by J. Thorn
“People. I saw pictures of… other people.”
“Yeah, about them.” Gabe rubbed his face. “Not everything the Family has told you is true. Well, hardly anything at all, as it happens. There’s a few survivors out here. Ya gonna meet some real soon. ’Specially now you handled the alarm system. I’m impressed, man. That was slick. Ya picking this up quickly.”
“Who are we going to see?” Gerry asked.
“Some old buddies of a sort. Reload your gun. Ya know, just in case.”
Petal took a piece of brain fragment from the corpse and tossed it against the filament fence. It just hit the wires and fell to the ground.
“It’s all safe. We need to get going. I don’t think I’ve got much time.”
Gerry reloaded his gun from the ammo pack in his bag. As they moved towards the fence, he bent and picked up the heavy shotgun from the guard and placed it in his bag. He wasn’t sure whether it would be any use without more shells, and he had little time to search for them, but it couldn’t hurt to take it with them just in case.
Gabriel bent over, stepped through the gap in the wire fence, and Gerry and Petal followed. Up ahead on the horizon a rust-red cloud billowed up. A low growling noise rumbled on the wind.
Gerry turned to Petal, who was now moving much slower, wincing at each step. “That your friends?” He pointed to the scenes of movement ahead.
Petal nodded. “Kinda.” She extended the chromed spike from her palm and gritted her teeth. “Just watch your back, Gez. These aren’t the same as the people back in City Earth.”
“Got it.”
“Seriously,” Petal said. “Out here things ain’t so polite. You ain’t got security looking out for you either. It’s like the Wild West, Gez.”
Gabe continued to walk onwards, setting a quick pace. They travelled for fifteen minutes until the cloud was no more than a few hundred metres away. The small, squat buildings Gerry saw before now held more detail.
Plates of metal, wood, and wire mesh covered their surface. Spikes the size of a man extended out from their perimeter. A fence stretched for half a kilometre either side of this makeshift town. A tall gate sat in the middle—partially open.
From the gap, a series of vehicles, bikes, trikes, and large-wheeled buggies streamed out. Their drivers wore little apart from partial furs and goggles.
Gerry swallowed, wanting to wash it down with the water Gabe had brought, but realised he’d only been out of the Dome for a short while and the others showed no sign of needing refreshment. He didn’t want to look so weak so soon.
The sun bore down on him, seemingly cooking his skin to a crisp. How Gabriel could suffer wearing his leather duster coat, Gerry had no idea. He’d taken off his own coat as soon as they got through the fence and rolled his sleeves up to his shoulders, yet he was still sweating as if in a sauna.
“Hot for spring,” Gerry said.
“It ain’t usual,” Petal said. “Make the most of it. Usually it’s just cold and dry.”
Petal held up her hand to shield the light from her goggles and stared out at the oncoming cavalcade.
He didn’t like the silence from Gabe or Petal. Both just stared right ahead, watching the group of survivors get closer. Gerry wondered what to call them. Were they survivors? Was their little town a country or city of its own? Who ruled over it? How did they grow food? Myriad questions flowed through his mind as he attempted to beat down the nerves that grew more strained as they drew ever closer. He asked the questions to Petal, wanting to break the tense silence that had built up.
Petal turned to Gerry. “They call themselves Bachians. Bachia was a province in this area many decades ago. They’re small provincials with smaller minds.”
“You said they were your buddies?”
“Hah, that was Gabe. He was being sarcastic. Our last interaction with them wasn’t so good. As for food, it’s like most of us out here: soy protein and occasionally corn. Few crops grow, or survive, for long in the poisoned soil. It’s getting better, though. The soy filters out a lot of the heavy metals and radiation. There’s all kinds of recipes now.”
“Sounds, erm… nice.”
“It’s shit for the most part,” Petal said. “Sometimes we get lucky and find some of the freeze-dried ration packs on our travels. Usually we just steal food from the Dome, as do the Bachians.”
Gerry raised an eyebrow, questioning.
“Yeah, that’s where they get a lot of their resources. Tunnels, Gez. And like I said before, the Family tolerate them to a degree.”
Gerry wanted to probe her for more information, but she cut off as they came closer. Finally, she said, “We’ll need their help. Old Grey’s in their possession.”
“Old Grey?”
Petal nodded, displaying her lupine smile. “You’ll fill your pants when you get a load of Old Grey. She’s been around longer than all of us. Well, apart from Gabe, that is. Never met anyone or anything older than him.” She cackled as Gabe turned his head at the sound of her voice.
“So who is this Old Grey? A survivor from before the Cataclysm?”
“Kinda. It’s a computer. An ancient AI-based server with a hard-on for malicious code. It’s where I unload my storage. She’s super rare. These Bachians worship her like a god.”
Gerry thought of the possibilities: if this computer was as old as Petal said, it would have petabytes of information about the world before the Cataclysm, before the Family and the building of City Earth. “Can you get access to its data storage?”
“Haha, you’re a funny guy, Gez. I admire your ambition. Nah, Old Grey is tight as a gnat’s ass. Access to her is tightly controlled.”
“What about remote access?”
Petal stopped, pulling at Gerry’s elbow. “Why’re you so interested?”
“I want the truth. What you and Gabe have highlighted for me recently is just how much bullshit we’ve been fed by the Family. Despite City Earth supposedly being a utopia, it seems someone is desperate to bring it down. I’d like to know why.” If he could find out what happened, maybe he could understand the Family. Understand their control. At the heart of that was another central question that he often wondered about. Who was he, really?
“Well, I’m all for shady shenanigans, but if you’re planning anything, wait until I’ve downloaded all this crap. I don’t want to be cut off mid-dump.”
“Eloquent.”
“I mean it, Gez. I get you’re angry and want answers, but be patient, yeah?”
“Sure. I’m sorry. This is all new to me. I’m just trying to find my bearings.”
“Come on. Let’s go meet some Bachians. And a dear old enemy. You think your mind is blown now, wait till you meet Bilanko. She’s the guardian of Old Grey. Freaks me out every time we have to meet her. Assuming she’s still there.”
“Why’s that such a problem? Move around much, does she?”
“Yup. Never in the same place for more than a few days. Always seeking information, bartering, dealing, analysing.”
The sound of their engines grew above Petal’s voice. Vibrations from their movement juddered through the ground and up into Gerry’s legs. How could they stand the noise and the dust? It was a far cry from the clean, quiet, electric vehicles back home. And yet, despite that, there was something alluring about the smoke-belching, loud, rough machines. It was a display of power that you just don’t get with the cold efficiency of electric.
“How are they fuelling the engines?” Gerry asked.
“H-core, Gez. Altered hydrogen fuel cells taken from the electric vehicles that got screwed up in the EMP. That and a highly unstable mix of fermented soy oil. Not many vehicles around anymore, at least not ones that are serviceable. Too many dead electronics, you see. What’s left are make-dos like the Bachia stuff here. Further afi
eld I saw a few aircraft and trucks. Most of them were fixed and repaired, running off hydrogen fuel. The Bachian’s have got a small refinery they use to get hydrogen from rain.”
“What rain?” Gerry asked, surveying the dry, cracked earth for as far as he could see. It clearly hadn’t rained in some time.
“Exactly,” Petal said. “Hence why this lot don’t travel very far, and why in general there’s so few vehicles. Commodities, Gez, they are rare. Or at least the ones that can’t be stolen from the Family.”
“So how they get water?”
“There’s a few wells. Most settlements are usually around them. It’s like the old days back in Africa. We go where the water is—or where we’re not likely to get killed. They purify it here, too. Carbon filters and a natural trap with soy plants to take out the dangerous stuff.”
Gerry could already feel his throat getting dry.
The group of vehicles, ten of them in total, pulled up a few feet from Gabriel, who was now some ten metres or so ahead of Gerry and Petal. Gerry wanted to speed up and make ground, but Petal was slowing down, stumbling, and he couldn’t leave her behind. Gabe had seemingly trusted Gerry to look after her as he met with the group first.
A wiry, bald man hopped out of the cage that surrounded his buggy. His ragged and dusty leather jerkin flapped in the wind. He wiped the red dirt from his goggles and grinned as he stretched out a hand to Gabriel.
Gabe slapped it away with his left hand and punched the man in the face, splitting his nose with a vicious right jab.
A whoop of cheers and laughter erupted from the group.
Gerry and Petal caught up with Gabe and stood by his side as he spoke to the group.
“I’ve got two thousand bins for the first person to give me their vehicle and the address of Bilanko Barnabas.”
The goggled heads turned to each other while the man on the ground rolled over onto his back with a grimace. He spat out a tooth and a gob of blood before speaking. “Gabriel, old pal, old chum, why didn’t you just say that’s what you wanted? I’d have been more than willing to—”
Gabriel kicked the man in the ribs. A loud crack sounded, and the man yelped.
Reaching out, Gerry grabbed Gabriel by the shoulder. “Gabe, what’s going on?”
“It’s okay, now, man. I’ve got this.”
“Don’t interfere, Gez,” Petal said. “There’s bad blood here.”
“Well? I’m waiting,” Gabe said to the gang. “Either you take my generous offer or Spitty here ceases to be one of your number.”
None of the group spoke. Some looked away while others looked at each other, confused.
There was movement from the back of the pack. A woman in tall boots and a fur skirt sauntered to the front between the vehicles. She carried a blade as long as her leg in her gloved right hand. A chain mail guard covered her shoulder and upper arm.
“Two thou’ you say?” She flicked her short-cropped dark hair from her face, exposing almond-shaped brown eyes, which narrowed as she examined Gabe. Her hips pushed out in a provocative stance. “That all you got, Mr Techxorcist Man?”
“Hmm. Maybe for you, I’ve got a little something extra—if you can get me to Bilanko right away without any pissing about.”
“Aye. I can do that. Fastest trike this side of the Sludge. Show me your goods first, ol’ man.”
“What’s ya name?”
“What the hell is it to you?”
“I like to know who I’m dealing with, is all.”
She flicked her hair and flared her nostrils. “Cheska.”
“Okay, Cheska.” Gabe reached into the interior pocket of his jacket and pulled out a ten-centimetre-long DigiCard with three small holes in a triangle formation at one edge.
“This card is loaded with three thousand bins. It’s yours if we move right now. If not, ya gonna have to find this kinda cash elsewhere.”
Gabe stared her down. She stepped casually from one foot to the other, weighing up her decision. While she was deciding, the man crawling on the ground holding his ribs moaned as Gabe prodded him with a boot.
Gerry turned to Petal and whispered, “What’s the deal with that guy?”
Petal cupped her hand around his ear and whispered in turn. “Last time we were here, he tried to catch Gabe in a viral net.”
“What does that do?” Gerry asked.
“Uploads malicious code direct to the cortex interface via the Meshwork. It’d put Gabe out of action for good. Look, being a Techxorcist is a precious commodity around these parts, and some nefarious hackers would rather there weren’t one for hire. You’re gonna need to learn to use that gun and protect yourself. This is the Wild West, Doc.”
“You’re a weird one, you know that?” Gerry said, smiling in spite of himself.
There was something about her, something fragile, wise. In some situations she reminded him of his eldest daughter, or his wife when he first met her. He pushed the thought away, not wanting to go there just yet. It was too raw. The tension was high enough already without him reminiscing.
Everyone waited in silence for the sword-woman to make up her mind.
She looked down at the writhing man. His skin was caked with red-brown dust. With a single stab, she drove the sword through his neck, slicing his carotid artery. Blood spurted a few feet in the air and covered her chest and shoulders. She turned to the stunned onlookers. “This is my operation now, you understand?”
To a woman and man, they nodded.
“Good,” she said with a smirk. “I hated that piece of filth anyway, with his greasy little grabby hands and bent cock. You’ve done me a bit of a favour there, ol’ man. You lot, come with me. You’ve got some cash to deliver, and I know where Bilanko’s holing up. I’ll warn you now. She ain’t in no good mood. Damned drones been attacking all weekend long.”
“Drones?” Gerry asked.
Cheska stepped to the side of Gabe and regarded Gerry with a ‘who the hell are you’ look.
“Got yourselves a new baby?”
“Mind your own damned business,” Petal replied as she stepped forward, shoulders wide, legs planted.
Cheska laughed, turned her back, and beckoned them to follow.
Petal turned to Gerry.
“City Earth occasionally sends out UAV drones to keep places like these under control. Like flocks of birds, but with hi-res cameras, integrated VPNs, and weaponry.”
“What kind of weaponry?” Gerry scanned the dark skyline, expecting to see dark assassins flitting between the clouds.
“Lasers, particle beams, graphene-tipped ammunition… there’s a bunch of different models.”
Gerry shook his head. “Great. This place just gets better and better.”
Gabe sat with Cheska in her vehicle. He turned to regard Petal. “Okay to drive you and Gez?”
“Sure,” she said, grabbing Gerry’s hand and pulling him to the now-vacant buggy.
Gerry hopped in and sat next to Petal as she took the wheel and stomped the throttle. The vehicle lurched forward with a roar of internal combustion, sending a plume of red dust in its wake. Gerry whooped and laughed at the madness of the situation. He felt free and alive, and for a brief moment he forgot who he was. But with all things that are forgotten, the memories have a habit of coming back.
His family, his life, his job—everything gone. But for that short moment it didn’t matter.
The journey to the ramshackle town lasted just a few minutes as they powered on through the scrap metal gates. Following the lead of the woman, Petal pulled the buggy up at a slightly less battered building with a sign on the front: The Spider’s Byte.
The leader of the gang jumped off her trike and strode towards the door. Gabe followed.
She whispered something, and Gabe
passed her the card.
“Okay, suckers, Bilanko’s in the back room. Good luck. I hope you come out alive. Mama always needs more bins.” She winked at Gabe and headed off.
Gabe looked at Gerry. “Arm up, man. This place is volatile.”
***
The bar’s palpable darkness shrouded the three of them as they entered the building. The bright, dry atmosphere of the desertlike exterior seemed so far away now, as if in another dimension altogether. Gerry didn’t know what the rules were here. Didn’t know if physics were the same. What was the right etiquette? A feeling of being on that razor’s edge of doing or saying something extremely dumb overwhelmed him entirely.
“What are we looking for, exactly?” Gerry said to Gabe, trying to calm his nerves.
“Bilanko, of course. You don’t listen very well, do ya, man?”
“I know that. I mean, what or who is she? I can’t see anything in here.”
“Just chill ya bones, man. Take it easy and follow my lead.”
To see Gabe and Petal shrink into themselves, become as non-threatening as possible, wasn’t a sign that this place was a safe haven filled with people full of bon vivant and good intentions.
Beady, glowing eyes emerged from the gloom and struck Gerry in a series of non-blinking stares. The people to whom these augmented eyes belonged stayed deep in the shadows of their upholstered cubicles. Shot glasses of neon blue liquids littered their round metal tables.
Wheeze, clank, wheeze, clank.
The sound of a hundred shadowy patrons shooting their drinks and slamming the glasses to the table in unison created a kind of death march. Not one voice. Not one greeting. Even the bartender stood motionless with a filthy rag in one hand and a curved dagger in the other—laid casually on the rusted metal bar top as if to say, ‘Here’s my knife. It’s in its happy place right now, but it won’t hesitate to cut you.’
