He absorbed the enormous news. The Vanguard Resistance was broken and most of Europe was undoubtedly under Serov’s control. As the lone surviving council member, leadership now rested upon Emil’s beleaguered shoulders. To the grunts in the field fighting the losing war, he had to be a bastion of faith no matter the outcome.
How could he inspire hope in others when he didn’t have any left in his own heart?
Atlas be damned.
She coughed to get his attention. “The War Council had forbidden us to search for you. They didn’t want to spare another ship, especially this one, for just one man. Cine alergi dupa doi iepuri, nu prindi niciunul.”
“So, what did you do?”
“I told them to kiss my ass,” she said without skipping a beat.
“Well, I appreciate your disobedience.”
“I learned from the best.” Adi winked. “It was a good thing we disobeyed orders. We’re the only ship still flying.”
“The American expression — out of the pan and into the fire — I suppose.”
Him mentioning America provided the needed segue.
“Sir, why are we going to New York?”
He expected her curiosity, but he wasn’t ready with an answer. He trusted Adi more than anyone else in the world, but this time, things were different. It was difficult to read her expressions as she sat there waiting for his trust.
“It’s a mission.” It wasn’t a great answer, but he didn’t have another one to give.
“Mission?” Her face was straighter than a detective’s poker-stare. “You’ve been in prison. How can you be on a mission?”
“I’m returning to the one I was on before my incarceration.” He hoped she would buy the lie.
Adi puffed one last drag from her cigarette and snuffed it out on the plate. She reclined and sipped coffee. “What is this mission?”
Yes, what was the mission? It wasn’t simple to lay out the melody when he was playing by ear.
Minsk stepped over the hatchway, wiping engine grease off his meaty hands with a rag. It was the perfect interruption.
“Morning, Chief,“ he greeted his friend. “Where have you been? Annoying Tullia again?”
The cantankerous Russian freed a guttural hum from his chest and stuffed the soiled cloth in his back overalls pocket. “Nyet. She been annoying me,” he said with an overemphasis on the oy in the word annoying. “I tell her I made 321-peto design long before she was tickle in papka’s trousers. She no like me saying it.”
Tullia Pitu, the ships engineer, was not a woman to antagonize even on a good day, but Minsk enjoyed the aggravated reactions he got from her. It wasn’t something that required a lot of effort. They were both assertive personalities and used to getting their ways.
He lifted the pot and poured Adi’s hot, acidic coffee directly on his dirty hand. He didn’t flinch as the scalding liquid cleaned the blackened calluses. “Commander, most repairs done.”
The Bandit may have been a fusion-powered airship, but she also had plenty of moving metal parts to maintain. Although he had once been a master ship designer in his younger days, Minsk wasn’t above getting dirty when called upon.
“I’m not in charge anymore,” she corrected him.
“Good. It about time you get off ass and work again,” Minsk chided Emil, without any insinuation of humor.
“I don’t know, Chief. I’m thinking of taking a holiday. I’ve accrued enough sick days to do it, don’t you think?”
“Nyet. Girl here drive me mad. No good to let her be in charge.”
Adi wasn’t offended by the honest misogyny. She shrugged it off with a smile and a crude hand gesture.
“Tell me, Chief, while you’re cavorting with Tullia in the engine room, who’s flying the ship?” she asked with a side-glance.
“Cob.”
“Anton is manning the conn?” Emil asked, raising a surprised eyebrow.
“Much has changed since you’ve been away,” she reminded him.
“Apparently.”
“Don’t worry. He can handle it.”
Emil snatched Adi’s mug and downed the last gulp. Waiting for the burning sensation to pass, he handed it back to her. “Okay. Remind me how to get to the bridge.”
While she put away the mug, he stood, relieved that he didn’t have to answer her questions. But, knowing her as well as he did, he knew she would return to the subject sooner or later.
When they walked out of the galley, he patted his old friend on the shoulder. “Don’t let Tullia push you around, Chief.”
Minsk growled then laughed.
“General on the bridge!” Cob announced, popping to attention.
Emil stepped inside to the symphony of workstations relaying data streams. The mix of warm metallic deck plates with the fumes of overloaded circuits, somehow reminded him of his childhood home in Aiud. There was always the aroma of his mother's fresh baked bread cooling in the kitchen and the sound of his sister, Stephania, practicing a concerto on her violin in the front room.
“As you were,” he greeted the crew. He was home — the only one he had left.
He inspected the perimeter of the bridge, returning the admiration of his soldiers, some of whom he didn’t recognize. The crewmen he knew by name beamed as he went by, some with happy tears. The replacements he didn’t know looked on him as a living legend.
After completing a lap around the oblong shaped compartment, he stopped at the conn-chair. Cob stepped aside to relinquish control.
Emil placed his hands on the young man’s shoulders. “It’s a hard thing to give up isn’t it, Lieutenant?”
“What’s that, sir?”
“The allure of command.”
“I guess so,” he snickered, looking more like a kid playing soldier than the real thing.
Emil gave him a playful pat on the cheek. “Status, Mr. Cob.”
“We’re on course for New York, as ordered. Arrival in thirty. Most of the systems are online and in the green.”
“Most?”
“Yes, sir. The dust storm damaged two drive shafts, the auxiliary generator, and fresh water tanks three and four.”
“Tisk-tisk,” Emil joked. “Looks like you and the Chief have been neglecting my ship.”
“Oh no, sir. I swear —“
“Calm down, Mr. Cob. I’m joking.”
Anton’s posture slouched with relief.
“You did good. Take your post,” he commanded as he sat in the big chair.
Cob assumed his post at the helm, relieving a woman not much older than himself.
Adi watched Emil savor the occasion. He noticed her staring. He smiled. The two of them had a bond, which meant when one was out of sorts, the other would know without asking and could take action to remedy the malady. She was the closest thing to a daughter he had ever...
Daughter?
He remembered what Milari had forced from him during the interrogation. She mentioned the child. Could it be possible? He sprang from the conn and went to an empty workstation. Using a waveboard to enter a name into the search grid, he waited for the results.
Curious Adi walked over and read the words on the screen. “Markus Nerees?”
Either he didn’t hear her or he was ignoring her as he studied the flowing information. The results identified Markus Nerees as the chief executive officer of Jaures Industries, a subsidiary of Zolaris. He had offices in Paris, Buenos Aires, and New York. A related press release said the Frenchman would be in attendance at the World First Celebration in New York on the twenty-first of September.
“The twenty-first is just a couple of days away,” he muttered.
Is it possible? Would she be with him? Could the child hold the answers?
He cleared the search results from the screen and returned to the conn. Adi knew something was up, but she chose not to press the issue.
Although the city leaned in support of the Global Alliance, there was no attempt by security patrols to intercept the boxy frigate or even challenge its passa
ge as it negotiated the thicket of towers and crisscrossing air traffic.
On the outskirts of Brooklyn, the Bandit entered the South Side Docking Station, a port facility accommodating less than a dozen medium class airships. Tucked out of the way and discreet in its business affairs, it was idyllic for hiding the ship of the world’s most wanted brigend.
At the far end of a long row of moored vessels, large pads rose off the platform of Dock Number 5 to meet the Bandit’s under-hull. Four mooring clamps locked the ship in place while a gangplank extended from the main walkway in individual sections, forming a narrow connection at full extension.
Inside the starboard airlock, Emil waited for the plank to lockdown. Garbed in chafed syntho-leather boots, tough jeans, and a syntho-hide jacket, he wasn’t recognizable as a fugitive. After a quick check of his K-25 pistol, he tucked it in his belt so it rested against his lower back. As for any suspicion by the locals, he was just another airman in port looking for a goodtime.
Minsk depressurized the compartment. A hissing indicated ambient pressure. He turned the release handle and opened the hatch. The unpleasant stench of the city’s bowels bombarded both men.
“Foul country,” he commented.
“It wasn’t always like this,” Emil seemed compelled to add.
The Russian frowned.
“Chief, keep an eye on Adi while I’m gone. I don’t —”
“You don’t what, sir?” She walked in, outfitted in a style like Emil’s.
“I was saying I don’t want you to get in to any trouble while I’m gone.” He tugged on her unfastened lapel. “Going somewhere, Commander?”
“Yeah, with you.”
“Not this time. I want you to stay with the ship.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Those are pretty much the same thing when it comes to me, Haiduc. The last time I let you go off alone, you were arrested.”
It was futile to argue; she was a persistent bug and wouldn’t have listened to him anyway. Giving how he wasn’t exactly acting like himself, there wasn’t a chance she would let him go out alone.
“Fine, have it your way, you stubborn girl.” He turned to Minsk. “It looks like the boat is yours.”
Emil and Adi raised their hoods. Once they disembarked from the ship and were down the gangplank, Minsk sealed the hatch closed.
They made it to the station’s fence with no problem. She paused to stare back at the ramshackle vessel.
“Hey,” he elbowed. “Stop that or you’ll jinx us.”
She made sure to stay close to his flank as they walked out the gate. She had been in many ghettos before, but at first scan, she could tell New York was a completely different kind of sewer. These streets were far too dangerous, even for her iron bluster.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find cover as soon as we can.”
“What? Me worry?”
He knew she was. “No, but keep close for good measure.”
Without a mass transit system, they had to navigate the crowded roads on foot. The city had worsened since Emil’s last visit.
“How do civilized people live like this? And to think, I thought we had it bad after the bombings.”
“You should’ve seen it before the Reckoning. It was quite the town... quite the country”
“Muck America. If it weren’t for them, we would still have a home.”
“That’s not true. Americans didn’t betray us. It was one man — James Orock.”
“But, America started the war.”
“Like Hell they did. The Alliance attacked them. They were just defending themselves.”
“You’re talking about the Reaper Virus? I’ve heard that excuse a thousand times.”
“Well, it’s true. The virus destroyed everything living except the people. What is left of the United States is packed inside this thirteen hundred square kilometer patch of dirt.”
“What about that part up there?” She pointed to the floating city above their heads.
“The Hi-8? That’s where the elitist live. Down here is the Lo-5. Nothing but the dregs.”
“How many live up there?”
“Probably no more than half a million.”
“You’re mucking joking?”
“No.”
“Then how many are —“
“Down here? Close to eighty million. Now you understand why Romania sided with America in the war.”
“I didn’t know it was this bad for them.”
“That’s understandable. It happened before your time. Want to know something else? When Russia first formed the Alliance, there were many Romanians who didn’t want a war with them. We hoped, by bargaining for neutrality, the Russia Imperium would grant us clemency. I was one of them.”
“It’s hard for me to see the Haiduc as a peace activist.”
“Believe me, I’m not proud of it. Hindsight is a curse. If we knew then what we know now... the world would be a better place.”
He stood in the center of the street and reminisced. “You see that building there?”
“Which one?”
“The ugly, fat one. That’s the Soros. It’s about seventy years old. See the newer one above it? That’s Mercer Tower, one of the original Hi-8 structures. I remember the first time I saw the Mercer hovering there, like some optical illusion. It was as if God himself had descended from the heavens and erased the bottom of a skyscraper, leaving only the disembodied top as evidence of its prior existence.”
Adi laughed. “You sound like an intzelept rambling about the old days.”
“Muck you,” he said, yanking her hood down over her head.
“Are we done with the past, grandfather?”
“Yes, smartass.”
He pulled her close and they resumed the journey.
They footed for over an hour before stopping at a street market to buy food and rest. Adi could not believe the going price of anything resembling real food. Emil had euro-marks, but the price of two green apples alone threatened their budget, so they settled for gelrats instead. They didn’t mind the sour fructose aftertaste. These welfare rations were better than the moldy army provisions they were accustomed to.
While she slurped down the last gooey drops from her pack, a few meters over, a viewer played an eye-catching video of a beautiful model sauntering about in an artificial world. The wind blew her long cerulean hair to enhance the seduction factor and sunlight radiated off her naked body. In the center of her forehead glowed a starburst crystal. It was a beacon, calling out for attention.
“Ora,” tempted the seductive woman on the screen. “Experience the sensation of true unity — by Zolaris.”
When the beauty leaned over to plant the gift of her kiss, the video flickered and transitioned into a different promo.
Emil didn’t know what to think; oras are being marketed to humans?
“Behold,” the narrator declared as an image of the Spire dominated the screen. “The Spire. After ten years of around the clock work and several trillion euro-marks, it is now ready to light humanity’s way to the future. Standing as the largest and most expensive architectural enterprise in history, it is the greatest achievement for our corporate benefactor, Zolaris. Watch the live feed of the inaugural celebration here tomorrow.”
The old warhorse scratched his beard. Adi noticed his subdued reflex to the holo-cast. He obviously knew about the Spire before now.
Nearby, a kid made a desperate attempt to snatch a green apple from a cart. He succeeded in procuring the fruit, but as he dashed away with it clutched in his little hands, the portly merchant rang a small bell.
A brute entered the gap created by shoppers trying to avoid the ensuing disturbance. A quick burst of a long barrel shotgun dropped the boy to the cracked asphalt. The killer fetched the coveted loot from a dead hand and returned it to the merchant. Upon suitable compensation of one silver note, he returned to his hiding spot amid the disinterested market-goers
.
Emil grabbed Adi by the arm and pulled her along with a renewed purpose. Sticking around to gawk at the savagery was not a smart thing to do.
“This place is unbelievable. We should’ve done something.”
“It wouldn’t have helped,” he explained. “There is no law here. If we tried to intervene, we would’ve been killed along with the child.”
“I hate this place,” she snapped.
During the rest of the trip, she bided her time in awkward silence.
The jawless man examined the fascinating old coin. Unable to speak, for lack of a mandible and tongue, he communicated via a series of well thought-out taps on a faded letter board. Emil wasn’t entirely convinced this poor chap was the man he needed to speak with. The only clue to his affiliation was the odd red diamond above his brigend mark. Designed to resemble a nevus, a trained eye upon closer examination would see it as a deliberate blemish. It was the calling card of an Agarhan.
Bingo.
Jawbone (the name Emil gave him) looked at the Romanian lei coin, then back to him, and then over at Adi. The man was skittish, taking extra precaution in verifying the coin’s authenticity and its owner. Something must have them spooked, Emil conjectured.
With careful debate, Jawbone pocketed the coin and gave a brief head nod. Emil removed a sealed envelope from the inner pocket of his jacket and handed it to him.
“Make sure your leader gets it personally.”
Jawbone acknowledged the request by using a weird hand sign. He pulled out an old American silver dollar and handed it to Emil.
“When?”
Signing with taps, the misfit communicated — tomorrow at noon. Without waiting for a goodbye, the mute slipped away.
Adi hovered near the entry smoking another cigarette and pretending to tolerate the cloak and dagger routine. The sun drifted somewhere low above the city and the broken shafts of light filtering down to the Lo-5 waned in splintered lines.
“It’s not a good idea to travel here after sunset. We’ll hunker ‘til morning,” he told her.
She didn’t like the idea of being away from the ship, especially out in the middle of nowhere. But, she knew they wouldn’t make it back to the Bandit before nightfall. Their options surmounted to half one-way and half the other.
Brigends (The Final War Series Book 1) Page 5