“The technology community knows about your role in the methyl hydrates disaster, though no one blames you. It’s understandable that you dropped out of sight afterward, but you haven’t fooled anyone by publishing some of your research under a pen name.”
A compromise made to survive. No one would publish Molly’s work after her conviction, but the government successfully pinned the primary blame for the Spike on Martin Scribb. Where it belongs, as far as I’m concerned. First one editor, then another, turned a blind eye to Molly’s part in the Spike affair, because they recognized her brilliance. It wasn’t enough to restore her reputation in the AI community, but it salved the wound. If Martin hadn’t pushed so hard to launch, we could’ve found those bugs and I wouldn’t be making deals with a lecher like Nordland.
A tone sounded, and a feminine voice came through the public address system. “Your attention, please. Aurora Borealis crew is required to inform all passengers that our departure from the Port of Churchill, Manitoba places this vessel under the regulations of the International Arctic Free Economic Zone. Thank you.”
Nordland gulped his wine, eyeing Molly. “I’ve known you up to now as the president and founder of your Association, but your professional reputation in AI science, and now in your current line of business, is widespread. Everyone sings your praises...in both realms.”
Molly listened, pleased by his compliments and the confidence in her intellect.
“I’m curious.” Nordland’s voice quavered again. “We’ve departed Churchill. Are you, um, working?”
“Thank you, Kristian, for the compliment, but I’m very busy. You know, reviewing proposals, answering emails, com calls, and so on.”
“That work is in your capacity as president of the association. Perhaps I could persuade...”
Molly considered Nordland’s proposal. He knew every port authority executive and C-level leader among the shipping companies that had taken advantage of the new trade routes through the Arctic Ocean. He was the best connected man in the AFEZ. Another business deal with him raised the prospect of significant dividends down the road. “I have no appointments this evening.” Molly ran her fingers down the stem of her wine glass.
Nordland grinned. “Your fee, if I may be so direct?”
“Standard A-1 rate on the Cyprian Association updated scale. Hourly or for the night?”
Nordland swallowed, as if anticipating his favorite dessert. “I’d like a companionship contract.”
On the other hand, Molly thought, a liaison with someone on the opposing side of the bargaining table might complicate matters. Some sort of balance was required. “I’m sorry, but my availability is limited tonight. I’ll be off duty, you might say, until the association agreement is signed.”
“Just so.” Nordland was crestfallen. “I agree to your terms. One private evening with you is worth a week with the best elsewhere.” Nordland cleared his throat. “Shall we go to my cabin?”
Molly directed her com to run a high-level background check on Nordland, looking for arrests, convictions, media reports, or other hints of violent behavior. Results were negative; he didn’t even have outstanding surplus trash or recycling tickets. A scan of his health records in her private database showed nothing worrisome. “Sounds lovely.”
The New Ocean executive offered his hand, and they left the bar. He had trouble putting one foot in front of the other, more due to the wine than the ship’s roll, which was muted by dampeners. They descended a companionway into a passage. “Here we are.” Nordland spoke his name, the cabin door opened, despite his alcoholic slur, and Molly followed him inside.
CHAPTER 6
♦ ♦ ♦
BILL PACED AT A MUNICIPAL bus stop in front of the sandstone courthouse, frustrated that he could not reunite with Anne right after the hearing. Gary Schmidt’s son—Mike?—told her the hearing had started and she rushed to the courthouse. After the judge’s ruling, the sympathetic guard took Bill to a room where he could get a com signal.
Bill to Anne: There’s a snag in the paperwork. That’s what Kilel says.
Anne texted: I’ll wait for you as long as I need to.
I think she’s looking for an excuse to hold me.
The judge said you could go.
I’d feel better if you were away from here. Bill imagined Kilel arresting Anne as an accessory. Didn’t you have to work today? I want to get back to normal.
I’ll tell my boss I’m sick.
It’ll take months to get back on our feet. Bill didn’t need the emo-sig interpreter in his minds-eye to see her anxiety. I can barely hide mine. I’ll see you at home.
Five hours later, the sun was within a moon’s width of touching the hills separating Brier Valley from the rest of Pacific West. The humiliation of the hearing intensified his anger at the BES and Kilel. I’ll talk to Anne about what she thinks we should do. The bus was empty, save for him, a dark old woman with a cart of groceries, and the driver, who was a middle-aged, frumpy white woman wearing a loose vest over a sleeveless shirt, wraparound sunglasses, and fingerless faux-leather gloves. The bus route passed near the cutoff where the gravel road to his property branched off the two-lane highway. Above his head in the slot where the advertisements go, a public service announcement urged riders to text suspicions of illegal fuel burning to the BES. Finking, Bill’s old shipmates called it. Informing.
The bus jerked to a stop and let off the old woman. The robot cart following her like a puppy. Sitting near the bus’s door, Bill glanced over to the driver, who put a thick finger to her ear, as if trying to hear something better. An old reflex from the time before jacks? A rush of torrid air from the driver’s open window ruffled her hair. The bus passed through the outskirts of town and rounded a curve, accelerating. About 150 yards ahead, a young man in blue jeans and a t-shirt stepped out from a privy-sized shelter, a signal for the driver to pick him up. The bus blew past the rider as if he wasn’t there.
“Hey, driver, I think you missed that guy.” The young man ran after the coach and gave up.
The driver ignored Bill. The low whine of the motor grew louder. The tires thrummed against the asphalt. A black car passed on the left and changed lanes in front of the bus. Bill glimpsed the tulip shield on the passenger side door. Shit. Alarmed, Bill saw a stop ahead and sent the stop request via his minds-eye over the local network. He heard the plaintive ding.
The driver flew past the stop.
Fuck, they’re coming to take me.
Bill’s heart beat faster when he saw the flash of the black car’s brake lights and the right turn signal. The car slowed and eased onto a dirt road, stirring up dust like fog. His eyes fell on the red emergency door handle protected by thin glass. A millisecond before he reached for it, the bus’s brakes squealed. Bill’s hands gripped the handrail as the vehicle threatened to topple over from the force of the turn. The bus bounced over a pothole as it followed the black car’s lead into a dust cloud.
How in hell do I get out of this?
Unexpected grit flying into the open window made the driver gag. She eased off the accelerator, losing the black car’s brake lights in the cloud. Seeing his chance, Bill grabbed the steering wheel of the bus. He forced it into a weed-choked ditch. Saplings snapped in two and gravel flew into the brush. The bus halted nose down, throwing Bill and the driver into the dash. Bill tumbled out of the front doors, leaving the driver struggling to unlatch her seat belt.
Bill clambered up to the road from the ditch. His steps kicked up more dust as the air started to clear around him. He stood up to run and a searing pain tore into his lower back, like a kidney punch. His knees buckled and he fell face first into the dirt. The razor-sharp edge of a basalt fragment from the surrounding cliffs sliced his cheek and dripping blood turned the fine soil into a soup.
Inspector Kilel’s security robot, its gun-like weapon deployed, stood over him. A bolt of fear coursed through his half-conscious mind. The shiny black robot reminded him of a headless, neckless, de
-feathered ostrich. He had seen the robots run 40 klicks an hour. A man on horseback couldn’t beat them.
“At ease,” said Kilel, and the robot stowed its weapon. Bill blinked as the woman came into view. She was dressed impeccably in her dark green suit, the sun glinting off her tulip pin. Not a mote of dust on her. She’s inhuman. Behind her was the bus driver.
“Mr. Penn, I’m sorry we had to bring you down like that,” Kilel said. “I meant to take you into custody with less fuss.”
Bill tried to get up, but his legs buckled underneath him.
“My superiors have given me permission to transport you to the nearest Bureau facility,” Kilel said. “I hope you will be cooperative.”
“The judge... He said...”
“Parker is a relic, and he is misguided,” Kilel said. “He does not understand the need for swift action in carbon law and species protection cases. Justice delayed is justice denied. The hearing was a formality we can dispense with.”
“Is shooting me a formality” Bill’s words slurred. “What have you done with Anne?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Your daughter is fine.”
Bessies always lie. Bill rose to his knees. Every joint in his body felt like soft rubber. Gotta get home to Anne, figure out how to beat Kilel.
The inspector turned to the bus driver. “Thank you, Mrs. Hill, for assisting me. Citizen help is essential for our work. I’m sorry about the damage to the bus.”
Kilel addressed the robot. “Security, attention.” The bot stepped forward.
“Mr. Penn, you’ve experienced the effects of a staser at quarter power. You don’t want to experience full power, do you?”
Dizziness rocked Bill when he shook his head.
“Good. This way, if you please.”
Bill propped himself up with his hand and tried to stand, but he fell back on his butt and nearly passed out. “I’m... my head...” The world lost focus.
Kilel lowered herself to her haunches and studied Bill’s dirt-encrusted face. “Mild concussion, and that cut is deep.” Kilel rose and turned toward her car. Is she letting me go? The robot didn’t move, and Bill heard the trunk lid close. Kilel returned with a first-aid kit. “Here, chew this.” The BES officer handed Bill a mist stick. “Drink some water.”
Bill sipped a plastic bag of filtered water. The tasteless liquid revived him. The mist cleared his vision. I know this road.
She ripped open a package. “This will hurt.” Bill smelled alcohol and antiseptic. Kilel’s touch was gentle, practiced. “Hold this dressing to the cut.”
He pushed Kilel’s hand away. “I don’t want your help.”
“You’re bleeding badly.”
Bill grabbed the dressing and pushed it against his cheek. “Go to hell.”
“Refusing my assistance only hurts you, Mr. Penn.” Kilel stood up and waited. “Are you well enough to walk?”
Bill tried his feet again, and he recognized the trail that led up the slope. It goes about a hundred meters, then branches, one to the north, the other west to my place. The trio of people and the robot walked past the wrecked bus toward Kilel’s car. Mrs. Hill sat on the bus’s sagging bumper, eyeing Bill with a frown of contempt. Bitch. That’s the last time I catch a ride with you. His trudging feet kicked up dust. The gravel on the edge of this road is pretty loose.
The robot was a single pace behind him, its pneumatics making a tiny hiss with each step. The robot walked on the firmer, grassier edge of the road, next to the ditch. On the opposite side of the road, a steep pitch of rubble from rust-brown rock cut out of the hill to make way for the road rose from the road bed in a steep slope.
Time to get pushy.
Bill spun around and rushed the robot, shoving it over into the ditch, where its stick-like legs flailed. Bill scrambled up the rubble on all fours toward a break in the cliff. On the other side was a gulch and heavy woods.
He heard Kilel shout “Pursue! Full power!” He glimpsed the robot getting to its feet. Bill had a head start and the robot lost its footing on the loose rubble. Bill was frantic as he climbed. A staser at full power fried victims from the inside out.
Bill reached the break and pulled himself over the edge. He tumbled down the other side into bramble, which scratched his skin and tore at his shirt. Crouched low, he pushed his way through the thorns, hearing Kilel call after him. Her voice grew faint, and he heard no sounds from a pursuing machine. He broke through into a grove of manzanita trees, his shoes crunching the dried leaves.
♦ ♦ ♦
He avoided the trails he had hiked over the years with Anne, preferring to follow animal paths that led toward his property. He stayed in heavy cover for fear of the aircraft searching for him. Once he thought he heard the buzzing of a remote-controlled mini-copter, but it was a hornet’s nest. He had one goal: home.
He came up over a rise and saw his place. The terror and helplessness of watching his home of twenty years burn replayed in his mind. All that was left of the house was ash the color of frost, peppered with charred timbers and twisted metal from the duct work. The fireplace chimney, unused for its original purpose since the passage of the Carbon Laws, had toppled over, a final punch to his gut.
For a moment, Bill forget Kilel’s pursuit. Up until now, the fire was part dream, part reality. He knew that the house had burned, but he hoped something substantial remained to salvage. The dark hole of the cellar snuffed his fantasy, leaving pain that choked him, tightening around his throat. It was the same feeling he had in jail, that the fire had consumed all the oxygen of his life. In that century-old house, he and Molly had created a family, which more than compensated for sacrificing the sailor’s life he had loved. The light of Anne’s intelligence and drive replaced that darkness after Molly’s decision. Together, Bill and Anne filled a thick log of memories: Chapter books read to every school night before bed, her standing on a stool at the kitchen counter to slice vegetables at mealtime, cold beers (soda for Anne) with Vassy in the parlor after a hard day, and later, Anne writing up the refuge observations on the kitchen table. Nothing now on my land except a wound.
A screech distracted Bill from his worry. It can’t be. They’re all dead. A flapping wing caught his attention, but he couldn’t see what made it. Ornithopter drone? The prospect reminded Bill that Kilel was near. His anger at Kilel and the BES returned, fueled by memories of the injustices against his parents. No time to dwell on what can’t be fixed. He worried about the present. Am I bringing Kilel down on Anne? Maybe I should stay away. He ran through his limited options, and nothing jumped out as a workable idea.
He emerged from a line of shrubs behind the barn. The heat from the house fire blistered the barn’s red paint, which looked like frozen fizz of a soda drink. Nothing stirred inside the barn, but all was as he had left it: the hulking tractor, the rusted blades of a old wind generator, a derelict robot seeder. He stepped out into the dusty yard, between the remains of the house and the barn, when he heard a rustle.
A ground-hugging shape shot toward him. The creature bellowed, a wet tongue licked Bill’s whiskered face, and he laughed.
“Hold on, Maxie. I’m happy to see you too.”
Dog and master sat together, though a part of Bill’s mind nudged him to be wary. “Have you seen Anne?” The hound bellowed again.
“Dad? Daddy!”
Bill’s heart burst as Anne raced to him from behind the chicken coop, her tall, lithe form trailing dust. Her long, flaxen hair flowed, her delighted squeal like music, and she held out her arms. Bill’s mind flashed to a time twenty years earlier, when Anne’s mother ran to him in the same way. Bill wiped away a tear.
“Daddy, why are you crying?”
I have to be strong for her. “I’m happy to see you. I thought I might not see you for months or years.”
“Where did you come from? I was waiting for you down by the road. What happened to your face?”
Bill told her the story of his escape. His anxiety eased, but
the new danger stood out. “ Kilel’s probably following me. She might even think you helped me.” I can’t stay.
“Dad, what are we going to do about the house?”
He stepped over to the ashes, which were as cold as the dead.
“I salvaged a few things, Dad. Some dishes, tools, and...wait.” Anne entered the two-man tent set up under the black oak. She found a small box and brought it to Bill. “I found a few photos and a holo-pic.”
Bill held the scorched picture of his wife. When he spoke of her to Anne, the girl’s mood darkened. Many years in the past, he decided to cling to the positive memories of Molly. He also examined a photo of Anne, about ten years old. “Can I keep these, sweetheart?”
Anne’s face twisted in confusion. “Well, sure, but... what do you mean? Aren’t you staying?”
Bill turned to the storage shed, where he and Anne stored extra food and equipment, including their backpacking gear.
“Dad, tell me what you’re thinking.”
Bill fumbled about in the darkness of the shed and found his pack, which still contained stuff from their last trip: wool clothing, a first-aid kit, a mess kit, a small tent, canned and freeze-dried food, a fire shelter, a large water bottle, and an xGPS. He grabbed more food from the shelves and threw it in the pack. He slipped a leash on the dog and staked her near the water trough. He didn’t want the dog to follow him. Sitting on a salvaged kitchen chair, he changed into a spare set of hiking boots.
“Dad, talk to me.”
Bill glanced at the glow left from the sun as it sank below the hills. West. To the ocean. Anne can’t know. Kilel will pull it out of her.
The decision relaxed Bill. He had a semblance of a plan, or at least direction. He patted Maxie’s black rump. “You remember when Maxie ran away?”
Anne sat on the brown grass near her father. Maxie slobbered a bowl of water. “It broke my heart. Stupid dog.” The latter comment was ignored by the basset hound.
“You were about 11 or 12, and Maxie was maybe a year old.”
“A rescue dog, always getting into trouble. Mike Schmidt told me about the family that couldn’t take care of her.”
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