by Liam Clay
“That shit was in full swing when those beige boys showed up. Threshers, I think you called them. One side wanted to open the gates and let them in. The other wanted to do the same, and then slaughter everyone that came through.”
“Which side got its way?”
“They compromised. Opened the gates, and then started the messiest three way I’ve ever seen.”
“And you?”
“Nothing like a good shootout for slipping away unnoticed.” She smiles. “I was gone, free and clear, only I didn’t know the Threshers were hitting the entire Underworld. Walked right into a big gang of them. Played the terrified innocent to avoid suspicion, and here I am.”
“Wow, that’s a wild story. But everything you did makes complete sense given the circumstances. I have to admit that when Delez and I first met you, we uh...”
“You thought I was crazy.” She finishes for me. “And that’s because I was. A decade down a mineshaft will do that to you. But now... now I think I’m ready to start over again. And this place, the Hive, could be a good place to do it.”
I don’t have the heart to argue with her.
Light appears below us about a dozen switchbacks later. We hurry down to find Olia holding a door open for us.
“Come on!” She says, and we step out into sunlight.
CHAPTER 24
I am standing in a sea of chest-high sawgrass. Windmills sprout from its surface like giant flowers, their rotor blades turning languidly in the blue. Sound seems deadened here. And although I should be overjoyed, it is starting to seriously creep me out that we haven’t seen anyone yet. The Designer obviously invested a lot of time and resources building all of this, and to find it seemingly abandoned is beyond strange.
Then Olia points through the press of white towers.
“Look!” She hisses.
About a hundred meters south of us, a solitary figure is shambling along in the direction of the wall. His head barely clears the grass, which is why we didn’t spot him sooner. Throwing caution to the wind, I start to shout and wave my arms. But his only response is to pick up speed - although that’s not saying much.
“Wait, we just want to talk!” I call out to him, and then instantly curse myself. (After ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, this might be the most widely disbelieved statement of all time.) Unsurprisingly he doesn’t stop, and we are forced to engage in a very short chase.
“Whoa there!” I say, circling around to block his path. He turns ponderously, encounters Peace and Olia, and completes the revolution to face me again. He’s old, maybe seventy, with weather-creased features and long, yellowing hair. He is wearing what appears to be a throw rug with arm and head holes cut into it. The material is almost a perfect match for the color of the grass.
I’m about to ask his name when I see a flash of movement over Olia’s shoulder. A throwing knife grazes her arm and then there are men everywhere, trampling the grass around us to form an incidental crop circle. They are clad in furs and bone necklaces over mass produced pants and shirts - like trappers from a low budget period flick. My guess is they’ve been chasing the old man. It’s shitty luck for us, but even shittier for them since they aren’t carrying guns.
Unslinging my rifle, I sight in on the nearest attacker and squeeze off a round. His skull ruptures, painting the man next to him in crimson. He howls and hurls a knife at me; I dodge it and shoot him too. Changing tactics, the rest of them fade back into the grass and spread out, keeping low. I reach for the link but feel nothing - the others must be inside the wall and it’s blocking the signal.
A head pops up to my right, arm already a blur of motion. The blade deflects off my armor and spins harmlessly away. I strafe the thrower’s vicinity, then dive into the grass as more knives fly. The old man follows me. By this point I’m ready to blast 360 degrees of hell and ammo conservation be damned, but Peace and Olia are out there too and I don’t want to hit them by accident.
“Who are these bastards?” I whisper, more to myself than to my new companion. The old man stares at me in disbelief.
“They are Gatherers from the Fortress.” He says in perfect English. “Who the blazes are you?”
“We’re Opacians.” I tell him without taking my eyes off the surrounding grass.
“My wrinkled asscheeks you are.”
I reach for the link a second time, and almost wet myself with relief when it connects. They’ve all come: Delez, Kalana, Cyan, Lucy and the rest.
“What have you gotten yourself into?” Delez asks.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Then what should we do?”
“I’m working on it. Can you read my current location?”
“Hmm, let’s see...”
“I’ve got it.” Juanita interjects. “We’re about thirty meters south of you.”
“Great. Move 20 meters northwest and prepare to open fire.”
“Got it. We’ll be ready in ten seconds.”
Plan set, I lead the old man back to the fringes of the crop circle. Then I activate a drone and lob it into the trampled grass. I’ve never attempted what I’m planning before, but there’s no time like the present, right? Maybe pressure will bring out the best in me. An image forms in my mind, and I will it to life with everything I’ve got.
The hologram is more like a first year art student’s drawing of me than the genuine article. But it moves across the circle at a fair clip, and the hail of answering knives is real enough. Gunfire erupts, and the exposed Gatherers are turned into gooey brown mush.
Quiet settles over the turbines again. I can’t see any of the bodies from where I’m crouched, and aside from my frayed nerves, it’s almost as if the fight never happened. I glance over at the old man. He is shaking violently, and for a second I think he’s going into shock. Then it occurs to me that he’s laughing - a dry, wheezy exhalation that sounds more than a little mad.
“Well I’ll be damned.” He says at length. “Maybe you really are from the Big Smoke.”
Half an hour later, we’re all sitting down to a lunch of cubed protein rations and warmish water. The old timer bolts the double serving Aiyelo offers him, and continues to eye the solo’s ration bag afterward. I get the impression that him and hunger are old pals. I spend a good part of lunch hour in link-conference with Delez. We log out in agreement, and when everyone is finishing up, I address our new friend.
“Uh, hi there. Most people call me Anex.”
He studies me with red rimmed eyes.
“Name’s Elias.”
“Okay Elias, I’d like you to meet Alpha platoon. Alpha platoon, this is Elias.” Wary nods all around. “I imagine you have questions for us, and we’ve got some too. But since we have you at a disadvantage, I’m offering to let you go first.” I point to the Fractal seated beside me. “This is Delez; he’s in charge. Ask him anything you want and he’ll do his best to answer.”
“Alright then. Did you come here to save us?”
How awkward. Needless to say, Delez’s response comes as something of a disappointment.
“So you lot are as fucked as we are.” Elias says when he’s finished.
“I guess that depends.” The Fractal replies with a smile. “Approximately how fucked are you?”
The old man guffaws loudly. “Bunch of smart city folk like you really don’t know?”
“No, we really don’t. What happened here?”
“Well isn’t that something.” He says, scratching his bald spot with a cracked nail. “The plague is what happened.”
“Plague?”
“Yeah, about a decade ago now. You ask me, it was tearing down the Hexwalls that did it. Oh, things were great for a few years after that, don’t get me wrong. But we paid the price in the end.”
I find myself fixating on the slow creak of the turbines overhead.
“So everyone just... died?” Delez asks after a while.
“Near enough. About one in a hundred survived, I’d say. Not counting Kingston, of cours
e.”
“Are you saying that Kingston escaped infection?” I blurt out.
“Might have. The Designer never tore down his own walls, so who knows what went on in there once things went bad? But it might be best if we saved the talking for later. There are wolves around here, and they’ll be onto the scent of your handiwork soon enough.”
I’m dying to ask what Hex he comes from (he sounds American). But the mention of wolves brings us all to our feet, and we decide to travel a few clicks inland first. The rest of the afternoon passes uneventfully. The sun has just dipped beneath the turbines when Elias asks us to stop.
“Tired already, old man?” Delez asks in friendly fashion.
“I was born tired.” he snaps. “But that’s not why I’m asking. We’re close to the windbelt’s inner edge now, and it’s safer to bed down here than out in the open.”
It would be stupid to ignore the advice of the only true local we’ve got, so we elect to make camp for the night. I should probably do the rounds before bed, press the flesh a little bit. But I’m bone tired, and so I settle into the grass for some much-needed sleep. But Olia squats down beside me before I can drift off.
“We need to talk.”
I repress a sigh. “What is it, kid?”
“I want you to let me question the Hive man. Elias.” She adds as an afterthought.
“About what?”
“My father.”
“Is that why you and your brother came with us: to find him?”
I do my best to sound sympathetic, but comforting angsty youths isn’t my forte and I’m not sure how well I do.
“Kai did.” She says. “But he is younger, and only remembers what he wants to. The truth is, our father never cared about us. He was a drinker and a womanizer. A brawler too, if the other man was small enough. Oh, he would go through his guilty phases now and then, swear he was going to do better by us. It never lasted, though.” She blinks back tears. “But for all that, I still want to know what happened to him. Even if it’s only to spit in his face.”
Apparently I’m not the only one chasing closure.
“I can understand that.” I tell her. “But Elias is no spring chicken, and today can’t have been easy on him. Do you mind waiting until tomorrow?”
She considers, then nods. “Alright. Tomorrow.”
But when we wake up the next morning, Elias is gone.
The platoon crowds around the spot where he was sleeping, as if the bent grass might be concealing his malnourished frame. My neck prickles, I look up to find Lucy staring me down.
“So much for using him as a guide.” She says loudly. “What do you suggest we do now, oh glorious leader?”
The poker player takes a step forward, the group shuffles back and boom, we’ve got ourselves a standoff. There are many possible ways of dealing with this situation. Kalana would probably ignore her; Delez would find a way to smooth things over; Francis would joke his way out of it. But I’m not any of them and so I snap, and damn does it feel good.
“What’s your fucking issue, huh? Ever since we started on this little adventure, you’ve been cutting me down every chance you get.”
She has the gall to look affronted. “You know, I’m glad you asked. It’s about time we settled this once and for all! My problem is that I don’t think you’re fit to lead us.”
Tiana is making shushing motions at me but it’s too late: I’ve got the bit between my teeth now.
“For the last time, I don’t want to be the goddamn leader! I asked Delez to take charge because he’s got the most experience. But for some unknowable reason, he would only say yes if I agreed to help.”
“Funny how neither of you thought that was worth mentioning to the rest of us. And if you’re only second fiddle, how come you’ve been doing most of the talking so far?”
I sense an exit. “So you would be fine if it was just Delez?”
“Maybe, if I didn’t think you would be whispering into his ear the whole time, not to mention bullying people through the link.”
“Jesus, what do I have to do to prove I’m not working for Korezon?”
“That’s not why I don’t trust you.”
“Then what’s your problem?”
She points at Kalana with an armored arm. “My problem is that you’re so busy trying to impress your ex-girlfriend that you’re going to get us all killed, your own kid included.”
“Don’t try to pretend like you care about our children! Hell, you’re probably just bitter because you can’t have any of your own!”
Shocked silence flows in like the tide, and I know that I’ve gone too far. With a wordless roar, Fort rushes me with murder in his eyes. But Delez comes out of nowhere, delivering a flying kick to the enforcer’s lateral muscle. They go down together in a tangle of limbs. For a horrified instant I think Lucy has baited me into this situation. But she hasn’t burst into staged tears, or adopted a pose of virtuous rage. In fact if I had to guess, I would say that she is just figuring something out.
“Do you really think that little of me?” She turns to the Soccer Moms. “What about you? Do you actually believe that just because I can’t have children of my own, I would be happy sacrificing yours?”
None of them - not even Kalana, who rarely shows remorse - will meet her eyes. The platoon quiets. Even Fort and Delez break apart, although they continue to eye each other warily. My own anger begins to fade as well, sadness creeping into its place.
“We all thought that, Lucy. Just like you assumed I was a lifelong junkie and a bought man. It shouldn’t come as a surprise though - distrust is a part of who we are.”
She looks at me questioningly.
I wave a hand at the surrounding turbines. “The Designer was breeding the people here to do specific jobs, think in preconditioned ways. Well, the Underworld does exactly the same thing. We are so used to fighting each other over scraps, and relying on no one but ourselves, that it’s hard not to assume the worst about everyone else. I think we’re all guilty of it.”
Lucy rakes a hand over her shaved scalp, and then appears to reach a decision.
“How about a trust exercise then?”
“What, like I fall backward and you catch me?”
“No. One that I just made up. I’m going to tell you why I don’t trust your judgment, and then give you a chance to reply. And if the platoon thinks either of us is bullshitting, they call us out on it. What do you think?”
I nod slowly. “Fine, shoot.”
“Okay, here’s how I see the problem. You and the other parents have made your children’s safety your top priority. And I get that - we all do. But I think you are missing a few key points. The main one being that if we don’t survive this, your kids won’t be useful to the Topsiders anymore. Porter might not actually kill them, but I think it’s safe to say that adoption is off the cards. They would probably end up in some hydroponics sweatshop, or as implant guinea pigs for new tech.”
“And if we do survive?”
“But that’s just the thing! If we live, it just proves the feasibility of Porter’s plan for us. Rumor has it we were deployed because the Thresh dropped off the radar. So my bet is we’d get sent there next. And if the sharecroppers don’t kill us, I’m sure they would have some other shitstorm to throw us into. And another one after that. Yes, your kids would survive, but only for as long as you do. And no matter what happens you would never, in any possible scenario, get to see them again.”
Her logic is sound, of course - we’ve all known this from the beginning. But having it verbalized changes things.
“I don’t disagree with you. But what other choice do we have?”
“We can change the game up.” She turns a slow circle. “You know what I see when I look around? Leverage. Korezon sent us here because he needs this land to feed his city. But he doesn’t know that it’s in ruins. And like you said to Ven, that presents us with an opportunity.”
“You’re saying that Korezon envisioned throwing
us at a well-defended Hive, not a vulnerable one.”
“Exactly! And if we can gain a foothold here, it will give us bargaining power. Maybe even enough to get your kids back.”
“And we’re supposed to gain this foothold in three weeks?”
She shrugs. “Every plan has a catch. But don’t you think it’s worth a try?”
I would like to point out that by saying these things out loud, she has basically forced our hand. Then I remember my promise to Olia.
“It might be. But first we need to find Elias.”
CHAPTER 25
Ten minutes later, we leave the windfarm behind and enter the Hive proper. Then we release our drones and send them questing out in all directions. I keep expecting to lose control of mine as they venture further afield, but it doesn’t happen. A few minutes into the search, Cyan lets out a whoop and announces that she’s found him. Which is a real lifesaver, because I can already tell that my memories of the Hive are going to be largely useless.
When I lived here, this island was a wild, claustrophobic place. Densely jungled throughout the quarantine zone, with wild west style colonies cowering inside the crumbling Hexwalls. But now...
Now the Hive is like a place out of my best dreams, or the most utopian of fantasy films. The Hexwalls really are gone like Elias said, but that is just the beginning. The landscape itself has been completely altered as well. Rolling emerald hills cradle lush river valleys. Low mountain ranges stand out blue on the horizon. Stands of soaring evergreens drop scented needles upon our heads. Even the occasional bog has a wholesome look about it.
And into this terraformed landscape, the infrastructure of a modern civilization has been built. Flagstone roads follow the terrain’s natural curves, weaving between terraced fields complete with windbreaks to prevent soil erosion. Bridges of chrome and crystal span sparkling watercourses studded with run-of-the-river dams. Solar panels are as ubiquitous as Opacian holoboards. And then there are the complexes...
I never knew people could build like this. Granted, the curtain wall is impressive in its own way, but there is no mistaking what it is: a military installation created out of necessity. But the buildings here were designed for beauty, for leisure, for life. Steel latticeworks support tiered roofs of colored glass. Aerial garden parks overlook still pools of clear water, which flow into subterranean arcades with quartz-veined walls cut in cross-section.