The Amtrak Wars: Blood River

by Patrick Tilley

  They took the elevator to the top gallery of the south-west vista. Because of the funeral, Roz had been given a pass from Inner State U which allowed her to stay overnight with Annie. They picked up their zip bags from the janitor’s office and, after keying in their onwards destinations, they inserted their ID-cards and logged themselves off the accommodation roster.

  The information was relayed through the network to COLUMBUS enabling it to record where they’d been and where they were going, just as later, it would note their arrival. The current location and destination of any individual was temporally recorded on the ID-card’s memory. This enabled the Provost-Marshals to identify a valid card. Provos, the visible internal security force of the Federation a.k.a. ‘meat-loaves’, often carried out random ID checks at what were known as ‘choke-points’. Using portable plug-in terminals they could run an immediate check on the card’s status and, by pressing the Run Data key, obtain the full story on suspect card-holders from the files held by COLUMBUS in under two seconds.

  During several of the Saturday night sessions hosted by Chisum at Santanna Deep, Roz had joined in conversations with her student friends about the rumoured existence of a hidden sub-culture inhabiting disused service tunnels and the long-abandoned subterranean installations of the pre-Holocaust era.

  Whenever one of these underground workings was discovered it was explored then demolished with explosive charges or sealed and filled with gas. Over the years, Roz had watched several newscasts in which the discovery of these installations and their subsequent destruction had been featured but there was never once any mention of people having lived in these dusty vaults and tunnels.

  Apart from the televised trials and execution of Code-One defaulters – who were charged with specific, individual crimes – the First Family did not acknowledge the existence of any organized groups of dissidents. And if the official view was that such groups did not exist then any reference to them was, by definition, an unsubstantiated rumour and rumour-mongering was a Code Three offence which, if repeated, could make you a candidate for ‘re-education’.

  Yes, thought Roz, as she slipped her ID-card back into its own special pocket inside her jump-suit, life in the Federation contrasted starkly with the unfettered existence of the Plainfolk that Steve had described and which, on occasions, she had shared through the telepathic link that enabled her mind to unite with his. A link so profound she was able to ‘see’ with her inner eye the images that fell upon his retina, hear the same sounds, smell the same odours, and share his feelings of intense joy or fear in moments of mortal danger. And also the pain, for when his flesh was pierced so was hers, the wounds – unlike his – miraculously healing within hours.

  A new batch of wide-eyed travellers streamed out of the subway station under John Wayne Plaza as Roz and Annie walked down the ramp and made their way through the turnstiles onto the outbound platform. The incoming shuttle had already gone down-line into the depot where it would switch tracks and pick up another crew before gliding back to pick up Annie and the other passengers, some of whom would be riding to the western terminal at Jackson/Phoenix in the newly-incorporated Outer State of Arizona.

  Roz searched the platform but could see no sign of Uncle Bart.

  ‘He won’t arrive till we’re due to leave,’ said Annie. ‘Bart don’t wait for trains – they wait for him.’ State Provost-Marshals, like other high-wires were allotted a special compartment which Annie had shared on the way in and she would be travelling back the same way. ‘You don’t have to wait if you’ve got better things to do.’

  ‘I want to stay,’ said Roz. ‘We don’t see each other all that often and …’

  ‘I know,’ Annie gave a sad smile. ‘And now that Poppa Jack’s gone …’

  They gazed at each other silently for a while then Roz said: ‘Things have been happening to me. I can’t explain but … I may be going topside.’

  Annie looked dismayed. ‘But what about your studies? Does this mean you’ll be quitting medical school?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe they’ll let me re-enter the second year. You know how it is. I got word I’m needed elsewhere.’

  Annie looked over her shoulder then dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Is this somethin’ to do with Steve?’

  Roz nodded.

  Her guard-mother mulled the news over then appeared to come to a decision. She checked the nearest time display then led Roz by the arm into one of the passageways linking the two platforms. ‘You were never meant to know this, but after what you said back at the shrine about Stevie bein’ alive an’ what you just told me, I’ve got to get somethin’ off my chest. ‘Specially as we might never get to see each other again.’ Whatever she was about to say was obviously making great emotional demands on her.

  Roz went to interrupt. Annie gripped her hands. ‘No! Hear me out. I done my best to rear the both of you by the Book an’ be everythin’ a guard-mother should but with Poppa Jack away so much it wasn’t easy. I can remember times when I could have been kinder and more carin’, an’ I knew you wanted me to be but… I held back.

  ‘You know why? There was somethin’ about the two of you. The way you seemed to talk to each other without sayin’ anythin’ that frightened me. Maybe I was just imaginin’ things but it was like – when you were together – me an’ Poppa Jack an’ the rest of the world was shut out. Like you were different. Special. D’you know what I’m talkin’ about?’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘Well you are special. Don’t ask me how and why. Nobody told me. There was a lot of things they didn’t tell me, but I found out anyway,’ Annie took a deep breath and laid her hands on Roz’s shoulders. ‘I didn’t carry you inside me, honey. Not you or Steve.’

  ‘Oh, Annie –’

  ‘Hush now! You’ve done some of your doctor trainin’ at the Life Institute …’

  ‘Yes, but not in obstetrics. That’s a Family matter.’

  ‘But you know roughly what happens. I mean – how people get born …’

  ‘Of course. We saw a whole series of video-graphics.’

  ‘Well, when you go into the delivery room, they give you this gas. It’s supposed to ease the birthin’ process and usually knocks you out but it didn’t work properly with me. It made me feel sick, but because I was frightened I might throw up over the doctors and add to the mess that was happenin’ down below, I kept my eyes closed and pretended it was workin’ so’s they wouldn’t pump more of it into me.

  ‘Nobody guessed I was peekin’ out on the sly. Both times were the same. I saw the babies they took outta my belly. They weren’t the ones I was given a couple of days later in the nursin’ ward.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Roz felt confused, but in a curious way, not surprised.

  ‘Just like you’re sure about Stevie bein’ alive. How I know’s a different matter. You were both given to me to look after. But you came from somewhere else. That’s maybe why I’ve always had this feelin’ you were special – an’ it looks as if I was right.’

  ‘Does this mean that Stevie’s not really my kin-brother?’

  ‘I can’t answer that. But there’s no reason why he should be.’ Annie smiled. ‘’Cept for the fact you two’ve always been closer than the top and bottom deck of a bean-burger.’

  As they hugged each other, Roz kissed Annie on both cheeks. ‘Thanks for telling me. But it doesn’t change the way I feel about you. You were kind and you were caring and I won’t allow you or anyone else to say that you weren’t. It doesn’t matter who carried me. You are the one who raised me.’

  ‘Just doin’ my job,’ said Annie.

  ‘You did more than that, and as far as I’m concerned we’ll always be kin. And if Stevie was here he’d feel the same way.’

  Annie stepped back and pulled out another tissue. She dabbed at both eyes then blew her nose. ‘Where’re you headed – State U?’

  ‘Yes, but there’s no hurry. I’ve been excused classes until tomorrow.’

  ‘I’d
rather you went now,’ said Annie. Her voice was close to breaking. ‘The shuttle’ll be along soon and well – I don’t want to upset your Uncle Bart. He hates to see people cryin’. So, go on – shoo!’ She carefully folded the tissue and wiped her eyes again.

  Roz shouldered her overnight bag then took hold of Annie’s hand and backed away slowly until finally, she was forced to let go. ‘G’bye, Annie …’

  Her guard-mother lifted the hand that was still stretched out towards her in a last gesture of farewell.

  Roz turned and walked down the passageway onto the inbound platform. When she looked back, Annie was gone. Roz saw the white TransAm express with its sidebands of red and blue glide slowly past the opening and stop. She put her head down and strode towards the exit ramp.

  Although the platform was crowded, there was no jostling for seats; everyone had reservations. Annie made her way down the length of the shuttle towards the VIP compartment and waited for Bart and his small entourage to appear.

  She was glad she had shared her long-kept secret with someone. Poppa Jack had died without knowing but since he had only been the children’s appointed guardian, it wouldn’t have meant all that much. But having now told Roz, Annie wondered if she had done the right thing. She hoped she had. If, as Roz had hinted, the Family had different futures mapped out for them, it might help to know that they had been planted on her. It would be their task – if they were so minded – to find out why. And where they had come from.

  As Annie caught sight of Bart being driven down the ramp in a wheelie, she realized that she had let Roz go without extracting a promise to never reveal what she knew to anyone other than Steve. But it was too late to do anything about that now. She would have to rely on Roz’s good sense.

  Having shared this knowledge, Annie might have been expected to feel that a weight had been lifted from her shoulders but the burden remained. She had not told Roz the whole story. How she had known – beyond all doubt – that Steve and Roz were not the babies she had given birth to.

  Feigning unconsciousness, she had watched through an imperceptible slit in her eyelids as the crinkle-faced tight-fisted infants had been eased out between her splayed thighs then held upside down and slapped into life. On both occasions, they had responded with the choking, squalling cries that all baby Trackers made in the first moments of their life. But instead of the usual greyish-mauve bodies that rapidly change to creamy pink as the lungs fill with air, the light skin of both her new-born children had been covered with irregular patches of black, brown and olive.

  Only these children had been created, like all children now being born, by the seed of George Washington Jefferson the 31st, the current President-General…

  There was only one explanation. Either she or the President-General was tainted by Mute blood. That was the shameful, bewildering secret she could share with no one. And would carry with her when the bag-men fed her body to the flames.

  ‘Now tell me. Can you see Steve?’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘Clearly?’

  ‘I am there with him,’ said Roz. ‘He stands near the centre of the eight rings.’

  ‘Eight rings?’

  ‘Huts set in circles one inside the other. The hut he has been given is part of the inner ring. He stands outside it, watching the great fire …’

  Karlstrom, seated on the corner of his desk saw her closed eyes shut tighter still. She seemed to be trying to blot out the received image. Her lips drew back, revealing clenched teeth.

  ‘She is with him.’

  ‘Clearwater? Good. How about Cadillac?’

  ‘He too …’

  ‘How do they feel about him?’

  ‘There has been much anger but they still trust him.’

  ‘Hmmm … this place where they’re spending the winter. Can you tell me where it is?’ Karlstrom eased Roz’s chair towards the desk and placed her hands on the large map depicting the pre-Holocaust states to the west and south of the Great Lakes. ‘I know all that snow is causing problems but try and describe the area.’

  Karlstrom watched intently as Roz’s forefingers inched slowly up and down the western shore of Lake Michigan as if reading a Braille manuscript. Her breathing abnormally slow and deep. The anger had been replaced by an expression of rapt concentration.

  ‘There was a great city here once. Tall towers of shining metal and glass that shone with all the colours of the rainbow …’

  ‘Navref Chicago,’ said Karlstom, anxious to hurry things along. ‘Is that where he is?’

  ‘I am not sure if that picture comes from him or the map …’ Her head drooped slowly until her chin touched her chest then, after a while, she lifted it again. ‘Now I understand. The clanfolk of his Mute friends are linked to this place. The M’Calls are from the bloodline of the She-Kargo.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Karlstrom. ‘But we already know that. Try again. He must have some idea where he is.’

  Roz frowned. ‘Trees, snow … high ground … to the west of the water.’

  ‘That’s better. Can he see the water from where he is?’

  ‘No. Those who shelter him live in the middle of a great white forest.’

  And there’s plenty of them … Karlstrom controlled a sudden urge to slap the blank-faced girl across the face. He put the desk between them. ‘But he is near Chicago …’

  ‘Near, yes. Beyond that I cannot say. To his eyes, everywhere looks the same.’

  ‘Yes, okay. Let’s leave that for a minute. Does he know you’re inside his head?’

  ‘Yes …’

  That’s something at least … ‘Is he trying to shut you out?’

  ‘No, not this time …’

  ‘What kind of shape is he in? Mentally. What’s his state of mind?’

  Roz breathed deeply and concentrated. ‘He’s worried. About a message. From a dead man. He had two names. The first begins like yours … Kar … Kall …’

  ‘Kelso …?’

  Roz nodded slowly. ‘The second name is connected with a song.’ She frowned, hesitating over the unfamiliar word. ‘Mex … mexican … mexico?’

  Karlstrom quickly changed the subject. ‘What was the message?’

  The President-General gazed thoughtfully out of the curved windows of the Oval Office at a screened image of his second favourite landscape then looked sideways at Karlstrom. ‘Do you believe her?’

  Karlstrom met the question with raised eyebrows. ‘She’s delivered the goods up to now.’ His voice was tinged with doubt.

  Jefferson the 31st, whose antennae were finely tuned to such nuances, eyed him shrewdly then resumed his seat at the big desk. ‘It also fits in with your reading of Brickman’s game-plan.’ He gestured to Karlstrom to pull up a seat.

  ‘Precisely. That’s why I want your approval before acting on this information. There’s a lot at stake here.’ Karlstrom had not forgotten the steely pressure the P-G had applied to his shoulder earlier in the month.

  Jefferson reacted with amusement. ‘In other words, you want me to take the rap.’

  ‘No. I want your advice. If it goes wrong, I’ll be held responsible anyway. That’s part of the job profile. I just want to make sure we’ve covered all the angles.’

  ‘Okay, Let’s go over it again …’ The President-General turned his chair towards the VDU on the side table to his left and scanned the salient points of their conversation so far. In a simultaneous process, a voice-transducer had been converting the standard tape recording into binary code that came up as lines of text on the screen. The central processing unit, which was programmed to recognize their voice-prints, added their names to the alternate blocks of dialogue printing Jefferson’s words in blue and Karlstrom’s in red to facilitate read-out.

  ‘So … according to her, the real reason why Brickman disabled the pick-up team at Long Point was because he was worried about the damage Clearwater might do once she got inside the Federation …’

  Karlstom nodded. ‘That’s the underly
ing concern that caused the apparent change of heart. I take it you’ve read the edits of Jodi Kazan’s debriefing sessions covering their escape from the Heron Pool?’

  ‘Yes. Amazing stuff. But is she telling the truth?’

  ‘She had every incentive.’ Karlstrom could not resist a smile. ‘I don’t know quite how it happened but she seems to have gained the impression that – if she cooperates fully – she could be in line for a full acquittal and reinstatement as a Trail-Blazer.’

  ‘And our contacts in Ne-Issan …?’

  ‘The word is that the Heron Pool project was the first stage in an abortive coup by the Yama-Shita family against the Shogun. Our contacts are unable to corroborate Kazan’s story in any precise detail. Most of those on the losing side who survived the actual event were executed or took their own lives soon after. And the Toh-Yota are keeping the whole affair under wraps.

  ‘But by all accounts, some very strange things happened and, if our friends are to be believed, that Mute bitch is like a walking volcano. If you want my opinion, Brickman did us a favour. We sent him out to capture her but not enough consideration’s been given to exactly how she was to be kept under control or –’

  ‘– why we want to bring her back alive, along with her Mute boy friend, in the first place …’

  ‘The question did cross my mind.’ Karlstrom tried to keep a straight face. ‘I imagine you’ll give me the answer when it’s time to let me in on the big secret.’

  Jefferson’s expression was that of a father forced to chide his favourite son. ‘No one is closer to me than you are, Ben. But there are some things it’s better for you not to know. It’s not a question of trust – after all, you helped put me behind this desk. It’s the Brickman girl. None of us really know what she’s capable of. If she was able to get inside your head – and you knew everything that I know – we could lose the ball-game.’