by Luke Norris
“Yes, exactly,” Shira said, “but those planets are only invited in the UWF once they’ve achieved space travel. That’s when society makes contact and effectively promotes those worlds to second-stage. Any contact with those planets prior is completely outlawed. But it’s impossible for the patrollers to monitor first-stage planets, most are not even on the UWF radar until they send signals. We simply try to get there first, get the goodies first, and get them to the market first. Problem is, we are not the only ones.”
“But that last world, Earth, was completely ravaged.” The darkness hid Verity’s fine strong features as she pulled back in dismay.
Cass, the mercenary, cut across with a change of tact, clearly finding the topic tedious. “You were boosting today, right Sarg? I was watching you sitting there, still as a stone, but you were speeding up, I could tell. Don't worry nobody else would have noticed it. I would love to have seen you destroy that first-stage brute. I can't say the distraction in the river was all bad.” He sniggered, looking at Verity.
She shuffled uncomfortably, the darkness concealed her disgust. Shira told her the men had seen her bathing earlier. Listening to the mercenary made her squirm. She could picture the scar on his top lip twisting up as he smiled in the dark.
“No need to worry about that, nobody else could have seen me boosting” Costa replied. “This driver, Brick, is becoming a problem though, we are going to have to resolve this sooner rather than later.”
“Hey now.” Captain Yarn had broke his silence. “I hope you were the only one that noticed Costa speeding up. That's our trump card. If they find that out, we are discovered! Just be careful.” He paused. “Which brings me to another point. It would be prudent for us to slow our metabolisms at night when we sleep. That way we will conserve energy and if…”
“I don't like the idea of that,” the mercenary cut in, “slowing down outside of the ship’s environment isn’t safe.”
“I agree with the Captain.” Sergeant Costa said. “It's not cold enough to slow down fully anyway.” “We wouldn't even be close to reaching stasis sleep.”
“Yes, but we will be vulnerable if we start going into slow time,” Cass said. “What if something happens? What if one of these half-brained drivers attack us? We won't be able to react.”
“We won't be much slower, just a little.” Sergeant Costa added. “It would take a lot longer to slow down completely, but every little bit of energy conservation helps. We are not eating much, it would give us an advantage over the drivers too. One of us will have to stay at normal speed to keep watch is all.”
“We are doing it!” Yarn ordered. “We may need every survival advantage over the next few days. Now I need you all to stay focused, I have been thinking about our options since we left our landing craft, and I’ve devised a plan to get us back up to the mothership.” He looked up, his teeth glinted in the dark behind a coy smile. He paused for effect. “It's a grand scheme. It requires us to get to civilization as soon as possible.”
“But the landing craft,” said the engineer, "I don't see how…”
“We may not need to use the landing craft.” The captain replied. “Now I’ve got your attention.” He chuckled. “This is why I'm the captain.”
Verity was cold. The thought of changing her metabolism here in a primitive environment. Was that safe? Was that even possible?
The conversation continued secretly, away from the sleeping drivers, only the thick milky white alien constellations above watching.
11. War on Earth
Suddenly Oliver was riding his horse through Otago. Fin wasn't there, in fact, he hadn't heard from anyone online in months, and the whole world had gone to hell.
The rumors of the crazy war abroad had become a reality on the shores of New Zealand. It was war with no reason. It just didn't make sense, everybody fighting everybody. One thing was for certain, the people were mindlessly following a few leaders. Man, woman, and child walking to their deaths under the command of a few coherent men. Megalomaniacs that seemed pitted against one another.
There was one such commander left in Christchurch, and as Oliver came upon the outskirts of the city, he knew he was in there somewhere. His father’s old .303 hunting rifle was slung over his back. He had been riding for three days. The rifle was heavy at 15 pounds. A relic from the second world war, but it had been well serviced by his grandfather and still shot true.
He had purposely avoided the roads, mostly they were damaged or completely blocked anyway. All he had to do was get the medicine and get out of the city, the others were depending on him and waiting for him in the mountains. Get the medicine, get out, and don't get caught. Don't get caught. His eyes snapped open. He was awake. Heart pounding.
By the sixth day, the going was very slow. Hunger and exhaustion had brought the speed of the travelers to a crawl. Oliver’s leg was in excruciating pain, where it had been gauged by the creature.
He found he could shut the pain out from his thoughts, and keep it siloed in his mind. Was this mental discipline a part of his driver programming, or simply that his body had gone through such extremes lately that his mind was able to block it?
He found the best way to distract himself was to run through the list of crew members in his mind, assigning probability to each person being a potential slaver. He still hadn’t been able to single any one person out. Maybe they were all just drivers like him. No, because someone was sober during the landing, someone had pulled drivers from the craft. His mind kept running in circles.
He often found himself lagging at the back of the group with a despondent driver. Oliver recognized him as the man who had tusselled on the first day when they’d woken. The short, stocky driver had killed the other man. He could see the driver struggling to reconcile the atrocities he had committed, as his mind regained its lucidity and memories returned. He’s waking to discover he’s the monster. Oliver felt his pain, he had felt the same pain when he was brought out of cryogenic sleep by Lego and discovered what he’d done as a driver. Despite attempts to talk with the man, he couldn’t get a response.
As the sixth day wore on and the miles passed, the gorge became more shallow. They could feel the broken landscape starting to resemble gentler sloping foothills, not the chasms and steep formations they had been traveling through. By midday, they emerged from the chasms onto a wide plateau.
The meandering river had flattened the soft rock here over a millennia, and what were once tall spires of rock had been worn down to many small islands. The river was much wider at this point and not as swift as it wove between the hundreds of tiny green islands.
The river had widened to around four hundred meters and shallow waterfalls cascaded between the hundreds of tiny green outcrops. The afternoon light danced like a thousand sparkling diamonds on the water. Two men from two different worlds sat side by side absorbing the moment in silence.
Oliver sat with Ponsy and looked quietly over the hidden paradise in front of them. There was something about the man that Oliver found likable. But was it all an act? He couldn’t afford to let any one of these people into his trust right now.
Ponsy’s deep voice was the first to break the silence. “That leg giving you trouble again, Cougar?”
Oliver shuffled closer to Ponsy, eased himself to the ground, and began working his jumpsuit open to inspect the cut. He pried open the flap above his thigh and worked the leg material down so he could see.
“I told you to keep it clean!” Ponsy said, shaking his head. The skin was raised and had formed a defined red ring around the wound. Ponsy pushed gently against the skin.
“Aaargh.” Oliver grimaced but didn't resist. “It's infected I think. Damn!”
Ponsy walked to the jungles edge and came back after some time with a sturdy branch that split into a vee at the top. “Use it as a crutch! You need to keep weight off it.”
Oliver used his small utility knife to cut the bottom half of the sleeve from his jumpsuit, then used the material to
make a small cushion to go on the crutch where it sat under his arm.
Oliver realized there was no word for ‘thank you’ in the command language. Made sense. When would a driver ever say thank you? Besides he needed to keep his distance, he couldn’t rule Ponsy out yet.
The entire group slowly trickled in, dragged themselves to where the others were and collapsed. Yarn studied the river under his thin scrutinizing eyes. “If we are going to cross, this is our best chance here…”
He had hardly finished speaking when Brick started up again. “You've all been walking for six days because that man said he saw smoke!” He brushed the air with his hand in the direction of Costa. “What smoke? We've been walking through this jungle for six days!” He barked. “The word of this man is smoke! We are following this river and then going up this valley. Who is coming with us?”
Another driver moved to stand beside Brick and was nodding at everything he was saying, occasionally repeating bricks sentences staring at the ground nodding.
Oliver could see Brick’s wingman was still under the chemical’s effects.
“Brick! We have to get out of these mountains!” Yarn said, “look at the direction you want to go! It doesn't make any sense.”
“You are a fool if you listen to this man,” Brick pointed to Costa again. Then in a surprise move, he walked over to Verity. Her dark eyes following the advancing man.
“How about it?” he said. “You come with me? We leave these losers!”
She shook her head.
“I think you should come!”
Suddenly Oliver was drawn in, his pain forgotten as he watched the interaction. The chemicals that had been inhibiting the effects of testosterone and male drive had worn off. He’s finding her attractive. This behavior was normally entirely suppressed in the drivers. Oliver leaned forward with interest.
Brick slipped his hand behind the women's arm above the elbow and took hold of her. “These fools will trip over their own feet, and drown before they find civilization,” he said. “Come on let's not drag this out! I've had enough of their incompetence.” He was forcing her arm and coercing her away from the others.
*
Verity tried to avert her eyes from the others to hide her fear, Brick’s oversized calloused hand felt like it could snap her arm. Would her pleading glance reach one of the crew without being noticed by the other drivers?
“She decides, not you!” Cass had stepped forward, making sure the blaster was visible. “We stay together until we have our directives from Command.” He held the man's gaze without flinching.
Verity felt a wave of relief. She might find Cass despicable, but right now she could almost hug the man.
Brick looked suddenly distant at hearing the name Command and relaxed his grip on Verity's arm. He looked at the blaster then with half the conviction he initially had then turned to the Verity.
“Well, how about it?”
Verity still hadn't moved. She was trying desperately not to let him see her fear. Her heart was pounding. She shrugged his arm loose, and holding her expression firm she moved to stand behind Cass without saying a word.
“Ha, fool woman!” spat Brick. “You've signed your own death sentence going with these fools.” He didn't try and approach again though, instead pointed to Shira, “that one’s bleeding too.”
Suddenly, all eyes were on Shira, who raised her head in a defiant act of dignity. At least it had drawn the attention of the others away from herself. Verity could clearly see a darker patch on the jumpsuit between Shira’s legs.
“You are already being tracked by predators,” Brick continued, “I’ve seen something following us. It can smell her blood. It’s best I don't have that burden anyway.” With that he turned, and with a word to his companion, they left.
“Ha! Well that solves the problem of two gutter scum.” Cass said. He clipped the blaster back on its holster.
The group watched in silence, pondering the words of Brick, as the two men walked in the direction of the mountains. They watched until they were out of sight, swallowed by the jungle. Verity knew in her heart she would never see the two men again.
While the others were distracted, Verity walked discretely to some bushes. As soon as she was concealed from view, she collapsed to her hands and knees, heaving and sobbing. Wake me up from this nightmare. Fear was crushing her from all sides. She didn't trust Cass, but she didn't have a choice. Even Shira, the older woman, was cut from different cloth, rougher, harder. I have got to be strong, can't let them see me like this. Half of the UWF was probably looking for her by now. The rebellious daughter. But this was real, one slip of her identity and it would be a race between the drivers and her own crew to cut her throat and drop her in the river. Oh god, what she would give to be back on Terras right now.
The others didn't seem to notice the redness around her eyes as she slid in at the back of the group beside Shira. Had the tall, dark haired driver, Cougar, been watching her? She could feel his dark eyes. But when she turned to look, he was facing the other direction. I'm going paranoid, she scolded herself, but the feeling lingered and she had to look in his direction several times to dispel the paranoia that he had been watching her. As she watched him, he picked up one of the containers and was walking in the direction of the river to collect water.
*
Oliver was dreaming. It was an intense firefight.
“You serfs! Draw his fire to the ridge here, as long as you can! Oliver yelled over the pandemonium of explosions and whizzing bullets, “And you!” He pointed to thirty other serfs who stared back with drugged hollow expressions. “Flank the enemy's driver from the river line but wait until he is on you! Once you see me, cease fire! I will take out the driver.” That prize is mine.
Somewhere in the haze of his mind, he knew he had been captured. Selected to be a commander on the ground. A driver. Reprogrammed. He had vague memories of trying to help some people. Those things he had been trying to achieve were petty. Now he had purpose on a grandiose scale.
Command had ordered him to destroy the enemy driver who was holding the area in front of the national art gallery. This was what he lived for, servitude to the masters and outwitting his enemy. It was his purpose. Command wanted this art gallery intact, with no damage, ‘a strategic, tactical advantage’ they said. Oliver couldn't see how, but his purpose was to serve them, and they were all-knowing. Who was he to question?
The enemy driver was now in sight, sat inside a capsule in the huge robotic body armor that some of the drivers used. The driver had a large blaster attached to the right robotic arm and had been reeking havoc on other drivers, already having taken down two from his team.
Oliver smiled. He’d already killed drivers using this equipment because he had learned their weakness. The capsule was a Perspex bubble, transparent, giving the driver one hundred and eighty degree vision including up and down. Bullet proof. Blast proof. Only a thin air vent at the top. Oliver came around to flank the MechWarrior from left. His serfs distracted the driver with cover fire, allowing Oliver to get closer.
He advanced. Fifty meters. Twenty-five meters. He lobbed a smoke grenade at the powerful robotic legs and then charged.
Inside the capsule, the driver had turned and was cutting down some serfs by the river ridge when suddenly he was shrouded in smoke and everything was grey. He waited patiently for the smoke to clear, knowing he was untouchable behind the blast-proof screen. Then abruptly there came a loud thud as a figure in a white jumpsuit landed on the Perspex bubble right front of the driver.
Oliver clung there with his arms stretched around the Perspex, face to face with the enemy driver, separated by two centimeter thick Perspex. The long robotic arms clawed back in an attempt to pull him off and crush him, but they were not designed to reach that close to the machine’s body. Oliver was past the danger zone of the lethal robotic arms swiping over his head.
Oliver reached awkwardly to his utility belt and unclipped a grenade then hastily
brought his arm back up to hug the giant visor so he didn't slide off. The driver inside had a calm expression of focus and confidence. He was walking the robotic beast toward a marble pillar at the front of the gallery. He would simply crush Oliver between the visor and the marble.
Oliver was seconds from being crushed to death. In a quick motion, he reached up and slipped the grenade through the air vent at the top and then quickly clung on again. The machine took one more step toward the pillar pushing Oliver’s back against the marble and crushing the breath out of his lungs. Suddenly the MechWarrior gave a huge jolt as the grenade detonated, blasting pieces of the driver all over the inside of the Perspex bubble in front of Oliver's face. The blast-proof screen had worked in reverse, protecting Oliver on the outside. He slid off the front of the immobilized contraption and dropped to the ground
He touched the earpiece on his helmet. “Control, Gallery secure!” He looked at the carnage of the smoldering city around him and waited for Command.
Oliver filed onto the landing craft with several other drivers, to be deployed to their next battle. He looked at the drivers around him, stern faced proud men, also with scores of victories. The light at the top of the ramp flashed bright. Abruptly Oliver opened his eyes to see the light of dawn back in the real world, as he woke.
Reality came rushing back to him. He was shipwrecked on a strange planet with a crew of desperate souls. Kidnapped by world-destroying pirates, some of whom were in his midst. He would uncover them, and kill every last one, if it was the last thing he did.
As he lay there, he remembered something about his dream. He knew somehow that it was important, one important detail. What was it? He racked his groggy mind, thinking back to the details of his dream. He remembered fighting side by side with other drivers. He’d seen hundreds of drivers. He'd killed scores of those men, strong, burly men. He remembered being woken by the robots on the ship, thinking he was in some kind of giant white morgue, surrounded by thousands of naked drivers, all those men in stasis sleep, preserved for the long periods of space travel. All those men torn away from their homes, their worlds. All those men. An epiphany dawned on him in a flash.