Fugitive X (6 page)

“The Island?” said Pil. “The Island is the Island. It’s a place where we can live safely, as long as we do our jobs. The Wall protects us from the bots.”

“What about the weird bots in the Island? The ones with the leather faces?” said Kevin.

Pil frowned. “They’re the Governor’s bots, not City bots. Nobody likes them, but they get a lot of work done, at least. And it’s not like anyone’s going to tell the Governor or Captain Clay to get rid of them.”

“Who’s the Governor?” asked Kevin.

Pil shook his head. “Enough questions.” He nodded at the door. “Come on, it’s time for our work shift.”

Kevin followed the boys out the door, although all he wanted to do was lie down on the bed. His eye was hurting badly, and the anesthetic the medic had used on his nose was wearing off, so that was starting to hurt too.

The boys walked quickly, without talking, like all the other Islanders Kevin had seen. They took him to the southern edge of the camp, and despite Kevin’s fatigue and pain, he found
his curiosity was piqued. The Wall loomed high to the left and right, but they stood in front of the large gap, fifty feet across, where the Wall was unfinished. The open area was up against a steep hill—all Kevin could see through the gap was the green and brown bank.

A small group of Islanders, two men and a woman, were working on the Wall construction. The two men were uncoiling a length of the conductive wire, and the woman was cutting lumber with a table lase. She looked up when the boys arrived and lifted the dark goggles she wore. She pointed at a large pile of raw lumber. “Same as yesterday. Strip down the wood with the glide, then haul them to me.” She nodded at Kevin. “Welcome to the Island.”

Kevin wasn’t going to say thank you, but he nodded back. They got to work. The glide, it turned out, was a sort of handheld laser planer, similar to the tabletop version that he had used in Tech Tom’s workshop. The trick was to pull it slow and steady along the wood, so the lase would bite evenly, and to keep your hands firmly on the grips and nowhere near the cutting plane. It was harder than it looked, because the lase cut effortlessly and it was tempting to move too fast and ruin the cut, but Kevin had no problem picking it up immediately after watching Otter run one plank. The woman at the table lase watched him carefully on his first cut, then nodded with a somewhat surprised grunt of satisfaction and went back to her work.

They continued stripping the wood, working their way slowly through the large pile of lumber. Kevin tried to unobtrusively study the Wall as he worked. The conduction lines obviously powered whatever sort of camouflage field was being generated and dispersed it along the Wall perimeter. But what in the world was that field? He had never heard of anything like it.

He watched the two men working with the conduction line. They had laid out a long length, about twenty feet, and were fitting one end into a connection hub. Kevin felt a rush of recognition—it was no different, really, than the power grid lines and connectors that he knew so well, just on a much bigger scale. Something was bothering him, though, the way one of the men was struggling with the hub. He was fighting with it, forcing it in with brute strength, but if the hub was anything like Tom’s grid hubs, then all he had to do was release the interior bolt lock . . . “Can’t you just release the bolt lock and then reclamp it?” he said, and immediately regretted it. Everyone froze at his question—the two men, the woman at the table lase, the three boys planing the wood.

The man fighting with the hub straightened. “These hubs don’t have hand-release bolt locks,” he said. “They’re designed for use by construct bots, which we don’t have, and that’s why every damned hub connection is a twenty-minute shoving match.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I bet you’re used to grid hubs, right? Easy to lay out by hand?”

Kevin shrugged and didn’t say anything. He silently cursed himself.

Otter shoved him hard on the shoulder, and he stumbled forward a step. “Back to work,” he said. Kevin turned his attention to the wood, glad to look away from the curious stares of the three adults.

They worked quietly for a while longer, and then Kevin stopped abruptly when he saw two patch-faced bots approaching.

“What’s the problem?” said Otter, then he turned, following Kevin’s gaze, and saw the bots. “Oh,” he muttered quietly. “Here come the Governor’s clowns.”

The bots walked up to the pile of stripped planks that the boys had created. “We shall assist you in moving the lumber,” one said. “Now.”

So they laid down their glides and began hauling the lumber over to a new pile, next to the woman still working at the table lase. The bots were very strong; Kevin struggled to lift his end of each plank, while the bots picked up their end with seemingly little effort.

They finished moving the pile and the bots left, without a word.

The woman turned off her table lase; the soft hum that Kevin hadn’t even realized he had been hearing faded away. She wiped her face with the edge of her shirt and nodded at the boys. “Food, and bed,” she said. “You’re done for the day.”

NICK SAT IN THE MAIN ROOM OF A SMALL WOODEN-SLAT BUILDING IN
the middle of the Freepost. It was furnished as a meeting space, with a large rough-cut wooden table and scavenged metal folding chairs in the center of the floor. Across from him sat the gray-haired woman—Doc’s wife—her son, Aram, and Lucas. Erica had gone to trade with residents of the Freepost.

“Ma’am, I need to find my brother,” said Nick. “I’m hoping he’s here.”

“Agatha,” said the gray-haired woman. “I’m Agatha Wells Pallos, not ma’am. And your name?”

“Nick.” He paused, gathering himself, then asked, “So have you seen my brother?”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said.

Nick felt his stomach lurch. “Do you mind if I ask around?”

“Nick,” said Agatha, “this is a small Freepost, and I would know if your brother were here.”

“Tell us what happened,” said Lucas. “Where were you separated?”

“It was about a day south of here,” said Nick, slowly. “Kevin went off to find water and then we heard him scream, and when we were looking for him bots arrived, and my sister, Cass . . . She was . . . She was hurt very badly . . . and the bots took her, and I never found Kevin.”

Agatha shook her head sympathetically. “I’m very sorry,” she said.

“Maybe the bots took him too?” said Aram.

“I don’t know,” said Nick. “I don’t think so. They didn’t show up until after we heard the scream. But I don’t know. Erica said there were rebels in the area. Maybe they were involved somehow?”

Lucas frowned. “Those rebels cause more problems than they solve.”

“At least they’re doing something,” said Aram. “They may not always be effective, but still . . .”

“What they’re doing,” said Lucas angrily, “is antagonizing the bots without causing any real damage, and endangering all of us in the process!”

“Enough!” said Agatha. “Do we really need to rehash this argument right now?”

Both men looked like they wanted to say more, but they were silent.

“It’s possible that the rebels picked up your brother for whatever reason, or perhaps the bots did capture him. I don’t know.” Agatha smiled, sadly but with warmth. “Tell me, Nick, what you would like to do.”

Nick shook his head. He felt lost. “I don’t know,” he said.

Agatha sighed. “I’m sorry for your pain, Nick.” She paused, then continued. “So tell me about this worthless husband of mine. How is Christos?”

“Doc . . .” Nick paused. “We wouldn’t have made it out of the City without his help.”

Agatha blinked and looked away for a moment. “Yes, well, he can be a good man. Drinks too much, and hasn’t sent a pigeon in two years until today, but he is a principled man.”

Aram leaned forward intently over the table. “So my father is involved in a resistance?” he said. “He fights the bots?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” said Nick. “He risked his life for us. A few people helped us . . . and some of them died because of it.” He thought about Tech Tom, executed by the bots, passing on his final words to Nick about Dr. Miles Winston, still fighting with his last breath. He thought of the men and women who had fought the Lecturer bots with him and helped him escape. They were surely dead now. He saw Amanda, her glassy eyes staring up lifelessly at him from the street, her chest cratered by a lase blast.

“And Christos?” Agatha asked tightly.

Nick took a deep breath, pushing away the image of Amanda. “Doc was fine when I left,” he said. “I don’t know what’s happened with the bots since then. Hopefully they didn’t connect him with us.”

Agatha nodded. “Yes, well, that old goat can take care of himself.” She shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts, then said, “Stay in our Freepost tonight, Nick. Get some sleep. Decide in the morning what your next steps are. You’ll be welcome here, if you want. . . . We can always use another strong pair of hands.”

Nick nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. He doubted he would be getting much sleep or that things would be any clearer in the morning.

“We have an empty shelter . . . One of our Freeposters has recently passed. Aram will show you the way.”

Aram stood, and Nick stood as well. “One more thing,” Nick said. “Dr. Miles Winston. Have you heard of him?”

The three Freeposters tensed, and the two men turned to look at Agatha. “What makes you ask?” she said.

Nick hesitated, to pick his words carefully. “Something a dead friend said,” he said. He looked at Aram. “Probably nothing.”

“Well, he’s the father of modern robotics, as you may know,” said Agatha. “Most people think he died in the revolution.”

“Most people?” said Nick.

“There are a few wild rumors . . . Unsubstantiated,” said Agatha. She shrugged. “Probably nothing, as you said.”

“What about the rumors?” said Nick. “What are they?”

“Tomorrow we can speak more. I can introduce you to a few of my Freeposters who claim to have some knowledge . . . to have seen things. . . .” Agatha stood. “But for now, food and rest. Aram, get him something to eat from the stores.”

That night, after barely eating the bread and cheese and apples that Aram had given him, Nick lay on the cot in his borrowed shelter. The structure was small, and empty except for the cot, a table, and two chairs. Nick stared at the ceiling, dimly lit by a lightstrip lantern on the table. He thought about his brother and sister. His parents. Farryn. Doc. Lexi. Were they still alive? God, was he alone in the world?

He woke on the floor, dazed, blood on his cheek where he had been scraped when he was thrown out of his cot by the explosion.

His ears were ringing. He struggled to his hands and knees. Another nearby explosion knocked him back down. He heard screaming, then the sizzling
whump
of lase blasts, and the staccato bursts of old-fashioned gunpowder bullets. For a crazy moment he though he must be dreaming, having a nightmare about his Freepost being destroyed, but then the door of his shelter swung open and Erica stood in the doorway. She flung Nick’s backpack at him. He struggled slowly to stand.

“We gotta go!” Erica screamed. She rushed forward and pulled Nick to his feet.

“What . . . ? How . . . ?” began Nick.

“Bots! A warbird and a bunch of foot soldiers!” Erica picked up his backpack and shoved it into his chest. “They’re attacking the Freepost!”

Nick shouldered his backpack and followed Erica out the door. How long had it been since his home had been destroyed? And here he was again. The air was thick with smoke from burning structures. Freeposters ran past. Two bodies lay on the ground nearby, facedown in the dirt in puddles of blood.

“Come on!” said Erica, pulling on his arm. “We need to get out of here!”

“We need to help!” said Nick.

“We can’t help!” said Erica. “We need to run!”

Nick let Erica pull him away from the shelter and joined her in a crouching, crablike run through the Freepost. With the smoke and explosions, Nick was immediately disoriented, but Erica seemed to know where she was going, and he stuck close to her. In the distance, off to the left, he heard a rumble and could barely make out two large shapes—Peteys—moving slowly in their direction. Their lases made the smoky air around them glow.

He felt a throbbing in his chest and heard the hum of a war-bird, then heard a whisling whine, a rush of air, and he and Erica instinctively ducked just before the explosion knocked
them off their feet. They ended up sprawled against the wall of a shelter. Nick had the wind knocked out of him and it took him a moment to suck air into his lungs and push himself upright. He pulled Erica to her feet. She leaned heavily against the wall for a few moments, and Nick held tightly to her arm, keeping her from falling, and then she nodded and stood on her own.

The smoke shifted, and Nick saw that, amazingly, they were near the entrance to the Freepost. Erica saw it at the same time, and waved her arm for Nick to follow, then took off at a dead sprint.

They ran for ten minutes, climbing out of the Freepost valley. They paused to catch their breath near the top of the ridge, laying on their bellies, looking down at the devastation below. The Freepost was burning, orange flames and black smoke rising up into the sky. A warbird slid past overhead. Nick watched. Agatha. Aram. Lucas. Dead, probably. He had known them less than a day. “Revolution 20,” he whispered.

KEVIN DIDN’T EXPECT TO SLEEP WELL, WITH HIS BROKEN NOSE AND
swollen eye, but he was out as soon as he hit his bunk and was surprised when Otter shook him roughly awake the next morning. “Shower, if you want it,” Otter said, pointing to a door in the back wall. “Then breakfast in fifteen minutes at the mess hall.” He nodded at a pile of clothes on the floor next to Kevin’s bunk—two pairs of thick khaki work pants, two gray flannel shirts, underwear, and socks. “The clowns brought over some clothes for you last night.”

He gave a small grunt of acknowledgment. He skipped the shower—let them smell him, it served them right—but he did put on the fresh clothes. They fit well enough, although they were rough fabric and a bit scratchy.