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It took nearly an hour for the fist of emotion deep in Haiden’s chest to unclench itself enough for him to stop his tears. It was nearly half again as long before he found the courage to force himself to his feet. Wiping the wetness of moss and tears from his face, he could feel the sting from the cut above his left eye; he touched the puffy and swollen flesh gently around the cut and wondered if there were any medical supplies on Amon’s transportation vehicle.
His formsuit had ripped at the right knee—either during his attempt to evade detection, or during his struggle. Realizing he had the opportunity to supplement his current wardrobe, he walked over to the corpse of the Watch Leader, trying to avoid meeting the death-locked gaze. He removed the fitted flexion armor from the man’s torso and legs, along with the utility belt and boots. Opening a few of the pouches, he found that the belt contained a number of small tools, only some of which he recognized. No food though—hopefully he would find something near the vehicle behind the Margden tree. Finally, he unclipped the holster that had been fitted on Amon’s right leg. Precariously carrying his collection of scavenged goods, he walked over to where the charge pistol laid on the ground, picked it up, and secured it back in the holster.
He began walking the fifty meters towards the large tree beside which the vehicle was parked. Glancing back, it took him a moment to locate the body once again—it had become lost in the thick moss and grass. It wouldn’t be long before security forces were here though; the security sentry’s geostat would be pulsing a short-range location beacon to the security grid. When a ship ventured within range of the transmission, they would have the coordinates. He had to move fast.
He moved around the huge tree trunk and found a small recumbent humbike resting on its four pads that jointed unevenly above the mossy undergrowth to keep the bike level with the ground. Its utility box was open, and a rubber mallet was lying beside the machine. He wondered what Amon had been trying to fix.
Haiden pulled open an inner shelf of the utility box and found a small plying knife. His left arm hanging limply to his side, he grasped the knife in his right hand and used it to lever off the outer housing of the bike’s thorax, as it was designed to do, so he could get access to the central electronics. He carefully pulled back wires until he found what he was looking for, and used the knife to pull it out. The bike chirped in what seemed to be disapproval; he recalled mordantly that this machine, like almost everything else on this planet, was alive. He wondered if the bike had the ability to see what had happened, if it could judge. He cautiously looked it over, looking for any kind of sensory equipment—but found nothing. Most machines were just stupid, cold, bots. They had specialized intelligence, and were permitted judgment in their domain of expertise. The humbike probably recognized that Haiden wasn’t its “master” and was trying to make sense of the situation. You have a new master now, Haiden thought.
The bike’s geostat—black, and about the size of a Haiden’s fist—would continue transmitting even after being removed from its host. Haiden wanted to destroy it, but realized it would be futile. Geostats were designed to withstand a lot more destructive power than he could administer with a charge pistol and a rubber mallet. Instead, he took a few steps and threw the device as far as he could into the valley. He could see it bounce down the hill and disappear into the foliage below him.
He snapped the housing back on the bike before glancing carefully beneath the machine. Through a protective translucent sheaf he saw the millions of baleen filaments of the Higgs drive that spanned two metal rods. Each individual filament was a string microscopically thin, yet in harmony they created an oddly translucent, glass-like cloth. Something gnawed at his memory—he remembered looking at, and being fascinated by Higgs technology in the past. Had he studied it?
He remembered that each filament was incredibly strong—unbreakable in fact, and extremely dangerous when handled. He remembered hearing ancient stories of severed digits and limbs in the early days of Higgs field manipulations—but now Higgs drives were assembled by machines and factories, with failsafe protective guards to prevent dangerous handling.
The memories flooded back. A Higgs drive glowed blue when engaged. It worked by manipulating and directing graviton flow. He used to drive Humbikes before, when he had another job—before he was paused in cryosleep. The image of a face danced across his vision, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make out details.
Palos? The name echoed in his mind—who was it? How did he know this person? The face disappeared. He had to get moving. The geostat would be broadcasting, and if the signal was intercepted, it would betray his position.
Moving more quickly, he clipped the charge pistol holster to his leg, and started putting on the sentry armor. The guard was larger than him, and the gear didn’t fit perfectly. It would have to do, though—for now it provided him with a disguise, and served as a bit of protection. Finally he snapped the utility belt tight, pulled on the protective boots and mounted the bike.
Pulling a data tag from the guard’s utility belt across the ignition pad, the bike hummed to life. The Higgs drive, providing both acceleration and antigravity lift for the bike, purred obediently—the bike lifted off the ground and the rest pads folded gracefully underneath the bike’s belly. Gently testing the controls, Haiden spun the bike around on its axis and finally thumbed the throttle and dove down across the valley towards the river.
He was cautious at first, keeping a wide berth from the rows of trees that marked the edge of the forest. As he drove, memories continued to pour forth like a wellspring; this definitely wasn’t the first time he had driven a humbike, and controlling one felt natural and instinctive. He wasn’t completely familiar with this model; some had predictive avoidance to assist with driving through hazardous terrain, like the thick forests to the north. Haiden, wasn’t particularly eager, however, to test to see if the bike had that particular feature.
The river was about thirty meters across; as the bike dropped off the bank on the eastern side, it came down and slapped the water almost playfully, forcing Haiden to lift his feet to avoid getting soaked. Looking down, he could see the blue glow of the Higgs engine powering his machine. It ionized the water beneath the bike, and created a huge rooster-tail that spit a cold glowing flame fifty feet in the air behind him. It was beautiful.
He noticed that the bike automatically decelerated to ensure it didn’t collide with the rising bank on the opposite side, which made him feel much more confident in its ability to navigate. He pressed the throttle and steered towards the edge of the woods—confident that the bike could handle the trees coming at him at high velocity, he decided that traveling under the meager cover of the forest edge was much safer for him at this point.
A display console embedded on the bike’s thorax displayed a fixed map of the location where he had found the bike. Unfortunately, with the geostat removed, the map didn’t update with his position; however, the map was detailed enough to show that west of his starting position was a large lake, and a city on its opposite coast.
Listig, the map said. He remembered the city, somehow; perhaps he had visited often, or maybe he used to live there. In any case, Listig was going to be his destination. It was far enough from Mission—more than twelve-hundred kilometers by his estimate— that he would be able to blend in with its inhabitants and hopefully not have to spend another cold and rain-soaked night. Haiden checked his speed; he was traveling just over seventy kilometers per hour, which should get him there in a few days. He tried pushing the throttle harder, but the bike resisted; if he was going to travel on the edge of the forest he was going to have to put up with slower speeds. He felt oddly anxious to reach Listig, as if the destination held some kind of hope for his unsure future. As he sped flashing through the thin veil of trees, he repeated the word survive in his mind as if it was a mantra.
Copyright © 2004-2005 Jay and David Steele. All rights reserved.
A great way to come back after the March break, guys! A really entertaining read that makes me keep coming back. Keep up the fine storyline.
Posted by: David Steele Sr. | March 28, 2005 at 01:49 PM