B. E. V. (13 page)

"Why?"

"Morgan has spies everywhere. They see you talking to prisoners, they'll run you in. Even if they don't, someone else could denounce you. Everyone wants his favor. Either way, the first thing you know, you'll be on a chain gang swinging a hammer.
Comprende
?"

"You mean even if I ask them to move out of the way when I'm working, or say hello?" It sounded ridiculous, I was sure he was jerking me around.

Two days later I noticed one of the other techs Hector, who worked a metal lathe, didn't appear for work. When I asked Ralpha, he shrugged, "Don't know." The following week I saw him with a pickax working on the road, a fresh tattoo on his forearm. After this, I made sure I didn't speak to any of the prisoners again.

Once Ralpha felt certain I was capable of handling the machinery in the shop, he kept shoving jobs of increased difficultly my way. I continued to keep Kat nearby, insisting I needed her technical advice, and almost convinced him she knew what she was doing, until an incident with a soldiering torch and magnesium filing changed his mind. After we extinguished the fire, she sorta swept the floor, emptied the trash, and helped Ralpha and the bosses with their paperwork. (Which was a full time job, anyway.)

Mr. King, the supervisor we'd met on the first day, was a frequent visitor on the floor, always demanding to know when some part, or machine, was ready, complaining we were holding up the progress of the road. He kept bugging me to show him Bev, I kept putting him off. A) I couldn't possibly lie well enough to explain how she worked, and B) Who knew what she would say.

Mr. King, however, did provide us an idea of what Morgan's plans were. After the finish of the regular day, Ralpha sent me out to install a starter in a broken down digger. Mr. King was at the worksite, surveying the day's progress. I waved to him and got busy. He wandered over after I'd finished and we talked.

"Ralpha says you're some mechanic." He checked over the early model electric battery backhoe I'd fixed. "He says you know combustible engines, too?"

Not really, but I was learning awful quick. I wasn't about to tell him though. "I'm no expert," I replied modestly, "but I've studied how they operate. I know the basic principles of what each part does."

"Let's take a ride," he suggested, "I want to show you something."

"Sure." I tossed my tools into the back of his truck and we took off. "Where are we going?"

He let out a booming laugh. "Your supply department."

When I appeared puzzled, he replied, "You'll see."

We drove for close to an hour until we came to a high fence with guards standing at the entrance. When they saw Mr. King's truck, they swung the gates open and we pulled in.

Hundreds of acres of old, obsolete machinery stood rusting in the sun; some so ancient they were no more than piles of red chips.

"Wow," was all I could say.

"Use to be a junk-yard, parts and scrap metal mostly," he said with pride, stepping out of this truck and strolling through the derelict equipment.

I ran to keep up. "Where did all of this stuff come from?"

"Old, no good, broken. All of it dumped here," he replied. Mr. King nudged a hunk of steel, it might have been a transmission for a ground vehicle at one time, and sat on it. "This is what we have to work with until Morgan gets the lithium mines in production."

"Why was all this machinery dumped here in the first place, though? Why not repair it?" I couldn't imagine what a waste of time and money this had been.

"Why? Technology changes." He waved his hand at the junkyard. "In the beginning everything ran off steam. Every factory had a steam engine in it, which ran a series of overhead belts and pulleys, which ran the machines. Thomas Edison came along and moved the steam engines off-line. These power plants ran turbines; the turbines produced electricity. The techs replaced the old steam engines with a big electric motor which operated the pulleys and belts."

"They couldn't use all those steam engines for something else?"

"Too many," he denied, "too hard to convert. It was cheaper to build new ones."

I wanted to say what a waste of good metal it was, but kept quiet and let him talk.

He saw the disgust and laughed. "Right after, they invented the internal combustion engines. The old steam engines couldn't be converted and you need a sophisticated boiler system for a steam engine."

"Still," I began, "It was a long time ago. I don't see –"

"Wait," he continued, "I'm not finished. They used steam engines to generate the electricity for the electric motors, and then they switched to electric storage batteries for their vehicles, which derived their power from steam engines."

"Sounds pretty dumb," I said. "Why not use the steam engine in the first place?"

"Because they didn't want to use fossil fuel to burn in their vehicles, but people didn't realize the electricity they used for their batteries came from a steam engine which was fueled by oil, coal or natural gas in the first place. Besides, the steam engines were still too big to fit into most things."

"Then we invented the lithium power packs," I prompted, "right?"

"Right," he nodded enthusiastically. "A complete fusion pack is a little steam engine, and replaced the electric motors, fossil fuel motors, and the solar powered motors. Again, all the machines running off those became obsolete and found their way here."

"I still don't understand why we have to use this junk then." I gestured to all the rusted machines. "I know a lot of the factories making trucks and construction machines were destroyed, but they could be put back into working order, couldn't they?"

"Sure they could," he agreed, "but we need the lithium to fuel them, right? This is the problem, lithium comes from rare earth, rare, because it's hard to find. When the Greys took out our infrastructure, they destroyed the lithium mines, and the technology to refine it. Without the knowledge and materials, humanity is stuck with ancient contraptions you see. This is why it's so important to have people such as yourself to fix them up."

When he said "important to have people," I felt sorta proud. Maybe being a "Mechanical Geek" wasn't too bad after all.

"Well, I guess I've wasted enough of your time," Mr. King said. "Let's get back."

"It wasn't a waste of time," I answered as we hopped into his truck. We made a wide circle around the junk and left, hitting a new paved section of the road returning to the camp.

"Well, I thought you might be interested," Mr. King said. "You stick with us, we stick with Morgan, and you'll have a good future. Both him and us need people such as you."

"Gee, thanks!"

"This will be some road when it's finished," he said as we stopped at the digger I'd been fixing.

I fished my tools from the back of his truck. "There's one thing I still don't get. What's Morgan want with a road anyway?"

Mr. King jumped out, sat on the step of the digger, and wiped sweat from his forehead. "You have to understand, son, Morgan's creating a whole new nation. He's building his own cities, and cities need roads to connect each other, right? You should see his capital, Morgan City, some place."

I sat next to him. "Seems a lot of wasted effort, doesn't it? I'm not criticizing or anything, but there are already towns. Why level them, if he's gonna build more? I mean, it's not the same as the machines, cities don't become obsolete, and the ones he's destroying already have lithium power. Keep 'em, I say."

Mr. King shook his head. "You're thinking all wrong, son. The towns are in the wrong places, most built before the oceans rose – old roads, old towns, and old beliefs. You need to erase everything and start from the bottom up to fit the new reality. This is what Morgan's doing. He's creating a new world."

He wagged a finger at me. "There are people who want to stop him, sure, there always are, but he's tracking the renegades down, and soon we'll have a wonderful country."

Long after Mr. King left, I sat and thought about what he'd said. I could sorta see what he meant, the old Earth wasn't the same as before the floods, and the country needed a makeover; but still, killing everyone in your way? I enjoyed the thought I was needed in the world Morgan was creating, it filled me with a sense of belonging, but killing people wasn't the right way to do it.

****

Three days later, I learned how those "people" who were trying to stop Morgan went about it. Kat and I slept in Bev; it was a little past midnight.

"Kat – Hunter. Wake up," Bev whispered in our ears.

"Huh?" I yawned, stretched, and sat up. Bev's lights brightened from sleep dimness, to full day. "What time is it?"

Kat rubbed her eyes and mumbled, "What's the matter, Bev?"

"Noise, explosions – listen."

We heard it, and felt it, a rumbling thunder.

I staggered to my pilot's couch. "Bev, activate your viewer and night-sight, what is it?"

Her screen blinked on. By the prisoner's compound, mortar rounds flew in, sending up flashes of light and blowing holes in the fence. Rocket propelled grenades shot toward the guard towers, and laser fire zipped back and forth everywhere.

Kat slammed into her chair. "What's happened?"

"Seems someone is attacking us," I replied. Shadow figures flickered from cover to cover, prisoners ran out of their barracks and into the adjacent field trying to escape.

"Bev, open up!" I yelled, "I want to see what's happening."

"Are you out of your protein mind?"

"Hunter Greene, don't you dare step through the door!" Kat shouted in panic. "Bev is right – you'll get yourself killed. Bev, don't you open your hatch," she ordered, "don't, you hear me?"

"But –" I shut up. They were probably right. I wouldn't last ten minutes in the open without having my backside shot off.

Return fire shot from the guards, striking down attackers and prisoners alike.

The shadow warriors retreated, dragging their dead with them. Prisoners who tried to escape and failed littered the compound. The guards, shooting their rifles at the ground, herded the remaining captives back into their barracks.

After two hours, the only thing remaining from the attack was the destroyed fence. "Let's go back to sleep," yawned Kat. "It's over and we have to leave in a couple of hours for work."

"I'm glad to see someone is standing up to Morgan," I said as I lay back down. "More people should do it, I wish it'd been me."

The following day, about noon, a heavy thumping shook the air, which we heard above the racket of the maintenance shack. Mr. King rushed onto the floor and waved us to silence.

"I need everyone outside and lined up, now!" he shouted. "Colonel Morgan has arrived and he wants to inspect our facility."

Everyone headed outside. Kat ran over and scooted behind me as we formed a ragged line outside the door. By the prisoner compound, a black helicopter landed. Armored guards streamed out, covering the area with leveled weapons.

Last to emerge was Black Morgan.

He was shorter than I thought he would be, and not a stitch of clothes on him was black. He wore a red beret, camouflaged uniform, and shiny combat boots. When he gazed at us, I felt the blood drain from my chest.

He marched towards the shop and Mr. King met him halfway with an outstretched hand. "Colonel! We're so happy you took this opportunity to see us. If I knew you were coming I would have provided a proper welcoming."

Morgan didn't take his hand. Mr. King dropped it, disconcerted.

"I heard an attack occurred last night," said Morgan with his eyes surveying the area. "What damage?"

"Why, none to speak of, sir," sputtered King. "Rebels – they went after the prisoner compound, but we beat them back. Machinery untouched, so is the road," he said proudly.

Black Morgan nodded. His attention swung to us. "Who are these? Why aren't they working?"

"My mechanics, sir. I thought you might want to inspect them." I couldn't tell by Mr. King's expression whether he was happy or not he brought us out here.

"I
expect
them to be working." Morgan's eyes drifted across us. "You keep all your machinery running with so few men?"

"Oh, yes, sir," replied King, trying to make up for his mistake of herding us out. "Best crew in your country, don't need anyone else." He beamed as if he'd said something important.

Black Morgan's attention centered on me, "He is one of your mechanics, too?"

I tried to gaze straight ahead and not stare.

"Best one of the bunch, sir," Mr. King hastened to say. He added, "Train 'em up early, just as your flyers read."

The colonel strode up to me. "What's your name, boy?"

"Uh, Greene, sir. Hunter Greene." I thought I couldn't become any more terrified. I was wrong.

"I'll remember the name." His eyes lighted on Kat, who was trying to make herself tiny behind me. "And this one," Morgan's voice grew harsher, "is she a mechanic, too?"

Mr. King appeared ready to faint. "Oh, no, sir. She, uh, helps with the paperwork. If you remember, you sent a directive saying you wanted all inventory in triplicate, so there would be no pilfering. What with the computers being down half the time," he gave a sheepish grin, "it takes extra work to keep everything filed."

"Hmm . . ." Morgan did an about face and stalked toward the road. "Show me how we are doing here."

"Oh, yes, sir, right this way, sir." Mr. King hurried after him, waving behind his back for us to return working. Relief flooded me as I ran back inside, and I didn't glance up from the solar panel I was repairing all day.

****

"Hey, Hunter, Mr. King wants you," Ralpha shouted to me over the roar of the machines. He pointed to the office. "Now."

I waved back I understood and trudged off to see the boss.

"Hunter, have a job for you." Mr. King gestured outside. "Need you to run down to Morgan City and pick up some parts."

"Morgan City?" The reorientation center was located in the city.

"Yeah, bozos there in supply telling me all their delivery drones are down and they can't send high pressure hoses until next week," he replied, aggravated, "but they have them in stock." He glanced down at a dirty piece of paper on his desk and grumbled, "I've got two broken diggers, sitting there, and I'm falling behind. Bet it's those darn sabotages again."

Kat was sitting at her desk, ear cocked. She waved to me with a shooing motion and pointed to herself. "Uh, can I take Kat when I leave?"

Mr. King glanced over at her. She made a happy face and nodded vigorously.

"Well – okay," he conceded with a rueful smile, "but this isn't a sight-seeing trip. How fast does your contraption go anyway? Can you make it there and back in three days?"

"Yes, sir!"

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "Good. Go now. He glanced at his watch. "I expect you back day after tomorrow. I'll call ahead and let the supply depot know you're coming – and don't get lost. I need those parts – understand me?"

Kat started shoving papers into her desk, I ran out to Bev to change my dirty clothes. "Going for a trip," I yelled to her. "You up for it?"

"I've been sitting here for six weeks getting old and rusty," Bev grumbled back. "Kat's got laundry hanging from my door on a pole, weeds are growing up my bottom, and the dogs think I'm a fire hydrant. LET'S BLOW THIS JOINT."

As I finished dressing, Kat stomped in waving papers. "Got directions and authorization." She flopped into her chair breathing hard. "Ready any time you are."

It took us most of the day driving to reach Morgan City. As we drew closer, small towns appeared, with square, cinder block houses, surrounded by wooden walls, what they use to call "suburbs," in the twentieth century. We saw little surface traffic on the new road, but a few helicopters flew high in the air. No one paid us any attention, but as Bev pulled into Morgan City and drove through the gate, guards stopped us. We then spent an endless amount of time showing work permits, ID's, and authorization before they allowed us to proceed.

From the way people spoke about Black Morgan's new headquarters, I figured there would be broad streets, bustling throngs of people, and tall buildings. A high concrete wall surrounded the city, but inside the roads butted into each other, nothing was in a straight line, and every structure I saw was short and slanting. Within ten minutes of entering this maze, we were lost, and Mr. King's directions to the warehouse where we had to pick up the hoses were no help either.

"Bev, do you have a clue?" I finally asked. "This says Willow St. to Downer St., but there is no Downer." I held the small, smudged map up Mr. King drew for us. We'd driven up and down the street twice and hit a dead end each time.

She replied, "Sorry, sweetie, too new – nothing in my memory chips." She went back to humming,
"We're following the leader!"

"Let's ask," Kat said. "I told you, we should ask." She sounded vexed. "We've been going around in circles for hours. We're lost."

Well, I'd searched for someone to ask, but hadn't seen anyone I trusted enough. Most wore dirty clothes and shot us furtive glances as we rolled by. The few well-dressed people walking on the street skulked with their heads down, moving straight ahead at a rapid pace, and didn't seem friendly. I finally gathered up the nerve to stop, climb out, and waved down a deliveryman who straightened us out.

"We're on Willow
North
," I sputtered in disgust storming back into Bev, "we have to go to Willow
South
, but they don't connect. Craziest place I've ever been in." I said to Kat, "Do you suppose they built this place screwed up on purpose?"

"Maybe" she replied, watching the street signs as we inched along. "I wouldn't want to attack this city without a map." She checked the paper she held. "Even with the GPS they use to have in the old days you'd get lost."

Off to our right we encountered the only awesome structure. Morgan's Palace. The compound possessed its own wall, high domed buildings rose to the sky in the complex, with assault gun totting guards standing at the gated entrance and marching along the parapets. We slowed to gape and then sped up when the soldiers leveled their weapons at us.

Before we reached our street, we passed a sign reading "Internment Center." Kat pointed to it. "Hunter, there it is."

"I see it." I smashed on Bev's brakes and swung into the road, "I'm driving in."

On either side of us, brick building materialized, screened off by chain-link fences topped with barbed wire. Posted on the fences were signs reading, "Restricted Area" and "Authorized Personnel Only" in big red letters. We approached a gate with a guard who waved us to stop. "Follow my lead," I said to Kat.

We scrambled out. "Hey, buddy," I shouted to the guard and fanned my directions at his face, "we're trying to locate the supply depot." I hobbled over to the gate and hung on the fence. "Got lost, can you help me?"

He walked up to the other side of the gate at port arms. "Can't you read?" he said. "You don't belong here. Move your vehicle."

I dug out the authorization paper from my pocket and showed him my company ID. "Come on, we're both on the same side," I complained, "at least give me directions."

Kat walked up beside me and said, "Please? Our boss will murder us if we're late." She stuck out her lower lip trying to appear sad.

"Well . . ." The sentry glanced at our papers. "Okay." He told us quick directions and said, "Now, git."

"Thanks." I took a quick peek behind Bev. "I can't swing around here, you're gonna have to let me in so I can wheel this rig around."

The guard shook his head. "No way. Back it up."

I glanced at Kat and she shook her head. "I'm not too good at backing," I replied, trying to act embarrassed. "Let me turn around, I don't want to take down a fence or something."

The guard gritted his teeth, ready to explode. He checked to see if anyone watched and cursed under his breath. He swung the gate open. "All right, but be quick about it." He pointed between the buildings. "There's a spot about a quarter mile down the road where you can make a circle."

"Great, I appreciate it." Kat's face lit up and she blew him a kiss as we piled back into Bev.

"I didn't think he would let us in," I said.

"Neither did I," replied Kat. She pressed her nose up against the view screen and peered at the rows of buildings as we crept past. Dead faces stared back at us through the windows. "I think he was suspicious, we can't stay long," she cautioned, settling back.

"I know, but we'll make a quick recon of the place as long as we're here." I kept scanning left and right as I checked each building for signs of the barracks where they kept prisoners. "It's been a long time, he might not even be here anymore, but we have to make sure."

I pulled into a wide empty parking lot and swung Bev in a circle, heading back toward the main gate. As we drove down the road, a long line of prisoners shuffled out of a brick building on our right, while guards herded the front of the procession into a barracks alongside of it. I hung hard to the left and eased up on the gas as I crawled past the line. In front of us, the guard had the gate open and waved furiously for us to hurry.

Kat scrutinized the prisoners as we approached the gate. She exclaimed,
"I SEE YOUR POP."