City 1 (13 page)

KEVIN'S HEAD HURT, A THROBBING PAIN CENTERED IN THE BACK OF HIS
skull that radiated around to his face and down his neck to his shoulders. He groaned and opened his eyes. The gray floor was cold on his left cheek. The floor hummed in his ear and vibrated gently. He pushed himself upright, and he felt a wave of dizziness that made him shut his eyes and brace his hands against the ground to keep from falling over.

The dizziness slowly ebbed and he opened his eyes again, breathing heavily. Where the hell was he? The room was small, a six-foot cube with gray walls, dimly lit by a light source that Kevin couldn't detect. There was absolutely nothing in the chamber—no furniture, no windows, no doors. It was an empty, sealed box. Empty, except for Kevin.

Kevin struggled to his feet and pushed against a wall. It was solid metal, cold and unyielding. He flung himself to the other wall, pounding on it with his fists, kicking. The walls were closing in . . . the ceiling was pushing down . . . he couldn't breathe . . . they had buried him alive. “Let me out!” he yelled. “Let me out!”

The floor disappeared, and the room was flooded with natural light. Kevin screamed, and tried to scramble up a wall. Below his feet were wispy clouds, and the green and brown earth, impossibly far down, rolling slowly past.

After the first moment of instinctive panic, thinking he was going to plunge down to his death, he stopped trying to climb the wall. He squatted down and gingerly felt for the floor. It was still there, solid cold metal beneath his feet, thrumming, but it was completely transparent. Or maybe it was a huge vidscreen, he thought, running his hand along the surface, his palm sliding above a wispy cloud. Far below, he could see the snaking blue line of a river, the gray crisscrossing lines of roadways, patches of green and brown and gray. Was this just a vid illusion? Or was he really thousands of feet in the sky?

“I thought you would appreciate the view,” a voice said, originating from somewhere in the ceiling. It was a male voice, but the way the words were overly enunciated, the cadence just monotone enough to seem slightly strange, made Kevin immediately think,
Bot.

Kevin pressed his back against a wall, still not comfortable to be standing over the floating sky. “Where are you taking me?” he said, looking up at the ceiling. He was proud of how steady his voice sounded. He certainly didn't feel very steady.

“Look down,” the voice said. “We will be landing soon.”

The plane—if Kevin really was in a plane, and not just being fooled by a vid—was much lower now, traveling over a gray, four-lane road that cut through an expanse of brown fields and lonely clumps of trees. They were only a few hundred feet off the ground now, traveling slowly, the road rolling quietly past. Was it possible that they had dropped so much altitude, so quickly, and Kevin hadn't even felt it?

“It is somewhat”—the voice paused—“old-fashioned . . . that our warbirds are equipped with cargo holds that allow for viewing, and contain gravitation countermands that negate any sensation of travel.”

The voice seemed to be waiting for a response, but Kevin didn't say anything, and after a moment the voice continued. “A design holdover from the days, decades ago, when humans would physically pilot warbirds. It is . . . amusing . . . is it not, that this archaic design was never replaced?”

“No, not particularly,” said Kevin.

“Perhaps not,” said the voice. “Humor is a complicated human trait that is surprisingly elusive. I have yet to devote much time to the subject.”

Kevin didn't know what to say to that, but then the road
below his feet ended, and the warbird came to a hovering halt over a large square plain of dull gray metal. The warbird lowered down, and a crack appeared in the landing field, quickly separating into a gaping hole, the two sides of the field sliding away to reveal a clean white shaft, lit with the harsh artificial glow of strong lightstrips. The floor of the shaft was marked with a red
X
, and the warbird eased down toward the center of the X, coming to a halt with the intersection of the lines directly below Kevin's feet.

“Welcome to City 1,” the voice said. “I look forward to meeting you in the flesh.”

The floor darkened, becoming just gray metal again, and then a vertical line appeared in one of the walls. The two sections of the wall separated, with just the slightest hiss of sound. Two bots stood at the top of a ramp that led down ten feet from the cargo hold to the floor of the landing shaft. They were similar to the Island's bots, but a bit taller, and bulkier, and of course their skin was unbroken white neo-plas, without any cured leather patches.

Kevin retreated to the back of the cargo hold. He had his hands up, raised in fists, which he realized was ridiculous. He dropped his hands, but didn't move.

“Come with us.” The voice came from the bot on the left, although its mouth slit didn't move.

“Go rust yourselves,” said Kevin.

“We have been authorized to use force to transport you,”
said the other bot. “We will not cause lasting damage, but we will cause pain. Will coercion be required?”

“No,” said Kevin. He didn't have much choice; he might as well avoid the pain. “No coercion required.”

The bots led him out of the landing shaft, one in front, one behind, and down a long white-tiled corridor. They entered an elevator, rode it for a few seconds, then emerged into another seemingly identical hallway. They led him to a door, and one of the bots pressed its hand against a control plate. The door retracted into the wall.

The old man inside the room, wearing a tan jumpsuit, stood up. Kevin froze, dumbfounded.

“Hello, Kevin,” said Dr. Miles Winston. “I am so, so sorry to see you.”

CASS LAY ON THE GRASS, WIDE AWAKE, WATCHING HER PARENTS AND
Penny sleep. It was a warm night, but the three were huddled together, and as Cass watched them, she realized that Penny may have never slept outdoors in her entire life. Her parents, too—maybe in their lives before the City, before their complete re-education, they had camped—but certainly since becoming Hightowners, they hadn't slept anywhere but their comfortable apartment.

Cass felt guilty for what they were going to face. Logically she knew it wasn't her fault—they couldn't stay in the City, and they couldn't join Clay—but still, she felt like all the suffering coming their way was indeed because of her, somehow. What was it Clay had said?
I'm a leader. I decide. I act. I don't
get distracted by tangential details or collateral damage.
Cass wished it were that simple for her.

She lay there, worrying, trying to come up with a plan, and then Farryn began thrashing in his sleep, groaning and muttering. Had his fever come back? Had she pushed him too hard? Cass stood and quietly crossed the few steps between them. She gently felt his forehead—it was cool and dry. She gave a sigh of relief. No fever—just a nightmare.

If she could ever get to sleep, she'd probably be having nightmares, too, after what they had just gone through. She looked down at Farryn. He had to be exhausted, and hurting, but he had kept up as best he could. He was so brave. Would she have been able to keep going, the way he had, if she had lost a leg? She doubted it.

And somehow, for some reason, he was trying to help her, to protect her. She sighed. More responsibility. Farryn would never see it that way, of course, but if she was going to lead him into trouble, and he got hurt even more, or killed, it would be her fault.

Farryn opened his eyes. “Cass?” he said, disoriented.

Embarrassed, Cass quickly stood. “Go back to sleep,” she said.

“What . . .” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Cass sat down on the ground. Farryn rolled over to face her, and waited.

“I'm thinking,” she said. “And worrying.”

Farryn smiled, a sleepy, half-awake smile. “What've you
got to worry about? Your life couldn't be easier.”

“Yeah, right,” Cass said, smiling back at him, surprised at how easily he cheered her up. But the feeling didn't last long, and she felt her smile fade. She nodded in the direction of her sleeping family. “They're going to have a hard time away from the City. I don't know how they're going to manage.”

“We'll find a Freepost for them,” said Farryn. “We've got supplies for a few days, and you can hunt. It'll be okay.”

“I want you to leave,” Cass said. “Go back to Clay.”

Farryn sat up. “What are you talking about?” he said. He looked, Cass thought, like she had slapped him. His expression made her feel even worse.

“It's not safe,” Cass said. “It's a stupid, dangerous thing I'm doing, and you don't have to be a part of it.”

Farryn's face relaxed, and he lay back down. “Scared me there for a minute. Sorry, Cass. You're stuck with me.”

“But . . .” Cass began.

Farryn rolled over, turning his back to her. “Nope. I'm done listening. Going back to sleep now. You can scratch my back if you want to, but no more talking.”

Cass stood. She couldn't help smiling. “You're as stubborn as I am, aren't you?” she said.

“Worse,” said Farryn. “Now how about that back scratch?”

“Not happening,” she said. She returned to her bedroll, lay down, and within seconds was in a deep, dreamless sleep.

The morning sun woke her. Farryn was already up, stretching. She stood, doing a few stretches of her own, noticing that Farryn was watching her while pretending not to. She went to wake her family, shaking her parents, and then Penny, gently on the shoulder.

Penny got up quickly, fresh like she had spent the night in a soft bed, while her parents struggled slowly to their feet, obviously stiff and uncomfortable. Cass's father massaged his lower back. Cass examined Penny's cuts—they looked good, no sign of infection. She spread a thin layer of antibiotic cream on Penny's cheek and forearm, and put a fresh bandage on the arm gash.

“We should get moving,” Cass said. “We can eat while we walk.”

Penny suddenly looked uncomfortable. She glanced at Farryn, then leaned toward Cass and whispered, “I have to go to the bathroom. What do I do?”

Cass had to force herself not to laugh. She didn't want Penny to think she was making fun of her. Cass pointed at the trees. “Find a tree. Go behind it. Use leaves if you need to.”

Penny just stared at her, wide-eyed, and then Cass went ahead and laughed; she couldn't help it. “Go! Hurry up. You'll survive.”

Penny glanced at her mother, who nodded, and she walked a short ways into the woods and ducked behind a tree. Thirty seconds later she returned, grinning. “That was the strangest thing I've ever done,” she said.

“Cass,” her father said, “where are you proposing we go? I think perhaps we should stay put, and wait for the robot advisors to reclaim the City.”

Stay put? Rust, her father really didn't understand.
“We can't stay here,” she said, trying not to sound annoyed. “The City's not safe, and I don't know if your bots are coming back, and we're too close to Clay's rebels.”

“Who are these rebels?” her mother said. “Why did they destroy our City?”

“They're trying to take it back,” Cass said. “For humans.” She thought of the fires, the collapsed buildings, the dead bodies, and her words sounded hollow in her ears. “But you're—” She paused, about to call them “True Believers.”

“You're
partners
with the bots, you're true citizens, and the rebels, especially their leader, wouldn't like that.” She looked at Penny, considered sugarcoating it, then decided on the truth. “They'd probably kill you.”

Her mother paled, and her father looked grim. He put his arm over Penny's shoulders. “Then we'll get to the nearest City. It's northeast of here, I know that much, but I'm not sure how far. We'll find a road; we'll hopefully be able to flag down a robot transport of some sort. . . .”

Cass looked at Farryn, who shook his head and raised his hands, as if to say,
I have no idea what you should tell him.
She looked back at her father.

“It's not . . . it's not that simple,” she said. “We've attacked
the bots. They're probably going to assume any humans they find are rebels.”

“We'll explain,” her father said.

“You'll have a lase blast in your chest before you have the chance to say anything,” Cass said angrily. She took a breath, then continued more calmly, “And Farryn and I . . . the bots will definitely kill us.”

Cass's father shook his head, and ran his hands through his hair. “Will you help us get to the northeast? To the other City?”

Cass nodded. “We'll be staying away from the roads, though. We need to avoid bots and rebels.” It was a start. At least they'd be moving. And it would give her time to find a Freepost, and figure out how to change her parents' minds.

IT WAS SARAH, NOT DOC, WHO KILLED SOMEONE WHILE BURNING OUT
chip implants. Nick was sitting fifteen feet away when it happened and had a clear view of the woman's face when she died. She was short, with strikingly sharp blue eyes and long brown hair that had just a few streaks of gray. She was probably in her late forties, perhaps early fifties. She screamed when Sarah touched her neck—that wasn't unusual—but instead of the small pop that others had experienced, her chip blew with a loud bang and a flare of flame that singed her hair. She convulsed in a wave that rolled through her entire body, her blue eyes rolled up in her head, and she collapsed. It wasn't a soft fall; it was as if her bones had suddenly left her body and she just crumpled, hard and fast, facedown in the dirt.

Sarah and Doc, after flinching from the blast, quickly went to work on her, taking her pulse, examining the wound on the back of her neck. The remaining survivors in line watched, stricken. A few cried quietly, their hands over their mouths. Others just stood silent and ashen-faced. Nick found himself on his feet and halfway to the woman before he stopped himself. What could he possibly do that the medic and Doc couldn't?

Doc swore, and stood. “I told her!” he said to Sarah. “I told her this would happen!”

Sarah didn't say anything. She rolled the dead woman onto her back and closed her eyes with her fingers.

The City survivors still in line were upset. Nick could hear someone saying, “No! No way in hell am I going to let them do that to me!” Others muttered their agreement, and the lines began to disperse.

“Hold!” said Clay to the group, walking quickly to the dead woman. Grennel followed. The survivors hesitated, not reforming lines, but staying put.

Clay looked down at the dead woman, then turned to Sarah. “What happened here?” she said.

“I'll tell you what happened,” said Doc angrily, stepping forward. Grennel moved closer to Clay, but Doc didn't seem to notice. “Her chip shorted too strongly from this damned procedure you're forcing us to do, and it severed her spine and we killed her.” Doc's fists were clenched. “You killed her.”

“Calm yourself,” said Clay quietly. “You don't want to upset the new recruits unnecessarily.”

Doc took a step toward Clay, but Grennel reached out and put a hand on Doc's shoulder, and casually, as if he wasn't even exerting any effort, stopped Doc in his tracks. Nick quietly moved closer. He knew there wasn't much he'd be able to do in a fight against Grennel, but if Doc needed his help, he'd certainly try.

Doc looked up at Grennel, as if noticing the huge man for the first time. Nick relaxed a bit when Grennel let Doc step back, out from under his grip. Doc lowered his voice, to match Clay's. “It was this poor woman dying that upset folks, not the tone of my voice.”

“Enough of this,” Clay said. She turned to the group of City survivors and raised her voice. “This is extremely regrettable,” she said to the group. “This procedure is not without some risks.”

“You call that ‘some risks'?” a tall, blond man said, pointing down at the dead woman.

Clay said nothing, staring at the man who had interrupted. The man held her gaze for a few moments, then his defiance shifted to discomfort and he looked away.

“Yes,” Clay continued. “There are some risks. But these are necessary risks, and the complications are rare.” She paused. “I don't wish to sound callous, but the accident that just occurred means it is statistically very unlikely that the incident will be repeated.”

Doc looked like he wanted to speak, but Clay shot him a look, and he said nothing. Instead he turned and walked stiffly away. Clay watched him leave, a slight clenching of her jaw the only sign that she was displeased.

“What if we refuse?” said the blond man.

“Then you will leave my camp immediately,” said Clay.

“And go where?” said the man.

Clay shrugged. “Go back to the City. Search for a Freepost in the woods. I don't care. But stay away from my forces. If you come near any of my camps with that chip still in your neck, I'll have you shot and burned.”

The man paled. There was silence.

Grennel stepped in front of Clay. “Come,” he said, addressing the survivors. “Join us, please. If you choose to leave, you may leave freely. But I hope you will be brave, and have your chips neutralized, and stay with us to fight.”

Grennel's broad frame blocked Clay from the group, but Nick could clearly see the flash of rage on her face and the clenching of her fists. Apparently, Nick realized, she didn't appreciate Grennel's interruption. She quickly mastered her anger, straightening her fingers and relaxing her face.

Nick went looking for Doc, finding him sitting on a rock, looking south toward the City. A few fires still flickered in the distance. He was leaning forward, his hands clasped together, his thick forearms resting on his thighs. It almost looked like he was praying. He straightened up when Nick approached.

“She's bad news, Nick,” he said. “If she's our champion, then we're in for a bumpy revolution.”

“No doubt,” Nick said. He sat down on the ground next to the rock. “It's good to see you, Doc,” he said. “I'm glad you're okay.”

“And you,” Doc said. “Your sister and your brother, are they okay? And Farryn and Lexi?”

Nick found himself about to choke up, and he had to take a few seconds to gain control before responding. “Lexi and Farryn found us. Lexi's here in the camp. Farryn . . . he lost a leg, bot blast, but he's with my sister now, and I don't know where they are. Kevin's gone, too.” He paused, and Doc waited patiently. “I lost them,” Nick finally continued. “Again. They both went into the City. Cass was trying to find her birth parents, and Kevin . . . he had some tech that he thought would keep him safe, and he went to get Mom and Dad.”

“They are stubborn, and resourceful,” Doc said. “They'll survive, I suspect.”

Nick couldn't get any words out; he just nodded. They sat in silence, looking at the City, and then Nick cleared his throat and said, “My parents? Are they okay? Do you know?”

“After you left I replaced your father's false chip successfully. They left my apartment soon after. I'm sorry, but I haven't seen them since.” Doc paused, then said, “Tell me, Nick, did you make it to the Freepost to the north? Did you . . . did you meet the mayor? And her son? Did they get my pigeon?”

Nick felt his stomach twist. He had been dreading this. “Yes, thank you very much. I made it to the Freepost, and I met her . . . your wife. And your son.”

Doc smiled sadly. “How is she? Probably annoyed that she hasn't heard from me in so long? It's a big risk, you know, sending one of the Freepost birds. If the bots somehow discovered . . . I was keeping her safe, by not keeping in touch. And my son . . . is he still a big strong blockhead?”

Doc's face fell when he saw Nick's hesitation. “Tell me,” he said. Nick sighed. “Now,” Doc said.

“They were well, and they asked about you . . . but . . .”

“Rust, boy, just spit it out!”

“The Freepost was attacked the day after I arrived. I got away, but it was pretty bad. I don't know what happened to your wife or son. I'm sorry,” Nick said, feeling guilt wash over him. “I should have stayed and fought.”

Doc shook his head angrily. “Then you'd be dead or captured, too,” he said. He scratched his forehead, then rested his head in his hands a moment, before sighing and looking back up at Nick. “They're tough, too, just like Kevin and Cass. All we can do is trust they will survive. Hell, maybe they're better off away from this Clay woman anyway.”