“For fuck’s sake!” Vance’s fist came down on the chair in front. Everyone in the MTJ cabin stared at him; none of them had ever heard him use profanity before. “You know it’s not true.”
“We’ll get you out, Vance. You have my word on that, we will not abandon you.”
“An airdrop would be helpful.”
“Absolutely. As soon as the storms break. The meteorologists think that won’t be long. The atmosphere is stabilizing.”
“Could have fooled me.”
The package link dropped out for a couple of seconds. When it came back, telemetry showed that the electron buildup on the casing was reaching critical. As gravity pulled the package back down toward the land, the charge level started to increase further.
“We’re going to lose it,” Davinia warned everyone.
Some of Wukang’s personnel were lucky, their e-i’s actually managed to get calls all the way through the gateway and into the transnet, enabling them to have a couple of hurried minutes talking to their families. The camp’s official log cache was successfully downloaded to HDA headquarters. Amid it all, Angela was the only one unmoved. Saul, the one person she might have tried to contact to say good-bye to, didn’t need the universe of grief that would land on them if the connection was ever understood. She couldn’t expose him to the risk. Besides, saying good-bye yet again to her old husband would be too much for his gentle soul.
After providing an exceptional eleven minutes of contact with civilization, the halo of electrons around the casing finally overloaded the insulation and discharged through the package. The dead mass continued its three-hundred-kilometer fall in silence.
“Did any of you access the Abellia base’s official news releases?” Karizma asked in an open ringlink to all the HDA personnel below sergeant rank. “There is a final evacuation plan being worked out. We just have to stay here and they’ll pick us up in another month.”
“There was no timetable,” Angela responded. “It was a morale tox, propaganda for the stupid and weak. Did you believe it?”
“It’s real.”
“More real than the monster?” Paresh asked.
“Screw you. Everyone knows it’s your friend-with-benefits who’s killing us anyway.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Paresh said.
“She’s leading you around by the balls,” Karizma retorted. “Can’t you see that?”
“I see our only chance of surviving this is to leave.”
“You’re wrong, all of you. We can survive here until the snow melts if necessary. The printers can manufacture real shelters if that Jesus-freak Elston wasn’t using all the raw to modify the vehicles. He’s on a crusade, you know. He doesn’t care how many of us die so he can prove himself to his God.”
“It’s done,” Angela said. “We’re going. Live with it, it’s the only way you will.”
“We’ll never make it. We can’t carry enough fuel.”
“Keep this up, and I’ll put you in irons myself,” Paresh said. “Last warning.”
Karizma’s e-i showed her that the ringlink’s participants were dropping out. She looked around at Davinia Beirne and Leif Davdia. “Idiots!” she stormed. “Can’t they see the fucking obvious. Elston is going to get us all killed with this crazy convoy.”
“They’re frightened,” Davinia said. “Frightened of the monster and intimidated by the command structure. After all, we’re all trained to stick with the chain of command no matter what. That’s the HDA way.”
“We’ll die if we leave.”
“You’re right,” Leif said. “Those modifications we made to the vehicles aren’t enough, not really. Not for terrain like this. Elston is delusional if he thinks otherwise.”
“Probably got told to leave directly by God,” Davinia grunted in contempt.
“Then you’ll both stay here with me?” Karizma asked. “There’ll be more than enough supplies and fuel for the three of us to last until the rescue mission arrives.”
“The Legionnaires will obey Elston,” Leif said. “Right up to the moment they get five blades shoved through their hearts, the dumb fucks. You heard Paresh, they’ll Taser us and throw us in a sledge if that’s what their orders are. We have to be smarter. We have to pick our moment.”
Karizma nodded grudgingly. “Yeah. But we can’t afford to wait too long.”
The Wukang convoy finally came together at two o’clock in the afternoon. Like everyone, Angela was allowed to bring a small bag of possessions. She chose a few clean clothes, socks and underwear—after all, nobody ever died from wearing stale, dirty clothes, and she was wearing most of hers in layers. For the rest of the bag she packed in equipment she’d bought at Birk-Unwin: the torch, inertial guidance module, memory cache, and one pair of the sunglasses. Paresh laughed at that, but she argued that the smartlenses might be helpful in the murk that was St. Libra’s current atmosphere. However, she did leave behind her precious bottles of sunguard oils. The utility belt she wore under two sweaters and the armor vest. Any remaining space in the bag was taken up with balls of wool and knitting needles.
She didn’t so much walk out of the accommodation dome as waddle. The wind had dropped considerably, but the cloud cover was still absolute. Snow drifted about through the air, tinged pink by the delicate sunlight. The aurora borealis had withdrawn, only occasionally sending slow tattered ribbons of sea-green light meandering through the base of the clouds as if they were the wake of some vast airborne organism.
Beyond the domes, the ten vehicles that made up the convoy were lining up, their sharp white headlight beams cutting cheerily through the gloom. Angela regarded them with a sense of relief as they vented soft white vapor from their fuel cells, permitting herself the satisfaction of seeing something
happen
. She’d been deeply involved with the planning, of course; Elston and Forster regarded her as essential now, and they never bothered to review her work. So she’d coordinated the requirements each team leader had drawn up, producing lists, balancing weight and size and importance. Elston had the final say, but the majority of the cargo she could see was there because of her.
Most of the vehicles were draped with pannier-style nets bulging with pods and cases and boxes. Roof racks were piled high. And to her eyes the sledges looked almost unstable, they were carrying so many bladders of bioil in their frameworks.
“Hey you,” Paresh said. “You take care now.”
“I’m not the one riding on the bomb.”
“Oh great! Thanks for that.”
“Take care yourself,” she said.
They
clunk
ed helmets, which made Angela grin at the sheer childishness of the gesture. Paresh turned and walked over to the convoy’s tanker. He and Atyeo were sharing the cab. Elston had insisted on it being driven and guarded by Legionnaires.
There was only one tanker, but the two self-loading trucks were now stacked with bioil bladders. Ravi Hendrik and Bastian 2North were sharing the driving in the first; Ophelia Troy and Gillian Kowalski were in the second.
The three Tropics and both mobile biolabs were towing sledges. That left the MTJs to trailblaze, their snowplow blades clearing a path for the less powerful and more awkward vehicles to follow. The buzz-saw blades that had been so useful when they were exploring the jungle last month were folded back across the bonnet, ready to deploy forward when vegetation became more of a problem than snow.
Angela had given herself a berth in Tropic-2, along with Forster Wardele, Madeleine, and Sergeant Raddon. She smacked off as much snow as she could from her parka and trousers, opened the door, and hauled herself up onto the backseat next to Madeleine. There was barely enough room. Madeleine was also heavily wrapped up in her parka and a generous number of layers. Their arms pressed up against each other. Angela shoved her bag down on the floor, between the boxes containing rations for several days. She grimaced at the sight of the plastic panseat and fempee funnels and empty flexbags sharing the floor space, but that was going to be her life for the next couple of weeks, or however long it took them to reach Sarvar.
“Locking the doors,” Raddon said from the driver’s seat. “So here’s some simple ground rules. Once the doors are shut, we turn up the cabin heater and everyone can take off some clothes. Do not open your door without warning the rest of us, okay? Now, we’ll take three-hour turns to drive. Front passenger is the watch—that means you keep a lookout for everything from the monsters charging at us, to other vehicles skidding, to possible avalanches. Front passenger also has fire control on our remote gun. Rear-seat passengers are welcome to access the sensors to supplement the watch.”
“When it’s time to swap around, how do we get from our seats to yours?” Madeleine asked.
“We’re all going to have to learn to channel our inner gymnast,” Raddon said. “I don’t want to open the doors unless it’s completely necessary.”
Angela agreed with that. Warm air had been blowing out of the vents for a minute, and she hadn’t yet felt any change in temperature. Big slabs of foam had been stuck to the bodywork inside the vehicle to act as a thermal barrier, but the Tropic just wasn’t intended for cold weather.
“Everything is going to be slow and methodical,” Forster said. “That’s all.”
“I’ve never driven anything like this,” Madeleine said. “And certainly not in these conditions.”
“Big freeze driving isn’t so hard. You’ll pick it up, don’t worry.”
Madeleine pulled her balaclava off and gave Angela a wary grin. “Yeah, I suppose we’re all capable of things we didn’t know we could do.”
“When the chips are down,” Angela replied. She saw Raddon squinting at them in the rearview mirror, trying to work out if there was something more being said than the words spoken.
Her e-i told her that a ringlink was being established, connecting all the vehicles and personnel. Elston wanting to keep watch over his mobile fiefdom. The colonel had chosen to ride in biolab-1 himself; and Angela was interested to see that Karizma and her cronies Leif and Davinia were all in MTJ-2, the one that had fallen down the ravine.
“Everyone is in their assigned vehicle, and Darwin tells me the vehicles are all fully operational,” Elston said. “Thank you all for the effort you’ve put in over the last week. With a little help and understanding from Our Lord we should reach Sarvar in about a fortnight. There are enough supplies and fuel stocks there to see us through the rest of this climate anomaly. All right, now, let’s take things slow and easy—remember I want everyone there in one piece. Leif, lead on please.”
“Yes, sir,” Leif replied.
Angela’s grid display showed MTJ-2 start to move out, wheels spinning as it struggled for traction. Small waves of snow spilled away from the edges of the plow blade, clearing a flattened track. MTJ-1 followed, containing Dr. Coniff and the paramedics, along with as much medical equipment they could cram into the cramped cabin. Poor old Luther Katzen was also in there, cursing about being a burden as his thigh and hip slowly knitted back together. Too slowly for the doctor, according to the gossip Madeleine had managed to prise out of Mark Chitty.
Both the biolabs followed, tugging sledges laden with food and equipment and some fuel. Then came the tanker and two trucks. The three Tropics were designated to bring up the rear.
Madeleine started pulling her gloves off. The dusting of snow on her parka had melted, dripping onto the seat and floor. “Can I take the armor off?”
“Sorry,” Forster said. “The colonel insists we keep some degree of personal protection even inside the cab.”
“Figures,” Angela grunted as she pulled her own balaclava off.
Raddon had struggled out of his parka and gloves, but kept a small dark gray woolen hat on. They all watched the Tropic carrying Lieutenant Botin, Dean Creshaun, Fuller Owusu, and Chris Fiadeiro roll past the windshield, its sledge slithering along behind.
“Here we go,” Raddon said, engaging the axle motors. The Tropic nudged forward. Angela accessed the mesh smeared across the rear of the vehicle, watching in her grid as the tow cable stretched and finally tugged the sledge along. Then Raddon was shifting up the torque differential, and the big tires seemed to be gripping the snow. Certainly the wheels weren’t spinning.
Angela exchanged a nervous glance with Madeleine, then smiled as they gradually picked up speed. For once she actually felt mildly optimistic. The modified vehicles worked, her colleagues were tired but they were smart and determined, they had enough fuel, probably enough food. Sarvar was achievable. After that, well … she wasn’t heading back to Holloway, that was for sure.
T
UESDAY,
A
PRIL 23, 2143
The buildings remaining amid the piles of rubble in the West Chirton GSW area were mostly ruins. Those that weren’t complete burnouts had long since had their windows smashed and roofs reduced to skeletal timbers. Even the graffiti was vanishing beneath blooms of moss and algae and the ever-spreading ivy creepers. The old road layout slowly melded into the decay beneath dunes of brambles and rampant buddleias.
Daylight saw kids scrabbling over the piles of smashed bricks and chunks of concrete, scavenging for the tiniest scraps of metal or playing violent games of chase. At night even the delinquent youths made themselves scarce. People a lot more dangerous than juvenile gang-idolizers made their purposeful way along the streets under the cover of darkness.
Ian and Abner had a section of the GSW under observation using Ian’s covert access with the Market Street network. On the previous Saturday, one of the micro copters had flown a low, silent pass over the GSW area. Any sensor or mesh belonging to a gang protecting its territory would see a profile similar to a bat—it even followed the same fast, slightly erratic trajectory common to all the
Chiroptera
genus. It hadn’t landed, but a cloud of smartdust had come scudding out of its fuselage to coat one of the rubble piles directly opposite an old shop. A purely visual observation would reveal no activity in the decrepit structure. However, its broken windows had been covered with corrugated iron sheets. The sliding doors at the side were unbroken. Vagrants who roamed the GSW knew not to approach.