After a long night of driving, Andreas pulled off the neglected Sevesto Mountains Highway. The road had seen better jahrs. With nobody traveling the highway, and one of the countries that built it under enemy occupation, maintenance of the road remained a low priority. Aside from the wave of refugees fleeing east jahrs ago, not many bother traveling it. Or rather, not many by wheel. Deer, elk and antelope adopted it as their own wildlife corridor, taking full advantage of the wars of man.
He expected to be safe, at least for the moment. He crossed the border a good hour ago. It was a long-winded, yet refreshingly gentle, run that allowed him to dodge each of the lookouts and observation posts dotting the border. Such an evasion was not easy work and it forced him to leave the highway on several occasions, kicking up clouds of dust invisible in the dark of night. Had he made the attempt in broad daylight, sentries would detect him and call down an artillery strike. At least he assumed that was standard operating procedure after nearly driving into a crater.
High in the mountains, Andreas reveled in the cool breeze. Humidity was still as high as back west but the air temperature hovered around two hundred eight-three degrees–a chilly ten above freezing. After jahrs of life in Tropadiso he almost forget the sensation coolness created when touching the skin. Only two places on the island ever grew this cold; mountaintops and meat lockers. Both were rare back home and not the easier places to access–not that he had much desire to stand on top of a mountain or inside a freezer.
Andreas took the first off-ramp he could find. By the strange stares he received as he rolled into town, he assumed he was the first vehicle to visit Lake Vista since the war started. Their looks were not so much hostile, well not many at least, as they were curious. Who were these newcomers? Is their coming a good or ill omen? Was invasion imminent? Andreas chuckled at the last thought. If a businessman and a teacher were the vanguard of a Navenian invasion then these people had little reason to fear. Actually, with such a formidable barrier as the Sevesto Mountains dividing Marasuania from the occupied lands west, they really had no reason to worry.
Andreas glanced from neglected building to neglected building as he slowly road down the main street. Few visitors came to this one thriving tourist destination since Goai fell. Those that had since the war erupted were refugees, many of which never bothered moving on eastward. The once pristine resort destination was now little more than a depressed town. Even the crystal clear lake somehow lost the sheen one expected to see in a post card.
Before the war, more than a million tourists from both sides of the border visited Bellevista each jahr. Its mountain trails, lakeside resorts and glacial capped peaks enjoyed worldwide fame. A few adventurous souls even climbed the towering peaks. Andreas glance up at the nearest, deciding quickly that anyone who tried to climb it had to be quite, quite mad. Nobody could ever claim Towne lacked madmen. Not a jahr went by without foreign media speaking of deaths on mountaintops. What did the fools expect, venturing into an environment unfit for life?
Lake Vista, the name of both a lake and the town, was once a premier tourist destination. Andreas remembered a little from a brochure he once read. Just over a thousand kilometers worth of nature trails snaked their way through the surrounding countryside waiting for outdoor adventurers to hike them. The truly bold could take in a mountain safari, shooting exotic terraforms and towneforms with either rifle or camera. There were even a few small ships that offered cruises on the lake. Given how narrow the lake was at places, Andreas supposed they simply steamed from one end to the other.
He glanced out to the lake to see if any of the small cruise liners were out and about. He was not disappointed to see none for that was exactly what he expected. No point in wasting fuel when they had no paying customers. Then there was the camping. For many people, pitching a tent and roughing it through cold mountain nights was a great time. Andreas did not count himself among the elect. If he had time off, he certainly would not spend it out in the middle of nowhere. Unlike the ships, he did see plenty of tents surrounding the town. Thousands in fact, all the new lakefront homes of refugees.
Force once, he discovered a benefit to that blasted war. What was once a very pricey tourist destination was now as close to destitution as his motorcycle was to exhaustion. The people, people who formerly prospered off middle and upper class suckers eager to separate themselves from their dinar, were now desperate for any source of income. As any businessman knew, half price was better than no price. He should have little problem refueling vehicle and body for only a few dinar.
Behind him the weight on his back slowly stirred to life. Somewhere on that long and dull highway Katrina fell asleep. During their escape he managed to learn very little about her. Only her name, where she worked and that she was plenty furious at him. Nothing new there. She dozed fitfully since they crossed the border. He really could not blame her for taking a nap. There was little to see on the highway at night and even less to do. What really astonished him was that somehow she managed to hang on while sleeping.
The fact that Andreas did not have to pull any tricky maneuvers helped in that respect. One sharp turn would have sent her tumbling off the mountain road. At least she would be too dead after that fall to worry about it. The danger passed once it was clear nobody was hot on his tail. After not spotting a single glaring headlamp in his handle mirrors, he decided to slow down his escape to conserve fuel. The previous owner was not so courteous as to fill up the tanks before it fell off a truck.
“Where are we?” Katrina asked, slightly groggily. Sleeping sitting up on a motorcycle made her wake far more tired than when she fell asleep. She could not remember when she dozed off but one thing was painfully clear; it had not been a good night’s sleep.
“Lake Vista,” Andreas called over his shoulder.
Katrina bolted to an upright position. “Lake Vista!” She was in Marasuania and no longer in the State. She was no longer home. Her sleepiness vanished, instantly replaced by a recollection of the previous day’s events. In an instant she thought of all she lost and how it was this man’s fault. Worst of all, she learned it was no dream or nightmare. It was all real.
Katrina glanced around the renown vacation town. After hearing so much about it in jahrs gone past, she failed to hide her disappointing at the new reality. It was far more drab than she expected. To say nothing of cold. She shivered as cool air blew down from the peak of Mount Bellevista. To the south, she stared at the granite behemoth. So massive was the mountain that it was all but impossible to miss, even with the forest of lesser peaks surrounding it.
The snow stood out against the green and violet trees struggling for control of its base. It was the eternal struggle of the world; terraform verses towneform with the planet as the prize. Only with the battle of this mountain, she could see no clear front lines. The trees were quite random in their mixture. Oddly enough, the mixture reminded Katrina of sherbert dusted with sprinkles. None of the green pine or purple broad-leaves made the attempt to scale the white capped mountain.
Katrina shivered as she started at the peak. “It’s too cold here.”
Andreas laughed. “Enjoy it while you can.”
Katrina glared right through the back of his head. “That’s easy for you to say. You have a coat.”
Andreas shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. East of here is a rather sizable desert, supposedly the hottest in the world. Once we descend from the mountains, the temperature’s going up fifty degrees. You really ought to enjoy the refreshingly cool alpine air.”
Katrina did not wish to think about a smoldering desert or frigid alpine air. She did not want to think about what lay ahead period. Her life lay behind her and everything ahead was the dreaded unknown. A cloud of foreboding hung over her head, darkening her already dismal day. All she wanted to do was wake up from this nightmare. Is that too much to ask? The aches in her body told her otherwise. They told her it was quite real. If this were a nightmare she would never feel the kink in her neck.
Andreas could relate, had he bothered to ask how she was doing. What lay ahead of him except a return to Tropadiso? Nothing save working for the Golden Hammers until he died of natural causes, whether it be old age or blood loss. He never spoke of his discontent with life. Why bother? It was not as if many would understand. Or care. He was a rich man by Tropadisan standards, living a glamorous lifestyle. About what could he possibly complain? Many fail to realize that a prison with bars of gold was still a prison.
Now across the border, he was at least safely out of one prison. Safe, for the time being. He had more pressing concerns to divert his attention than an unhappy home. Namely his Steelhorse running on fumes. Whether muscle or mechanical, all horses required recharging after a night’s ride. The numerous benzene stations sitting empty left him spoiled for choice. When that happened, and it seldom did, he often picked the first choice. Benzene was benzene after all.
He glanced up to see the sign beneath a hawk using it as a perch. He knew of this brand. It was a Migration Station. Migrations were a common enough sight throughout the auto-obsessed states of Marasuania. The combination benzene-convenience stop served many drivers in this large nation. Here, the culture of the auto reigned supreme and each household had at least one. Andreas supposed the love of autos had to do with Marasuanians being a very mobile people. Across the centuries of their history, they had a motto; when the going got tough, the tough got going–to where the going was easier.
Andreas brought the Steelhorse up to the nearest vacant pump. An attendant stood nearby, eager to rush toward the next customer. As he jogged towards the visitors, Andreas kicked the stand into place and dismounted his mechanical horse. As the attendant arrived, Andreas handed him a crisp five dinar not. Fortunately for him, Marasuania’s currency dominated its neighbors’ economies. They were so powerful in fact that Endopia did not even bother to print their own currency. They just bought it from Marasuanian mints.
“Keep the change,” he told the attendant, who nodded his thanks. With the motorcycle’s modest tank, five dinar more than covered the cost.
Katrina joined him off the motorcycle, feeling liberated as she stood. Sitting on that contraption for so long left her sore. She felt so sore that only after stretching her tired limbs did she notice her growing hunger. She started feeling the thirst as well. A bottle of wine should numb the previous day’s trauma. No, not wine. She needed something stronger, something the Verdensorder banned for a good reason. Katrina generally disapproved of inebriation even if she saw the utility of it in her current situation. “I need a drink,” she muttered.
“What do you want?” Andreas asked, picking out her words against the backdrop of the chugging fuel pump.
Katrina looked his way as he started toward the station. “Where are you going?” Se asked, not wanting to let him out of her sight. Despite the magnitude of her anger, she dared not risk him abandoning her in this strange place.
“The store,” he said flatly, shocked by her density. How did this sheila ever become a teacher? “You want something or not?”
Katrina looked up at the Migration Station sign before checking out their store front. Fuel for vehicles and bodies in the same place? These Marasuanians had some bizarre ideas. “A fine café latté and a stack of Dolei waffles topped with cream of strawberry,” she ordered wishfully.
Andreas waved back over his shoulder. “Coffee and doughnuts it is.”
Katrina eyed the bottle in Andreas’s hands, musing at its red content. “Tropadisan Punch? Just how old are you?”
Andreas took another swig of the juice. “Old enough to drink what I want and not care what you think about it,” he said as he started storing twenty liters of bottled water into the Steelhorse’s saddle bags. They already bulged with only half the load safely stored.
Katrina turned her nose up Andreas’s bitter response. She took another sip of what passed for coffee, wishing it was café instead of this strong toxin. It certainly woke her up, even if it had the viscosity of used motor oil. Given that drivers could have oil change in this odd station/store combination, she might not be far off the mark.
She gazed off into the distance while Andreas worked. With so many ice-capped peaks it was hard to believe they would need all that water. Intellectually she knew about the Sevestapoli Plains. They were the largest expanse of arid land in the world and as flat as a pancake. Calling the place hot and dry was generous. Knowing this intellectually and witnessing it first had were two entirely different beings. Seeing that thug stock up on water left her with a bad feeling.
A short honk of a horn caught her attention. She saw one auto, with what appeared to be a tent rolled up and strapped to its top, roll into the station, Tourism might have slowed to a trick but obviously it did not evaporate. Katrina never saw the appeal of camping. Why would anyone want to sleep on the ground in the middle of nowhere? She would take electricity and hot water over roughing it in the tranquil green and violet woods.
Throughout much of the land, forests were long ago cleared away by farmers. She never thought much about forests, but seeing the purple and green battle each other for supremacy struck her as beautiful. The land was so tranquil and so full of life. Perhaps tranquil might not be the right description for the land was far from quiet. Thousands of birds, both Terraform and Towneform, squawked in the same fierce competition as the trees grew. It was a sharp contrast from the stale habitat inside The State. Lack of order in forest did leave her a bit unnerved.
It all reminded her when she migrated to one of The State’s many colonies. In the homeland cities and farms reigned supreme. Forests of smokestacks rose from industrial areas. Smoke and soot choked the air, snuffing out life in its vicinity. What few forests existed were long since turned into tree farms or game reserves. It was a paradise for hunters but nature lovers need not apply. Rangers overstocked those so-called forests with deer and boar, along with a few trophy species.
“You ready or not?” Andreas asked for the second time, his patience wearing thin.
Katrina blinked, oblivious to his questioning. “Say what?”
“Are–you–ready–to–go?” Andreas asked again, deliberately slowing his speech as if speaking to a simpleton. “Unless you prefer to stay here?”
Katrina nodded. “Go. Right. Yes, I am as ready as I’ll ever be.” Go, yes, but to where? She remained clueless as to their ultimate destination and hoped Andreas was not simply drifting.
“Hey Andreas!” Katrina shouted for the third time. “Where are we going? Answer me!”
“Yelling at me at one hundred twenty isn’t a good idea,” Andreas hollered back to her. His focus was on navigating the now curving mountain highway and avoiding any spectacular crashes. Granted, arriving in the Here After backwards in a flaming wreck was a much more interesting way to go than on a bed with tubes sticking out of him but he would prefer putting that off until later. He was glad he did not have the same sharp turns on the western slope of the mountains. He would have lost the dozing Katrina on the first bend–which given her nagging might not be such a bad thing.
“Well? Are you going to answer me or–“ her voice trailed off into a shriek as Andreas nearly swerved off the road.
“Bloody jackalopes!” he yelled back at the rabbit with small horns crossing the road.
“Watch where you’re going!” Katrina snapped, momentarily forgetting her question. She was starting to remind Andreas of the snapping turtles one found in Tropadisan rivers.
“I don’t know about you but I’m headed to Port of Dreams to catch the first boat out of here,” Andreas finally answered. Ignoring her obviously had zero effect. She was like one of those obnoxious children who constantly repeated the same question, the one whose parents failed to realize was not taking the hint.
“Dream City!” The city of dreams, the most romantic city in all the world. Katrina read about it and even saw moving pictures of the city. Ever since she first laid eyes upon it she fell in love with Dream City. The city sat on a reservoir overlooking the ocean. The prestigious city of light and water sat so far above Port of Dreams that only the tops of the tallest high-rises were in clear, level view.
“No, I said Port of Dreams,” Andreas repeated himself, quickly bursting her bubble. Port of Dreams was the much larger city below Dream City. It was a city of metal and glass on one side and of monestrous factories on the other. The massive, ancient dam backing up the Mara River, creating Dream City’s artificial lake, powered Port of Dreams. Unlike the luxurious high ground, traffic and workers clogged the streets of the lowlands.
“Why on Towne would you want to go there?” Katrina hissed at him. If he wanted to visit an industrial port, several examples lay closer than Port of Dreams. That metropolis sat on the other side of Marasuania, easily a week away. Even with half the country’s commerce flowing through the port she really saw nothing desirable in visiting it. Especially not with Dream City floating above it.
“To catch a ship to Tropadiso,” he said slowly, as if he spoke to a dense child. Sometimes he preferred to deal with one. At least then he could smack the kid upside the head and gain a measure of silence.
“Tropadiso!” she repeating in shock and horror. “You can’t be serious. Whatever for?”
“Because it’s home,” he told her. Honestly, why else did she think so? He was not born there but after twenty jahrs of living on the island, it was as close to home as he would ever have.
“You’re a Red?” the more she learned about him, the more she wished she came in late yesterday. Tropadiso was the solid bastion of socialism in the world. The country had only four exports; coffee, cigars, rum and revolution.
“Oh for general’s sake!” Andreas snapped back, deciding to give the snapping turtle as good as he received. “Lady, I said I’m going there. You are free to hop off this ride whenever you like.”
“And do what?” she asked, her teeth grinding in frustration. No matter how difficult he made himself she was not about to ditch Andreas. Not until he fixed this whole mess.
“Teach,” Andreas told her. Pausing for a second, he reconsidered. “Right, you’re Navenian; you only know how to teach what you precious Order tells you.”
Katrina stiffened at the rebuke, biting back any replies. Trying to explain anything to this man was a losing battle. Instead of trying to stack marbles in a corner, she decided to hold her silence and enjoy the drive. At least for now. The mountains were very pretty, so much more so than what lay ahead at lower altitudes.
“Don’t look now,” Andreas called into the wind rushing past his ears. His eyes, once locked on the monotonous road ahead, now constantly jumped from the blandness before him and the reflection in his handlebar mirror. “But we’re being followed.”
Katrina’s glazed over eyes blinked back into focus. The drive grew so dull and the air so warm that she felt herself slipping back into unconsciousness. After hearing Andreas’s advice, she promptly looked over her shoulder to spot his concern. “By that?” she asked, looking at what appeared to be a plain black AMC following them. She scoffed at the idea. “If you are really that worried, just speed up.”
“I’m already doing a hundred and that thing is still gaining,” Andreas insisted, wondering for a second why he tried to convince her. So what if she did not believe. He scarcely believed it himself. An AMC overtaking a motorcycle? According to the motorcycle’s instruments and his eyes, that was precisely what was happening.
“Preposterous!” Katrina sniffed. Even she knew that AMCs traveled at ninety only if it rolled off a cliff. This fact, one all drivers should be aware, she explained to Andreas in the same fashion she would to one of her students. She cringed as her heart tensed as the mere thought of her kids. What were they told when she vanished? What did they think of her? Katrina shook her head. Did it really matter now? It was not like she would ever be able to return home to learn the truth.
“Unless it’s been modded,” Andreas threw Katrina’s explanation back into her face. “Install a nice supercharger and even an AMC could hit one hundred kilometers an hour.”
“Who would do that?” she asked, assuming modded referred to altering an auto’s factory specification. She had heard the word before in academy though that often referred to altering back packs and other mundane artifacts of life.
Andreas sighed at her naivete. “There are only two types of people that spring to mind; smugglers and law enforcement.” Seeing how smugglers would not bother chasing anyone, it left little doubt in Andreas’s mind who was behind that wheel.
You don’t suppose it’s the Knights, do you?” Katrina asked over the howling wind, not quite able to imagine them violating neutral territory just to chase her. Everyone knew they always tracked down their quarry but this was a bit too much. Andreas on the other hand–he did break into their offices and killed several Knights. They would never let such an unprecedented insult slide. It never once occurred to her that the Knights might instead lie to cover up any such embarrassment.
“It ain’t you local gunrunner.” Nobody on Towne would try to smuggle weapons into Marasuania. It would be about as profitable as trying to smuggle coffee into Tropadiso. Nor did he expect it to be the Marasuanian roggers.
He best lose the Knight and quickly. If they managed to stay on his tail they would eventually overtake him from sheer exhaustion. There was no way he could pull a second all-nighter in a row. He searched around for an alternative route. Hiding in the desert was out of the option. However–no matter how well modded, there was no way an AMC would survive long off-road, Even if they managed to cram a gas turbine in it, Andreas would still run circles around them in his motorcycle on rocky terrain. With an idea forming in his mind, he gunned the engine for as much speed as the motorcycle would offer.
Planck smiled viciously, like a shark that just picked up the scent of blood. So they finally noticed him. It took them long enough. The land was so flat and road so straight that he wondered what took them so long? It was not as if this stretch of highway suffered much gridlock. Watching the Steelhorse speed away he decided that these must be the two troublemakers, the blight upon his otherwise exemplary record.
After a long pursuit, including lengthy negotiations with border agents the ended with Planck simply buying his way across the border, he finally located his quarry. They would be his and soon. With his pursuit auto’s engine twice the size of a normal engine and supercharged, he knew he would soon overtake that Steelhorse. No matter hard much that gangster pushed the motorcycle it would not escape.
Now his only real problem was taking the two riders. He could just kill them and quite easily. Ramming the motorcycle and sending it spinning out of control would do the job nicely. Nobody could survive wiping out at over a hundred kilometers and hour. He would save collisions for a last resort for it would damage his auto as well. It might even injure him too, depending on which way the bodies flew. He supposed he could shoot them too but decided to hold back.
Capturing them took priority. Alive yes, possibly even wounded, he would have to play that game as it unfolded. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, angrily reliving the gangster’s invasion of his office. His office. It was an insult that could not go unanswered and one he refused to return home empty-handed. He already broke enough regulations pursuing them to land him in hot water. If he failed here–if the Knighthood did not terminate him outright they would send him to a very unpleasant front in The State’s war of destiny.
Much to his delight, the road ahead stretched forward in a very long and very straight path. There was no where to maneuver, nowhere to turn and not a bloody thing that gangster could do to shake him. It left raw power as the sole deciding factor in this race. No more than ten minutes sat between him an victory. Yes, he would overtake that motorcycle. After all, that was for what purpose he designed his personal pursuit auto. There was not a vehicle on the road that could possibly outrun him. No, there would be no second escape for these two.
While Katrina screeched in terror, Andreas howled in delight as the Steelhorse became suddenly airborne. At over a hundred kilometers an hour, jumping from tarmac to a dirt trail was nearly suicidal. He did not mind; running with death nipping at his heals made him feel more alive, more free than he had in jahrs. Besides, he did not really care about crashing either. The worst that could happen was them wiping out in a spectacular fireball. It also provided the only obvious means of escaping the wolf pack.
He knew little about the capabilities of the pursuing auto, save that on the highway it gradually closed the distance no matter how fast he drove. Staying on the straight and narrow would allow the villain to be on his bumper in a matter of minutes. Of course had he stayed on the straight and narrow path half a lifetime ago, he would not be in this mess in the first place. A bit late to worry about his regrets. If he blinked at the wrong time navigating this dirt road, regrets would be the least of his problems.
Road was too generous of a description for this pockmarked path. If anything, it was a game trail, something upon he would expect to see ranchers herding their cattle. That left him with a very unsavory thought. Suppose he ran into a mass of livestock at full speed. Even with no love loss between Marasuania and Navenia, he doubted the ranchers would be eager to help–assuming Andreas survived being catapulted off the motorcycle after crashing into a cow.
“He’s still behind us!” Katrina shouted over the roar of air and grinding of wheels upon packed earth. With so many obstacles ahead fast approaching, he could ill afford to glance back. While dodging rocks and scattering roadrunners topped his list of priorities, he would simply take Katrina at her word.
“He’s as determined as a wasp at a picnic,” glancing in the mirror Andreas cursed the Knight the same as he would any flying insects buzzing him while he relaxed beneath the warm Tropadisan sky— not that he had attended many picnic as of late.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Andreas wished he could speed up, though with so much debris in his way it was simply out of the question. Instead, he took to dodging and evading various obstructions and natural traps. The Knight chased him with a blind determination, ignoring anything in his path. Perhaps Andreas could turn that determination against him. As those in his line of work were fond of saying ‘it was the one you don’t see that gets you’. Perhaps, just perhaps the Knight might fail to notice a pothole. At the speed they were traveling, striking a single hole might even be enough to tear off one of his wheels.
Andreas’s swerving kicked up dust and pebbles. If he was lucky– and he knew his luck was never that good–one of the larger ones would fly up and smash the Knight’s windscreen. The dust alone did provide some protection, obscuring him from any gunshots. As fitting as it might be for one in his profession, Andreas did not feel like ending his life gunned down on some desert road. Falling off the edge of the world was a fate he understood. He was a bit of an expert on the phenomenon. After all, more than once he helped someone vanish into the Tropadisan swamps.
He wondered if he could end the Knight’s life by gunning him down. “Can you reach the bars?” Andreas shouted back to Katrina.
“What?” Katrina asked, focusing more on not falling off than one what Andreas said. Half the time he made little sense. Bar? What bars? What was he babbling about now? “What bars?”
“The handlebars! Can you steer them while I shoot?” It would have to be blind shooting, over his shoulder. Unable to aim, he would rely more on the Knight not wanting to get hit than anything else. Few men possessed the discipline to stand still while under fire. He hoped this Knight was no exception. In a blind panic to dodge a bullet he might just put himself into a ditch.
Katrina released one of her hands from its iron grip while the other held onto Andreas for dear life. She stretched her grip, trying to touch the tip of the handlebar. She grew quickly frustrated as the motorcycle bounced out of control and her attempts fell short. She managed to barely graze the grip with a fingertip. “No!”
Andreas hissed in frustration. Getting chased like this did not suit him one bit. At least in the city he could lose his pursuer. Out in the open lands, no matter how ambush-free it appeared, he stuck out like a beacon in the sea of red sands and black shrubs. He was as obvious as a lone green cactus. “You really need to start exercising,” Andreas complained.
“Well excuse me for not being so adept at fleeing authority!” Katrina shot back. It was bad enough she was now an outlaw, hunted by her own people. To have Andreas hassling her along the way, that just added insult to injury.
“I’ll forgive you this time,” Andreas spoke with false graciousness.
His words blew back into Katrina’s face. “You are so insuffer–“ Katrina yelped again as Andreas struck a bump hard enough that she bit down on her own tongue. Her eyes watered from the sharp pain. Today was turning into just as great a nightmare as yesterday. No, it was worse. She knew now it was no dream.
“Perfect!” Andreas grinned, spotting a nice grove in the road. That will stop him. He hit the dip at great speed. Both he and Katrina felt their stomachs jump into the throats only to rudely slam back into their proper place. Andreas shook off the discomfort, turning his back to the groove, hoping his opponent would take the bait. With the Knight so obsessed with catching him it might just work.
Katrina wanted to smack Andreas for that last move. She was about to hurl a viciously cruel insult at him when she heard a sharp crash behind them. Unrestricted by the necessity of driving, she glanced back to no longer see the AMC on their tail. As the dust slowly settled, she spotted the auto now nose deep in the same gutter. What was a roller coaster ride for a motorcycle turned out to be an armored vehicle trap for the larger auto. Katrina sighed in relief, forgetting Andreas’s antics for the moment now that she knew the predator just tripped himself out in the middle of nowhere.
A few minutes later Andreas slowed the Steelhorse to a safe speed. Even if more than one Knight was on his tail, which he would not dismiss outright, that second one must stop to aid the first. They were butchers but not even their kind would abandon a comrade in the middle of the world’s hottest desert. Just thinking about the heat was enough to make him thirsty. Andreas decided they were safe for the moment as he squeezed the brakes. The motorcycle slid to a stop in the midst of a blossoming dust cloud.
“Why are we stopping?” Katrina asked, her gaze shifting from Andreas back to their now unseen pursuer.
Andreas reached down into the Steelhorse’s saddlebags. Gripping a partially cool bottle of water, he yanked it free. He popped the top and took a long swig of the refreshing elixir. Though it was nothing more than plain water, nothing ever tasted quite as fine. “I’m thirsty.” As an afterthought, he drew a second bottle and tossed it over his shoulder.
Startled by the sudden motion, Katrina fumbled for the bottle. In her mind she knew plastic would never shatter like glass. Her body did not for its reflexes kicked in just as quickly. “Now?” she asked, holding the bottle to her forehead. So cool, so refreshing. She stared in horror at the layer of mud caked on the bottle. Was she really that dirty? She quickly assessed her clothes and their recently developed skin of dust. “In case you forgot, there is a Knight behind us and he is well armed.”
Andreas brushed the thought aside. “He has more pressing matters to occupy him at the moment. Besides, even if he brought rocket-propelled grenades we’re still outside their range.” Well, their effective range at any rate. Straddling the motorcycle in the middle of the desert, he decided it was best not to dwell on the details. “And that’s assuming he did not dive through the windscreen at the abrupt stop. We’ll be in Port of Dreams before he can summon a tow truck.”
Katrina gave the distant, vanished auto a final glance. “You better be right.”
Planck rubbed his neck, trying to crush the pain that swelled within. Between whiplash and a pounding headache, Planck’s trouble only just begun. He cursed the gangster for escaping as he cursed himself for crashing. Was this a clever trap? No, not possible. Planck shook his head, an action he instantly regretted as another stab of pain struck, dismissing the idea. It would take more than a simple ploy to fool him. Again he cursed, this time his lousy luck, as he paced around his auto.
The gully that sank his auto was not too deep. In fact, it was just deep enough so the front bumper failed to clear it before the wheels struck. It would appear the crash hurt him more than his auto. If not for the safety belt, the impact might have ejected him from the vehicle leaving him in far worse shape. If that happened, the only thing left by the time another person came this way would be a wrecked auto and his bleached bones.
As defeatist as it sounded, he counted himself lucky to at least be alive and in working condition. It would take quite a bit of work but he was confident he would dig the auto free. The Knighthood decreed survival kits mandatory for their vehicles, including a small shovel for digging out after a good rain. Opening the trunk, he frowned at the square spade. It would work far better against mud than baked earth. Too bad his pursuit auto did not include a winch. With shovel in hand he slammed the trunk shut. He glanced around the desert for a second, wondering if a wench would be that useful without anything to act as anchor.
Walking back around to the front of the auto, he took a closer look at the ground beneath his front bumper. The shaded ground beneath remained dry. Excellent. It meant the radiator remained intact and the engine was not leaking. Both of the front wheels faced the same direction, another positive sign. A snapped axle would have ended his pursuit instead of merely delaying it. He attacked the gully with the small shovel, deciding that he wasted enough time. Under the blistering sun he would still rather work during the day than wait for the cool of night. There was not telling what sort of creatures roamed the desert once the sun set.
Katrina pushed the heavy door open, basking in the rush of cool air welcoming her. She took her first look inside what passed for a motel room in Palmero Oasis and was decidedly not impressed. Like so many small towns in Marasuania, Katrina had no idea this place existed. She doubted she could even find it on a map. The town once accommodated the flow of tourists toward the mountains. When the flow evaporated after the border closed, Palmero Oasis suffered the same fate as so many other towns.
Unlike Lake Vista, the people here were far from friendly. Even before times turned bad they were suspicions of strangers. They tolerated them during the good times as they were a source of much needed income for a town full of people who sought to escape the rest of the world. It was the only reason Katrina could think of for moving out into the middle of the desert. They even cast Andreas nasty glares. That in itself was no surprise to Katrina, what with him waltzing into town wearing his pin-striped suit, coat slung over a shoulder. What did surprise her was their continued attitude even after discovering he was a paying customer. She would have thought people in a depressed town would be grateful for any income, even if it was ill-gotten.
Even with deflated prices, Andreas grumbled about paying too much. He did have a point. The motel looked even worse from the outside. It was a simple structure built from cinder blocks and concrete, topped with a shallow roof. The whitewash peeled in many places and a few cracks appeared. One of the cracks was even home to a violet colored weed that somehow wedged itself in the wall. Seeing how it was the only motel within a hundred kilometers, beggars could not be choosers.
Since losing the Knight, the day passed uneventfully. The only traffic they spotted once back on asphalt was of a snake slithering across the road seeking shade and a bird-of-prey sitting atop a telephone pole surveying his kingdom. The terraform hawk had little trouble spotting desert atls. Katrina remember in school reading how towneform vision spanned from infrared to green and how anything beyond green appeared black to their eyes. Thus to a towneform predator, a blue atl would blend in well with a purple shrub. To a terraform hawk, as well as passing humans, they stood out as if painted bright pink.
As the sun quickly glided overhead, she started to wonder if Andreas would try to drive all night again. She had yet to see him sleep since yesterday morning and wondered how long he could keep going. Had they not spotted this small town of six hundred, he might have made the attempt. Palmero Oasis turned out to be just that; an oasis in the middle of the desert. Surrounding a permanent surface spring were numerous ranches, home to tens of thousands of head of cattle. It might be a tourist way station now but it was clear the town was originally built solely for the benefit of the ranchers.
Palmero Oasis had little to attract the attention of visitors. All she saw aside from the motel was a small grocer and a Migration Station. That was the first stop Andreas made, wanting to top off the motorcycle’s tank in case they had to make yet another sudden dash for safety.
Katrina stepped into the room and glanced down at the gray rug. It was a drab color, matching the white and tan wallpaper. The room, if one was kind enough to label it as such, reminded her a little of her former apartment. It had a kitchen, a bathroom and was perhaps half the size of her old home. Cozy was how the owner described them. Cramped was a better word to say nothing of the lack of color. Her home had lots of greens and blues with a dash of red.
Along with four rooms, the suite owned plenty of extras to fill in space; stove, oven and even an ice box. A table sat tucked in a corner, four chairs surrounding it. She was at a loss to figure out how exactly four people were supposed to stay in such a small room. On the opposite side of the room sat a faded blue couch with room enough for one person to sleep. She frowned upon noticing only a single bed in the bedroom. Where they all like this or just this one? Aside from that flaw the room was quite a bargain at fifteen dinar for the night. She glanced back at the door as Andreas walked through, a saddlebag full of empty bottles in his hands, and spotted a lock on the door. Several locks in fact.
“Secure,” she commented, unsure how four locks on a door bode for a neighborhood’s safety.
Andreas paused for a second, staring at her blankly before remembering just how ‘open’ Navenians lived their lives. “Yes, well not everyone wants the man barging into their home at all hours. Here in the outside world, we have this concept known as privacy.”
Katrina frowned. She considered herself a very private, if occasionally opinionated person. She had little desire to hear a moral lecture from this career criminal. “And if you didn’t have these things called thieves, then you would not need them.”
Andreas ignored the barb as he kicked the door shut and stomped off toward the kitchen. “We have nothing worth taking so leave it unlocked if it makes you feel any better.” Andreas concealed his smile as he spoke. Despite Katrina’s talk, he knew precisely what she would do.
“Thieves do not bother me,” she replied, rushing back to the door. She sealed each of the locks with a clearly audible click. “I am sharing a room with one, after all.”
Andreas grimaced as he continued to ignore her stings. Nothing would make an argument personal faster than comparing him to a common criminal. Yes, he worked for Golden Hammer Enterprises. Yes, they dealt in several underground areas. And yes, he derived most of his income from–shall we say extralegal activities. None of these made him a petty thief. “If you don’t like it, you are free to sleep outside.”
Katrina glared at him from around the corner. That was not such a bad idea, even if the creepy-crawlies came out at night. They could not possibly be any worse than this jerk. She might even have taken him up on the offer if not for the prospect of a very angry Knight roaming the countryside. Running afoul of them gave her reason to seal every lock in sight. Where Andreas seemed content in merely harassing her, the Knights now wanted to take her life. If she wanted to avoid falling into their clutches, she had no choice but to rely on this thug for protection. The worst part of it all was the gangster knew it. “You are so, so– insufferable!”
Andreas poked his head out of the kitchen to give her a smug smile. “That’s why I’m still single.” He spared her a glance long enough to watch Katrina plop down on the couch in exasperation. He knew he should not be so hard on her, even if she was turning into quite the burden. He had nobody to blame save himself for bringing her along, especially since it was indeed his fault she was now a fugitive. No matter how much her assistance helped in snatching Doctor Hawk’s notes, he regretted involving her.
He knew he should have just passed her by in the academy. Had he done so, he and his friends would be back in Tropadiso drinking in celebration. Pygmaeus always loved toasting a job well done. After Katrina was in the mess, he would never forgive himself for leaving her to the mercy of the Knighthood. That was exactly what his colleagues wished him to do, aside from Secretary. He just wanted to shoot her.
No, he could not leave her to those monsters even if she glared at him until the sun burned out. Andreas had more than enough guilt in his life without piling on more. Some people brushed off their mistakes and never looked back. Not Andreas, not when his mistakes cost others dearly. After Gustavus died, he swore he would never again let anyone come to harm through his negligence. He could live out what jahrs remained quite contentedly without ever getting another drop of innocent blood on his hands.
What was he going to do with Katrina? He worried she might follow him all the way back home despite her obvious hostility towards Tropadiso. Affection had nothing to do with it. She simply had nowhere else to go. He suspected she was waiting from him to literally fix her life, to turn back the clock so she could return home. Unless the Navenians lost this stupid war and their Verdensorder lay in dust and ash, there was no way Katrina could ever return home.
Katrina’s expression softened as she sank into the surprisingly comfortable couch. “Quite comfortable,” she said in delighted surprise. After all day on a Steelhorse even a couch carved from solid rock would be an improvement.
“Glad you like it,” Andreas left the empty bottles upon the kitchen table as he headed for the bedroom. “Enjoy!”
Katrina sat upright, giving him a shocked stare. “Enjoy? You’re going to make me sleep on the couch? Just what sort of gentleman are you?” She sputtered in indignation. Not much of one was the first answer to spring to mind.
Andreas made a sour smile. Leaning against the bedroom door’s frame, he explained. “I’m the type who paid for this room and am using the bed.” Why could she simply not agree for once? He lost track of how many hours passed since he last lay stretched out over a bed. It might not be the most comfortable one in the world but it was better than the seat of beat up truck. Leaving Katrina gaping like a landed fish, Andreas slipped into the bedroom and collapsed on to the bed. No, it was not very comfortable at all.
He was not horizontal for more than a minute before the weight of sleep began to press down on him. He was hungry too but food could wait a few hours. A shower would be nice too and maybe a fresh change of clothes. The shower would still be there in the morning and clean clothes he would simply get in his dreams. “Night,” he hollered with a yawn. After fifty plus hours on the go, Andreas earned himself a nap.
Katrina slept fitfully on the couch. It was comfortable enough for her body but her mind refused to allow her rest. She lay there half the night, tossing, turning and thinking. Thinking was the worst of the three. Her mind crossed many topics; her past, her future and her life. What became of her children? What did her neighbors think of her? What happened to Sanders, and how did he feel toward her now? Now an exile, marked for life by her government, it was a little too late to worry. Her worrying eventually gave way to sleep, but when she awoke her fatigue was just as high, if not more so. Upon blinking to life, her nose picked up the most peculiar smell; that of cooking.
She sat up groggily and glanced over at the open bedroom door. That jerk was already up. Of her night’s worries, he was not one of them. Andreas had plenty of chances to do her harm. Perhaps he was waiting until she least expected— or perhaps not. When he was not being insufferable and rude he was all business. There was an impenetrable professionalism about him. At times he was almost too serious. It was like he wore it as armor, to hide something deep inside. Not surprising, after all she supposed that a gangster did have his share of secrets. Or perhaps that was common with sapiens who live among pygmaeus.
Katrina climbed off the couch and decided to push any thought of Andreas from her mind until after she ate—and maybe after having a nice shower as well. Once she refreshed herself, she could give him a piece of her mind. Upon standing, she stretched towards the ceiling trying to work some of the kinks she developed overnight. So much for the couch being comfortable. It rewarded her compliment with a sore back and a kink in her neck.
She rubbed her back as she stumbled towards the kitchen. How fun it would be to ride that stolen Steelhorse today? Katrina decided it would not be very much. When she entered the kitchen she saw the table set and food sitting upon it. Two plates, one Andreas was already finishing and the other sat uneaten. She could almost swear it was waiting for her. She never would have guessed this glorified crook could cook. No doubt a skill learned because of his impossible nature. If he did not cook for himself, then who would?
She looked down at the meal, It was a rather simple breakfast comprised of eggs, cheese and diced potatoes. It was a dish she could find in any restaurant back home. “An omelet,” she said with a quizzical tone. She expected far less from a motorcycle-riding thug. By less she meant nothing at all.
Andreas looked up from his meal with an irritated look upon his face. It was almost as if to say ‘what, not good enough for you?’ His grimace melted into a dry smile. “Where you expected tequila and cornflakes?”
After a meal– a finer tasting one that she expected– and a nice hot shower, Katrina almost felt human again. She would have liked a longer shower but the stupid thing jumped from hot to cold too many times. Only when she dried off and dressed in her dusty clothes did she discover the reason. Andreas decided it was the perfect time to clean dishes. His sense of timing and ability to annoy her were impeccable.
She considered the task of cleaning best left to the cleaners, especially when it interfered with her hot water. Yet that gangster refused to simply leave them. He told her he believed strongly in cleaning up his own mess. It was a habit picked up from spending half his life working with pygmaeus. The declaration filled Katrina with a little hope. Would he be as determined to clean up the mess that was now her life as he was dishes?
Andreas refilled the bottles of water while Katrina waited at the table. He found the water filtered from the oasis rather vile, even if cleaner than the water back home. Still, it was better than no water at all in the desert. Each time he filled a bottle, he screwed on the cap, wiped down the bottle and dropped it back into his saddle bag. Maybe he should have simply bought more water at the Migration.
While waiting she used the time to brush out her hair. Two days with only a light rinse was not nearly enough. She would need to visit a spa soon for a proper treatment. The brush she discovered in the bathroom was far nicer than what she expected. It looked brand new. Was it near the bathroom sink the night before? Katrina could not remember even if she had paid attention to the details.
The bathroom seemed to have everything she needed, save a bath tub. Now an hour long soak in a hot bath would cure most of what ailed her. Maybe one of the nice hotels in Dream City would have one, perhaps even with massaging jets. Despite Andreas’s plans, she intended at least visiting the fabled city. Even with her life in ruins she was not about to pass up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, especially not if she would be next door to the magnificent city.
Finished replenishing his water, Andreas tossed his saddlebag over his shoulder. He looked down on Katrina who continued to leisurely brush her hair. “Are you ready or would you like another hour to prepare?”
Katrina paused midstroke, frowning at his tone. “Can I really have an extra hour? That is so generous of you.” She made one last run through her hair before setting the brush aside. She stood to face Andreas, “Ready when you are.”
He glanced from her hair at his eye level down at the brush. “You’re just going to leave it?”
“It’s not mine,” she told him. Perhaps she should take it but it was so new– either that or the motel took better care of its brushes than its building. Items like that grew increasingly scarce back home as the jahr drug on into yet another jahr. No, she would leave it and allow the next guest use of it. As she walked past Andreas she noticed a slight twitch under his eyes. It was only then did another possibility dawn on her. Did he buy it? That would explain why it was so new. She never would have thought him capable of consideration before breakfast. “You know, breakfast was quite delicious.”
Andreas only shrugged as he brushed past her and walked out the door. “Just made too much. It didn’t feel right throwing it out, not with so much of the world going hungry.” His voice was cold, almost accusing.
Katrina shook her head. She was trying to pay him a compliment and he comes out and snipes back at her. It was like he was trying to push her away. Was he deliberately trying to keep his distance, keep himself detached? More importantly, why was Katrina worrying about his feelings? Katrina hissed in disgust. It was too early in the morning to ponder philosophically. Katrina decided she should just pick up the brush and hurry after him, before Andreas decides to leave without her.
Andreas brought the Steelhorse to a stop just short of the onramp. Overhead he heard more traffic zoom past in a minute than he heard in all of yesterday. Only a few minutes passed since they left the motel and Andreas still fumed. It was like he always said; no good deed went unpunished. He tried to do something thoughtful, not much, just a little something and the gesture flew right over that woman’s head. Typical. Just typical. One would think he would have learned better by now.
Andreas yanked out a bottle of water and took a drink. It would be a few hours before he found another chance. Before him lay one of Marasuania’s shiny new autoways. The sign marked it clearly as Autoway Number Two. It ran from north of here all the way to the coast until it ran into an east-west line that would deliver him to Port of Dreams. It was four lanes wide, two in each direction and was without speed limits. Andreas planned to open the throttle as wide as he could and get this trip started. Port of Dreams still lay a five thousand kilometers away, easily a five day drive.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Katrina asked impatiently. He could feel her tapping her foot against the motorcycle.
Now she was in a hurry. “I’m going to take a wild guess that you’ve never been on an autoway before.”
Katrina shook her head. Of course she had never. “I always took the train.”
Figures. With fuel so tightly rations and their colonies so widespread, the only way Navenians could go anywhere was by rail. Perhaps they planned to build their own autoways in the event that they conquer the continent. “Here is your chance to marvel at the miracle of modern engineering.”
Katrina was not impressed. The overpass was nothing more than a small bridge to her. “I’m done marveling. Can we go now?”
“And what do you think of it?” Andreas asked, buying a few more seconds to prepare himself for the drive. Nothing like the autoway existed back home. Like Katrina, he had to take the train to reach Tropadiso City from his home. He was not as accustomed to driving fast as he led her to believe.
“Noisy,” Katrina observed, cringing as a truck rolled past at a speed higher than it had any right traveling. “And dangerous. How many drivers are killed in any given astro on that thing?”
Andreas had to agree; it was noisy and potentially dangerous. “To live free means one accepts the risks that come with life. Life is full of danger and nothing anyone can do can change the inevitable outcome. Whether you reach the age of thirty or ninety, life always ends up being fatal.”
“A bit philosophical for a road,” Katrina wondered how anyone could make so much out of a river of concrete.
Andreas finished his last sip of water. He tucked the bottle back into his place and straightened out his jacket. No matter how hot the day grew he would ride out of town looking his best. “Yes it is,” he glanced back at her as he revved the engine. “Just relax and enjoy the ride. Oh, and try not to fall off.” Without waiting for her typical snappy comeback, Andreas hit the accelerator and jumped onto the autoway. Now that they finally made it to the open road, Andreas saw nothing but smooth sailing the rest of the way.
