The Nethers

by M. E. Parker

  The twins, huddled up behind him, shivering in their sleep, reminded him that he was not alone as he pedaled faster to keep warm. Every time he thought of Te Yah, his mind filled in scenes of what Megan would do, or already had done, to him. Each time he pushed the pedal around, his knees ached more. He thought of Te Yah. When his legs lost their drive, he thought of Te Yah.

  He maintained the rickshaw’s speed until the sun rose, and he came upon an unexpected sight—Megan and her drudgers. Unable to outrun her pursuers, she had rallied her forces to defend their high position at the top of the ridge, to face Jonesbridge head on, and return to Megan’s Point with the prize of the Nethers. Myron had prepared to pedal all the way to Megan’s Point. Now he needed a new strategy, to rescue Te Yah before the old man took a stray bullet in the impending fight.

  Myron stopped the rickshaw and dismounted. He gave the sleeping twins a gentle nudge. Their eyes opened at the same time. They yawned, one after the other, as Myron led them to a ditch beside the road where he hoped to formulate a plan.

  He peeked over the edge of the pavement to see Megan striking a regal pose on the bed of her overloader, her thick mane of hair trailing behind her like a battle flag held on the breeze. Her hair was one thing she cared about. In her chamber he’d watched her brush it for an hour, gazing at it in her mirror, braiding and unbraiding it, pulling it up and letting it down. It might provide enough distraction for Myron to make his move.

  From the tools in the refuser’s bag, Myron dug out a knife with a bone handle and a whetstone. He sharpened the blade until he could shave the fine hairs from his arm. He pointed at Megan and faced the twins, pretending to grab a handful of hair behind his head. With the knife in his other hand, he made a shearing motion. “Cut her hair.”

  Gah-té reached for the knife. “Cut.” She stabbed at the air.

  “The hair.” Then the thought occurred to him—why not let the twins run Megan through with the blade if they could get close enough to cut her hair? Doing so would save countless future victims from her bloody games. But one drudger he hadn’t seen stepped up beside Megan, joined by three others that climbed aboard her overloader. “No, wait. That’s a bad plan.” Myron took the knife back from Gah-té.

  “Bad plan,” Mah-ré repeated.

  Megan had a fleet of bicycle chariots in her caravan but only four power trucks. Those needed steam. Steam required water. He fished out two adjustable wrenches from the refuser’s tool bag. Myron explained the plan to the twins the best way he could without words, by drawing in the dirt.

  Each with a wrench in hand, Gah-té gave Mah-ré a slight shrug as they looked at each other, studying one another’s reaction to Myron’s instructions. “Got it?” He nodded toward them, hoping for a confirmation that they understood, but the twins offered only an impassive stare.

  As Megan and her drudgers dug in to defend their prize, Myron took a deep breath and gave the signal, a sideways nod toward the caravan. Mah-ré and Gah-té slipped off toward the overloaders. Their ragged black hair whipped behind them like ripped burlap in the wind. Their stealth amazed Myron. They were no more noticed than a feather falling onto a pond.

  Gah-té crawled under Megan’s vehicle and positioned herself on her back to tighten the pressure relief valve. Myron hoped this would trigger the safety stop and disengage the drive temporarily. Mah-ré headed for the other vehicles to open the drain valve on the water tanks.

  The rumble of Alliance forces from Jonesbridge sounded from the other side of the ridge. As Mah-ré sneaked to the adjacent overloader, Myron noted the steady flow of water from the tank where she’d loosened the drain, making him confident she understood the procedure. On her third and final vehicle, Mah-ré turned the wrench.

  “They’re coming,” Megan yelled. “Let’s send those taint sniffers straight to the Chasm.” She gave the signal for her drudgers to flank the Jonesbridge forces as they emerged over the ridge. The drivers struggled to engage their vehicles. When nobody took their positions, Megan screamed, “What are you waiting for? Go!”

  “No steam!”

  She looked to the other overloaders.

  “None here.”

  “Nope.” He shook his head.

  Megan engaged her vehicle. It responded with a jerk and came to a stop. Her face reddened. “Come on.” Her plea was drowned by the rumble of the Jonesbridge forces breaching the ridge. She waved for all her drudgers to join her in a new plan of attack, to lie in wait, leaving the power pack as bait, to ambush Jonesbridge forces when they tried to take it.

  As soon as Megan left her vehicle, Myron gave Gah-té the signal. She turned the wrench to reenable the relief valve and climbed on board. Myron ran to Megan’s vehicle, which held both the power source and Te Yah. He waved Mah-ré on as she raced to join him.

  Myron pulled the steam lever. He awaited the whoosh of the pressure release and maneuvered the gear to forward drive, open fully to achieve top speed.

  With her eye on the ridge ahead, Megan turned and screamed when she heard the sounds of steam. She grabbed four of her drudgers and ran for her prize, slowing down only to take aim at Myron. “The only good slog is a dead slog!” she yelled as shot scattered against the back of the vehicle. Her bullets pinged against the fenders, ricocheting off the armor.

  In the chaos, the Alliance troops overran the drudgers that remained. The Jonesbridge forces sped past Megan, pursuing Myron for the power source. Myron puttered over the hill, putting distance between himself and Megan, but the only way to escape the Jonesbridge forces, who drove vehicles as fast as or faster than his, was to cede the Thor XDS portable reactor to the orange shirts, leaving the Great Above to weep for their enemies.

  Myron drove until he could hear the pursuing overloaders behind him. He stopped the vehicle, hoisted Te Yah over his shoulder, and made a run for the top of the next hill with the twins gasping behind him, trying to keep up.

  Myron carried Te Yah on his back, the old man’s arms locked around Myron’s neck, his legs wrapped around Myron’s waist. When Gah-té collapsed beside him, Myron handed Te Yah’s cane to Mah-ré and tucked her twin under his arm. He toted both of them, which slowed his pace from a jog to a stumble up the hill.

  Behind him, orange shirts cheered.

  When Myron saw that the Alliance troops were content with commandeering the power source and had no more yearning to bag and swat people, he fell under the weight of this passengers and caught his breath, unable to run any more.

  Te Yah rolled off of Myron’s back with a moan. His lips puckered around his gums as he labored to speak. “Thank you for sparing me—the spectacle of death at the hands of Megan.” Te Yah felt for Myron’s hand and guided it to his abdomen, which seeped blood from a deep wound. “Leave me now to die here in peace on the hillside—under the sun.” He lifted his hand to Myron’s face and turned toward the warmth of the sun. “I’m afraid I was wrong…about you. We…could’ve used a man like you in Mesa Gap.”

  Myron placed Te Yah’s cane across his chest. “I can carry you. I know I can.”

  “No. It is time for me to go. Chooli will lead the Gapi into a new age.” He aimed his ear toward the sounds of the orange shirts. “Jonesbridge has the reactor?”

  “Yes.” Myron watched the overloaders putter away down the gulley back toward the highway.

  “The Alliance. The E’sters. The Gapi. We all do what we think we must. Megan does what she does from vanity. She would use the power pack for sport, but the pools of blood would run no farther than the outskirts of the Nethers. With power like that, I fear the Alliance will awaken a sleeping bear that the men of the Old Age unleashed upon the world.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Te Yah turned his head and stopped breathing.

  Myron studied the old man’s face as his spirit left him, the folds in the skin around his eyes, the wrinkles above his lips where the flesh loosened from having no teeth underneath. He closed Te Yah’s eyes, imagining what bitt
er organs they were for a man who could not use them, the pale stare that offered nothing but mystery.

  The ceremony in Richterville, when the village doyen died, reminded Myron of the importance of history and age. The story board, with its carvings, kept their legacies alive. Te Yah was himself a story board. A man who had never seen the world knew more of what it looked like than anyone. Thinking about the first question Te Yah had asked him that night by the fire pit, Myron wondered what animal Te Yah carried. In Myron’s mind Te Yah carried them all—the wolf, the bear, the owl, the eagle, the snake—and the elephant. With help from the twins, Myron placed rocks around and over Te Yah’s body, marking the spot of his burial with his cane.

  “I see you over there! My piñata!”

  Megan’s voice startled Myron from his quiet thoughts. He looked up to see her and her four remaining drudgers on the other side of the gulley. Images of her entertainments and midnight rituals and the power she wielded threw his judgment off course. He nudged the twins to run, knowing that it would take Megan some time to cross the gulley. He ran behind them.

  Megan watched for a moment as the power source she’d risked everything for disappeared in the distance. She stumbled down though the ravine, running faster than Myron would have thought she could for her consolation prize.

  He and the twins ran with abandon, knowing the drudgers would soon be in range unless they maintained their speed. Their muscles cramping and with little energy left to run, they crested the hill to a sight Myron had only seen in dreams. An airship against the afternoon sky cast a shadow across his path.

  “They did it!” He grabbed the twins’ hands, raising them skyward. “They really did it!”

  “Myron!” Sindra waved from the pilot’s seat. “We’re coming down.”

  “Megan’s right behind me!” Myron yelled back. He had envisioned the airship, but Ren had made it possible. His grandfather would have been impressed by the solid construction. From this view, every detail rang true to his specification. So taken by the sight of it, Myron didn’t realize he’d slowed down until he saw the twins already at the airship, Rounder’s arm extending to lift them on board.

  Myron looked back and stumbled as the drudgers jogged over the top of the hill. They fired two shots. The shrapnel fell short of Myron. Two other drudgers fired at the airship. Some glass and metal tinged off the airship frame, but not with enough force to do damage. Rounder stoked the fire to gain altitude.

  “Come on, Myron!” Sindra yelled.

  Rounder lowered the mooring rope. It dangled from the airship, which continued to rise. The drudgers stopped to reload. Myron’s legs ached. He ran for the rope, but it hung in the sky beyond his reach. He gazed upward. Sindra’s face came in and out of focus with the sun behind her. Again he watched her as she rose in a flying machine without him, pursued by armed madmen. This time, he would take the bullets, the shrapnel to the face, and join Te Yah in a pile of rocks on the hillside rather than come so close again—but the rope lowered.

  “I’m coming, Myron,” Sindra called.

  He grabbed the rope. His extra weight yanked the airship down as he tried to hang on. Rounder turned the diverter so that the heat went into the balloon and stoked the fire. Myron wrapped the rope around his hand, holding tight as he rose, an inch, a foot, the height of three men standing on top of each other. Seeing the rocks and hills grow smaller beneath him distracted him from Megan’s curses that the wind carried away.

  Rounder pulled as Myron climbed until he reached the frame and slid into the seat over the last open set of pedals. The earth spread out in all directions, bringing memories of his grandfather and his gift of flight.

  Myron’s stomach reeled at the view with nothing more than pedals and a seat separating him from a fall from the clouds.

  “We did it, Myron. We finally did it.” Sindra started to untie her harness. “Here, you drive.”

  “No. You’re a natural.” He thought Sindra was the right person to sit in the pilot’s seat. She had a steady hand and knack for the movement of the air.

  “Which way do we go?” Sindra steadied the rudder levers as everyone drove the propeller by pedaling harder.

  In Richterville, as a kid, Myron’s world had consisted of the Alliance, which governed everything he knew, and the E’sters that encompassed everything else. He didn’t pretend to understand the complexities of politics and the competitions between rival alliances, but Te Yah had been an ambassador of peace. Out here in the Nethers, he’d seen that there was still more in the world than he’d ever imagined, renewing his hope of finding Bora Bora. But first, they would have to find Sindra’s baby in Orkin’s Landing, which sat at the edge of the sunset on the coast of the Great Western Ocean.

  As the afternoon yielded to evening, Myron pointed toward the western horizon. “Follow the sun.”

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