by Mark Wandrey
“Isn’t there a single capacitor on this foul-smelling rock that has any juice left?” One of his men cursed and kicked aside the remains of a discarded pile of EPCs. Nearby, young Eric was methodically using an instrument to check a few of the discarded EPCs.
“What are you up to?” Chriso asked the young man.
“The displays on the EPCs are not designed for real accuracy,” he said without looking up. “I remember when my family got their first electric-converted tractor. I was about six. The tractor had a little device called a gas gage to tell you how much alcohol was in the tank. It seems funny to me that this ultra-advanced piece of tech uses a meter so much like that old, analog gage.”
Chriso leaned over to look at the EPC Eric was testing. Shaped like a half-meter long capsule, it had a black dualloy shell to protect the equipment inside. Printed on the side in four different Concordian scripts were the model number and capacity of the EPC. An EPC of that size, when fully charged, held enough power to run a small village for weeks, or a factory for a couple of days. They also served as utility power cells in large vehicles. The solid-state bar graph displaying the EPC’s charge showed one red bar.
“Looks like it’s empty to me.”
“The trick is the gauge,” he said and tapped the red bar on the display.
“That says it’s empty too.”
“Sorta,” Eric laughed, and went back to hooking up his instrument to the power coupling on the EPC. “Look at one of those,” he said and gestured with his head to a pile a couple of feet away. Chriso walked over and picked one up. He noticed immediately the power graph didn’t show any red bars.
“So, this one is even emptier?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
“No sir, sorry. Like I said, we had a tractor that ran on EPCs when I was a kid. We quickly learned that ‘empty’ didn’t necessarily mean empty. EPCs are pretty complicated, with all kinds of systems inside to safely control the release of energy, to make sure it delivers a static level of output down to the last erg.” He showed Chriso where the interface port opened, and how he was attaching wires. “These things, like most Concordian tech, are designed to interface with all other Concordian technology. When you plug it in, it figures out what it will be doing: how much energy to draw, how quickly to draw it, how often, etc. The power bar displays the EPC’s ability to provide the load it’s tasked with producing, otherwise it’s worthless, because it has no reference point. We discovered that an EPC that registered empty on the tractor could be plugged into the incubators in the barn and it would show about a twenty percent charge!”
“Lower power demand?”
“Exactly! The ones with blank displays really are dead though. So dead, in fact, they don’t even have enough ergs left to run their own status displays. Any EPC with a live display is an unknown; it depends on what they were last used for before being unplugged.”
“So, one of these might have quite a bit of juice left in it?” Chriso suggested. Eric gave him a thumbs up.
“Probably not a lot, but since we only need to recharge our guns, metabolic filters, and a few other things, it shouldn’t take much.”
“Smart man! Good work, Eric. Let me know if you strike pay dirt.” The boy, beaming from ear to ear, continued working.
Chriso stood and stretched his inner thigh muscles, which ached from squatting next to Eric. He shook his head, knowing that he should be in better shape at 40. The life of a Chosen whittled away at a person’s youth and vigor. He walked to the window and gazed at the wonderful vista of the city below.
This world had once been home to a thriving civilization of beings, probably quite similar to humans. The architecture of the buildings resembled that of Concordia, with the only differences being fewer and smaller windows and a complete lack of stairs. Gradually sloping ramps spiraled up the center of each structure. Similar buildings of varying heights spread out in all directions. Chriso examined the material used to build the walls and marveled at the lack of deterioration. History suggested civilization had abandoned this world several hundred thousand years ago, but the structures showed little degradation and only rare structural failures. The wall he stared at looked slightly pitted and had a few tiny cracks. Ceramic concrete displayed amazing resistance to degeneration from time and atmosphere. Except for the occasional crack, the windows, transparent crystalline matrices of aluminum alloys and plastics called moliplas, were perfect. The Concordia created everything to last, except for their spaceships and computer memories. This puzzled the Chosen scientists. What a strange conundrum!
Most of his squad was scattered around the room, catching naps or tending to equipment. None of them seemed concerned about their circumstances, and for that, he was glad. In all his years as Chosen, then as First, he’d never found himself in such dire circumstances. A hostile alien species had him cornered on an out-of-bounds world. Chriso knew his men expected him to have a plan, and the random movement through the ghost city was part of it. Truthfully, he was desperate to find a way out. He’d found no further evidence of what had originally drawn him to the planet. Now, he needed a lifeline: an old shuttle, or a portal he could reconnect to the network. He’d take any option other than fighting his way to the off-world portal in the station, where the snakes were waiting to kill them.
“Chriso,” he heard the voice in his headset.
“Go ahead.”
“There’s another snake flier up here,” the Chosen observer said from the roof. “It’s flying a search pattern, about two kilometers east.”
“That’s where we were last night,” Chriso mumbled. The snakes had an incredible knack for finding the tiniest trace of their trail and following it like trained Kloth. The Chosen tried to leave as little evidence of their presence as possible. They carried bags full of used ration packages and their other garbage with them. Humans needed to defecate and urinate, but it simply wasn’t practical to carry that around, so they dug deep holes and filled them in when they moved. Still, the snakes kept finding their trail. He’d considered using an EPC to incinerate waste, but they had almost no power left. “Everyone, get ready to move,” he said aloud. With significantly less enthusiasm than they’d displayed at the beginning of their flight two weeks earlier, they awoke and prepared to leave their short-term hideout.
“Got one!” Eric cried out in triumph. Chriso walked over and looked at the results. The gauge registered a fractional, but noticeable, charge. It wasn’t enough to run a house for a day, but it was enough for their needs.
“Great job! Now, we need to run.”
Eric looked down at the EPC’s half-meter long case and made a face as he considered lugging it with them through the city’s ruins. “Carrying this will slow us down.”
“Dump it into one of our pack cells, and let’s run.”
“We’ll lose about ten percent.”
“Can’t be avoided,” Chriso told him. Eric nodded his head. A few seconds later he’d secured the energy and was ready to go.
“Confirmed. They have our trail,” said the lookout on the roof. This time, everyone was listening. “It’s tracking in, ETA two minutes.”
“Noted,” Chriso said, making sure they left behind no evidence of what they had done. “Monitor them for another thirty seconds while we egress, then meet up at the rally point.”
As they raced down the building’s ramp, Chriso strategized. If they could find more EPCs and had time to harvest their power, they could mount a defense. They had three shield generators they’d not yet used due to lack of power. Their pursuers, the T’Chillen, would be momentarily surprised if they could bring the shields into play. The surprise wouldn’t last long, though; he desperately needed other options.
He heard a clattering sound behind him, followed by a curse. He paused to see what had happened. In his haste to pack, Eric hadn’t properly secured one of his energy sensing instruments, and it had slid from his backpack as he slung it ov
er his shoulder. The device clattered down the ramp, and Chriso caught it as it rolled past.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Eric apologized as he caught up and retrieved the device. He flipped open the cover and turned it on to make sure it was still working. The display illuminated, and information scrolled by.
“No harm done,” Chriso said and patted him on the arm. “The Concordia know how to make tough equipment.”
“But sir, look at this!”
Chriso looked at the technical data and tried to figure out what it meant. “Is it some sort of energy signature?”
“Yeah, about ten kilometers away, just on the edge of the sensor’s range.”
“Probably one of the T’Chillen fliers.”
“Can’t be, sir. They use EPCs, but the sensor is picking up a generating source, a neutrino neutron flux, to be precise.”
“Fusion generator. The Concordia haven’t used them for eons,” Chriso said under his breath. He glanced nervously at Eric, afraid he’d heard. Eric looked at the sensor’s display and tapped the controls, unaware of Chriso’s muttering. The older man whistled between his teeth. He didn’t dare share this information too soon. “Are you sure it’s operating?” he asked the boy.
“I’ve never seen one in person, but during classes on Herdhome, the teachers mentioned that high-power generators had to have shields to prevent neutrinos from leaking. In high enough concentrations, they could damage genes, just like deep-space cosmic radiation could. If I can pick up a reading this far away, the generator’s either so screwed up it’s leaking background radiation, or it’s running.”
“Won’t the snakes know about it?”
“Maybe, maybe not. They could be so busy smelling our poop that they’re not looking for this sort of thing.” Chriso smiled and thanked Eric again for a job well done. The situation was further proof the Trials were too hard on intellectuals. Chosen tended to be all brawn and craftiness, but little pure intelligence.
“We have a new destination,” Chriso told his crew over the radio. “Eric’s sending the coordinates. We’ll take a circumspect route. Scouts out.”
Everyone acknowledged the orders, confident their boss knew what he was doing. Chriso tried to contain his excitement. A working fusion power generator? That had to be what he’d been looking for; it just had to be.
* * * * *
Chapter 8
Julast 6th, 514 AE
Cascade Mountains, Unknown Location
It was cold in the river valley, and Minu slept poorly, huddled close to Cherise’s warm body in a shelter constructed of two sections of wrapping, inside a sleeping bag made from two more sections. As soon as the sun rose over the rim, they climbed out of their tents to catch its life-giving rays.
When they’d retreated to the relative warmth of the shelters the night before, 42 candidates had arrived at the rendezvous site. Minu shuddered as she thought about the hundreds already weeded out. Those that had arrived after Minu’s group received anywhere from one to six drags, depending on how late they’d arrived. The Chosen manning the station possessed a seemingly limitless supply. She looked around at the other kids in the morning light. Many had spent the night huddled under trees or in the open, and she suspected quite a few wouldn’t make it through the day.
Minu helped Cherise pack their gear, and the boys emerged from their tent and began to do the same. She smiled when she thought of the boys huddled together, wondering if that made them feel good. Somehow, she doubted it. As Cherise had said, boys were different.
“Have a nice night, Daughter of the First?” She ignored Ivan, deciding it wasn’t worth her time to play his games. Just like the night before, he laughed at her and returned to his group of toadies.
After the shock of seeing him had worn off, she’d realized his presence at the Trials wasn’t some trick or special fix arranged by his powerful father. He’d just happened to be the right age. There were so many candidates at Steven’s Pass, it was no surprise she’d missed spotting him. Still, she wondered if he’d seen her naked. The thought was disconcerting.
Ivan and his group were by the river, washing their naked bodies. She looked away quickly, but not quickly enough, as Ivan saw her and turned to fully face her. He stood erect, quite proud of himself, his body language saying, ‘Like what you see?’ She involuntarily glanced at his crotch before emphatically looking away. Why did boys have to emphasize their sexuality so vulgarly?
Cherise wasn’t as easily embarrassed. She stared at Ivan for a minute before shaking her head and yelling at him. “The water must be quite cold!” He looked down at himself, and she laughed as she turned and led Minu away. “He’s a rude one,” she said as they walked over to the trees where their friends waited.
“Runs in the family,” Minu agreed. The boys greeted the girls, asking how they’d fared in the previous night’s cold. “I fear it will get colder,” she told them.
“What makes you think that?” Pip asked as he fiddled with the contents of his pack.
“The Chosen is gone.” The others looked at the shelter but saw no sign of him. Sometime during the night, he’d left. Aaron looked up at the distant, snow-covered peaks with dread while the others discussed their options.
“What are we supposed to do?” Aaron asked. They’d just finished putting their tent parts and gear back into their backpacks. Others were still washing in the river or milling around their improvised camps. Once again, without directions, they were lost.
“Let’s see if he left any clues,” Minu said and boldly entered the shelter. It was as utilitarian on the inside as it was on the outside. Attached to one wall was a single built-in bunk. A pair of simple camp chairs rested against another. Next to the door was a basic Concordian-made computer, and under the only window was a footlocker like those at Steven’s Pass.
“Not exactly the lodgings I’d expect for a Chosen,” Cherise said. Minu knew better. People who didn’t know the Chosen assumed they lived in expensive places and led extravagant lifestyles. The truth was the complete opposite. They earned modest salaries and usually lived in the barracks at the Chosen Plaza or Steven’s Pass. Most of the Chosen she knew owned almost nothing. Her friend Jovich lived in a sparsely-furnished apartment about twice as large as the shelter. She’d always had the impression they lived like monks.
They searched the room. Not surprisingly, Pip headed straight for the computer. The room was empty except for the locker and the computer. To their dismay, a padlock secured the locker, and the computer lacked an operating system.
“This was a waste of time,” Gregg grumbled. Cherise shrugged, and Pip sat on a chair and stared at the computer.
“There has to be something here,” Minu mumbled.
“Why?”
“They wouldn’t leave us in a no-win situation.”
“After all that’s happened so far, you believe that?” Cherise asked.
“Minu’s right,” Pip chimed in. All except Minu looked at him incredulously. “Don’t look at me like that. Think about it. Their tricks are downright dirty, but they’ve always given us clues to figure things out. We wouldn’t have gotten this far without them.”
“Maybe we were lucky,” Aaron said.
“Luck is not a factor,” Minu said. She wasn’t willing to admit they’d gotten this far purely by luck. Because they were part of the small group of remaining candidates, deep inside she felt that maybe, just maybe, they were going to make it. “There has to be something we missed. What about the stuff they gave us, is there anything we haven’t considered?” She dug into her bag and pulled out the little wooden box. “What about this?” she asked. She’d completely forgotten about it and had never opened hers.
“Mine has an electronic circuit card,” Aaron said glumly.
“Mine has a micro EPC,” Gregg said.
“Mine has a data chip, but I checked it back in Steven’s Pass, and it only contains a partial file,” Pip said, looking around at the others in surprise. Clearly, he’d thought
each person got the same, seemingly useless article. Minu popped her box open for the first time and found a memory chip inside. She held it up curiously.
“Shit!” Pip exclaimed, snatching the chip from her and the power cell from Gregg. Minu didn’t complain; computers were obviously Pip’s thing. In no time at all, he had the computer up and running.
“Minu’s chip holds an operating system and part of a file,” Pip said after studying its contents. He grabbed his bag and pulled out a second chip. He slipped it into the drive and accessed the information.
“Does that complete the file?” Minu asked.
“No, but it provides another part. Looks like it takes three.”
“What are the odds we’d have two different parts and not duplicates?” Aaron asked.
“There could be duplicates or dozens of files,” Gregg agreed.
“There may be a way to find out,” Minu said and stuck her head out the door. The air continued to warm, and the morning was becoming quite nice. Taking advantage of the supposedly free time, the others were lounging around. A couple were even frolicking in the river. She saw a half-dozen shoulder bags like those they carried in a pile nearby. Minu elbowed Cherise and pointed. The two girls exchanged mischievous looks and carefully slinked over to the pile.
“What are you girls doing in there?” asked a nearby boy. Minu jumped slightly but recovered quickly.
“We were searching the hut for anything useful.”
“We did that earlier, once we saw the Chosen was gone. We even tried to jimmy that damned lock.”
“So did we,” Cherise said with a shrug. The girls leaned against the building and looked bored. Before long, the boy lost interest and began watching those playing in the water. Quickly, before the boy noticed, Cherise and Minu snatched a pair of packs and darted back into the hut.
