“It is,” Nolan said, and it was. The bowl of heaven stretched away, inky but gaining that steel note that speaks of the coming dawn. Stars crowded above, their brilliant points a second map that led them forward along the broad, flat road, and for a moment, Nolan was content.
It was an active sky despite the world being a backwater. They saw no less than five satellites streak overhead, along with two meteors that skipped off the upper atmosphere like rocks on a pond. Nolan figured the skies were busy with wreckage from every ship that was torn apart before it could even pierce the clouds, and felt a distinct chill at his own dose of good luck. The surface was a long way down in a wounded ship. It was no wonder so many people didn’t make it.
“The math doesn’t add up,” Nolan muttered to himself, but Avina heard.
“What math?”
“The number of wrecks and—well, how many people seem to be trying to leave. Where are the engineers? The amateur spacers, building a vehicle to break out? Humans are tough. Why aren’t they trying to get back to the stars?” Nolan asked.
“Maybe they can’t?” Avina said, slowly, trying to figure the angles.
“Or maybe they’re not being allowed. There’s something about that river that makes me wonder—”
“Let’s wait on that. We’ve got an AI to shake loose, see if there’s anything we can use. If the AI is dormant, that goes a long way toward explaining why tech isn’t blooming again out here in the west,” Avina said.
“That makes some sense. Doesn’t explain why the east is so backward, though.”
“Who says it is?” Avina countered.
“I do. There should be hardware going up, or at least sideways, and according to what I’m hearing, there isn’t. To me, that’s backward.”
“We’ll see.” Avina sniffed.
“We? When?” Nolan’s lips pulled to one side in a sardonic grin.
She shrugged. “The Starway goes both ways, and I know your curiosity will eventually get you there. After you build a place to keep away the—you know, everything,” Avina said.
“That’s true enough,” he admitted. The tire hissed as they rolled on into the pinking sky, and for several moments, they were surrounded by a companionable silence.
Cherry broke the quiet with targeting as a small dot formed in Nolan’s eye. “Looks like a maintenance point or relay station. It’s encased in ceramic, range is three klicks.”
“Something ahead,” Nolan told Avina, who stirred behind him. “Thirty seconds out, slowing now.”
“Enemy?” Her hand was already moving toward a weapon or three.
Nolan shook his head as the road slowed from a blur, then turned and stopped about two hundred meters away from whatever it was on the roadside.
“Junction box?” Nolan asked.
Avina leaned around him, peering into the growing daylight. “Could be. Doesn’t look to be broadcasting. Maybe for hardwires?”
“Only one way to know,” Nolan said, nudging the Loop forward. They parked and walked the last thirty meters, guns up and eyes wary. Around them, low scrub was giving way to an intermediate kind of forest—there was more water, or maybe better soil.
“Nolan, open the front panel and let me look at this thing,” Cherry said. “It’s an old design, but I think it’s a simple relay.”
“Cherry wants a look. Cover me,” Nolan said, then knelt and began looking for the panel lock. It was there, to the side, a simple press-and-hold that had been in use for as long as people had gone interstellar.
The door swung open slowly with a soft grinding.
“Old,” Avina said, then spared a glance at the interior. “Clean, though.”
“Seal was good,” Nolan said, looking over the bland panel. It revealed little, being gray, split by three circuit lines, and having two small blue lights that pulsed softly. “There’s power here, but I don’t see any photocells. What’s that on the side?”
Avina leaned forward, then reached out and plucked a small container held in place by magnets. It was palm-sized, metallic, and bore a symbol on the exterior—a small lightning bolt inside a trapezoid.
“Oh,” Cherry said.
“Is that—open it,” Nolan said.
Avina did. Inside, three disk matrices gleamed in their cradle, silver, shining, and new. “This is unexpected.”
“And more money than I’ve ever seen in one place. Ever,” Nolan enthused.
The matrix units were a blank canvas for the hardbody of an AI and could be used in combat drones that were nearly impossible to defeat. But it was their original purpose that made him hold his breath.
“I guess—well, never asked you this, but would you like your body back?” Nolan asked.
Cherry’ response was immediate. “Yes.”
“She says yes,” Nolan told Avina.
“Figured. Put this away,” Avina said, handing him the container. He tucked the treasure in his chest pocket, where it could only be removed if he was dead or naked.
“I didn’t expect this at all,” Nolan said. “Maybe we should—"
“Look down, Nolan,” Cherry said.
“Oh. No shit,” he said. A cable nearly as thick as the unit’s entire base ran down into the soil, or rock, or whatever was beneath the Starway.
“What is it?” Avina asked.
Nolan whistled softly, then rapped the massive power tap with a knuckle. It didn’t ring like metal. “It’s—well, I don’t see any active volcanoes around here, but I’m assuming there’s something like it?”
“Geothermal? What the hell?” Avina asked.
“Six klicks to the south, I have a small grouping of hot pools. This is a power tap, Nolan. Whoever built this had a colony-sized extrusion unit and the resources to make it work on a huge scale,” Cherry said.
That kind of money was rare. The longevity of the Starway took on a new meaning.
“This world was meant for early colonization, cities, and starports—at least two, one in each hemisphere,” Nolan said.
“Which means there’s tech in the south, on those islands,” Avina added.
Nolan turned to stare south, toward the great rolling ocean. “I think we’ll end up—”
He didn’t say more because a bullet passed through his forearm, spinning him around just as the crack from the shot reached them, it’s report harsh in the morning stillness.
Avina whirled in the direction of the shot—damned good instincts on her—as Cherry began speaking to Nolan in a calming tone.
“Flesh wound. looks like a dart round, probably ten grains. You’re losing some blood but not enough to worry. Turn so I can check the sky,” Cherry said.
“The sky? Oh—” Nolan lifted his head, grimacing at the sting. It was a small wound, but it hurt like hell. “Shit, okay.”
In the distance, Nolan’s eye found the shooter. A drone hovered twenty meters high, its camouflage nearly perfect against the morning sky.
“Avina, can you hit it?” Nolan asked.
She grunted, snapped off a round, and waited. The drone dodged left, stabilized, and began to turn for another shot. Nolan grunted in alarm, since the snub nose of the dart tube seemed pointed right at him.
“Sorry. Let me try again,” Avina said.
Nolan made the range at a klick, so Avina was pushing her ability under the best circumstances, even with the enhanced sights on her gun.
“Mine.” Nolan raised his weapon, sighted, and fired, Cherry’s visual overlay giving the wind and distance adjustments in less time than it took to think about the shot. A second later, the drone broke apart, fan blades whirling away in hissing chaos as it fell to the ground.
“Nice shot. Let me see your arm,” Avina said, reaching into her pack for medgear. “Passed right through. Think it’s a toxin package?”
“Doesn’t feel like it, just old-fashioned ceramic. Ahh, thanks,” Nolan said. She sprayed a closure coating and the pain dropped to zero. “Better arm up. They’re close.”
“What’s the range on those dr
ones?” Avina asked.
“For control, or flight? Because I don’t know either.”
“Let’s assume the worst,” Cherry said. “Three klicks west. On the road.”
Nolan peered into the light. “Got ’em.” Two shapes, moving fast. “They’re not on Loops. Something—oh.” He gave a derisive snort.
“What?” Avina asked.
“Fucking space cows, but fast,” Nolan said in disgust. “Don’t shoot the cows. They didn’t do anything—okay, wait.” The shapes were turning toward where the drone had gone down.
“Are they coming here or just salvaging the drone?” Avina asked.
They watched the distant figures with singular intensity. Both people dismounted, moved with haste to the drone wreckage, and began rifling through it while looking around. Nolan could sense their nervous energy, even at a distance.
“Let’s go ask,” Nolan said, shaking blood off his hand.
“You sure?” Avina lifted a doubtful brow.
He sighed, then gave his hand an experimental stretch. “Yeah. If nothing else, it’s possible intel on this stretch of the Starway.”
They rode over at a slow pace, parked two hundred meters away, and watched as both people raised weapons halfway. One lifted her hand in a sort of hesitant greeting. The other, a big guy with wide shoulders and a brawler’s stance, merely stood, watching in silence with flat black eyes. His skin was sunburned to a deep brown, his hair black with a hint of salt at the temples.
“I shot the drone,” Nolan said through cupped hands. “After it shot me.” He held up the wound as he and Avina continued to walk forward at a measured pace.
“Good shot. Now fuck off, it’s our wreck,” the woman said. She was small, wiry, and pale, with midnight black hair and bright blue eyes that darted around in a constant dance. Her cheekbones were in stark relief, and she had a hungry look.
Nolan made a placating motion with his hands, trying on a smile. “Don’t want it. How about some information instead?”
“Twenty meters,” she said.
“For?” Avina asked.
“How close you can get. Don’t trust anyone out here. Too much pox.”
“Um—agreed,” Nolan said. In a low tone, he asked Avina, “You know anything about a pox?”
She shook her head. “News to me.”
“And me. There’s no indication of plague here,” Cherry added.
Nolan and Avina walked slowly and stopped at the agreed distance, weapons mirroring the others—neither raised nor stowed.
The woman held a small central power unit in her hands and brushed dirt from it without taking her eyes off Nolan and Avina. The man—a bit taller and heavier than Nolan, and missing an ear—stared, unblinking.
“Ask your questions and get,” the woman said.
“Alright. Who are you and where are the People of the Clock?” Nolan said.
She stiffened. “Who wants to know?”
“Me, obviously. You can call me Nolan if you need a name, and this is Avina. If you’re with them, you’ve got a problem. If you aren’t, then we’re good,” Nolan said.
“What sort of problem?” the man said, speaking for the first time. His voice was oddly mild, even cultured.
“I’m going to kill both of you and leave your corpses for the—whatever they are. I’m assuming there’s some kind of carnivorous space cow around here; they seem to fill every other ecological niche.”
The man snorted, his eyes going bright with humor. “He’s not wrong. A bit overconfident, but not wrong.”
“Maybe he’s just an asshole,” the woman said.
“That’s entirely subjective, but you still haven’t answered my question,” Nolan pressed.
She jerked a thumb at the guy. “Edwun. I’m Tipp. We’re not with those bastards. We’re free range. I still don’t like your attitude.”
“Good, because yours sucks too,” Nolan said.
Tipp smiled, then put the power unit in her pack. “How long have you been down?”
“Long enough to hate the Clock clan, or whatever, and long enough to make some decisions about what comes next. Like going west,” Nolan said.
Tipp grunted. “I don’t recommend it.”
“Pox?” Avina asked.
“Among other things, but yeah. Hollows out your bones and leaves you a husk. No rhyme or reason to it, although I think that updated vax from offworld keeps it at bay. I know it has for us. So far,” Tipp said.
“A few days for me. Longer for her, but we’re both inoculated for system travel,” Nolan lied, not knowing if Avina was or not.
Edwun knelt, picked up a shattered fanblade, and tossed it in disgust. “Not much left.”
“Good, because that’s what I wanted. Where’s the driver?” Nolan asked.
“Could be anywhere. These are satlinked out here. To the east, I’m not sure, and I’m not going to find out,” Edwun said.
“I take it there’s more danger that way?” Nolan asked.
“If you consider an endless war dangerous,” Tipp said.
“I do. Which is why we’re going west for now,” Nolan repeated.
“Why?” Tipp asked.
Nolan gave an easy shrug, despite his wound. “I heard there was someone I need to see.”
Tipp gave her own noncommittal noise, then grinned. “Do you like coffee?”
“Hell yes,” Nolan said.
“Tough break. I don’t have any. But I do have something close. Like caffeine, but tastes like feet,” Tipp said.
Nolan cut his eyes at Avina, who gave a tiny nod. “Why let flavor get in the way of new friendships?”
Whisper and Keen
East
Hiding in plain sight was often best, so Whisper and Keen sat, nursing cups of thin, sour beer at a stilted cafe and watching the sun set over Marwai yet again. The city heaved like tired lungs as the tide came rolling in, flooding the canals with water and merchants. Hours later, the tide left, taking all noise and boat traffic with it in a cycle as old as the world. Regular, predictable, and wrapping them in priceless anonymity as they waited for their employer to make contact and remove the blade, unremarkable except for its edge, that sat between them on their wooden table,
“Doesn’t look like much,” Keen said.
“Neither do we.”
“Fair point.” He tilted his cup, smiling. The edge wasn’t just sharp, it was evil, buzzing with something unseen like a blandly colored serpent that kept its fangs well hidden. Anything near the Clockstones was worthy of fear, and the knife was a physical reminder that the edge of the world was a wild, dangerous place where people were not meant to be.
Not if they intended to live for long.
“When she takes it from us, where do we go?” Whisper asked. They both assumed there would be more work, another task, more blood. Another body left behind, or bodies. Broken lives, silver coins. Gold if they were lucky, but only at the cost of someone’s life. A degenerate living, built on a tower of bones and pain.
Above, three blue shrikes cried at the wind, their claws scraping the main roof beam as they jostled for position. One peered down at Whisper, its black eyes round and flat, beak chittering in an unknowable tongue as it lost interest and began to preen feathers gone gray from the blistering sun.
Keen stared at the blade before answering. “Far away from this thing, and her, and whatever it is that she’s doing. It might be time to vanish for a season and let the world close over our presence until we’re forgotten. The names Whisper and Keen can be—retired, and we’ll pick new ones for our next iteration.” They had rebuilt a reputation once before when needed, and could do it again, preferably in a place where people didn’t wield magical weapons that were thirsty for heartblood. Life was dangerous enough without the weapons of ancient mages complicating a career that always ended badly, no matter how skilled a killer became.
For those who did dark work, they expected nothing, asked for nothing beyond coin, and knew that their path would never
fill with light. Killers never died old, or in their sleep, or on a porch, watching grandchildren at play. Their lives ended in blood. Always.
She pushed the heavy sleeve toward him, leather and wool barely capable of holding the blade away from harming anyone it touched, and not for the first time, sighed in disgust at what they had both become.
The café was two full stories high, exposing the open kingdom around them from their vantage point, broad land opening when the jumbled city fell away to untamed wilds. Salt was the last kingdom, broad and lush despite the name, a place of bamboo forests and curving rivers where people lived as one with the water and its dangers. Determined people, carving a land that resisted at every turn, reshaping itself with the monsoons that blew north from the deltas at the end of every summer.
Whisper looked around at the café, crowded with handsome faces, tanned from the sun. She didn’t belong there, and neither did Keen. These people worked, and loved, and raised families, and did things that left a legacy other than tears. She was a degenerate soul in a land of hope, and she felt the hatred well up in her like a crashing tide.
“Do you want to be something different this time?” she asked.
He took his time answering as the café crowd grew, boat people climbing the stairs to drink away the cares of the day. Their shouts and laughter began to crowd him, just as he always felt whenever they were in a town large enough to have a name. He took his time because she would know a lie, and she was worth the truth, no matter how damaged she thought her own soul. And his.
“When you were thirteen, do you remember what you wanted to become?” he asked, eyes unfocused with the effort of looking back into their collective memory. Such things were harder to recall with each passing season, a fact that troubled him during the rare moments he was alone with his thoughts.
“My pipes. I wanted to play the pipes and be loved for it. I wanted—it hurt me, I wanted it so much, but I wanted to be not hungry, for once, and clean, and maybe even safe though I didn’t know what that felt like. You wanted to be a woodworker. I remember when you gave me the pipes, worn smooth by your hands and some ash from the hearth. I wish I had them.”
Lost Kingdom: Book 1 in the Lost Kingdom Series Page 16
