Counterattack (7 page)
We didn't know yet. But this wasn't something I wanted to tell him.
With the robot over his shoulder, Nate turned and disappeared up the path. Thirty seconds later he reappeared and did the same with the second robot. He came back for a duffel bag with his own supplies. Then for me and Ashley.
To get me off the boat, he first lifted me and then set me on the ground. Next he went back for my wheelchair before setting me in it and rolling me forward on the path toward the rumbling noises.
Ashley followed, carrying our gear.
When we reached the end of the path, one row of trees screened us from what lay beyond. Both robots and Nate's duffel bag sat nearby.
Finally I saw the source of the rumbling noise.
“Trucks!” I said in triumph, recognizing them from the DVD-gigaroms. There was a parking lot filled with huge trucks and trailers. And on the other side was a highway, with vehicles rumbling down the pavement at high speeds. I never would have guessed they'd be so big.
“You sound like you've never seen a truck before.” Nate again eyeballed me.
I didn't answer.
Ahead of us, a truck had backed up to the edge of the parking lot. The back trailer doors were open. That, I guessed, was our destination. A truck stop. As Nate had explained, it was a rest area off the interstate where trucks fueled.
There were probably 50 trucks, so I wasn't too worried that we would be noticed. Until I saw the Combat Force soldiers guarding trucks with Federation colors. Would they see us as we loaded our stuff onto the truck?
Before I could say anything to Ashley, there was a loud explosion.
And the front end of one of the military trucks blossomed with smoke.
“Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!” Nate urged Ashley. “As soon as they figure out it's only a smoke bomb, they'll start wondering why. And we need to be gone by then.”
Ashley ran toward the back door of the trailer, carrying what she could.
Nate helped her up.
He ran back for the robots. One by one he lifted them into the trailer. He threw her his duffel bag. That left only me in the wheelchair.
Nate rolled me forward. With a loud grunt he picked both me and the wheelchair up and hoisted me into the trailer. Then he hopped in and swung both doors, putting us into temporary darkness.
“I think we're safe.” His voice echoed in the trailer.
A lurch told us the truck was moving forward.
I held my breath. If any of the soldiers were going to stop the truck, it would be in the next minute as it left this parking area.
I heard rumbling as the truck gained speed.
And finally, when I could hold my breath no longer, I relaxed.
We were on the highway.
Light hit us from the front of the trailer as a door opened.
It revealed stacks of heavy crates between the front and us. The outline of a man showed in the light. The man walked toward us on a small catwalk that led from the cab to the trailer. Nate had told us earlier that these newer trucks included sleeping quarters in the trailer.
“Not even close, Nate,” came his deep voice. “No hitches. Just like the old days. Nothing like a good old smoke bomb to distract the enemy, huh?”
“Whistler was one of the best bomb guys I had,” Nate said quietly. “We called him Whistler because he whistled all the time but couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. Still, I'd trust him with my life.”
Whistler reached us. Nate shook his hand. In the dimness I could barely see his face, but I could tell he was African-American.
“Ashley and Tyce,” Nate said proudly, “this is Whistler.”
Whistler's white teeth showed in a wide grin as he shook both our hands. “Ee-yew. You guys don't smell that pretty, let me tell you. How long you been in the swamps?”
“Too long,” Nate said with a laugh.
“Is there another driver?” I asked.
“No,” Whistler answered. “Should there be?”
“You're back here and ⦔ I'd never been in a truck before, but even I knew that someone should be at the steering wheel.
“Mag-strips,” Whistler said.
“Mag-strips?”
“You from another planet, kid?” Whistler joked.
Here we go again,
I thought.
“Everyone knows how mag-strips work,” Whistler continued.
“Go easy on him, Whistler,” Nate said quickly. “He asks crazy questions, but I know he's not stupid.” Then he turned to me. “All the interstate highways have mag-strips embedded every five feet in the pavement. They read computer sensors in the truck's axles. Between GPS and the main computer at the trucking company's head office, the trucks are guided at the right speed the right distance apart.”
“This truck can be tracked anywhere it goes?”
“Tracked and guided. But only on the interstate highways. The drivers are needed for when the trucks have to exit and head into the cities.”
“Yeah,” Whistler announced, “it's a great job for long-haul drivers. Once we get our rigs from the city streets or the truck stops onto the highway, we can kick back and relax.”
He jerked his thumb toward the rear of our trailer. “Except for the Combat Force drivers we left back at the truck stop. They're under such tight computer supervision, they can't even blink without some commander knowing it. Which is a waste, considering they always travel in a pack of 10 trucks. What's one of the drivers going to do? Peel off and try to drive away from the escort trucks? Not even a payload of tantalum is worth that kind of risk.”
“Tantalum?” I echoed.
“This kid is from Mars, isn't he?” Whistler joked to Nate. “Tantalum. The miracle metal they've been mining from the moon. Those trucks you saw back there? All of them came from the Everglades space base. That's where the shuttles land with tantalum from the Earth-Moon orbits.” He paused. “Where exactly are you guys from? All Nate told me was he needed to get you out of this area.”
“More important than where they're from,” Nate interrupted, “is for me to know where they're going. Which is something they refused to tell me until we made it out of the Everglades. Now would be as good a time as any, Tyce.”
“Not so fast,” I said. “When can we get to the nearest library?”
After about four hours on the interstate, we stopped at a motel just off the road.
Whistler rented a room near the back of the motel and parked his truck in such a way that passersby couldn't see inside the trailer as he opened the back doors. During our time on the highway, Nate had given us a couple of reasons why we should stop, and Ashley and I saw no reason to disagree.
Especially for reason number one.
Showers! After a couple of days in prison and our time in the Everglades, we needed it.
Nate carried me into the room. Ashley followed. She went into the bathroom first while Nate and I waited in the outer room and watched television. Then my turn.
I loved it. Whistler had made sure to rent a room that would accommodate my needs from a wheelchair. It was the first shower I'd ever been able to take without worrying how much water I was using. On Mars, water was far too scarce, so we were allowed showers only twice a month. The rest of the time we used an evaporating gel as soap.
Here, under the hot water that streamed down like it would never end, I couldn't believe that people on Earth had a luxury like this any day they wanted. I finally finished when I heard banging on the bathroom door.
Then Nate's turn. He went in with his duffel bag while Ashley and I flipped channels. We'd never actually used a television beforeâshe because of her time in the Institute and I because of my time on Mars. I was familiar with a lot of the programs, though, from the DVD-gigaroms I'd watched on Mars.
The television hung from the ceiling, so Ashley and I could each lie on a bed and watch.
After I flipped through all the channels twice, Nate stepped out of the bathroom. But he didn't look like Nate.
“Wow!” Ashley said.
“Is that you?” I asked.
Nate had given himself a haircut and shaved his beard. Plus, he'd changed from his crusty wilderness clothing into a black turtleneck and tan pants. I almost didn't recognize him.
“Yes, it's me,” Nate said. “We're on the run. Last thing I want is to draw attention to us by looking like a hermit.”
I kept flipping channels as he spoke.
“Whistler's not back yet?” he asked.
The truck was still outside, but Nate had asked Whistler to take a taxi to a car rental place to rent a van.
“Heâ” Ashley stopped as a car horn beeped outside. She smiled. “He's right here.”
“Good,” Nate said. “I'll say good-bye to him for all of us. You guys wait here while I unload the stuff from the trailer to the van. Then the three of us can travel by ourselves.”
“Hang on!” I shouted. It felt like my eyes were bugging out of my head as I pointed at the television.
“Yes?” Nate looked confused. Filling the screen was the face of an old man handling a press conference.
“It's him!”
“Sure it's him. It's big news, this week's annual gathering of the Governors of Justice. In New York.”
“You have television in your cabin in the Everglades?” Ashley asked.
“No. Radio.”
“Oh,” she said.
“You don't get it,” I told them. This wasn't the time for idle conversation. “It's him!”
“What's the big deal?” Nate put in. “Everybody knows who he is. The supreme governor. Head of the Governors of Justice. Aside from the president of the World United Federation, he's the most powerful man in the world.”
“But it's him!” I claimed excitedly. “The guy my dad held hostage in the Combat Force prison!”
A half hour later we were on the interstate again, where GPS and an onboard computer system in the van guided us among the other vehicles through the mag-strip sensors embedded in the pavement.
I looked around. All I saw were large trucks, cars, and vans traveling at precisely the same speed we were, since the computer system maintained the proper distance between each vehicle.
Trees and hanging vines formed walls of green on both sides of the interstate. Over the previous hours of travel, the highway had lost some of its flatness and straightness. Nate had promised that as we traveled farther north, the surroundings would change even more.
“Do you like your library?” Nate asked, turning from behind the steering wheel to Ashley and me in the back of the van.
“Library?” I asked.
“Sure.”
I was so used to Nate with a beard, it was strange to see his smile surrounded by smooth skin. “I know you're carrying a comp-board. We'll just plug it in to the Internet as we drive. You can find anything you need.”
I sure hoped he was right.
“You know we have a comp-board?” Ashley repeated.
“Of course. Think I'd take you guys anywhere without searching all of your possessions while you slept? I was disappointed I needed a password to access the information.”
It made me glad I hadn't gone into my journal earlier.
“That's not fair,” Ashley said.
“Who said I had to be fair? We've got two different branches of military after us. My ex-commander and your prison people. But you won't tell me why. You want me to take you somewhere, but you won't give me the location. You won't even tell me why you were held in prison or what those robots are for. Plus, I've been offered a lot of money for you. By Cannon. And by you guys. Which leads me to another thing. How you have that much money. Face it. There's a lot of questions about all of this. I'd be dumb not to find out what I can.”
“I still don't think it's fair.” Ashley frowned.
Nate gave her a charming grin. “As long as you don't kick me in the shins again.”
“Guys?” I interrupted. “Library?”
“One wireless Internet connection is up front here,” Nate said, still grinning as Ashley kept giving him a dirty look. “And there's another in the back beside your wheelchair.”
“We'll take the one in the back where you can't watch,” I said, returning the same kind of grin he gave us. “We'd hate for you to find out anything else until we were ready.”
The hum of the pavement beneath the van's wheels would screen our conversation from Nate. “Okay,” I whispered to Ashley. “I know we spent hours and hours talking about this on the spaceship, but I want to be sure I've got it right. When they took you from the Institue, All you saw was âArker,' right?”
“It was night,” she said, sitting directly beside my wheelchair. “Remember, they had me drugged with something when they took me out of there. I could barely keep even one eye open. It was like a real bad fever, where you're not sure if what you are seeing is real or not. We got on a highway, and there was this skinny green sign. I think it said Arker 11.”
