“Mrs. Delgado will be forwarding your bags to the first stop on the tour as soon as your new identity is official,” Forrand announced. “Angeli has the itinerary…?” The young woman nodded once. “You’ll remember what we discussed,” he told her, and she nodded again, her expression matching the sternness of his voice.
As Angeli preceded her out of the inner office, Juno glanced over her shoulder and saw Forrand sink slowly backward in his chair.
— «» —
“So, that was the chosen one?” Forrand’s remaining guest had been shown into his office as soon as the two girls had left the anteroom. Now, flopped down on one of the padded chairs to the right of the big desk, the ganger commented, “Twenty credits says she doesn’t last a month in the boonies.”
Forrand smiled thinly. He was the most powerful man in Americas. If this Tommy Novotny was everything he needed him to be, it wouldn’t matter what the kid knew. If not, Forrand would make a commcall to the guards in the lobby. Novotny would disappear somewhere between the elevator and the front door, and any record of his visit to the building would be wiped clean — and it still wouldn’t matter what he knew.
“I think you’d lose that wager, Tommy. She’s a lot like her mother, who can be stubborn as hell. That being said, I’ve decided to hedge my bet. That’s where you come in. You and the Warrior Kings.”
Tommy leaned forward. “I’m listening.”
“There’s a twelve-year-old boy, an Eligible who rebelled against the system and now has a juvenile criminal record. Sound familiar? He’s being evicted from the family home in Clearmeadow Enclave as we speak, and I promised his family that I’d make sure he was protected after they went off-world.”
“So, what? You want us to babysit this kid?”
“Not at all,” said Forrand. “I want you to educate him. Take him into the gang and teach him everything you know about surviving on the streets. Don’t let him get arrested. When he’s eighteen, I’ll take him off your hands.”
“And what do we get in exchange for providing this service, Mister Supreme Adjudicator?”
Forrand leaned over his desktop. “How old are you now, Tommy?”
“Nineteen. Why?”
“Only nineteen and already at the top. You’re Rex Regum, the King of the Kings. But what have you got to look forward to? Another ten or so years of playing hide and seek with District Security before someone rats you out so they can take your place? Spending the rest of your life in and out of detention and watching your crew age around you? It’s not much of a future, is it?”
Tommy’s expression hardened, as did his voice. “Make your point, Forrand.”
“I want to offer you a second chance — a new name and a fresh beginning. You’re strong and you’re smart, Tommy, and you care about your crew. You must once have had ambitions that didn’t include street crime. If you could erase the past and had access to large amounts of credit, what would you rather be doing with your life?”
Warily studying the other man’s face, Tommy asked, “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. I can set you up in whatever legitimate business you want, arrange for training for you and your current gang, give you all new identities. A clean slate. And all you have to do in return is keep Drew Townsend safe for the next six years and consider joining an organization that I’m putting together. Its purpose will be to protect the truth. We’re going to gather, verify, and — if necessary — act on information that will make the various levels of Earth’s government accountable.”
“You’re asking a bunch of criminals to help you keep a bigger bunch of criminals honest?” said Tommy with a grin.
Forrand gazed serenely back at him. “Can you think of anyone better qualified for the job?”
Still smiling, Tommy tilted his head in acknowledgment of the compliment. “So, you have big plans for this kid? What is he, the next in line for the throne after Miss Poutyface blows you off?”
“Possibly. It takes a special combination of qualities to aspire to that kind of power. Time will tell whether he has them. Right now, however, he’s just a young boy waiting to be shaped by the world.”
“And by the Warrior Kings,” Tommy added after a beat.
“So we have a deal?”
“For the next six years and the fresh start for me and my crew,” he confirmed, getting to his feet and extending his hand to be shaken. “About the rest of it, I’ll have to meet with the Kings and get back to you.”
Forrand stood up to seal the agreement. “Fair enough. They’ll need to pick new legal names for the database.”
“It’s just as well,” said Tommy. “I always hated mine — Tomasz Boris Novotny.”
CHAPTER 2
Juno leaned her head wearily against the window of the Multi-Passenger Vehicle. It had been a very long and tiring day.
Her parents’ short-hopper had lifted off shortly before noon, carrying the Townsends to the orbiting transfer station. From there, a deep-space transport vessel would take them to Sector 3 to join the staff of the research hospital on Schweitzer Hub. At least, that was what Juno had been told — the room where she had been made to wait until her new identity was integrated into the population database had been nowhere near the airfield.
Meanwhile, before their bags could be sent ahead, Angeli had insisted on personally inspecting every item in Juno’s luggage. The older girl had pulled out and set aside anything that was too stylish or expensive-looking. Flaunting one’s wealth to the denizens of the “industrial wilderness” was not a very smart thing to do, she had warned, her lips making an even thinner hyphen than before. Bright colors were risky. Anything metallic, such as glitter or sequins, was downright dangerous.
Juno had seen no sense in any of this, other than the fact that all the forbidden pieces of clothing were cheerful and attractive, while Angeli’s own tunic and trousers hung shapelessly on her and were the color of dirt. There wasn’t that much difference in their ages — five or six years at most, despite the severity of the other girl’s appearance. And she clearly hadn’t volunteered for this tour guide assignment — the byplay in Forrand’s office earlier had been hard to miss — so her resentment at having to babysit a pampered Eligible kid for an entire year was understandable. Juno probably should have been grateful that Angeli was taking it out on her wardrobe instead of her person. At that point, however, she was too preoccupied for it to matter much. She’d been thinking about her parents and Drew, and how they would react when the news reached them of Olivia Townsend’s untimely death.
Forrand had promised that it would be fiery and final, but he obviously didn’t know her mother. Caroline Townsend would demand to see a body, and when presented with the corpse would then insist on personally cutting it open and performing tests to ensure that it was actually her daughter’s. No body would mean no proof, and without proof there would still be hope to cling to. But for how long? How long would her parents teeter on the edge of that terrible drop, waiting for Olivia to join them as Forrand had promised? How long before they could bear to admit to themselves that she was really gone? And how long would it take her little brother to stop hating her for breaking her word and abandoning him?
Since early that morning, sadness had been seeping into Juno, settling like sand in her chest. She felt like a ghost attending its own funeral. How long until the pain of losing herself and her family dulled to an ache? When would Olivia Townsend fade to a memory?
Angeli stirred beside her, dragging her thoughts back to the present. They were traveling west and the sun was setting, its final rays burning the sky pink and orange ahead of them. Three hours earlier, the MPV had left the central terminus. Rapidly reaching the district perimeter, the longcar had then rolled for half an hour through circumference greenbelt on a two-lane ribbon of asphalt. The road had aged visibly, cracking down the middle and crumbling at the edges, the farther away it
led Juno and Angeli from the residential and commercial Urban District of New Chicago.
Greenbelt and paved road had both ended at the edge of a second buffer zone known as The Flats. Juno had studied this area in geography class. The weather was uncontrolled out here, which meant there were wide temperature swings and a lot of seasonal precipitation. It appeared they had just missed a cloudburst. The rutted dirt path ahead of the MPV was dappled with shiny puddles, and the brush and weeds alongside it sparkled as though strewn with diamonds. Farther removed from the trail, abandoned fields stretched away to both sides, their margins suggested by the occasional knob of wood sticking out of the tall, thick grass. No fences were visible here — the land lay flat, drowned by a sea of green. Only the occasional gnarled tree stood higher, lifting its foliage as though trying to keep it dry.
Staring out the window, Juno suddenly realized that she had seen no signs of Human life outside the MPV for more than two hours. Now the light was fading, turning the world shades of gray, and even though the temperature inside the vehicle was maintained at a mild 22 degrees Celsius, she felt a chill. They were in the middle of nowhere, carrying only the contents of their tote bags, and were about to be engulfed in utter darkness. Although the MPV was equipped with autodrive, traffic wasn’t gridded outside of urban districts. They were relying on a Human driver familiar with the route to conduct them safely through the night to their destination. But drivers could become tired. Machines could break down. If the worst were to happen, the small group of passengers on this longcar would have only one another to depend on.
It wasn’t a comforting thought.
Juno swung her gaze to the interior of the vehicle. There was room for up to twenty passengers in a standard-sized MPV. Including herself and Angeli, there were only eight on this run. That in itself was disquieting. Fuel was expensive. For that reason, interzone MPVs didn’t depart until every seat was paid for. There was only one conclusion to be drawn here: Forrand must have bought up all the remaining tickets to ensure the “field trip” would begin on schedule.
Had the other six passengers come to a similar conclusion? While she’d been focused on the scenery outside her window or busy with the light meal of sandwiches and fruit that Angeli had brought along, had they noticed all the empty spaces, quietly compared notes, figured out who on this trip had to be the one with connections or wealth — or both? Despite Forrand’s assurances, was there already a target being figuratively painted on her back?
If there was, and if Angeli was supposed to be her protector, she would do a better job of it with her eyes open, Juno decided, poking her in the shoulder.
“So, what’s our first stop on this magic carpet ride?”
Reclined and dozing on her half of their dark green padded bench, Angeli opened one eye and turned her head slowly toward her young charge. “Agricultural District.”
“Gonna show me where all the food comes from?”
“No. Gonna open your eyes and knock that chip off your shoulder,” she replied tartly. “Don’t feel obliged to make conversation, Juno.”
She put special emphasis on that last word, both judging and mocking Olivia’s choice of names. But Forrand had been right — Olivia had stayed up late the previous night thinking about her future, and “Juno Vargas” was a statement of intent.
So, swallowing the first response that had popped into her mouth, she assured Angeli brightly, “Oh, it’s no trouble. We still have a long way to go. Chatting will help to pass the time.”
The “guide and protector” blew out a martyred breath, then pulled herself upright and straightened the back of her seat. “All right, then,” she said, biting off each syllable. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I think we should get better acquainted, since we’re going to be traveling together for a whole year. For example, is Angeli your first name or is it your family name?”
The other girl gave her a strange look. For a second Juno thought she would refuse to answer, but she turned away and replied softly, “It’s my full name.”
“And did you choose it, or was it given to you?”
The prickles and sharp edges instantly returned. “Both. And neither. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get a little sleep. You could use some yourself, Miss Vargas. As you said, this is going to be a long ride.”
Evidently, Juno had touched a nerve. She turned and met her reflection staring uncertainly back at her from the inside of the window. It was nearly pitch dark outside. The pale overhead lights of the MPV had come on, filling it with ghostly shadows. Alone with seven silent companions and a driver who hadn’t spoken a word from the moment he’d boarded the vehicle, Juno reluctantly lowered the back of her seat and closed her eyes.
A second later, it seemed, a hand was on her shoulder and Angeli’s voice was urging her to sit up.
“We’re almost there,” she said.
The longcar was still in motion, but a glance through the front window revealed a cluster of lights in the distance.
“And where is there?” asked Juno.
“The Council refuses to give it a name because it’s not inside an urban district, but the inhabitants call it Veggieville. We’re in the heart of the Food Production Zone, where the agricultural workers live.”
Juno sat on the edge of her seat, watching the lights of Veggieville grow larger and rise higher as the MPV neared the food workers’ settlement. At last, the longcar pulled to a stop in a broad open area surrounded by tall lampposts. Their harsh white glow fell down and inward, creating an island of illumination in the darkness; and the noise made by the vehicle as the driver turned off the engine and opened the front door sounded just like a sigh of relief. Angeli put out her arm, keeping Juno seated as the other six travelers moved past them in weary procession.
“Wait,” whispered Angeli as the last of them disappeared through the exit. “Listen.”
Juno heard voices outside the longcar. She heard greetings exchanged and names being given. She heard billets being handed out and instructions issued to report for work assignments right after breakfast. Then came a medley of sounds that she’d only ever heard in flat-screen videos about the ancient west: the clip-clopping of horses’ hooves, the creaking of leather, the low burring of wheels turning on axles. Simultaneously, smells began wafting through the open door of the MPV. Some she could guess at — the musk of living horseflesh, the sweet pungency of grass and trees that hung in the air after a rainfall — but others were completely unfamiliar, reminding her just how far away she was from home. From family. From everyone and everything she knew. Unease began stirring in the pit of her stomach.
No! she scolded herself. Forrand had been right — Olivia Townsend’s life had been sheltered and complacent, hardly a life at all. Now Olivia was dead, freeing her to claim a much larger existence. And that was what she would do, just as soon as her queasiness subsided. Juno Vargas might be feeling a little disoriented right now, but she was no coward.
A stocky man with swarthy skin leaned into the vehicle and spoke to the driver in accented Ameranglo. “What’s your fuel situation?”
Juno couldn’t make out the driver’s response, but it apparently satisfied the other man, for he nodded and said, “We’ve got a group that have been transferred to General Millstown. Three families, with young children. There’s a shuttle service that can pick them up in Breadbasket and take them the rest of the way, but they need a lift to the transfer point. It’s not that far — only fifty-five kilometers from here.”
Again, the driver’s reply was a murmur of sounds; but from the way the man’s face fell, it wasn’t hard to guess what the answer had been.
“Why won’t he help them?” Juno whispered to Angeli.
She whispered back, “It messes up the bookkeeping. Forrand has chartered the MPV for our entire tour from this point on. Based on the itinerary, he’s already calculated the tota
l distance we’ll be traveling and prepaid for the right amount of fuel for the journey. So, while he has no objection to our giving lifts to people as we go, we can’t let them take us too far out of our way. The driver’s been warned that any fuel shortfall will be coming out of his own credit account.”
“You’re saying the itinerary is set in stone? We can’t make any side trips?”
“’Fraid not,” Angeli said.
The man squared his shoulders and looked directly at the two remaining passengers aboard the MPV. “Angeli and Juno, I presume? I’m Carlos Calvera. Welcome to Veggieville. You’ll be staying with my sister Isabela and her husband, who have their own house and are both very good at keeping secrets. Your luggage arrived during the dinner hour and is waiting for you in your room. Gather up your things and I’ll drive you there now.”
Carlos disappeared into the darkness, returning a moment later on a moto that even Juno could see had been frankensteined together into a patchwork of mismatched parts. Fortunately, it had a sidecar and a muffler. In only a handful of minutes, Juno and Angeli were quietly transported, warmly welcomed, and then firmly ushered to a room on the second floor of Isabela’s home. There, they stripped off their outer clothing and slipped between the covers of a large, blissfully comfortable bed.
— «» —
The following morning, Juno got up and went directly to the window to take her first look at Veggieville in daylight. According to Angeli, Veggieville and places like it predated the Reorganization, making them over two hundred years old. Juno hesitated, thinking of the Zone in New Chicago. That area of abandoned factories, warehouses, and offices had fallen into ruin after only a few decades of neglect, and it had been protected by a weather control dome. Veggieville, on the other hand, had spent four or five times that long enduring the punishment of wind, rain, and snow.
She felt gooseflesh pop out along her arms.
The previous night’s moto ride had been a race along a dark, unpaved road lined on both sides by indistinct shadows. When she’d chanced to wonder what sort of structures they might be, Juno’s imagination had paraded burned-out shells and tumbledown ruins before her mind’s eye.
The Relativity Bomb Page 2
