by J. C. Staudt
“Any chance you might be able to draw me a map?” I asked.
Maude chuckled. “A map of the whole system? From memory? You’d be better off going in blind.”
“I’m starting to think that might be our only option.”
“I’d hurry up, if I were you. These rains are liable to fill the access tunnels to bursting.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means… if you can’t swim, you ought to learn how pretty quick.”
I took off my backpack, which was now wet and still full of Chaz’s mechanical components. I had foreseen us wading through some pretty high water, but I hadn’t bet on an outright swim. I didn’t care if my augmentation compartments got wet. I just couldn’t let the contents of that backpack get damaged.
“Maybe there’s another way you can help me,” I said. “I have to bring some sensitive items to the palace with me—” I patted the backpack, “—and they won’t last long underwater. These are very important to the success of the mission. They’re going to help us take back the Regency.”
“Explosives, huh?” said Jack, eyeing me with suspicion.
I looked at him. “No.”
Maude thought for a moment. “Follow me. I may have something that’ll work.”
I followed her down the hallway and into the kitchen, where she opened a cupboard and reached up to the top shelf and pulled down a pair of empty mason jars. “Will these work?”
Genius, I thought. If her husband hadn’t been standing behind me holding a loaded gun, I could’ve hugged her. “Yeah, I think they will.”
“How big are these items?” she asked.
“Different sizes,” I said. I opened the backpack and showed her a few of the components. There was a neurostriker, a thermocouple, a transmission circuit, a coil of copper wire, a metallicizer, two range processors, a small induction motor, a miniature solenoid, and several magnets. “How many jars do you have?”
She stood on her tiptoes to grab a second pair of jars, then a third. “Looks like there are six of them.”
“That should do it,” I said. I emptied the contents of the backpack onto the counter. The two of us spent a few minutes figuring out the best way to cram everything into the jars while Jack stood guard. Once the lids were twisted on tight, I loaded the bag with my glass-encased goods and slung it onto my back. “Thank you for these. I feel better about our chances already.”
“Certainly,” she said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to help.”
“Any tips you could give me for navigating the sewers would go a long way.”
“Well,” she said, “it’s true what they say: it flows downhill, if you catch my drift. On Roathea, downhill means northward. So generally speaking, all the interceptors run south to north. There are exceptions, of course. The smaller trunks and mains run every which way, so if you plan on heading south, you’re going to run into branch tributaries too small to fit through.”
I didn’t understand half the words she’d just said, so I tried a narrower approach. “So if I’m headed to the palace from here, I want to go… northwest, I guess?”
“There’s where things get convoluted,” she said. “I wouldn’t trust myself to give you good directions without knowing the whole system by heart, which I must admit I do not. There are lots of twists and turns between here and there. On the positive side, there’s lots of different ways to get there. To the contrary, there are many more ways not to.”
“So I have to just sort of… guess?”
Maude sighed. “Let me see if I can draw you a rough sketch of the interceptors—those are the biggest tunnels of all, where all the other tunnels run into. If this is the city, here…” She grabbed a pencil and flipped a mailing envelope onto its backside. There she drew a many-sided polygon that represented a basic outline of the capital city. Then she added two dots, one for her house and the other for the palace. A series of thick-leaded lines stood for the big interceptor tunnels, she explained, and a few thinner ones showed the outfall pipes which allowed water to drain off Roathea’s underside during periods of wet weather. “As long as you stay away from the edge and make sure you don’t get swept downstream, these outflows are nothing to worry about. Otherwise, they’re the quickest way to the Churn.”
She intersected the larger lines with smaller ones wherever she could remember the location of a sewer main or a trunk line. When she had finished drawing and handed me the envelope, the map was still too rudimentary to provide me with anything beyond a general idea of where I needed to go. There were no street signs below ground, she reminded me.
“Whatever route we take, it’s got to be quick. But I’d settle for a longer route that involves less of me swimming through human waste,” I told her.
She chuckled. “If you stick to the bigger tunnels, you shouldn’t have to do any swimming at all, unless the rains get so bad the system floods out.”
“How much rain does it take to flood the system?”
“Honestly? Not much.”
“Fantastic.” I thanked her for the help, then thanked Jack for not killing me. I said it was about time I got back in touch with the marshals, so I’d better go.
“Would you like me to take you downstairs so you can use the front door this time?” Maude asked.
“That’s alright,” I said. “I’ll just go out the way I came in.”
“How about a raincoat? You look like you could use one.”
“It’s okay, really. I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Oh, not in the least,” she said. “I think we still have Michael’s old one in the closet somewhere. Don’t we, Jack?”
“I reckon we do,” said Jack.
“Now you wait right there and I’ll be back in a jiffy,” Maude said before she shuffled down the stairs.
A minute later, I had disguised myself as a gigantic rubber lemon and was inching toward the window to escape Maude’s continued offers of aid and nourishment. I could’ve gone for another sandwich like the one Buncheon had made me the day before, but I was more hurried than I was hungry. “Thanks again for everything,” I said.
“Good luck,” said Maude. “Make sure you pull your hood up before you go out.”
“Give ‘em hell,” Jack added, giving his blunderbuss a vigorous shake. I could tell how much he wanted to use the thing. I only hoped it would be enough to protect them if the robots ever came knocking. I’ll shut the legions down before that ever happens, I promised.
I climbed out through the window and into the pouring rain, the jacket’s hood snug around my big head. Against the house’s brick wall, I stood out like a corn cob in a mud puddle. I waddled down the fire escape stairs, my backpack bouncing and clinking all the way. When I was on the ground again, I ducked beneath the stoop and called Yingler on the comm.
“Where are you?”
“Nice to hear from you, too. I’m just leaving Maude Fitzsimmons’s house now. Where are you?”
“On a rooftop somewhere, trying to keep Berryman alive.”
“Is everyone with you?”
“Not even close. We lost Pearson and Zilch back in the square. Minoe and Jigson are here, but Roper’s still missing. He set up on a different rooftop and we haven’t been able to get in touch with him.”
“I saw someone shooting from a church tower beside the square,” I told him. “Bet you that was where Roper set up. How’s Berryman?”
“Bad. He took a flecker round in the neck. We’ve stopped the bleeding, but he’s too weak to move.”
“What a disaster,” I muttered. “Are you still on the same roof where Berryman was set up?”
“Yeah. You need to get over here. Help us round everybody up.”
I checked both ways down the alleyway, thinking quickly. I didn’t want to leave them like this, with so many of our team unaccounted for. But without a map, I’d only be bringing them along on what was sure to be a lengthy, unpleasant slog through the city’s maze-like underbelly. I knew it was a stupid idea t
o go alone while the water level was rising; if I got trapped down there, it would be weeks before anyone found me. But as usual, I was too stubborn to care about an insignificant little thing like my own safety.
“Listen, Yingler,” I said. “I need you guys to hold tight where you are. See what you can do about gathering everybody up in one place. Stick to the rooftop and wait for my call.”
“What are you doing, Muller?” There was a cautionary tone in Yingler’s voice.
“Making sure no one else gets hurt,” I said. “Or trying to.”
“Muller! Don’t you do—”
I hung up.
The comm started to ring again as I stepped out from beneath the stoop and headed off down the alley. I shoved it into my pocket. When I came to the street, I turned right, my best estimation of the direction in which the city center lay. The nearest sewer entrance was anyone’s guess, so I hugged my backpack’s shoulder straps and jogged, looking for a grate or manhole cover. Pedestrians, defying the synod’s orders to stay in their homes, bustled through the streets as I made my way past dozens of tall rowhouses like the one the Fitzsimmonses lived in.
The rain was coming in waves, moving from shower to all-out downpour and back again. My backpack was soaked, but it gave me peace of mind to know the components inside were sealed in those jars. Even though I would never have thought to bring a raincoat, I was glad to have one now.
I spotted a manhole cover in the street ahead and ran down the sidewalk until I came alongside it. Then I played it casual; I wanted to wait until the street was clear before I made a break for it. Traffic was light, but no opportunity presented itself for several minutes. Every time I thought the coast was clear, a motorcar, horse and buggy, or pedestrian would pop into sight from around a corner. When my chance finally came, I stepped off the curb only to be yanked backward by the straps.
“What the—” I spun, assuming this was a thief trying to make off with my backpack. But when I turned to face my assailant, I found not one, but two Civs standing there.
“You ought to get your ears checked,” Zilch said.
“We’ve been calling your name since way back there,” said Pearson, gesturing.
“How did you find me?”
“Uh… we came to the address Kupfer gave us. Saw you leaving the place from a few blocks down and came after you.”
“Are you kidding me? It took me forever to find that house.”
“We stopped and asked for directions.”
“Yeah, well… I didn’t have that luxury. Those robots are everywhere, and they know my face.”
“You heard from Yingler?” Zilch asked. “We lost our comm during the fight.”
“Yeah, I just talked to him. He says Berryman’s in bad shape.”
“He hit?” Zilch asked.
I nodded. “They’re all up on that big house where Berryman was perched. You guys should go back to the square and find them. I’ll bluewave Yingler and let him know you’re alright.”
“Hold on a minute,” said Zilch. “Where are you going?”
“To finish this thing,” I said.
“You were eyeing that manhole cover in the street there,” said Pearson.
“Yeah, I was. That’s my doorway to the underworld. So long, fellas. My river of refuse awaits.”
Zilch shook his head. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re coming back with us. Cap’n Kupfer says…” His voice broke off.
I studied him for a second. “What? What does Captain Kupfer say? That I’m not to be left alone? That I’m not to be trusted?”
“He says we stick together. We take care of our own.”
“Well, I’m not one of your own. And every second I wait brings the Regent and my friends closer to death. I’m doing this, whether you keep up with me or not.” In my haste, I turned and stepped off the curb without looking both ways. What happened next would’ve made my parents cringe to see that early childhood lesson gone for naught.
A motorcar’s horn blared in my ears, headlights flashing through the rain. The sharp chrome grill battered my hip, tossing me over the hood. My body slammed into the windshield and twisted away like a man-sized mosquito. I had no awareness of ground or gravity until I came down. When I did, I hit hard.
I landed on the cobblestones several yards away. The driver was standing over me, the door of his vehicle flung open and the motor still running. Pearson and Zilch were there too, asking if I was alright. I told them I most definitely wasn’t. Something was wrong. My spine felt like it had caved in.
When I sat up, I heard the tinkle of broken glass behind me. I reached around for the backpack, my broken arm smarting with new pain. Lifting the bag’s flap revealed that it was not my spine that had caved in after all. Two of the six jars had shattered, while a large crack ran down the side of a third. The rain began to pelt the wreckage, forcing me to close the flap and prevent any further damage.
As they helped me to my feet, I felt another twinge of pain in my arm. I looked down to find the car’s hood ornament poking out below my elbow. It had pierced the raincoat, and I could feel it sticking through the plaster cast. The contrast of blue-violet blood on the yellow raincoat was startling. The rain diluted each new trickle of blood as it came. As if in tandem, the medallion began to numb my pain as soon as it arrived.
I was angry with myself for having been so careless. But I wasn’t ready to blame myself yet, so I turned my gaze on the driver and let him have it. “You bloody moron,” I said. “Couldn’t you have looked where you were going?”
“You just walked right out in front of me,” he said. “I had no time to stop.”
Through the motorcar’s open door I could see a woman in the passenger seat, craning her neck to watch us. There was a fold in the vehicle’s hood, and steam was pouring out through its dented chrome grill. Between myself and the car, the car seemed to have taken the worst beating. Another perk of being a techsoul, I thought dryly. “You’re lucky you didn’t hurt her, or yourself,” I said. “Tell you what, though. Spot me a few chips, and I won’t notify the local constable. I’ll forget this whole thing ever happened.”
“What can the constables do anymore?” he said. “The whole city’s overrun with these mechanical men now. The constables don’t know what to do with themselves.”
“That’s why they’re concentrating on doing what they can,” I said. “And arresting a careless driver for reckless endangerment is something well within their power to do.”
The man cinched his mouth into a skewed pucker, dislocating his black mustache. He glanced around, then reached into his pocket. “Take it and go,” he said, handing me a small fistful of chips.
“Why thank you, my good man,” I said, stretching my back.
“I don’t think so, Jakes.” Zilch wedged his imposing frame into my personal space.
“This doesn’t concern you, Zilch.”
“This is extortion. An accident like this needs to be handled by the proper authorities.”
Law-lovers and their principles. “Would you rather we brought this to the authorities, sir?” I asked the driver.
“Certainly not,” he said.
I pocketed the chips, then grasped the hood ornament and pulled. When it came free, I ignored the rush of blood that followed. “In that case, I believe this belongs to you,” I said, handing it to the driver.
With a look of disgust, he accepted it between two reluctant fingers.
“A fair trade, I’d say. Now… if you’ll excuse me.” After making sure the street was clear this time, I walked over to the manhole cover and lifted it away. Behind me, I heard the driver talking to the two marshals, but I wasn’t paying attention to what they were saying. I was staring down into the shaft, watching the raindrops plummet around my head and disappear.
I tossed around the idea of lugging my sorry keister all over town to find some new waterproof containers for the equipment, but when I considered how long that would take, I decided against it. Chaz might have to scrub
off his parts before he built anything with them, but at least he’d have them. I hoped.
The ladder was cold and wet and rusty. I started down, trying not to think about what awaited me below.
Pearson ran over. “You can’t go down there like this.”
“You willing to make a bet on that?”
“You’ll kill yourself down there…”
“Better me than anyone else,” I said.
“Alright, forget it. Move down… make some room.”
“You’re not coming with me,” I told him.
He frowned. “Like that’s going to stop me. Get going.”
Resistance was futile. Before my head sank below the surface of the road, I checked the sky for any sign of the sun. A general idea of which direction I was headed in would’ve been nice, but the cloud cover was too thick and soggy to give me more than an inkling. I climbed down the ladder and watched Pearson’s body crowd the hole and blot out the daylight. Zilch stood above and lodged a staunch protestation, but in the end he came down after us and pulled back the cover to seal us inside.
It was a long way to the bottom. My feet landed on flat concrete with a shallow splash. I flicked on my eyelight to find myself standing beside a deep, fast-moving river of sludge. Thin sheets of water were already rippling out over the narrow walkway that ran alongside it.
The tunnel had wide stone walls and an arched ceiling. The smell was sharp and striking, but not altogether unbearable. Colorful patterns ran along the stonework, earthen hues that shimmered in the light like flecks of silver. I had never imagined something so disgusting being majestic to behold, but this came close.
In both directions, smaller tunnels shaped like curved doorways met our own at short intervals. I stood there for a moment to get my bearings while Pearson and Zilch clambered down the rest of the way. By the time they were standing beside me, I had formulated a dubious plan for which route to take. I estimated our odds of not dying at marginally better than fifty-fifty.
