Broken Page 16

  "Janeane isn’t dead," Michael said.

  "How do you know that?"

  "I just do."

  She looked at him. "Prophecy? You see that?"

  He shook his head. "Janeane is special. I think I’d know if she died."

  * * *

  An hour later, they were flying over the wide Pacific, and everyone was starting to get tense, almost itchy.

  "The government will be able to see us coming," fretted Michael. "We’re going to be shot down before we even get close."

  "We’ve got some stealth tech on this thing," Parker said.

  "On a hopper you stole from a hospital," said Michael. "Right."

  Wayne rolled his eyes. "We put the stealth tech on after, dick-nar. What did you think? Stealth ambulance?" He sniggered. "That’d be great."

  "They’ll probably think we’re a sensor blip or something," Parker said. He seemed to be a lot more sober and technical-minded than the others. "At least, that’s what I’m hoping. There’s a lot of air traffic around Terra City. If we stay out of restricted zones, we might be okay."

  "That’s the spirit," grumbled Kent.

  "I didn’t think of restricted zones," Michael admitted. "We might have to land somewhere farther away."

  "That’s okay," Wayne grinned. "We’re up for some walking."

  Michael went back to the map. He glimpsed Broken looking out a window at the lights of South Africa twinkling in the distance. They’d be crossing the terminator into day, soon.

  "Hey," he said, walking over to her. "How are you doing?"

  "Okay," she replied. "I’ve never left North America. I wonder if Australia is really different?"

  "I don’t know," Michael said. "Probably."

  He looked out the window. He could see the waters streaming by below. "Nice view."

  "What’s going to happen to Ian if we don’t get him back?" Broken asked.

  "They’re not going to hurt him or anything. They’ll just raise him to be… well, just like them. Maybe worse. That’s what I’ve seen." He didn’t mention the bloody coup he’d witnessed, nor did he mention the bodies in the street, the executions, the savagery of Ian's rule… "They won’t treat him badly. But it would be bad for humanity, and for the other races like the Rätons, too."

  "And if we save him and take him to Valen, he’ll be good for humanity?"

  "Right. I’ve seen him leading a rebellion against Peltan, then bringing all three races together in peace. Rätons, Rogarians, and us, one nation. It’s amazing." Michael smiled. He liked those visions. He didn’t see them much anymore.

  "It sounds nice. Will we see it?"

  He shook his head. "I won’t. You might be a little old lady. It won’t happen for a long time."

  "Oh." She frowned. "So we might never know if it would really happen or not."

  "That’s the problem with the future," he said. "You never know how it’s going to turn out unless you live long enough to get there. It’s all a gamble. That doesn’t stop anyone, though. We’re always trying to have an impact on the future. Isn’t that why people have kids, or teach, or build something, or save money? Except that we don’t know whether it will happen or not. The planet could explode the next day; no one would know. It’s crazy."

  "Maybe—" she started.

  "What?"

  "Maybe we have faith in the future. That it will happen and it will be better than today. Hope. Maybe that’s why."

  "Yeah. Something like that." Michael said, smiling. "You’ve been talkative lately. I like that."

  "I don’t know why. I never was before. It’s strange."

  "Does it matter?" he asked. "Remembering your name?"

  She nodded happily. "To me it does. It’s like I’m more alive."

  They sat together for a few more minutes, enjoying each other's companionship. There was no need to speak, not now. Then Michael stood, sighing. "I need to go look at the map."

  She nodded and went back to looking out the window. Strange. For the first time in forever, she was looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.

  Life. They picked up speed over the ocean, racing the sun towards Australia.

  [CHAPTER 23]

  They saw a few other bulky hoppers, tiny, fast zippers, ancient planes, and long, looming liners as they streaked towards Australia’s east coast, but the real traffic picked up as soon as they crossed over the shoreline.

  "There must be hundreds of ships in the sky," Parker said. "This is amazing. It never gets this busy over New York." Below, a vast metropolis spread from the sea inland, towards the mountains.

  "Big business and government are all in Australia," Michael explained. "Lots of people here with important stuff to do."

  "I can’t wait to blow some of ‘em up," growled Wayne, eyes afire. "Bam!" He giggled. "Bam, bam, bam! Yeah!"

  They cleared the mountains, and gradually the cultivated lands gave way to flat, featureless desert. They were getting close—Terra City lay on land reclaimed from the Outback.

  "Try to find a public lot outside the city," Michael told Parker. "They shouldn’t give us too much trouble."

  "Yeah, maybe. But we should leave most of our weapons here."

  "What!" exclaimed Wayne. "No! That’s crap!" He grabbed for his gun.

  "Just for appearance’s sake!" Parker said quickly, backing off. "We’re going to be walking through the suburbs! We can bring pistols, grenades, subtle stuff, stuff we can hide—but no rifles. Please don’t shoot that in here. You'll have plenty of time to do it later."

  "Shit," Wayne said, slumping down in his chair.

  They were getting closer to Terra City. Expressways and massive aqueducts crisscrossed the desert; green fields began to dominate the landscape. It had been scrubland and dry riverbed fifty years before; then Räton agricultural technology and shifting weather patterns had made the desert bloom. Now Australia was the world’s breadbasket, while the Mississippi Valley dried and withered on the vine.

  The hopper’s traffic-adjustment sensors and computers were working overtime trying to keep them out of the way of all the other incoming and outgoing sky traffic. "Attention!" an Australian-accented voice said. "Obey all traffic laws! Reduce speed to 200kph when approaching Terra City!"

  "Just a broadcast traffic signal," Parker said, breathing a sigh of relief. He adjusted the speed of the hopper, while noticing that most of the other air traffic had ignored the warning.

  "Try not to stick out," Michael said.

  Parker nodded. "Man, these other airs look great, don’t they? All shiny and new. I wonder what that cost?" He pointed to a brilliantly colored, sleek new zinger.

  "Bet I could steal it," Kent bragged.

  "Do us a favor and don’t try," Parker said. "Hey, we’re over the suburbs."

  "Good. Start looking for a place to land," Michael said.

  Parker maneuvered down into the lower, more local traffic levels. "Where are we?" he asked. "I’m lost." Acre after acre of newly built suburban landscape stretched out below. The houses were all large, with lots of land.

  "Maybe not here," suggested Michael. "Somewhere more public."

  Wayne tried to read the map. "Shit, I have no clue where we are." Michael looked at his screen. They had made it nearer to the ConFedMil facility than he’d dared to hope. Only a dozen miles or so.

  He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the screen.

  —The thin man stood at the entrance. "I’ve been waiting for you," he said. The men around him opened fire.

  "Set down anywhere near here," he instructed, pushing the vision away. He glanced up at the streams of air traffic heading for Terra City, and briefly wondered about the vast, modern city. He’d only ever seen it on screens, and a part of him wanted to explore it. All the monuments, and the massive government house. He couldn’t afford to be a tourist, though.

  Parker set the aircraft down in a grassy public hopper lot on the edge of a sprawling commercial center. Their hopper was the oldest and ugliest in the lot
.

  "Camouflage!" Kent shouted, looking around. "Awesome."

  "It’ll do," agreed Banner, but he didn’t sound so sure. Wayne and Parker said nothing, although Parker looked nervous.

  "Okay," said Michael. "Should we try to find transportation, or walk?"

  "You know how to get there?" Kent asked.

  Michael shrugged. "North. That’s what I remember. I think there’s only one road north."

  "Then we either take the bus or ask a cop for directions. Which would you rather?"

  Good point. "All right," he said. "Everybody out."

  * * *

  The first thing that struck them was the intense heat. Changes in weather patterns and a massive aqueduct system engineered to bring water to what was once desert hadn’t changed the fact that the South Australian summer was brutally hot and dry.

  "I need a drink," griped Wayne. "And not the fun kind."

  "I think we’re going to need to save our water," Michael said. He looked around at the other people coming and going from the lot. No one was really looking at them, but a lot of them wore Reformist pins on their lapels. A few wore the black-and-white armbands of the Black Bands Reserve.

  Not a good sign.

  They took what they could from the hopper, carefully concealing as many weapons as they could in their packs, and headed off towards a transport station in the center of the commercial complex.

  * * *

  Vast and intimidating, the complex was hard to navigate. Rows and rows of expensive-looking shops, most containing fashionable clothes or unfamiliar gadgetry, seemed to stretch on towards infinity. Everywhere, well-to-do members of the Australian governing class strode busily past with bundles of goods, or chatting loudly into a mini-screen. No one seemed very friendly; in fact, most of the people they passed seemed tense and jumpy.

  Wayne, Kent, Parker, and Banner had lost their bluster. They seemed subdued and nervous, cowed by their surroundings like the provincials they were.

  "Fucking ‘Roos," muttered Wayne. "So fucking full of themselves."

  "Shh," cautioned Michael, glancing around apprehensively. No one seemed to have heard. Thankfully, the transport station was just up ahead; they just had to make it a little farther.

  "Look," whispered Monica, turning pale. All over the commercial complex there were posts with happy messages like "Summer Holidays" or "Enjoy Shopping." On the post nearest them, though, a dead Räton hung.

  "My God," Michael said, trying not to stare. "Is that—"

  It had green skin, and wild blond growths that looked like hair. Everyone always said that Rätons looked so much like humans… but Michael hadn’t realized how much until now.

  "Looks real," Broken said, pointing to a puddle of bluish-green blood on the ground. The alien had been gutted and strung up. Its huge, deep amethyst eyes held an expression of surprise and sadness. A cardboard sign reading "ALIEN SCUM" was tied around its neck. Next to its head, a banner reading "Happy New Year 2107!" fluttered in the breeze.

  "Shit," Wayne breathed. "Shit. Shit."

  "Let’s keep moving," Michael said in a low voice. "Don’t want to attract attention."

  There was more gallows fruit ahead. On another lamppost hung two humans, a man and a woman. "TERRORISTS" was scrawled across their signs. Their faces were purple; their tongues, swollen and blue, hung out of their mouths. A puddle of piss and shit lay festering beneath each. Monica pressed a hand to her mouth.

  "That could be me," she squeaked, clutching Michael’s arm.

  "Steady," he said, but he shook a little, too, in the face of such casual, thoughtless violence. Other people passed by the lamppost, obliviously shopping and chatting. Michael swallowed his disgust and dread.

  They pressed on. The transport station was close.

  A huge screen had been set up near the station. The usual good-looking announcers read the news.

  "Breaking story, Jim," said the woman, her Australian accent lilting and sweet. "There are reports coming from Whyalla that seven more UNP terrorists have been captured, but a dangerous cell is still reported to be in the area of Port Augusta and Lake Torrens, south of Terra City. Citizens are urged to be vigilant, and to be mindful of their own safety. Another Citizen Alert: Citizens’ Courts have been set up to judge the huge influx of prisoners in South Australia. If you think you have what it takes to serve the human race in this capacity, please volunteer! Many positions are available. Contact your local Ministry of Justice station for more information."

  The man gazed solemnly into the camera. "In other news, President Peltan has issued an executive order in which he states that, in the absence of the Senate, he will personally enact needed legislation . All policies and laws created by the executive during this time will be subject to Senate approval when the new Senate convenes in a few months. The old Senate was dismissed earlier this week on the grounds that an unspecified number of opposition Senators were insurgents and terrorist supporters."

  The woman beamed. "President Peltan assures the public that everything is being done to protect civil liberties as well as the safety of all citizens. In sports, Canberra—"

  Michael groaned quietly, hoping that no one nearby would hear.

  "Yeah," Monica agreed. "I thought it was bad at home, but it’s a lot worse here."

  Michael and Wayne checked out the map on the wall of the transport center. Passenger hoppers and ground buses were filling up and departing rapidly, mostly heading south towards the city. Stationed at the entrance to the gate, however, were several severe-looking Black Bands, backed up by a pair of regular police.

  Michael ran his finger along the map. "Newcombe," he said. "That’s where we are? Huh. That base should be only a few miles north of here. Lucky landing, Parker."

  "Thanks," grinned Parker. "I try."

  Despite himself, Michael found he was growing to like Wayne's crew of “soldiers.” When they weren't kidnapping and trying to kill him, they were actually pretty nice guys.

  "Instead of taking the bus, we should just walk it. What do you say?"

  Everyone nodded. Wayne seemed a little put out. "Man, it’s hot," he complained. But he straightened out his pack and laced up his boots while Michael tried to commit the map to memory.

  "Okay," he said at last. "There’s a street that runs parallel to this complex. If we follow it north," he pointed, "We should find it. Come on."

  They tramped off. A few people stared at them as they walked away; try as they might to blend in, a motley crew like them, loaded with packs, was bound to stand out. A man with a black and white armband said a few words into a radio, and set off after them.

  * * *

  "These people have a lot of screens," observed Kent hungrily. "I mean, a lot of screens. Maybe I could take one, you know? They wouldn’t even know."

  It did seem like there was a screen broadcasting news, sports, or some other programming every few feet. People milled around watching one, then moved on to another to see what else was on. No one seemed to notice anyone else. It was eerie.

  They finally emerged from the labyrinth of the shopping center and located the correct road, running off into the distance. They hiked across a vast grassy parking lot, on which endless rows of sleek, polished mag-vehicles rested. The road itself was a two-lane asphalt highway, on which both magnetic and wheeled traffic sped by.

  "Try to keep on the grass," Michael suggested. They started north, panting in the intense heat. Michael felt sure he was getting a sunburn. There were few trees here, and little hope of shade. Behind the narrow strip of houses hugging each side of the road, farmlands stretched into the distance. Beyond the farmlands lay nothing but a vast expanse of parched, uninhabited scrubland. Civilization seemed to have settled on the South Australian interior like a fine dusting of snow. A few shifts here or there would melt it all away, leaving only the ageless desert to remember its passing.

  They were right on the edge of Terra City’s suburbs, close to the desert..Michael could taste dust
whenever the wind blew.

  That was right. He remembered dust and heat from his visions. Every step took him closer to Ian… and to the thin man.

  —The thin man shot Michael.

  —The thin man shot Michael.

  —The thin man laughed and showed Michael something he didn’t want to see…

  In these visions, he no longer saw a path through the thin man to any sort of victory. Still, Michael tried to seem confident. What else could he do? They were here. Too late to run now.

  Or was it? Yet again, Michael warred with himself. They trusted him. He could guide them to another location, declare it the site of his visions, and feign disappointment at not finding Ian.

  Then they could leave, and go back to their lives in North America. Or, better yet, they could stay here. They had nothing left at home.

  Or... three tickets burned a hole in his pocket. Broken, Monica, and Michael. Three tickets. They could leave.

  All they had to do was fly their stolen hopper back to Delmarva, the departure point on the tickets, and get on a ship bound for Valen.

  Had Janeane planned it this way?

  He twitched every time they passed a dirt turn-off. We could do it there. There. There. Just work up the courage. Don't walk into the lion's den.

  Broken picked up on his mood. “Hey,” she said softly, so only he could hear. “When I was with the LED, we got scared before we went out every time.”

  “You didn't know what was going to happen beforehand,” Michael whispered back. “You don't know...”

  “Like you said, though,” Broken reminded him, “You don't see what will happen. Only what might. So the future's still up for grabs.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe,” he said, unconvinced. Broken lapsed back into her usual silence.

  One foot in front of the other. It was, he decided, easier to just keep walking straight ahead.

  * * *

  They walked for more than three hours without arriving at the base. The American Liberation Army was getting restive.