The man fighting with the hub straightened. “These hubs don’t have hand-release bolt locks,” he said. “They’re designed for use by construct bots, which we don’t have, and that’s why every damned hub connection is a twenty-minute shoving match.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I bet you’re used to grid hubs, right? Easy to lay out by hand?”
Kevin shrugged and didn’t say anything. He silently cursed himself.
Otter shoved him hard on the shoulder, and he stumbled forward a step. “Back to work,” he said. Kevin turned his attention to the wood, glad to look away from the curious stares of the three adults.
They worked quietly for a while longer, and then Kevin stopped abruptly when he saw two patch-faced bots approaching.
“What’s the problem?” said Otter, then he turned, following Kevin’s gaze, and saw the bots. “Oh,” he muttered quietly. “Here come the Governor’s clowns.”
The bots walked up to the pile of stripped planks that the boys had created. “We shall assist you in moving the lumber,” one said. “Now.”
So they laid down their glides and began hauling the lumber over to a new pile, next to the woman still working at the table lase. The bots were very strong; Kevin struggled to lift his end of each plank, while the bots picked up their end with seemingly little effort.
They finished moving the pile and the bots left, without a word.
The woman turned off her table lase; the soft hum that Kevin hadn’t even realized he had been hearing faded away. She wiped her face with the edge of her shirt and nodded at the boys. “Food, and bed,” she said. “You’re done for the day.”
CHAPTER 11
NICK SAT IN THE MAIN ROOM OF A SMALL WOODEN-SLAT BUILDING IN the middle of the Freepost. It was furnished as a meeting space, with a large rough-cut wooden table and scavenged metal folding chairs in the center of the floor. Across from him sat the gray-haired woman—Doc’s wife—her son, Aram, and Lucas. Erica had gone to trade with residents of the Freepost.
“Ma’am, I need to find my brother,” said Nick. “I’m hoping he’s here.”
“Agatha,” said the gray-haired woman. “I’m Agatha Wells Pallos, not ma’am. And your name?”
“Nick.” He paused, gathering himself, then asked, “So have you seen my brother?”
“No, I’m sorry,” she said.
Nick felt his stomach lurch. “Do you mind if I ask around?”
“Nick,” said Agatha, “this is a small Freepost, and I would know if your brother were here.”
“Tell us what happened,” said Lucas. “Where were you separated?”
“It was about a day south of here,” said Nick, slowly. “Kevin went off to find water and then we heard him scream, and when we were looking for him bots arrived, and my sister, Cass . . . She was . . . She was hurt very badly . . . and the bots took her, and I never found Kevin.”
Agatha shook her head sympathetically. “I’m very sorry,” she said.
“Maybe the bots took him too?” said Aram.
“I don’t know,” said Nick. “I don’t think so. They didn’t show up until after we heard the scream. But I don’t know. Erica said there were rebels in the area. Maybe they were involved somehow?”
Lucas frowned. “Those rebels cause more problems than they solve.”
“At least they’re doing something,” said Aram. “They may not always be effective, but still . . .”
“What they’re doing,” said Lucas angrily, “is antagonizing the bots without causing any real damage, and endangering all of us in the process!”
“Enough!” said Agatha. “Do we really need to rehash this argument right now?”
Both men looked like they wanted to say more, but they were silent.
“It’s possible that the rebels picked up your brother for whatever reason, or perhaps the bots did capture him. I don’t know.” Agatha smiled, sadly but with warmth. “Tell me, Nick, what you would like to do.”
Nick shook his head. He felt lost. “I don’t know,” he said.
Agatha sighed. “I’m sorry for your pain, Nick.” She paused, then continued. “So tell me about this worthless husband of mine. How is Christos?”
“Doc . . .” Nick paused. “We wouldn’t have made it out of the City without his help.”
Agatha blinked and looked away for a moment. “Yes, well, he can be a good man. Drinks too much, and hasn’t sent a pigeon in two years until today, but he is a principled man.”
Aram leaned forward intently over the table. “So my father is involved in a resistance?” he said. “He fights the bots?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” said Nick. “He risked his life for us. A few people helped us . . . and some of them died because of it.” He thought about Tech Tom, executed by the bots, passing on his final words to Nick about Dr. Miles Winston, still fighting with his last breath. He thought of the men and women who had fought the Lecturer bots with him and helped him escape. They were surely dead now. He saw Amanda, her glassy eyes staring up lifelessly at him from the street, her chest cratered by a lase blast.
“And Christos?” Agatha asked tightly.
Nick took a deep breath, pushing away the image of Amanda. “Doc was fine when I left,” he said. “I don’t know what’s happened with the bots since then. Hopefully they didn’t connect him with us.”
Agatha nodded. “Yes, well, that old goat can take care of himself.” She shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts, then said, “Stay in our Freepost tonight, Nick. Get some sleep. Decide in the morning what your next steps are. You’ll be welcome here, if you want. . . . We can always use another strong pair of hands.”
Nick nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. He doubted he would be getting much sleep or that things would be any clearer in the morning.
“We have an empty shelter . . . One of our Freeposters has recently passed. Aram will show you the way.”
Aram stood, and Nick stood as well. “One more thing,” Nick said. “Dr. Miles Winston. Have you heard of him?”
The three Freeposters tensed, and the two men turned to look at Agatha. “What makes you ask?” she said.
Nick hesitated, to pick his words carefully. “Something a dead friend said,” he said. He looked at Aram. “Probably nothing.”
“Well, he’s the father of modern robotics, as you may know,” said Agatha. “Most people think he died in the revolution.”
“Most people?” said Nick.
“There are a few wild rumors . . . Unsubstantiated,” said Agatha. She shrugged. “Probably nothing, as you said.”
“What about the rumors?” said Nick. “What are they?”
“Tomorrow we can speak more. I can introduce you to a few of my Freeposters who claim to have some knowledge . . . to have seen things. . . .” Agatha stood. “But for now, food and rest. Aram, get him something to eat from the stores.”
That night, after barely eating the bread and cheese and apples that Aram had given him, Nick lay on the cot in his borrowed shelter. The structure was small, and empty except for the cot, a table, and two chairs. Nick stared at the ceiling, dimly lit by a lightstrip lantern on the table. He thought about his brother and sister. His parents. Farryn. Doc. Lexi. Were they still alive? God, was he alone in the world?
He woke on the floor, dazed, blood on his cheek where he had been scraped when he was thrown out of his cot by the explosion.
His ears were ringing. He struggled to his hands and knees. Another nearby explosion knocked him back down. He heard screaming, then the sizzling whump of lase blasts, and the staccato bursts of old-fashioned gunpowder bullets. For a crazy moment he though he must be dreaming, having a nightmare about his Freepost being destroyed, but then the door of his shelter swung open and Erica stood in the doorway. She flung Nick’s backpack at him. He struggled slowly to stand.
“We gotta go!” Erica screamed. She rushed forward and pulled Nick to his feet.
“What . . . ? How . . . ?” began Nick.
“
Bots! A warbird and a bunch of foot soldiers!” Erica picked up his backpack and shoved it into his chest. “They’re attacking the Freepost!”
Nick shouldered his backpack and followed Erica out the door. How long had it been since his home had been destroyed? And here he was again. The air was thick with smoke from burning structures. Freeposters ran past. Two bodies lay on the ground nearby, facedown in the dirt in puddles of blood.
“Come on!” said Erica, pulling on his arm. “We need to get out of here!”
“We need to help!” said Nick.
“We can’t help!” said Erica. “We need to run!”
Nick let Erica pull him away from the shelter and joined her in a crouching, crablike run through the Freepost. With the smoke and explosions, Nick was immediately disoriented, but Erica seemed to know where she was going, and he stuck close to her. In the distance, off to the left, he heard a rumble and could barely make out two large shapes—Peteys—moving slowly in their direction. Their lases made the smoky air around them glow.
He felt a throbbing in his chest and heard the hum of a war-bird, then heard a whisling whine, a rush of air, and he and Erica instinctively ducked just before the explosion knocked them off their feet. They ended up sprawled against the wall of a shelter. Nick had the wind knocked out of him and it took him a moment to suck air into his lungs and push himself upright. He pulled Erica to her feet. She leaned heavily against the wall for a few moments, and Nick held tightly to her arm, keeping her from falling, and then she nodded and stood on her own.
The smoke shifted, and Nick saw that, amazingly, they were near the entrance to the Freepost. Erica saw it at the same time, and waved her arm for Nick to follow, then took off at a dead sprint.
They ran for ten minutes, climbing out of the Freepost valley. They paused to catch their breath near the top of the ridge, laying on their bellies, looking down at the devastation below. The Freepost was burning, orange flames and black smoke rising up into the sky. A warbird slid past overhead. Nick watched. Agatha. Aram. Lucas. Dead, probably. He had known them less than a day. “Revolution 20,” he whispered.
CHAPTER 12
KEVIN DIDN’T EXPECT TO SLEEP WELL, WITH HIS BROKEN NOSE AND swollen eye, but he was out as soon as he hit his bunk and was surprised when Otter shook him roughly awake the next morning. “Shower, if you want it,” Otter said, pointing to a door in the back wall. “Then breakfast in fifteen minutes at the mess hall.” He nodded at a pile of clothes on the floor next to Kevin’s bunk—two pairs of thick khaki work pants, two gray flannel shirts, underwear, and socks. “The clowns brought over some clothes for you last night.”
He gave a small grunt of acknowledgment. He skipped the shower—let them smell him, it served them right—but he did put on the fresh clothes. They fit well enough, although they were rough fabric and a bit scratchy.
The mess hall was smaller than Kevin had expected, with four large rectangular wooden tables that probably could hold about ten people each. It was nearly empty, with only two men in camouflage eating quietly at separate ends of the far table.
“Most everyone eats in their own shelters,” said Cort quietly, but close to Kevin’s ear. Kevin nearly jumped; he hadn’t realized Cort was standing so close to him. The boy moved like a ghost. “The mess hall’s just for us orphans and sometimes scouts and guards.”
They ate quickly, scrambled eggs and bread and apples. Kevin and Otter and Cort were quiet while Pil kept up a monologue about the food, and the card game they had been playing last night, and their work assignments. Kevin forced himself to listen carefully, hoping to learn something, anything important, that might aid his escape, but Pil was talking just to hear himself talk and wasn’t saying anything helpful. Kevin soon ignored him and focused on forcing some food down. Even if he wasn’t hungry, he knew he should eat when given the chance. He slipped a slice of bread into his pocket. He had to start gathering supplies. . . . Extra food seemed like a good place to start.
They finished their breakfast and stood up to leave just as a group of four girls entered the mess hall. Cort ducked his head down and hurried out of the room. The tallest girl, long brown hair tied back loosely with a rough piece of rope, walked up to Otter. “No work duty tomorrow. How about you guys?”
Otter shrugged. “Yeah, we’re off too. Rest day for everyone, I think.”
“Well, come find us,” the girl said. “Maybe the hunters will let us tag along.” She glanced at Kevin appraisingly, and he felt himself flush. She gave a small smile. “I’m Wex,” she said.
“Kevin,” he said, his cheeks still burning.
Wex turned back to Otter. “Bring the new kid,” she said.
Otter frowned and didn’t say anything. The girls sat down to their meal, and Kevin, Otter, and Pil left.
Cort was waiting for them outside. “Man, Cort,” said Pil. “Could you be any more afraid of girls?”
Cort shoved Pil on the shoulder, a bit too hard to be just playful. Pil staggered back, then regained his balance. Kevin was expecting him to continue teasing Cort, but surprisingly, he was quiet.
“Come on, bot lovers,” said Otter. “We’re due at the gap.”
A bot was waiting for them when they arrived at the Wall gap. Kevin thought he recognized the patchy brown flesh pattern on its face—a small patch just above the left eye, a larger patch on the right cheek. If he was right, this was the bot with the male voice that had captured him in the woods. “Come with me,” it said, pointing at Kevin. It was indeed the male bot from the woods.
Otter stepped between Kevin and the bot. “He’s supposed to be working the gap today with us.”
The bot stared blankly at Otter. Kevin froze, confused. Was Otter trying to protect him?
“This is not your concern,” said the bot. “I will return him shortly to your work group.”
“Where are we going?” said Kevin, stepping out from behind Otter.
“Follow me,” said the bot, and began walking. Kevin ignored him and walked over to the pile of lumber, pushing his sleeves up. Otter raised an eyebrow and gave him a small nod.
The bot spun on its heels and moved quickly back to Kevin. “You must come with me,” it said.
Kevin stood up from the pile of wood. “I’ll decide when you tell me where you’re going,” he said. He was scared, but he managed to make his voice sound confident.
The bot hesitated, and Kevin had to fight hard to resist the instinct to flinch and raise his arm over his face. Was he about to get lased?
“The Governor wants to speak to you,” said the bot.
It made Kevin even more nervous that Otter and Pil and the adults at the work site were staring at him with shock on their faces. Cort slid up next to him and whispered, “Go. You need to go.”
Kevin shrugged, feigning nonchalance, and held his arm out. “Lead the way,” he said.
The bot led him northwest, past all the central buildings, then along a path that led into a small cluster of trees. When the trees cleared Kevin saw that they were at the far northwest corner of the Island. Nestled up against the right-angle corner of the Wall was a large two-story log cabin. Two bots stood guarding the front door, one patch-faced as usual, the other’s face covered entirely with the brown leatherlike skin. They stood stiffly, arms at their sides.
“Wait here,” said Kevin’s guide bot. It stepped forward, and the bot with the entirely brown face moved gracefully to meet it.
“Business?” it said.
“Delivering the new provisional Islander to the Governor, as requested,” said Kevin’s bot.
The guard glanced at Kevin, then nodded and stepped backward. It opened the door. “Proceed. The Governor is expecting you.”
Inside it was dark, and the glare from the sun made it impossible for Kevin to see more than murky shadows inside. He thought about just turning around and running. Would he make it out of the Island? No, not a chance, he knew. He bent down to untie and then retie his shoes, to give the butterflies in his sto
mach a moment to settle. They didn’t.
“Come now,” said his guide. “Enter.”
Kevin took a deep breath, like he was plunging under water, and entered the cabin, the bot at his heels.
At the far end of the room was a metal table, a harsh bright blue color made even harsher by comparison to the brown and tan wooden beams of the walls and ceiling and floor. An old man sat at the table, leaning over a pile of circuitry, wearing a pair of scope glasses. Tech Tom had owned a similar pair. He had used them for nanocircuitry work.
With a rush of dread, Kevin saw that standing next to the man, hands on her hips, looking impatient, was Captain Clay. She gave Kevin an annoyed scowl, then rapped gently on the table. “Governor,” she said.
The old man looked up from his work, startled, and slid the scope glasses up to his forehead. “What?” he said. “I told you I’d only be another minute . . .” His eyes fell upon Kevin and the bot. “Ah. My guest has arrived. Thank you. Mira, will you please excuse us for a few minutes?”
The Captain’s scowl deepened even further. “I should be involved in any Islander debriefings, Governor.”
“This isn’t a debriefing, Mira,” said the Governor. “I just have a few questions for the boy.” He held his arm out toward the front door. “Five minutes,” he said.
Captain Clay spun and walked briskly past Kevin without looking at him. Kevin heard the door open and shut behind him.
“Please,” said the Governor. “Come to the table.”
Kevin walked up to the table. There were no other seats in the room, so Kevin just stood. The bot followed him, standing at Kevin’s right shoulder.
Up close, Kevin could see the man’s deep wrinkles, the loose, tanned skin that, along with the silver hair, made Kevin guess the man was nearly seventy. The only person he had ever seen as old was the grocer from the City, who had helped them escape from the Peteys.
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