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Post by texican on Dec 20, 2019 17:17:37 GMT -6
mic,
Save females and children works wonders and it now seems like the prisoners/slaves are no longer prisoners/slaves....
Ford off to find the crashed flier with Zeke and group....
Thanks for the chapter....
Texican...
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Post by 9idrr on Dec 20, 2019 20:49:37 GMT -6
Certainly it won't be hard to backtrack from the berry patch to the hill they descended. Piece of cake, says the guy who could get lost in a one stoplight town.
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Post by sniper69 on Dec 21, 2019 0:24:56 GMT -6
Will they remove their shock collars? I know if I were in their shoes I would want them removed.
Now hopefully the four can lead them to the crash site.
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Post by pbbrown0 on Dec 21, 2019 3:38:00 GMT -6
Ivy is going to become a real clinging vine around Ford after this incident.
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Post by papaof2 on Dec 21, 2019 11:02:22 GMT -6
Ivy is going to become a real clinging vine around Ford after this incident. What's her ancestry? We know that English Ivy really sticks to things ;-)
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Post by texican on Dec 21, 2019 16:01:49 GMT -6
Ivy is going to become a real clinging vine around Ford after this incident. What's her ancestry? We know that English Ivy really sticks to things ;-) ppb and pp2, You two just can not resist the puns.... Texican....
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Post by 9idrr on Dec 22, 2019 20:50:57 GMT -6
What's her ancestry? We know that English Ivy really sticks to things ;-) ppb and pp2, You two just can not resist the puns.... Texican.... Yeah, and ain't that a wonderful thing?
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Post by texican on Dec 25, 2019 18:55:32 GMT -6
Hey mic,
What is happening with Ford for your moar hound readers are wondering....
You know it is our inquisitive minds....
Hope you had a great CHRISTmas....
Texican...
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Post by cutter on Dec 25, 2019 21:05:39 GMT -6
I'm very much enjoying your story. Thank you for your effort
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Post by mic on Dec 26, 2019 10:15:20 GMT -6
Merry Christmas to all you readers out there. Hope you got something cool under the tree. I got flannel shirts, boot socks and a book on baking bread. Got to get that grain grinder out now.
Thanks, all, for the comments and feedback. I took a bit of a break for Christmas (so much to do!) but now we're back. Do keep your feedback coming.
--- Mic
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Post by mic on Dec 26, 2019 10:18:36 GMT -6
Chapter 12 – Scavenging & Decisions (part 1)
Ford and Bozeman led the procession up the narrow path that followed the stream. Ford glanced at Bozeman, unsure of what to think. He was reasonably sure that Bozeman had killed their foreman – a man helplessly trapped in the wreckage. Yet, Bozeman had also saved Ford's life from a raider’s knife. Does saving a life cancel out a killing? Is killing acceptable if it benefits you but not acceptable if it does not? Ford rejected such a relative and self-serving standard as actually no standard at all.
“That was one ell of a fight back there, eh?” said Bozeman. “Man, that felt…I don’t know…amazing. It all happened so fast! The running: those men attacking. Everything was crazy!”
“Listen, um, Bozeman. I, uh...”
“And that guy with his face all painted up: kinda freaked me out for a minute. He had you on the ground. I thought for sure he was going to stab you right in the heart.”
“So, yeah, and I...”
“It was like everything started moving so slowly, you know? I’ve never experienced anything like that. I saw him pull his knife hand free and raise it over you. That ax was lying on the path right behind him. I didn’t even think about what to do, you know? No thinking, ‘oh, I should do this,’ or ‘oh, I should do that.’ I just grabbed it and swung it down on him.”
“Yeah. About that,” Ford studied his feet to avoid eye contact. “I wanted to say thank you. You know, for saving my life back there.”
“Bah!” said Bozeman. “I’d like to say I was being all brave and saving a friend, but to tell you the truth, I didn't think anything at all. I just acted. Really strange, huh?"
“Just acted and…killed?” Ford continued to watch his feet.
“Yeah. I guess so. I didn’t even think of it as killing. Weird, huh? I was just acting. It’s like walking or breathing or something. You don’t really have to think about doing those things. You just do them.”
“Killing is like breathing?”
“Well, no. That doesn’t sound right. It’s more like knowing you have to do something and doing it without getting all analytical about it.”
“Has that happened to you…before?” Ford asked, his eyes still down.
“Why? I…” Bozeman’s voice trailed off. He walked along the path, his eyes darting left and right as if watching replayed memory videos. “Why do you ask?” he asked faintly.
“You said 99 was dead. We were all outside the lifter. Did you ‘have to do something’ to him?”
“Are you saying…”
“I’m not saying anything,” said Ford. “My thinking is a mess right now. You were always so angry at 99 for telling you that you were trash.”
“He had been riding me for weeks,” growled Bozeman. “I couldn’t stand that.”
“Look. You saved my life back there. How can I ever thank you enough for something like that? I mean, I can’t. That raider thought I was trash. When he was dead, I was glad. Boy, was I glad. I just can't figure out how the worth of a man works. Who is trash, and who isn't? Do we each get to decide – whenever we want – if a man is trash or not?”
Bozeman walked in silence, his face set in a puzzled frown.
“Are you boys sure you know where you’re going?” asked Zeke from behind them. “This trail is getting mighty thin.”
“I know we walked down this path,” Ford whispered to Bozeman, “but none of this looks familiar to me. What about you?”
Bozeman glanced around discretely. “All these woods look alike to me. Wait, no. I remember tripping on that root. We’ve gone too far. This was the part where I was walking uphill after we…parted ways.”
“We have to go back a little bit,” Ford announced. “We passed the spot. Sorry. We were only here once and not thinking we’d have to find the spot again.”
The men behind Zeke grumbled at the delay and added hiking.
“Oh,” said Ford. “That tree I cut notches in. Remember? When we were trying to figure out the remote?”
“Oh, right. We should look for that tree.”
After fifty meters or so of backtracking, Ford spotted the young tree with seven notches in the bark. “Here it is!” he announced. “Actually, the wreck is farther up the hill from this point.” He pulled himself up the hill by grabbing sapling trunks.
When Ford and Bozeman saw the wreck, they stopped suddenly. “The door is off,” said Bozeman under his breath. His face turned pale. Zeke and his men bunched up behind them.
Was 99 not really dead when they left him? Ford felt sure that he was. A shiver ran up Ford’s spine as childhood memories flooded into his mind. Schoolboys used to whisper to each other their theories of what happened after people died. The way teachers and adults in The City avoided the topic of death tended to fuel young schoolboys’ morbid imaginations. A popular theory held that if someone died due to anger or injustice, their dead body would rise after three days and seek out their killers. Had 99’s dead body gotten free and pushed out the door? Was it looking for Bozeman?
“Look at all this!” announced Zeke excitedly. “There’s tons of good stuff here!” He and his men climbed the hill toward the wreck, leaving Ford and Bozeman below, eyes wide.
“Wheee-ooo!” declared Zeke. “You didn’t say there was a dead guy in here.”
Bozeman exhaled a big sigh in relief.
“Um, yeah. That was our crew foreman,” said Ford, also relieved. “He was trapped in the wreck and…” he glanced over at Bozeman’s wide eyes. He was aware that being known as a killer might get him expelled for the blackshirts to shoot.
“He, um, couldn’t get out.” Ford finished his sentence. He owed Bozeman his life. How could he just toss him out for the blackshirts?
“Well, something got in here and started eating on him,” said Zeke. “The carrion beetles have been at him for a while too. Come on, boys, we’ve got to get him out of here before we can really get started.” He waved to some of his men.
“What do you two city boys want to do with him when we get him out?” asked Zeke, his head and shoulders inside the lifter doorway.
“Do?” Ford and Bozeman looked at each other. “What do you mean, ‘do’?”
“Do with the body. I don’t know what you city folk do with your dead,” said Zeke without looking up. “Heard you ground ‘em up for fertilizer or something. We aren’t going to do any grinding. We bury our dead. You want to bury him or just leave him out for the animals to finish off?”
Bozeman glanced around at nothing in particular as his inner thoughts crashed into one another.
“I know you hated him,” said Ford quietly, “but you also talked about all men having worth and dignity.”
“Yeah, well…but he was…”
“Whatever. Our choices are: bury him or to leave what’s left of him to be eaten by animals or bugs? Which is actually more important to you: your hate or your belief in dignity?”
Bozeman hesitated for a long moment before his shoulders fell. He tipped his face to the sky and moaned. “Alright, alright. Let’s bury him.”
“Did you bring any shovels with you?” Ford asked Zeke.
“Of course. Always bring ‘em on salvage ventures,” said Zeke. He snapped his fingers at a pair of his helper men and pointed to one of the wooden boxes. “Tell ya what. We’ll wrap what’s left of him in a couple burlap bags. He’s a bit grim-looking, being all chewed on, teeth showing and all. Plus, I plan to salvage his clothes and boots. No sense burying good boots.”
Bozeman and Ford looked at each other again. Ford pictured the dead fox and the fish guts. What did 99 look like now? His imagination was coming up blank, but he was thankful for that.
The two young men dug in the dirt, chopped roots, and pried rocks for over an hour. Ford's muscles ached, and sweat dripped down his neck. While they dug 99’s grave, Zeke and his men set to work dismantling the wrecked lifter. The way his men crawled all over the wreck, prying up panels and pulling out plastic, it reminded Ford of the black and yellow beetles crawling over the fox skeleton.
“This has to be the worst possible place to try to dig a hole,” said Bozeman. He wiped his sweat out of his eyes with his shirtsleeve. “We’ve been digging forever and only have a hole a half-meter deep.” He studied the burlap bundle nearby. “He’ll fill it up and won’t be underground at all.”
"Maybe we put him in and pile all this loose dirt around him," suggested Ford. "Make a kind of a mound over him. We can cover the mound with all these rocks we’ve been digging up…and maybe use some of those over there too. That ought to make it animal proof.”
Bozeman nodded. The two of them held their breath and rolled the burlap bundle into the hole. When the body hit the bottom of the pit, it released a powerful waft of noxious smell that turned Ford’s stomach. He looked away, squinting. They both had to step away to breathe fresh air before returning with their shovels.
They patted the earthen mound with the shovels to compact the earth. Rocks too big to lift were rolled into place. The job was complete.
“It’s kind of like a monument,” said Ford. “I heard that the before-times people buried their dead and made monuments over them.”
“All done, eh?” said Zeke from behind them. “Here, I saved you his visor. Thought that since he was one of you that you might want something as a memento of him. I’m keeping his boots.”
“Thanks?” Ford was not sure he wanted a memento. Yet, it seemed appropriate to have something that remained as a sort of proof that 99 had existed. The foreman did not have a red dragon avatar to live on after him. There ought to be something.
“Sad to say,” continued Zeke, “the radio equipment in this thing was old-tech. I powered it up, and it leaks the usual noisy RF. It won't help us detect the newer ships. Still, almost half of the batteries were intact. Even the broken ones had usable parts. That’ll help. The solar sheets were in great shape. Those are gold. Got two big working motors, parts to fix up some others I’ve got back home. Lots of little servo motors too. Got bags of aluminum. We can melt that down and make all kinds of stuff. Seat fabric, plastic walls, sheets of mylar, yards, and yards of wiring: lots of useful stuff here."
When Ford looked back at the wreck, little remained beyond a few bent aluminum ribs and box-frame backbone. Even dead machines do not last long in the forest. Everything that could be removed quickly with hand tools had been stuffed into backpacks or hung from poles between pairs of men.
As the procession began down the path, Ford looked over his shoulder at the mound of earth and rocks. “I know he had a bad side…”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” grumbled Bozeman.
Ford stared at 99’s visor. He could still picture the foreman’s angry squinted eyes behind the clear plastic. He wondered why the foreman had such a cruel streak. Did he genuinely believe that all men were little more than worthless trash? Did he feel that about himself? 99 seemed to know compassion. He was willing to overlook Ford’s crime of killing an animal. He did not have to do that. He showed Ford how to make fire too. In Ford’s mind, 99 was not all bad.
As he studied the visor, he noticed a lump of what he guessed was decayed flesh stuck to the earpiece. When he tried to brush it way, a sharp corner poked him. He pushed the soft pulp away with a small stick, revealing a rectangle of metal the size of a little fingernail. He felt the bump in his own temple.
So, that’s what the chips in our temples look like. He must have been so decayed that the visor’s magnets pulled it out.
(end 12, part 1)
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Post by pbbrown0 on Dec 26, 2019 18:32:58 GMT -6
Big Discovery
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Post by kaijafon on Dec 26, 2019 18:43:44 GMT -6
Now what if the city folk can trace that visor?
Thanks for the moar!
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Post by bluefox2 on Dec 26, 2019 20:17:26 GMT -6
Now what if the city folk can trace that visor? Thanks for the moar! Or, track the embedded chips in the head.
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Post by 9idrr on Dec 26, 2019 21:01:58 GMT -6
Who's gonna be the first test victim for primitive surgery to remove his chip? Mic, you keep opening up possibilities.
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Post by papaof2 on Dec 26, 2019 21:07:57 GMT -6
How deeply are the chips buried? Animals are chipped and it's shallow - shallow enough for a good butcher to remove them with little damage.
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Post by texican on Dec 26, 2019 22:21:47 GMT -6
Merry Christmas to all you readers out there. Hope you got something cool under the tree. I got flannel shirts, boot socks and a book on baking bread. Got to get that grain grinder out now. Thanks, all, for the comments and feedback. I took a bit of a break for Christmas (so much to do!) but now we're back. Do keep your feedback coming. --- Mic mic, Glad that you had a great CHRISTmas.... I also got a flannel shirt and a flannel coat with hoodie and a pair of Trump Socks with his likeness and hair.... Will be wearing the Trump soaks to a liberal meeting if I can find one.... Texican...
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Post by texican on Dec 26, 2019 22:34:03 GMT -6
How deeply are the chips buried? Animals are chipped and it's shallow - shallow enough for a good butcher to remove them with little damage. pp2, Very certain that I would not like you doing surgery on me with a butcher knife except as a last resort.... Scalpels or razor knives might be better.... mic, A maiden saved and bad guys dead.... A flier scavenged and 99 buried.... Will the crew get their collars off now? Thanks for the chapter.... Texican....
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Post by mic on Dec 27, 2019 20:27:20 GMT -6
(Chapter 12: part 2)
When they returned to the village, Ben, Elijah, and Julius stood across the path.
"Hey, Benjamin!" Zeke waved eagerly. "They were right about the wreck. Look at all the good metal we found. Got some more batteries and a great solar sheet. This was quite a haul. The bad news, though, is that there was nothing new in the equipment. We're back to square one on that problem."
“Thanks, Zeke,” said Ben. Zeke and his men turned right and trudged with their burdens up an intersecting path.
“You boys can stay in here for now,” said Ben. He pointed to a small hut behind him.
“I wonder what they’re going to do with us?” Bozeman asked.
Ford and Bozeman entered beneath the green curtain of the doorway. Owen and Teuz sat on large baskets. Stacks of other baskets lined the walls.
“Hey, you’re back! You found the wreck?” Owen asked.
Ford and Bozeman glanced at each other. “Yeah. We found it okay.”
“What about 99?” Teuz winced in anticipation.
“Something got in and ate some of him.”
“Ewww. Ugh.”
“Yeah, it was pretty bad,” said Ford. Bozeman looked at the dirt floor. “Bozeman and I dug a grave and buried him beside the wreck. Zeke and his men took apart the lifter and carried most of it back here.”
“Ah,” said Owen. “That explains why they have some equipment and batteries to run them. I wonder how often a lifter crashes out here.”
“Don’t know,” said Ford, “But if it does, they scavenge just about everything.”
“So, listen, guys,” Teuz beamed. “You’ll never guess what happened to us while you were gone.”
Ford rolled his eyes. “Teuz, you’re doing it again. We can’t guess. What happened?”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Anyhow, a woman named Carolyn Clark came to talk to me. She’s an elder of the Clark Clan. Martha – she’s a Clark – was telling this Carolyn that I was brave when the Dogs attacked and helped save some people from being burned. As she was telling it, I was thinking, brave? All I managed to do was not get killed by that big man with the fire. Martha was urging her to let me stay and become part of their clan. Cool, huh?”
“Stay?” Ford asked.
"Yeah," said Owen. "Mr. Harris had a talk with me, too, while you were gone. I guess he thought it meant something that I didn’t die either while stopping that fire man. He thought my interest in all the books was important, so he asked if I wanted to stay and become one of the River People. He said he would stand for me to join the Harris Clan. Isn’t that great?”
“Yeah,” chimed in Teuz. “We won’t have to starve in the wilderness, and we don't have to go back to The City."
Not go back?
Bozeman pulled Ford aside. “It looks like a little fighting against those raiders seems to have impressed these River People,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t mind staying here too. Anything beats The City, but you said they threw two prisoners out to be shot because they murdered one them. If they…I mean, if they think that I…”
“I’m not saying anything,” Ford whispered back. What could he actually say? All he had was a theory and some scratches that will be healed and gone soon. Besides, he owed Bozeman. Ruining his chance to find a home was no way to repay that debt.
Bozeman held Ford's eye as if searching for intentions.
“We buried 99 with what dignity we could,” said Ford. “Right?”
Bozeman’s face betrayed a hint of a smile. “Right. Dignity.”
Light flooded into the storage hut when the curtain was pulled back. “Ford?” called Ben. “Come on out here. I’d like to talk to you. Bozeman, you too. Elijah would like a word with you. He’s standing over there.”
Ford gave Bozeman a shrug and a smile as the two stepped back into the brightness of the day. Ben motioned for Ford to walk with him down the path.
“I have to confess,” Ben began as he walked, “that when I first saw you, I thought you were nothing but trouble.”
Am I supposed to respond? What do I say to that? Yes, I was trouble? No, you didn’t think that? I’d better just stay quiet until he asks something directly.
“Even if you weren’t an immediate danger to my people, I thought you were worthless.”
‘Thought?’ Past-tense?
“I’ve not had much dealings with you since acquiring you, but you have impressed my family with your willingness to work and your…naïve sincerity. As a father, I was impressed that you put your own life at risk to save my daughter.”
Willing? I just ran after the guy. It was like Bozeman said. I just acted. I didn’t think about it.
“Speaking of Ivy, she’s become rather taken with you. I’ve tried to tell her that you have no clue about such things and she should consider some of the other boys in the village. She won’t listen to me, of course. I’m only her father. What do I know?”
He’s not really asking me that, is he? How would I know what he knows?
“That’s enough preamble,” Ben said after a deep sigh. “My point is that I think you would make a worthwhile addition to our people. You don’t have to remain a slave. You can stay with us and become a member of the Anderson clan.” Ben finished his offer then stared into the distance awaiting a response.
Stay?
“Um, I do appreciate your very kind offer," Ford said in slow and measured tones. "But I can't stay. I must return to The City."
Ben turned to face Ford with a look of confusion. “You must…wait. I don’t understand. The City is a soulless prison. We’re offering you a life of freedom. Why would you choose to go back and stay in prison?
Ford hung his head and sighed. “I don’t want to stay there. I just need to go back so I can get…something…out of there.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. What could be so important that you’d risk going back in that hell-hole to get it?”
Ford hung his head. His plan sounded foolhardy. “Ada. She’s a woman I got to know in The City. I think I like her a lot.”
“A woman?” Ben stood taller. “Hmmm. Maybe I assumed too quickly about you not knowing such things.” Ben stroked his beard. “Ivy’s not going to like this news.”
“Benjamin, Benjamin, Benjamin,” exclaimed Zeke as he rushed up. “I’ve been thinking of another way we might detect those ships without the radio leak. It’s a long shot, but…Wait. Were you guys talking about something before I came?”
“Yes.” Ben glared at Zeke.
Zeke looked back and forth from Ben to Ford and back. “Well, no one’s talking now, so I will. I got to thinking I could rig up something sonic instead…”
“Zeke, we were talking until you interrupted. I was trying to offer Ford membership in the Anderson clan and a place among our people.”
"Oh, really?" said Zeke. "That would be good. He's surprisingly sturdy for a citiot. I think he’d make…”
“Except he said no. He says he wants to go back to The City.”
“What? Who in their right mind would…did he hit his head on something?” Zeke peered around the sides of Ford’s head as if expecting to see blood.
“No,” said Ben. “He wants to go back for a woman.”
“What? No. Citiots don't know anything about women. City women don’t want anything to do with men. How could he…they don't even…that doesn't make any sense. Besides, if he did find a woman he liked in there, there's no way to get married and live together, not in The City. That's been outlawed for generations. They’d be killed.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to stay in The City,” said Ford. “I want to get Ada out of it.”
“Oh, well, getting out. That makes more sense,” said Zeke. “The City is a hell of a place to have to live. What’s yer plan, eh? How are you figuring to get in, find her and get out? Don’t they got cameras everywhere and iron boots to stomp out anything that looks the slightest bit unauthorized?”
“Well…yes…” Ford could feel a flush of embarrassment. His planning had, thus far, consisted of building a raft and floating down to the water intake. He had not really thought about how he would travel all the way through The City to the hexagon where Ada lived, how he would find her, and how the two of them would get back out. Day-to-day living in The Outside had been too distracting or exhausting to leave free time for planning.
“I know how the tram system works,” Ford said as confidently as he could. “I know where the cameras usually are and where they aren’t. I know it will be difficult, but I sure as ell have to try.”
“Ell?” Zeke tipped his head. "You mean 'hell,' don't you?"
“No,” interjected Ben. “He meant ‘ell.’ That’s the word citiots use to swear.”
“It’s the same word,” said Zeke.
“Not really,” said Ben. “As I understand it, back when The City was new, the rulers came up with a couple lists of words they didn’t want anyone ever to say again. The first list contained insults and epithets. People thought it was great to ban words they didn’t like, so the rulers created another list. Words like; love, marriage, father, and mother were erased from any older material and forbidden in any future material. If anyone spoke them, they disappeared. The rulers thought that if people didn’t know the words, the meanings would become forgotten. That’s why Ford didn’t know what a father and a mother were.”
“That’s just silly.” Zeke snorted. “Why would they ban the word hell?”
Ford rolled his eyes. Is this conversation really necessary? I want to travel to The City and rescue Ada, not waste time talking about words.
“Think about it, Zeke. What does hell mean?”
Ell has a meaning?
Zeke frowned at the ground. “Lake of fire: the place of eternal punishment?”
“Right, but if people could think about hell, they’re going to wonder about its opposite – heaven. If people can think about heaven and hell, they’ll think about God.” Ben shook his head. “The early city rulers did not want anyone thinking about God.”
“So they just took the ‘h’ off so people could still swear?” asked Zeke. “That’s just dumb.”
“No. Tampering with words really works,” said Ben. “Ford, what does ‘ell’ mean?”
Ford blinked. He had not thought about it until then. It was only an empty intensifier word. “I don’t think it means anything, really.”
“See?” said Ben. “Words can be dangerous that way. If city people thought about God, they’d realize that there is a right and a wrong higher than city laws. They could not allow that.”
Rules higher than edicts from the Matri Executive Council?
“I don’t pretend to understand half of what you’re talking about,” said Ford, “but I do think I understand right and wrong, even if I don’t know anything about your God.”
“Oh, there, ya see?” Ben smiled and raised one eyebrow. “Like it says, ‘His word is written in their hearts.’ He knows what’s right.”
“What does that mean?" Ford asked. He was growing impatient with their philosophizing but did not want to be rude. They might still be offering to help him. "I do know what's wrong, and that’s why I have to go back. I know it’s wrong to leave her in there.”
“Hmmm.” Zeke’s eyes narrowed as he stroked his patchy goatee. “Ben, I’ve got me an idea.”
The two men stopped a couple of meters away and conversed in whispers and gestures. Ford stood, awkwardly alone, in the path. He was embarrassed that he had only a vague outline of a plan. How could they help him if he did not know what he planned to do?
How, exactly, did he plan to get back in? City officials always boasted about the perimeter walls keeping out undefined bad things – ‘so all our citizens are safe!’
Even if he got over the wall, somehow, and boarded a tram, it would be a day’s journey and several tram changes to get to the hex where Ada lived. How would he, as a man, ever be able to make contact with Ada in a women’s complex? He would be stopped at the first gate. Blackshirts would carry him away.
He knew the right thing to do but felt stupid for having no idea how to do it.
Zeke and Ben returned. “Ford, we have a proposition for you. How about if we, the River People, help you get back to The City so you can rescue this Ada? Zeke, here, has some ideas that can help once you’re inside.”
“Really? Oh, that would be great! I’d be so…wait. Why are you smiling like that? You expect something in return, don’t you?”
“Ah, a smart cookie, eh?” said Zeke with a chuckle. “You’re right. We’re willing to help you with your girlfriend rescue mission. It’s probably very risky, and you could just get yourself killed...Agh!” Zeke jumped when Ben poked his elbow into Zeke’s ribs.
“I mean to say that it's risky, but we can make it less risky. In exchange for helping you get your lady friend out, you agree to get a piece of their newer radio equipment for us. With that, I should be able to find a way to detect the blackshirts at a safe distance again. What do you say? Get us a radio, and we help you get your girl."
“I have no idea where to find anything like that.”
“That’s okay. I do,” said Zeke. “I’ve been thinking about such a mission for years. It'd be a way to get some ahold of some good tech without waiting for crashes or malfunctioning transports. I never followed up on those plans because there was no way I could get into where I needed to get. I mean, look at me. Could I pass for a citiot? No. You, as a city person, could get in and out, and they'd be none the wiser.”
Ford shook his head. “You’re overestimating what I can do and underestimating the control city leaders have. Look, all I want to do is get Ada out. This radio mission sounds too risky. If I get caught and killed, Ada will still be stuck in there." Ford wanted to refuse their plan outright, but he held back. What alternatives did he have? Would they refuse to let him leave the village if he refused to help them? He hoped they would see that their radio mission was untenable and yet they would still give him some help in his own purpose. That seemed like a long shot, but he did not want to close the door.
“There’s no denying the risks,” said Ben. “There are risks in everything. Doing nothing does not make the risks go away. Some people avoid risks as much as possible. Others face them because they know they have to. You fought that Dog raider to save Ivy. That tells me you’re not one of those risk avoiders.”
Ford looked away to avoid eye contact. He knew Ben was trying to talk him into accepting their foolhardy radio mission. Yet, he also knew that Ben was right. If he did not get Ada out of The City, she would be stuck there with no prospect for happiness or freedom. He could not do nothing.
“I’ll admit that Zeke’s plan needs some details figured out,” said Ben. “But we can sort that out. Let’s say you succeed in getting Ada out of The City. Then what?”
Ford stared at the ground. What little planning he had done amounted to visualizing himself and Ada running through the surface roads toward the perimeter wall. He had no mental images beyond that.
“That’s what I thought,” said Ben. “If you get Ada out…”
“When I get her out.”
Ben smiled. “Okay, when you get her out of The City, you’ll have to live somewhere, right? Neither of you will have the comforts and supplies of The City anymore. You don’t have to go it alone. You could become an Anderson and live with us River People.”
“That’s right,” added Zeke. “As one of us, we’d be helping…well, one of us to help all of us…with…when you…” Zeke blinked like a stuck transfer truck.
“I think what Zeke is trying to say is that as an Anderson of the River People, there will be more of us to help you get Ada out. They will see that you'd be helping all of them be safer." Ben held a caring smile, similar to what the bots used.
Ford let out a deep sigh. It all seemed so pointlessly complicated: becoming an Anderson first before anyone would help him. Yet, if that was what it took, he would do it. He knew his chances of success going it alone were poor.
“Okay. I’ll become an Anderson if you’ll help me get Ada out.”
(end 12, part 2)
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Post by 9idrr on Dec 27, 2019 21:38:26 GMT -6
I sure hope Ada wants what Ford wants for her.
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remembergoliad
Member
if you send friend req on FB, message me too. I won't accept if I don't recognize you.
Posts: 158
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Post by remembergoliad on Dec 28, 2019 8:28:11 GMT -6
I sure hope Ada wants what Ford wants for her. Thanks Mic! You mean we could be seeing a repeat of the boy scout with the black eye? (Little Johnny went to school the day after the Cub Scout meeting sporting a black eye. Teacher asked how it happened, Johnny said it happened helping that cranky old Miz Johnson cross the street, because boy scouts help little old ladies cross the street. Teacher said that's commendable that you'd offer your help, but how does that result in a black eye? Johnny replied, "Well, see, she didn't wanna cross the street.")
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Post by mic on Dec 29, 2019 20:11:40 GMT -6
(chapter 12, part 3)
The next morning, two men with their faces painted in black and white stripes escorted Ford, Owen, Teuz, and Bozeman up a winding path through the woods. When the trail crested a rise, they looked down to see hundreds of people standing on a curved hillside. The grassy slope formed a half-bowl shape around a tight bend in a little stream. In the small peninsula of land looped by the burbling water, stood several gray-haired men.
Everyone on the hillside stood silently and watched as the four city men were led down to the bottom of the bowl and across a little wooden bridge. Ford was surprised at the number of people present. There were four or five times as many people as in the village. Where did they all come from?
“What’s all this?” asked Owen in a whisper.
“It reminds me of the graduation ceremonies back in The City,” said Bozeman.
“We’re graduating?” asked Teuz.
“In a way,” said Owen. “From lost city people to River People.”
When the two escorts had delivered the four to the moss-covered peninsula, they saluted the elders. They took up positions on either side of the little wooden bridge they had just crossed.
Elijah, his face painted in stripes, turned and addressed the crowd in a loud voice. “Before you stand four candidates who seek to join our people.” He stopped to let a ripple of murmurs subside.
“Who stands for the Clarks?” Elijah asked.
A woman wearing a tattered green jacket draped over her shoulders stepped out from among the people in the front rows. She crossed the wooden bridge and stood facing the elders. “I do.” She turned to address the audience. “I, Carolyn Clark, daughter of Sara, granddaughter of Abigail, stand for the Clark clan.”
The crowd murmured approval. Ford could see a section of the crowd nodding and talking to each other. Martha stood among them, so Ford assumed they were members of the Clark clan.
“Who wishes to join our clan?” Carolyn turned from the audience and faced Teuz.
“I do,” said Teuz meekly. His eyes darted from face to face.
Carolyn leaned close to Teuz. “Tell them, not me." She gestured to the people on the hillside. "Say something like I, Teuz, wish to be a part of the Clark clan, but say it loud."
Teuz cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “I, Teuz, wish to join your Clark clan.”
The audience murmured approval again. The Clark contingent smiled and nodded. Martha beamed.
Carolyn took a bundle from beneath her jacket and carefully unwrapped the delicate purple fabric. With the cloth draped over her hand, her palm cradled an old compass. The black paint had worn off of the corners and edge. She held that hand out toward Teuz. Elijah handed her a small black book that she held in her other open palm.
“I wear the jacket of our ancestor Abigail and hold in my left hand the compass that Abigail used to guide her family to freedom. It has been in our family ever since those dark times. It reminds us to always know our way.” She held the compass up for the crowd to see.
“I hold in my right, The Word, which binds us all together as a people.” Carolyn held her arms out toward Teuz.
“Am I supposed to do something?” Teuz whispered.
“Yes,” Carolyn whispered back. “Put your hands on these things. I’ll ask you a question, and you answer. You can do it.”
Teuz nodded and placed a hand on each object.
“Teuz, do you promise, before everyone here present, to consider every Clark to be your own flesh and blood, to come to their aid when needed and never cause harm to any Clark?”
“This is where you say yes,” Carolyn whispered.
“Oh, um. Yes. I do,” announced Teuz.
“In the sight of all here today, do you promise to make His Word a lamp unto your feet and a light unto your path?”
“Um,” Teuz whispered. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means, do you promise to behave yourself and not be bad,” Carolyn whispered back.
“Oh, then. Um, yes. I promise to…do all those things.” Teuz added a nod to the end.
Carolyn turned Teuz’s shoulders so that he faced the audience. “Here stands a candidate for the Clark clan, do you approve of Teuz to become a member of our people?”
The Clark contingent let loose a roar of ‘yes’ and began to push their way down the hill.
Elijah stepped forward, waving his arms in the air. “Please, please. Everyone remain on the hill until we’re done with all four of these candidates. When we are all done, you can come down and greet your new clan members.”
The Clark people returned to their places and stood quietly. Martha waved and smiled. Carolyn rewrapped her bundle and walked across the wooden bridge.
Owen was next. Julius stood for the Harris clan. He said many of the same things that Carolyn Clark had. In his left hand, he held a tattered red book. He described how his ancestor, Caleb Harris, had used that book to identify edible wild plants. His family had food as they fled deep into the woods to escape the blackshirts. Julius held the same little black book in his right hand. Ford guessed that the black book was the common artifact among all of the clans.
Owen benefited from watching what Teuz did and answered appropriately at each prompt. The Harris people shouted and waved as they declared their approval.
Elijah himself stood for the Schultz clan. His bundle of black fabric contained a long knife. He told how his grandfather, Bernard Schultz, used that knife to defend his family from roving bad men. He used the knife to construct shelters for his family since their houses had been destroyed.
Bozeman placed a hand on the knife and one on the book. Elijah said that every member of the Schultz clan has touched this blade and thereby shared in the work of Bernard. Bozeman promised the same promises. The Schultzes were no less vocal in their approval. Bozeman, wearing a broad smile, resumed his place in line with the other three.
Ben stepped forward. “I, Benjamin Anderson, son of Joshua, son of Linden, stand for the Anderson clan.”
Ford could pick out Rachel, Nathan, and Ivy in the crowd. Where was Cassie? Rachel and Nathan smiled. Ivy wore very sad eyebrows.
“I hold in this hand one of the traps that my grandfather Linden used to catch animals. He fed his family and provided furs to keep them warm during the brutal winters of The Escape.”
Hearing that the collection of steel hoops and springs was a trap that caught and killed animals, Ford was reluctant to put his hand anywhere near the mechanism.
“It’s okay,” whispered Ben. “It’s not set. It’s safe. Go on.”
Ford promised to consider any and all Andersons to be his own family, even if he had only a vague idea of what a family was. When Ben asked if Ford promised to make The Word a light unto his path, Ford asked if the little black book was the rule higher than city laws. Ben nodded.
“I promise to do what is right,” Ford announced, “and right what is wrong as much as I can.”
“That’s not what I asked you,” whispered Ben. “Do you promise to make the light higher than man’s rules and be what guides your path?”
“I will make the rules of right a light unto my path,” Ford declared.
“I think that’s close enough,” Ben said under his breath. “You’ve got some reading to do, son.” He bent down and tied a leather belt around Ford's waist. From it hung his knife in its sheath.
Ben turned to the crowd. “I present to you Ford, a candidate to join us Andersons and become a part of our River People. What do you say?”
The crowd cheered its approval. Rachel hugged Nathan, who was jumping up and down. Ivy wiped her face and tried to smile. Ford could still not see Cassie. Perhaps she was among the guards keeping the gathering safe.
Elijah stepped forward again. “These men are no longer our slaves…” He pointed to Zeke standing across the stream.
Zeke pressed a button on a remote. All four collars sprung open at the back and slid down the men’s chests to land in the soft moss. Ford felt his neck. It seemed oddly naked without the collar. Bozeman stomped on his collar, embedding it into the moss.
Someone began to beat softly on what must have been huge drums. They were not loud, but Ford could feel each beat in his throat. Elijah silenced the chaotic roar of the crowd with his outstretched arms. The drumbeats continued. He pointed to two men, each carrying a small earthenware pot in one hand.
One man dipped his thumb into his little pot and smudged a wide stripe of white paint across the forehead and both cheeks of the four men. The drumbeats grew a little louder as the second man dipped three fingers into his pot. He wiped three spread-out stripes of black paint across the cheeks of each man.
The paint men retired as Elijah stepped back forward. The drums stopped. “I present to you, men of the River People!”
The crowd thundered with a simultaneous roar. Everyone rushed down the hillside and swarmed around the four young men. Teuz and Owen looked as giddy as schoolboys as the people patted them on the shoulders and shook their hands. Bozeman looked bewildered at the attention.
“Hey,” said Nathan with a little punch at Ford’s shoulder. “Now that you’re family, I guess I can tease you, huh?”
“I guess?” There are rules for teasing?
“Oh, Ford,” said Rachel, “I am so glad you decided to join us. I think you’ll make a wonderful Anderson.”
Ivy stood before Ford, her hands clasped at her waist, her eyes slightly red. “I wish you would stay.”
Ford had to swallow a lump in his throat. Something inside him felt compelled to hold her and comfort her, yet something else inside him said not to.
“I don’t know what to wish.”
(end chapter 12)
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Post by 9idrr on Dec 29, 2019 22:16:28 GMT -6
Good stuff, but I still wonder where Cassie fits in.
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Post by mic on Jan 1, 2020 11:11:11 GMT -6
Happy New Year, readers! Here is another installment. Your thoughts and comments are always welcome and useful!
Chapter 13 -- Downriver (part 1)
“This here’s my life’s work,” Zeke said with a bit of a dramatic flair. “At least, the last five years of it.”
He carefully unfolded a large piece of paper across a makeshift table. The map was actually several smaller pieces of paper sewn together. Across the rough surface, hand-drawn lines formed a plan of The City – at least, the northeastern quarter.
“Every time our people moved up or down the river, I’d take some of my men west to scout out The City.”
Ben nodded wearily. “Yes, he does. Every single time.”
“It’s important,” protested Zeke. “You know it’s important, Ben. Can’t count on stuff falling from the sky or breaking down in a ditch. We might need to be more proactive.”
Zeke returned his attention to Ford and Bozeman, who stood at the table studying the map. "Every year, I'd set up in a tall tree stand and study The City, making notes and taking readings. I’d have a couple of my boys set up ten or twenty degrees to either side, also taking readings. With that intel, I’d work all winter plotting out the notes.”
“Plotting to get inside?” Ford half-winced, expecting that it was a stupid question. After all, what would Zeke do if he did get inside?
“Well, kind of,” said Zeke. “I hadn’t quite figured that part out…exactly. That was a gap in my plan that I needed to resolve.”
Ben tried to hide a knowing smile.
“But once I did figure that part out, I had to know where I needed to go. Planning. Success is all about proper planning.” Zeke poked at the tabletop for emphasis.
“You have center towers correct, the residential blocks, the hex street layouts, even the industry triangles,” said Bozeman. “How did you get all this from sitting in a tree?”
"Hehe, well, not all from sitting in a tree." Zeke had an impish smile. "I've been able to power up some visors – you know, from dead citiots we'd found. I couldn’t connect to the servers for live into, of course. The visors have to be mated to a temple chip for that, and I wasn't in range of a server, thank God. But, I have been able to extract some information from the visor’s local storage. They need a buffer, you see.”
“You got all this out of a couple visors?”
“Well, no. I got some detail about a single city hex, but city planners like their uniformity, so if you’ve got the map to one hex, you’ve got them all. I could see that from a tree. I could plot out the locations of the hexes by their tall central buildings. Kinda like a cluster of chunky flagpoles in the middle of each hex.”
“And this triangle here?” Ford pointed to a patch red-colored patch between three hexagons.
“Ah. Yes. That’s the closest of the blackshirts’ air bases,” said Zeke. “Had to triangulate to get that one. It’s a good one too! I watched their black ships coming and going, like hornets in and out of a nest. Now that I know they’ve got some newer radio technology, I’m betting my bootstraps they’ll have some in that there hornets’ nest.” Zeke repeatedly poked the triangle with his finger.
“Okay, maybe they do have newer radio equipment in there,” said Ford tactfully, “but we still haven’t figured out how to get back inside The City in the first place." He felt a little stupid pointing out the major flaw in his own plan, but it was now a shared flaw.
“Heh. I had me a bit of an epiphany on that,” said Zeke. He adopted a professorial pose with hands clasped together at his waist. “Think back to what you boys were doing before you crashed.”
“Screaming?” offered Teuz.
Zeke slumped out of his pose. “No, before that. What job were you doing?”
“Marking ruins for salvage,” said Owen.
“Right!” Zeke resumed his pose. “What happened after you marked them?”
“Crushers would come and…”
“Load up transports!” interrupted Ford. “The transports drive back to The City when they’re full. We can ride a transport back into The City!”
“Exactly!” Zeke clapped his hands. “The citiots left a bridge standing over the river at Dubuque. It’s one of the major crossing points for their transports east of the Mississippi to get across and down to The City.”
“We figured,” interjected Ben, “that we could take you down to that bridge in one of our canoes. It will be much faster than floating on a raft.”
"That's great," said Ford. "Floating is kind of slow, and I was worried that the Dogs would try to kill me while traveling alone."
“Oh, I’m sure they would,” added Zeke.
“What?”
“Not that they will kill you,” Zeke added quickly. “They’ll try. It’s what they do. But you won’t be traveling alone. There’ll be three of us River Folk in the canoe and Bozeman too.”
"Bozeman?" Ford's head was beginning to spin as his simple plan was becoming complicated.
“You said we can be inside before Sevmo thirty-first, right?” asked Bozeman.
“Sevmo?”
“That’s what citiots have renamed July,” Ben added. “I told you yes, yesterday. You should be in The City on or before July 31st.”
“Five people?” Ford asked. “I thought I was going in alone.”
“Too risky,” said Ben. “You’ll need another set of eyes and help. The three of us will get you to the bridge, but we'll go back upriver. Bozeman will accompany you. He was eager to go in with you.”
“He was? You were?”
“Yeah,” resume Zeke. “It will help to have two of you with the visors. You see, I can only do so much out here with my crude tools.”
“But,” Ford felt a cold shiver. “If we wear our visors, the system will know who we are in just a few minutes. We’re not supposed to be back in The City at all. They could send blackshirts to grab us in less than an hour. Oh no. I’m not wearing a visor in there.”
“You’ve got to,” said Zeke. “The visors will help you get detailed information and grant you access to basic things like gates and the subway. Citiots can’t do nothing without a visor, you know? But, not to worry, I’ve modified these visors with a little switch on the earpiece here. See?” Zeke held up a visor and clicked the little black switch back and forth.
“Turned off, they transmit nothing. When you turn them on, they can send and receive. The visors still need your temple chips to work right, but I’ve worked up a little scrambler that alters your chip’s ID number. It's not too sophisticated, but it takes your temple-chip ID and transmits a new, totally random ID number each time. The system won’t know it’s you. Limit your ‘on’ time, though.”
“Yeah,” added Owen. “The system will be confused by the random ID number for a minute or so. It will comb through the database. That takes time. The random number could be a totally new number that isn’t in the database, the number of a dead guy, or a duplicate of someone still alive in The City. You’ll probably have network access for a minute or two before the system shuts you down as an error.”
“And then they’ll locate us and kill us,” said Ford gloomily.
“Not unless you’re super obvious,” said Zeke. “Don’t be super obvious. The chips in your heads don’t transmit anything. They don’t have power, you see? It’s the visors that transmit. So, power ‘em off until the moment you need ‘em to gain access or whatever.”
“And when you do ask for information,” added Owen, “don’t ask about it directly. Like, you can’t just ask for a map to the blackshirts air node. The system would flag that right away, shut you down, locate you, and they’d post guards. Instead, get close to the node and ask for stores nearby that sell meal boxes. Memorize the extra info at the edges of the maps it gives you.”
“That sounds all fine.” Ford had a little sarcasm in his tone. “But even if we do find the blackshirts’ air node, we can’t just stride in and grab a radio. Random ID numbers won’t grant us access to someplace like that.”
“True enough. True enough,” said Zeke. “That’s where your dead friend comes in.” He held up 99’s visor. “I added the on-off switch, but not the number scrambler. When you power his visor on, it will be like you’re him. See? His temple chip is mated up. This 99 was a supervisor. He has some clearance. Not sure how much, but more than you boys with random numbers. I even cleaned up his jumpsuit so you can dress the part.”
Ford and Bozeman looked at the jumpsuit, then each other. Wear a dead man’s clothes?
“And then we just ask for one of their new secret radios, I suppose,” said Ford.
“You’re just being sarcastic now,” said Owen. “No. Just like with the maps, you ask for something related to them like a mounting bracket or an antenna coupling. That should get you close enough to an actual radio.”
Ford glowered. He remained unconvinced but was running out of objections.
“Your other problem,” began Owen, “is the cameras. Even with your visors turned off, there’s no way you can get close to an air node, especially a blackshirt node, without passing many cameras.”
“Oh yeah. The cameras,” Ford seized on the new objection. He was glad for the idea of riding in on a transport but still opposed to stealing a radio. “The system will recognize Bozeman’s and my faces even if our visors are off or making fake ID numbers. What about that? Huh?” In his heart, he hoped they would give up their plan. Their patient smiles did not look defeated.
“That’s where my work at the Department of Information helps,” said Owen. “My job was identifying people that the facial recognition algorithms could not. It was usually because of some diagonal shadow across their faces. The system doesn’t like high-contrast diagonals. So, I got the idea of you taking along some of the River People’s face paint. See?” He held up a little clay pot.
“Dab a diagonal line of this black paint across your face, and the system won't be able to tag you automatically. But, you'll have to wipe it off and do a new stripe differently after a short while. After the system has seen you and your stripe a few times, it will have created a new identity file for you and then track your movements."
“Hmm. A new stripe now and then.” Ford studied the pot of black paint.
“Best to avoid cameras as much as you can, of course,” said Zeke. “And, don’t do anything that will make other citiots look at you. Their visor cameras will get your face. After you get the radio, you can go find your girlfriend. ”
“Do we get back out on the transports too?” asked Ford. “I think they go park in a holding plaza after they’re emptied. They might not leave The City for days or weeks after that.”
“A newly emptied one, no,” said Zeke. “But, I figure that once you're in the plaza, you can go find a transport near the front of the line and hide in that one. It should be leaving sooner.”
Ford stared at the paper map. His eyes traced a possible route from one of the city gates to a subway node. They would have to travel inbound for a couple of whole hexes before they could catch a tram that would take them back out to near the blackshirts’ air node. Zeke and the others seemed to have thought of everything. His cold attitude began to thaw.
“When do we start?”
(end ch 13, pt.1)
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Post by sniper69 on Jan 1, 2020 15:26:51 GMT -6
mic - thank you for another great chapter and Happy New year to you.
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