The Great East–West,
Planet Irkalla, Survivor’s Refuge
4452.2.27 Interstellar
Janus, Lira, and Mick stood in the dust looking at the stricken buggy.
“Can you fix it?” Lira asked Janus.
Janus shook his head. “If it was just the wheel, I could have done something, but the front axle needs to be replaced. If I do a patch job on it, it’s liable to come apart while you’re driving, and if you’re going any faster than you were just now, the results would be… messy.”
“So, what?” Lira asked. “We just abandon it here?”
“I could tow it,” Mick said. “Got a spare seat on my buggy, too.”
“Won’t that slow us down?” Janus asked. “Not the spare seat part. Obviously, we’re taking Lira with us.”
“I’m glad that’s obvious,” Lira said wryly.
Mick waved his hand. “You’re already hauling a trailer. My buggy isn’t made for pulling loads, but we shouldn’t go that much slower than we would normally. If we run across triliths or raiders, though, we’ll have to ditch.”
“Okay,” Janus said. “Then what? We try to find a spare part at Beta Station?”
“They have the fabrication facilities,” Lira said.
“They do,” Mick agreed. “We might also run into a caravan on the way. Some of the big crawlers have repair facilities they might let us use if we’re willing to pay or barter.”
It was as good a plan as any. Worst case, they could try to trade the almost-new buggy for an older one to someone willing to make the repair themselves. “Lira, if you’re comfortable riding with Mick for now, we can swap out after the second leg.”
“I’m not in a hurry to drive after this,” Lira said. Before Janus could reassure her, she raised a hand and said, “I know it’s not my fault, could have happened to anyone. It just happened to happen to me, okay?”
Janus nodded. “Let’s get going, then.”
***
The northern route, or the “Great East–West,” as Mick called it, was a completely different animal to the winding, dusty path they’d been following the previous days. It was flat and, once they’d made it a few hundred kilometers farther north, mostly dustless. It ran in straight lines and gentle curves, and in some places there were signs that rock had been crushed underneath or cleared out of the way. They made it 367 kilometers before the temps on Janus’s buggy started to climb, and they had to stop to clean off the SLiP grease for the last time.
“Any luck with the signal?” Janus asked. Since Lira had taken to riding while he and Mick drove, he’d put her in charge of looking for help.
“No responses yet,” Lira said. “We aren’t exactly set up to broadcast over long distances. I am receiving a signal, though, and it’s weird.”
“Weird how?” Janus said, standing up and putting his tools back in their case.
“It’s like a holovid show about… well… us.”
Janus frowned and wished for about the millionth time there was a way to wipe his face while suited up as sweat ran down his cheek. A notification from Lira popped up in his retinal display, and he accepted the connection, as did Mick.
After about a minute of watching, the Hunter laughed. “What in the void is this?” he asked.
“Let’s go find out,” Janus said.
***
The source of the signal turned out to be a pair of crawlers that were heading down the road at 80 kilometers per hour, but that discovery was immediately overshadowed by the battle that was raging in the dust flats beyond them. A pair of buggies were giving chase to a third while firing handheld weapons at each other. The gunfire kicked up little fountains of dust, and the lead buggy, its two riders back-to-back in Hunter style, swerved out of the way just in time as a larger set of explosions tore up the ground and sent one of the pursuing buggies spiraling through the air.
The trio was being followed by several drones—maybe four of them—who flew through the void on bursts of blue flame. Were they also part of the fight?
“What do we do?” Janus asked Mick.
“Stay out of it,” the Hunter said, slowing to a stop.
“But…”
“He’s right, Janus,” Lira said, her tone cold and annoyed. “Look at paint on the crawlers and the lead buggy. They’re from Survivor’s Grace.”
“And that means we let them die?” Janus asked, pulling up alongside them.
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“Oh, I think they’ve got it handled,” Mick said, his voice dripping with contempt.
The lead buggy skidded around in a quick hairpin turn and charged straight for its remaining pursuer. Janus couldn’t believe it. They were going to hit each other head on! Then, at the last moment, the pursuer lost their nerve and swerved out of the way. The two-person buggy drove straight through, raking their pursuer from the side with gun fire and driving on.
The pursuer slumped in their seat and fell to the dust as their buggy rolled to a stop.
But the lead buggy was still barreling on, barely adjusting course to make straight for Janus and his team!
“What are they doing?” Janus asked, punching up the emergency channel on his comm. He couldn’t understand why Mick and Lira were so calm about all this. “Unknown buggy, unknown buggy, this is Janus Invarian of Prime Dome! We mean you no—”
The four drones rushed ahead of the oncoming buggy, which turned at the last minute, rear wheels skidding out as it started to move sideways, showering Janus’s team with dust. The gunner in the rear seat dismounted from the tail at a smooth walk, his rifle at the ready. The buggy finished its spin and the driver kicked off sideways, rolling to her feet with a pistol drawn. Janus’s hands went up instinctively as the two dusters advanced on them, and as he stammered a surrender.
“Cut!” someone yelled on the common band, and both dusters lowered their weapons. “That’s a scene, everyone! Good shoot!”
Janus watched in horror as the “dead” bandits rose from the ground, dust streaming off them like water, and then it clicked. They weren’t bandits, they were actors.
“It’s a good thing Martial thought up that bit of improv,” the woman said, holstering her pistol. “You guys almost ruined the shot.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Martial asked. “You’re the Prime Dome team, right? Aren’t you supposed to be in Mercuria?”
“You’ve got good intel,” Janus said as Lira and Mick joined him. “That was some… whatever that was.”
“We’re getting B-roll footage,” Martial said. “Never hurts to have a bit of filler to spice up the boring bits. So you’re Craig?”
“Yes,” Lira said before Janus could deny it. “That’s Lead Aspirant Craig Bennin, and this is Mickel Mercy Traceson, a Hunter we hired to be our guide.”
“Hah!” Martial said. “Hiring a Hunter! That’s a new one. Didn’t know they hired out or we’d have… I don’t know, three of them? How many you reckon, Terra?”
“At least three,” Terra, the woman with the holstered pistol, said. “You wreck your buggy?”
“We did,” Janus said, looking at Lira, not sure what game she and Mick were playing. “Any chance we could use your facilities to make repairs?”
“Of course!” Martial said. “What are the Trials about if not helping others and making Irkalla a better place?” He stuck his hand out, and Janus shook it as the drones circled them, then the little flying machines zoomed off toward the crawlers which had stopped further down the road.
“All right, let’s get inside,” Martial said, dropping Janus’s hand. “Our agent is going to want to negotiate.”
“Negotiate what?” Janus asked.
“Payment for our services, Primer. Cameras are off, and nothing in this world is free.”
Janus looked at the others, but they had no choice but to follow if they wanted the help.
Lira opened a private channel between them as they walked. “Sorry about that. If they think you’re Craig, it’s better off they continue to think that. Survivor’s Grace has a caste system, like an Old Earth aristocracy. They’ll listen to an adminstrator’s son, but they won’t so much as look at a lowly mechanic.”
Neither would you, a week ago, Janus thought but didn’t say. Best he could tell, Lira was coming around, even if she snapped at him when she thought about it.
Maybe these people could be brought around, too.
***
It was the first time Janus saw a crawler from the inside, let alone two. The rear vehicle was given over to storage, maintenance, repair, and manufacture facilities. The Gracian team apparently wrecked their vehicles on a regular basis in their mock battles, and they’d come to the Trials equipped to rebuild them from scratch if need be.
They opened a vehicle dock in the back of the crawler and used a winch to pull the broken buggy inside—the bay was wide enough to have parked three of them side by side—but Martial and Terra led Janus to the front vehicle.
Mick and Lira were asked to wait outside.
First, they passed through a three-part airlock, the first segment for pressurization, the second for ridding their suits of dust. The two Gracians paid special attention to cleaning off their boots, and Janus did as well. He would have been anxious about the lost time, but Martial assured him the crawlers would resume their march west and would continue to do so even in daylight.
The inner lock cycled, and Janus felt a moment of panic as his senses were assailed by… everything. It was like he’d stepped onto a city street on an inhabitable planet. The barreled arch of the crawler roof displayed the image of a blue sky with puffs of white smoke in it and a yellow sun that seemed comforting compared to the harsh white star of Survivor’s Refuge. Smells of meat, vegetables, fruit, plants, dirt, oil, exhaust, resin and tar wafted into his nostrils in the cool air, and he could hear sounds of distant shouts and sirens he’d never heard before. The ceiling wasn’t the only use of displays, as there were several doors, windows, and alleyways that, had they been real, would have meant the crawler was bigger on the inside, and holograms of strangely dressed people mingled with the crawler’s crew. Everyone was in street clothes, like he’d seen in the Hub back in Prime Dome.
“What is this?” Janus asked.
Martial looked surprised. “It’s a recreation of Old Earth. I think this is the Pacific Northwest module—whatever that actually means,” he said with a grin. “Don’t you have places like this in Prime Dome?”
“Maybe,” Janus said. He wouldn’t put it past people in the Hub. “I’ve been in an intensive training program since I was a child, so not much time for the little luxuries.”
Martial patted his shoulder, steering him toward the front of the crawler and past the other Gracians’ curious looks. “The life of an aspirant, am I right? From the bruising on your face, I bet you do your own stunts.”
“Not intentionally,” Janus said ruefully. “So, you’re both aspirants?”
“Yes,” Terra said. “Martial’s focus was mass persuasion, and I matriculated in security.”
“Always said she could outfight a Hunter,” Martial said with a grin. “Guess you’ve got your chance, eh, Terra?”
“Doubt Agent Murkinson would let me risk it,” Terra said, but Janus could see she was eager. He was pretty sure Mick would go for it, too, if he ever heard about it.
“Here we are,” Martial said, stopping in front of a set of double doors. “He’s waiting for you.”
“You’re not coming?” Janus asked.
“Got to get ready for the next shoot,” Martial said with a smirk.
The doors slid open and Janus walked in as Martial and Terra headed back the way they came.
The cabin was a moderately sized room, made larger by the clever use of projections, which appeared to be some sort of library. A thin old man sat at a large desk that appeared to be made of wood, but there was so much projection at work that Janus had trouble telling what was real and what was a prop.
The old man clasped his fingers and looked at him with beady eyes, “You aren’t Craig Bennin, not by a long shot,” and Janus felt his arms prickle with sweat.