The Elves of Cintra (27 page)

And then, “Were you a street kid like us when you were little?” She was looking at him again, studying him closely this time. “Did you belong to a tribe?”

He shook his head. “I was a compound kid.”

“What happened to you? Why did you leave the compound? Did they make you leave?”

“The compound was overrun and my family was killed. I escaped with a band of rebel freemen that managed to save a few of us. Their leader adopted me.”

“Do you remember your real parents?” she asked.

“A little. Not very well anymore.”

“I don’t remember mine at all.”

He thought about it. “Maybe that’s okay.”

Her head cocked slightly. “Why would you say that?”

“Because the dead belong in the past.”

She didn’t say anything for a long time, watching his face, her blue eyes intense. Then she said softly, “I don’t think that’s true.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because they were our friends and they need to be remembered. Don’t you want to be remembered by someone when you’re dead?”

It seemed strange to hear this little girl talk like that; it seemed too grown-up for a ten-year-old. In any case, talking about the dead made him uncomfortable.

“Don’t you?” she asked again.

He glanced over and shrugged. “I guess maybe I do.”

She hunched her thin shoulders. “I know I do. I don’t want everyone to forget about me.”

It was nearing midafternoon, and they had covered almost twenty miles. They were well below the big airfield that stretched along the highway south of the city when they passed a huge industrial complex closed off by heavy chain-link fencing topped with razor wire. The fence and the wire reminded Logan of the slave camps, but the buildings beyond were of a different sort entirely and there was no sign of life anywhere. A service road branched off the highway and climbed an incline through a grove of withered spruce interspersed with ornamental stone to a pair of gates, which were chained and locked. A sign, faded and weather-stained, hung from the mesh:

ORONYX EXPERIMENTAL

Robotics Systems

Building for the future.

He glanced at it as they passed, his gaze continuing down the line of the fencing as it stretched along the highway and stopping suddenly at an equipment barn. He braked the AV, shut off the engine, and climbed out.

The Ghosts who were on foot wandered over. “What now?” Panther demanded. “You gonna let me drive?”

“You didn’t want to earlier.” Logan gestured toward the fence. “See those?” He was pointing to a series of metal haulers, flatbed units with oversize tires, trailer bars, and low rails that surrounded the bedding. “We could use one of those.”

“We’ll have to break in,” Fixit declared, glancing back toward the chained, locked gates. “Spring the locks. Or maybe cut the wire.”

Logan walked back to the AV, told Owl what he planned to do, and then lifted her out of the vehicle and into her wheelchair, where Candle promptly took up watch. He unlocked the boy chained in the backseat, led him over to the shopping cart, and chained him anew through the wheel spokes. He put Chalk on watch and told him to make sure nothing happened while his back was turned, that he was responsible. Then he went around to the storage compartments at the rear of the vehicle, unlocked the one on the driver’s side, reached inside, and brought out a pair of heavy cutting shears and two black-barreled Parkhan Sprays. He carried his load around to the front of the Lightning where the others were standing.

“Whoa, that’s some Freak-size firepower,” Panther hissed, eyes wide as he caught sight of the Sprays. “You know how to use those without shootin’ off your foot?”

Logan shrugged. “The question is, do you? These aren’t for me. I need someone to go in with me, cover my back.”

“Hey, you and me, like before,” Panther declared.

“Take me instead,” Sparrow suggested quickly, stepping forward. “I know how to use those better than Panther Puss.” She gave him a smirk.

“Hey, me and him already worked together,” Panther snapped at her. “He ain’t done nothin’ with you—don’t know nothin’ about you. You just a little bird, all feathers and squeak.”

Sparrow stomped up to him. “Who saved your worthless baby butt back in Pioneer Square, Panther Pee? You think you got away from those Croaks all by your cat-brained little self? You remember back that far, all the way to last night?”

“Wasn’t you saved me, beak breath! Was me saved you! You had an ounce of—”

Logan felt his patience begin to slip. He had no time for this. “I’ll take you both,” he interrupted, tossing each a Parkhan Spray. He was gratified to see Panther stagger slightly as he caught his. Sparrow snatched hers out of the air smoothly, swung the barrel into position, and released the safety, all without missing a beat. She snapped the safety into place again and grinned at Panther.

Logan gave the cutting shears to Bear. “Make a hole big enough to let us through. When we’re inside, widen it so that we can pull one of those haulers back out. It might take you some time, but keep at it.”

Bear nodded, saying nothing as he walked over to the fence and went to work. Logan turned to the rest. “Stay here. Stay together. Keep your eyes open. No one wanders off. If there is any kind of danger, get inside the Lightning, all of you. It won’t be comfortable, but it will be safe.”

He took Fixit over to the driver’s side, showed him the security buttons, and told him what they did. By the time he had completed his explanation and had the boy repeat it back to him, Bear had finished cutting open the fence. With Panther and Sparrow in tow, he stepped through the ragged opening and onto the concrete apron beyond.

“Stay behind me and stay close,” he told them, glancing over his shoulder. “Don’t shoot each other.”

He couldn’t have said why he was being so careful about an empty storage facility except that he was bothered by the fact that apparently no one had tried to break into the complex and take one of these haulers before. It was the sort of vehicle that almost anyone would have a use for, including the compounds. Yet here a dozen sat, untouched.

He tightened his grip on the black staff of his office and started forward.

SIXTEEN

T
HE DISTANCE FROM
the fence to where the haulers were lined up like obedient pack animals was less than a hundred yards, but it felt much longer as Logan walked it. The buildings behind and to either side were low, squat, windowless structures with metal roofs and siding. Doors on rollers stood closed, but he could not see any locks. The apron was surprisingly empty of debris, a condition that was almost nonexistent anywhere else in the country. Even more troublesome was the clean, polished look of the haulers, which lacked any hint of rust or dirt and had the appearance of newly minted machines. Even though the complex seemed to be deserted, the pristine look of the haulers suggested that someone had been caring for them.

Logan looked around uneasily. “Hello!” he called out. “Anyone here?”

No one appeared. Nothing moved.

He glanced back the way he had come. The Ghosts were out of the Lightning and crowded up against the fence, faces pressed into the mesh. Bear was the only one not watching, his attention given over to widening the opening through which they had come. In the silence of the fading afternoon light, Logan could hear the dull
snip-snip
of the heavy cutters.

He was all the way up to the closest of the haulers when he caught sight of the sensors. Partially embedded in the surface of the apron, they were spaced strategically around the perimeter of the painted oval inside which the machines were parked. No lights flashed on their casings; no beeps sounded from within. He stopped Panther and Sparrow from advancing, pointed to the sensors, walked forward a few steps, and knelt down for a closer look. The sensors lacked any sort of recognizable features—no antennas, no scanners, no identifying protrusions of any sort. They ringed the haulers, but weren’t connected visibly to one another or to anything else. There was nothing to suggest they were even working.

Yet he had the unshakable feeling that they were.

What to do?

His choices were limited. He could not deactivate the sensors without knowing something more about them. So he could either test whether or not they were active, knowing that if they were he might not be too happy with the results, or he could turn around and go back the way he had come and forget about going any farther with this. He could not help thinking that if he were alone, none of this would be happening. He was here, taking this chance, only because he had taken in a bunch of street kids who needed hauling.

He pushed the thought away. After all, they hadn’t asked for any of this, either.

He took another long look around the complex, searching for something that would tell him what to do, and didn’t find it. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that Bear had finished cutting an opening in the fence, high and wide enough to permit them to pull a hauler through. Haulers were big, but easy enough to move by hand when they were unloaded. With Panther’s help, he should be able to pull one of these clear.

All he had to do was walk up to it. Through the sensors, past the alarms, and into whatever waited.

He tightened his grip on his staff of office, feeling the heat of the magic beginning to build. He wasn’t afraid, but he was cautious. For himself and for the children with him. Street kids were still kids. The haulers sat in front of him, lined up and ready. Why would there be any serious protection set in place for haulers, anyway? They had no real value, nothing that warranted firepower of the sort that the compounds employed.

Yet no one had touched these.

He made up his mind. He turned around abruptly and motioned for Panther and Sparrow to back away. “I don’t like how this feels. We’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” Panther stared at him with dark, angry eyes. He gestured toward the sensors. “Because of those?”

“You heard!” snapped Sparrow, already walking away.

Panther was shaking his head in disgust and turning after her when something caught his eye—something that Logan had missed entirely or maybe didn’t even exist. But it was enough to trigger an immediate response in the boy, who wheeled back and fired a sustained burst from the Parkhan Spray that peppered the haulers and blew several of the sensors that sat closest into scrap.

No!
Logan thought, eyes sweeping the concrete apron. Panels concealed in the flat surface were already sliding open, and the remaining sensors were dropping from sight. Huge doors set into the walls of the buildings to either side of the haulers, their weight balanced on huge steel rollers, opened like hungry mouths, and from the darkness within there was a whirring of motors and the soft, ominous
click
of gears engaging.

“Get out!” Logan shouted at his young companions.

But Panther couldn’t seem to move, frozen in place, perhaps stunned by his own reaction, perhaps simply caught up in the moment. Sparrow was shouting at him. From somewhere back behind the severed links of the fence, the other Ghosts were crying out in either dismay or support, it was impossible to tell which. But Panther didn’t seem to hear any of them, his eyes fixed on the black holes that had opened in the sides of the buildings.

An instant later, a clutch of metal-legged machines skittered into the daylight, heavy and squat. They had the look of monstrous insects, their bodies supported on multiple legs, their heads studded with orbs that pulsed and glowed, weapons jutting like mandibles from their jaws. There were five of them, all of a size that suggested they were meant to repulse anything short of a nuclear strike that might try to invade the complex.

No hauler was worth this, Logan thought. Not that a response like this had anything to do with haulers. This had to do with something of far greater importance, something that Oronyx Experimental had been working on when the end came. The human workers might be gone, but the guard machines they had built to defend their efforts remained in place, programmed to repel any invasion.

He rushed over to Panther, seized his shoulders, and spun him about. “Run!” he shouted in his face, shoving him toward the fence.

Then the heat of the lasers began to scorch the concrete apron, thin red beams slicing past him. He wheeled back in response, hands gripping the black staff, and sent a burst of the Word’s white magic into the closest of the attackers. It cut the legs out from under the machine and caused it to stumble into another so that both went down. But they were slowed only for a moment before righting themselves and continuing their advance. Logan backed away hurriedly. The machines were big and looked ponderous, but they moved quickly and smoothly. They were meant to survive enemies stronger than himself.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Panther and Sparrow turn and fire their weapons at the approaching behemoths. “No!” he screamed at them. “Run!”

They were wasting their time. Their best chance was to get back outside the fence and hope that the machines were not programmed to advance beyond the boundaries of the complex. The Parkhan Spray was a formidable weapon, but not nearly enough to stop these monsters. Even his magic might not be enough.

He used it anyway, hammering at the insect-like machines with sustained bursts aimed at the joints of their crooked legs. He brought one down, its legs sufficiently damaged that it could not rise again. But the others kept coming and were nearly on top of him. He turned and ran hard, dodging the lasers that sought to cripple him. The machines were not concentrating on Panther and Sparrow, whom they had judged less dangerous. They were concentrating on him. His magic shielded him from the worst of the blasts that were scorching everything around him, but he could feel himself weakening from the effort. The chain-link fence was still a long way off, too far to be judged a sure thing.

Then an explosion right in front of him sent chunks of concrete flying into his face, and he went down in a tangle of arms and legs, his staff sliding out of reach.