Thunder Road (24 page)

She reached her room, ran in, flinging the door shut behind her.

“Lock it, Sid,” she breathed heavily.

“But if Howard—”

“—orders you to open it, then you’ll have to. But that’ll still give me time to cover us. I can tell him I had you lock it because of my feminine modesty, or some kind of crap like that. He’ll fall for it.”

“How do you know?” Sid asked, worry creeping into his voice.

Krysty laughed. “He’s a man. And an innocent one, at that. Has it been that long that you can’t remember?”

There was a pause. Then, “No, I can. You may be right. I hope so.”

“It’s all we’ve got,” she said, settling herself in front of the monitor. “Run Jenny’s final vid from the beginning, Sid.” Then, as it started to play, “Fast forward it, please. Haven’t got time. Just need to find…” Her voice died away as she studied the rapidly moving image closely.

Jenny’s image jerked and pixilated occasionally as the digitized image rapidly moved. Sid had guessed that Krysty would need sound cues, so he had not switched over to the usual fast forward for digitized images, which would eliminate all sound. Her voice sounded like a helium balloon, her already fluting voice sounding like the whistling of a bird. Words were sometimes hard to pick out, but there was enough for Krysty to know when the vid was reaching a point where she would need to slow it to normal.

“Slow it to normal, Sid,” she said quietly. He complied, and she heard the words she knew were in there; the words that gave her the clue she needed.

“S
TOP THE BASTARD
,” she cried exultantly. The monitor went dead. Krysty looked up at the ceiling. She had no idea where the cams were in the room, but somehow she had come to think of Sid as watching over her from above. “That’s it,” she said in a quieter voice. “I think we’ve got him.”

“We?”

She smiled. “Listen to me. Jenny said two things on there that I knew were bugging me. First thing, Howard is the only one to be able to override systems, right?”

“Correct.” Sid’s voice was even, but he couldn’t conceal his puzzlement.

“He does this because the system responds to his genetic imprint, as you told me. I saw that oval pad on the main desk in the console room. That’s the…I don’t know…genetic keypad, right?”

“Correct. The key to opening and controlling all systems is through that pad. To actuate the destruction sequence, the command would have to be delivered while the genetic imprint was being read. Not before, or after, but during. This is to ensure that the deliverer of the message is the one in the keypad.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said impatiently—this was not the time for Sid to be so pedantic and precise—before continuing, “So that’s the one way. But there’s another, isn’t there?”

“Yes, but only Howard—”

“No, no, for fuck’s sake, Sid, we don’t have time, so just answer this simply and precisely. She said ‘the randomness of numbers.’ There’s a code, isn’t there? A numerical code that is known only to Howard?”

“Yes. Each successive generation has the ability to change the fail-safe code. When Jenny died, Howard changed it to a set of figures only he knows.”

“How does that work? If it’s part of the system, then surely you have access to it?”

“No. It’s built into the circuitry that has controlled us since we were butchered that neither Hammill nor myself can access that part of the mainframe without severe damage. Even to approach that part of the program sends warning jolts through us.”

“But would that matter? Even if you could not access that program, then surely you could chill yourselves?”

“I said damage, Krysty. The bastards who did this to us would not allow us to slip away that easily. The remnants of our intelligence would linger, in even greater suffering. The base would be harder to maintain, but in the long term, it would not suffer.”

She took a deep breath. The callous bastards who had brought Sid and Hammill to this, and had created the insane Howard—who, much as he made her skin crawl, could not be held responsible for the ancestors who had made him this way—had much to answer for. But they were long since dust. She had to deal with the present threat.

“So Howard can punch in the code without using the genetic key?”

“Yes. It’s a fail-safe for if the genetic pad malfunctions.”

“And only he knows the code?”

“Correct.”

“Right. Have you ever tried to crack it?”

“There are two problems with that. First, the only way to do so would be to run a random number sequence indefinitely until such time as the correct number came up. Which may be the first, or the one-billionth and first. It’s a ten-number sequence.”

“One billion?”

“An exaggeration for effect. In truth, the number of numbers, as it were, does not matter. The system works on a three strikes rule.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that if the first three numbers fed to the system are incorrect, then it shuts down, and Howard is alerted. While there is little he could do to punish us, as such, he would simply change the number again. Making the task that little bit harder.”

Krysty allowed herself a sly grin. “What if I told you Howard has given you the number?”

There was a pause, then, “Impossible. He wouldn’t be that stupid.”

She shook her head. “He hasn’t done it consciously, and I couldn’t give it to you right now, but I think I know how you can get it. You keep records of interior cameras for how long?”

“Indefinitely. We have the capacity to store an almost infinite amount of information from the cams.”

“Then go back over the records of the recreation room. Every time Howard fingers those old books and comics, he goes for favorites. I’ll bet he even does them in the same order each time. That’s how his mind works. Get the numbers on those books and comics—they are all numbered—and the order in which he looks at them. I’ll bet you your freedom and mine that they’re the bastard’s fail-safe number.”

“Krysty, I think you may have it. And to think that it’s been under our noses all this time. That’s if we still had noses. I…I don’t know.”

Krysty had never heard a comp get emotional. But Sid and Hammill were still more than machine, for all their slavery.

“Don’t waste time thanking me, just do it, Sid.”

“Yes, yes, I—Howard is on his way. He has obviously grown impatient of waiting.”

“Okay. Chill the comp, keep the door locked until he commands you, and buy me some time.”

Krysty was on her feet and in the bathroom before she had even finished speaking, shucking her boots and clothes, and plunging herself beneath the shower. She had to make it look like she had been here all the time. She moved under the showerhead, took it off and soaked every part of her skin before hunting around for one of the gels and lotions that had lain here since Jenny’s demise. She had used some of them since she had been resident here, and their strange perfumes still seemed sickly and odd to her. The only good thing about them, as far as she could see, was that they lathered up with an incredible rapidity. Within seconds, she smelled like nothing she had ever known, and was covered in so much lather that she could have conceivably have been under the shower for thirty seconds or thirty minutes.

She didn’t hear Howard try to enter, order Sid to unlock the door and get as far as the bathroom over the noise of the shower. But her curling hair and the flicking of its ends warned her that he was near, so she was not perhaps as surprised as he would have hoped when he entered the bathroom and pulled open the door of the shower.

He was about to speak, but the sight of the Titian-haired beauty naked and covered in only a thin layer of foam was too much for him. His jaw hung agape in an awful echo of hers just a short while earlier in the armory. She could see the bulge at the front of his uniform.

Howard stood frozen, unable to move, unsure of what to do.

Krysty extended her arm, gently pushed him back, slipping past him and covering herself with a towel.

“Let me at least dry off, first,” she said, playing for time. She didn’t know what would be preferable at this moment—having to play up to Howard’s advances or hearing that an attack was being mounted.

No, she was being selfish. Better to give herself to Howard than risk lives. Even the thought…

She cursed herself for thinking this when Hammill’s voice, cutting across the sound of the still-running shower, seemed to throw her own selfishness back at her.

“Howard, perimeter breached in three places. Ready to institute defensive measures.”

Howard seemed to snap out of his paralysis. He took her by the shoulders, and there was an unholy gleam in his eyes.

“Quickly, get dressed, my Storm Girl. Our first great test is upon us.”

Tactics were simple, of necessity. Their knowledge of the opposition was virtually nil. All they knew was that there was serious tech, and that the land was mined. Opposition numbers were unknown. The extent of the opposition armory was unknown. Even the location of the redoubt itself was an unknown.

In the circumstances, their only option was to split into groups and make a three-pronged assault. Ryan would have liked to have thought of it as a pincer movement, but in truth, to do this he would have needed some idea of a central point—the redoubt—to circle around. One solution would have been to send the parasails out to recce, but he was unwilling to do that. It would draw fire, and to sacrifice their aircraft and reveal their hand so early would be triple stupe. Airborne craft in the Deathlands were virtually unknown. It would be best to leave the parasails as a shock tactic, and Ryan thought he knew exactly how to do that.

While Robear and Jak kept watch, and after the armories had been repacked and restored to their combat-ready positions, Ryan gathered the assembled tech-nomads, along with his people.

“We’re only going to get one chance at this, and we need to hit hard and fast. They won’t expect anything in the skies, and they don’t know the extent of what we’ve got.”

“Can you be sure of that?” Cedric asked.

“Not totally, but why send a spy missile unless they had a need to know?” Ryan grinned. “We don’t know what they have, but we can reckon they don’t know what we’ve got, either.”

“We don’t know much,” Bryanna said coldly. “We can’t just blunder in.”

“You backing out on us?” Mildred asked, barely able to keep the hostility from her voice.

Bryanna fixed her with a glare that was withering in its contempt. “If I wanted to withdraw, I would. But I have an aversion to walking into a firestorm.”

“I think, madam, that Mildred’s point is precisely that,” Doc said softly. “We have to choose between a leap of faith and running away and hiding. But sooner or later…”

Bryanna’s reply dripped with contempt. “Just so that we’re clear, I have no aversion to fighting. Neither do I disagree that we will have to face this threat, and that sooner is preferable to later. That does not mean that I relish the thought of walking into a certain chilling.”

“Lady, neither do I.” Ryan sighed, fighting to keep calm. Every second could bring an attack. Every second was another threat to Krysty, even assuming—hoping—that she was still alive.

“Fireblast and fuck it, Bryanna, just listen first, then ask questions. We don’t know what they’ve got, but we can assume they don’t know what we have. We can also assume that they’re reluctant, for whatever reason, to come out and fight. Otherwise they would have come for us long ago. So for whatever reason, they want to rely on the remote defenses to take us out. If we can get through some of those, the element of surprise is with us, and we can mebbe get the front foot.”

Bryanna nodded, signaled her agreement for Ryan to continue.

With no further interruptions, Ryan outlined his plan. It took only a short time, as there was little they could do other than make a direct move, and be triple red to respond to any move from the enemy.

Time to stop talking and take action.

“S
TATUS REPORT
, Sid,” Howard yelled as he raced down the corridors toward the console room.

“Four aircraft have breached from the same direction, flying in a fan pattern. They are flying across the minefields, activating that defense.”

“What?” Howard barked, laughing harshly. “What the hell is the point of that?”

Krysty, following behind, could see immediately what the tactic was. Figuring that Corwen had brought with him more than one parasail, she could see what Ryan had planned. She hoped that Howard wouldn’t catch on too quickly, and that Sid could practice omission and evasion rather than be forced to offer the truth.

“Minefields in sectors eight and nine depleted by thirty percent…fifty…sixty-five…ninety…”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Howard was panicking, almost tripping over his own feet as he reached the console room. Krysty, following still, hampered by pulling on her clothes as she ran, could see that he was completely confused.

Good. She was in no mood to enlighten him, and would help Sid and Hammill to think on their feet—metaphorically—in any way she could.

She stumbled into the console room, barely keeping upright, pulling on her boots. Gaia, of all the times for Ryan to start the attack, it had to be when she was naked. Still, at least she hadn’t had to fight off Howard’s advances—or worse, succumb to them to buy time. At least now she was ready to take him on in a fight when the moment arose. Meantime…

She looked at the monitors, taking them all in at a glance. It wasn’t the biggest force in the world, but at least there were more of them than there was of Howard. And although they wouldn’t know it, they had inside help. Or, at least, as much as she could give them. As much as Sid and Hammill could do to be obstructive and circumvent their programming.

“What are they doing?” Howard asked. She couldn’t be sure if he was asking her, or Sid and Hammill, or just himself. The latter was probably the only one he could get a straight answer from, assuming that he had any idea himself.

But as she looked at the monitor, she could tell at a glance.

C
ORWEN’S PEOPLE
had taken to their parasails as soon as Ryan had instructed them. It was a simple plan, but one that had speed on its side, if not subtlety. To gain ground, it would be necessary to move swiftly. The only way to do that would be if the ground was clear. They could bomb the minefield to clear a path, but that would take up valuable explosives, and would be a hit-and-miss prospect.

But J.B. recalled something he had heard a long time ago—the motion sensors on such tech as predark mines worked by vibration. So what if it were possible to create such a vibration as would trigger the motion detectors? From this, it was simple to work the strategy that was now clearing them a path.

It took two passes, with each parasail trying a different frequency, before the first mine went off. Returning to that frequency, it was a simple matter for the parasails to glide gracefully back into position at the head of the dune and sail off in formation, cutting through the early-morning air with a grace and beauty that belied the seriousness of their task. The dust and smoke from the lone exploded mine rose in a column, the sound of the explosion dying away as an echo.

It was no indication of the tumult to come.

Starting from a point over the heads of the gathered forces, now split into three contingents, the parasails grouped in formation then fanned out so that they could cover a wide sweep of ground. The only indication that their sonic weaponry was being deployed came from a mild sensation of nausea that passed through the assembled throng as the parasails passed over them on their turn.

The silence, as they watched the aircraft bank and turn, was momentary. Within seconds a chain reaction of deafening roars assailed them, the air thick with smoke and sand, flung up by the detonation of the mines. The individual explosions were clustered so close together that it became one eardrum-threatening tattoo, an elongated blast that would have thrown them off balance if not for the protection of the dune banked in front of them.

The parasails themselves had banked and reared to avoid the earth thrown up by their operation. Knowing the range of their sonic weapons, it was safe for Corwen to pull his people up a hundred feet without lessening their chance of success.

The sight below him was awesome to behold. The vibrations sent out by the parasails activated the motion sensors of the mines as the sonic wave hit. Aiming always to their rear so that the worst of the explosions occurred behind their flight path, the mines exploded in a chain, lines of ruptured surface soil forming intricate line patterns similar to the ones seen on the flat plane by Jak before his own doomed sortie the night before.

As the air cleared, the columns and banks of darkness dissipating and letting the light of the day through once more, Ryan signaled that the attack should begin. In the distance the explosions still roared as mines farther down the field were detonated, but their traces had all but vanished before reaching the starting positions of the expeditionary force.

The three parties had been divided according to a rough matching of their skills. Thus Jak and Robear were natural partners, while Ryan took it upon himself to tackle the ice queen. He wanted to keep his eye on her, and added Mildred to his party to assist him in this task. There was a chance that she may need to be shot down, kept in line. If he didn’t do it, then he knew he could rely on Mildred. J.B. and Doc were paired, partly so that the Armorer could keep his eye on Doc. They were joined by the black man and by Rounda, who had taken a shine to the old man. Ryan always considered things like that important. In the heat of battle, any edge was worth exploiting.

Jak and Robear were joined by Cedric and Gwen. The combination of laser tech, even if a last gasp, combined with the obvious skills of Jak and Robear, seemed to balance well. Finally, Ryan had opted to include the guy with the Garcia T-shirt to round out his party. The guy was still an enigma, so it was hard to know where else to place him when other skills had seemed so complementary. At the same time, this very same laid-back attitude had ensured his inclusion alongside Bryanna, as the one of her people the least likely to follow her should she rebel against Ryan’s stewardship of the battle.

The three parties were to start at the same spot and then fan out in a similar manner to the parasails, dogging their trail and traversing the area of now-defunct mines as swiftly as possible. True, they had no idea of how long they would have to keep going at triple pace to reach the redoubt. However, Ryan had little doubt that they would either reach their destination or encounter the enemy in short time.

The ground was pitted and uneven, the recently disturbed surface all around making it hard for them to traverse the minefields with ease. Boots sank into soil, having to be pulled out, and slowed momentum. Treacherously uneven and soft surfaces gave way underfoot, causing all the parties to stumble and almost fall on several occasions. Old rivalries and recent animosities forgotten in the common cause, hands were extended to the falling and fallen, helping them to keep their feet. The air was heavy with the acrid, stinging smell of explosive and scorched earth, catching at the backs of throats, making it hard to breathe.

There was no time to look around and take stock, only time to try to keep upright and move forward, to choke in enough air though the fumes. Ryan could not spare the necessary attention to look around to see where the other two parties were. He relied on the tenacity of J.B. and Jak to drive them forward.

Up above, if he could have taken a moment to look, he would have seen that Corwen’s people had banked and turned back, their initial mission accomplished and the extent of their path through to the end of the minefield now delineated. Vision strictly focused on the immediate expanse ahead of them, the three parties were only dimly aware that the last of the explosions were dying away.

The almost subconscious impression was reinforced by the sudden burst of static and voice that issued from all personal comm equipment. Despite the frequency on which all the available equipment could correspond being analog, and the background radiation prevalent in the land making any analog frequency impossible to keep interference-free, Corwen’s voice carried an authority and strength that Ryan would not have thought possible from their discussions on the ground. It was as if being in the air, which he saw as his natural element, gave him a depth and determination that he could not show when on land.

“Minefields end about five hundred feet from your current position. Paths are cleared. They just end, with no sign of what other defenses take over. Must be some. Looks like a small valley a thousand yards beyond. Nothing but a ruined building there. Could send one parasail to recce. End.”

Ryan stumbled as he fumbled with the unfamiliar device.

“Send parasail to recce, but be triple red. There must be other bastard defenses, and they must be well hidden. Keep frosty over the ruined building. Sounds like the perfect place to hide an entrance. Everyone else, keep going but keep alert. Now that the mines have stopped, they’ll send something else. End.”

The thing he had been trying not to think about was if they sent more gas, rather than men. Nerve gas would stop them if absorbed through the skin, and they had no goggles or protective eyewear for the tear gas. The black man had issued them all with nose filters from his people’s equipment, but the fireblasted things were doing little more than making it hard for him to breathe other than through his mouth, which defeated their purpose. He was tempted to just discard them and hope for the best.

“A
NTIPERSONNEL HEADS
, Hammill. Primed and ready to fire ASAP.”

“Workers in place. Estimated time to firing, 3.5 minutes. Enemy currently 4.2 minutes from end of minefield.”

“Good. It’s not a big margin, but it may be enough.” Howard turned to Krysty, his eyes shining. She could see madness in them. The time to act was approaching far too rapidly for her liking. Sid had shown no indication of cracking the code as of yet. Howard, taking her silence for complicity, continued. “The one thing I don’t understand is why they did that.”