City 1 (7 page)

His grandfather wasn't there.

The Island survivor had been right—perhaps the City bots had taken the body away.

Grennel handed him another lightstick. “Search quickly,” he said.

Kevin grabbed the light. What could he say, to the man who had killed his grandfather, in the very room where the murder had taken place? “Go to hell,” he said.

Grennel raised his eyebrows, and Wynn took a step toward Kevin, but Grennel looked at her and shook his head. She stopped.

Kevin swallowed his anger and began to look around the room. It looked to have been swept through—his grandfather's tools were missing, and the drawers from the worktables were open and bare. Kevin moved through the room slowly, shining his lightstrip to banish the shadows. What was he looking for?
He didn't know. Would he even know it if he saw it? Would the City bots have possibly left anything useful behind? He
needed
to find something useful—Clay wasn't going to be happy if he came back empty-handed. . . .

His hopes grew dimmer as he continued to scan the room, finding absolutely nothing. He stood staring at the control box from which the Wall control unit had been taken. He shined his light on the empty chamber, and the thick conduction wires snaking away from the chamber in eight directions. Nothing. The room had been picked clean. He looked down at the floor, at the spot where his grandfather had fallen, lased in the back. Was there blood? A mark of some sort? No, the floor was untouched. There was nothing to indicate that a man had died on this very spot.

He turned to go, but something caught his eye and made him stop. The conduction wires. The clamps that held them to the wall. He stepped closer, shining the light directly on one of the clamps, and felt a prickle of excitement in his fingertips. It had a small switch on it, and two recessed buttons, and, most interesting, a very small vidscreen, no larger than a thumbnail, currently black.

Kevin began feeling all around the clamp, hoping . . . and yes . . . he was right . . . he could feel small wiring, extending into the conduction wire. He yanked on the clamp, which didn't move, and chided himself for acting like an idiot. He examined it even more closely, and then he found it, a tiny
trigger that opened with a hard tug of his pointer finger. The clamp fell into his hands. Kevin studied the circuit wires, the two sets, one that had to be a control set, the other most likely a ground of some sort. . . .

He wasn't sure, but he would bet that these clamps were energy modulators. It made sense, from an engineering perspective. It seemed a bit old-fashioned, but it would be an easy way for his grandfather to adjust the various flows of his Wall grid. He had been working in the wilderness; he probably didn't have the material for anything more elegant. He had used leather on his bots, after all.

“I've got it,” said Kevin over his shoulder, without looking back. “This is it.” He carefully unclamped the rest of the modulators, setting them one by one on the floor. He picked one up and began to study it. First he'd have to adapt them for portable use . . . and of course he'd have to figure out how to split the energy feeds . . . maybe there'd be some way to broadcast the field? He could adapt some of the rebels' comm units . . . yes, that was an interesting idea. . . .

Grennel stepped forward and took the clamp from Kevin's hand. Kevin, lost in his thoughts, was startled. Grennel bent down and picked up the other seven clamps, and placed them all in his pack. “Let's go,” he said.

Kevin turned toward the stairs, and then the flash of his lightstrip glinted on something under his grandfather's worktable. Kevin bent down, aiming the light, and found, deep
under the table, a small vid. He got down on his belly and reached, his arm scraping painfully against the table edge, and retrieved the vid. He looked down at it, and felt his stomach twist. He knew what this was. He tapped the power, half expecting it to be broken, but it glowed into life, showing a still of his grandfather, from years ago, standing next to his father. He stared at it a moment, then flicked the vid off.

“This is mine,” he said to Grennel. “This is my family's. You can't have this.” He was expecting Grennel to take it anyway, but Grennel surprised him by nodding.

“Very well,” he said. “Keep it.”

Back out in the sunlight and fresh air, Kevin took a deep breath, then carefully stashed the photo vid in his pack. He followed Grennel down the path, toward the Island gates. As they passed the two bodies on the path, the man and woman, Grennel paused, looking down at them, then bent down, and with a casual show of impressive strength, picked up one of the corpses, the man, and heaved it over his shoulder. “Get the woman,” he said to Wynn.

“Why?” she said.

“Do it,” said Grennel. “We may not have time to bury them, but a pyre is quick.”

So Grennel and Wynn spent twenty minutes gathering bodies into a pile near the mess hall. Kevin helped, too, dragging one Islander by the feet. It was the most horrifying thing he had ever had to do. They found twelve bodies—Kevin was
sure there were more, buried under the collapsed buildings, but there was no time for digging. Grennel laid them side by side, on a pile of lumber. “Back,” he said, and both Wynn and Kevin moved away from the pyre. Grennel set a lightstrip on top of the bodies, stepped away, and then released a full burst from his rifle. It hit the lightstrip, and the small power source from the strip exploded as it melted, amplifying the explosion. The pyre flared into flames.

Grennel and Wynn and Kevin watched the pyre burn for a quiet minute, black smoke rising into the sky, the flames initially flaring green from the chemicals in the lightstrip, then settling back into red and orange. As the fire roared and crackled, they turned their backs on the Island and toward the setting sun.

NICK SAT NEAR ERICA, WATCHING HER AS SHE ATE A CHARRED PIECE OF
squirrel meat for dinner. He had been guarding her for most of the day. It was a pointless assignment—she couldn't go beyond the posts that would trigger her shock collar. And she was refusing to speak to him. He had given up on trying to make conversation hours ago, so the two of them just sat, Erica inside her shock perimeter, Nick outside.

“You need anything?” he asked. “More food? I can probably find you a blanket or maybe even a pad. . . .”

Erica shook her head. She tossed the squirrel bone into the firepit and wiped her hand on her pants. Nick noticed that she was favoring the leg that held the reimplanted chip. She must be hurting, he knew. That leg had been gouged
into twice in a matter of days. He winced inwardly at the thought.

“I'm responsible for you,” he said.

“No, you're not,” Erica said. It was the most she had said to him in hours.

“General told me I am,” Nick replied.

Erica stared at Nick, then took two limping steps toward him. She stopped just shy of the shock perimeter. “What do you want, Nick? A thank-you?”

“I just want to make sure you're going to be okay,” Nick said angrily. He hadn't been fishing for a thank-you, but still, he didn't think he deserved the hostility. If not for him, she would be dead.

“Never better,” said Erica.

“Yeah, well, fine,” Nick said, and he turned away. No point forcing a conversation.

“Nick, wait,” Erica said, her voice softening just a touch.

Nick stopped and turned back to face her.

“I meant what I said before,” she said. “About not being responsible for you, or Cass, or Lexi.” She hesitated, and it looked like she wanted to say more, so Nick said nothing and waited. “I've already let the bots blackmail me,” she continued quietly. “And I know that was a mistake.”

“How many people did you betray, trying to protect your family?” said Nick quietly. He was surprised how little anger he felt. More than anything else, it just made him sad.

A flash of anger showed on Erica's face. “Haven't we been over this?” she said. “I was doing what I thought was necessary to keep my brother alive. You would have done the same.”

“No,” said Nick.
Maybe
, he thought.

“Come here,” Erica said.

He took a step toward her.

“Closer,” Erica said. Nick hesitated, then stepped inside the shock collar perimeter. Erica walked up to him. She leaned forward, putting her mouth close to his ear, and Nick's breath caught in his throat. “When the bots find out I'm giving them false info, they're going to kill my brother,” she whispered. “I have to find a way to save him.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Nick whispered back, his lips nearly touching her ear.

“So you know, when I'm gone.”

Nick began to step away, but Erica put a hand on his cheek, pulled him back close, and kissed him on the neck. Her lips were soft and warm, and her body pressed against his briefly, before she stepped back. He just stood there, speechless.

Rabbit came up the path toward them, and Nick quickly moved out of the shock perimeter. He saw Rabbit not-so-subtly shift his hand closer to his right hip, where he had a lase pistol holstered.

“Relax, Rabbit,” Nick said.

Rabbit kept his hand close to his gun as he closed the distance between them. “My shift,” he said. “Be back here at sunrise.”

Erica spun to face Rabbit, her smile turning into scorn. “You just follow orders, don't you, Rabbit?” she said.

“That's right,” said Rabbit.

“Just like a good bot,” she said.

Rabbit chuckled humorlessly. He put his hand on the grip of his pistol. “Would you prefer I ignore my orders, and go ahead and execute you myself? Because I'd love to.”

Nick took a step toward Rabbit. . . . Would he be able to reach the man before he could get a shot off? Rabbit grinned, and pulled the pistol halfway out of the holster.

Nick glared at Rabbit, waiting long enough to show he wasn't scared, then turned to Erica. “I'll see you in the morning,” he said, then walked away.

THEY HIKED BACK FROM THE ISLAND IN NEAR-TOTAL SILENCE. GRENNEL
and Wynn were tight-lipped as usual, and Kevin found he didn't have much to say, or any desire to break the quiet. So he walked without speaking, in the light of the bright full moon, treading the near-silent walk of someone who had lived his entire life in the forest. Grennel hiked just as quietly, and Kevin wondered where Grennel had learned his skills. Wynn made only a touch more noise—an occasional crack of a twig or rustle of leaves.

Kevin thought about the black smoke rising from the funeral pyre, how thick it had been, and about his grandfather—had the bots really taken his body away? When they paused for a few hours of rest, in his fitful sleep he dreamed about the twisted bodies of the Islanders.

In the morning when they approached the camp, it was Oswald who was covering the eastern guard point. He stepped out from behind a thick tree and raised his hand in greeting. Kevin, lost in his thoughts, was startled, but Grennel and Wynn, he saw with embarrassment, had seen Oswald in advance.

“Welcome back,” said Oswald. “General's been waiting for you. Told me to keep an eye out for you and tell you to report immediately.”

Grennel nodded. “The Islander. You delivered him safely?”

Oswald hesitated. “You'll have to talk to the General about that.”

Faster than Kevin thought was possible—the movement was just a blur—Grennel rushed forward, grabbed Oswald's throat, stepped one leg behind him, and pushed him backward. Grennel pressed his pistol against Oswald's cheek. Oswald's eyes were wide with shock, but he stayed still and said nothing.

“I told you what would happen if you did not deliver the man safely,” Grennel said.

“I got him here fine,” Oswald whispered, half-choked. “After that it was General's orders.”

Kevin could see the open anger on Grennel's face, and it shocked him. The man never showed emotion. Grennel continued to hold Oswald down, pressing the pistol into his face, and Kevin thought,
He's going to shoot him, or choke him to
death. I'm going to watch Oswald die.
But then Grennel's face calmed, and he released Oswald's throat.

Oswald slowly got to his feet, coughing and rubbing his neck. Grennel strode past him, forcing Oswald to move quickly to get out of his way. Kevin followed, looking at Oswald, still holding his hand up to his chest as he walked past.

“What the hell are you looking at, boy?” growled Oswald. He moved his hand from his throat to the butt of his pistol. Kevin looked away, trying to not do it too quickly—he didn't want Oswald to think he could be scared that easily.

“Wynn, you're dismissed,” Grennel said as he entered the camp. “Kevin, come with me.” Grennel triggered his comm bracelet. “General, Grennel reporting in.”

Kevin was relieved to see Cass sitting against a tree outside Clay's tent. She jumped up and gave Kevin a big hug. “It's good to see you,” she said. She took a deep breath, then let it out and smiled. “I was worried.”

“What are you doing here?” said Kevin. He could still feel his heart beating fast from Grennel and Oswald's violent encounter.

Cass's smile dropped into a frown. “Waiting on the General. She's made me her rusted servant.”

Kevin felt a twinge of anxiety. “That's not good,” he said. “You should stay away from her.”

“Where am I going to go?” said Cass.

Kevin didn't say anything. She was right.

The tent flap opened and Clay stepped out. She nodded at Grennel. “Welcome back,” she said. She glanced at Cass. “Cass, you're done for the day. Grennel and Kevin, in my tent.”

Cass gave Kevin's arm a quick squeeze. “Find me later,” she whispered. She walked away.

Clay stood inside her tent, hands on her hips. “Report,” she said. “Were you successful?” She looked at Kevin. “Or did you waste my time? I sincerely hope not.”

“The man,” said Grennel. “The Islander that we found, that I had Oswald bring back. What happened to him?”

Clay raised her eyebrows. “I asked you to report.”

Grennel clenched his jaw—Kevin could see the muscles on his face tightening—and then he said, “We returned to the Island. Kevin recovered tools from the supply shed, as well as hardware from the Governor's workshop that he believes will be useful. And we came across an Islander, lost in the woods. I had Oswald bring him to the camp.”

“He was a spy,” said Clay. “I had him quietly removed.”

“He was no spy,” said Grennel.

“Enough!” said Clay. “I don't expect this from you, Grennel,” she said, lowering her voice. “You're disappointing me.”

Grennel said nothing. His arms were crossed over his chest. Kevin tried not to breathe.

“He was an Islander and I was not willing to risk him undermining my authority. Understood?”

Grennel was quiet a moment longer, while Clay glared at him, and then he lowered his arms and nodded, anger still obvious on his face.

“Anything else to report?” Clay said. Grennel shook his head. Kevin was surprised—he hadn't mentioned the parts salvaged from the bot, or the photo vid.

Clay held her stare a few more long moments, then turned to Kevin. “Tell me what you found,” she said.

Kevin had to fight the mix of anger and anxiety that he felt whenever Clay spoke to him. “The clamps of the conduction wires can be used to modulate the energy flow. I think I can adapt them to use on the suits and make it safe.”

Clay frowned and waved him to be quiet. “Enough,” she said. “Get back to work. Two days, and you will be inside a suit, testing it. It is up to you whether or not you fry like that fool Stebbins. Understood?”

I'd like to fry you
, he thought. But he just nodded. “Got it,” he said.