Kane’s mind raced, trying to process the ramifications of this new information. “Does Atticus know?”
“The Director has assured us that he does not know,” Thorin said. “So you understand our need for the utmost secrecy of this information. Obviously, it must be known to those who control the suspension technology in order to avoid repeating such a catastrophic mistake. But in the wrong hands, such as the Breakers’, it could throw us into the extinction process all over again.”
“Thank you for telling us,” Kane said. “But I still need to ask the question. Is there any chance that a faction sympathizer could have made it into the Colony?”
Before Lhemo could answer, Ehlan raised her hand. Kane prepared himself for a verbal lashing.
“Once again, your question implies that there could be a spy among us,” she said. “I acknowledge that it is a fair question, and it deserves an honest answer. However, let me be perfectly clear: I do not want this conversation to leave this room.” She looked around, deliberately making eye contact with each person. “We will not begin our new society with seeds of fear and mistrust. I have seen how they can crumble the pillars of a glorious civilization.” She was trembling, but not from anger.
Lhemo put a hand on her forearm. “We are with you, Ehlan,” he offered. Then he addressed the group. “We do not wish to begin our new life by lying to ourselves or each other. The truthful answer to your question, Mr. Kane, is yes, it is a possibility.”
“I’m sorry for my reaction,” Ehlan said, tears welling in her eyes. This time Mhara put a comforting hand on Ehlan’s shoulder. “The memories are painful,” Ehlan continued, “but I will not let them cloud my judgment now. All I ask is that we carefully consider what we say in order to avoid the spread of poisonous doubt in our new community.”
They were quiet for a moment. Then Thorin said, “For now, we alone shall bear the burden of these questions. Agreed?”
“Thank you for your transparency,” Tygert said, speaking for his group. “We will honor it by holding this information in the deepest confidence.”
“Then let us press forward with hope, but be diligent to watch for signs of dissent. And starting with this group, let us continue to build trust by speaking honestly with one another.”
“To trust,” Dr. Manassa said, raising a glass, after which he taught the confused Colony leaders how to toast, affirming their unity with a tap of their glasses.
31
Day 11
Alto Mair
Super 3 survived his first week in Alto Mair by imitating his coworkers, following his crew boss’s orders implicitly, and saying very little. To his knowledge, there had been no search among the Breaker ranks to find him. In fact, he heard no talk whatsoever about the rescue mission and the suspension attack; it was as if they had never happened.
But he had a very limited view of Breaker life. The purpose of his work crew was simple: to pick up salvaged metal in a receiving warehouse at the back of Alto Mair and transport it to a smeltering facility located in the southeast corner of the city. Coming from somewhere outside the city, a new mound of scrap metal was delivered to the warehouse every night; enough to provide for the six to eight trips his crew made each day. Their route and their work were constant except for one deviation—every other day they would cease work for a few hours and accompany their crew boss to the central mall to watch him enjoy his time off. In addition to a violent temper, which he unleashed at the slightest sign of disobedience, their crew boss had a deep paranoia about mutiny, which he managed by never letting the crew members out of his sight.
From listening carefully to the conversations around him while he was on the mall, Super 3 had determined that under Breaker law, any Breaker was at liberty to request his work assignment. But his coworkers didn’t seem to understand this. As it turned out, a B-level classification among the Breakers meant that their logic systems were not as highly functioning as other Breakers’. In human terms, they were mentally slow. And under the iron fist of their boss, they were essentially a slave crew that didn’t know better.
On occasion, his team helped unload the scrap metal brought in from outside the city. The remote salvage crews manned multi-wheeled flatbed barges, often tethered in a train and pulled by a lead tractor. Super 3 discovered there were hundreds of cities on the mainland, all engulfed in jungle, and the Breakers could reach most of them via roads they built under the jungle’s canopy. The salvage activity was obviously covert, and it had escaped the notice of the Mekens’ pre-mission reconnaissance of Alto Mair. While it had been in operation for many years, it had been accelerated in the last year under directives from Atticus. Unfortunately, none of the salvage crew members knew why, nor did they seem to care.
In any case, a Breaker project using this metal was under way, and Super 3 wanted to know what it was. But he needed to move outside of his current circle, and he needed to ask questions. Unfortunately, a B-class Breaker would never be so inquisitive; any sign of curiosity would draw suspicion. Seeing no other alternatives, during their visits to the central mall, he wandered away from the crew, feigning ignorance, making inquiries of other Breakers in an effort to determine his options for obtaining another assignment. Unbeknownst to Super 3, one such inquiry was to a friend of his crew boss.
So, when he was called up to the filtering platform in the smeltering room, he was immediately suspicious. Neither he nor any of his crewmates had ever been called to the filtering platform. This was where the various metal parts were separated into their respective alloys and then dumped into chutes from which the parts slid into a smeltering furnace designed for that particular metal. The separation work required a degree of discernment that was beyond his coworkers, which was probably why they were never called to the platform . . . until today. Super 3 immediately identified two possibilities: his crew boss and the platform boss had decided that he had the mental faculty to perform the separation tasks, or they had discovered his inquiries . . . and he was in trouble. He suspected the latter.
As he ascended the stairwell, Super 3’s processor went into high gear, scanning and evaluating everything about the platform and the Breakers on it, noting locations, demeanors, and distances, and estimating weights and vectors. There were six platform workers and the two bosses. Anticipating their combined attack, he considered possible counterattack scenarios and determined that his margin for successfully overcoming this group was slim.
Luckily, as soon as he joined them on the platform, the bosses sent all but two of the other workers away for a break. Confirming his suspicion, the four that remained surrounded him in the middle of the platform. Super 3 recalculated his attack options and was pleased with the new odds.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk. What’s your name?” the crew boss demanded.
While it was an unexpected question, Super 3 had a ready answer; he had spent some time considering a name for himself, knowing that someone would ask sooner or later. Unlike the Mekens, who identified themselves with their model and assembly numbers, the Breakers had a practice of giving themselves formal names. To Super 3, it was an obvious effort to establish unique identities in defiance of the Meken culture of anonymity, unity, and service.
“I am Moses,” he said.
“Moses? What kind of name is that?”
He did not respond.
His crew boss stepped closer, to within inches of his face. “I hear you’ve been asking around about another assignment.”
Again, he did not respond.
“What?” the crew boss said mockingly, cocking his head. “You too dumb to answer? Like your buddies down there? Somehow I don’t think so. I think you’re too smart to answer. And I don’t tolerate no—”
Super 3 reached up with both hands, gripped the crew boss on each side of his head, wrenched it to the left, reset his grip, and wrenched again, tearing the joints and electrical connections in the crew boss’s neck. As the others watched the crew boss collapse to
the floor, Super 3 stepped outside the circle and spun with a kick, expertly landing the base of his foot under the chin of a platform worker. The worker fell like a tree and started to convulse, his head torn from his torso. The second platform worker jumped on Super 3’s back. Grabbing the worker’s right forearm with one hand, and his calf in the other, Super 3 twisted, twirling away and then around behind the worker. Back to back now, he reached behind his head, gripped the worker’s neck, and pulled forward while dropping to a knee, flipping the worker over his body and slamming him to the platform. He then wrenched the worker’s neck. With the second worker incapacitated, Super 3 rose and faced the platform boss, who stood frozen with fear.
“Our necks are clearly a vulnerability of our design,” Super 3 said.
The platform boss nodded.
“So,” he continued, “who am I?”
“Moses,” the platform boss squeaked.
“And what am I?”
“The new boss?”
Super 3 considered the new opportunities set before him. “Yes. Very good.” He folded his arms and waited. The platform boss started to tremble; he was obviously struggling to understand what to do next. Finally, Super 3 nodded at the bodies and then tipped his head toward the furnace chutes. The platform boss practically fell over himself in his effort to obey. He dragged the dead Breakers to a chute and pushed them down. Then he turned and faced his new boss, trembling again and waiting for any new instructions.
Super 3 rewarded him for his responses. “I think you and I will get along just fine.”
32
Day 28
0900 hours
Central greenway, Alto Raun
Charly sat on a park bench outside her apartment complex, waiting for Joanie to join her for their daily walk. Charly missed her grandmother, Joanie missed her grandchildren, and they both missed Arthur, so they had adopted each other.
When Joanie arrived, Charly got up and gave her a hug. She was about to start off when Joanie invited her to sit on the bench.
“Are you OK?” Charly asked.
Joanie opened her clenched hand. In it was a gold-plated pocket watch and chain, the same set that Charly had removed from Arthur’s body and given to Joanie when they returned to Alto Raun. Charly felt a pang of grief wash over her; the memory of Arthur’s death was still fresh in her mind.
“What do you think of when you see this?” Joanie asked.
“Arthur.” She bit her lip to hold back the tears.
“And when you think of Arthur, what do you remember about him?”
A tear rolled down Charly’s cheek. “His sparkly eyes. His sweet spirit. How he made me feel.”
“And, how did he make you feel?”
“Why are you asking me this?” she asked, afraid of reliving the pain of Arthur’s death.
“Please, Charly. I have a reason for asking. How did he make you feel?”
Charly wiped the tears from her cheek and tried to compose herself. “Treasured. Special. Safe.”
Joanie’s eyes watered. “I want you to have this,” she said, putting the watch into Charly’s hand.
“Oh Joanie, I can’t take this. He would—”
“He would want you to have it. I lived with him for fifty-three years; I know what he would have wanted. He gave away everything, the dufus. He didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body, at least not for things. Instead he took such joy in giving meaningful things to others. That’s what I hated and loved about him. He gave so much to others, but he also gave so much to me.” She closed Charly’s fingers around the watch. “When you see it, remember how he made you feel. Then find someone who needs to feel those same things and pass those good feelings on. That would make Arthur, and me, very happy.”
“Oh Joanie.” Tears were rolling down Charly’s face. “I will. Yes, I will.”
“Now, let’s walk.”
They walked the sidewalk that bordered the agricultural fields. Joanie particularly loved the wheat; it was like flaxen gold waving in the breeze. Their walks were always more of a visitation than they were exercise. Joanie started the conversation.
“You were daydreaming when I walked up; tell me about him.”
“About who?”
“You know exactly who I’m referring to. That young colonist I’ve seen you sitting with at more than a few meals.”
“You mean Rhogan? He’s just a boy that’s easy to hang out with.”
“He’s not a boy; he’s a handsome young man who helped rescue you and who looks at you like you’re an angel fallen from heaven.”
“He does?”
“Yes, he does.”
“I guess I’m not used to that kind of attention.”
“You’re a beautiful young woman and full of spirit. Any boy in his right mind would give you his full attention.”
Charly beamed at the affirmation. “Guess I just needed to fly to another planet to find a boy who sees it.”
Joanie laughed. “Life has a funny way of helping us discover ourselves. Arthur and I met when I ran into his car. I was still learning how to drive and I was horrified. But he was a gentleman, even then. That’s what caught my attention . . . and he was quite handsome.”
Joanie pointed to a circular fountain in the middle of the greenway that had recently been restored. They stopped and sat on the stone wall surrounding the pool, the mist from the fountain cooling their backs.
“I have to admit: it feels good to be around him. I got some attention from a few boys at home, but they were always so awkward, and to be honest, I was really kinda scared of them. It’s different with Rhogan.” Charly looked at Joanie. “But everything feels so serious around here, and I feel so young; I’m not ready to have a serious relationship.”
“You are young, but you’re also old enough to fall in love. I was eighteen when Arthur and I married.” Joanie stopped and waved at some colonists as they walked by, then added, “And the colonists are looking for mates; it’s at the heart of their plan.”
“Mates?” Charly said with distaste. “I don’t want to be a ‘mate.’ I want to fall in love someday.”
Joanie just smiled at her.
“Are you saying I should pair up with Rhogan?” she asked, grimacing.
Joanie considered the question. “I don’t know yet.”
“But that means I would have to stay here. I can’t imagine staying here.”
“I never imagined most of the things that have happened in my life.”
“You’re serious.” Charly squirmed, uncomfortable. She didn’t like the jumble of thoughts and feelings that were rolling around inside her. “Now I’m confused. Really, I don’t know what to think. What should I do?”
Joanie scooped some water into her hand and splashed it on her forehead. It was a hot day; the glaring sun was taxing Alto Raun’s climate control system.
“Take one day at a time. And listen to the still, small voice inside you. It’s usually a pretty good guide.”
“Joanie, you’ve been around me long enough to see that I’m pretty noisy. I don’t know if I can hear still, small voices.”
“It’s just a matter of learning how to listen. I can help you if you want.”
“Yes, of course I want your help. You’re like—”
“And you should ask Kane,” Joanie finished.
“Kane?”
“You told me he feels like a dad. Dads are good.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think he’ll let a boy get near me; he’s so protective. I think Rhogan’s scared of him.”
“Talk with him. You might be surprised.”
Charly was thoughtful a moment. “Yeah, maybe. I just don’t know what a dad-daughter thing looks like.”
“Yes you do.”
She looked curiously at Joanie. “I do?”
Joanie put her hand on Charly’s forearm. “It looks like Charly and Kane.”
“What do you mean?”
“Every father and daughter have to discover what that relationship lo
oks like. There’s no formula; there’s only ingredients. With love and care, honesty and forgiveness, it finds its way. And as you grow older, the best father-daughter relationships are not one-way; they help each other.”
“Wow. I never thought of it that way. That actually sounds pretty cool.” Charly was teary eyed again. “Kane is special. And Lord knows he needs my help.”
“Yes, he does.” Joanie smiled. “You already know each other well.”
Charly tensed. “But what if he doesn’t want that? What if he doesn’t want a daughter?”
“What does your heart say?”
Charly thought about it, then replied, “We’ve had some pretty cool talks.” She sounded hopeful.
“And?”
“And he looks after me like a hawk.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“Irritated . . . and cared for. But he’s not my real dad,” she said, her hope faltering.
“Charly, I have seen some beautiful father-daughter relationships that were not blood related. When you were a hostage, he spent every waking moment thinking about how to rescue you.”
“He came to rescue everyone, Joanie.”
“No, he came to rescue you, Charly. He tried to hide it, but I could tell that he was in agony, and it was over you. If ever I saw the heart of a father wanting to protect a daughter, I saw it in Kane.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Joanie said with conviction, patting Charly on the knee. “So talk to him.”
Before Charly could respond, Joanie jumped up and started into an awkward jog. “Come on. Race ya back.”
Charly chased her down, laughing.
33
Day 34
1930 hours
West rooftop, Alto Raun
“What happened to the animals?” Kane asked.
A wave of sadness washed through Mhara.
The Last City (The Ahlemon Saga Book 1) Page 25
