Robinson Crusoe 2244 (7 page)

“Gone! Gone! Like Daddy, they’re all gone! Just you now but not for long!”

Robinson tried to get up but was shoved down again.

“You want to run? You want a chance? All you have to do is beg.”

He said nothing and was punched in the gut again.

“Come on, rabbit. Beg. You know how it’s done.”

Robinson shook his head and was pummeled again.

“Just give us a whimper, yeah? A little snivel and it’ll all be over. It’s who you are.”

As hard as he tried, Robinson couldn’t contain the quiver in his lip. Finally, he said, “Please.”

Jaras sneered again. “Since you asked so nicely …”

Jaras grit his teeth as he reared back for the final blow. Robinson closed his eyes. But before the blow came, a rush of air blew into the room as a shadow slammed into his attackers. One by one, they cried out as the sickening notes of violence built up to a crescendo.

Robinson’s vision blurred, but when it returned, he found himself moving through a series of tunnels that snaked through rock, scaling up and down with the smallest of lanterns to light their way. A meaty hand was wrapped under his arm, willing his legs to move.

They finally emerged under the eaves of the Seventh Spire. Slink peeled back a shroud of ivy that led to the Tongue.

“The Tiers all fled for the Shelf. The people are rioting and the Red Guard will learn of your escape soon. If we don’t get you across the river now—”

Robinson tried to thank him, but his tongue was severely swollen and his mouth had gone numb.

“Save it, Nobe. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

Slink waited and then pulled him out of the tunnel and rushed them across the street. He was just about to turn into the Clutch when a contingent of Red Guard appeared two blocks away. He froze. And then a carriage skidded to a halt in front of him. The door blew open and Taskmaster Satu flung an arm out.

“In here, boy!”

Slink debated a second before helping Robinson inside. Taskmaster Satu told Slink to get home as quickly as possible before slamming the door and ordering the driver to go.

“My father …” Robinson mumbled.

“Fled with the children, but they will be coming for him. He has papers at home. Your mother’s things. With any luck, we can beat the Iron Fists there and meet him.”

“She lied to me,” he sobbed, tears falling freely. “She said she loved me.”

Taskmaster Satu was overwhelmed with pity. “We suspected they might be using her to glean information from you.”

“
We
?”

“My allegiance has always been with your parents and the One People. But we needed a way to prove my loyalty to Tier Saah. My loathing for you was part of that.”

Robinson felt like a fool. Outside the carriage, he witnessed the looting of merchant businesses. A gang of thugs had taken up anything resembling a weapon to meet the Red Guard in the street.

“Is this what Tier Saah wants? The end of the One People? Is that what the campaign is about?”

“Oh, no. Tier Saah has set his sights on something much bigger and grander.”

The carriage was suddenly rocked from outside. The driver tried spurring his horse through the mob, but a horde of men overtook it and soon it toppled over. Robinson crawled out from underneath the wreckage and set off for the estate on foot.

Taskmaster Satu, bloodied but alive, stumbled out after him, calling his name.

A quarter turn later, Robinson was halfway up the Shelf when he smelled the smoke. He knew immediately where it was coming from. The panic brewing inside him reached a fever pitch when he rounded the bend and saw flames billowing out of his family estate.

He turned the corner at the rear of the house and saw Vareen lying outside the door. Her throat had been slit, her scarlet lifeblood pooling around her. Robinson was not surprised, however, to see a knife in her hand. It was tipped with blood. Lying next to her was the family driver, his skull bludgeoned and gaping.

Robinson rushed into the kitchen, immediately inhaling a lungful of smoke. He grabbed a wet rag to cover his face and stumbled toward the children’s rooms. They were empty. Then he heard a noise coming from the parlor.

Halfway through the main hallway, Robinson jumped over a burning beam that had split the roof wide open. A torrent of rain spilled in but failed to quench the fire.

When Robinson entered the parlor, he saw Brapo Liesel behind his father, a garrote wrapped tightly around his father’s neck. Brapo was bruised and bloodied, but it was clear this fight was almost over. The teen charged the assassin with a scream and leaped onto his back, gouging at his eyes. He let loose a heavy backhand that sent Robinson sailing. His yellow teeth glowed ominously in the flames.

“I get extra for you!” he said, scooping up a dagger.

Robinson froze with fear. But as the brute stepped forward, Leodore unexpectedly kicked out, knocking his attacker off balance. Robinson’s instinct took over and he charged, burying a shoulder into the goliath’s chest and sending him cartwheeling over his father’s desk. Brapo’s body clipped an oil lamp and he landed on top of it with a crash. The liquid soaked into his clothes an instant before it took to flame. Brapo became a whirling conflagration, a dervish of brute flesh and unrequited sin.

Over the roar of the fire and their attacker’s screams, Robinson pulled his father outside just as a winded Taskmaster Satu arrived.

“Is he alive?” Taskmaster Satu asked.

Robinson checked his pulse. When his father stirred, Robinson asked about the twins.

“Sent … away …” Leodore gasped before thrusting something into his hands. “Now you … must go … too.”

Robinson refused to leave, so Leodore turned to his teacher. “To the flyers … now!”

Robinson screamed as Taskmaster Satu grabbed him, but he was too weak to fend the old man off. Robinson screamed his father’s name, but the roar of the flames swallowed his words. As the smoke blotted out the night, the last thing he saw was his father raise his hand in a One and Three, symbolizing they would always be together.

Taskmaster Satu dragged Robinson across the field toward the livery. In the distance, they saw lanterns approaching. The Red Guard was closing in.

Robinson stumbled into the livery as his teacher opened the front gates. He ran for the nearest flyer.

“You know how to fly one of these things?”

Robinson nodded numbly. He had watched his father teach many pilots the skill. “Good,” Satu said. “Fly as far away as you can. Find a place to hide. Preferably some place cold. The renders don’t like the cold. Can you remember that?”

Robinson nodded again.

“When the time is right, your father will come for you. Do not give up hope.”

It seemed like an impossible promise, but in a night of horrors, hope was all he had to grasp. He wanted to say more, but his teacher waved, and then picked up a mallet and set to sabotaging the other flyers.

Robinson activated his flyer controls as he’d seen his father do many times. He wasn’t even sure if he was doing it correctly until the thrusters thrummed to life. The ship rose and slowly powered through the livery gate.

Outside, the Red Guard had overtaken the estate. Robinson waited until the gravity drive was fully charged before giving the engine power and pulling back on the yoke. It soared up and out over the Pate. As he banked toward the ocean, he stopped to take one last look at the Isle and the inferno that marked the end of his life. He knew at that very moment, he would never see this place again.

As the craft sped over the surf, Robinson scanned the array of foreign knobs and dials and wondered how on earth he was going to survive.

Then two words appeared on the screen before him: ENGAGE AUTOPILOT?

With no other choice, he selected “YES.”

The words disappeared and seven blank boxes took their place. He had no clue what they meant.

Robinson stared at them, confused. But then it hit him. He reached in his pocket for the thing his father had given him. It was his mother’s locket. He opened it and found the piece of paper inside.

Could it be so easy?

He unfolded the paper and entered the numbers 3-8-5-3-7-7-2 and hit ENTER.

A half second later, the words “COORDINATES ACCEPTED” splashed across the screen and the flyer banked toward the ocean and sped into the night.

“The gates of hell are open night and day;

Smooth the descent, and easy is the way:

But to return, and view the cheerful skies,

In this the task and mighty labor lies.”

The flyer was speeding one hundred meters above the ocean surface when he woke. At first he had no idea where he was, but then he smelled the smoke on his clothes and felt the dried blood on his face and the memories of last night returned. He had fled the only home he had ever known like a thief in the night and now he could never go back.

He rose unsteadily. The only sound he could hear was the subtle thrum of the engines and the rush of air outside. Out of the view screen in front of him stretched the great, blue Atlantica, boundless and free. He had smelled it his entire life but never dreamed it would look like this.

His mouth tasted of dry blood, so he went in search of water, finding a meager ration in the back. It tasted flat and dull, but he didn’t waste a drop. There were also satchels of pre-packaged food stacked in cloth containers that were affixed to the rear wall. His stomach cried in protest as he handled them, but he refused to eat any until he had a better grasp of his situation.

In the pilot’s chair, he was careful not to touch anything lest he send the flyer plummeting from the sky. The sun was low at his back, the ship’s shadow blazing a course on the water in front of him. Rainclouds lingered on the horizon, but they were quickly evaporating under the morning sun.

On the screen before him, several words stood out: Altitude. Speed. Gravity Displacement. Only one was blinking: Fuel Cell Capacity
.
He touched it and saw it replaced with a long rectangle, half filled with small, drab blocks. The image left no room for interpretation. He had passed the point of no return.

The flyer sped west, but he had no clue what awaited him. All his life he’d dreamed of escape, of bounding over the Wall on a quest for adventure. But he was reminded that all children shared such fancies because most were made at night under the cloak of their covers, only to evaporate in the morning like dew in the grass. But from this journey, he would not awake. To survive, he knew he needed to keep his wits and put everything else behind him.

When the sun finally overtook his position, Robinson gave in and ate his first box of rations. It was gone in an instant. Just when he felt the most alone, a spray of water burst from below. He leaped to his feet to peer over the nose of the ship as a school of giant sea mammals breached the water’s surface. He was awestruck. The creatures were oblong with oily black and spotted coats with fins and forked tails that helped them move gracefully with each stroke. Robinson searched his mind for some lesson that might name these leviathans but came up empty. He was told such things had died in the Great Rendering. Now that too had been unveiled as just another lie.

As the turns passed, the Fuel Cell markers continued to dwindle. Robinson tried to keep a brave façade, but it wasn’t easy. The sun was falling quickly and the ocean waters, once so playful, were growing still, dark, and ominous.

And then the sun disappeared for good.

Drops of rain pattered against the view screen, illuminated by the flyer’s front lights, which had turned on automatically after the sky had gone dark. Under the ocean, angry swells broke in all directions. The surface would plummet away into a vast abyss that seemed to stretch toward the planet’s core only to rebound a second later and kiss the runners of the ship.

When the second-to-last meter block ticked off, the chime turned into a buzz and a warning flashed on the screen: 325 kilometers remaining. His eyes fell to the numbers he had found in his mother’s locket. 3853772. Had they not been coordinates? Had her calculations been wrong?

When the final fuel cell block ticked away, a warning light bleated and an alarm rang. LOW FUEL CELL WARNING appeared on the screen. He looked outside again, but the storm blinded him to everything. He cut the lights to save power but knew it wouldn’t be enough. And then something hard hit the view screen.

Robinson quickly turned up the lights only to see that the glass was covered with blood. He was utterly confused until he saw a small, white feather wedged into a crack in the glass. It could only mean one thing: land was near.

Unfortunately, Robinson was so busy watching the kilometers click away that he barely saw the giant structure right in his path. He torqued the yoke hard and missed the gnawed metal edifice by a hair. His action came with quick consequences as the flyer went into manual mode and shook violently. He fought as hard as he could to keep the nose up and straight, but it wasn’t easy, especially when more steel structures appeared. They were unquestionably Towers, many larger than the Crown itself. Most had been worn away to skeletal frames while others had toppled into the sea.