by Liam Clay
The crossing takes about five minutes. During this time, I become aware of widespread movement up ahead. Inside the greenhouses, sprinkler systems rain mist over endless rows of crops. Gleaming robotic arms slide along guidewires positioned above them, picking fruit that has ripened sufficiently on the vine. This finished produce is packed into automated cold cars that roll along tracks between the glass structures. Even after our time in the Hive and the Thresh, the sight of so much raw sustenance makes my senses reel.
I reach the far side, and haul myself up into Worldpool’s domain. A pole-mounted sensor scans me from head to heel, and then goes dormant again. The sun bakes the ground. I see no people, and it is utterly quiet. In twos and threes, the squad joins me on dry land. The sensor scans each of them in turn; the arcology's residents may be unaware of our presence, but its agricultural software is not so lax. Jinx is the last across. He stands beside me, and we study the greenhouses together.
“That wasn't colored water we just swam through.” He murmurs. “I feel like it's still on me somehow, coating my skin.”
“I know what you mean. But what else can we do, fuck off back home and wait to go insane?” I try to wipe the residue off my forehead, but it’s a lost cause. “Are you sure the moat wasn't here when they kicked you out last time?”
“I think I would remember seeing a million liters of creepy milk in the middle of the desert.”
“Sorry, stupid question.” And then at full volume, “Okay guys, this is it! Let's see if anyone's home.”
We start forward. Our feet kick up dust devils that spin away through the refractive city, which is simultaneously dead and bursting at the seams with life. The ivory pyramid looks down upon it all, patient as the grave. Was it inevitable that the world would end up this way: populated by closed societies in possession of high technology, with regressive cultures scraping out an existence in the margins? Or is there an alternate universe out there where humanity still communicates on a global scale, and where interstellar travel isn’t a failed dream? I hope so.
My heart is beating like a drum now. This place must be getting to me. Every step we take only seems to make it worse, and I'm not the only one. Beside me, Ryo is heaving in great gasps of air. Every exhalation is a stuttering, phlegmy cough, and he keeps spitting onto the ground. Glancing back, I see a trail of red blotches between his footprints. Delez is having problems too. He’s clutching his head like it’s about to split open, and a vein is throbbing at his temple, so dark that it looks like his body is pumping oil.
“Something's not right.” Peace whispers. Then she leans over and vomits. The convulsions keep on coming, until she’s heaving up globules of grayish pink stomach lining. And still she can’t stop gagging.
But Den is in even worse shape. “Do you see the birds?” She says loudly. “White cormorants with ten-meter wings, flying straight out of the sun. Arm yourselves!” Stumbling to the nearest greenhouse, she punches through one of its windows. Blood drips from her wrist as she bends to pick up a shard of glass. Then she stands: back arched, arms held wide, gazing directly into the sun.
“Everybody stop walking.” Amy says urgently. We don't need to be told twice. And although the mad beating of my heart doesn't lessen, it doesn't get any worse either. “Now take five steps backward.”
This too, we do. And like magic, the pain in my chest recedes by a small degree.
“It's Worldpool.” The girl says. “They are denying us entry.”
CHAPTER 12
Still, we don’t give up. But every step toward the pyramid adds velocity to my heartbeat, acid to Peace’s belly, and hallucinations to Den’s mind. None of us escape the pain. I make it farther than anyone, but by the end my chest feels ready to burst, and my left arm is dead and numb. Retreat is the only option.
In the aftermath, there is talk of returning with an airplane. But no one truly believes this will work. We have met our technological superiors at last, and they have shrugged us off without even being aware of our existence. And the way they did it, by sabotaging our bodies with such casual precision... it is a violation that cuts deep, both physically and psychologically. But the real fuck you moment comes when we have to swim back across the moat.
On the other side, we strip naked and roll around in the sand, trying to scour away the white liquid. And then we sit there in the sweltering heat, drained of hope and options. I desperately want to fight someone, preferably an embodiment of pure evil that I can destroy without having to feel remorse. But there is only the desert.
Ten minutes later, most of us have recovered from our maladies. But Den continues to rave: fighting us when we touch her one minute, clinging to our arms the next. The sun is on its way down, and shelter will soon become a priority. But in our haste to escape, we must have crossed the moat at a different point than on our inward journey. So we start to walk around its edge, waiting for the GTV to appear.
Except that it doesn't. Thinking we've gone the wrong way, Tikal has us check the opposite direction. But as the sun dips below the horizon, we are forced to accept the truth. Our only means of transport is gone. And with it, all of our food and water. A further search turns up a stretch of churned sand where we may have parked, but there is no sign of the vehicle itself. The basin extends around us, empty and inhospitable as the moon. The squad doesn't handle this latest setback very well. The entire time we were fighting Porter and the Topsiders, no one ever outmaneuvered us like this. It was always us out in front, using speed and surprise to gain tactical advantage. But now we've been made to look amateurish and unprepared.
I am ready to lie down and die, and that sentiment is shared by many of us. But now Jinx steps up to the plate. He was born in this desert, and after a few minutes of digging, he produces a bundle of tubers that excrete sweet water when chewed. Everyone feels better afterwards, and he uses the moment to get us moving. When I ask him where we're going, all he will say is, “Home.”
We walk through the evening and into a freezing night. All of us are sunburned and dehydrated. My tongue feels five sizes too big for my mouth, and needles of fire are stabbing up through my feet. Everyone else is hurting too, and Den is unchanged. For the past hour she has been describing, in endless detail, a chameleon the size of a city that she sees on the horizon.
“...black where it hides the sky, and yellow where it rests on the sand. Its scales are rough like sandpaper, and its eye spins round and round, following the condors in the heights. Its tail is a river, winding away into the distance...”
When at last we reach Jinx's home, Tikal and I are carrying her.
The farming community sits in a triangular valley between three mountainous dunes. Although it doesn't look like any farm I know. Over a hundred square pillars rise from the sand at slight angles. Constructed of crossed steel bars, these spires look like vertical prisons for the plant life they contain. The mounds on the desert floor between them look natural, but I suspect that they are living quarters.
By the light of the moon, I spot a sentry atop the loftiest pillar, which guards a passage between two rock outcroppings at the village's entrance. The woman must see us in turn, because she raises a horn to her lips and blows a single mournful note. The village’s residents spill from their shelters, and in a very short time we are completely surrounded. Dark skinned faces shine silver in the moonlight. The effect lends these people an ethereal quality, as though they are djinns or some other phantom of the desert.
A painfully thin man with missing teeth pushes forward through the crowd. But another villager steps into his path. This one is extremely tall, and looks like he is being held together with duct tape. His limbs are all different lengths, the joints swollen and red. He must once have had impressive dreads, but his hair is going now, leaving a patchwork of exposed skin behind.
“Questal!” The man barks. “Remember your place.” Then he turns to the salesman.
“You shouldn't have come back here, Jinx. Our luck has been bad enough as it i
s. And these strangers... how do you expect us to feed them? Half of our pillars are dead, and the rest are dying.”
Jinx doesn’t seem surprised by this cold reception. “I didn't want to come back, Borel - not while you were still in charge. But I had no choice.”
“Why, what hand has your bad karma dealt you this time?”
“I made these people sick, and only Worldpool can cure them. We were trying to find a way in.”
“And failed, I assume.”
“Yes. Did you know the Bridgers have installed a new security system around their greenhouses?”
“This is our home, and they are the dominant power in the region. Of course we know. When I first saw you and these others, I hoped that you might be of some use, at least. But if you have already crossed the white water, then you are just another burden for us to bear. As usual.”
As I listen to this exchange, my attention is caught by an Indian woman near the back of the crowd. (I'm still getting used to people that are of a definable race) Although nearing 60, she looks far healthier than the villagers: eyes clearer, frame more fleshed out. Her salt and pepper hair is held in a pony-tail at the back, and drops into a sharp widow's peak at the front. The white coverall she wears is not dissimilar to Jinx's yellow one, except that hers has dozens of pockets sewn across the chest and upper arms. But it is the woman's skin that truly sets her apart. The villagers look silver because of the moon, but her face is tinted a distinct greenish color - and this is no trick of the light. Her right eyelid is fluttering rapidly; whatever she's doing on her retcom, it is a highly complex operation. Then she sees me looking, and the lid goes still.
“What are you talking about?” Jinx is asking Borel. “Why does it matter if we've swum the moat or not?”
“Because everyone is allowed to enter the greenhouses one time, and one time only. While there, you may take as much produce as you can carry. But if you venture too close to the pyramid, or try to return a second time, your body will fail in some way. Lung collapse, heart attack or psychotic break, it is different for each person.”
“What kind of game are the Bridgers playing?”
“We don't know. But these pilgrimages are the only thing keeping us and the other communities alive. So you should go back to the hole you’ve been hiding in, before your bad luck makes them alter their policy.”
The thin man, who I assume is Jinx’s father, has been listening to this conversation with a stricken expression. Now he comes belatedly to his son's defense.
“Please Borel, have mercy. I know my son has been an ill wind for our village, but it isn't his fault! His mother was cursed, and she passed her affliction on to her progeny.”
“Don't talk about mother like that!” Jinx shouts. Controlling himself with an effort, he turns back to Borel. “At least give us enough food and water to walk out of the desert. You owe me that much for all the money I've sent over the years.”
“Look around, fool. What good is money when there is no one to buy from?”
“What about the other communities? Surely they can't all be struggling as much as you.”
“They are. Our last envoy came back empty handed. Now go, before this gets ugly.”
“But we have a sick girl with us! She got hit hard by the pyramid’s security system, and needs medical attention immediately.”
“That is not our problem.”
I wonder when people like Tesla and Borel became the blueprint for leadership. Individuals capable of being selective with their empathy, and shutting everyone else out. Probably around the same time the planet went to shit.
Now, what to do? Even in our depleted state, without armor or weapons, we might be able to take the villagers. But I’m not quite ready to start laying out Jinx’s kin - even if they are treating him like total garbage. Another day in the desert may change my tune; but regardless, the best thing we can do now is leave and regroup. With the salesman in the lead, we turn tail and trudge back the way we came. As we pass the last pillar, the sentry leans over the edge and spits. Peace is so thirsty that she tries to catch it in her mouth. She misses though, and then we’re past and into the dark.
It's properly cold now. And although our skinsuits offer some protection, it is going to be a long night. For the first time, it occurs to me that we might simply die of exposure. What an anti-climactic end to the Anex show that would be. For lack of a better plan, we head back toward the pyramid. Den has stopped raving, but there is nothing healthy in her silence. Ryo is speaking softly into her ear, reminiscing about their shared home, but she is beyond the reach of his voice. Then we crest a small dune - and stop short.
The green skinned woman is standing directly in our path. There is something inevitable about our meeting, as though she has always been here in this spot, waiting for us to arrive.
“You are soldiers.” Her words form a statement, not a question, but I answer her anyway.
“Some of us are.”
“Then maybe you can help me.”
“We're not doing a great job of helping ourselves at the moment. So I doubt we can do much for you.”
She considers her response carefully. “And if I assisted you first?”
“Then we’d be up for pretty much anything. But unless you’ve got a banquet and a bullet train in one of those pockets, I don’t know what you could do.”
“I can cure your friend. And then I can get you to the gates of Worldpool.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m asking if you’re serious.”
“Then no, I am not shitting you.”
I look to Tikal, but she just shrugs, leaving me to continue the conversation.
“And what do you want in return?”
“I need you to take me somewhere.”
“Where?”
“Medival, the westernmost arcology in the Union. That is my home. I was sent here to oversee a project, but while I was away my city was invaded by an unknown force. I have to go back. But alone, I would almost certainly die.”
“So you’re looking for bodyguards.”
She smiles briefly, revealing teeth so white they almost glow in the dark. “Yes, that is the best word. You must guard my body while I discover what happened to my people.”
Now Tikal steps in. “We’ll tell you what. Cure our friend as a gesture of good will, and then we can negotiate the details of our agreement.”
The woman bows her head. “This I will do. Lay the girl down on the sand.”
We do as she says. The young Thresher is burning hot; whatever this woman has up her sleeve, it had better be quick. Kneeling beside Den, she pulls a vial from one of her pockets. It is filled with a familiar white liquid.
“What the fuck!” I shout, leaping forward to grab the woman’s arm. “That's the stuff that made her sick in the first place!”
“I know that.” She replies calmly. “This substance is known as nanovax. It is my home’s primary export. With it, I can cure hundreds of illnesses, including those of the mind.”
“Then how are the Bridgers using it to make people sick?”
“What heals sickness can also cause it. My own research resulted in a breakthrough that weaponized nanovax. In return for installing it around their compound, Worldpool provided us with a number of their own proprietary technologies.”
“So you’re an arms dealer.”
“That is correct.” She tilts her head to one side. “Does this affect our deal?”
What a cold individual. But this won’t be the first time I’ve dealt with a devil.
“No, please proceed. But if she dies, you and me are going to have a serious problem.”
“She will not.”
I nod and step back a pace. Pulling the stopper off the vial of nanovax, she peels one of Den’s eyes open. Then she pours the substance into it, just like I used to do with the drug whose name I now bear. The girl doesn’t move, but some of the tension drains out of her body.
“The nanobots are working their way through her system.” The woman explains. “Their first task is to diagnose all of her ailments.”
“All of them?”
“Yes. And once that is done, they will begin to cure them.”
A minute passes. Then two. And at the end of the third minute, the girl opens her eyes.
“How did it get dark so fast?” She asks in confusion. And then she gets even more confused when we all rush in to hug her. But out of everyone, she opens her arms to Ryo first.
.
Afterward, we sit down in the sand to conduct introductions and negotiations. The woman's name is Rajani - but when Ryo refers to her as the Medgician, the name sticks. The agreement reached is as follows. Tomorrow, she will bring us safely to Worldpool’s gates. And if the Bridgers show us how to uninstall the pooled link, she will accompany us to the Thresh so that we can cure the Afflicted as well. (Peace asked if we could use the nanovax to heal them, but apparently it doesn't work for biotech ailments.) In return, we will escort her to Medival, and run point as she attempts to discover what happened there. It means another journey through new and uncharted territory. But then, that’s what we’re out here to do anyway. Plus we have absolutely no choice in the matter.
With another dangerous day ahead of us, I decide to call my daughter. Finding a quiet place away from the others, I initiate the connection. It takes her a while to pick up, though. And when she does her voice sounds muffled, like she's been crying.
“Sophie, are you alright?”
“Dad, they tried to kill her!”
“Hold on. Who tried to kill who?”
“Mom! They tried to kill Mom.”
“What! How?”
“Poison. Our doctors diagnosed her right away, and managed to stop it. If they hadn’t, she would be dead by now.”
“Jesus. Has anyone claimed responsibility? A rival political faction, maybe?”
“No, it could have been anyone.” She exhales heavily. “So I need you to come home. Right now.”