Robinson Crusoe 2244 (23 page)

Her next suggestion surprised him.

“Leave them. If Goddess wishes for them to live, they will live.”

The hallway grew brighter as they approached the courtyard. Friday rubbed the back of her head, but she appeared to be okay. Robinson was cleaning the blood from his tomahawks when they passed through the door and she winced.

“Your people will not enslave me?” she asked.

“We’re not like that. Plus my father has a real affinity for strong women. Once he meets you, he might try and keep you all for himself.”

Her elbow easily found his liver.

The plant life in the courtyard was denser than Robinson had first thought, though they found a narrow path to wade through.

He imagined the reunion that would take place. First, a pilot or crewmember would see him and call out. Then his father would come running. They would meet in the middle and he would pull his son into an embrace and say something like, “I always knew you were alive.” Then Robinson would introduce him to Friday and he’d suggest bringing her home. Maybe their relationship could forge an accord between their people. Maybe the One People could supply the Aserra with the means to defend themselves and unify their tribe. Maybe Friday and he could—

Voices echoed across the courtyard. Robinson saw the flyer sitting on an empty patch of soil. Then some men emerged in familiar dress from across the park. He was about to call out when the sun reflected off something in one of their hands. His smile fell and he grabbed Friday and wrenched her behind some trees.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Iron Fists.”

He shook his head, confused. Could the Iron Fists be working for his father now? The only way that was possible was if he’d somehow become Regent. A glimmer of hope bloomed inside Robinson, when suddenly all hope was dashed. In between the Iron Fists emerged a group of men and women carrying boxes full of documents. And he knew each of these citizens. Their clothes were ragged, their faces dirty, but there was no mistaking them, even from afar. Byron Frostmore, Sienna Pillar, Vonus Cork, Quars Ulay, Fonel Keric, and Palos Moor—all friends of his father. All people who had walked the Red Road or had been marked for it.

They were alive and in chains.

Their executions had been faked and now they were slaves. Seeing each of them broken and weary was like a blow deep to Robinson’s soul, but none hurt as badly as the last prisoner to exit the building. Even bruised and battered, there was no mistaking the wizened features of Taskmaster Satu.

Satu looked thin and pale and bore bruises along one side of his skull. His beard, so long a fixture that had dominated his face, had been shorn clean and dark circles consumed his once proud eyes. This was not the teacher that Robinson knew. This man was broken. When one of the imprisoned Tiers fell in front of him, Taskmaster Satu set his box down to help him and was lashed across the back for it. He winced but didn’t cower or protest. He simply picked up his box and continued on.

Robinson’s blood was boiling, but Friday held him back. Anything he did would only end up getting them captured or killed.

His thoughts shifted to the Isle. The One People were being deceived. They had no clue the Eight Laws were being subverted to this degree. Crossing into forbidden continents? Salvaging dangerous contraband? Using those sentenced to Expiry as slave labor? What did they hope to gain here? And why was it so important that they needed former Tiers to do their bidding? It was this final point that stymied him. Could his father also be a captive? And which was worse, the image of him broken but alive, or knowing he had died fighting for what he believed in?

Weapon fire suddenly erupted, followed by a series of familiar shrieks. A pack of renders—numbering at least a dozen—flooded out of the western doorway, frothing and snarling under the light of the sun as they spread out in a coordinated attack. The Iron Fists moved efficiently, forming a two-line rank while calmly firing their weapons. Forgotten in the madness were the prisoners cowering between the two forces.

When one of the renders vaulted over the ranks and slashed an Iron Fist’s face, the rest of the squad scattered, giving the monsters a small window to launch a blistering attack. For a moment it was bedlam as two of the faster renders leaped into the fray. One tackled an Iron Fist who was reloading his weapon while the other tore into Fonel Keric. The former Tier of Water Resources opened like a spigot, spraying blood all over his companions before his attacker was shot through the mouth.

From the flyer, two more Iron Fists aided in the defense, laying down a covering fire that momentarily halted the render attack. While they pushed forward to reform the line, Robinson grabbed Friday and said, “I’ll be right back.”

As the bloody skirmish played out in front of the flyer, Robinson raced behind it. With the Iron Fists reforming a perimeter around the prisoners, he knew he had no chance of rescuing Taskmaster Satu. So he ran to the flyer instead.

The dashboard had undergone extensive changes, including the installation of a pad with a blinking hand icon that read: BIO AUTHENTICATION.

Instantly, a voice beckoned from the panel.

“Aerial One-One-Three, report. Has the attack been neutralized?”

Robinson stared dumbfounded at the screen. He had no idea if the voice on the other end was coming from the Isle or somewhere else.

“Aerial One-One-Three, report!”

Outside, two more renders fell, but others were using the foliage to mask their attack.

Robinson had no idea what he was doing when he hit the ACTIVE button and said, “Hello?”

After a brief silence, the voice returned. “One-One-Three. Identify yourself.”

“This is … Tier Keric. Fonel Keric. Uh … the Iron Fists have been overrun. The survivors have fallen back to the building. Are reinforcements available?”

There was a brief pause and then another voice sounded. “Reinforcements are en route but will take some time to arrive. Can you hold out?”

Robinson asked him how long and was told less than a quarter turn. That meant there was an outpost somewhere nearby.

“How many in your party are alive?” the voice asked.

Robinson’s mind was scrambling. “A few. We’ve fallen back to the ship, but there’s something wrong with the controls. The bloody thing won’t start! I need to speak with a repair person, now!”

“Calm down,
Ser
Keric. The flyer can only be operated by an authorized pilot.”

“No, no, no, listen! It’s not that. The bloody thing is dead. I need to speak with someone quickly. We have … two wounded Iron Fists here, including the commander—”

“Has he been infected?”

“What? No. No. He fell, but if we don’t get this flyer moving quickly, he’ll most certainly die! Isn’t there anyone I can speak to? Tier Crusoe, perhaps?”

His hands were slick. The silence was interminable.

“You know that’s not possible,” the voice said.

And then a third, huskier voice came on. “Ser, identify yourself.”

“I told you, this is Tier Fonel Keric, from Regen 1! We need help immediately!”

“I’m from Regen 1,” the voice said. “And I can tell a New London accent when I hear one.
Now, who is this
?”

Robinson cut the radio off. There was nothing more to do.

Outside, the Iron Fists took down another pair of renders with loud cracks. Most of the Tiers continued to cower, except for Taskmaster Satu, who was busy doing compressions on Fonel Keric despite knowing it was a lost cause.

As the weapon fire dwindled, Robinson looked around and saw an unattended bag on one of the seats and grabbed it before springing for the door. Just as he was exiting, he caught something flashing on the screen but had no time to process it.

The Iron Fists called out when the final render tumbled and the prisoners gathered together to lick their wounds. The Iron Fist who had been gored writhed on the ground. When the others gathered around him, he held out his hand for help. No one took it.

“I’m fine,” he said. “The bloody thing never touched me.”

But from Robinson’s vantage, it was obvious no one believed the man. When the commander nodded, the wounded soldier mouthed a protest, but it died when a bullet blew through his heart.

Robinson quickly made his way back to Friday, who was pulling her knife out of the chest of a small render.

“He came through grass and met me by surprise.” She nodded to the bag. “Did you find what you seek?”

A voice echoed in Robinson’s head.
You know that’s not possible.

“Yes,” he lied. “But we need to go. Once they reach the flyer, they’ll know for sure someone else was out here. Then we’ll be the hunted ones.”

Friday was leading them away when Robinson took one last look over his shoulder as Taskmaster Satu and the other prisoners were loaded into the bay. His former teacher paused and for a second, he thought he might have seen him. But the idea was ludicrous. How could he recognize Robinson when he couldn’t even recognize himself?

As suspected, the flyer didn’t immediately lift off. From the doorway of the Pentagon, Robinson saw one of the Iron Fists climb onto the flyer’s roof to scan the courtyard. His transmission had raised a red flag, but this crew was in no position to handle a search by themselves.

Nevertheless, he and Friday knew they had to get as far away as possible. They exited the building as quickly as they could. Just as their feet hit the freeway, they caught sight of two more flyers approaching from the east and they were forced to hide in the reeds along the riverbank.

They remained there for the afternoon as flyers circled overhead and Iron Fists searched both the interior of the Pentagon and the outside. Friday’s apprehension grew as the daylight turns burned. Only when dusk approached did the flyers rise in unison and return to base. Once they were gone, Robinson and Friday rose.

“Almost dark,” she said. “They will be coming soon.”

She didn’t have to elaborate on who
they
were.

“Any chance we can swim across? If we had to, we could stop on the pilings of that old bridge.”

“We will freeze before then. And there are worse things to fear in the water. No, we must run. Now.”

He knew better than to argue. They ran fast but cautiously. By the time they reached the Key Bridge, the sun had nearly disappeared. Already the city was pulsing with the cries of renders emerging to feed. Robinson looked to Friday and she nodded. It was time to leave caution behind.

When Friday leaped on the hood of an old car, the concrete deck beneath gave way and a large chunk of bridge plummeted into the river, taking the car and Friday with it. Robinson raced to the barrier just as Friday reemerged, flailing in the water as the fast moving current pulled her quickly downstream.

“Friday!” Robinson yelled.

His first instinct was to jump in after her, but he wasn’t a great swimmer either, so he raced to the end of the bridge and tore down the embankment a hundred meters downstream. Friday thrashed against the current, but when she saw an area cluttered with debris, she swam toward it and grabbed the branches of a half-submerged tree.

As Robinson scrambled down the bank, he saw her gasping for air after taking in a mouthful of water. Her position was precarious, but looking downstream, he saw the river fed into a wider tributary. Should she reach that point, there was little chance of her making it back. Even worse, the water was nearly freezing. He was only in it up to his ankles and already both legs were nearly numb.

“Hold on!” he yelled as he peeled off his coat and the Iron Fist’s bag. He looked around for something to toss her. He spotted an old stretch of rope, gummed up with mud. When he grabbed it, it disintegrated in his hands. He knew panic would sink them both, so he gathered his focus, aware they’d only get one chance.

“Cru-soe,” Friday called weakly. “Hurry!”

At last he saw a long, rusty guardrail hidden in some brambles. He twisted it free and thrust it into the water. The cold metal bit into his hands. It wasn’t long enough by half to reach Friday where she was, but he was out of options, so he ran a dozen meters downstream and walked out until the water reached his knees.

“Okay!” he yelled. “I’m ready when you are!”

Friday barely managed a nod before letting go. Robinson was stunned how quickly the water took her. He had an instant to react as the brief shock of black hair approached. He knew instantly it wouldn’t be enough. Then he saw Friday’s long arms and legs stroke ferociously until, at the last moment, her hand broke through the surface of the water and grabbed hold of the guardrail.

The impact nearly pulled Robinson off his feet as the guardrail swung toward open water. He wasn’t sure how she held on, but he quickly pulled her in and dragged her to shore.

Despite gasping, her teeth chattering, and her skin turning blue, her grip was like iron. Robinson wrapped his jacket around her.

“I’ve got you,” he said over and over.

“Mu-st go,” she replied, her voice weak.

She was right. Night had fallen. The river might have masked this near fatal event, but they were still in the open.