When the River Ran Dry

by Robert Davies

  “I’ve never ridden on one of them, but I know what you mean.”

  “Underneath, they made a hard road. Nobody rides on it except their fixers once in a while—the ones out from Veosa. Aim north from the bridge until you find it, and then follow west. It’ll cut the time and make your ride quicken up.”

  “The way north from the road is open and clear?”

  “Just grasslands; your cart can track it easy.”

  “I appreciate the word.”

  “Stop in if you head back this way.”

  “We will. Best fortune to you, Joshua.”

  “Best fortune, Mr. Mills.”

  Maela started the van and trundled it over the uneven ground until they reached the road once more. She felt better as the pace picked up and soon, a billow of dust roiled out from beneath the van as it sped across the barren landscape.

  “How far down south did you and Anthony go?” she asked suddenly.

  “It took half the day, but we flew out in his car; I really don’t know the distance in kilometers.”

  Maela worked the math in silence, guessing it must have been roughly equivalent to their journey by land if an air car had taken several hours to reach its destination.

  “They speak like Joshua?

  “Yeah; it was strange, at first, but you get used to it quickly. Mister Anthony did most of it and we just listened.”

  “What about your friend? What became of him?”

  “Mister Anthony?”

  “No, I meant the other one—Vinnie.”

  Ricky smiled at the thought.

  “He’s still around; works part time for his dad. They repair fiber rings and network telemetry stations—that sort of thing.”

  “Did he know Elden?”

  “Yes, but Elden didn’t approve of him much.”

  “Why not?”

  “Vinnie can be a little lazy; he doesn’t always take things seriously, so Elden didn’t like it whenever I brought him up with me from the streets. He also did some time in the cylinders for theft, and Elden was afraid I would follow, so…”

  Maela understood and dropped the conversation, leaving Ricky to his thoughts as the sun began its daily slide far to the west. After several hours, passed mostly in silence with only a few stops to rest and stretch their legs, the road suddenly angled down a long incline and before them in the fading light, a valley, just as Joshua said.

  Maela slowed the machine as they reached a narrow stream wandering beneath an ancient, wooden trestle. Wide planks rattled and thumped as the van made its crossing and Ricky watched nervously through his window, hoping the old structure would hold. When it did, Maela throttled up for the ascent to the top of the western slope and once reached, it flattened again to a vast plain. Without a word, they looked immediately toward the north. There, on a parallel direction to the road, the elevated structure of the mag-rail coursed west, bathed in the orange shades of sunset. The rail stretched to the horizon atop twin pillars spaced at even intervals Maela guessed were roughly a hundred meters apart.

  She scanned the open fields, gauging the best path to take through a sea of high grass, but the flat expanse seemed featureless and unlikely to hinder them. They moved from the road, inching through waist-high growth for a few yards, testing the soil beneath and watchful for unseen depressions or obstacles until it was clear only a gentle bump or two would keep them from a smooth, eventless transit.

  After a while, their speed picked up and the van swayed less with each passing minute, giving Maela enough courage to accelerate more and more in measured applications of the throttle. In the distance, the rail structure grew larger in their windscreen until suddenly, Ricky saw movement in the corner of his eye. From the right, a ten-car train, gleaming white and shaped like a needle, made an odd, ringing noise as it streaked by, disappearing in mere seconds. Once more, the silence returned.

  Maela smiled at the scene and Ricky shook his head slowly and in wonder. At the Central Station, and for most of the distance out to the western wire, the mag-rail moved cautiously through the fringes of Novum, but here, in the vastness of the open plain, it was different. Unimpeded and twenty meters from the surface, the sleek machine was running at speed and a treat to the eyes. Maela stopped the van for a while, hoping an eastbound train might appear and delight them once more, but minutes passed until she relented and aimed their truck toward a narrow ribbon of pavement where it followed beneath the elevated rail’s course. At last, they were on the ‘hard road’ Joshua spoke of and moving as fast as the old van could go.

  Had anyone seen them from far above, Ricky wondered? Would a rider, making the trip by a far better path than theirs even notice as the landscape whizzed by? They both knew the thrice daily monorail schedule was due to increase, but not for a while. Maela was clearly disinterested either way as she pushed the machine to its limit, grateful only for a distant ridgeline that finally hid the harsh sunlight. By Joshua’s estimation, and allowing for their significant increase in speed, it would still take them through until late the following morning to reach Veosa. They agreed to keep up the pace until fatigue demanded a stop for rest and food. This time tomorrow, Maela declared, they would be inside the distant city and within reach of the answers to questions Elden’s recorded voice had made.

  As the seventh day rose through a pink sky to the east, Ricky and Maela finished clearing away their breakfast things and returned to the road, determined to end the morning at the walls of Veosa. When they crested a high divide between two modest peaks, it appeared on the horizon at last. Ricky stopped the van and they clambered to its roof for a better view. Maela brought tactical rifles to deal with serious threats, but their scopes became more useful as a surveying tool as she scanned the cityscape from a distance.

  The Veosan metroplex looked nothing like Novum and Ricky felt the anticipation build. Glittering white buildings stood in neat groups like polite icebergs adrift in a sea of green, intersected by an efficient network of streets and broad walkways. Between them, tree-covered hills and ravines embraced gentle streams coursing through the inner city, making clear the Veosans had left nature’s design intact when they began the rebuild in the aftermath of the Fall; leveling the land beyond the footprint of its structures had not been in their plans.

  Ricky continued his survey, smiling at the sheer vastness of a city disappearing beyond the western horizon without end. The contrast was obvious when his thoughts showed the teeming Sectors of Novum and a cold, gray forest of concrete and steel rising up from a ragged jumble of decay and disregard until Maela’s touch at his elbow returned him from the daydream.

  “Look,” she said, aiming down her arm toward the north. “I wondered how long it would take.”

  Ricky squinted against the glare at two tiny dots moving toward them on a direct line. He could only guess as to their altitude, but from their place far above the valley, it had to be at least a thousand meters.

  “Maybe they’re just passing through,” he offered.

  “Look around, Richard; we’re the only ones up here.”

  “Military, or cops like MPE on a routine patrol?”

  “Either one is a good bet.”

  “I hope they’re friendly.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  They watched the speeders as they curved gracefully toward the east, circling at last and speeding past the hilltop in tight formation. Following a wide arc, they slowed and moved close, easing onto the field beside the van. The trim, orange-colored machines made little noise, but downblast from hidden engines flattened and swirled the grass like the wind on a stormy day. Four figures dressed in blue flight suits stepped slowly from each speeder, still helmeted as they approached cautiously.

  “Let me take this one,” Maela said under her breath, careful to lay the rifle against the van.

  “No argument here,” Ricky replied with a smile.

  At the touch of a finger, the visor on the lead pilot’s helmet slid suddenly upward to rev
eal a woman in her mid-twenties, Maela guessed, but she wasted little time in coming to the point.

  “You out of Granderson?”

  “No; we’re looking for somebody.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  The question was inevitable, Ricky knew, but he held his breath at the possibility Maela would concoct a fable to conceal the truth and do more harm than good.

  “Novum,” she said simply.

  “Let’s see your identification,” the pilot replied, holding out her hand with a clear expectation.

  Maela pulled her badge from a pocket and opened it up.

  “You’re a cop?” the pilot asked.

  “Detective Maela Kendrick, MPE Special Investigations Division.”

  The pilot looked quickly at the others before taking the badge to inspect closely. After a moment, she handed it back with a nod.

  “Lieutenant Burriss, VDF.”

  “This is Richard Mills.”

  “You’re hunting?” Burriss asked, eyeing the rifle; “that’s a lot of firepower for somebody looking for another somebody.”

  “We didn’t know what to expect on the Broadlands, so I brought it in case we ran into trouble, that’s all.”

  “I’d keep that in plain sight when you get to the gates. Since you’re police, the sidearm is okay, but they’re going to give you hell about that rifle if you try to hide it.”

  “We don’t intend to cause any trouble, Lieutenant; that was just for safety out there,” she said, pointing deliberately east.

  Lieutenant Burriss paused for a second as the others returned to their speeders.

  “What brought you all the way out from Novum? You on an investigation?”

  “Yes,” Maela replied, “but it’s covert; we’d rather not invite attention, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I’ve run down that street a few times,” Burriss said. “No point in advertising, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  Burriss held a hand over her brow against the bright sun, looking past them to where one of the southern portals waited below in the valley.

  “They won’t let you in just on an investigation from Novum unless you have a sponsor.”

  “We were told to try from the southern border by a friend who trades here regularly,” Ricky said suddenly, hoping the gamble wouldn’t backfire.

  “Who’s this friend?” Burriss asked cautiously.

  “Felicitas Bielmann,” he replied; “a trade master in one of the Agro communes on the eastern side closer to Novum—Landsdon, they call it. She said it was okay to mention her name to the guards down there.”

  Burriss nodded and said, “Yeah, we know Felicitas; she comes in from time to time and sells to a couple of south-side boutiques; hand-made furniture and artwork, mostly.”

  Ricky felt the pressure begin to ease as Burriss continued.

  “So, who is this guy you’re looking for—what’d he do?”

  “It’s a she,” Maela replied, “but we’re only here to ask some questions; the person we’re looking for is not a suspect.”

  “Oh. A witness, then?”

  “Not really, but we hope she’ll be able to clear up a few things and keep us from wasting time on dead-end leads, you know?”

  Burriss looked again at the van.

  “Why the wheels? You could’ve taken the magnetic trains and got here a lot faster.”

  “The trains don’t go everywhere; we drove out in case we had to follow another path away from the city.”

  “You don’t have an air car?”

  “It doesn’t carry fuel for a trip like this, and we don’t have a lot of money to spend anyway.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Burriss said as she looked past them and down to the valley floor. “Hold on a second and I’ll call in to let them know you’re coming down.”

  She turned and spoke softly into her comm unit and Ricky watched as she nodded to an unseen voice. Another pause and they could hear her as she repeated Felicitas’ name and when she nodded once more, it was set.

  “They know Felicitas, too, so you won’t have any trouble at the gate. Just follow their orders and you’ll be fine.”

  “We appreciate the help,” Maela smiled.

  “No problem, Detective; my mom is a cop, and she had to go on runs like yours a few times when she was still on a patrol beat.”

  “Outside the city?”

  “Yeah; down to Granderson and Angel Town—the big mines. They come up to spend their money every few months, maybe get some time with a few of the cleaner prostitutes than the ones they have down south, right? Once in a while, one of the hardcore idiots would do something stupid, so my mom had to go outside and bring him back.”

  “I see.”

  “Anyway, good luck with your hunt. If you need help after you’re inside, just find a cop and ask for my mother; she’s a sergeant over on the coast at Delta Station now, but they’ll know who she is.”

  “Thanks again, Lieutenant.”

  With a final nod, Burriss turned and signaled to her squad. The two trim ships were airborne and gone in only a few moments, leaving Ricky and Maela alone once more.

  “I’m glad you brought your badge,” Ricky said with a wide grin, but Maela said nothing as she watched the speeders moving quickly toward the west.

  “Maela?”

  “Yes, it came in handy,” she said feebly and almost as an afterthought.

  “You seem a little distracted.”

  “It’s been a while, that’s all,” she said softly.

  “You came out here on one of your investigations?”

  “Not exactly,” she replied, “but I’ve been here.”

  Ricky sensed her unwillingness to go into detail had been made by memories best left hidden.

  “I guess we should get on with it?”

  Maela nodded twice and they returned to the van, pulling it back onto the road and a long, wandering course down to the valley where the first security station waited near the city’s outer walls. Half an hour later, they were directed to a wide lot where Veosan Security waited.

  A single official, carrying only a data pad, ordered them from the truck.

  “Identification, please.”

  Maela and Ricky handed over their City Registration chips and the man placed them carefully into a slot.

  “Are you here to deliver or pick up?”

  “We’re looking for a friend,” Maela said.

  “Name?”

  “Valery Sharma.”

  “Is this your first visit to Veosa?”

  “Not for me,” Maela replied as she nodded toward Ricky, “but first time for him.”

  He returned the chips and looked at Maela.

  “VDF called in a patrol report a while ago; you’re the Novum MPE officer?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you here on official business?”

  “Yes, but we just want to interview her and clear up some administrative details; Miss Sharma is not a person of interest.”

  “Please stay with your vehicle while I run the search.”

  With that, he disappeared inside an oval structure dividing the inbound lanes of a highway from those leading out of the city and southward to the vast mining territories.

  “They’re polite, I’ll give them that,” Ricky said.

  A few moments later, the official returned, fixing a holographic tab to the van’s windscreen.

  “You’re listed as an approved visitor, Detective. This is your admittance key; do not remove it until you depart. The key, and your ID passes, are valid for 72 hours. If you intend to stay longer, you will need to apply for an extended pass at any Commerce and Visitation office in the city.”

  “Is that it?” Maela asked suddenly.

  “I still need to obtain the barrel print from each of your firearms.”

  “Barrel print?” Ricky asked.

  “It will only take a moment,” the official replied.

  “They’re in a case behind
the driver’s seat, officer, except for my pistol,” Maela said, drawing the weapon slowly before offering it to him.

  “Loaded?” he asked automatically.

  “Yes; you’ll have to clear it.”

  He nodded to another official to retrieve Maela’s rifles. From a nylon bag at his belt, the second man pulled a small, black device that looked like a metal shot glass, affixing it in turn to each gun’s muzzle. Three short flashes of light made the digital map that would function as a unique fingerprint tying the weapon to its owner. After the process was complete, the officer handed Maela a small information disc.

  “Valery Sharma is confirmed as a resident, so you’re free to enter. Although you’ve been here before, I would recommend you read and understand this presentation to familiarize yourself with city laws and regulations. If you have any questions, please alert a Security officer and they’ll help you out. Welcome back to Veosa, Detective.”

  Maela steered the van carefully through an archway and onto an elevated road made from smooth paving stones arranged in a parquet fashion that made the tires sing when she accelerated. Half a kilometer in, the second barrier wall loomed ahead and through it, another passage guarded by a platoon of officers. When they drew near, she slowed and looked for a place to park, but two guards aimed a reader at the access key, motioning them through without a word when a small indicator light on their city pass turned green.

  The final, two-kilometer distance was crossed over a levee separating halves of a wide lake, ten meters up from where gentle waves lapped over massive chunks of stone that formed the angular, sloping sides of a causeway. Few vehicles met them until the curved shape of the last barrier wall remained and behind it, the buildings of outer Veosa glittered in white and polished alloy.

  As they moved slowly through an ornate gap in the wall, the effect was immediate; no expanse of decay and rusted ruins from long before, or the hulking structures of the Industrial Zone and its ugly monuments to mass production. Instead, there was an unmistakable and even stark cleanliness that seemed unnatural and conspicuous. Spaces between their shimmering towers and sculpted skyscrapers were covered in beautiful carpets of manicured grass or ivy, dotted here and there with abbreviated gardens and tunnels made from trees intertwined like lovers in a permanent embrace. Parks seemed a constant and expected feature where citizens sat in sunlight that shone brightly and unfiltered by the haze and smoke clinging on most days to every building across Novum.