The Cold Dead Earth (The Jolo Vargas Space Opera Series Book 3)

by J. D. Oppenheim

  The nav computer couldn’t tell him if it was human or mech or synth, but Jolo guessed it was a man. It gave off a lot of heat and moved slow.

  Jolo got off the bike, pulled out the Colt and walked straight down the road. The hoverbike went into follow mode and trailed him 20 meters back. Jolo could fire the laser gun on either target via voice command.

  “I’m from the Federation. Who are you?” Jolo called out.

  No answer. But Jolo could see he was sitting on the road with a rifle across his lap. Jolo kept coming, Colt pointed straight at the man. Jolo got close enough to see him clearly: long gray hair which blended into a beard that hung down his chest, old Fed flight jacket, an even older energy rifle that probably hadn’t been used in fifty years. Newer ones have a blue charge light, this one didn’t, but Jolo guessed it was a dead gun.

  “Do you speak?” Jolo said. But the man just stared at him with watery eyes. They held the stalemate for a few moments. Jolo could feel the air getting colder and the light was fading orange to brown. He’d have to camp soon and would rather not have some lunatic old man on the loose disturbing his sleep.

  Jolo started to head back to the hoverbike, but the man finally spoke. “I see they’ve upgraded the bike.”

  “You see in the dark, old man?” The bike was twenty meters back and Jolo was blocking his view.

  “Naw. There’s more than a few in the trench. This is the first to make it.”

  Jolo didn’t say anything, but the surprise on his face gave him away.

  “Oh, you are not the first fool to come this way.”

  “You BG?”

  “The lines are a bit blurred here on our happy home. I suppose I do suckle at the teat of the Bakhane Grana. We would all be dead without the Queen. But as to your question, I used to be a Fed man, like you.”

  “And now?”

  “Remaining alive is good.”

  “I am no Fed.”

  “You stink of purpose and ambition. You have the answers. Yours is the right way, yes?”

  “Is this I-75?” Jolo said pointing the Colt at the road.

  “I don’t know the name of the road, I am only the watcher.”

  “So there are others in town? Like you?”

  The man paused, he closed his eyes tight like he was in physical pain, then he recovered, and smiled again. “There were. Many years before. But no longer.”

  “I’m going to town.”

  “There you will only find death, Fed man.” The man struggled to get to his feet and Jolo holstered the Colt and helped him up. The old man stood there for a moment, teetering, a light wind blew past. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air. “Come. Eat with me and you can tell me news of the Federation. I have not spoken to a real man in several years. There are fewer and fewer of you that make it this far out into the wild. Leave your bike out here. It will not be disturbed. But you must come inside or you will not survive the night.”

  The man hobbled towards the structure on the side of the road. Jolo realized the building was actually a piece of an old ship sticking up out of the ground. They entered through a small access hatch wide enough for just one man. The inside was lit with a small torch on the wall. Jolo could see the last bit of brown daylight through a hole in the ceiling, which was actually an interior wall of the old ship. The space was surprisingly roomy. The floors were clean with ancient Fed-issue food containers lined along the wall for seats. There were pictures of tomatoes on one, a picture of pickled anthelore cutlets on another. He knew they’d been empty since before he was born but the pictures made him think of food.

  “This was an M-class transport made in Arlen way back. Used mainly to carry food.” He stared out through the walls of the ship to some faraway place. “We ate well for about two years.” And then he snapped out of it, and went to the corner and produced a small field burner kit, placed it on the floor with a pan on top. Jolo stared at the empty pan and licked his lips. The old man looked up from the small fire. “I got hundreds of burners that still work after all these years and a ship full of empty food containers. The irony is maddening.”

  “What you gonna cook?”

  The old man’s back was to Jolo and then he turned and threw a piece of red meat on the pan. It instantly started to sizzle, the bottom getting wet with grease.”

  Jolo’s mouth began to water. “That looks good.”

  “You don’t want that.” The man reached back and produced a few chunks of the black stuff.

  Jolo didn’t even look at it, his eyes fixed on the pan. “I want that.”

  “That’s a big step. Let’s not go there just yet.”

  “No. I’m ready for it. What is it?”

  The old man hesitated. “Dog.”

  “Dog? I didn’t think earth could support even small animals.”

  “And yet here we sit.” The man turned the meat and cut it into smaller pieces with a large Fed blade the infantry grunts carried. When it was done he took a bite and ate without looking up.

  Wild thoughts popped into Jolo’s mind: the man tied up and Jolo eating all of the meat for himself. Or worse. But then he regained his composure. He was the guest, like it or not, and the old man was not hostile.

  “Eat the black for now,” he said. “You’d not deprive an old man his meat, would you?” He took another bite, grease dribbling down his chin, his lips wet. Jolo couldn’t help but stare at each bite going into the old man’s mouth. The man looked up and smiled. “I believe the dog is not healthy and I would not want a man of purpose such as yourself dissuaded from his task,” he said, his voice muffled by the half-eaten meat.

  Jolo nibbled on some of the black and then splurged and ate a few precious bites of Fed green he’d been saving. They drank water from small plastic cups.

  The next day for breakfast Jolo had to endure the same torture. This time he just got up to leave. But the man grabbed him by the arm. “Wait,” he said. “Let me check.” Then he climbed up onto some boxes and peered out into the dim morning light. There was one uneaten morsel in the pan and Jolo just moved away from it. Soon the man came down. “Give it another thirty minutes or so and then we’ll have better visibility and you can be on your way.”

  “What are you worried about? No giant worms out here to eat you. No nutjobs with old guns trying to kill anyone out here. Just a—” and here Jolo was about to say something cruel, but he reigned his anger in. “Just you.”

  “You have no idea what this place is,” said the old man.

  “What is your name?”

  The old man paused and Jolo wondered if he really couldn’t remember his name or was just didn’t want to reveal his real one.

  “Mac.”

  “I’m Jolo.”

  “The Queen doesn’t eat people. Well, she has, but she gets her power from the deep in the earth where there’s no poison from the final war. They just want you to think she eats people.”

  “Then where do the people go? The ones they put into the cage? The ones that get sucked down onto this Godforsaken rock?”

  “Off to work farms all over the planet. Don’t you know what this place is, Jolo? Can you not see it? You are on the doorstep, barely made it into the building and you’re talking like you know things. You don’t know shite, Jolo Vargas.”

  “Where does the power come from? The power to suck down a ship? And why do the big boats die when the hoverbike still works?”

  “Living at the behest of the Queen one does not ask the why and how of things. That is a waste of time. My own life wasted on such useless thought. Far better is to ask the simple, pure question: How can I survive given this particular set of circumstances?”

  Jolo stood up. “I’m going to town. Thanks for— Thanks for the conversation.”

  “Go there and die. The town is death. The ice is almost as bad. Here is the best place. Right in between.”

  “More worms? More bad guys?”

  The old man stood and pulled a rifle down from the wall. It was an old-style ki
netic weapon and he checked the magazine for bullets. “I’ll take you to the edge.”

  The Thing About Town

  The morning dawned brown and dingy as Jolo and Mac set out for the edge of town on the hoverbike. On the way Jolo peppered him with questions.

  “What ship did you come in on?”

  “The Maruten 7, a long time ago. We were hauling supplies to some of the settlements reaching out beyond the core.”

  “What’d you do on that boat?”

  “Cook.”

  “Well if last night’s spread was any indication of your culinary skills I’d say the crew was dead before they got here.”

  The old man’s voice got serious. “Yes. They all died. But not on the ship. They died here, one by one on this frakking black rock. And I watched every one of them pass on and nothing I could do about it.”

  Jolo knew he’d gone too far. Katy’d be shaking her head, he thought. There was an awkward pause, then Jolo muttered a forced, “Sorry.”

  Eventually the old man broke the silence and Jolo was happy he didn’t seem angry.

  “What do you seek?”

  “Guns,” said Jolo. “Not core-world energy weapons. Old stuff like that rifle you carry.”

  “To what end.”

  “Get some guns, take out Hazuki, kill the worm, steal Hazuki’s weapons cache and get off this rock.” Jolo couldn’t see the man’s face but he heard him chuckle through the comm. “Oh,” said Jolo. “Almost forgot. Save the Fed.”

  There was a long silence. “Ambitious.”

  Soon after Jolo saw the first glimpse of the city. There were tall buildings, but with no walls, just the steel girders that once held walls and floors. Some had fallen down. Everything was covered in black dust. There were the metal transportation boxes like at their hiding place at the mall, but these were barely visible, swallowed up by the earth. Now just mounds of black. And just like everywhere else, there were no trees, no green, no animals. Nothing. Just the skeleton buildings and dust and wind and the orange sky above.

  Jolo stopped at the edge of the city. “I don’t see nothing scary. Don’t see no dogs.”

  “Good. In the city you’ll want to keep your voice down and don’t make any big noises.”

  “I didn’t think you were coming.”

  “Most men are running away. They are smart. You aim to return, which is stupid. You need all the help you can get.”

  “Alright, well, just stay out the way.”

  Mac put his hand on Jolo’s shoulder. “Listen, do you trust me?”

  “Uh, not really. You’re lying about the whole cook thing. I see how you handle that old rifle. That ain’t cook training. And you’re lying about the food. You gotta stash somewhere.”

  “Ok. Fair enough. Create your own little fantasy world. But if you want to live then do I as say. This is a small city, laid out like a grid, we need to check each intersection before buzzing through to the next one. It’s best to be unseen and unheard. Stay quiet.”

  Jolo went ahead with Mac’s plan and they slowly made their way into the city, checking each road before moving on to the next block. It was slow and Jolo was disappointed by the city. There was no color. No life. Very little remained except the metal girders rising up from the ground and even those were rusted and in ruins in parts of the city.

  At the fourth intersection Mac stopped and suddenly ducked down behind the remains of an automobile, waving his hand for Jolo to get down too. Jolo didn’t need the binocs to see what had him flustered. Down the side road were about fifty humans milling about. Jolo clearly could see a few Fed uni’s in there and some very familiar merchant company colors, though he figured he would not mention his name again to any random merchant crew members like he’d done with Riley. He was about to jump out into the road and call them but Mac tackled him.

  “What doing old fart?” said Jolo.

  “That’s the bad guys.”

  “What the hell you talkin’ about?” said Jolo. He grabbed the binocs from the hover bike and took a closer look. He focused on a blond lady in a yellow flight suit. She stumbled along with her back to him then she abruptly turned around. Her mouth was black and her face was gaunt. The others milled about in the same way, bumping into each other, making sudden direction changes.

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “They been in the black too long. Their minds have become addled. I believe the Queen has control of them. They feed on the black at the edge of the ice.”

  “Why are they here? Can we save them?”

  “They are the Queen’s now. They are beyond our help. Their job, I believe, is to catch strays that might try to gain a foothold in one of the towns.”

  “Strays?”

  “You and me and anyone not yet taken by the black.”

  “If you been eatin’ the black for so long how come you ain’t walkin’ around with that bunch of…” Jolo took another look with the binocs. Their faces were blank, expressionless, eyes wide open, torn clothes. Some missing a shoe. Some missing a limb, or worse. They were all in constant motion, bumping, stumbling, but going nowhere. “…those poor souls.” Jolo looked down at the old man. He was in fine health.

  “I faced the reality of the situation. I think you need to also.” He stared Jolo in the eye. “All of your plans ain’t gonna add up to a pile of shite.”

  “How can you say that!” said Jolo.

  “Keep your voice down,” whispered Mac. Several of the walkers started in their direction. “Shit. They key in on our voices. Maybe our smell. You’ve seen the idiots that run with Hazuki at the front gate. Their minds have slowed a bit, just enough for Hazuki and the Queen to control them, but not like these here. The walkers are gone. Now we must go. They’ve seen us and our path will be more difficult from here on out.”

  “I’ll outrun those poor bastards.”

  “Yes. That’s what you think. There are more than this and they—” he paused. “They can communicate somehow. Not with words. Almost like they are networked. And if one gets his hands on you they’ll all come and tear you apart. Limb from limb.”

  They got on the hoverbike and kept going the same way as before, checking each intersection, then moving forward, heading deeper into the city. Jolo kept checking back, but the walkers never showed up.

  Pretty soon they’d made it to the center of the town. Mac jumped off the bike and started crawling around in the dirt in front of one of the skeleton-like buildings. He moved from place to place, muttering to himself, occasionally jumping up and getting a full 360 degree sweep of the area.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Landmark. Gotta make sure we’re in the right spot. I counted streets, but don’t want to go to the wrong place.” Finally he found it: a large, round metal plaque. He and Jolo wiped away the dirt. The stainless steel was dirty and corroded in spots, but in remarkably good condition. “Welcome to Macon, Georgia, pop. 3,849,387, Heart of the New South Republic, 2157.” There was an engraving of a bird next to three pieces of fruit. Jolo’s mouth watered. He’d go for the bird first. A distant thought of warm meat filled his mind and he quickly pushed it back out.

  He followed Mac inside one of the skeleton buildings that stood guard over the place. The first floor was open and spacious and Jolo tried to imagine what it looked like long ago. He pulled out the Colt instinctively, glanced past the steel girders onto the street: still empty. Mac led him down a flight of stairs into darkness. Once his eyes adjusted he could just make out another large space with corridors leading off to more darkness. This place had a different feel than the mall.

  “This was the main admin building. The police force must have had a presence on the top level but I think this is where the office was. All of the big vaults with money have been long since pilfered, but there is one that remains unbroken,” said Mac.

  “How do you know this?”

  “I lived here for a time before the walkers made it impossible.”

  “How many of you
were there?”

  Mac didn’t answer. He went further into the darkness, then down again. Now they were three levels deep, and Jolo made a mental note of the exit path out to the hoverbike. Soon they were standing in front of a small door. Jolo tried to brush the dust off and his hand nearly went through the corroded metal. He could just make out Georgia State Police, Bldg. 12, Ma— The rest was gone.

  Mac led him to a room in the back with a huge vault that was taller than Jolo and extended out to either side of the room. The door had a keypad and a round wheel that he assumed opened the huge bolt locks on either end.

  “Is this it?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Jolo went back out to the hoverbike, Colt in hand. He stood just inside the skeleton of the building and checked either side of the street, but there were no walkers. He untied the mini-jet and the rig that Koba had created to hold it in place. There were tools in a bag and some rope, but he couldn’t carry it all so he lugged the jet first back down to the vault.

  “I’d go for the lock mechanism here,” said Mac, running his hand along one of the smooth metal rods running the length of the vault door.

  Jolo ran back out. When he reached down to get Koba’s rig, he noticed movement off to his right. He knelt down by the hoverbike, and sure enough, a few blocks down, there were a few walkers. He didn’t move, just watched as they crossed his street. More followed. He decided to wait it out, hoping they would all just pass on by. Ten mintutes later and the slow moving procession was still making its way past. It was like some bizarre, tragic parade of Federation and merchant class workers. Some of the merchant unis he’d never seen. He pattern matched a few of them and some were fifty years old. A few wore the same colors Riley wore.

  After awhile Jolo’s tense crouch behind the bike had turned into a casual, cross-legged position with his chin resting in the palm of his hand. It was a slow, messy business, these brain-dead humans creeping along. He wondered if they would see him. Wondered why Mac was so afraid of them. Jolo could outrun them, out-think them, and certainly, even with just the Colt, had them outgunned. But they did have numbers. This big group was at least three times the size of the smaller group they’d seen before.