City of Golden Shadow, Page 61

  "COUNT TO TEN AND THEN CUT. WHEN YOU ARE AT THE SECOND FENCE, TURN THE SUNGLASSES OFF AND ON TWO MORE TIMES."

  Christabel had gotten to six when the music from the field suddenly went quiet and the boxes stopped clicking. She was frightened, but no one came or shouted at her, so she kneeled down and pushed the scissors into the fence. At first it was hard, but after the point suddenly went through, everything else was easy. She slid the scissors up as far above her head as she could reach, then picked up the big cutters and ran to the second fence. There was still no music, and the sound of her footsteps on the dirt sounded very loud.

  This fence was made all of diamond shapes of thick wire covered in plastic. She turned her glasses off and on twice.

  "CUT THE SECOND FENCE ONE WIRE AT A TIME, THEN COME BACK. WHEN YOUR WATCH SAYS 14:38, COME BACK RIGHT AWAY, NO MATTER WHAT. DON'T FORGET THE LITTLE SCREEN."

  Christabel squinted. Prince Pikapik was already holding 14:28 between his paws, so she knew that wasn't very much time. She put the cutters on one of the pieces of fence-wire and squeezed them with both hands. She squeezed and squeezed until her arms really hurt, and at last the biting part of the clippers snapped together. She looked at her watch and the numbers said 14:31. There were still a lot of wires left to cut to make a hole as big as Mister Sellars said to make. She began to cut the second wire, but it seemed even stronger than the first, and she couldn't make the big cutters bite through. She began to cry.

  "What a hell you do, weenit? Que haces?"

  Christabel jumped and made a squeaking sound. Someone was watching her from a tree on the far side of the fence.

  "N-n-nothing," she said.

  The person jumped down from the tree branch. It was a boy, his hair cut funny, his face dark and dirty. He looked like he was a few grades older than her. Two more faces poked out of the leaves along the branch where he had been, a little boy and girl even dirtier than he was. They stared at Christabel like monkeys with their big eyes.

  "Don't look like nothing, weenit," the older boy said. "Look like cutting that fence. 'Come?"

  "It's . . . it's a secret." She stared at him, uncertain of whether to run. He was on the far side of the fence, so he couldn't hurt her, could he? She looked at her Otterworld watch. It read 14:33.

  "Mu'chita loca, you never cut that. Too small, you. Throw those here." He gestured at the bolt cutters.

  Christabel stared at him. He didn't have one of his front teeth, and he had funny pink patches on his brown arms. "You can't steal them."

  "Just throw them over."

  She looked at him, then grabbed the cutters by both handles. She swung them, then threw them as high as she could. They clattered against the fence and almost hit her as they fell back down.

  The boy laughed. "You too close, weenit. Get back."

  She tried again. This time the cutters skittered over the top, between the coils of sharp sticker-wire, and fell down on the other side. The boy picked them up and looked at them.

  "I cut for you, I keep these?"

  She thought for a moment, then nodded, not sure if Mister Sellars would be mad or not. The boy bent to the next wire up from the one she'd already cut and squeezed the cutters. It was hard for him, too, and he said some words she'd never heard, but after a little while the wire snapped. He moved on to the next.

  Christabel's watch read 14:37 as he finished.

  "I have to go home," she said. She turned around and ran across the bare ground toward the first fence.

  "Hold on, weenit!" he called after her. "Thought you running away from Mamapapa Army Base. What you do this for?"

  She ducked through the hole in the first fence and was just about to jump on her bicycle before she remembered. She turned back and unrolled the little screen Mister Sellars had given her. This kind of fence, he had said, the first fence, it talked to itself, and so it needed this little piece of screen so it could talk across the places she'd cut. She didn't know what that meant, but she knew it was very important. She spread the piece of screen until it covered all the part that was cut. It stuck where she pressed it.

  "Hey, weenit, come back!" the boy shouted.

  But Christabel was already throwing all of her things back in her school bag, and she didn't look back. As she jumped on her bike, the boxes on the fence started clicking again. A few seconds later, as she began to pedal toward home, she heard the music come back on again by the athletic field, strange and smeary in the distance.

  CHAPTER 27

  Bride of the Morning Star

  NETFEED/NEWS: Krellor Declares Bankruptcy Again

  (visual: Krellor on Tasmanian beach with Hagen)

  VO: Colorful and controversial financier Uberto Krellor has declared bankruptcy for the second time in ten years. Krellor, known as much for his famously stormy marriage to net star Vila Hagen and his month-long parties as his business interests, is reported to have lost Cr. S. 3.5 billion in the crash of his Black Shield technology empire,

  (visual: Black Shield employees leaving Madagascar factory)

  Black Shield, which was an early and heavily bankrolled entrant into nanotechnology, suffered huge losses when the financial community lost faith in the new industry after a series of disappointing technical failures. . . .

  "Martine, please, we really need this." Renie was trying to keep her voice calm, but not succeeding. "Forget the equipment—we have to find somewhere to hide. We have nowhere to go!"

  "I've never seen no craziness like this," her father said from the back seat. "Driving around and around."

  The blank screen remained maddeningly silent for long moments as Jeremiah turned the car onto the motorway and headed hack toward midtown Durban again. The pad was plugged into Doctor Van Bleeck's skyphone and the transmission was being scrambled, but although the Frenchwoman seemed content with the security of the line, Renie was on edge. The shock of Del Ray's betrayal had left her jumpy and unsettled.

  "I am doing the best I can do," Martine said at last. "That is why I am being quiet—I have several lines going. I have been doing some other checking as well. There is no police bulletin mentioning you, at least."

  "That doesn't surprise me." Renie struggled for calm. "I mean, I'm sure it's a lot more subtle, whatever they're up to. We haven't done anything, so they'll find some other excuse. One of Doctor Van Bleeck's neighbors will report people living in what's supposed to be an empty house, then we'll be arrested for squatting or something. But it won't be anything we can fight. We'll just disappear into the system somewhere."

  "Or it may be something more direct that does not use the law at all," !Xabbu added somberly. "Do not forget what happened to your flatblock."

  I wonder if Atasco and those Grail people had something to do with my suspension? Only the confusion of fleeing Susan's house had kept her from thinking of it earlier. The world outside the car seemed full of terrible but unforeseeable dangers, as though some poisonous gas were replacing the atmosphere. Or am I becoming completely paranoid? Why would anyone go to so much trouble over people like us?

  "I think this is becoming a lot of foolishness," said her father, "We just move in, then we go running out the door again."

  "With respect, Mister Sulaweyo, I think I must agree with Renie," Martine said. "You are all in danger, and should not go back to the doctor's house or anywhere else you are known. Pour moi, I will keep trying to find some solution for these problems. I have a possibility that may solve both, but I am following a very faint trail that is twenty years old, and I am also trying not to make too much attention, if you understand. I will keep a line open for you. Call me if anything else happens." She clicked off.

  They drove on along the motorway for some minutes in a tense silence. Jeremiah was the first to break it. "That police car. I think it is following us."

  Renie craned her head. The cruiser, with its protruding light-bar and bulging armor and crash bumpers looked like some kind of predatory insect. "Remember, Martine said there's no general alert out
for us. Just drive normally."

  "They probably wondering what four kaffir people doing in a big car like this," her father growled." Afrikaaner bastards."

  The police car pulled out from behind them and into the next lane, then gradually accelerated until it was skimming along beside them. The officer turned to stare at them from behind mirrored goggles with the calm confidence of a larger and more powerful animal. She was black.

  "Just keep driving, Jeremiah," Renie whispered. "Don't look."

  The police car paced them for almost a mile, then pulled ahead and darted down an offramp.

  "What is a black woman doing riding around in one of those?"

  "Shut up, Papa."

  They were parked in the outermost marches of a vast parking lot outside a warehouse mall in Westville when the call came in.

  Long Joseph was sleeping in the back seat, his feet sticking out of the open car door, six inches of bare skin showing between pants-cuff and socks. Renie was sitting on the hood with !Xabbu, drumming her fingers and smoking her dozenth cigarette of the young day, when the buzz sent her scrambling to the ground. She snatched the pad from the car seat and saw that it was displaying Martine's code.

  "Yes? Any news?"

  "Renie, you make me breathless. I hope so. Are you still in Durban?"

  "Close."

  "Good. Could you please switch the frequency again?"

  She pressed a button and the doctor's skyphone cycled through to another channel. Martine was already there, waiting. Renie was again impressed by the mystery woman's expertise.

  "I am dizzy and tired, Renie. I have examined so much information that I will be dreaming about it for days, I think. But I have found, perhaps, a thing that may help some of your problems."

  "Really? You found some equipment?"

  "A place also, I hope. I have come across a South African government program—a military project—closed because of budget problems some years ago. It was called 'Wasps' Nest,' and was an early experiment in unpiloted fighting aircraft. There is no official record of it, but it existed. I have found certain, how do you say, first-hand accounts of people who worked there, if that makes sense."

  "No, it doesn't really, but I just need to know if the thing will do us any good. Is there some way we can get access to the actual machinery?"

  "I hope so. The closing was temporary, but it never reopened, so it is possible that some of the equipment still remains on the site. But the records are very . . . what is the word? Imprecise. You will have to investigate it for yourself."

  Renie could hardly bear the slight stirring of hope. "I'll take the directions. Jeremiah's not back yet—he's getting us some food." She fumbled open the panel on the back of the pad. "I'll just jack this thing into the car so you can download the map coordinates."

  "No!" Martine was surprisingly sharp. "That cannot be. I will tell your friend Mister Dako how to get there, and he will follow my instructions. What if you are arrested while you are traveling, Renie? Then not only would there be that trouble, but the authorities would clear the car's memory as well, and this place, whatever hope it may bring, would be known to them."

  Renie nodded. "Okay. Okay, you're right." She looked across the parking lot, hoping to see Jeremiah already returning.

  !Xabbu leaned forward. "May I ask a question?"

  "Certainly."

  "Is there nowhere else we could go besides this place which may be surrounded by soldiers? Are there not many businesses that have VR connections, or who would sell or rent us the necessary equipment?"

  "Not for what we are speaking of," Martine replied. "I am not sure even the best equipment at your Polytechnic would have given you the level of response you need, and it certainly would not permit you to experience VR as long as may be necessary. . . ."

  "Look, that's Jeremiah," Renie said suddenly, squinting at a distant figure. "And he's running!" She set the pad on the car floor. "Come on!" She hurried around to the driver's side. As she sat staring at the dashboard, trying to remember her driving lessons from years before, !Xabbu forced his way into the back seat, waking a protesting and grouchy Long Joseph.

  "What are you doing?" Martine's voice was muffled by the pad cover, which had fallen closed.

  "We'll tell you in a minute. Stay connected."

  Renie got the car started and seesawed out of the parking space, then headed toward Jeremiah. Forced to travel up and down rows of stationary cars, she had only moved them a hundred feet closer when she pulled up alongside him. He clambered into the passenger seat, short of breath, and almost stepped on Renie's pad.

  "What happened?"

  "They took the credit card!" Jeremiah seemed stunned, as though this were the strangest thing that had happened so far. "They were going to arrest me!"

  "Good God, you didn't use one of Susan's cards, did you?" asked Renie, horrified.

  "No, no! My card! Mine! They took it and waved it over the machine, then they told me the manager needed to speak to me. He didn't come for a moment, so I just ran out. My card! How do they know my name?"

  "I don't know. Maybe it was just a coincidence. This has all happened so fast." Renie closed her eyes, trying to concentrate. "You'd better drive."

  They exchanged places. Jeremiah headed as rapidly as he could toward the parking lot exit. As they joined a line of cars funneling out past the front of the mall, two uniformed guards emerged, talking into their headset microphones.

  "Don't look," said Renie. "Just drive."

  As they pulled out onto the main thoroughfare, Jeremiah suddenly sat up straight. "If they have my name, what if they go after my mother?" He seemed on the verge of tears. "That's not right! She's just an old woman. She hasn't done anything to anyone!"

  Renie put a calming hand on his shoulder. "Neither have we. But don't upset yourself. I don't think anyone would do anything to her—they can't know for sure you're even involved with us."

  "I have to go get her." He pulled into a turn lane.

  "Jeremiah, no!" Renie reached for an authority she did not feel."Don't do it. If they're really looking for us that seriously, they'll be waiting for you to do just that. You won't do her any good at all, and we'll all be stuck, then." She forced herself to think. "Look, Martine says she thinks she's found something—a place we can go. We need you to get us there. I'm sure you can make some arrangement for your mother."

  "Arrangement?" Jeremiah was still wild-eyed.

  "Call one of your relatives. Tell them you've had to go out of town on some emergency. Ask them to keep an eye on her. If you stay away, whoever is after us won't have any reason to bother her." She wasn't sure that was true, and she felt like a traitor for saying it, but she could think of nothing else. Without Jeremiah and the mobility of the car, she and !Xabbu and her father stood no chance.

  "But what if I want to see my mother? She's an old woman—she'll be lonely and frightened!"

  "What about Stephen?" Long Joseph said suddenly from the back seat. "If they chase us and we hide, we can't go see my boy when that quarantine's done."

  "For God's sake, I can't think of everything right now!" shouted Renie. "Everyone, just shut up!"

  !Xabbu's slender fingers reached over the seat and came to rest on her shoulder. "You are thinking very well," he said. "We must do what we are doing, what you have said."

  "I am sorry to interrupt," Martine said from the pad beneath Renie's feet, making her jump, "but do you wish me to give you some directions?"

  Renie rolled down the window and took a deep breath. The air was warm and heavy with the threat of rain, but at the moment it smelled like escape.

  The Ihlosi was speeding northwest along the N3, for the moment only another anonymous unit in the early thickening of the rush hour. Jeremiah had been able to reach an elderly relative and make arrangements for his mother's well-being, and Renie had dispatched businesslike messages to Stephen's hospital and the Poly that would cover for her with both institutions for a few days. They had sprung thems
elves free and seemed, at least temporarily, to have eluded their pursuers. The mood in the car was improving.

  Martine had set them a destination high in the Drakensberg Range along the Lesotho border, in an area too wild and with roads too primitive to be usefully explored in darkness. As the afternoon came on, Renie began to worry they would not be able to reach the area in time. She was not happy when Jeremiah decided to stop at a highwayside chain restaurant for lunch. Reminding the others that they made an odd-looking party, and that !Xabbu in particular was bound to be remembered, she convinced Jeremiah to go in and order four meals to take away. He came back complaining about having to eat while driving, but they had only lost a quarter of an hour.

  Traffic became more sparse as they ascended from the plain and into the foothills. The road grew smaller and the vehicles grew larger as little commuter runabouts were replaced by huge trucks, silver-skinned dinosaurs making their way to Ladysmith or beginning the long haul to Johannesburg. The silent Ihlosi slipped in and out between the bigger vehicles, some of whose wheels were twice as high as the car itself; Renie could not help but feel it was an all-too-accurate analogy for their own situation, the vast difference in scale between themselves and the people they had offended.

  Except it would be even more like what's going on, she noted unhappily, if these trucks were trying to run over us.

  Luckily, the analogy instead remained loose. They reached the Estcourt sprawl and turned west onto a smaller motorway, then left that after a short while for an even smaller road. As they climbed higher on the tightly winding mountain roads, the sun passed the noon midpoint and then seemed to spiral down the sky, heading for the mantle of black thunderheads that shrouded the distant peaks. Signs of civilization were dwindling, replaced by grassy hillsides and swaying aspens and, increasingly, dark stands of evergreens. Long stretches of these smaller roads seemed deserted, except for occasional signs promising that somewhere in the trees was hidden this lodge or that camp. It seemed that they were not only leaving Durban, but the very world as they had known it.