On the freeway the pace picked up, though people were still driving too close. The lightstorm above the planet, up where the valiant Thunderthorns were flying, was increasing. They were still thirty klicks out from Yantwich when the first real shoal of debris punctured the base of the grim cloud. Whatever it was, the mass had started to split apart in the atmosphere as impact shocks pummeled away at its cohesion. Thirty or forty fireballs thundered down, drawing long filthy contrails behind them, their seething heads rippling out shock waves. The concussions in the lower, denser atmosphere were fracturing the material at an increasing rate, splitting them into new flocks of lethal incandescence. They smashed onto the fields on the south of the freeway, kicking up huge plumes of soil and water. Angela saw a combine harvester flung thirty meters into the air, tumbling in a slow twirl. Then the shock waves and sonic booms swept across the road.
At first Angela thought something had crashed into the side of the ambulance. It was shoved violently across the road, forcing her to swerve frantically to avoid the low crash barrier at the side. In front of her she saw two smaller cars flip over on their sides. Several did strike the barrier, one corkscrewing around, the others bouncing back with big dints in the side. A van smacked into the offside rear corner of the ambulance, sending it shuddering and skidding sideways until she fought it back level.
Nobody stopped to help those that had stalled or crashed. A couple of kilometers farther along, when the injured had staggered out of their crumpled-up cars to shelter on the side of the road, they waved urgently at the ambulance. Angela kept on going.
The clouds were breaking up, taking the rains away from Yantwich. She could see downtown’s meager cluster of skyscrapers on the horizon now. But the clearing sky was plagued with fluctuating light from the fusion bombs and a deeper more persistent scarlet radiance from rifts that were expanding despite the best efforts of the Thunderthorn pilots. New Florida’s own sun was slowly losing its dominance as the rifts grew to engulf space around the planet. Okeechobee had vanished altogether.
More battle debris came hurtling down in flame. Angela’s e-i reported it couldn’t find any net to link to. And the traffic was relentless. Each on-ramp was jammed solid. Cars at the front were simply shunting their way into the traffic zooming along the freeway. More and more she was seeing cars in the other carriageway heading in the same direction as her.
“Angela,” Saul called. “Her oxygen rate is falling.”
Angela swore as a big pickup truck cut her up. A blazing comet arched over the freeway, spitting out a barrage of gravel-sized shards that hit the asphalt like glowing bullets. She heard two thud into the ambulance’s bodywork. The car on her left veered sharply. “Deal with it,” she shouted back at him.
Signs for the gateway were starting to appear along the side of the freeway. She let out a little gasp of relief when she saw they only had ten kilometers to go. The disintegrating comet landed on a timber merchant a kilometer off the freeway, sitting in its own everglade clearing. She saw it in the rearview mirror. The whole site was obliterated in a second, vanishing beneath a wave of flame and soil.
Eight kilometers from the gate a big convoy of armored personnel carriers and giant Terrain Jeeps were racing down the carriageway taking them away from Yantwich. Red strobes and dazzling headlights heralded their passage; the cars using that carriageway had to get out of the way fast, pushing their way back onto the right side of the freeway.
When she passed the lead Terrain Jeep she saw the HDA emblem on the side and felt like cheering. The convoy just kept coming; there were hundreds of vehicles, carrying thousands of troops. A little farther on HDA vehicles were parked up on the verge, and marines with long automatic rifles were poised on both sides of the freeway, watching the traffic. All the drivers started to calm down, slowing and keeping a reasonable distance. The horns fell silent. Civilization and order had returned.
It took another nine minutes to cover the last five kilometers to the gateway. The sky was darkening now, a malaised red shimmer from the rifts obscuring the sun. Angela knew it would never recover. The only white light they saw now came from the nukes, whose blasts were increasing in frequency. Smoke and fine-particle debris clotted the lower atmosphere. Material kept raining down from above, most of it bursting apart as it arrived, sketching billowing black smoke trails, spreading smaller splinters wide, smoke lines multiplying.
The HDA had taken complete control of the approach to the gateway, channeling vehicles fleeing from the city into the stream that poured off the end of the freeway. Checkpoints and barriers had gone; there was a single dividing line of red steel bollards down the middle. The ambulance slowed to a crawl in the queue that stretched along the last kilometer. And still HDA troops and vehicles came through from Earth, rushing to help where they could.
Five minutes of the ambulance crawling forward at walking pace, and they passed through the gateway to Florida where the stars sparkled in a sky that was still two hours before dawn. The gateway district in Weston, due west of Fort Lauderdale, occupied the whole Shenadoah district south of the 595, with big arterial roads feeding in from the 595’s interchange with the 75. Here, it was state troopers on traffic duty; they were a lot more excitable than the HDA marines on the other side, waving their guns around like high school kids at a game as they ordered everyone onto the 595.
Angela’s e-i told her it was acquiring the transnet, and she pulled out available routes. The ambulance’s auto warned her there were strict traffic protocols in force, and all vehicles were being advised to switch to auto for correct management. The greater Miami traffic macromesh was clearing the freeways of all local traffic, which given the time of morning was relatively easy. Priority was for HDA convoys coming in from their local bases and heading to the three gateways; and to get the refugees clear. The primary objective already activated by the governor was to keep the traffic flowing, preventing any kind of jam around the gateway. The other two New Florida gateways—in Greater Miami at Kendall and Boca Raton—were undergoing identical traffic controls. Freeway off-ramps were being closed, forcing the refugees north, where designated reception and onward transit centers on abandoned military bases were being opened ready to process however many of New Florida’s twenty million inhabitants managed to get out. Compassion aside, the one thing the district mayors and state governor wanted to avoid at all costs was having the refugees swamp the existing Greater Miami area.
The e-i found the best local pediatric center, the Dan Marino Center attached to the Cleveland Clinic Hospital. It sat on the side of the 75 just four kilometers south of the gateway. The metamesh and state troopers and highway patrol cars had sealed off the access roads to the southbound 75.
She requested clearance, declaring a medical emergency. The metamesh AI refused permission for the route. A file came back saying medical facilities were being made available at the reception and onward transit centers. All refugees were required to use them.
“Hell!” Angela exclaimed. The freeway restrictions already covered the whole of the 95 up to Palm Bay. By the time she got there the prohibition would likely be extended. Westbound, the 75 was open to refugees; she could get across the national preserve to Naples where there was a reasonable hospital. But that would take hours. And the Dan Marino was minutes away. Minutes.
“How is she?” Angela asked.
“The resuscitator is on,” Saul said in a frightened voice. “I think I did it right, her blood is still showing as oxygenated.”
“All right. We’re going to a hospital. Hang on.” She was all for smashing past the squad cars parked across the road, except the troopers had guns and the way everyone was wired they’d shoot without much provocation. Instead she told the auto to take the 75 west.
“What are you doing?” Saul shouted. “We should go north. There’s a center an hour away at speed.”
“And that’s going to have a specialist unit that can treat Rebka for sure?” she spat. “Shut up and let me deal with this. I have to make a call.”
It wasn’t an access code she’d ever expected to use again. The mystery was why it was still even in her address cache. She really should have wiped it sometime in the last eight years. Really, she should. Her e-i made the call.
“Angela?” Housden asked. “My God, it’s been forever. How are you? Where are you?”
Angela hardened her face, fighting the lump in her throat. He’d taken the call. Actually taken it. She’d been bracing herself for his e-i to tell her to go to hell. Not all New Monaco residents were filth after all. “I’m in Miami. I’m sorry, I wouldn’t call unless I had to. Housden, I need help.”
“Miami? Shit, Angela, be careful. A Zanthswarm has been declared on New Florida, I only found out about it a couple of hours ago. That whole planet is going to come knocking down your door.”
“Housden,” she said. “I’m one of the refugees.” All she could think was: two hours ago? How did he know then? She hadn’t even started jogging two hours ago. So much of New Monaco life she had forgotten.
“Oh,” he said. “Right. Of course, I should have guessed. A new world. That’s damn bad luck.”
“Housden, I need to get to the Dan Marino Center at the Cleveland Clinic Hospital, but the National Guard are blocking the off-ramps. Do you know anyone in the governor’s office?”
“No. But the family machine can swing it, you know that. What do you need?”
Angela studied the map her e-i was throwing across her netlens glasses. “I need to get off the 75 at the Glades Parkway.”
“It’s done. Or it will be by the time you get there. Send me your vehicle license code.”
“Thank you, Housden. I mean that. You were my last hope.”
“Hey, it’s nothing. Ah, the file’s here. Angela, that’s an ambulance. Are you injured?”
“No, Housden. It’s my daughter. I’ve got to get her to the doctors.”
“You had kids? Aww, Angela, that’s great. I have two myself now. We should get them together some time.”
He didn’t understand, she raged in silent mortification, he knows my name, but he doesn’t know how life is lived in the real world. “She’s sick, Housden, really sick.”
“If she’s your daughter she’ll pull through. There was never anyone tougher, Angela. That’s what I always adored about you.”
“Good-bye, Housden. You were the greatest.”
“Good-bye, Angela. Good luck.”
Angela drove steadily in the pre-dawn light. This section of the 75 was called Alligator Alley, a broad six-lane freeway with a big drainage waterway running along the northern side, forming a border to the vast Everglades Wildlife Park.
“Who was that?” Saul asked quietly.
Angela supposed she’d been talking out loud rather than the usual throat whisper; he’d have heard her half of the conversation, picked up the emotional tone. “Old friend,” she said with a dry mouth. “I used up my last favor.”
“Seriously? You know people who can order state governors around?”
“It’s not like that, not at their level. Everything is reciprocal.”
“But—”
“Just leave it. Rebka needed him, okay. Nothing else matters.”
There were five highway patrol cars parked to block the Glades Parkway off-ramp, and two big personnel carriers from the National Guard backing them up. Angela slowed the ambulance to a halt by the first patrol car. An officer in armored uniform was on the side of the road waiting for them. She lowered the window.
“Ms. DeVoyal?” he asked.
“That’s me.” And she could imagine Saul’s face behind her, his hurt and confusion.
“I’ve got orders to escort you to the Dan Marino Center,” the officer said in a voice that told anyone listening he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.
“Thank you.”
“You must have a very important patient in there, the order came direct from the governor’s office.”
“My daughter.”
That seemed to satisfy him, though it was clear he wanted to know why she was in the driver’s seat. “Okay, follow me.”
Four days later, on the day HDA command shut down their New Florida operation and pulled their last people back through the gateways, Angela and Saul were sitting in the office of Dr. Elyard, Dan Marino’s head of genetics. The doctor came in wearing a white clinic coat, looking vaguely harried, the sign of all department heads. He was a short man who was putting on a lot of weight; a receding hairline exposed a wide brow that was pricked with sweat despite the aircon.
He sat behind his blue retro-Coulsmith desk and gave them a tight smile. “We had Rebka’s genetic assay back yesterday from the Beijing Genomics Institute. Sorry it’s taken a while for us to review it. Half of my junior staff are away volunteering at the refugee centers. However, I’ve been over the results myself. I must say I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“In what way?” Saul asked.
The doctor took off his frameless netlens glasses and started polishing them. “The team treating Rebka at Palmville County General were correct, there is an underlying systemic problem. We determined it when we sequenced both of your genomes as well.”
Angela felt the blood leave her cheeks. After they’d sorted out Rebka’s respiratory issue with a temporary oxygenator shunt, taking the strain off her little lungs, the Dan Marino team had gone after the problem of her multiple disorders with considerable vigor. Even Angela’s gold star insurance didn’t cover all of the tests; she had to pay the excess out of a secondary portfolio in which she’d invested the money from her New Monaco jewelry. “What’s wrong?” she asked coldly.
“Mrs. Howard,” the doctor said. “Excuse my bluntness, but we’ve never seen a genome like yours before. You’re a one-in-ten, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What?” Saul grunted.
“A one-in-ten refers to a specific artificial sequence,” the doctor said. “It reduces normal aging factors in a human body after puberty.”
“How did that happen?” Saul asked dumbly.
“It’s a germline process,” the doctor explained. “We also noticed some considerable improvements made to your organ functions and the immune system. You have quite a genetic profile, Mrs. Howard.”