by Liam Clay
But like all such moments, it ends. Shrugging our clothes back on, we head back to the village. Francis is waiting for us at the riverbank.
“So are you guys good?” He asks excitedly. “You're good, aren't you?” And then, before we can reply, he turns and shouts, “Hey guys, they got back together!”
Lucy emerges from our house and walks down the slope to join us. Amy follows a moment later. Tikal embraces her, and I realize that they haven't had a chance to speak yet. The last time they talked was in the Kogi archipelago, when Amy announced her intention to stay behind with Balthazar.
“You've grown.” Tikal says, stepping back to look the girl over. Amy nods.
“The old Designer didn't want me to stay young for long. In a few years I will have an adult's body.” She makes a complicated gesture with her shoulders. “It's another reminder of how different I am, but it will make it easier to be with Balthazar in the Real, at least.”
“How is the Queenfisher?” Tikal asks.
“She was good when I last saw her, just before the Colonizer pulled me out of virtual. But it's only a matter of time until the Architect finds them in the Real.”
“Then what are you still doing here? We need to get back to Opacity and stop that bitch from invading.”
“We were waiting for Anex to get better. And there is another reason for me to stay. I know where the Kogi cryobunker is. If I get captured, the Null will torture it out of me. So I can't afford to take any risks.”
Tikal gives her a blank look. “Then what are you going to do? Because you sure as hell can't stay here.”
Amy looks slightly defensive. “Why not?”
“Look around you.” Tikal replies. “This place is a paradise. And every day you stay puts it in more danger.”
“How do you figure?” Francis cuts in. “The whole world thinks we're dead!”
“Then how did I find you, huh?”
His mouth shuts with an audible click.
“Yes, how did you do that?” Lucy asks. “Anex's feed is dead, and no one followed us from Worldpool.” She hesitates. “Did they?”
“No. And you're right, Anex's feed is down. But you two,” she adds, indicating Lucy and Francis, “still have active retcoms inside your heads. I found you by homing in on your signals. And if I can do that, so could the Architect.”
Lucy squeezes her eyes shut. “Fuck. So these people, these children... we've been putting them at risk this whole time?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Retcom signals can be switched off, but we would need special tools to do that without blinding you.”
“Then we should leave.” I say.
“I agree.” Tikal replies. “But there is one thing we need to do first.”
“What's that?”
“We have to crack open that tanker.”
CHAPTER 5
The steel cylinder bends the sunlight, and I can see clouds reflected in its upper curve. How Tikal managed to steal it is anybody's guess. But here it is, crouched like a robotic beast on this plateau at the top of the world. The last time I saw one up close was in Medival. I still remember the woman I found inside it, staring up at that black screen with the yellow fog at its center. When she moved, audiobuds fell out of her ears. I have berated myself many times for not staying to investigate further, despite the danger. But now, thanks to Tikal, we may finally learn the truth behind nullification.
Amy is inside the cab, trying to open one of the hatches on the cylinder. While she does that, I walk a circle around the vehicle. Its front grill is covered in suspicious dents, and I have to force myself not to think about what caused them.
“I think I've got one!” Amy calls out a few minutes later. “Bottom tier, right side, third from the front.” Locating the hatch in question, I stand before it, heart in my throat. Lucy, Tikal and Francis join me. And together, we wait. Will there be someone inside it like last time? It will be better for us if there is, but I have no wish to be confronted with that sight again. Nullification is among the worst fates I could wish upon a person.
But I need not have worried. After a few long seconds, there is a sharp hiss from inside the hatch. Smoke curls around its edges, and the smell of burnt plastic assaults my nostrils. Amy jumps down from the cab, and swears when she sees the results.
“Shit. I was afraid of that.”
“What happened?” Tikal asks.
“The hatches are booby trapped. I thought I could hack them, but...”
“So what do we do?”
“Keep trying.” The girl growls. With a final glance at the acrid haze spiraling up into the sky, she climbs back into the cab and returns to work. Over the next few hours, we watch six more hatches go up in smoke. Amy is beside herself with frustration, and the rest of us aren't far behind. Tikal tries to pry one open with a crowbar she finds in Lauren's blacksmithy. She succeeds in getting the hatch open, but not before its interior has been scoured clean by flames. Even from beyond the horizon, the Architect finds ways to thwart us.
We give up just before sundown. The villagers look on curiously as we trudge back to our house, but no one questions us. What must it be like, to relinquish so much control over your surroundings? I suppose it might be emancipating in a way. These people are free to be idealized versions of themselves, with no need to navigate the moral gray areas that accompany survivalism. I just hope they don't regret it if the shit ever hits the fan.
The next morning, we return to the plateau and start all over again. But no matter what we do, the hatches end up self-destructing. It’s infuriating. We are so close to discovering the truth about the Null - and yet so far. Tikal, in particular, takes this development hard. She stalks the margins of the plateau, kicking rocks down the road that leads back to the desert. Amy isn't doing much better. She clearly views her inability to crack the tanker's security system as a personal failure. It is not a feeling she's used to, and I can see her struggling to adjust to a world in which she doesn't always come out on top.
The first fruitless day felt like a temporary setback. But by the end of the second, we are forced to consider the possibility that we will not be successful. The Null guard their secrets too closely. And if our business with the tanker concludes, the time will have come to make some hard decisions. But silence reigns inside our house that night. There is a skylight in our roof, and I fall asleep staring at the innumerable stars depicted there.
But hours later, when I wake for reasons unknown, the stars have vanished from that square of glass. It is the dead of night. At first, I think the sky has simply clouded over. But aside from a winged shadow directly overhead, the heavens are clear. Still groggy with sleep, I am slow to clue in. It takes Lucy's shout to bring me stumbling to my feet.
“Incoming!”
Snatching a handgun off a side table, I bolt for the door. As I step outside, the world turns white. The mystery ship has activated its floodlights, transforming the village into a charcoal etching. And now figures are descending on nylon lines. I raise my weapon - and a beanbag hits me in the belly. I sink to the ground. Tikal bursts through the door behind me, firing as she comes. But the enemy's return volley drops my girlfriend in her tracks. Seeing this, Francis and Lucy fall back into the house and start firing from the windows. But they are badly outnumbered. The attackers touch down on the floodlit grass. Unclipping from their lines, they surround the house and begin to close in, using blindspots where possible. Within a minute, both of my friends have been incapacitated. Then the soldiers storm the house. Their leader stands back, surveying the scene through the eye slits in his face mask. Moments later, two soldiers drag a stunned Amy out onto the grass.
“Hey Ugly!” one of them says. “Would you believe we had to stop this one from killing herself? She had a gun to her head and everything!”
“No fucking way.” The leader replies. “She can't be more than 14 years old.”
“Yeah, but she's strong as moonshine.” the second soldier complains. “Took me and Clutz to
gether to get the pistol off her.”
“You don't say.” The leader muses. Like his subordinates, he is wearing a mismatched assortment of armor. Some pieces look top of the line, while others could be spraypainted cardboard for all I know. Then he removes his helmet, revealing a lime-green mohawk that is currently plastered to his skull. The other soldiers follow suit. Every one of them has the same haircut, but in different lengths and colors.
“You aren't Null.” I say without thinking.
The leader turns toward me. The floodlights hit his face, and I see that he is ridiculously handsome, like an Egyptian god with his stormcloud eyes, chestnut skin and noble features. Being nicknamed Ugly proves that whoever these bastards are, they’ve got a sense of humor at least.
“How very perceptive of you.” He says to me. And then to his crew, “Looks like we've got a genius on our hands! Maybe we can sell him to the labs or something. They might not mind how many bits he's missing.”
“Let's leave him here.” The man named Clutz says. “We've only got a few spaces left in the lockup, and it looks like there's a whole village to choose from.”
My mind races, unthreading facts from the weave of their conversation.
Fact number one: our captors don't know who we are.
Fact number two: they're slavers.
And fact number three: we have to protect the Stonewallers from them - even if it means giving ourselves up.
“If you're after laborers,” I say, “then these villagers won't do you any good. They're lazy hippies, the lot of them. Even a one-armed fuck like me would be a better choice.”
Ugly laughs. “Now this is a first! Someone trying to talk their way into being abducted. You must really like these people.”
I manufacture a shrug. “What can I say, I've got a soft spot for idealists. So, how about it? Will you take me with you? And my friends too, of course.”
Ugly looks to his crew. “Should we give him a shot?”
“Hell yes.” Says a heavy woman with a bronze mohawk. “If the locals are hippies like he says, then they probably reek of patchouli oil. I hate that stuff.”
Clutz - who is sporting bright orange locks - must be ironically named as well, because he keeps tossing a dagger into the air and catching it effortlessly behind his back.
“I guess the cripple can come.” He says grudgingly. “But don't blame me if we end up selling him for peanuts.”
“When was the last time you had nuts?” The bronze-haired woman asks. “I would trade this whole lot for a bag of cashews.”
Clutz groans. “Damn it Blindy, now I'm gonna be craving salty snacks for hours.”
“I've got a salty snack for you right here!” Another man shouts.
“Shut up, the lot of you.” Ugly says pleasantly. “Now look sharp and get the fresh meat into the ship.”
While the slavers collect Francis and Lucy, I study the surrounding houses. There is no way the villagers could have slept through this. I was worried they might try to help us, but thankfully their sense of decency doesn't extend that far. The windows remain dark; the doors, closed tight.
The slavers deposit Francis beside me. My friend is dazed but breathing. Clutz throws a harness over his shoulders and clips him to a line. A winch kicks in overhead, and he is hoisted up into wind-torn darkness. Lucy receives the same treatment, as do Tikal and Amy after her. My eye tracks the girl up into the lights. Did she really try to kill herself, back there in the house? Not long ago she was berating me for exactly the same thing, when she thought I was trying to commit suicide on top of Worldpool. But if she believed these were Null soldiers... yes. It makes sense. Given the choice between revealing the location of the Kogi cryobunker or death, she chose the latter. Or tried to, anyway.
Ugly clips me in himself, his chestnut skin glowing under the lights.
“What are you going to do with us?” I ask.
“Sell you, obviously. And before you go looking at me all righteous-like, I know that slaving is fairly despicable. It's a newish gig for us, and not one we got into by choice.” He locks eyes with me. “But I will do anything to protect me and mine. And that's what this is about, so don't bother trying to appeal to my better nature.”
His warning delivered, the man tugs on the line. The winch starts to turn, and up I go. As I gain height, the slavers' ship becomes clear to me. It is a fan-powered pleasure craft with flowing lines and tapered wings, that has had heavy guns and plate shielding welded to it. Bullet holes and burn marks score its hull. And written large in stencil on one wing are the words: The Amateurs. A door swallows me, and then I'm being unclipped by an older woman with reddish-black hair and a gaping rent in one cheek.
“Welcome to the Tub.” She says. We are in a staging area lined with gear lockers and gun racks. There is a small gym further aft; and past that, a dance floor surrounded by heavy-duty speakers. Graffiti and explicit drawings cover every available surface, and the air smells strongly of whiskey and weed.
“Love what you've done with the place.” I say.
“Don't get used to it.” The woman replies. “You lot are going straight into lockup with the rest of this month's catch. But first...”
Taking a kitbag from her utility vest, she bends down beside Francis. Then she pulls out a microchip embedded in a smoky steel disc, and holds it to his linked eye. My friend's retcom flashes once before returning to normal. She repeats the procedure on Lucy and Tikal - the latter of whom is still recovering from being seal-clubbed with stealth-mode beanbags.
“What are you doing?” I ask suspiciously.
“Shutting off their retcoms.” The woman replies. “Ninetown is paying good money for any breathing body gets brought their way, and we're not the only crew out ahunting. Your friends’ retcoms don't give off much of a signal, but there's no point in taking chances, now is there?”
“I suppose not.” I say, hiding a smile. At least some good has come out of tonight. “Can they still see out of them, though?”
“Sure. I just turned off their transmitters, is all.” She raises a hand - which has been tattooed blood red from palm to fingertips - and pats a bulkhead with maternal affection. “This entire ship is a comms deadzone. It has no communications equipment whatsoever. No analog, no digital, nothing that could be used to track us.” She smiles, which has the unfortunate side-effect of opening up the hole in her cheek. “My name's Chaste, by the by.”
“You'd better watch your virgin ass around this one,” Clutz tells me, “Or you'll be trading sex for cigarettes before you know it.”
“Cigarettes?” I say disdainfully. “My ass is worth cigars any day.”
Chaste laughs; Clutz doesn't. “Maybe it used to be.” He says. “But that was before somebody decided to take you apart.”
He passes a hand through the space where my arm should be - as though I might need reminding it's gone - and then pushes me toward an iron door with a slide bolt lock. Blindy opens it with a flourish.
“Hope you're good with heights.” She says, and then I'm being tossed into the room beyond.
I land facedown on the floor, which is one great glass panel. Through it, I can see the mountains rushing past. The first hint of morning has painted them a washed out blue.
“Anex!”
I roll over just in time to get hit by a ball of rabid energy. Then I'm being squeezed to within an inch of my life. I try to pry my attacker off... until her electric blonde hair falls over my face.
“Peace?” I say wonderingly. She smiles down on me like a crazy little sun.
“Holy shit man, am I glad to see you! Are the others here?”
On cue, Chaste tosses Francis through the door after me. When he sees Peace, his mouth goes slack, eyes losing focus. Then Lucy lands on top of him and he yelps in surprise. Amy and Tikal manage to keep their feet on the way in. And now we’re all staring at the tiny sniper, who is grinning from ear to ear.
“So you guys got captured too?” She says. “That's awesome!”
So far, my attention has been reserved for our long lost friend. But we’re not alone. Over a dozen prisoners are lying around the rectangular chamber, which has been stripped of all furniture. Aside from an old man with a fringe of wild white hair, no one seems remotely interested in our arrival. In fact, most of them are fast asleep.
“How did you get here?” Francis is asking Peace.
“Same as you, I would imagine. These fuckers swooped down over the desert and gobbled me up a week or so ago. But I was out of water and mostly dead at the time, so I'm not holding too much of a grudge.”
“You never made it to Medival, then?”
“Oh, I made it alright.” She replies gloomily. “But the place was completely deserted. I was on my way back when my supplies ran out. How about you guys?”
Lucy recounts our escape from Worldpool, and subsequent stay in Stonewall.
“That looked like a nice place.” Peace says afterwards. “Very picturesque.”
“It was.” I tell her. “Do you know where we're headed to now, though? One of the slavers mentioned a place called Ninetown.”
“Yeah, I've heard them talk about that too. It sounds like some kind of work camp or sweatshop. Whoever runs it offers credit for workers, and a whole bunch of crews like the Amateurs have answered the call.”
“How have they been treating you?”
She shrugs. “Not that bad, to be honest. The Amateurs feed us the same stuff they eat, and there's a proper toilet and shower over there.” She points to a door across the room.