The Proving (11 page)

“Did you toss your sanctioned boots?” Gabriel asked, pointing to her feet. He turned to the Historian, who had his head slightly tilted to avoid bumping into the handful of steel storage cabinets and medical devices that lined the wall above him. “I want that officially recorded. Including her attitude.”

Cleo made a raspberry sound with her tongue. “Ease up, government boy. All I was doing was asking if that really was your mom. I don’t see why you went all rage-master on me.”

“Yeah,” Wei chimed in. Gabriel turned to her, giving her the stink eye.

“We’re almost at the end of the mag-track,” the Spartan girl announced. “Detaching in just under a minute.”

Cleo turned back to her console. “I’ve downloaded the coordinates. All we gotta do is follow the blue line all the way to the station. This is gonna be so easy. I bet it’s the solar array’s photovoltaic heat dispersal. I practically
majored
in photovoltaics!”

“Detaching in thirty seconds,” the Spartan girl announced. Gabriel leaned in to watch. She had both hands underneath the glass piloting console, tucked inside a small compartment, her hands clutching twin joysticks. Gabriel was sure there was a more technical term for it, but the steering contraption looked eerily similar to a game that might be found at a virtuarcade.

“Watch,” Gabriel told Wei. “This is going to be neat.”

Ahead was the farthest western train station and just beyond that: the end of the tracks, punctuated with a yellow barrier composed of rubber and massive springs designed to absorb the impact of any wayward trains. But as the Tumbler surged forward, the rubber barrier began to slowly descend. Beyond it was a concrete frontage road leading out between the last few squat robotics factory buildings. Beyond those were essential GMO crops — soy, corn, hemp — undergoing testing by Clan Athens. Little white towers loomed over the corn stalks.

“What are those?” Wei asked, pointing to one of the towers.

“Bee hives,” Gabriel answered. “They pollinate the Athenian fruit trees in the parks.”

“They pollinate everything,” Tahlia said. “We use a slightly modified breed of
apis mellifera
. They dance to communicate!”

“They’re pretty awesome,” Cleo added. “We built these little machines that can transport the hives to the crops beyond the Xenoshield.”

Beyond the crops were the VR guns. Each one was the size of an autotaxi, aimed out at the tree-covered hills beyond the Xenoshield, laid out in a neat row along the invisible perimeter.

“Detaching!” Skye shouted. Beneath their feet, they could feel the Tumbler’s heavy wheels lock into place. The mag-lev deactivated and the Tumbler’s wheels hit the concrete. The vehicle jolted slightly and slowed a moment, then sped up as Skye’s little brother tapped his finger on the glass command console.

They passed the experimental corn crops and beehive towers. Gabriel watched through the windshield, remembering the lines of an ancient poem:

We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.

But when the bath was filled, we found a fur,

a rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.

They passed rows of soy, passed a handful of old warehouse buildings with broken windows and burnt-out digital ad screens sitting on top of the roofs. Beyond the abandoned buildings were fresh meadows of green grass and tall trees with fat canopies of leaves, interspersed with a few small Clan Athens animal testing labs made of dark gray concrete.

Finally, they passed the last Clan Sparta outpost: two steel bunkers each equipped with double VR cannons aimed in the direction of the mountains.

Red lights flashed on the ceiling above Gabriel. He looked up, feeling his heart quicken its pace.

“Warning,” came a concerned female voice. “Leaving the Safe Zone. Warning. Leaving the Safe Zone.”

“Just shut that off,” Skye said over her shoulder.

Cleo pulled up a list of commands on her holoscreen, shutting off the warning system.

“Are we out?” Wei asked, grabbing Gabriel’s arm. “Are we not safe anymore?”

“Just wait a moment,” Gabriel said. “You’ll know.”

The Tumbler slowed, then rocked on its suspensions as it reached the other side of the Xenoshield. Just like that, they were in a different world. The road wasn’t quite as smooth. The grass grew tall and wild. There were signs of civilization, long ago abandoned. Vegetation overtook old homes that had belonged to a suburb; weeds ripped apart wooden paneling and slipped out of holes in the windows. Where a small commercial district had once been, it was now a forest, the tall ash and slender birch trees overwhelming the old buildings.

“What’s that?” Wei asked, pointing to a long building on the right of the road. Trees were bursting through the old concrete like a plague.

“That’s where they used to raise animals,” Ben explained gently. “Thousands and thousands of animals. When it was abandoned, the wind started carrying dirt and seeds inside the building through the broken windows. Trees started growing. Now it looks like that.”

“Wow,” Wei said, pursing her lips. Her eyes were wide in amazement. Gabriel liked that she was curious, not scared. They didn’t know the others in this Coterie. He’d been transferred for some reason beyond his control and now he was here among strangers. The last thing he needed was for Wei to embarrass him. As childish as it was, he couldn’t help but want to make a good impression. For his sake and for his mother’s sake.

The Tumbler shook. Skye reached up on the console and pressed one of the glowing buttons. Under their feet, the engine took on a distinct rumbling sound.

“What’s that noise?” Wei asked, her legs swinging.

“I don’t know,” Gabriel said. “But the Spartan knows what she’s doing.”

The Tumbler bounced again, then picked up speed. Gabriel looked out the front window, watching massive fields of grain and corn and soy pass them by. In each of the fields were a handful of car-sized machines on tall, thin black wheels, moving between the rows.

“What are those?” Wei asked.

“Our saviors,” said the Persian girl. She swiveled in her chair to watch as they passed a massive field of soy. There was a machine near the road, reaching down with five human-like arms of steel, running its black fingers between the green soy leaves. It reminded Gabriel of a spider, only someone had had the foresight to give the machine a purple paintjob and a quaint little digital face whose eyes watched the arms with an excited expression. “They’re picking soybean aphids. Right, Athens? Or are they picking beetles?”

Ben frowned. “Uh, I don’t remember . . .”

“It’s both,” his little sister answered. She sat up straighter in her chair, thumbs hooking the straps. “This time of year, it might be a number of potential pests. The aphids are a descendant of the
aphis glycines
, and they can usually be controlled by introducing a predator. But beetles feed on the stems, so they can pose a big threat.”

“That’s right!” said Ben. He reached over and ruffled his sister’s hair. “Oftentimes the larvae will feed on the nitrogen-fixing nodules —”

“All right, all right,” Cleo said. “She didn’t ask for a scientific breakdown, professor.”

Ben’s mouth hung open for a moment. Gabriel smiled. The Athenian boy seemed awkward, a little unsure of what to make of the rude Persian girl or how to react. Come to think of it, Gabriel wasn’t sure how to react to her, either. It was clear that Cleo had more than a hint of antagonistic tendencies in her DNA.

They sat for a while in silence with only the Tumbler’s engine humming beneath their feet. Finally, Cleo pulled up a colorful program on her holoscreen, pecking at floating white hologram buttons with her index finger. Through the same overhead speakers that had issued the shield warning came crunching guitars and sonic thumps. Thankfully, she was kind enough to keep the volume at a reasonably low level — but still . . . the music was
grating
. It wasn’t what Gabriel would normally consider “music” at all. More like a construction site overwhelmed by minstrels.

“I hope none of you mind disco-metal,” Cleo said with a smile. “It’s a passion of mine.”

Skye looked over her shoulder, frowning but saying nothing. Ben shifted in his seat, scratching at his receding hairline. “Um, did you compose this music yourself?”

Cleo laughed. “
As if
I could compose music this good!”

Gabriel turned to the Historian, who was watching with a blank expression. No doubt recording all of it. Gabriel wondered if he should say something about the noise, just so it would go in the record. He didn’t want to, but he knew that showing maturity would make his mother happy. Not to mention just about everyone else in Parliament.

Damn them. Why did they have such high hopes for him? Just because his mother and father contributed so much . . . what, was he
destined
to do great things? Was he guaranteed a place in Parliament when he came of age?

Well, yes. The voting process was democratic in the purest form: everyone — free citizens and clan members alike — had a vote, and only the candidates themselves could speak on behalf of their campaign. For some, that was a challenge. For Gabriel, all it would take was for him to stand in front of a crowd and mention his surname. The crowd would go wild. They would elect him in a landslide.

And then they would expect greatness from him.

“We’re coming up on the Sarkeesian Wildlife Corridor,” Cleo said excitedly. “This is going to be real cool, you guys. Watch!”

Everyone leaned in to look out the windshield. Ahead, the horizon seemed to roll over the road, creating a long bridge of earth held up by narrow concrete support structures. Long blades of grass billowed in the breeze, bringing the bridge to life.

“What is it?” Wei asked. Gabriel turned to the Historian.

Seamus cleared his throat. “Before the Specter attack, humanity did its best to coexist with nature. Wildlife corridors allowed wildlife to traverse busy roads without crossing them.”

“It’s an animal bridge!” Wei said excitedly. They passed underneath it, through a dark tunnel illuminated by the Tumbler’s bluish headlights. Gabriel imagined what it must have been like, driving and seeing a herd of deer crossing the grassy bridge above the road. It was probably beautiful. People no doubt stopped and took pictures, preserving memories so they could show friends. Look, a herd of deer, grazing right above us! Look, a wild ostrich!

Or maybe people got so used to it that they didn’t even notice after a while.

They emerged from the tunnel, passing an old sign that warned drivers to slow down. Its red paint was faded almost to the point of obscurity. Green vines crawled up the metal post.

“What’s
that
?” Wei asked, sitting up straighter so she could point to a wide building coming up on the left side of the road.

Gabriel squinted. “That . . . I
think
I know what that is.”

The building was black, cracked and splintered in places and crumbling in others. It looked damaged . . . not abandoned.
Destroyed
.

Skye slowed the vehicle as it got closer. Behind the large building were hundreds of smaller structures, each one blackened and charred, the concrete crumbling apart like delicate crumbs of chocolate cake. Tall, leafy plants with fat, green stalks grew near the buildings but kept their distance, as if hesitant. Maple trees seemed to lean away from the black structures.

They moved past it. Old Spartan cannons sat abandoned and rusting amidst thick bushes with heavy, arm-length green leaves. Not VR cannons, either . . . real cannons, the kind that fired explosive ordnance written about in History books.

“Jericho,” Cleo announced, bringing up a schematic of the city on her holoscreen.

“I can’t see it,” Wei said, peering around Gabriel to get a better look at Cleo’s console.

The Persian cackled. “I’ll take care of that. Just keep watching through the windshield.”

They did. And as they grew closer, the cityscape shimmered, changing, growing, the ruins replaced by ancient architecture. Squat, stone structures. An aqueduct trailing toward the mountains. A wall, built, torn down, built again. The structures collapsed and were replaced with smaller dwellings and holy churches with grand architecture that seemed to impress the Athenian named Ben, who leaned in his seat with his mouth agape. The holy sites collapsed, replaced by smaller homes. Another wall went up. Three skyscrapers emerged, and slowly all of the homes were replaced with rectangular housing units. The image shimmered again. The ancient wall slowly crumbled. More modern-looking squat buildings replaced the skyscrapers. Gabriel recognized this era. It was when the nearby mineral mine was expended, causing a mass migration to Neo Berlin and turning Jericho into nothing more than a tourist trap. A place where vacationers could marvel at a few carefully preserved relics.

The mirage flickered again, then collapsed, revealing the modern ruins. “Crud,” Cleo murmured. “Clan Persia is, uh, still working the kinks out of this new visual augmentation program, but you get the picture.”

Gabriel recited an ancient poem from memory: “The fighting man shall from the sun . . . take warmth, and life from glowing earth; speed with the light-foot winds to run . . . and with the trees to newer birth; and find, when fighting shall be done, great rest, and fullness after dearth.”

They were silent a moment, staring out at what remained of the town.

“One hundred thirty years ago,” said the Historian, “after three long years of fighting, this ancient town became Neo Berlin’s last hope. The city was nearly free of Specters, destroyed by first-generation proton weapons developed by Clan Persia. The Xenoshield was only days from completion, but it had undergone numerous setbacks. But to the west, more than ten thousand Specters were moving through the mountain range like a herd of animals, drawn to the human life in Neo Berlin. Beyond the mountains, the city of Lavinth was already wiped out.”

“What happened?” asked the younger Athenian named Tahlia. She leaned forward in her seat to watch the blackened buildings pass. All of the Young Adults did the same, anxious to get a better look through the windshield. Wei’s hand pressed down painfully hard on Gabriel’s knee as she craned her head.