The Immortal of Degoskirke

by Michael Green

  “I study house morphology—for fun, really.”

  He eyed her, doubtfully.

  “Well, there’s a Lederer in my neighboring barracks.”

  “That explains it. I guess talking about our houses is a good way to pass the time,” he said uncertain and eager to put humiliation behind him. “And you—” he leaned in and glanced at the pins on Addy’s collar.

  She felt her cheeks go warm and realized she was blushing.

  “Pershing?” he asked.

  Addy nodded, and awkwardly tried to shake his hand. His right and her left hand were restrained between the seats. Forced to shake his left hand, she laughed awkwardly, but he didn’t seem bothered. More than that, he now appeared calm.

  “My name’s Nate—well, Nathaniel, but I prefer Nate.”

  “I’m Addy,” she said, not sure how to follow up the introduction. “Do you get into a lot of trouble?” she asked, regretting the question immediately. He looked perplexed, “It’s just that you seem so relaxed now—look at me, I’m shaking,” she said, raising her free hand.

  He laughed, raising his own, which still had a slight tremor. “I’m jittery too. All this is a little exciting.”

  Confused, Addy tilted her head.

  “This might just be a field trip, when you get down to it. And I only have elective classes this term. I’ve already completed all my core units, but they wouldn’t let me graduate early.”

  “Wow,” Addy said. “Did you get a good primer from your House, before you came to academy?”

  “It’s not that impressive. We’re small—House Lederer, I mean—and engineering isn’t as glamorous as it sounds. We work with police houses mostly, and a few Primarchies directly. It’s enough to fund Academy Fourteen training,” he said glumly, before suddenly changing the subject, “It’s just nice to get out, even if it’s under—special—circumstances.”

  “Right,” Addy replied, not really understanding what he meant. She was nervous. “I don’t like this kind of attention.”

  Nate nodded, though he seemed expectant. Addy realized it was impolite to learn about another’s House without offering news of your own.

  “Oh, I’m being rude—House Pershing—we focus on biology, applied biology mostly. I’m destined for a lifetime of designing crops to hold off starvation.”

  Nate nodded, his brows lifting. “That’s very noble. You seem like a scientist.”

  Addy reddened, wondering if the comment was aimed at her appearance.

  “I just mean you seem intelligent and self-conscious: the mark of a good scientist.”

  Addy laughed awkwardly, wishing she was back in bed and well-hidden beneath the covers. She had little practice talking to males.

  Nate stood, as far as his restraint would let him, and he asked the other students, several of whom had shuffled aboard by now, about their houses.

  Grateful that he was distracted, Addy felt quite ridiculous. Here they were, being legally abducted, and she was panicking about her appearance, and nervous about sitting next to Nate.

  He’s handsome, quick-thinking, and assertive, and here I am, with crazy hair and an unwashed face.

  Addy sank into her seat and gave up trying to find her reflection in the window.

  A female student was answering Nate’s question, “House Fallbrook—we’re a policing house.”

  “We do agriculture, House Topanga, I mean,” another student added.

  “Our Houses specialize in different professions,” Nate said, looking to Addy. “What else might connect us?”

  “Connect us?” Addy repeated.

  “There’s a reason for this. Something the Primarchy knows about us—something we don’t.”

  Addy nodded, about to mention her conversation with Lynette, but a sudden outcry silenced the bus.

  “You’re a joke!” a voice bellowed.

  A large student, burly and half-dressed, struggled with a pair of guards. They struck the student with their stun batons as they pushed him onto the bus. His unbuttoned shirt slapped against a visored helm during the struggle.

  Addy caught a glance of the loud student’s uniform as the mess of struggling bodies lumbered nearer.

  “He’s House Serrano,” Nate said. “They’re a little coarse.”

  Serrano continued struggling and insulting his captors as they forced him onto a seat, “Looks like you’re having some trouble—call in a few more friends!” he moaned as they struggled to restrain his arm.

  A blonde girl sitting next to Serrano recoiled, pulling herself as close to the window as she could.

  “That armor’s looking a little tight around the waist, trooper,” Serrano said, mocking the struggling guards.

  He received a gloved clout to the face in reply.

  “Do you think he needs another restraint?” one guard asked, whether earnestly, or to punish Serrano, Addy couldn’t tell. The other considered the question.

  “Please—let me sit somewhere else,” the blonde girl pleaded, still hugging the wall.

  “I’m not that bad,” Serrano insisted.

  Nate stood again. “Just let him be. Once you’re off the bus, I’m sure he’ll calm down. Come on, Serrano, tell them to step off one more time and it’ll be out of your system.”

  Serrano looked over at Nate and laughed. “You heard the man! Step off, boys, and hit the weight racks—you should be ashamed.”

  The comment aroused some laughter and the guards shrugged. “Let A-squad deal with them—I should be on patrol.”

  The other agreed and the two left.

  “You recognize me as a Serrano?”

  “I recognize the attitude,” Nate replied. “House Serrano guards our compound.”

  Addy watched in wonder as Nate caroused so easily with strangers; his confidence was somewhat alluring.

  He’ll rot away in engineering—he should be a liaison, or maybe a professor.

  Elements of A-squad arrived and took position on the bus. Motorcycle guards flanked the bus on both sides and armored cars formed up ahead and behind them. The motorcade rolled off the campus just as the sun emerged in the east.

  “Nate,” Addy started, “I wanted to tell you,” she paused as he was distracted.

  “Look,” he pointed at Serrano and the blonde girl sitting next to him.

  Addy peeked over the seat and saw the girl, laboriously brushing her bright, blonde hair, and holding her head at an odd angle to catch the reflection off the chromed seat lining.

  Addy forced an awkward laugh, recalling her own attempt to find her reflection. “Wait, how did she get that hairbrush?” the girl was rifling through a bag for makeup. Despite the rocking of the bus, and one restrained hand, she carefully primped and preened.

  Addy felt envious, then angry that the blonde was allowed her bag, and finally pained by the whole circus. “Why does she care what she looks like? We’ve all been abducted.”

  Nate nodded. “Priorities vary, but, look at Serrano.”

  Serrano glanced at the blonde and crossed his arms as well as he could, lending some bulk to his biceps in the process. He tried to look nonchalant and uninterested. His restrained arm hung awkwardly, despite this, and he glanced again at the girl, who was busily unaware.

  “We really are an embarrassment,” Nate said.

  “Indeed,” Addy replied. “Listen, Nate—” He looked her way, and she brushed the hair away from her eyes, “—about what connects us. I was talking with Lynette and mentioned my parents.”

  Nate’s brow contracted, then his eyes suddenly brightened. “Let me guess, you have a parent off-world?”

  Addy blinked. “Both, actually. They were on Four.”

  “My dad works up there too. We haven’t heard from him for years.”

  Addy tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but found it still restrained.

  Nate chuckled sadly, seeing what she intended. He grasped her restrained hand with his, giving it a comforting squeeze before releasing.

  Addy’s face was
suddenly hot, and she feigned interested in the window.

  “Wha—where are we?” she gasped.

  “We’re in old L.A., near the Pit,” Nate said, leaning over her to look. She knew she shouldn’t, but Addy couldn’t help herself. She took a deep breath and detected a hint of his aftershave. It was pleasant.

  “See—the Pit,” he said, drawing her attention.

  Craggy, jutting walls of stone rose from the ground, so high that Addy couldn’t see their peak through the windows. Over a century ago, the buildings and streets had been abruptly ripped apart; no one was quite sure how it happened. The land sank, as if a seam beneath the city had split, but there wasn’t just one split seam. The Pit was a central point of the cataclysm, where the many chasms converged. This pit was famous for its tarry patches, which glittered on the sections of rock that flanked the road.

  “Primarchy-exclusive territory—I’ve never seen it before,” Addy whispered.

  “It looks different on the screens,” a voice commented.

  The students had their eyes glued to the windows.

  Though the sun was rising, it became darker as they followed the road descending into the Pit. Fortified ramparts and compounds lined the ragged cliffsides. Rotating radar dishes, missile batteries, and domed chain-guns featured prominently.

  The motorcade approached a broad, steel barrier, which opened as they neared. The rugged cliffs were replaced with the smooth walls of structures, buried and built into the Pit. Rumors held that L.A. built this central command around some secret of the old CC, but Addy thought that was just another piece of folklore, meant to intrigue children and teach history.

  One detail made her doubt that logic. “Why build here, if an earthquake could destroy it at any minute?” Addy asked.

  “Government people,” Nate replied, as if that were answer enough.

  On a massive lot, the motorcade passed a fleet of expensive vehicles: sedans, limousines, armored cars, and more buses and haulers dotting the tarmac. It reminded Addy of a sleek formation of panthers, poised for an ambush.

  Finally, the bus came to a stop and the guards bent to undo their restraints, two by two.

  “Hey, should I put up a fuss?” Serrano asked as the guards neared.

  “Just sit up and behave,” the girl next to him said. Her hair and makeup were now done, and done well, to Addy’s estimation.

  They were ushered outside.

  “That girl who got her vanity bag onboard is House Beverly,” Nate whispered to Addy. “And look—do you recognize him?” Nate nodded towards another boy with a mop of strawberry-blond hair and a curious, nautically themed uniform.

  “House Mariner,” Addy replied.

  “You’re sharp.”

  “Every person in the Combine should recognize House Mariner,” Addy protested.

  “Should,” Nate repeated.

  The students were arranged in formation, and only now did Addy realize that a second bus had fallen in with their motorcade during the drive. Dozens more students approached, joining their group. Few had any belongings, though a couple were out of uniform altogether, with sloppy work boots and denim jackets over tank tops.

  “Clannies,” Serrano mocked, eyeing the couple’s strange clothes.

  The two oddly-dressed students bristled at the jeer.

  “Clannies?” Addy whispered to Nate, who stood next to her.

  “That’s a clan patch on their jacket,” Nate replied, almost annoyed. His focus was on the guards and Lynette, who convened before their formation.

  Clannies, Addy thought. You rarely see people from the Clans this far south.

  A Primarchy sergeant called out to them, “By my command, atten-tion! Right—face! Forward—March!”

  The mass of students started marching. Though they came from different schools, most didn’t miss a beat, and slipped into the ordered rhythm of formation marching. Two, however, were out of step, drawing angry glares. It was the clannies again.

  Addy looked up at the yawning gulf of the Pit, and the blue sky, several hundred feet above. The height was dazzling.

  “Eyes forward!” the sergeant called, his thundering voice striking Addy, who locked her gaze ahead.

  “We’re no different here—you march at attention. That means eyes forward,” he explained.

  Addy felt slightly insulted, as the clannies were making a mockery of marching, though not a glance was spared for them.

  They were marched through two guard stations and halted outside a bank of glass doors. The words, “Intake Processing,” glowed ominously above the entryways.

  “We’re here at intake. It’s no different than at the airport. You will be scanned, and biometric measurements will be taken. Be prompt and polite and it will be over shortly,” the sergeant said.

  Their formation was split and they filed inside. A handful of guards looked aghast at the wave of students, who jammed the four checkpoints. More processing personnel were called, and the slog began.

  Addy was weighed, measured, had her blood sampled, answered questions about where she lived, the names of her parents, teachers, and even the names of a few of her barrack associates. Finally, she was scanned by at least three devices, though she was asked to pass through one at least four times, as the operators stared blankly at a glitching screen.

  Addy glanced at Nate, one line over. He gave her a pained eye roll. She smiled, but, before they waved her through a fifth time, an argument broke out at the next station.

  It struck Addy that she had never seen a security checkpoint catch someone. What would happen if they did?

  The argument grew as a student resisted an inspector who was interested in his shoes.

  “Take off your shoes, sir,” the inspector insisted once more, waving for assistance.

  “But the scanner said they were fine!”

  “They look bulky to me, and I’m using my prerogative.”

  Shockingly, the student ignored the inspector and cried out to the room, “They’ll never let you go! You have to fight—” He fumbled with his watch as the inspector tackled him. The student deftly elbowed and subdued the inspector before rolling away.

  “Just cooperate!” Nate cried out.

  The student’s watch hid a length of cable, which, to Addy’s horror, he used to strangle the inspector.

  Shocked, Nate stumbled backward over a rope barrier.

  Addy blinked, unbelieving.

  Screams filled the checkpoint. Several students ran for the doors but found them locked, as guards leveled their stun batons and charged into the mass.

  “They’ll never let you out!” the murderous student cried. His shirt nearly tore off in the struggle and he was stained with blood, his hands especially.

  Flechette fire pierced the air and doors shattered. A guard fell. Addy realized that several other students had drawn weapons, attacking the guards and inspectors.

  The murderous student approached her, somehow bearing a compact flechette pistol. “Are you Pershing?” he asked.

  Addy stood, shocked and silent, afraid that he would kill her.

  Nate slammed into the student and the two tumbled to the floor. Serrano leaped over a glass barrier, rushing to join the fight, but Addy saw the student leveling his pistol.

  He was strong and pulled away, training the weapon on Nate. Addy charged and kicked it from his hand; it went spinning under a scanning machine. Serrano piled on, but the student sharply elbowed Nate in the jaw and kicked Serrano in the crotch. The two crumpled.

  “On the ground!” came the voices of guards.

  Realizing that she had been standing the whole time, Addy gasped and dropped to the floor. She reached out for Nate, who was rattled from the blow. The murderous student ducked behind another x-ray machine. The whoosh of flechettes and the crash of shattering glass filled the checkpoint. Other pockets of violence filled her peripheral vision, but Addy focused on the student who had disabled Nate and Serrano. She could see him in the reflection of a glass barrie
r, still hunched behind the machine. He was fumbling with his shoe and pulling free something resembling a shiny, silver thermal blanket.

  Addy gawked, certain her eyes were playing tricks on her.

  A canister rolled across the floor.

  “Cover your eyes!” Serrano ordered.

  A flash and explosion dazzled them and, in moments, the stream of armed guards regained control.

  Addy looked back to the reflection, but the student was gone.

  “He’s back there!” Addy called to the swarming guards, pointing to the machine where he had, a moment ago, been crouching.

  They rounded the machine, their weapons leveled. There was only silence as they considered the machine. A pair glanced at their sergeant, who directed them further into the room.

  “Where did he go?” the sergeant asked, his voice metallic through the speaker.

  “He was right there,” Addy said, getting to her knees and peeking around the corner. All she saw was a small pool of blood.

  Addy and the others were forced to sit still as paramedics arrived, hauling off the dead and severely wounded, before tending to the rest. Addy, Nate, and Serrano leaned against the bloody machine as the minutes wore on.

  “I can’t believe they’re keeping us here,” someone muttered nearby.

  “What’s to say more of us aren’t infiltrators?” Serrano replied, before repeating his tale of shoulder-checking and downing the one who garroted an inspector to death.

  Nate elbowed Addy and pointed to the floor.

  “What?”

  “That drop of blood. Was it there a second ago?” he whispered.

  Addy, still shaking from the shock of violence, considered it, but one drop of blood looked much like the puddles.

  Then, as she stared, another appeared, a few feet closer to the doors. Addy blinked.

  Serrano bellowed a laugh as he invented a new detail with which to bore the others. Addy thought that his bloody lip, suffering loud guffaws, was the probable culprit of sudden flying blood.

  Nate saw the motion of her eyes and put the same together. He huffed and scooted closer to Addy.

  “At least the floor is clean—well, it was, before all that,” he muttered, leaning as far back as he could and closing his eyes.