Broken (24 page)

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.

"Shit, I want to see some action," growled Kent. "Australia sucks."

"It’s boring," Wayne confirmed. "Hey, Mike. When are we gonna shoot something?"
"Soon," Michael promised. He peered  ahead, but could see nothing but endless road. The compound hadn’t seemed so far on the map. Traffic was thinning out. The desert was clearly visible now, and there were far fewer houses lining the road.

A siren blared behind them. "Hey, you there!" a voice shouted. "Stop right where you stand!"

A police mag-car hovered behind them, lights flashing.

"Oh, shit," Monica said, edging back.

"Hold on," Michael warned as Kent and Wayne started moving. "Wait for my signal." They stopped.

Two men stepped out of the mag-car. One trained his pistol on Michael. "What’s all this?" he asked. "You have ID? Let’s see it."

Two possibilities diverged from here. Both led to the thin man eventually, but one was quicker. And here the moment came…

"No ID," Michael said. "Left it at home, sorry."

"A
foreigner
," hissed the cop. "And a
Yank
at that! Well, you’re coming in with us. Get in there." He gestured with his gun.

The moment arrived.

"Now," Michael said quietly, and hit the ground. With a whoop, Wayne and his boys dragged out their guns and blazed away at the startled cops.

Michael saw flashes of plasma fire and heard the
crack
of bullets. Both officers fell with a thud, each a bloody mess.

"The car!" called Michael. "Let’s go! Everybody squeeze in!"

They managed to pile into the police vehicle. Parker took the wheel; Michael and Wayne sat in the front. Kent, Banner, Broken, and Monica squeezed together in the back. "Go!" yelled Michael as soon as everybody was in. Parker hit the accelerator; the car lurched out onto the road. Wayne was screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Yah-HOOOOOO!" he called. "Yah! Yah! YAAAH!" He leaned out the window and fired his gun in the air.

"I—I think I killed one," Banner said, white as a sheet.

"Yeah, you did, buddy!" Kent beamed, slapping him on the back. Banner rolled down his window, leaned out, and puked up his guts.

"Glad he’s in the window seat," Michael remarked calmly.

"Me, too," Monica said, face white.

* * *

Parker powered the car down the highway. The ride was smooth; they hovered on an electromagnetic cushion, and the acceleration and deceleration was controlled by manipulating the magnetic field. Some highways in North America were magnetic, but not many.

"This is a great road," Parker said. "Not many like it in Jersey."

"Yeah," Wayne said. "Nice and smooth. I love it!" His eyes were wild, his grin intense and more than a little crazed.

Michael stared down the road. As the sun set, it glimmered off the sand and asphalt, throwing off sheets of wavering light. They were really out in the desert now, no houses anywhere nearby and nothing but dust and rocks as far as the eye could see. The base had to be close.

They passed a sign. Michael barely had time to read it.

"Turn around!" he cried. Parker jerked on the wheel, and the car swung wildly around. When it stopped, they were pointing in the other direction. They were the only vehicle on the road.

"That road there," Michael pointed. "The base is there."

"You sure?"
Michael nodded. "Eyre Field. Go down there." Parker nodded and swung the car onto the road.

No one spoke. Michael’s heart was beating fast. No one knew what would happen when they reached the end of this road, not even him. He glanced back at the others. Broken gave him a reassuring smile. Monica’s head was lowered, and her lips were moving. A prayer? Not the worst idea.

Michael remembered his visions. A huge, flat, concrete field, with a small, squat control building. That was all he could remember…

They crested a small hill—and there it was. The field was an ocean of concrete, dotted with control buildings here and there. It was entirely empty, save for one small spaceship crouched next to a lit control building. An electric shock of familiarity—and fear—coursed through Michael.