Archangel Down: Archangel Project. Book One (24 page)

“We’re done,” said James, too quickly.

He pulled the hard link from his own neural port without warning. Noa leaned back slightly. He had felt her repulsion, she knew it, that was why he was pulling out of the link so quickly. But she hadn’t felt his recognition of her emotion—or anything personal at all, which meant he had better shielding than her. Which was very strange. Fleet mental shielding was designed to resist torture. That he had something that might even be better …

“Oh, how sad,” said 6T9. “Eliza would have found it so titillating.”

“Yep, we’re done,” said Noa. She looked at the hologlobe. “And the Guards upstairs are done, too. Let’s go up.” The small safe room suddenly felt cramped.

6T9 pulled down the ladder and they made their way into the kitchen. Eliza was there sipping a cup of tea, reading a strange grayish pamphlet thing that was nearly as wide as the table. The front had Noa’s picture on it and was captioned in big, black letters, “Alien sympathizer still at large.”

Before Noa could ask any questions about their visit, James said, “Is that a newspaper?”

Eliza blinked up at him. “Why yes, it is. It’s how they keep us in line.”

6T9 went over to Eliza, but before he reached her, Eliza flipped the paper over so he couldn’t see Noa’s picture. Instead there was a picture of a happily-smiling family with black polybolts in their data ports and a headline that read, “Permanent Data Port Deactivation Gives Luddecceans Peace of Mind,” and beneath that in smaller letters, “Luddeccean Premier makes it free—council discussing making it mandatory.” Noa’s stomach did an uncomfortable flip-flop. She hadn’t seen any civilians with their ports jammed, but that day was coming.

Paying no attention to the newspaper, 6T9 went directly to Eliza and looked into her eyes, as though trying to see evidence of a concussion. “Eliza, are you having a moment of confusion? The stated purpose of the Prime Tribune is to keep the populace informed.”

“I remember that is what they say,” said Eliza. “Don’t worry.”

“Oh,” said 6T9. He kissed her head and straightened with a smile. “I won’t worry, if you say so.” With that, he began clearing the plates away from the table. Eliza sighed.

James went and read over her shoulder. “I extracted a newspaper from the 2000s from a garbage heap on Earth. Is this published daily?”

“Yes,” said Eliza.

“How interesting … they are reprising this technology,” James said, sounding not unlike the professor he claimed to be.

Clenching her fists, Noa checked herself. Was. He
was
a professor. “So they’re taking us back to the 2000s level of technology,” Noa muttered, partly to stamp those suspicious thoughts out of her mind. “Great.”

James looked up at her. “More like the 1950s level of technology.”

Noa felt a cold coil of dread in her gut … not that an extra fifty years of backwardness should matter so much. Keeping her fear out of her voice, she quipped, “Even better. Anything in it that might be useful?”

“They know you’re in the city,” said Eliza, eyes scanning the pages. “They’re imposing a curfew at sundown.”

“Well, at least we know they know,” said Noa, walking over to the table. She said, “Anything else?”

“The daughter of one of the first colonists just died,” said Eliza. “Do you remember her, Noa? She came to your elementary school and told you all what it was like to be a little girl at the time of the first colonization.”

Noa looked over Eliza’s shoulder. In slightly smudged ink there was a picture of a woman who looked even more ancient than Eliza. “Up until a few years ago,” Eliza said, “Grace Lao took nano treatments like me. But lately she’s been returning to her Christian faith and the Luddeccean philosophy … she decided she didn’t believe in the treatments anymore, they were vanity and against the will of God. She died from a faulty heart valve … could have been replaced so easily, even at her age.” She snorted. “Even at my age.” Eliza’s eyes narrowed. “Not able to reproduce and no longer of any use.”

From where he was scraping dishes, 6T9 piped up, “She still could have practiced!” Eliza tittered at that, but Noa’s eyes were riveted to the page. Beneath Grace’s obituary, were more … and she said, “I recognize one of the names.” She closed her eyes. Her hand went to her stomach.

“Who?” said Eliza.

“Manuel,” said Noa. “Oliver Manuel.”

“He was only eighteen months old … ” said Eliza.

“I knew his parents,” Noa rubbed her eyes and began pulling their address up in her mind. The location gave her a start; it was worth risking Eliza’s driving for. “Eliza, get ready to fly your hover. We’ll go offer our condolences to his parents.”

Eliza looked at her watch. “Noa, there will be a curfew tonight; we won’t make it back in time.”

Noa looked down at the picture of Oliver Manuel. “They’ll help us,” she whispered. “And if they don’t help us, no one will.”

And no one else lived as close to her little brother.

J
ames was
flat on his stomach in the boot of Eliza’s hover. Noa was beside him, and 6T9 on the far side of her. The back seat was pushed down so they could stretch. Eliza was driving, Carl Sagan hopping on and off her lap. If Eliza was stopped, they could pull the seat back up quickly and curl into fetal position and in Noa’s words, “Pray they don’t search the vehicle.”

“This thing itches,” Noa said, scratching at the base of a pink wig Eliza had loaned her. Eliza had also loaned both of them her makeup. The tan liquids and powders made James look darker and Noa look lighter, and both of them look pasty and unnatural, but they were going to need to get out of the hover at the Manuels’ residence, and were bound to be seen.

“How are you not itching?” Noa demanded, turning her head in his direction.

James touched the blue wig he wore self-consciously. “It’s no different than wearing a hat.”

“It is a lot different than wearing a hat,” Noa protested. “It feels like I’m wearing a hot, tight helmet filled with fleas!”

“We could be doing much more exciting things with our bodies in this tight confined space than tear at your wigs,” 6T9 said, without any apparent segue.

Rolling onto her stomach, and in the process, closer to James, Noa shouted at Eliza, “He just touched my ass! Did you not turn off his flirt app?”

“I may have forgotten,” said Eliza. “I like him flirty, and the pink wig may be confusing him. His processor is old.”

Noa slid even closer to James, the full length of her side pressing against his. He was less repellent than a sex ‘bot. He wasn’t precisely relieved.

“6T9,” snapped Noa. “It’s me, not Eliza, keep your hands off.”

“Oh, it is you, Noa,” James heard 6T9 say. “I’m finding the strange locale, the wig, and the makeup confusing.”

“How can you get me confused with Eliza when she’s right there, in the front seat?” Noa said.

6T9’s skull started making a beeping sound.

“Don’t overload his circuits, Noa!” Eliza snapped, turning her head in their direction.

“Keep your eyes on the sky!” James and Noa screamed in unison.

“Turn your eyes on me anytime you want, my darling,” said 6T9.

Eliza blew him kisses, and the frantic beeping from 6T9’s skull stopped.

“Oh, Lord, if we succeed, we’ll have this day in, day out,” Noa said, slapping a hand over her face. The hover stopped abruptly and Noa, James, and 6T9 nearly flew into the front seats.

“That hover came out of nowhere,” Eliza said.

Noa sighed. When the craft resumed its journey, she nudged James with an elbow. “You’ve been unusually quiet.”

He tried to think of a witty reply, and couldn’t.

“Aren’t you going to tell me how ridiculous my plan is?” Noa asked him.

“I have already stated my objections to your so-called plan,” James said. Noa intended to show up at the Manuels’ door without giving them any prior notice. James believed it would be better to approach them incrementally––send Eliza over, have her gently probe and see if they were dissatisfied enough with the administration to leave. Noa had agreed with him, but then said they didn’t have time, and that had been the end of it.

“You never listen to my objections,” James commented.

“I listen, I take them into account. I just never agree,” said Noa.

James stared up at the roof of the craft. What was he doing here? His vision darkened. He’d failed. Failed at what? His head ticked rapidly three times to the side.

“Hey,” Noa whispered. “You okay?”

The compulsive movement ceased. James lay mute for a moment. The proper response was,
I’m wanted by fundamentalist Luddeccean lunatics, stuffed in the boot of a hover with another Luddeccean lunatic and a sex ‘bot being driven by someone who isn’t fit to park it in a garage. Of course I am not okay.
He felt as though his consciousness was condensing again. It was so cold in the hover. Did Eliza really need the air at full blast? But all he said was, “I’m hungry.” As he said the words, he realized they were true, and his vision was getting fuzzy at the edges again.

Noa’s brow furrowed. “You just ate … ”

He shook his head in annoyance. “I was there, I remember.”

“We’re here!” 6T9 shouted.

The hover started wavering wildly, and Noa and James slid across the floor toward 6T9. “Just let me land this thing!” Eliza shouted.

Noa put her head under her arms in a crash position. The craft lurched sideways, and James rapidly assumed the same pose. 6T9 crooned, “Darling, you drive like you’re in the Mars Rally 6000.”

The Mars Rally 6000 was a demolition rally. James blinked beneath his arms. “Well, he isn’t wrong.”

Noa huffed in what sounded like a laugh, but then the hover hit ground, bounced, and bounced again and all James could hear was Noa’s and his teeth rattling, 6T9’s head bouncing, and a frantic-sounding squeak from Carl Sagan. James thought the worst was over when Eliza cut the engines, but then the hover settled down before the risers could engage. Metal screeched against metal. James felt as though his eardrums and the auditory regions of his brain were burning with agitation.

He barely had time to catch his breath or for his frantic nanos and neurons to cool before Noa said, “Let’s go,” and slipped over to open the side hatch. Mercifully warm air from outdoors flooded the hover.

James considered just lying on the floor with his head down.

“James, are you alright?” 6T9 said, scooting closer. “If you were injured during the landing, I give excellent back massages.” James hastily scrambled to his knees and crawled out of the side hatch after Noa, Carl Sagan hot on his heels. Noa was already at the door to the Manuels’ residence, hand on a brass knocker. The building was a two-story white stucco townhome with red tiles. It and its identical neighbors had covered balconies on both levels to shield the windows from the equatorial sun. Beneath the sheltered stoop, the light at the corner of the porch was already on; its blue-white glow made Noa’s pink wig appear almost lavender. James reached her just as she let the knocker fall. She stood facing straight ahead, back straight, eyes on the door’s peephole. James looked around, surveying the surroundings. The Manuels’ home was on a cul-de-sac, set off of a narrow street. All the townhomes on the cul-de-sac and street had narrow front lawns with palm-like trees near the street, and neat sidewalks paved with recycled glass of various colors. Each had a short driveway in the front; Eliza had managed to land her hover squarely at the center of the Manuels’.

James tilted his head, listening—the sun was close to setting and the nocturnal pterys were starting to sing their songs. A rustling in the ferns close to the house made him turn sharply—just in time to see a white cat dart across the street. At Noa’s feet, Carl Sagan stood up on his back four legs and hissed at it. Other than himself and Noa, he saw no humans outside, but he did see a few children’s toys left on the lawns. There were none in front of the Manuels’ house, he noted. Noa had promised that the Manuels would help them. Their son had been born with a faulty heart that had had to be replaced regularly with artificial devices as the boy grew. Noa was certain the Luddeccean philosophy had managed to kill the boy.

“Can you hear if anyone’s home, James?” Noa muttered. She scratched at the base of her pink wig, and then adjusted the dark glasses she wore.

James turned his attention to the door and tried to focus. The ptery’s cries seemed to increase in volume, the cat that he knew was four meters away sounded as though it was just a few steps behind him, and the sound of Eliza being helped out of the hover by 6T9 was deafening. His head jerked to the side, and those extraneous sounds faded. Behind the door he heard the very faint sound of breathing.

“Someone is home,” he said.

Noa looked around. Turning back to the door, she took off her glasses, spit on her fingers, and rubbed a long stripe across her cheek.

Behind the door, James heard a gasp. And then a soft voice. “It’s Lieutenant Commander—Commander Noa Sato. Go quickly!”

He heard feet racing from the door inside the house. And then he heard the sound of marching boots. In the cul-de-sac he couldn’t see anyone, but he estimated they couldn’t be more than 400 meters away. There were no gaps between the houses; the ferns were too small.

“Patrol on the way,” Noa said, evidently hearing it, too.

The door swung inward just as the words were out of her mouth. A man stood there. He was of indeterminable ethnicity: brown skin, dark brown hair, light brown eyes and medium build, which was to say, normal. What wasn’t normal was the flare of his nostrils, and the sweat on his brow in the cool night air. Carl Sagan darted between his feet and into the house. The man didn’t appear to notice. He stared at Noa open-mouthed, and then his eyes swept to James, 6T9, and Eliza.

“Lieutenant Manuel—” Noa began softly.

The man waved them inside, whispering, “It’s almost curfew.”

Noa and James immediately entered, and Eliza and 6T9 followed. Just before they crossed the threshold, 6T9 swept the old woman into his arms and cooed, “Milady.”

“Hurry, darling!” said Eliza, for once not giggling at his flirtations. Thankfully, 6T9 didn’t argue—but the Lieutenant looked at him in alarm. A moment later, he shook his head and darted outside the house, slamming the door behind him. Outside, James heard the troopers turn into the cul-de-sac.