by Linda Nagata
Niamey will have its own ground zero if Vanda’s remaining nukes aren’t found.
I look up at the sky and wonder if a surveillance satellite has marked my position yet. If Vanda is hunting me, he’s got a hell of a lot of territory to scan, a massive amount of data to process. Is his system capable of it?
I’m distracted by a faint roar of engines, far to the west. At first I think it’s a jet, but then the angel red-alerts again, this time highlighting a long line of eastbound trucks still a few miles away: one of the convoys Tuttle warned me about.
He was right. It’s amazing to hear them. Against the quiet of the night, the slowly building roar of their approach sounds like a prelude to the end of the world.
But it’s not the end of the world. Not yet. I reduce the alert status from red to blue and then walk to the end of the parking lot where I have a view of the freeway’s on-ramps, and of an overpass that spans the lanes. The trucks’ headlights blaze in the distance. I watch them approach, and as they pass I count them—one, two, three, four—and that’s just the beginning.
The drone continues its patrol. As the twelfth truck rumbles by, the drone makes a pass over the parking lot—and flashes a red-alert. I spin around, looking back at the SUVs.
I don’t see anything.
I shift to angel sight, so that I’m looking down on the vehicles in green-tinted night vision. There’s someone in the empty stall between the two SUVs. He? She? I can’t tell, but the intruder is skinny and not very tall—an underfed teenager maybe, with what looks like a crowbar in one hand.
I race back across the parking lot, determined to interfere before any glass gets broken. Joby engineered my padded feet to be quiet, and the little sound I do make is covered by the roar of the convoy—a roar that was no doubt a factor in the timing of this little venture.
A glance at angel sight assures me that the drone has not found any accomplices.
With my pistol in hand, I make a dramatic appearance between the front ends of the two SUVs, boxing the enemy in, with the neatly trimmed hedge blocking a retreat—but the convoy is still rolling past and my appearance goes unnoticed.
It’s a girl—I’m pretty sure. She looks coppery in the glow of the streetlights, her smooth, shoulder-length hair bound up in a little ponytail, maybe five six in height, dressed in long, dirty pants, running shoes, and what looks like a badly worn armored jacket—the kind motorcyclists sometimes use. I can see a faint display dancing in the thin lens of her farsights as she cocks her arm, working up her nerve to swing her crowbar at the window in the passenger door of the gray SUV.
“Not your best idea,” I say, loud enough to be heard over the trucks.
“Fuck!” She spins around, swinging the crowbar so that it whistles through the air between us. “Touch me and I’ll kill you!”
Definitely a girl.
I step aside, giving her room to run. “Why don’t you get the fuck out of here?”
She grips the crowbar in two hands. “Don’t you touch me!”
“I won’t.”
She edges sideways, watching me through her farsights, a pinprick green light in the corner indicating she’s recording. I expect her to turn and run as soon as she’s in the open, but instead she hesitates, asking, “What’s going on with your eyes? There’s sparks of light flashing in them.”
Angel sight is still running in the corner of my vision as the drone takes in the brilliant headlights of the convoy along with our little conflict in the parking lot. I’m impressed she can see well enough to make it out. “It’s an implant.”
“You’re a soldier, aren’t you?”
“Not anymore.”
“You’re the one they call King David.”
“Not anymore.”
She thinks about this for a few seconds, watching me with an anxious gaze. “Sorry,” she whispers, edging away. “Sorry I messed with your stuff.”
“Are you hungry?”
Just the question, the implication that there might be food, and she looks faint.
But I don’t want that crowbar anywhere near me or the trucks. “Go across the parking lot. Wait there. I’ll get you something.”
She backs away.
I open up the gunmetal-gray SUV, find a case of MREs I remember seeing earlier, and extract a dozen packets while watching her with angel sight. She’s retreated thirty feet, toward the opposite end of the parking lot from where I was watching the convoy. Behind her is a vacant lot, overgrown with spindly young trees. I leave the packets on the asphalt between us and return to the vehicles. The last of the convoy has passed, and the night has gone quiet again. She scurries toward the food, setting the crowbar down just long enough to stuff her pockets. Then she turns and sprints for the trees.
It bothers me that the angel missed her presence in its initial survey. I send it to track her, wanting to map her hiding place, but there’s no sign of her—so she must be hiding under the concrete shelter of the overpass.
I resolve to stay close to the vehicles, where I spend my time looking for satellites.
Satellites are seen when they reflect light from the sun, so they’re easiest to spot early in the night or just before dawn. It’s almost 2200, but I see one anyway, gliding in stately silence from the west, so big and bright it makes me curious.
I go back to the gunmetal SUV, sure I saw binoculars stashed with the supplies. I find them and get them out in time to study the object as it fades into shadow. The binoculars are electronically amplified and image stabilized, and what they show me is not just a point of light—it has length and width, a glowing rice grain that has to be a space station. I send an image to my encyclopedia, and it returns an audio article. What I’m looking at is a billion-dollar toy. A company called Sunrise 15 is manufacturing orbital pods to serve as private dwellings, high-tech cabins—dragon lairs. A spaceplane services them. One has been sold to an eccentric hypochondriac, another to a socialite because she can. The money invested in the venture is staggering—billions of dollars—while kids go hungry in rural Pennsylvania.
Motion behind the hotel’s glass doors makes me reach for my pistol, but the doors slide open, revealing Nolan coming to take over the watch. He’s wearing farsights and a thigh-length jacket like mine to cover his armor.
I search the sky again, wondering how many satellites have looked down on this parking lot since I’ve been out here.
“You looking for something up there, LT?” Nolan asks.
“I don’t have a rank anymore.”
He makes a low, skeptical grunt. “Shelley, then. Counting satellites?”
I look at him. His farsights cast a faint glow around his eyes. “Did you know there’s a company selling space stations to dragons? They’ve launched six dragon lairs already.”
“No shit?” He looks up.
I pass him the binoculars. “They’re looking down on us.”
“They always have.” He puts the binoculars to his eyes. “We just watched the newest reality show.”
“Yeah? How was it?”
“Like you said it would be . . . focused on the people who protected us. Cops and FBI, but mostly these teenage kids in DC who knew something was up and kept poking at it.” He lowers the binoculars, frowning. “They almost got themselves killed—but then they found an IND, just like the ones recovered on Coma Day. A nuke in a cheap-ass van. The FBI shut down the trigger mechanism less than two hours before it would have gone off. That would have been the Saturday night before the court-martial.”
“That was the night before the president came to see me,” I realize. “So when he talked to me, he knew. He knew how close we all came.”
“Including him,” Nolan agrees.
I think about it. Would the country have survived if that IND had gone off? Our president killed? The government thrown into chaos? I want to believe we would have gone
on somehow, with the military remaining loyal to the people, and the people pulling together in support of the Constitution . . . I want to believe it.
But even after the nuke was disarmed, the president kept its existence secret. He knew how close we’d come to disaster, but he didn’t trust the people with that knowledge. He didn’t trust me. He came after me only hours later, asking for an end to the disruption, the chaos, without ever hinting at what had almost happened.
It’s all out in the open now. “Goddamn,” I breathe. “Do you know how lucky we are? Not just us. The whole fucking country.”
“Thanks to those kids. They’re heroes, and not just them. The FBI too.”
“And the seven hundred thousand protesters on the Mall.”
If not for them, today would have been the start of our sentencing hearing. A lot of people have been saving my ass lately.
“Hey,” Nolan says, “is that one of the dragon lairs?”
I look up to see another bright satellite. For several seconds Nolan studies it through the binoculars. Then he turns to me, scowling. “We’re out here without our helmets.”
“We want to look like civilians.”
“Sure, but we’re standing out in the open. A good surveillance satellite can identify us with facial recognition.”
I nod. “And Vanda-Sheridan specializes in surveillance satellites.”
“Shit. You think he’ll come after us?”
“He came after me in New York. He came himself. He didn’t hire the job out.”
“Like it was a personal vendetta.”
“He’s not like other dragons. He came up through the ranks. It’s hands-on with him. And right now it’s unfinished business. The job’s not done.”
Nolan stares at the sky a little bit longer. “I’ve met assholes like that. Guys who’ll go out of their way to finish a grudge match before they transfer.”
I’m betting Carl Vanda is one of those guys, and that he’s as predictable as I am. “If he does come after us, we need to turn it around on him. Take him alive.”
“Alive?”
“Persuade him to tell us all about his nukes. Then we don’t have to wait for the organization, or depend on half-truths leaked by corrupt government moles.”
“You want him to come,” Nolan accuses.
I don’t deny it.
“So you think it’ll be soon?” he asks.
“Yes. If he comes at all, it’ll be soon. Probably not tonight, though.”
“But if it is tonight?”
“You have any suspicions, put out a call on gen-com.”
“Roger that.”
I tell him about the girl in the trees, and then I get him set up so his farsights are linked to the angel.
The Red may not be telling my story anymore. That doesn’t mean I can’t tell one on my own.
• • • •
As I head back inside, I’m planning to purchase a replay of the new episode, but that changes when I get to the room, because Delphi isn’t there. There’s no note to say where she’s gone. There’s nothing. Fear hits. Has she been kidnapped? I didn’t hear anything. It doesn’t seem possible . . . and no one left the hotel. I know that. I was watching with angel eyes.
I call her.
The cell network is down so the call doesn’t go through.
I swear to God I can hear Lissa’s ghost whispering, It’s not your fault.
Panic sends me racing into the hall. I visualize a link to Jaynie. My skullnet picks up the command and tries to connect, even as I pound on her door. “I need your help! Delphi’s gone.”
The door opens and it’s Delphi. She’s wearing a tank top and pajama bottoms.
Jaynie is right behind her, dressed in a tank top and panties with a pistol in her hand. “What the fuck, Shelley?” she asks me.
I don’t know what to say.
Delphi looks puzzled. “Are you okay?”
“Fuck, no.” My heart is hammering, my hands are shaking, and the skullnet icon is aglow. “I didn’t know where you were, Delphi! Why the hell didn’t you—”
“Stop,” she says, putting her hand against my chest. “Just stop.”
I back up, shaking my head. “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. He took Lissa out of a secure facility! This is just a fucking hotel.”
“Delphi is fine,” Jaynie growls, “and you need to calm down.”
She’s right, but I’m not ready. I go back to our room, letting the door slam behind me.
• • • •
I tell the skullnet, Sleep, but I wake up when Delphi comes in.
She slips into bed beside me, putting her head on my shoulder, her hand on my chest. I don’t react. “You said it yourself,” she whispers. “It’s going to be like this. We’re going to be frightened for each other.”
Frightened doesn’t cover it.
“He can’t know about you,” I say, keeping my voice low. “We can’t let him know.”
“He knew before we knew. That’s why he had a sniper waiting outside my hotel.”
She means I’m predictable. Predictably impulsive.
“What were you talking to Jaynie about?”
“My place in the squad.”
“You’re going to be our handler, aren’t you?”
“If we can get set up for it.”
“As long as you’re safe.”
“None of us is safe, Shelley.”
She’s right, and it’s going to get worse long before it gets better.
• • • •
At 0500 we’re all gathered in the parking lot again, packing up.
“Are we going to secure the handguns?” Moon asks.
“No,” I tell him. “I want you to hold on to them, just keep them out of sight and let’s try not to get pulled over.”
I’d rather take my chances with the highway patrol than be unarmed if we run into trouble on the road.
Moon hesitates, turning with a worried look to Jaynie. She’s standing a few steps away, her arms crossed as she eyes me with a critical gaze. I catch on: Moon’s question wasn’t directed at me. It was meant for the CO.
“Ma’am?” Moon asks her.
“What Shelley said.” She unfolds her arms, crooking a finger at me as she walks away.
I glare after her, hating the position she’s put me in, but it’s not going to help my case to act like an angry kid. So I follow. We meet by a hedge, just out of earshot.
I take charge of the meeting, reminding her, “I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“Do you doubt my ability to command this squad?”
I take a second to consider her question; then I shake my head. “No. That doesn’t mean this is going to work.”
“You named a mission yesterday,” she says. “If that becomes our first assignment, if we have to go forward with it, I want you along. I need you, especially now that Ransom’s gone. But you’re no use to me if I don’t have your loyalty.”
“You promoted yourself over my head, and you want my loyalty?”
“If not me, then who?” She raises her chin, indicating the squad, milling around the vehicles. “Pick one who’s ready for command.”
It’s a trick question. “You’re the only one.”
“You don’t like it,” she says. “I understand that. But you are not in a condition to hold the responsibilities of CO. You’re not in command at all times.”
“If you’re talking about last night—”
“This goes back farther and you know it. Think about Black Cross. Think about why you went outside.”
My glare doesn’t waver, but my confidence does. I went outside at Black Cross because the Red got inside my head and walked me out there like a fucking puppet.
She nods, letting me know my thoughts are easy for her to rea
d. “It’s for the best,” she says. “Now let’s roll.” She starts back toward the vehicles, but after a few steps she turns to me again. “By the way, it’s your turn to drive.”
“Hell, no, ma’am.” I follow after her. “That is a poor idea.”
Everybody’s watching now.
“Why? Have you got a concussion?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Looks like the swelling around your eye is almost gone. You can see okay?”
“Yes.”
“So what’s the problem?”
I look past her. I look at Delphi watching me in concern, at Harvey smirking, at Nolan who’s eyeing me with a puzzled gaze.
“I don’t know how to drive.”
“Come on. You have a driver’s license.”
“The army made me get it. I haven’t been behind a wheel since.”
“You drove an ATV at Dassari.”
“That was an ATV. Not a massive truck, packed with live bodies and ammunition, on a crazy-ass interstate at eighty miles an hour.”
Her brows knit as she tries hard to get her head around this. “You went first down the stairs at Black Cross, but you’re scared to drive on the interstate?”
“I didn’t say I was scared. I said it was a bad idea.”
An idea that could put an end to half of the Apocalypse Squad with no help at all from Carl Vanda.
“You’re driving,” she concludes. “Sounds like you need the practice.”
• • • •
Moon is in charge of the first SUV. I manage to follow him onto the interstate without getting involved in a major accident. Jaynie is shotgun, coaching me on how to change lanes, while Delphi is alone in the back. Everyone else is riding with Moon in a precautionary measure to minimize casualties if I really fuck up.
I’m nervous as hell, especially when we catch up with a long convoy of trucks and I have to pass them all. “Just follow Moon’s lead,” Jaynie tells me. “But not too close.”
We creep past the trucks, one by one, while I imagine the huge trailers swaying, swinging into us, the gas cylinders exploding. . . . My heart is racing, but we get past them without incident. I move into the right lane. Ahead of us is open road.
We’re rocketing past a small town whose name I didn’t catch when my overlay picks up a network connection. An upload link opens in my display. I know it’s not my archival program, because that only runs when I’m asleep. I puzzle over it, concluding it must be Joby’s program transmitting data on the performance of my legs—but the link stays open. Seconds pass.