Luca (23 page)

The man nods. “Get above them. Kill the two males. Destroy their gyropods. Burn the bodies.”

“And the female? Do you know who she is?”

“Yes, sir. Qaara Kapoor.”

“That’s right.
The
Qaara Kapoor. Inventor of Graff. Worth more than any other asset of the company. Kidnapped and brainwashed by a couple of Fringe-scum thugs. And what are you going to do with her?”

“Bring her back alive and untouched. Under no circumstances will I allow any harm to come to her.”

Mercer nods to the holo. “Exactly. Her life is worth ten thousand of yours. Do you understand?”

“On my life, sir.”

“I
will
hold you to that. Failure is not an option.”

“It will be over and done in less than two minutes, sir.”

“Have you ever flown a mission into the Zone before?”

“No, sir.”

“You and your ship may have the upper hand in terms of technology, but battles are not always won by technology. The Zone is a dangerous place. Unpredictable in the extreme. I’ve heard it’s especially bad near the Divide. My intel indicates recent activity in the area. Your activities might attract attention. Be careful. Take nothing for granted. Stick to your mission, and get out of there as soon as you can.”

“Understood.”

“One more thing.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Engage the camera and feed it to my location. I want to have a front row seat.”

“Will do, sir.”

Gazing at the large holo in the middle of the dark room, Mercer adjusts his shades and reaches for another lemon.

31

MANTA RAY

An ear-splitting scream.

Motor-tone volume turned up to the max, Jedd leads the charge, leaning forward into the front handlebars and veering off the road. He guns it for the only place to hide, a low rise of hills two kilometers away. It draws him like a magnet across the flat landscape.

At his current speed, it will take less than forty-five seconds to get there.

Ricky is on his left, rigid as a rod of steel, white- knuckle grip, his cycle rising, catching air, and falling with the bumpy ground. A swirl of dirt climbs high behind him.

No matter what they do, a simple fact remains: the heli-ship will come within firing range of them just as they make the summit of the hill. Their only chance is to drop down the other side and get out of sight before they get shot.

Thirty seconds to go.

On Jedd’s right, Qaara is standing up on the foot rails, face straining above the windshield, deep brown eyes, two rows of brilliant teeth under smiling lips, mouth open, ignoring the danger, eating up the world.

So beautiful. So fragile.

From out of nowhere, Jedd imagines a pulse round exploding under her cycle, throwing her body up, back arched, high into the air. He shakes his head, wiping the thought away.

No.

With the image of Qaara gone, other memories flood into Jedd’s mind. He thinks of his prior life with the Family, the long nightmare of living under Moses’ rule, wandering the land, preying on the weak, trying to survive.

Moses was the one who taught Jedd how to hide. Where to find unwary travelers. How to set an ambush.

Suddenly, Jedd sees the speeding cycle through the eyes of a man from the Zone. Rare technology worth killing for. Easy, unlimited transportation.

The top of the hill is twenty seconds away. A thought pops into his mind.

If I were Moses
—

An inner voice yells at him to stop.

He ignores it.

The terrain begins to slope up. Through the blasting motor-tone, Jedd senses a subtle vibration in his chest cavity, growing deeper with each breath.

Thump, thump, thump.

Can’t stop now.

In a flash, Jedd knows how it will pan out. The heli-ship pilot will start shooting before it’s even in range. The pilot will know the low frequency pulse of his rotors has already given away his ship’s position. He’ll know that the sound is designed to strike terror into the heart of its prey, to play with them. And then the ships guns will shoot, finding their range after a few shots.

Get ready,
Jedd thinks.

Ten seconds to the summit.

He feels a buzz inside his head, moving back and forth between his ears, blurring his vision. His pulse explodes in his temples. A thought recurs.

The perfect trap.

Too late.

There’s a whoosh. The touch of a shockwave. A cloud of dirt blooms ten meters ahead, and Jedd’s cycle is instantly engulfed in dust. A second later, he comes out the other side.

The buzz in his head moves to his eyeballs. They feel like bombs, about to detonate.

The next shot won’t miss.

“Hold on!” he yells, but his voice is lost in the
thump, thump, thump
.

As he makes the summit, Qaara and Ricky on either side, the ground drops away. All three of them arc high in the air. Gyro-sensors hum under Jedd’s seat, keeping the cycle stable. Looking down past his feet, he catches a glimpse of dozens of people in old military fatigues. They swarm a black machine that has a long barrel and looks like a massive artillery piece, the kind Jedd has read about in histories of the great wars in Old Europe during the twentieth century.

Jedd’s gyropod travels over and beyond the people, their eyes tracing his movements across the sky.

As the gyropod lands, Jedd sees a line of dozens of children dressed in rags just ahead. Holding hands, they are standing directly in his path. He cranks the handlebars to avoid hitting them, but it’s too much for the pod. It goes down, skidding to a stop.

Pain pricks his face and neck like a dozen wasp stings. Reaching up, his hand brushes against a needle sticking out of his skin and comes away holding a tiny, bloody dart.

His can’t feel his fingers or toes.

Through hazy eyes, he turns to see Ricky running. Mobs of children chase after him, each holding small blowguns to their lips. Ricky moves in slow motion before he collapses.

Qaara is face down in the dust.

Jedd’s mind screams, but his lips refuse to move.

Tiny hands pull him to the ground. He drops to his knees, shielding his ears.

The
thump, thump, thump
is overpowering. The heli-ship rises from behind the hill like a gargantuan manta ray and hovers above the people. Directly below, the massive black barrel on the ground swings to a vertical position.

The ground shudders.

The belly of the heli-ship explodes into a cloud of sparks and fire.

32

RED AND VIOLET

Mercer’s mouth drops open. A lemon seed falls out and rolls onto the floor. He stares at the holo, rewinding to see it again, frame by frame.

He sees a desert landscape in the background. Filthy people dressed in old military uniforms mill around. The black barrel of an old artillery piece swings up until he’s staring down its open bore. A shell fires.

An explosion blooms, red and violet.

And then blackness.

The pilot doesn’t respond to repeated calls. He must be dead.

How is it possible that a hi-tech heli-ship got shot down with a century-old weapon?

He grabs his jax and swipes his finger down the side. The image of a blond woman in black leather pops up.

“I’ve just seen it.” The woman’s face pales and her hands shake. "The heli-ship had Graff-hardened armor on its underbelly. Perhaps it survived. I’ll send a reconnaissance team to assess damage—”

“Don’t.” Mercer leans forward, staring at the woman’s head above his jax. He struggles to contain his rising rage. “The Zone is more dangerous than you led me to believe.”

“My assessments were based on the latest intel—”

“And now it looks like our prey has gotten away. Again. Maybe they weren’t so crazy for going to the Zone after all.” Mercer congratulates himself for keeping his voice calm.

The woman clears her throat and straightens her hair. “The sniffer bugs on the gyropods are still intact and functioning. We’ll continue to track them. We really should commission another ship—”

Mercer’s voice goes into a slow crescendo. “We don’t even know if they’re dead or alive, you miserable excuse for a—” He jabs his finger at the end of the jax. The holo of the woman’s face disappears.

What he needs now is a careful, calm assessment of the situation. He pulls in a deep breath and reaches for a glass of the blue liquid.

It’s become much more complicated than he ever intended. Qaara, if she
is
alive, has just been captured by a nomadic tribe in the Zone. Mercer’s heard of them. Descendants of the people of the interior who got cut off from the coast decades ago. Periodic patrols along the border and the Divide all help keep it that way. Now and then, a few of the plucky ones get through and take up life in the Fringe.

He wonders.

How long will Qaara last in the Zone?

33

MOSES

“Swallow this, dear.”

The woman’s voice is familiar, dredging up memories from deep in the past.

Jedd checks himself. Eyelids on fire. Bleeding tongue. The inside of his mouth an open sore. Arms and legs stiff as rocks. Nausea wells up from his belly.

A narrow glass tube between his lips. He tries to bite down on it, spit it out, but his jaw won’t move.

Liquid runs down his throat. Warm and metallic. Blood. He gags and coughs. It spills down his chin.

“Don’t fight it,” the woman says. “Fresh from a bull killed this morning to celebrate your capture. Just swallow. It needs to get inside to help with the numbness. You’ll be able to move soon. Just one more little drink.”

Jedd’s twists, but hands come down to hold his head in place and open his mouth. More warm liquid runs down his throat. This time he swallows.

“Good boy,” the woman says. “Now wait. You’ll see."

With his eyes still closed, Jedd tries to understand where he is. The stench of dung, sweat and leather waft across his nostrils. The sickening taste of blood is on his lips. He’s lying on the ground. Uneven bumps and tiny rocks dig into his back. Low voices of women mingle in the background.

Memories from childhood flood in.

Walking across miles of dirt. Dried up rivers. Living in tents. Hands tied with leather straps. Empty bellies. Hiding from the man with the long rifle.
What was his name?
Slaughtered bodies stretched out on the ground.

A sudden thought intrudes.

What about Qaara? And Ricky?

Fear and confusion mix in his mind. His body stiffens, and he struggles to move.

“You’ve grown so much.” The woman’s rough hand comes down on Jedd's forehead. “Just a teenager when you ran off. Thought you were dead. And now look at you.”

She bends close. Her breath reeks of liquor and rotting teeth.

Jedd pours all his strength into getting free, but he can barely move.

“I know it’s uncomfortable.” The woman’s voice drops to a whisper. "And it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

Jedd’s arms and feet begin to tingle, a pleasant sensation. His eyes flip open. He sees the dirty interior of a tent. And the old woman.

She’s smiling at him. Missing teeth. Warts.

And then, like a tsunami, a raging itch floods over his body. The heavy feeling falls away from his limbs. He can move. Spiders and worms craw under his skin. The need to scratch consumes his mind. He wants to rake and dig his fingernails into his body to drive away the itch, but his arms and legs are tied down.

“You’d rip yourself apart if we didn’t use the ropes,” the woman says. “I know it’s unbearable, but just give it a few minutes. The poison is being cleansed from your body. You’ll know when it's ready to come out.”

The woman lays a bowl down next to Jedd’s head.

And then another wave hits. Starting in his chest, convulsions flow through him, a monster trying to rip its way out of his belly. He’s overtaken by the urge to retch.

“Here it comes. Now lift your head up just a bit so you don’t choke.”

The old woman’s hands go under Jedd’s neck. She moves his head to the side, closer to the bowl.

Red goo explodes over his tongue and out his mouth.

He retches until the bowl is full, until there’s nothing left to give. And then it’s over.

Relaxation floods his body.

“There, my dear.” The woman gently lays Jedd’s head back down. “Feels better, doesn’t it? Now you should rest.”

The flap on the tent swings open. Blinding light pierces the dim interior. A large man enters. Massive barrel chest. Thick arms. Dressed in military fatigues. Long gray beard. The barrel of a rifle gripped in his hand.

“He’s not ready yet,” the old woman says.

The man pushes her to the side and stares down into Jedd’s eyes. “Ready or not. I want to see the mark.”

He lifts Jedd’s hand, turns it over and stares down at the large capital “F” tattooed on the open palm. Nodding, the man's gaze moves to Jedd’s face.

And then Jedd remembers.

Moses
.
You’re still alive.

“It’s you, isn’t it? Come home after all these years, after abandoning all of us without a thought. Welcome back to the Family."

34

ONE MIND

You’re getting closer, Luca. When are you coming back to the village? I’m waiting.

Rika’s voice boils up from the lower reaches of Luca’s mind. Luca doesn’t answer but doesn't shut her old friend completely out either.

Standing at the top of a low rise, Luca tunes out the background noise and concentrates on the other voices she is following, the human voices in the far distance that draw her with a mixture of excitement and fear.

Something new is happening.

The girls are hungry, tired, cold. Rain comes down hard, and the ground is a sea of mud. It’s the middle of the second day out of the Institution, the start of another typhoon, and the food in their packs is already running low.

They’ve walked a treacherous path to get this far, threading their way through a labyrinth of toxic dumps and radiation ponds.