The Transdyne Awakening, page 9
Sitting on a rocky shelf, Darren explained how this waterway stretched on for miles. At certain points, Skye told him, they filtered the water for impurities and then pumped it up for everyone to use.
When they eventually climbed out at the end of the dive he was elated. He wondered how many people had experienced what he had just felt. He tried to picture the first person coming down here to investigate. On his trips out to this community he had thought about the many places he had never seen. Now, he was feeling for himself the wonder that came with exploration.
Greg was eagerly waiting back at the surface to hear his impressions. Skye and Darren left them talking.
“You told me you have everything you need here and you’re right.”
“Jehovah Jireh,” Greg said through a smile.
“What?”
“God is our provider.”
Clay was fired with his explorations, but still full of questions. He wanted to know everything he could about this tremendous place and how these people made it work.
“What about the power for all this?”
“Well, over the years the Lord has sent a number of very bright people to join us. I can help operate some of the gear, but I couldn’t claim an in-depth knowledge of the principles behind it all. You’d better talk to Alistaire here. He can explain all that stuff much better than I can.”
ALISTAIRE
Alistaire was an extremely tall individual with a preoccupied manner. He wore strange looking, circular glasses which were held together in the middle with a swathe of black tape. The right lens was cracked. Questioning Alistaire was like unleashing a hurricane. He spoke rapidly in a clipped English accent.
“Well, of course we have generators which run on various hard fuels. However, there are other means of generating the power we want. People used to call some of the devices that we use ‘perpetual motion’ machines. That’s not actually very helpful. It was said that perpetual motion was an impossibility, but think about those rocks out there for a minute. Those formations contain electrons that have been spinning around steadily ever since they’ve been there. I would say that’s pretty perpetual, wouldn’t you, dear boy?”
“Well, I guess so…” Clay mumbled. ‘Dear boy?’ he puzzled. He’d never heard that one.
Alistaire went on.
“The question that most people don’t ask is ‘why?’ Why don’t those electrons just run down to a standstill? We know that this universe of ours is just absolutely seething with energy. Energy has always been my fascination. My heroes were the unconventional thinkers from oldtime. They went their own way in realizing their ideas; people like Nikolai Tesla. I had to studylearn about people like him secretly of course, but then my parents were always outside the system, so I guess I was privileged. All that work was a preparation for what I do here. You see, men like Tesla asked the big question -’why?’ He understood that there was energy all around us. He knew it could be harnessed and went on to ask himself ‘why not?’ Then, he found ways of doing it. Conventional thinkers all said that he was crazy. When ordinary people saw him demonstrating his inventions, some said he was in league with the devil and practicing black magic. Tesla was just a man whose thinking was way ahead of his time. He wanted people to have power and light in their homes because these were easily harnessed and would make life more comfortable for them. Powerful people stole his ideas and made them available for vast profits. People used electric light for years but they had to pay big credits to the giant power corporations for the privilege!
There was a law of the Conservation of Energy which stated that more energy couldn’t be taken out of a system than was put into it. That might seem fair enough as far as it goes. But, think about it… what about us? It doesn’t mean that we can’t take more energy out of a system than we put into it! Think about a solar panel up there in the sunlight. We don’t have to put sunlight into that panel. Just look up there - the sunlight comes along on its own! In that instance you can see the sunlight arriving and shining its energy on the solar panel. The real point is that there is a lot of energy around us that we don’t see in that same way. That doesn’t mean that it’s not there; it just means that we can’t see it in the same way as we see the sunlight! I’ve never really paid much attention to the professional naysayers. They’re always telling people that this or that is impossible. I couldn’t really care less what they say or think. What I know is that this stuff works and we use it!”
Clay nodded awkwardly. Alistaire had lost him a few sentences back. Tesla? Laws of Energy Conservation?
Alistaire clearly needed to be somewhere else.
“Not wishing to be rude, old bean, but must dash. Work to do y’know.” With that, he pushed the strange glasses back on his nose and strode away. ‘Old bean?’ These English guys had some strange expressions Clay thought to himself. What a place!
CAUGHT
The journey back always afforded him time to think. For a boy from the Tenacamps, there was an awful lot to think about.
Clay had his hands on the steering column but his mind was still in the semidarkness of Adam-son’s chamber or diving in subterranean waterways. In a couple of brief months he had experienced the embrace of a totally new and unfamiliar world. He knew it was not some dream that he might readily dismiss in order to return to the existence he’d known before. He recalled a quote John had used in conversation;
“The world is not only queerer than we suppose but queerer than we can suppose.”
Clay had never supposed that his universe was odd at all. He had always dealt with what was - or so he had thought. Now he had to deal with a reality that had always been there, but had been hidden from his view.
The lights caught him unaware. Momentarily he was blinded in an unforgiving glare. Unable to see what was ahead of him, he powered the terraglide down. Luminescent spots danced before his eyes.
Two big Polibro terraglides hovered in front of him, blocking the route ahead. As his eyes refocused he became aware of two figures in black uniforms before his grounded vehicle.
“Step out!” a stentorian voice commanded.
He couldn’t believe that he had been dumb enough to steer straight into a Polibro patrol squad.
From where they were positioned, he figured that they could only have a clear view of his head and shoulders. Without moving his upper body, he slowly unfastened his belt, pushing the pulse weapon down into the gap behind the seat.
He emerged, blinking into the searchlights. “Mark!” came the next instruction. Clay hesitated. “Mark! Now!”
A gloved hand reached to grip his wrist and push up the sleeve of his work tunic. “Violation!” he heard. “No visible mark.” He couldn’t see the face of the interrogator behind the visor, but he already knew it was pointless to argue. These were drone class Trans on routine Citizone patrol. A second Tran focused a portable autoscan device on his right hand and then moved it upward to his forehead.
Once again, he heard; “Violation! No I.D. chip!”
No mark, no debate. No chip, no debate. Clay stayed silent.
These synthetic morons would do exactly what they had been designed to do. He would be taken to the Polibro holding tank and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. He looked up at the other figures waiting at the ready near the big patrol terraglides. He noted their rather stiff gait and movements. The entire patrol seemed to be made up of standard service Trans. He told himself that there must be a human patrol chief somewhere but he couldn’t make one out. Had the patrol been human, he might have mentioned Ahab or one of his local contacts. He may have arranged some kind of payoff or intimated the possibility of retribution if they didn’t see sense and let him go. It wasn’t worth wasting breath.
One of the patrol crew quickly took up position behind the column of his terraglide. Two others cuffed him and forced him into the rear of their massive transport. Secured to the bench, he stared through the reinforced mesh over the shoulders of the silent Polibro Trans in the cockpit. He cursed quietly under his breath. How stupid could he have been?!
At the holding point, he was practically lifted off his feet between two of the arresting Trans. Down a corridor with lights almost as bright as those on the patrol vehicle, he was forced into a small cubicle with Permasteel bars. The holding cell stank. In the corner lay the only other occupant.
The badly beaten prisoner had not only thrown up but had voided his bladder on the floor. The poor unfortunate was only semiconscious. Clay gagged on the mingled stench of vomit and urine. It was going to be a long night. He set himself on the bench at the side of the cell and tried to stretch out on the hard surface. In the semidarkness he cursed himself again for his stupidity. He was cold now and pulled the small collar of his tunic up as far as he could. He wished he had his pack with its container of Nevermind pills. He would have taken three, or maybe even four, just to numb out for a couple of hours. Without that option now, he turned on to his side and cradled his head on his arm. He knew the drill. In the morning he would have to face the consequences of not having an r.f.i.d. chip - the mark of a citizen. The dark thoughts that began to take hold were heightened in his exhaustion.
Sleep must have overtaken him, for when he started and suddenly sat upright, he could hear his name being called. His mouth was dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Through the bars of the holding cell he made out a uniformed figure holding an electronic pad. He studied the officer closely, half expecting to see yet another drone Tran. This was no Tran. It was a clearly harassed human Polibro officer. The sleeves of his uniform were rolled up and he was obviously not in the best of humour. He motioned to the Tran standing beside him and pointed at Clay. The electronic cage doors opened.
Awake now, the other inhabitant of the cell ran excitedly toward them. The Tran pulsed him with an electro-baton. It must have been set on a pretty high stun ratio. The unfortunate victim was sent up and backwards like a rag doll. His head caught the bench as he came to rest in his own stale vomit on the far side of the cell.
The officer in charge didn’t even look up from his electronic tablet.
“You, come with me!” he commanded. Clay rose stiffly and followed him out of the cell and into the corridor.
The Polibros’ bootsteps reverberated along the dark walkway. Clay found himself being steered down a tunnel to his left. Rounding a sharp corner he was faced with a large exit door. One of the accompanying Trans entered a keycode. Before he knew it he was pushed forward and out through the opening. He heard the door smash shut behind him and stood, bewildered for a second, blinking in the daylight. Before him, idling low on the narrow track between the tightly packed buildings, was a small terraglide. The rear passenger door slid open revealing a familiar face. “Get in here, fool!” barked Jean-Claude. Clay took an unsteady step forward and placed a hand on the vehicle’s side panelling. The terraglide suddenly lurched upwards a foot or so, throwing him off balance.
He fell to the ground heavily. Above him he could hear Jean-Claude’s laughter. “Idiot! You can’t even stand up on your own, can you?
Okay, enough fooling around. Take it down, Archer. Let’s get out of here!” Clay waited for the driver to lower and level the terraglide. He clambered in beside Jean-Claude and collapsed into the comfort of the padded seat. Turning sideways, he looked quizzically at his fellow passenger. Jean-Claude caught his gaze and shook his head at the unspoken question. “Don’t even ask!”
Clay knew the man next to him as one of Ahab’s most trusted soldiers. Jean-Claude was inner circle. In all the time Clay had known him, he had never seen Jean-Claude ever lose his self-control. He knew that to retain the position he held, the man must have a deadly streak.
He leaned back and breathed deeply, relief flooding over him.
Through the tinted screens of the terraglide he could see the towering buildings of the megacity. He had come to hate this cityscape. Its massive, ugly blocks housing the densely packed population. Ants in a nest. Even from the back of the transport, the claustrophobia nearly choked him. He felt relief all right, but it was mixed with a nausea at the surroundings flashing by. Fear and loathing for this awful place wrapped themselves around him. Minute by minute, second by second, his life was ebbing away and he longed to be free; to spend whatever time he had away from this human jungle. His mind was not in a terraglide moving through the Citizone. It was miles and miles away, traversing the open spaces of the outlands. The longing to be there was an ache in him.
Archer piloted them speedily through the built up maze, setting them level in front of the unblinking eyes of Ahab’s security cameras.
Inside, Ahab was waiting before the painting of the man on the horse. Clay steeled himself for a grilling. It never came.
Instead, Ahab went over to an ornate cabinet and took out a large, transparent container. “A stiff drink for you, I think,” he said, quietly lining up four bowl shaped drinkers. He handed one each to Archer, Jean-Claude and Clay, raising his own in a salute. Clay took a large mouthful. It caught in his throat and he gagged, sending a fine spray all over Archer’s jacket. “Boy, you sure know how to waste good liquor, don’t you?” Archer responded, trying to brush off the liquid. “D’you have any idea of how many ticks this cost me? You gonna get me a new one?”
“No ripples?” Ahab enquired. Jean-Claude shook his head before sipping at his drink. “No, they got the message straight away.”
“Good,” Ahab said, turning to walk across to his leather couch. He swung his shiny boots onto the low table in front of his seat. “No real damage done, then.” That was all he said on the matter. Clay would like to have known what had taken place to secure his rapid release, but he held his peace. Ahab turned his attention to briefing Archer and Jean-Claude on another errand. Soon, he broke off and looked across at Clay. “You should go back to your place and get some rest,” he said. “That is, if you’ve finished your drink!” Both the others laughed quietly. “You look exhausted. Go on. Your vehicle is up in the T-pool.”
“Thanks, boss,” Clay nodded. He turned and made his way wearily back to the vehicle bay. His usual terraglide was parked in its familiar space. How Ahab had arranged that was another question. He wasn’t likely to ask Ahab about it any time soon.
It seemed a long time to Clay before he got back to ‘The Way’ again. The weeks were filled with routine rounds of pickups and drops within the Citizone. He was grateful for whatever Ahab had done to get him out of that lock up. He knew the mistake might have been fatal.
For all that, he was bored. It felt like he’d been reprieved and restored to a life that he no longer really wanted.
Back at base, he ventured to ask Ahab about spares for the damaged Adam-son.
“Why do they want spares for a model that old?”
Clay handed him a note tablet and waited while he scrutinized the columns of electronic code numbers.
“This particular Tran has a lot of studylearn in its memory. It’s stuff they want to try and preserve,” Clay explained. “I just wondered if it’s still possible to get hold of the parts on that list.”
Ahab studied the pad intently for a while. Finally, he looked up and yelled “Archer, c’mere will you.”
Archer emerged from one of the store-chambers, where he’d been rummaging for items on another list. Ahab handed him the pad.
Archer held it up in front of him. After a few seconds he said, “It’s retrospec, but I think they’ve got some of this stuff in the old store buildings at the Transdyne complex. You want I should go over there?”
“Yeah, take Clay with you and load him up, eh?”
Turning back to Clay, Ahab said, “I’ll want something for these kinds of spares - that’s if they’re still around. Tell ‘em five hundred. It’s all pretty much junk you know, but if they want the stuff they’ll pay.”
GHOST
Clay had been thinking about the next long trip into the Outland. He liked the prospect of seeing those people again, especially Skye. He really wanted to talk with her. The weariness of the journey fell away as he sat eating with John and Rael. When Skye came to join them he couldn’t hide his broad grin. She made room to sit opposite him. When she smiled back it felt good.
The main topic of conversation was about a couple of people who wanted to join the community. The dangers had been explained to them, but they were set on taking the risk. John was guarded about the arrangements to bring them in, but Clay picked up that they were from one of the work camps. Some of the labourers in these places were from locations Clay had never even heard of. Many of them spoke in different languages.
“Trouble is communication,” John said thoughtfully. “As far as we can make out, these two are from a place called Ukraine. There might be no difficulty, but if there is, Skye is about the only one here who’s likely to be able to converse with them. We don’t want to be at cross purposes while we’re trying to get them out. These operations rely on speed and clarity. If people are on different channels it could be a disaster.”
Skye’s linguistic abilities might turn out to be crucial. It seemed that she was going with the party to meet the new people and bring them quietly out here to the community. Clay felt saddened that she would be busy with this mission. He had wanted to spend as much time with her as he could. He made up his mind to make the most of whatever was available. He sat with her as the others got up and drifted away.
“Are you the only one who could go on this trip? Isn’t there anyone else who has the same skills?”
“There might be one or two, but their Ukranian or Russian isn’t that strong. If these people are from the Ukraine they may speak either,” Skye replied. Clay’s anxiety was starting to show. Skye reached out and covered his hand to stop him tapping on the bench in front of him.
