Robinson Crusoe 2246: (Book 3)

by E. J. Robinson

  “Then your gambit worked. I don’t see the problem.”

  “The problem is that I’m not sure it was a gambit. Twice I’ve faced a moment where my actions would define who I was, and twice I chose wrong. My fear—what keeps me up at night—is that this is who I am. The boy that puts his own interests first when it matters most.”

  “And what of all those you’ve helped? The nameless girl. The Cowboytown. The Aserra. The orphans. Our villagers. Don’t those actions even the scales?”

  Robinson wanted desperately to believe they did.

  “It’s all pointless anyway. We’re here now, and Friday is dying. And there’s not a thing I can do about it. I don’t even know why they let us in here in the first place.”

  “Maybe they wanted to take their measure of you,” Pastor said.

  “Why? They wouldn’t have known me from…” And then it occurred to him. “You. You told them to let me in. Why?”

  “I needed them to see what was out there with their own eyes. That amidst so much savagery, there are still shows of humanity worthy of our attention. And you are worthy, doubts and all.”

  “But their oath—it prevents them from getting involved, doesn’t it?”

  “Under most conditions.”

  “Most?”

  The Sanctum had no doorway, just a simple archway that led to a surprisingly modest, oval proscenium with stone seats, a quarter of which were occupied. Robinson thought it looked like one of the Greek theaters of old.

  “What is this?” Lysa said when she saw him. “You weren’t summoned here. The meeting of the body is a sacred function—”

  “I apologize for coming unannounced, but as it is my future you’re discussing, I thought I might have some relevant information to add to the discussion.”

  “Who told you our topic of discussion?”

  Robinson shrugged. “A little birdie. You have a lot of them flying around.”

  A few titters sounded. Robinson saw an opportunity.

  “It occurred to me after we spoke that I was asking for something and offering nothing in return.”

  “You have nothing we are interested in,” Lysa said.

  “You seemed very interested when we discussed the virus, specifically the second strain.”

  Lysa’s eyes narrowed. “It is a concern, yes.”

  “A concern,” Robinson repeated. “I suppose that’s one way to put it, considering the initial virus was the worst pandemic in human history. But given the second strain’s ability to mutate, I think it’s safe to say this one is an even more dangerous threat. Not only to us, but all life on this planet.”

  Lysa looked around. Many of the faces were grave.

  “I assume there is a point coming,” Lysa said.

  “An offer, actually. Since your oath prevents you from getting involved in the affairs of us mere mortals, I thought I could do it for you. Retrieve the vial of the second strain that is. I could be Perseus to you, the Gods.”

  “And in return?”

  “You know what I want.”

  “The full recovery of your wife and child.”

  “And for us to be allowed to leave in peace.”

  Lysa looks around again and said, “Give us a moment.”

  It didn’t take the body long to decide. Lysa appeared outside the sanctum soon after.

  “We accept your proposal. But know this: while we can temporarily suspend the disease in your wife’s system, we cannot in any way slow the progression of her pregnancy. That means you must return before she carries to term. If the child is born first, both it and your wife will die.”

  “Understood,” Robinson said. “I’ll leave today.”

  As he turned to go, Lysa called out to him.

  “Mr. Crusoe? For what it’s worth, many here are rooting for you. Myself included.”

  Robinson nodded and walked quickly down the hall.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Probe

  Cassa had circled the perimeter of the valley twice and estimated it to be three to four square miles. Despite this, he could never quite see what laid within. The mist that hung over the valley floor was perplexing as it maintained its shape and density regardless of the weather or temperature.

  There was little question the mist was manufactured, but by whom? Cassa had heard the rumors of the City of Glass. He didn’t believe they were true though. He’d traveled over much of the forbidden continent, and in his time, he’d seen nothing remotely magical. It was clear, however, that the flying machines protected something inside.

  Cassa found more warning signs around the circumference of the valley. Twice he’d tried to breach it. The first time was the evening after the flying machines had killed his pack and after the Master and Viktor had departed. Cassa had left Bull to graze in a narrow creek while he hiked a mile inland and approached the valley from the north. Fifty feet after crossing the warning boundary, two of the flying machines rose from the mist, forcing him to flee as fast as he could. The machines turned back when he had put another few hundred meters between them.

  The second trespass proved riskier. This time he scaled down a steep gulch toward the corner of the valley. There, he heard what sounded like rushing water. In that vicinity, the fauna looked more robust, and a muddy, uneven stretch of earth disappeared under the hardpan toward the snowcapped mountains to the north. He followed it two hundred meters and stopped.

  To the untrained eye, the collection of rocks might have looked normal, but no similar ones appeared in the region. Using a rope tied to Bull’s saddle, he hauled the topmost rocks away, stopping when the rounded concrete pipe came into view. Putting an ear to it, Cassa heard the rush of water within. He had found his way into the city.

  The entrance was an iron door two feet by two feet fused into the concrete. Cassa pulled on the bar. It didn’t budge. Since he could see no lock, he assumed it was rusted. Once again, Cassa linked Bull and the rope to the iron bar. When it drew taught, the door groaned. Cassa climbed on top and added his muscle to the equation. After an intense shuddering, the door gave way.

  The water churned inside the pipe at a fevered pace, hundreds of gallons a second. Cassa ducked his head inside and saw the conduit was maybe ten feet in diameter, less than thirty percent of it bearing water. The downside was that even with the open door, he couldn’t see beyond a few feet. He had no way of knowing if the aqueduct broke off or if there were gratings along the way. The only way he would know for sure was to go in for a closer look.

  After setting Bull out to graze again, Cassa hunted down a long stick to counterbalance his movement down the pipes. Then, he entered the tunnel using a temporary knot to swing himself down. Once he’d found footing, he used the stick to guide himself forward, carrying the small torch he’d lit with his flint and steel.

  The aqueduct descended gradually. Still, between it and the wet footing, Cassa knew he couldn’t afford any mistakes. He compensated by placing the stick on a dry stop on the opposite wall, just below midpoint. Unfortunately, this meant his body would be canted at an odd angle for as long as he was inside the aqueduct. He could already feel the muscles of his legs, shoulders and arms straining.

  Cassa had gauged his entrance point to be one hundred meters from the valley’s edge. As he moved forward, the light quickly faded away until all he could see was the haloed ten-foot radius around him. Twice he nearly slipped against the wet wall. Twice he recovered.

  Then, the rope drew taught. He thought that meant he’d come thirty feet, give or take. He looked farther down the aqueduct but saw nothing. Continuing from here would be dangerous and only make the return that much harder.

  Cassa asked himself what the Master would want him to do. He had never demanded Cassa pay back his debt, but there was a code amongst men of their world that said such a debt must be repaid and on kind. And contrary to every secret wish he’d ever held, Cassa knew killing the boy would require more than tenacity. It necessitated risk. Possibly even sacrifice.
/>   With that in mind, Cassa cut the rope.

  He’d gone another twenty feet when the stick hit below the center line and, the tip shot across the wet surface. He plummeted into the water. The frigid cold shot through him like lightning, momentarily stunning him. Hurtling out of control in the dark, icy torrent, he craned his head up to gasp for breath. He lurched for purchase only to feel the coarse walls on his skin, ripping one of his fingernails out. He twisted his hips around so he was traveling feet first, knowing if he went much farther he would likely plunge to his death.

  Then something struck his head. He reached out and felt the wooden stick in his hand. He flipped the end toward his legs and the bottom of the aqueduct. The point hit and slowed him for a second. Then it snapped, and he felt a searing pain as the broken half stabbed into his thigh.

  Cassa’s muscles were already cramping from the cold. He’d been in the water less than thirty seconds and already his body was shutting down. He knew he had to do something quickly or he would lose all his strength.

  Bobbing up for another breath, Cassa thought he saw the darkness lighten. Still holding the top half of the stick, he threw it out like an anchor. He felt it shake against the wall. Simultaneously, he ground his heels downward, the pain nearly making him black out. The combined effort, however, helped him slow.

  When he looked up again, he saw there was indeed light in front of him and he was hurtling toward it too fast to stop. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow and leaped for it. Cassa’s hand missed the recess, but the hooked end of the stick managed to snag it. Cassa’s body lurched to a stop. Then he felt his grip sliding off the stick.

  Cassa heard the roar of the waterfall and knew he was mere feet from going over. He couldn’t take a chance on letting go and plummeting over. With every ounce of strength, he lunged for the recess that the stick had latched onto and pulled. Slowly, he managed to fight the tide of water and pull himself inside.

  The off-shoot conduit was smaller, maybe two feet in diameter. Cassa collapsed in exhaustion. His body continued to shake. Even here, there was an inch of two of freezing water along the bottom of the pipe. Before he got up, he reached down and felt something sticky and warm oozing from his leg. He didn’t think the wound was life-threatening, but he needed to dress it quickly. Unfortunately, this pipe, like the other, was dark.

  Cassa crawled forward until his head banged into something metal. He reached out to find a ladder. He scaled it painfully and found a hatch with an iron wheel. He turned the wheel until it clicked and then used his back to leverage it open.

  Blinding daylight greeted Cassa as he spilled out onto the rocks around the waterfall. The hatch slammed behind him, blending in with the rocks as the previous one had. He tried to stand but was trembling too hard. Instead, he looked up and went still.

  From under the mist, the forest splayed out in grand fashion. Giant trees—taller than Cassa would have imagined possible—peppered the canopy and gave the valley an otherworldly feel. But that wasn’t what stayed his breath. It was the towering spires of the city, which glimmered like diamonds from a half mile away. Cassa felt his jaw fall open and was powerless to close it.

  He’d made it. The City of Glass was real, and he had gotten inside. Before he could celebrate, however, he heard the familiar whine of one of the flying machines.

  Trembling, Cassa looked around for cover, but outside of the small cave, which he was sure the things could fly inside, there was none. He stumbled back deeper into the rocks, instead pushing himself behind a smaller spate of water that cascaded over him.

  The flying machine rose over the cliff wall and hovered there. Cassa could feel his heartbeat thundering, and he expected the blast to come at any time. The flying machine pivoted toward the hidden hatch instead. That’s why it had come. An alarm had alerted the machine to its opening. Not his presence.

  Cassa’s watched the machine circle the hatch and continued to hold his breath for fear of being discovered. His skin had gone white and he trembled badly, but the machine seemed oblivious to him. That’s when he remembered that some creatures hunted by body heat. What if the machine did as well? That might prevent him from being blasted apart like his pack, but it wouldn’t save him from freezing to death.

  As the machine rotated around again, an idea popped into Cassa’s head. The discovery of the aqueduct was important, but the machines were the guardians at the gate. If he were to bring one back to the Master, he and Viktor might be able to take it apart and learn how it worked.

  Cassa reached for a rock, his fingers aching as he secured it in his hand. He waited until the machine did another revolution. This time it rose slightly higher, to about eight feet in height. Thinking he’d missed his chance, Cassa vaulted out of the water and stepped on a rock to launch himself into the air. The rock smashed the machine. It shuddered but didn’t go down. Cassa hit it twice more before it fell to the rocks, smoking, engines whining down.

  He expected it to be heavy, but it was surprisingly light. Cassa slipped the machine under his arm and scaled up the ridge and ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Genesi

  Pastor had met Robinson outside Sanctum and was happy to learn their plan had worked. Once he learned he was set to leave immediately, however, his forehead creased, and he pulled his friend away.

  “I have something to show you first,” Pastor said.

  They walked to one of the outer buildings, a two-story domed structure with no discernable entrance.

  “You’ll like this.” Pastor grinned.

  Pastor walked up to the quicksilver-hued wall and passed through it. Robinson gasped. He warily reached out, his hand disappearing from view. When he pulled it back, nothing had changed. Robinson steeled himself and stepped through.

  Robinson felt nothing as he passed through the barrier and arrived in a voluminous room that towered high overhead. Stacked tiers rose out in steeped formation, defying gravity. Men and women worked in various chambers on those tiers with a diverse variety of materials.

  “This is the Genesi,” Pastor said. “It’s where the designers of this age create and perfect new technologies.”

  On one of the lower tiers, two scientists were using a device to create a small cloud that hovered over a basin before releasing rain on demand. Once the rain ceased, the scientists conferred, pressed a button, and the water reversed course and the cloud swelled once more.

  Three floors above them, an artist of some kind used deep sound waves to chip away at a slab of marble until the Statue of David appeared in perfect replication. Another manipulation of the device transformed the stone with a variety of colors and patterns.

  The most stunning sight came at the apex of the building, where a dark, spiraling vortex suddenly opened up, revealing some striking celestial event. A group of men and women on lifts floated just beneath the void, discussing what they were seeing.

  “How is this possible?” Robinson asked. “From outside—”

  “The citizens are big on illusion,” Pastor said. “Stay here long enough, you cease asking ‘how’ in lieu of ‘why.’ The only answer I’ve come away with is ‘because they can.’”

  Pastor allowed Robinson another minute to gawk before directing him to a glass table not far from their entrance. On it were several devices laid out in orderly fashion.

  “I’ve managed to scrounge up a few special gifts for you. Nothing too dynamic since the oath prevents handing over of present technology—you know, the stuff that would actually guarantee your success.” Pastor rolled his eyes. “What I can give you are devices that were created before the Great Rendering occurred.” He leaned closed and whispered, “With a few modifications.”

  Pastor indicated the first piece of tech, a small, unadorned metal prong, slightly smaller than a fork.

  “This is a wand used to analyze food. It can break down edible content by calories, nutrients, ingredients. It can also discern whether something
is edible or poisonous.”

  “I can use this outdoors?” Robinson asked.

  “Unless you run across a string of restaurants,” Pastor sniped. “I carried one of these everywhere I traveled. Why do you think we ate so well?”

  “I thought the twins were good cooks.”

  At this, Pastor laughed heartily. For a moment, it sounded like Robinson’s friend was back. Then his face grew solemn and he moved on.

  “Next,” Pastor said, pointing to a pair of black-rimmed glasses.

  “Spectacles?” Robinson asked.

  “Put them on,” was all Pastor said.

  Robinson slid the glasses on. Pastor pointed skyward.

  “Look up there,” he said. “At the top level. Tell me what you see.”

  At first, nothing looked unusual. Then the image was multiplied, a distance meter blinking in the upright corner. It stopped when Robinson’s perspective showed a scientist shoveling food into his mouth.

  “Whoa,” Robinson said. “I can see what that man is eating.”

  “The numbers in the corner measure distance. Good for targeting. You can also say things like, “fifty meters out” and it will zoom out to that exact location.”

  “Exceptional.”

  “It does more. Touch the bridge, and the glass will identify heat signatures, pinpoint and identify weapons, propellants, explosives and chemicals. Pull off the right temple tip and insert it into your ear, and you can amplify sound up to twenty meters. It can also translate a handful of languages or extrapolate fusion languages over time.”

  “Amazing,” Robinson said.

  “Plus they make you look smarter,” Pastor quipped. “Which for you is definitely a bonus.”

  Robinson laughed.

  “They’re strong, but not indestructible. Keep them safe.”