Ecopunk!

by Liz Grzyb

  “Well,” I said gently, “when you’re ready for a new story, let me know.”

  He turned to me then with fierce, grey eyes, and I couldn’t tell if it was surprise or anger in their depths.

  Abruptly, a chime began to sound through the room, and the Energy Allocation light pulsed orange on the wall. The classroom hatch swung open, and a portly woman with olive skin and an elfin haircut stepped inside.

  “All right,” she said with a brisk clap. “Time to go home. You have twenty minutes before the Firefly of Shame marks this dome for exceeding its daily energy limit.”

  As the last of the dawdlers were shooed from the classroom, I patted a stack of books on the desk.

  “Hoshi, new additions for Dreamer’s Shore Library.”

  The woman grinned at the motley tower. “A new shipment of schoolbooks and special orders dropped last month, but your selections always end up on high rotation. We appreciate you coming out here, year after year. I know we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “That’s why you’re on my itinerary.”

  “It’s just that a lot of people your age start putting down roots . . . ”

  “Maybe I’m a tumbleweed.”

  I finished packing the pod-crate and checked the spherical tyres for child-related debris. “So, what’s with Sava?”

  Hoshi sighed. “The travelling dentist brought him here about two months ago—”

  “Cillian Seong?”

  “You know him?”

  “Tall. Annoying. Good teeth. I know him.”

  “He found the boy in one of the recovery camps. No parents. No papers. Thought he’d be better off in a community.”

  That sounded like Seong. Dropping a snowball in the middle of the desert and patting himself on the back for a job well done.

  “We placed him with Lily and Nam,” continued Hoshi, “but . . . it takes time.”

  “I’m sure he’s better off here.”

  Hoshi gave a wry smile. “Thanks, Lani. By the way, there’s a glider due to pass over later tonight, in case you needed access to the cirrus.”

  Unthinkingly, I touched the sleek comms band on my wrist. “Thanks. I guess we’d better go before we trigger the Firefly of Shame.”

  * * *

  Hoshi had assigned me a guest dome on the upper slope, which meant I had a glorious view of the entire community of Dreamer’s Shore. Fifty domes, half-buried in the red sand, every window an ember in the darkness. It brought to mind a herd of clams migrating slowly across the desert, trailing a garden of solar arrays and condenser webs.

  An impatient snuffling greeted me at my dome. Paku craned his neck over the stable door, humming as I stroked his caramel fleece. Alpacamels were another consequence of “assisted evolution”, bringing together the best qualities of both camels and alpacas. They were resilient and low-maintenance, but they could spit like a cannon.

  My energy allocation was still well in the green, so I had a hot shower before settling onto a zabuton in the main room. I tapped the display disc on my wrist comms, summoning the holographic menu: hanging icons in luminous shades of peacock, moss and amethyst, or whatever the marketing buzzwords were these days. The cirrus access signal remained dark, and I swallowed a knot of disappointment.

  Connectivity was always patchy in places like this, relying on the gossamer-thin network of automated gliders that circled the Earth. I didn’t mind, most of the time. Back in the city, I abhorred the constant barrage of beeps and trills demanding that I look at hilarious videos of knife-wielding crustaceans. But still . . .

  I jolted awake at the soft chime, unaware I’d dozed off. The cirrus signal was green. I sat up urgently. “Level-two ping to Argus Khansari.”

  The menu swirled into an ostensibly calming pattern before holographic words blinked in the air.

  Connecting.

  Suddenly, the words flared outwards, and half the room became a modest, sunny kitchen. Sitting opposite me was a man with light brown skin and a smile that made me wish, for a moment, that I wasn’t half a world away.

  “Hey, Gus,” I said. “All good. Love you.”

  “Hey, Lani. All good. Love you too.”

  When I’d first embarked on these trips ten years ago, we’d agreed to cram the most important information into the first three seconds of any call. I’d once fit a twenty-item care package request into five seconds flat.

  I glanced at the signal light. Still steady.

  “Nice hair,” I said, taking in his lilac and gold waves.

  Gus gave an embarrassed shrug. “You know what it’s like at VisionVale. I can’t afford to look like a Dragger.”

  I wondered briefly how I must look to him, and resisted the urge to run a hand through my hair in case my fingers became stuck.

  “How’s your new project going?” I said.

  His eyes took on that familiar shine, full of nervous energy and excitement. “The board’s making budget allocations next week. If they fund my proposal, we could have a full-sized prototype within six months, beta rollout in a year. Just imagine, if we can harness the Earth’s magnetic field to generate wireless energy, there’d be no more energy rationing. We could launch another hundred thousand gliders and you wouldn’t have to travel at all.” He paused for breath. “Unless you wanted to.”

  “No, I mean, of course. I’m sure your pitch will be brilliant. So, how’s your mum?”

  Gus looked slightly surprised at the sudden change of subject, but pivoted gracefully.

  “She won silver in the Seniors’ Table Tennis Tournament last week.”

  I smiled at the thought of the sprightly woman slamming paddles and swearing at the umpire. Knowing her, she was probably livid that she didn’t snag the gold.

  “Pass on my congratulations.”

  “I will. She can’t wait to tell you how half the contestants were modded. So, you’re still going to see your sensei?”

  I caught the trace of worry in his voice.

  “You know this window only opens every five years.”

  “I know. It’s just . . . Not even the helioships risk going through madragonfly territory—”

  “—except during the migration window. The straits will be clear for two weeks. I promise I’ll be careful.”

  Gus smiled, but it was the kind of smile usually deployed by parents at a birthday party where half the children are covered in cake and someone is on fire.

  “Lani—” His image flickered. “—I think your signal’s fading.”

  I held out my hand and he reached to touch it.

  “Gus—”

  And he was gone.

  * * *

  Later that week, I said my farewells and departed Dreamer’s Shore, taking the trail west through the desert. It wasn’t until the third day that I knew for certain I was being followed. I’d noticed tracks on the far slopes behind me, and initially dismissed them as the work of the oversized beetles that roamed these parts, but the tracks had continued to shadow my progress.

  There wasn’t much cover for bandits out here, just a few scraggly acacias and weathered boulders. The Literacy Outreach grants kept me going from year to year, but I didn’t carry much on my credit chit, and hopefully it showed. My stalker was perhaps a day behind me, and I could probably shake them off with a stretch of hard riding, but I couldn’t risk Paku getting exhausted or injured.

  I brushed a layer of dust from the photovoltaic fabric of my hat and tapped the brim, a holographic map dropping into view. We were still eight days’ ride from Sunrise Bay, and if I missed my cloud-skimmer there, it’d be a month until the next one. I listened to Paku’s steady huffing and the soft crunch of the pod-cart rolling behind us on its harness. If I slept two hours less each day, we might gain enough ground to avoid more drastic action.

  I rose before dawn the next morning, shivering as a crepuscular fog swept across the sands. I adjusted my binoculars, hoping that our pursuer hadn’t advanced in the night, and I tensed to see a row of giant darkling beetles
on the dunes only a few clicks behind us. I wasn’t sure why so many experiments-gone-awry had resulted in gigantic bugs, but the world had become a wonderland for entomologists. Thankfully, these beetles didn’t appear agitated—instead, they had their heads down, rears up, as though performing beetle-yoga. I caught a scrap of movement, and adjusted the focus on my binoculars.

  Through the veil of fog and starlight, I saw a boy moving between the beetles—pale and purposeful.

  Sava.

  I lowered my binoculars and gave the eyepieces a stern whack, hoping to dislodge a boy-shaped piece of grit. I raised them to my face again.

  Damn. Bloody damn.

  Paku grunted as I urged him into a brisk lope, slowing as we neared the two-metre long beetles. Morning mist coursed past, droplets collecting on their carapaces. Beads of water trailed down their backs and into their waiting mouths, or—in the case of one unlucky beetle—were intercepted by the tongue of a thirsty boy.

  Sava scrambled to his feet, guilt flushing his cheeks before cooling into calm defiance. Rivers of mist streamed past us like a moody Aurora Borealis, and finally, the boy gave a small bow.

  “Ms Bashir, do you require assistance?”

  I took in his dishevelled appearance and the battered khaki pack on his shoulders. He must have walked day and night to keep pace with us. I dismounted and uncapped my canteen, pouring a few drops into the beetle’s mouth. It seemed only fair. Startled curiosity flickered across Sava’s eyes, as though he’d been expecting a tirade, not beetle rehydration.

  “Where are you headed?” I said.

  “Home.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Any responsible adult would have taken him back to Dreamer’s Shore. Lily and Nam were probably frantic, and the desert was no place for someone who clearly thought geography and philosophy were interchangeable. But returning him would mean missing my cloud-skimmer, and subsequently my connecting boat, which would cut my two-week margin of error for this journey to zero.

  But more importantly, from the set of the boy’s jaw, from his strapped wrists and well-worn hiking books, he’d most likely run away again at the first opportunity. And Dreamer’s Shore was supposed to be his home, not a prison.

  I could only imagine what he’d been through to have ended up in a recovery camp, and I damn well wasn’t going to add another wound to those scars. If I could get him to Sunrise Bay, there’d be qualified counsellors who could assign him a guardian and provide the help he needed.

  “You can ride with me for a while, but I want you to answer one question honestly. Why did you leave Dreamer’s Shore?”

  Dawn hazed over the far crest, washing the dunes in purple and gold. There was a slight rasp to his voice when he answered.

  “I’m keeping a promise to my mother.”

  He pressed his lips into a trembling line and said nothing more.

  * * *

  The desert eventually gave way to scrubland, but we were lagging behind schedule. Paku wasn’t a cria anymore, and the extra passenger was slowing us down. I tried not to check my schedule constantly, my chest tightening as the departure time for the cloud-skimmer crept steadily closer.

  We were only a day’s ride from the bay, and we could still make it if we pushed through the night. But Sava hadn’t fully recovered from his stint in the desert, and he could barely—

  Without warning, Sava slid from the saddle.

  “Ms Bashir, I can walk from here. You and Paku go on ahead.”

  “Are you delirious again?”

  “You’re going to miss your skimmer.”

  Damn. The boy had eyes like a hawk, and a loner-complex that could fuel an action-vid franchise.

  Sava continued. “You can still make it, if you run. And I’ll reach the town in three days anyway.”

  Part of my brain argued that Sava was a resourceful boy who probably wouldn’t starve to death or get eaten by giant frogs. Another part of my brain imagined a giant frog burping up a small skeleton. My boots crunched onto the leaves beside Sava.

  “I’d decided against the skimmer anyway,” I lied. “Paku hates the rotors, and there’s a helioship leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

  Helioships were slow as hell, but I’d still make my connecting boat. Just.

  “Come on,” I said, squinting at the setting sun. “Paku needs a clean.”

  We set up camp beneath a canopy of figs and fading light. Sava had been ingratiating himself into my routine these last few days, and busied himself with removing Paku’s harness and grooming the burrs from his fleece.

  I adjusted the solar tree on the pod-cart, the silvery leaves turning anemone-like to drink in the last of the daylight. Performing a quick energy inventory, we had enough for a hot meal tonight.

  Reconstituted mac and cheese was hardly fancy fare, but Sava ate it reverentially. I found myself wondering again at his story. His pallor hinted at origins in the northern islands, but I couldn’t place his accent. He was bright and earnest, and at every rest stop, he pulled a notebook from his pack and stalked lizards and birds, scribbling memos and diagrams until it was time to move again.

  I’d flicked a message to Hoshi via my CW clicker—my Morse was rusty, but I was grateful for the crackle of the emergency frequencies whenever I was out of glider range. Sava had offered no further details about his past, so I was startled when he spoke now.

  “My father used to make this.”

  I took a delicate breath, half-knowing the answer. “What happened to your parents?”

  A heavy silence drew in the shadows and the evening chill. When he finally answered, every word seemed to burn his throat.

  “First came the sea. Then came the swarms. Then came the fever. The doctors said they melted from the inside.”

  I put down my plate. “I’m so sorry.”

  There were no words of comfort or consolation that could pull back the tides and eradicate the plagues that had come with a warming Earth. As mosquitos had spread thick and hungry across the continents, so followed malaria, dengue, and a host of haemorrhagic fevers. In the face of these epidemics, many researchers had pushed for more radical solutions, creating more resilient crops, more adaptable animals, more creative biology.

  Unfortunately, ready access to gene editing had also led to dragonflies the size of chainsaws: the madragonflies. Cambrea University had called it a breakthrough in overcoming the barriers of passive respiration in megafauna. And the head of their Science Department, Doctor Mirabella Mason, had unrepentantly declared it a “teachable moment” when she and her students finally appeared at the International Court of Criminal Negligence. I remembered watching the trial footage at school, and something about the way Mason wore a business suit reminded me of the way a hunter might wear a bearskin coat.

  That had been nearly fifty years ago, and their legacy of rogue beasts haunted only the wildest places now. In the end, vaccines and education, healthcare and the sustained restoration of ecosystems, had provided a more enduring solution than the frantic snipping of genes alone.

  Even so, looking at the stricken boy gripping his plate of goop as though it were a mirror to a lost world, I could understand what might drive someone to create an army of ravenous frogs.

  Sava whispered, “I don’t want to forget them.”

  “Your parents? Is that why you don’t like books?”

  “If I hear too many stories, I’ll forget my own.”

  Sometimes, a child’s world hangs together with a kind of magic—wondrous and perilous. Words and wishes and memories have a kind of power that too often fades with age. If shutting out new memories kept his parents alive somehow, then so be it, for now.

  “What are you looking for?” I said.

  “I promised my mother I’d find a new home. Somewhere I’d be happy.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find somewhere.”

  “Have you? Found somewhere you’re happy?”

  I hesitated, watching the mot
hs flutter around the false moon of the lamp.

  “Get some sleep. It’s an early start tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Sunrise Bay had erected a new border fence to keep out the butcher rats, but I was pretty sure the lopsided chain-link wasn’t deterring anything smaller than an alpacamel. We detoured five clicks for the checkpoint, and by the time we reached the outskirts of town, the helioship departure time was down to forty-five minutes. I studied the terrain of junkyard castles and twisting laneways—the town could have been designed by a deranged termite with a passion for windmills.

  I nudged Paku to a trot, rushing past stalls hawking ornamental driftwood. It’d take an hour to reach the port at this rate, but any faster and we’d lose the pod-cart. I could see the enormous bulk of the helioship floating over the bay, the helium envelope shimmering within its photovoltaic skin. It was still tethered to the port tower, but the minutes were draining away.

  Abruptly, Sava jumped from the saddle and hit the cobbles at a run.

  “Sava!”

  He raced over to a roadside stand of scuffed rental bikes and tapped a glassy credit chit against the console. Revving the tiny biodiesel engine, he skidded a bike back to Paku, unhooked the pod-cart and clamped it to his seat post.

  “Run!” he said. “I’ll meet you at the port.”

  He buzzed away down the narrow street, taking the corners like a back-alley racer. Unprompted, Paku broke into a gallop, pursuing the tinny hum of the motor. It’d been months since we’d run like this, and I couldn’t help grinning as we dashed down the salt-crusted laneways. Sava rode slightly ahead, and when he turned to check our position, I saw the flash of a smile.

  As we reached the final stretch, Sava pulled ahead, roaring towards the terminal spire. The helioship’s tethers were already detaching: five, four, three—

  Sava leapt off his bike and raced to the gate, speaking frantically to the steward. She barked a few phrases into her radio, and two tethers remained taut overhead, singing sweetly in the wind.

  The steward raised an eyebrow as I approached.