by Jim C. Hines
“For whatever those moose were running from.”
Two Krakau came forward with binding strips. They started with Khatami. The binder coiled like tentacles around his wrists.
An object flew from the trees to strike one of the Krakau. She whirled, raising her A-gun. “Commander, there are more hostiles.”
“Third line, bring them in,” yelled Marsch. Several more missiles rained down. “And watch for those rocks!”
Bev smirked. “Those aren’t rocks.”
Long-armed figures shot from the branches. They landed hard and raced toward the Krakau and humans.
A lucky shot from a Krakau gun caught one of the animals in the chest. It flopped into the snow, rolled, and jumped back to its feet.
“Oh, shit,” Wolf whispered. “Those things are feral?”
“They’re chimpanzees. Colloquially known as chimps. The Krakau plague affected certain species of primates in addition to humans.”
“I know.” Mops’ mouth was dry.
The Krakau closed ranks, continuing to fire even as the chimps reached them.
The chimps were faster than feral humans, and from the look of it, stronger as well. They were just over a meter high, with gray-black skin and patchy hair. Many had the dark scars common to feral humans, and several were missing limbs.
Gleason grabbed Mops’ arm. “Run!”
As terrifying as the chimps were to Mops, she couldn’t imagine what the Krakau were feeling. Most Krakau saw human ferals as barely-tamed monsters, savage creatures of horror and nightmare.
The chimps, with their fangs and their speed and their furious hoots and grunts and growls, were worse.
One of the chimps spun toward Mops, snapping her from her paralysis. She snatched her weapons and clubbed the animal in the head with her combat baton. It sprang back up. Before Mops could line up a shot, Bev stepped in and thrust a large knife through the back of the chimp’s neck.
“The chimps have claimed most of this area as their territory,” Bev said, wrenching her blade free. “They’ll eat just about anything, but they really hate feral humans. I guess they see humans as competition.”
Which explained why Cindy had drawn them in such numbers. And why a number of chimps were closing around Cindy, Melvil, and Wolf. Mops glanced at her helmet. “Doc, can you—?”
“You’re an evil, evil woman. The answer is yes, I can amplify and broadcast the recording from your helmet.”
Mops scooped up the helmet and hurled it in a long arc toward the Krakau and the troop carrier. The sound wasn’t as loud as when Doc had linked everyone’s speakers, but it was enough to capture the chimps’ attention.
The helmet bounced and rolled. More chimps surged from the woods, charging after it.
Field Commander Marsch had fallen back, shouting orders and shooting chimps. She spotted Mops, and her A-gun moved to follow.
Mops tilted her head to the left, to where Rubin knelt with her rifle to her shoulder. Mops suspected Marsch could feel Rubin’s crosshairs on her. The message was clear: if Marsch pulled the trigger, she’d be dead before Mops’ body hit the ground.
With a frustrated whistle, Marsch turned away and called for her troops to regroup.
“Thanks, Rubin. Now fall back!” Mops scooped the unconscious Cate over her shoulder and ran after the librarians. Barely-suppressed panic sent adrenaline surging through her body, an electrical shock jolting speed to her limbs.
After a hundred meters or so, Monroe turned and dropped to one knee. He fired four quick shots with his rifle.
“What was that?” asked Mops.
“I put a few holes through the rear thruster block. They shouldn’t be able to take off, and even I can outrun Krakau on this terrain.” He grimaced. “I tried to hit the communications pod, too, but I’m not sure I got it.”
“Move ass, people,” shouted Gleason.
Rubin came up alongside Monroe. Without a word, she slung his arm across her shoulders and helped him stand.
Wolf glanced back at Mops. “You’d run faster without that Prodryan.”
“He knows too much. If the Alliance interrogates him—”
“I wasn’t suggesting you leave him alive. Sir.”
Mops sighed. “Shut up and run.”
* * *
They fled for close to an hour, until Mops’ limbs were numb. Given her own exhaustion, she couldn’t imagine the pain the librarians must be feeling, but aside from the sweat soaking their faces, none of them showed it.
They’d been hiking alongside an old monorail track. According to Gleason, it was a high-speed rail line from the 2060s. Close-packed pine trees provided partial cover as they trudged uphill.
So far, she’d seen no sign of pursuit. Hopefully, that meant the Krakau were huddled inside their grounded ship, trapped until the chimps finally lost interest and went back to whatever it was feral chimps did.
“I didn’t know chimpanzees were native to this continent,” said Rubin.
“They’re not.” Bev pushed back her helmet and wiped her face on her sleeve. “There used to be an animal preserve nearby. When their human caretakers vanished, most of the animals got loose. Some adapted better than others.”
Mops checked the sky again. Even if Monroe had disabled the Krakau communications pod as well as their engines, someone should have been monitoring the troop carrier and its mission.
Monroe followed her gaze. “You think they’re watching us?”
“Could be.” Sage had been able to track them to the library. By now she’d realize there was more here than a single lost human wandering the woods. Maybe Sage had decided to let them go in the hope that they’d lead her to something bigger. “Or maybe they’re just gathering reinforcements.”
“Reinforshments.” The translator faithfully rendered both Cate’s slurring and his disgust. He’d woken only a short time ago, and his body wasn’t fully recovered from the shock. He walked with an exaggerated limp. His left arm hung unmoving at his side. And two of his four mouth pincers hung uselessly. “Their caution is nothing but cowardish. The boldnesh of the Prodryan people will bring us victory over . . .” He trailed off and squeezed the base of his antennae. “Pardon me while I regurgitate.”
“Don’t fall apart now,” Gleason called back. “We’re almost there.”
“Almost where?” asked Wolf.
“See for yourself.” Gleason bent several large branches aside.
Less than ten meters beyond stood a tall chain-link fence, topped with coils of razor wire. Ceramic insulators on the posts suggested it had once been electrified. The monorail track passed beneath a sliding gate, framed by the remnants of two small buildings.
A short distance beyond the fence stood a wall five meters high. Flakes of color clung stubbornly to the gray composite of the wall.
“Won’t do much against drones and fighters,” said Monroe. “I’d love to see a Krakau try to scale them, though.”
Wolf stared. “What was this place?”
“The official name was Lockdown Land Northeast.” Gleason started toward the gate, which had long since torn free of its track and now lay at an angle, half-engulfed by dead vines.
The fence and wall both curved away as far as Mops could see. “It looks like a military compound.”
“Yes and no,” said Gleason. “In the twenty-second century, the world was seeing more and more events that forced people to leave their homes and seek shelter.”
“What kind of events?” asked Rubin.
“Hurricanes, floods, military threats, blizzards, wildfires . . . you name it. The government eventually decided it would be cheaper to set up permanent public shelters. After construction started, some marketing genius decided to multitask those shelters as theme parks.” Gleason spread her arms at the walls and whatever lay on the other side. “LockLand Resorts. Each one
was capable of housing up to ten million people. LockLand Northeast is separated into nine zones. Very Dante-esque. The closer you get to the center, the more secure, luxurious, and expensive it gets.”
“Dante?” Mops repeated.
“Virgil’s Divine Comedy?” Gleason took in their blank stares. “Guess the Krakau didn’t bother to translate that one. I’ll get you a copy from our archives.”
Mops helped bend the gate back as the others squeezed through. “They wanted emergency evacuations to be fun?”
“That’s right,” said Gleason. “In the old days, the razor wire was green, with the blades colored metallic pink, red, and purple. The idea was to make them look like flowers. All the guards were dressed up in kid-friendly costumes lined in bullet- and blade-resistant molecular polyethylene weave.”
“Why worry so much about appearances?” asked Rubin. “A shelter’s purpose is protection, not entertainment.”
Khatami grinned. “Imagine you have a family, and you’re trying to get your anxious child onto the train for the evacuation. Sure, you could tell them there’s a superstorm coming that might destroy your home and everything you know, and anyone who doesn’t get to shelter will probably be dead by morning. Or you can announce you’re taking a surprise vacation to LockLand, where the little ones can ride rides and play on water slides and see parades and meet all of their favorite LockLand characters.”
“Wouldn’t fear of death be the stronger motivation?” asked Rubin. “Why rely on deception?”
“Have you ever met a child?”
“No,” said Rubin.
“Oh.” Khatami paused. “Well, little kids aren’t always rational.”
Cate snorted. “Are you shuggesting grown humans are?”
“Fair point,” Khatami said cheerfully. “All right, little kids are irrational in different ways. They get scared and fall apart.”
Rubin’s eyes widened. “I had no idea human children were so fragile.”
“Not literally. I mean, they scream and cry and have tantrums. Then when they finally exhaust themselves and fall asleep, they wake up an hour later screaming from nightmares. By the end, the parents would be praying for death.”
“Speaking of kids . . .” Bev cocked a thumb at Cindy. “Are we seriously taking her inside?”
“I’ll keep her away from the others,” Melvil promised. “She’s hurt, and not old enough to survive on her own in the middle of winter.”
“Bullshit,” said Bev. “She’s feral. Even the kids are damn-near unkillable.”
Cindy had settled down since they escaped the chimps, and had hardly tried to bite anyone for the past hour.
Gleason started toward a large arched opening in the inner wall. “The ferals are Melvil’s project, and his responsibility.”
That ended the argument, though Bev gave the feral a dirty look as she passed.
Rubin paused to study a tangled thorn bush growing inside the archway. “What’s this?”
Bev perked up. “Rosebushes. LockLand filled the land between the wall and the outer fence with them. Over the years, the blue roses choked out the other species and took over. The snow crushes most of them down for the winter, but come spring, this whole stretch will look like a moat. You can smell them from a kilometer away when the wind’s right.”
Mops passed through the second gate and stopped, dumbstruck by what lay beyond. Before her stretched a wide rainbow-colored road leading to an edifice of circular towers and narrow spires. Colorful tubes spiraled around and between them. “Is . . . is that a castle?”
“Complete with waterslides,” said Gleason. “I wouldn’t recommend using them, though. Half have collapsed, and the rest are cracked and brittle. Nobody lives in LockLand Palace except the vermin. Bats and rats and bugs and such.”
Rubin perked up. “Permission to stay in the castle?”
“Denied,” said Mops. “We stick together.”
To the left of the rainbow road, a river ran down a rocky hillside, splitting to circle around the castle. Its path was too straight to be natural. Ice crusted the edges, and the water flowing through the center was a dingy green.
Domed buildings covered the grounds, connected by smaller, monochrome paths. The sheer size of the place didn’t fully register until Doc magnified the view through her monocle. Carved into the hillside—mountainside, rather—were row upon row of doorways. Each row shared a balcony, with narrow staircases connecting them all.
“Public shelters,” said Gleason, noting the direction of her gaze. “Each room is rated for up to ten occupants.”
“Ten million people,” whispered Mops, remembering what Gleason had said. The entire human population of the Earth Mercenary Corps could fit inside here a thousand times.
“We should get underground.” Khatami was watching the sky.
“Alliance?” asked Monroe.
“Weather.” Khatami pointed. “Those clouds look like they’re getting ready to drop another layer of snow.”
Gleason started along a faded green path toward one of the smaller domes. After a moment, Doc was able to translate the letters carved onto a rusted metal door: Lift 17B.
“The elevator hasn’t worked for more than a century.” Gleason circled around to a narrow doorway on the back. Heavy hinges squealed as she and Bev wrenched the door open. “The stairs keep us in shape. We’re down on sublevel seven.”
Thirty steps took them to a small landing with a faded, illegible sign hanging from the cinder block wall. After thirty more, they reached a door marked sublevel one.
Gleason talked briefly about each level as they passed. Sublevels one and two were unusable from water damage and mold. Three was for manufacturing, and had everything from solder and wiring equipment to an old-fashioned charcoal forge.
Halfway to sublevel four, Cate collapsed against the wall. His wings drooped, and his antennae lay limp along his scalp. “I will wait here. To guard against invasion. You can send up food and water.”
“You will move your ass with the rest of us,” Mops snapped.
“Prodryans don’t have asses. Our superior digestive processes are another reason we’re destined to . . .” He trailed off, too out of breath to finish.
“Adjust your PRAs,” Monroe suggested. “Increase the O2 percentage. Or in Cate’s case, add a little more nitrogen.”
Sublevels four and five were mostly empty. Gleason said they used several of the central rooms for archiving. Six was food storage.
By the time they reached the landing for sublevel seven, Mops’ legs were throbbing. Doc helpfully shared that they’d descended seventy meters, over four hundred and twenty steps. Despite her fatigue, Mops chuckled.
“What’s funny?” asked Khatami.
“If the Krakau do find this place, they’ll have to follow us down. Krakau aren’t built for stairs.”
Several of the librarians smiled at that. None of them appeared out of breath, and Mops mentally revised her opinion of their toughness. Cindy showed no outward signs of fatigue either, but she immediately sat down on the bottom step.
Cate collapsed on the landing with a groan. “Next time, just let the feral creatures devour me.”
“Will do,” promised Wolf.
Gleason pounded the large metal door. “It’s Gleason. We’ve got visitors.”
A high-pitched voice from the other side answered in Nishnaabemwin.
Gleason swore. “She wants the security code. What the hell are we using this month?”
“Library of Congress,” said Bev.
“Right.” She cupped her hands and shouted at the door. “Zed-six-eight-eight.”
Bev leaned toward Mops. “It’s the Library of Congress cataloging code for Special Collections.”
Gleason glanced at the Prodryan. “As soon as we’re in, pass the word to switch codes.”
“A wise precaution,” Cate said without lifting his head from the floor.
The door opened with a painful squeal. Gleason seemed to grow taller as she stepped through. Her shoulders squared, and her back straightened. She spun around and spread her arms. “Welcome to the main—and only—branch of the Library of Humanity.”
Since the beginning, every meeting of the Library of Humanity Board of Directors has been documented, in keeping with the library’s mission to preserve all available knowledge and information. Even information many would prefer to forget. Like the following, from one of the very first meetings of people who would (for the most part) establish the goals and guidelines to be followed by librarians for the next hundred and fifty years . . .
Date: August 17, 2106
Present: Patricia F. Anderson, Kevin Swain, Ju Honisch, Frank L. James, Madelynn Angell, Rachelle Hrubetz, Zinta Aistars, Christian Manninen
Approval of Minutes from Prior Meeting
Rachelle noted her name was misspelled in the minutes again.
Minutes approved unanimously (amended with “Hrubetz” spelled correctly).
Unfinished Business
Zinta Aistars reported we’ve now contacted a total of 1,162 people, spread over four continents, with immunity to the Krakau plague. Klaudia Seibel has taken over coordinating outreach efforts in Europe.
Patricia Anderson moved to confirm Ju Honisch as head cataloger for the Library of Humanity. Angell seconded. Six yeses, one no, one abstention. Motion passed.
Frank L. James brought up our “duty” to repopulate the Earth and moved to assign breeding partners. No second. Motion dropped. Again.
New Business
Kevin Swain has compiled a list of potential branch sites for the Library of Humanity. Priorities include preexisting collections, long-term preservation, and defensibility.
Christian Manninen confirmed receipt of the World Health Organization medical library. He also noted the latest WHO report suggests the Krakau plague has spread beyond any hope of containment.