My stomach grumbles. I need no further urging. We follow her through the trees right up to the cliff where a wide natural cavern opens up under the rock face about five meters high and twenty-five wide. I can’t tell how deep it goes into the rock, but it provides a perfect covered dining area. Blackened, charred remains of countless fires mark the ceiling. How many eons have humans made this cave home?
Laid out on the ground is a long wooden table laden with food. Surely they can’t move that table in one piece, I think, but as I look more closely, I notice it’s not one long stretch of wood. It’s broken up into small segments that fit together like locks and keys to make one magnificent piece of furniture. At least a hundred people are milling about, sitting cross-legged or on their knees on wide carpets spread on the ground on either side of the table. They’re passing plates, drinking from water skeins and mugs, and not paying a bit of attention to us.
Osprey escorts us to one end of the table, down where Squall is talking with some other men. She slips in between Soren and Remy and, once again, I notice Remy doesn’t seem to mind. Miah jerks his head at me as if to say, you gonna sit next to her or am I? I lower myself to the ground between him and Remy and wait for her to ignore me, or worse. Miah slips in next to me and Squall and his friends round out the end of the table. Remy picks up a couple of plates off a stack in the middle of the table and hands one to me and one to Miah.
I take it with a mumbled “Thanks,” almost afraid to look at her.
Soren immediately starts piling food on his plate. Miah follows suit, though at a more tentative pace.
“I know I shouldn’t say this, but isn’t a MealPak easier?” He looks down at the food on his plate. ”How am I supposed to know what all this stuff is?”
