by Ron Bender
“Yes Eldest,” Shandra says.
I get a hint of familial resemblance seeing them this close together.
“You did pretty good creeping up here though.” Tessa smiles. “Only Fire-eyes might have seen you. Folks like him have IR and other fancy stuff built in. Got that? Just because he isn’t wearing goggles don’t mean he can’t see you.”
“Yes Eldest.” Shandra is filled with respect for the older woman.
“Good girl.” Tessa pulls her up a step and gives her a brief embrace. “Now get them out of here and hide out until the trouble blows over.”
“Yes Eldest.” Shandra says.
I feel alien, watching them. I barely remember anything about my mother outside of corporate functions. So little in fact that the memories seem surreal. I’d been told that my father had been killed by a rival corporation when I was a baby. Family, at least this kind of family, is unknown to me.
Shandra steps back and begins to walk away, back into the darkness. She motions for us to follow.
Tessa says as we walk away, “And you tell Salvador to keep bundled up even if he thinks he’s better. Crawling around in the dark, on damp ground will make his cold come back worse.”
“I will Grandma.” Shandra replies.
“And don’t forget, it’s Moccasin breeding season, so eyes bright.” The Eldest’s voice is muted through the trees.
“Yes Eldest.” She wipes her nose on the back of her wrist and lifts a wide strand of hair behind her ear. “Come on.”
I blunder along chasing the silence of the nomad girl and the killer.
Picasso reaches back and takes my hand. “The path’s rough up here.”
Even with his help I stumble over snags and low scrub until Shandra stops us.
“Here.” She points. “Gear up fast. We have to make a rendezvous on the coast.”
An old pair of boots rest near one of the packs. She looks at me and says, “Those are a gift for you. Your city shoes are useless out here, especially in the dark.”
“Change my shoes? Into these?” I pick them up and look at the battered sides and careworn uppers, I can see Shandra watching me out of the darkness. “These are used.” I say. The idea is akin to someone telling me to use their toiletries.
“Yeah. So? What’s with that face?” Picasso shoulders his pack. “Someone in camp gave up those boots so you could escape. Crippled their own mobility.”
I slip my feet into the high, thick-soled boots and lace them up. They are still warm from the gift giver’s feet. I try to hide my disappointment at the sensation.
Next surprise is the pack. “Oh my god. What’s in here? It weighs a ton.”
Shandra frowns, and reaches for a strap. She gives my pack a heft. “It’s about right for an adult.”
I stare at her.
“Turn around and lift it on.” She says impatiently.
I struggle with the straps and the crisscrossing catches across my chest.
“It’s too low.” Her frustration with me boils out. “Hike it up.”
“Show me how.” I say.
Now it’s her turn to stare.
“I’m serious. Show me how.” I match her frustration. “This is the first pack like this I have ever seen.”
I can see her disbelief. It turns into a grim mask. “Okay.” Her slim hands, closer in the poor light are sun browned and marked here and there with pale scars. “Like that, see?” She hoists the pack up with one hand and instructs me on settling the pack properly.
“Thank you.” I do my best to mask my true feelings.
Shandra narrows her eyes. “You’re welcome.” She looks straight up. “We still need to hurry.”
I follow her gaze upward through a gap in the leaves. New White Sands is a busy place. TopSide nights are always brightly lit, glaring, even in the rain. When I was at the Outreach facility there were curfews. I had to be inside by nightfall for headcount.
Then there were the nights when I’d snuck out to be with Baylen. I’d almost forgotten what the night sky looks like. Here, away from everything, I gasp. Pictures on an image screen still don’t do the real thing justice.
Stars are everywhere, glittering satellites trace a thousand patterns. Baylen came from up there. That was his true home.
“Come on. She’s not gonna wait around anymore,” Picasso says. He takes my forearm and leads me after Shandra.
My eyes adjust to what light there is and I’m surprised that I can make out some shapes. We move along for an indeterminate length of time. The sound of water on a shoreline grows louder.
We come out of the trees and onto an eroded slope of land. The waters of the Gulf surge and flow around sea grasses, scrub, and stunted mangrove jutting out into the surf. Further out the waves slap and gurgle around collapsed chunks of old buildings and the dead, salt rimed tops of trees.
There is no beach like this in the streaming shows. It’s evidence of how fast the water rose and how it was still rising.
Shandra pauses and then flicks a flashlight on and off along the shoreline. She repeats the process three times before she gets an answering flash. Her relief was tangible in her sigh. “Good. They waited.”
A minute later Picasso and I find ourselves surrounded by fifteen armed teenagers and one tall adult who reminds me a little of Baylen just by his bearing.
“Shandra,” an older boy vents, “You’re late. We were just going to vote about leaving you to fend.”
“No, we weren’t,” the adult interrupts. “And don’t lie like that Tomas; if you’re upset with her; say so. None of this sideways bullshit you always try.”
Tomas looks angry that his behavior has been called out in front of everyone else. He would stomp off but the adult arches a brow at him and he’s forced to stay put.
Minor chuckling and joking pushing erupts along the edge of the ring of faces in the dark.
“I’m Sal,” the adult says. “We were told you’d be coming with Shandra and may be late.”
“We met before at the crash site. This is Doc.” He introduces me. I bite my tongue. “Sorry to hold up your show,” he says.
Sal shrugs it off. “Shandra you got things to add?”
“Sal, Doc is Maggie’s momma.” She looks between us. “The other hunts with the Wolf. He’ll be fine, maybe soldier trained. But she don’t have much wood-sense.”
“Doesn’t,” Sal corrects.
Shandra makes a face. “She doesn’t have much wood-sense. She couldn’t even seat a pack properly.”
“Better. Just because the others break down the language, that’s their business.” Sal crosses his arms and looks down at her. “You’re in line to run a camp Shandra so you have to hold a higher standard. And just because we’re out of camp doesn’t mean you can backslide with me or anyone else. Got that?”
“Yes, sir,” she replies. She doesn’t even sound sullen about it.
I recall my petulant behavior with my nannies.
“Good.” He puts a hand on her shoulder. “As for her not having wood-sense. Think girl.” He keeps his gaze sharp on hers. “Where would she have learned it? Nowhere. And besides you weren’t born with it either. She just needs to be taught and trained.”
Shandra nods and looks at me. Her expression is one of deep consideration. I don’t know if I should be worried or not.
Sal addresses the group. “Now, so that we all know, we’re out here creeping and crawling. But this time it’s not practice.”
The boisterous behavior of the teens stops at his words.
“That’s right.” He looks at all of his charges, nodding at each of them. “You heard me. This isn’t play time. Some folks, trained soldiers may be coming. This group has a special job.” All eyes are on him, and hands shift subtly to clutch at weapons. Their guns are incongruous with my perceptions of their age. “Doc here needs to be safe. Eldest tells me that The Wolf has spoken to her. He says our family are good enough to do this. Tessa picked us out as a special team because we are the bes
t. But no letting it get to your heads, you keep your focus. Mess up around those folks and dead is dead, right?” He watches them all nod in understanding. “Do your jobs, remember family first, and keep in cover. Let’s go, we got ground to get across and the other groups from this zone are already waiting.”
All of our party slips silently away into the night leaving Picasso, Shandra, and Sal, standing next to me.
“They’re pretty good.” Picasso stands still, listening, looking. “If they had better equipment, I’d have to work to pick them off one at a time.”
“We work them hard. Nomad life isn’t easy.” Sal stares out into the dark and then runs a hand over his crop-cut hair. “Other families don’t school their kids for the hard times. Eldest Tessa’s seen some of those get wiped out. We train ours year-round along with the basics.”
“Wolf knows you guys do this?” Picasso asks.
“As of yesterday.” Sal snorts. “He wasn’t surprised though. Said he’s been helping out the Rafter folk.” He pauses, listening to the wind rustling trees, and the waves behind us. “We should go.”
As we start out Shandra’s expression is hopeful. Then she hears me stomping along in my boots. “Swing your legs out a little to the outside when you swing it forwards. It forces you to keep your weight on your back leg a bit longer. That way when your front foot comes down you can feel if the ground is solid. You might trip less too.”
The boots feel heavy and stiff; it’s like learning to walk all over again. I try. I do trip less but I still sound like a large animal.
“One thing at a time I guess,” she says to me.
3.20
Quickening
Morochevsky doesn’t come to find me. Instead its Jimmy who sends a message. “Contact me if you’re sober.”
I set down my sealed glass and watch the straw crimp closed. I’ve been drinking pretty heavily for about two hours. The alcohol was hitting me harder than the distilled stuff Sal cooks up every other week.
The server hadn’t asked if I had money. I stand up, ready to explain the situation to her. I watch her eyes flick to someone behind me. I know the Russian is right there; him and a fat corporate account.
I nod. “Thanks for the service.”
She nods once in silence. I almost wish I had more time to let my body process this high on its own but Jimmy contacting me pointing out my possible lack of sobriety… I know he’s already talked to Morochevsky.
I make my way to the door. I activate my internal flush and sober-up subroutines. Warily, from across the plaza Morochevsky and the team watch my approach.
The mechanical add-ons in my torso are processing the alcohol and other toxins from my body. I can feel sobriety stripping away the comfortable blanket of my blurred perceptions.
Whatever comes out of his mouth next will determine how I proceed. I had meant it when I had said; I was done. I just don’t have any other options.
“Jimmy has found the Liberty hack. He also dissected the archived footage and found where all the anomalies started.” If Morochevsky’s feeling judgmental about me it doesn’t show. “There is a ship waiting for us. We can review everything as we go.”
The last of my binge drinking is fading fast. “Lead the way.”
As I follow the team I get ahold of Jimmy at the direct contact he used to reach me. “Jimmy, its Lee. I want the news from you. I’m not interested in an edited canned version from a corporate suit. Fill me in.”
“The footage of Bransen in Texas is real. His timestamp and lift to orbit are accurate. So are the facts that he switched at a LEO transfer point, and boarded a ship going to Liberty Transfer Platform. A private charter. Named the Speedwell.”
“Okay. Good.” At least he’d come this way. “Show me.” I send him a two-way link code to my optics.
The cam image shows up on my eye.
“The program they used to scrub Bransen and your daughter from the cam’s is one I’ve run into before. I pulled this from a dock workers suit cam. Right before Hall arrives at Liberty… well you’ll see.”
The cam footage is tilted at an angle and a little bouncy but the image itself is clear. Bransen and a woman carry Maggie through the docking ring and onto the ship. Its name in black block text beside the airlock hatch.
I play it until I can get a clear view of Maggie’s face. She looks asleep. Drugged. “Jimmy.”
“We’ve tracked the ship ID. Like I said, it’s a private charter. No route’s been listed. What I’ve overheard around here is that we have a visual on it and its going to the moon. We have footage of Hall getting on board about ten minutes later.” He pauses. “Lee, I’m really sorry I screwed up before. I missed the hack, the scrub program…”
“Everyone is wound-up Jimmy. Mistakes are easy to make when you’re wound. Just take a breath and keep focused.” I tell him what he needs to hear. It left a bitter taste, knowing we’d all been played.
“So, here’s Hall transferring to the same ship,” he says. “Different angle, different cam. The inter-ship passenger crew have their own cam systems. It took a while for this worker to come off shift and load his cam into the platform’s data storage. The body cam’s dump the footage into an archive with no oversight. I think it’s only accessed if something goes wrong, you know, to protect the collective ass of all involved. By the time we got to it whoever had run the hack had quit the program. I’m still looking at digital fingerprints.”
I watch Hall as he boards, sits in the front row, fidgets around for the hop and finally debarks. His movements are awkward in near zero gravity. He fumbles around with his side-bag and small suitcase before making his way out.
“And then we lose him,” Jimmy interjects. “Like I said, he’s on the same ship as Bransen and Maggie. It left a few minutes after that.”
I play the footage back for myself. I watch as Hall pulls his suit jacket tight and bobbles his drifting side bag. I slow the frame rate when he starts to lose his bags around himself. “Jimmy, can you take a look at this frame sequence and clean it up as best you can.” I forward the bracketed frames.
“Okay.” He says. “Don’t you want to know where Hall’s ship went to?”
“A lunar colony. Probably a mining hive.” Its where I’d go. The nearly complete lack of laws and enforcement would make it a good place.
“That’s a good guess.” Jimmy says.
“How’s that footage coming?” I ask.
“Oh. That’s my que to not bug you. I get it.”
Morochevsky has been leading me up toward the axil and into a maglift to an airlock.
None of the team are saying much. I’m good with that. I can see that their disappointed with the set back too.
“Here.” Jimmy cuts in on my com-link. I get the impression no one’s ever taught him communication protocols. The data packet unfolds into a cropped and cleaned-up series of images.
I watch it twice more as our private transfer vessel docks onto Liberty.
Hall’s bag goes one way, his case floats the other. He struggles to pull them in close. As he turns back, his suit jacket tugs itself open across his chest….
Jimmy asks. “What are you looking for?”
I freeze the frame. “That.” I highlight a silver edge of something jutting out of Halls inside pocket. “Is that a tag? Or a pocket liner, or what?”
Jimmy sounds excited. “I can help with this. Give ten minutes.”
I reply, “Ten’s a long time Jimmy.”
“Five then.” Jimmy counters. “Give me five minutes.”
The interior airlock opens and we single-file into an AlphaTek transfer pod. There’s no pilot. As soon as we’re settled the pod detaches itself and the automated system routes us along.
Through the portal I watch the number of ships in parking dwindle and then become empty space. I look at Morochevsky. He doesn’t look worried.
Jimmy comes back to me just inside the five-minute mark. “Got it.”
“And?”
“It
’s a ticket.” He says as an image shows up on my optic feed. “The Elites and CitOnes are issued holographic foil stamped tickets, makes them feel special, you know, wave them around in front of the poor folks…”
“A ticket? To where?”
“It’s a first-class ticket to Origin Oasis.” He sounds a little offended by my ignorance.
“I’ve been in the dirt a long time Jimmy.” I ask. “What the hell is Origin Oasis?”
“Origin Oasis and the Nasrid Origin Complex is a station at EML Two. It’s where the rich-beyond-caring go to hang out. About a decade ago an Elite from New Zealand sold off a lift company and the new owners used it exclusively to build the station. I mean it’s big, huge even. All those rich people don’t like being disturbed by anyone with less status then them so it’s a private complex. But they do run a lottery every year. You have to meet a financial and personal portfolio requirement to even enter.”
Maggie would have either a lot or a little value on a station like that. The place would have its own laws. AlphaTek wouldn’t go in there guns up eyes bright. We need speed to overtake them in free space. Failing that I’ll go in on my own. “Any idea how the hell Hall got a ticket?”
“Why you asking me? I don’t know,” Jimmy says. “When I accessed his financials, he didn’t look like any of the other people who’ve ever won.”
“Forward what we’ve got to whoever is in charge.” I say. “Send a packet to Morochevsky and I’ll talk to him right now, and Jimmy?”
“Yeah?” He sounds tense with excitement.
“Good job,” I tell him. “Keep focused.”
“Thanks, Lee. I’ll drop that stuff now.”
I wait a moment until Morochevsky’s eyes flick over to me.
“We need to talk about this.” I say as I lean forward.
“Da.”
A buzzer drones around us as ‘on docking approach’ blinks across a number of screens. Out of curiosity I look out one of the tiny portholes. I catch the hidden lines of the craft we’re heading for through a porthole. “I’m sure there’s some kind of treaty that makes that ship illegal as hell.” I peer at the lethal shape with its velvety black hull, hanging against the stars.