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Post by mic on Jan 17, 2020 19:03:36 GMT -6
Chapter 15, part 3
“What? Why?”
“You really don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“That the gates are actually big vacuum chambers,” said Rafin. “Two trucks at a time can go in. They close up doors on both ends and suck out all the air. This kills any living thing trying to hitch a ride into The City. They say it's to keep down the rat population, but it's really to prevent outsiders like us from getting in.”
“We’ve lost good people finding that out the hard way,” said a woman in the line.
It was Ford’s turn to feel skepticism. “Wait. If my wanting to get into The City is foolish, then why were your people trying to get in?”
“What difference does that make?” objected Bozeman. “You heard him. We can’t just roll in like we thought. Man, we would have been so dead.”
Rafin faced Ford with his right eye. “Since my father’s time, we’ve snuck people into The City to look for…information, shall we say? City leaders installed the vacuum gates to stop us. But, we think we know a way around that.”
“Oh great,” said Bozeman. “We came all this way, attacked three times, only to find out we can’t get in.”
Ford turned to Bozeman. “We’ll just have to find another way in. As you said, we came all this way. We can’t just give up and leave. What about construction sites? We flew over one on our way out. Maybe the wall isn’t as strong there, or something…”
Bozeman furrowed his brow. “Hmm. That means temporary fencing. They probably post guards. People are easier to trick than sensors.”
“Look,” Ford addressed Rafin and the others. “We don’t mean your people any harm. We didn’t even know you existed until an hour ago. How about you just let us go – once the blackshirts are gone, of course. We’ll find another way into The City and be out of your hair.”
“You’re not interested in how we think you could get around the vacuum gates?” asked Rafin.
Bozeman leaned back on his stool and crossed his arms. “I’m not. It sounds like you just want us to be your guinea pigs to see if it works. No, thanks.”
“I agree,” said Ford. “We’ll find some other way in, but thanks for letting us hide out down here and the warning about the gates. Can we go now?”
Rafin’s right eye alternated between studying Ford and Bozeman.
“Jenny?” Rafin asked.
“They don’t care, sir.”
“She’s right,” said Ford. He turned to face Bozeman. “We can still ride a transport truck up to the wall. They’ll have to stop to be cycled through the gate. We can get off then.”
Bozeman rubbed his chin and nodded. “True, and it will be at nighttime still, so we can move off to the side and look for that construction zone.”
"I guess you boys aren't blackshirt spies," said Rafin with a wry smile.
Ford rolled his eyes. “We told you that at the beginning. Now, can we go?”
“Well…” Rafin stroked his short gray beard. He turned to the people lining the wall. Several of them nodded. Most of the people slowly dispersed to various tunnels.
Rafin turned back to Ford. “Those transports won’t be leaving until dusk. What say we offer you a good meal and a bit of conversation?”
Ford and Bozeman caught each other’s eye. A raised eyebrow and barely perceptible nod signaled agreement. “Okay,” said Ford. “As long as we can get back up to the trucks before dark.”
“Excellent. Ken, would let the kitchen know? But come right back. I’d like you and Jenny to join us.”
Rafin turned to lean his elbows on the table. “You boys shared a bit of your story. It’s only fitting that I give you a quick bit about us while we wait for some food. Most of our people came from Missouri, Kansas, and Iowa. Officially, we’re called The People of the Eastern District of the Platte Federation. That doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, so the rest of them just call us Easters. We call ourselves Diggers, for obvious reasons.” He glanced up at the smooth earthen ceiling.
“You’re the Platte?” asked Ford. “I knew a Dog who…I mean, a BigSky guy who mentioned there being a Platte people.”
“Dogs, eh?” said Rafin with a smile. “Guess you did spend some time with the River People. I know that’s what they call BigSky. We get along okay enough with BigSky. Mostly, they stay on their side of the Missouri, and we remain on our side. It's more like mutual ignoring of each other than anything cordial. We sometimes squabble over the herds, but none of us take it too seriously. Herds come and go.
“We’re not technically Platte. Those are folks who settled along the Platte River after the fall of the republic. The Platte is great for water. The land is great for crops. What the land doesn’t have is any good cover. The trees along the river aren’t dense enough. It’s the same out here. Going underground is the only way to be safe out in the plains. The Platte people learned pretty quickly to dig in. We’re too far east to really be considered Platte, but they’ve included us in their federation.”
“How can you live underground like this?” asked Bozeman. “I think I’d go crazy down here.”
“Egh,” shrugged Rafin. “You get used to it. Actually, we do spend a good part of our days upstairs, as we call it. We have herd tenders who manage the buffalo. We have our farmers tending wheat and rye growing among switchgrass and bluestem. Citians fly over our fields nearly every other day and must think it’s all just pristine wild prairie.”
“So, the holes and tunnels are just when you need to hide?” asked Bozeman.
“Oh, more than that. Over the years, we’ve dug deep and built us safe places where we can eat and sleep, of course, but also carry on civilization. We’ve got schools, churches, storehouses, and factory chambers to help us weave buffalo hair into fabrics like these. We’ve tapped into old natural gas wells to fuel our furnaces and drive our ventilation fans. We’re most proud of our chemistry labs.”
“You don’t mean like science,” scoffed Bozeman. “Underground?”
“Why not underground?” asked Rafin. “The Citians didn’t destroy all the old books. Our chemists have developed our luminars.” He pointed to the glowing triangles set on the wall. “Got that from some mushrooms. They developed the coating that…Ah. Here’s our food.”
Half a dozen people carried in platters and jugs and set them on the table.
Rafin pointed to each platter. “Over there we’ve got some buffalo tips in gravy. Here we have some bread – rye, I think. That in the bowl there are boiled carrots and rutabaga. Here are some braised mushrooms. To drink, we have some kefir and a little Wheatsky. You boys won’t be used to Wheatsky, so just take a couple sips. It's got a kick.”
Ford tried to subtly gesture to Bozeman not to eat much at all. They did not know these people. Could they really trust that the food was not drugged? He tore off a tiny corner of bread and nibbled on a single carrot slice.
“Oh, now, you boys don’t think there’s something wrong with the food, do you?” asked Rafin. “I suppose you’ve got a right to be careful. I was going to be a gracious host and refrain, but look here…” Rafin tore off a big mouthful of bread. He stabbed a chunk of buffalo meat and shoved it in his already full mouth. Brown gravy dripped onto his beard.
“Thurth nothin’ wrong wif dis foo. Look, Ken and Jenny are eating it. It’s fine. Cumon now, eat!”
Ford and Bozeman increased the sizes of their bites but resisted the urge to devour. The food was delicious, and they were quite hungry, but caution lingered.
“Truth is,” began Rafin, “I’m kind of trying to wine and dine you.”
“What does that mean?” asked Ford.
“We’re being extra hospitable because we’d like to propose a little trade.”
Uh oh. Ford stopped eating. What’s he up to?
“Look, I know we all got off on kind of the wrong foot,” said Rafin.
“You mean like trying to slit my throat?” asked Bozeman pointedly.
"Um…" Ken looked down and pushed his food around with his fork. "Yeah. I'm sorry about that, but I really thought you had to be blackshirt spies. I mean, you were citians dressed up like River People. That just didn’t look right at all.”
“That’s okay,” said Ford.
“Okay?” Bozeman protested loudly. “It was my throat, not yours.” He held everyone’s eye for a tense moment before he unfurled a wide smile. “But, yeah. It’s okay. I wouldn’t have believed our story either.”
“We actually do have a way to get around the vacuum gates,” said Rafin. “I wasn’t just blowing smoke at you, or baiting a trap. Our trick will get you in faster than your looking for a hole in their fence.”
“You said a trade," Bozeman spoke while chewing. “You’ll share your trick in exchange for what?”
“Nothing big. In fact, it might not even be out of your way,” said Rafin.
Ford had to resist his first impulse, which was to politely decline the request. His own pre-existing plan was already riskier than he wanted. I just want to get to Ada and get her out. I already agreed to steal some piece of equipment, and now these people want me to do something else too?
“One of the reasons we even have our chemistry labs is, well…” Rafin’s voice faltered. He looked away.
Ken spoke up. “The blackshirts use a poison gas on us when they discover one of our tunnels. Mr. Rafin lost his wife to the gas last year. Our entrances are pretty well hidden from aerial view.”
“But, up close…” interrupted Ford. He had found an entrance, why was it not easy for the blackshirts too?
“Yeah. If you get up close, you can find them. Fortunately, citians – including blackshirts – are taught to worship nature, so they don’t walk on the ground if they can help it because it might hurt the plants.”
“We keep lookouts posted whenever we’re working upstairs,” resumed Rafin. “But, sometimes people make mistakes, let themselves get distracted or get too far from their holes. Sometimes, the blackshirts see them before they could close their hatch.”
Kind of like how I saw Jenny.
“They pump a toxic gas down the tunnel to kill any Diggers inside. With enough warning, we can collapse some tunnels to limit the spread, but we still lose some people.”
“That’s what happened to my mother,” said Jenny.
“But,” continued Rafin, “after a while, the blackshirts pump down some other gas: a neutralizer. They do this so they can go down and take trophies.”
“And,” interjected Ken, “because they aren’t allowed to leave the toxin un-neutralized. It might harm an animal, you see.”
“Harm an animal?” Ford blinked. “It kills people!”
“Animals are sacred to them. People aren’t,” said Ken. “Outsiders, like Diggers, are an infection to be purged.”
“Our chemists would like to produce this neutralizer gas for our defense,” said Rafin. “They don’t know enough of what it is. All that's left after an attack is a fine dust of some kind of salt. They’re not even sure what the toxin is, since anyone near enough to get a sample dies.”
“So, you want us to steal a canister of this neutralizer gas, is that it?” asked Bozeman.
“That would be marvelous,” said Rafin, “but we wouldn’t ask for that – too dangerous. What they tell me they need is the formula, the actual chemical name of either the neutralizer or the poison. They tell me that if someone could find out that the toxin was FerroDiSulphiHydroxi-whatever-whatever – I don’t know chemistry – that they could recreate it and figure out an anti-agent. The same goes for the neutralizer. If they had its actual compound name, they say they could reproduce it.”
Bozeman turned to Ford. “Odds are, that gas would be somewhere around a blackshirt air node. We’d already be there.”
“You’re saying…yes?” asked Ford. He wanted no new delays.
“You don’t actually have to say yes,” said Rafin. “Truth is, we’ve got no bargaining leverage. All we can do is ask. After you leave here, you could go on about rescuing your girlfriend and radio and do nothing for us. You boys, as city dwellers, could get much closer to that gas than our men ever could. I’m just asking if, while you’re in there, you could find out what those gasses are and get that info back to us, it would mean not, well…” Rafin’s voice broke again. His left eye began to moisten.
“It would be a big help to us,” said Ken. “It would be a blow for freedom.”
Ford suddenly realized that Rafin believed that he could succeed, that he could get inside The City, find Ada, and get back out alive. Otherwise, he would not have bothered to ask.
“We’ll try to get your formula,” said Ford.
“We will?” It was Bozeman’s turn to blink.
We'll try, and if we get it, we'll bring it back here."
--- --- (end chapter 15)
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Post by texican on Jan 17, 2020 20:56:53 GMT -6
Mic,
Another task for the two boys, but worthwhile for it could lead to an alliance....
Thanks for the chapter....
Texican....
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Post by pbbrown0 on Jan 19, 2020 8:46:40 GMT -6
Mic- thanks for posting another one. Maybe I missed it before, but the implication seems to be that the City culls those who're blind, or substandard in some other way. Such state ownership of all children isn't actually that far fetched. Check out the lawsuit in California, with school systems suing a vaping company (Juul). The schools (state) are trying assert that their dominion over the children is not limited to in loco parentis, but as actually primary. They (the state) think they are the true and legal guardians of the children. Parents are a bothersome B-team to be dismissed as desired.
It was just a few years ago (less than ten years) that Russia passed a constitutional amendment stating that anyone participating in a religion deemed to be "extremist" are subject to having their children taken away for the protection of the children. Since then they have launched a campaign against one group of Christians labeling them as "extremist" because they teach that their beliefs are superior to other religions (read: 'We think that our beliefs are correct even though they differ on some points from the beliefs of other Christian organizations.') Many of those in this group being arrested are being threatened with removal of their children while their homes are being confiscated. One lady reported that the police told her she would have her children taken away and she would have to find a new husband if she did not renounce her association with this religious organization.
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Post by texican on Jan 19, 2020 14:15:17 GMT -6
Such state ownership of all children isn't actually that far fetched. Check out the lawsuit in California, with school systems suing a vaping company (Juul). The schools (state) are trying assert that their dominion over the children is not limited to in loco parentis, but as actually primary. They (the state) think they are the true and legal guardians of the children. Parents are a bothersome B-team to be dismissed as desired.
It was just a few years ago (less than ten years) that Russia passed a constitutional amendment stating that anyone participating in a religion deemed to be "extremist" are subject to having their children taken away for the protection of the children. Since then they have launched a campaign against one group of Christians labeling them as "extremist" because they teach that their beliefs are superior to other religions (read: 'We think that our beliefs are correct even though they differ on some points from the beliefs of other Christian organizations.') Many of those in this group being arrested are being threatened with removal of their children while their homes are being confiscated. One lady reported that the police told her she would have her children taken away and she would have to find a new husband if she did not renounce her association with this religious organization. This is already practiced today in America behind the scenes and if Americans do not stand up to all of BS being proposed and illegally implemented by the DS, PTB, leftist socialist liberal democraps, then America and we are lost.... Texican....
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Post by sniper69 on Jan 21, 2020 14:24:04 GMT -6
Mic, Another task for the two boys, but worthwhile for it could lead to an alliance.... Thanks for the chapter.... Texican.... I wonder what other things they'll be tasked to get for various groups as a "blow for freedom". As texican says, only another chapter may reveal....
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Post by mic on Jan 23, 2020 19:50:31 GMT -6
Chapter 16 – Into The Breach (part 1)
“I thought I…couldn’t sleep,” Bozeman said between yawns. “I must have slept though. It looks like dawn is coming.”
“No,” said Ford without taking his eyes off of the road ahead. “That’s not dawn. That’s The City.”
“Oh? We’re almost there?”
The transports in line ahead of them were silhouetted by a softly glowing blue-white horizon. Unlike dawn, the glow did not rise into the sky but formed a thin belt of light from the far left to the far right.
Several other trains of autonomous transports had joined the one Ford and Bozeman rode in. They formed a moving raft of vehicles, four columns across and too many rows in front and back to count. With more trucks around it to share tracking data, Ford and Bozeman’s machine rolled precisely: no more vacillating in overcorrections. All the electric motors hummed together in a near harmony. Hundreds of tires created a constant background hiss. Creaking and clunking rippled down the line as each truck hit the same bump in the road. The night was anything but silent.
“There are an awful lot of these things to get through a single gate,” said Bozeman. “I wonder how long we’ll have to wait.”
“I was hoping we would still have darkness,” said Ford. “Let’s get our bags packed up. We might have to jump off sooner than the gate.”
“How do we know what that Rafin guy told us about the gates is right?” asked Bozeman.
Ford shrugged. “We don’t. All I can really hold onto is that lying to us would not benefit him or the Diggers in any way. Lying usually has a practical purpose.”
“Like all of the fake history they taught us in school?” Bozeman muttered under his breath. “Pack of lies just to make themselves look good and keep us down.”
Pinpoints of light began to twinkle in the horizon glow. Ford trained a pair of binoculars on the lights. “If he was lying, why would he give us equipment like these binoculars, and the food?”
“I don’t know. I’m just suspicious of everything nowadays.”
“Well, we do need to stay careful.” Ford continued to study the city lights through the binoculars. He could tell that his own heart rate had increased. For all his thinking about returning to The City, that moment was drawing very near.
Beyond the bright lights at the wall, he could make out the random lit windows of three tall building clusters – the centers of the three city hexagons near the gate.
Ford sank below the rim of the truck and pulled one of the glowing triangles out of its black bag just enough to start a faint glow. He pulled a folded paper map from the breast pocket of his coveralls. Holding the light close to the map, he tried to identify which gate they were approaching.
“If Rafin is right, the gate will right about there.” His finger pointed to a spot between two of the stacks of window lights. “The people they had snuck in before said that there is a marshaling yard for the outbound trucks over here and a holding area for the inbound trucks on this side.”
Bozeman tilted the map toward himself for a better view. “City planners don’t like change, so these perimeter hexagons should be laid out like all of the others. There ought to be an inbound tram node here or perhaps over here.”
“Uh oh. We’re slowing down.” Ford replaced the luminar in its black bag and put the binoculars up to his eyes again. “I can make out the wall now. We must be only a couple of kilometers away.”
“I hope we don’t stop too far back,” said Bozeman.
“Feeling lazy?” Ford teased without looking away from the binoculars.
“No. I just don’t like the idea of walking past dozens of these shock corners.”
“Ah. Good point.”
The raft of concrete carriers slowed to a walking pace, still in a tight formation. Above the right side of the city wall, masts with floodlights beamed into the work areas inside the wall. The glow from the work lights lit up the area like a full moon.
Lines of trucks peeled farther left and right to form many more rows. Trucks farther back in the raft filled in to create new rows. The truck with Ford and Bozeman came to a stop as fifth in line of the line right of center. They watched carefully as the center line of trucks took their turn in the gate chamber, two by two.
“I don’t see anyone up on the wall,” said Bozeman.
“Me either. Near as I can see, there are two cameras up high. See those stubby posts left and right of the gate building? They seem to be aimed high to look out over the land.”
“Not so close up near the wall?”
“I’m hoping,” said Ford.
“We need more than hope.”
“Well, Owen said The City trusts in their automation. They can’t possibly have a human eye on all the millions of cameras, twenty-four hours a day. Algorithms look for deviations from what they’re programed to expect. Humans can look at the exceptions but Owen said that even the exceptions gets to be an overwhelming amount. We need to blend in with the pattern of whatever’s going on.”
“I’ve never been any good at blending,” said Bozeman. “I always walked my own walk and said what needed to be said.”
“Yeah, and that worked out pretty… Hey. Look there.” Ford pointed discreetly at the gate. “See that guy there?”
Bozeman squinted. “He’s a gray. That’s good. Glad he’s not a blackshirt.”
“Yeah, but did you notice that the trucks aren’t zapping him? He’s within range of three trucks and nothing is happening.”
“Are you suggesting that…” Bozeman began to reach his hand toward a corner.
“No, no, no.” Ford pulled him back. “They could still be active out here. They probably are, in fact, to prevent outsiders from jumping aboard – even this close to the city wall.”
“You have the binoculars,” said Bozeman. “What’s he doing up there?”
Ford peered into the lenses. “He’s sweeping.”
“Sweeping? That’s stupid. There’s dirt everywhere out here.”
“Not everywhere, just right along the edge of the gate floor. When the gate comes down, that’s where it sits. He must have to sweep away the little rocks and dirt that would prevent a good vacuum seal.”
“Why use a man for that?” asked Bozeman. “Couldn’t they have an automated sweeper arm or something? They love automation.”
“I couldn’t tell you. Maybe they tried automation but it wasn’t reliable enough. For whatever reason, they’re using a man and he’s not getting zapped.”
“Do you think it’s tied to that line of posts?” Bozeman pointed. The rows of trucks lined up behind evenly spaced three-meter tall bollards. The trucks stayed behind the bollards until the gate chamber opened up for the next two to enter.
“That could be it,” said Ford. “The posts must turn off the shock corners. That means we’ll have to stay in here until we pass them.”
“That doesn’t leave us much time to get out and into position.”
“True. We’ll have to move fast. Being that close means we might not be in the cameras’ field of view. They’re looking out, not down.”
The vehicle they rode in suddenly began to roll forward. The two trucks ahead of them had entered the chamber. They would be next.
After the little man with the broom disappeared through a door inside the chamber, lights flashed against the interior walls. The massive steel gate began to descend from the tall, overhanging structure above the gate. The gate curved outward, like a section of an upright cylinder. Along the bottom stretched a wide steel flange. Two more similar sized ribs reinforced the curved gate against the vacuum forces within.
The gate closed with an anticlimactic little thud. For a moment, all was silent. A pump motor began to rumble from somewhere within the structure above. The sound of wind whistled for a second before the gate seated against its seals with a deep gong sound.
“If we had simply ridden in there,” Bozeman said. “We would be having our lungs sucked out about now.”
“I don’t want to think about it,” said Ford. “We’ll be approaching from the right. Let’s roll over the right side just before our truck goes in. You stand by the right corner. I’ll run across to the left when the door is closed.”
“I sure hope Rafin is right about this,” said Bozeman. “The way that big door disappears back up into the roof thing, it sure looks like we’ll get crushed.”
“He said his men have done it before and come back, so let’s say we won’t get crushed.”
A muffled hiss indicated that the vacuum was being released. The door rose slowly with jerks and growls, much less elegantly than it had come down. The chamber was empty. Ford’s truck began to roll forward. Both men took deep breaths and tried to offer confident smiles to each other. Neither of them were fooled.
As their truck neared the gaping mouth of the chamber, they rolled over the side of the bin. Bozeman landed on his feet and ran to stand flat against the wall. Ford lost his footing and fell face first into the sand. He quickly scrambled forward and took up position beside Bozeman. Pilasters flanked the sides of the gate as stiffeners. They protruded only a quarter of a meter from the wall: not enough to truly hide behind.
I sure hope the little sweeper man follows the same routine each time. We’re not that well hidden here.
Ford saw the shadow of the sweeper approach the chamber’s edge. He began sweeping, moving away from the two men. His task complete, he cut diagonally across the chamber toward his door. For a tense few seconds, the sweeper faced the not-so-hidden men behind the pilaster.
Ford exhaled as quietly as he could. The bright lights inside probably helped him not see us.
The big steel door descended. Ford and Bozeman nodded to each other. When the door contacted it’s bottom seat, Ford sprinted along its face. When he reached the end, he stepped up onto the wide steel flange. He had to assume that Bozeman had done the same. Due to the curvature of the door, he could not see Bozeman any longer.
The pump hummed, followed by the hiss of expelled air. Ford could feel the door snap down onto its seal. He had counted in his head while watching previous vacuum sessions. Three hundred seconds. The presumption must be that nothing could survive four and a half minutes without air. He tried counting again but lost track.
The hiss of inflowing air told Ford that the door would rise soon. The door started with a jerk that nearly toppled Ford. With no handholds, all he could do was try to press his back against the door. The jerking and shaking of the door made it hard to keep his balance. As he rose with the door, Ford looked up at the black void above him. The clearance was tight. Any part of him that extended beyond the flange would be shorn off.
Ford rose into the totally black space of the structure. The door stopped rising with a sudden clank. Ford reached out with his hands to explore the space on the other side of the thin crack of light at his feet. Rafin said the others had stepped off of the door flange onto a narrow ledge. When the door went down again, they were free to enter the mechanical space. Ford’s feet found the ledge. His hands found the wall.
He stood with his back against the wall, hoping that none of his body stuck out far enough for the other steel ribs to strike as the door went down. As the door descended, wafts of air across his face were the only indication that the ribs passed by in the dark, mere centimeters from his nose.
After the final thunk and the start of the pump noise, Ford knew it was time to act. He pulled his luminar halfway out of its black cloth bag. Once exposed to oxygen, the luminar began to glow. From what little he could see, the space was a forest of trusses and braces.
Another blue-green glow appeared to his right. Bozeman’s face appeared. He waved his partially-exposed luminar at Ford and smiled. So far so good.
(end 16, part 1)
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Post by 9idrr on Jan 23, 2020 21:36:46 GMT -6
The author seems to be leavin' us hangin', just like those guys who rode the door up among the trusses. And "so far, so good" is somethin' I say just about daily.
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Post by texican on Jan 23, 2020 23:57:25 GMT -6
Ford and Bozeman ready to invade the city.... Now what could go wrong? Thanks mic for the chapter.... Texican....
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Post by mic on Jan 28, 2020 9:03:28 GMT -6
(chapter 16, part 2)
Ford stepped over the top of the door, onto the roof structure of the vacuum chamber. He had no particular heading other than getting to the other end. He could see Bozeman’s dot of light swinging, ducking, and weaving through the braces too.
The hiss of air re-entering the chamber came as a deafening roar. The valve was only a few meters away from Ford. He climbed and ducked all the faster to escape the noise. As the hiss subsided, the front door began to rise. Gaps and spaces allowed the work lights inside the city’s walls to leak into the roof area.
Bozeman met Ford in the center. “We should let the inner door do another cycle before we try to ride it down.”
“I know that’s what Rafin said their people did.” Ford studied the light streaming up through the gaps around the inner door. “Something inside me says we shouldn’t.”
“What ‘something inside you’? What, like you’ve got gas or something? What does that even mean?” scoffed Bozeman.
“I don’t know,” said Ford. “It’s just a feeling. When I was little, I used to think it was a special power I had, or something.”
“Special power,” Bozeman mocked. “We can’t stay up here and riding the door is the way down. Now, come on. The doors are going down. We need to get onto the ledges so we can ride the door down next time.”
“No. It doesn’t feel right. Okay, it’s not a special power. That was just what I thought when I was a boy.”
The vacuum pump rumbled to life somewhere below them.
“Actually, I think it was just familiarity with the patterns. Things don’t change much in The City – how they do things, where the cameras are probably located, things like that.”
“So?”
“So, it seems too bright out there. This early in the dark of morning, at an otherwise automated gate, why is it so bright out there? I mean, back when you lived in The City, had you walked the surface roads before sunrise?”
“No,” said Bozeman. “Why would anyone do that? Trams take you wherever you’d need to go.”
“True, but sometimes I wanted to walk home instead of packing into the trams, just to get away from the crowds. What I noticed is that The City doesn’t waste light. So, then, why all this light?”
“Hmmm.”
“Get out your light thing,” said Ford. “I’m wondering something.” Ford pulled out his luminar and waved it back and forth to energize it. He held it over his head.
“Shine yours over that way.” Ford pointed. “There was that loud hissing. It must be a valve.”
“How can be so sure it’s…” The end of Bozeman’s sentence was drowned out by the shriek of in-rushing air.
“Okay. It’s a valve,” said Bozeman.
“Right, and anything mechanical needs to have a way to get at it for maintenance. It’s just like the grinders at the factory. Nobody would be climbing up there through all this… There. Shine your light up there.”
“A catwalk?” Bozeman said. “So that’s what I banged my head on.”
“It end over that valve assembly but where does it go the other way?” Ford moved through the braces toward the catwalk.
“It’s got to come out someplace,” said Bozeman as he swung his leg over the catwalk’s railing. “The question will be where, and are there people on the other side?”
The two stepped carefully along the steel mesh flooring to avoid rhythmic clanging noises. The catwalk stopped at a ladder that led down the side of the chamber. It was too far down for their luminars to reveal anything below. They descended carefully.
After a few meters of descent, Ford noticed a square outline of light directly below them. An access hatch. He also noticed that the ladder’s railing had a metal pipe T-ed at a right angle. In the light of his luminar he could see more grating: another catwalk.
“Let’s go this way,” Ford whispered. “It’s too well-lit below too. That might be that sweeper man’s room or something. This other way is dark. Dark feels better.”
Bozeman nodded and the two followed the new catwalk until Ford bumped his head against a wall.
“It’s a door,” said Ford, “but it’s locked.”
“Oh? Let me see that.” Bozeman stooped down to examine the handle. “Ah. One of those.”
“What do you mean, ‘one of those’?”
Bozeman took off his backpack and pressed the opening around the door handle.
“What are you doing?” asked Ford.
“They used to lock me in my apartment sometimes, as a punishment. Lots of the doors in The City use these handles.” He raised his fist.
“Wait! You’re not going to…”
Bozeman swung his forearm down quickly, snapping off the covered handle.
“Are you crazy?” gasped Ford. “They’ll hear that.”
“You worry too much,” said Bozeman. “With all the noise those big doors make, it’s just another one of those sounds. Footsteps might stand out as odd, but a bump or a clank?” He reached into his backpack and pulled out the door handle as it were a prize.
“The long screws break off easily. See? But they’re long enough still to push back into the holes so it doesn’t look broken. The next guy comes, it will fall off in his hand, but he’ll think he broke it.”
Bozeman reached a finger into the opening and pulled. The door popped open. Bozeman held the door open just a crack. Both men peered through the gap: one high, one low.
“It’s a rooftop,” whispered Ford. “It’s below and behind the parapet but there are no lights on up here. They opened the door a little wider, checked for activity and then a little wider yet and peered back and forth. “No people, either.”
“Let’s go.”
Bozeman replaced the broken handle and followed Ford out of the door. The early morning air was cooler and damp with dew compared to the mechanical room.
“We can’t slink around,” said Ford. “There could still be a camera that can see this rooftop. The algorithms flag odd behavior. We’ve already got on our grays, so let’s put on our visors and just pretend to be random workers.”
Bozeman strayed toward the edge of the roof for a peek. “Looks like your feelings were right.” He pointed below. Pairs of blackshirts checked the trucks that had just come through the chamber.
“They can’t do this for every truck entering The City,” whispered Ford. “Maybe they think we might still be on one of them.”
“Let’s keep moving along the wall. It’s darker,” said Bozeman. “Those are work lights over there. A construction site means workers and we can blend in with them.”
Ford nodded. They both walked slightly stooped, arms slack, head slightly down. With shuffling steps until they came to the edge of the flat roof. Below them, a dozen workers in gray coveralls pulled at stiff black cables rising from holes in the concrete floor.
“They look tired. This must be a night shift,” said Ford. “I worked nights. Let’s watch them. When they start to line up to go home, we can go down that ladder over there. Their backs will be to us. We can join their line and walk out.”
Bozeman nodded his agreement.
After an hour or so, the first worker laid his cable down and put his tool back in a gray metal toolbox.
“Hey,” Ford nudged a dozing Bozeman. “I think this is it.”
A second, then a third, stopped working and took up a position in line behind the worksite hoop. The light atop the hoop was a steady red. Ford and Bozeman crept down the ladder when the last man had joined the line. The light on the top of the hoop was still red. They shuffled closer quietly.
Bozeman nudged Ford. “We should take one of these toolboxes. Grays don’t carry backpacks. That’ll stand out to the cameras. A gray with a toolbox, however...”
Ford smiled and silently lifted the box nearest to him. The light on the exit hoop turned green and the line of men filed through. Each successive worker ahead of him caused a yellow light to blink as he passed through. I sure hope these only look for powered-on visors.
Ford held his breath as he approached the hoop. The yellow light did not go on when Bozeman went through. The red light and alarm did not sound either. Ford let his breath out once he got on the other side. Whew. They only read visors.
“Let’s just follow these guys,” said Ford. “We won’t stand out to the cameras and they’ll lead us to the nearest tram node.”
Bozeman nodded subtly without turning around.
The men trudged along a surface road and around a corner. More grays joined them. They formed a raft of men that reminded Ford of the raft of concrete carries. The men were not as synchronized, even though they all walked in the same bent posture and heel-dragging steps. Bozeman and Ford mimicked the stance. At a second corner, Ford pulled Bozeman aside. They dumped out most of the tools in the box, saving only a few. They stuffed their backpacks in and forced the lid shut.
When another herd of grays trudged by their corner, they merged into the line at the end.
Stairs led down to the tram platform. Ford had almost forgotten the smells and upward rush of air. The lubricating oil smell, spiced with hot ozone, turned his stomach.
Walking through the station hoop was the same as the worksite. Without active visors, Ford and Bozeman did not exist so far as the system was concerned. Ford glanced at the corners of the landing. The usual cameras were mounted near the ceiling. He puffed his cheeks out with air and kept his hands up beside his face, pretending to fuss with his visor. Such tricks would not fool the facial recognition forever but it would at least delay finding a match. He wanted to save the face-paint trick for later.
Bozeman joined Ford standing at the back of dozens of workers waiting for the next tram. They stood with their backs to the cameras, shielding each other’s faces from view. When the train arrived, Ford motioned for them shift diagonally and board the last tram in the train.
“End cars have only one camera inside,” Ford whispered.
He moved the end of the car farthest from the camera – a black dot in the center of the forward bulkhead. They both slowly turned their backs toward the lens. Bozeman began bobbing his head as if listening to music. Ford discretely moved the switch on his visor to “active” – not simply powered on. This would connect to city servers with one of the random numbers Zeke’s modification would generate.
After the boot-up sequence, the Wellness Bot appeared on the visor screen. “Good Day…FR-434-92-7551. What can you do for your city today?”
“Show me the tram routes for my location,” said Ford.
“Certainly,” said the bot. “The trams are a wonderful gift from our wise leaders. I see you have traveled a long way from your home. Why have you traveled so far?”
A map appeared on Ford’s visor. “Capture image,” Ford said softly. The image blinked and shrank to a dot in the lower left of the screen.
Red lettering appeared across the center of the visor. Error: Duplicate Number. Report to the nearest… Ford’s heart raced. He switched the visor off completely.
“That was close,” Ford whispered. Bozeman continued to bob his head but turned slightly to face Ford. “I only had a few seconds before the system noticed my random ID number already existed.”
“But did you get the map?” Bozeman tried not to move his mouth as he spoke.
“Yes. I saved a screenshot just before I shut down.”
Both Ford and Bozeman stumbled a little when the tram slowed for its stop. Without active visors, they could not hear the automated warnings that the tram was nearing a stop. Some of the grays shuffled off the tram. More flowed in.
Ford turned the visor’s power on, but not to transmit. He studied the frozen map. “We need to travel inbound on his line for eight more stops. At that eighth node we can change to an outbound artery tram.”
“Eight more stops? No one rides a tram for that long,” said Bozeman. “People are assigned housing within maybe five nodes of their jobs. We’ll stand out to the cameras if we stay on this tram too long.”
“Agreed. At the next one – stop two of our eight – let’s file out with the rest but mingle with the incoming crowd and re-board. And, just so we don’t attract attention as a pair of men always moving together, let’s split up.”
“Good idea,” said Bozeman. “Let’s do it again at stop six.”
At the second stop, Bozeman joined the cluster of men filing off the tram. Ford followed a few men behind him. As the exiting and entering crowds mingled past each other, Ford and Bozeman turned around to join the incoming flow. With a nod, the two agreed to split up to prevent a discernable pattern.
Ford boarded a car ahead of Bozeman’s. He stood at the bulkhead, beneath the front camera. That would put him out of view from the front and make him the smallest image to the rear camera. He kept his face behind his arm as he hung onto the overhead rail.
At the eighth stop, they exited and with the dozens of gray-clad men. Ford drifted diagonally, crossing in front of Bozeman. As they passed each other, Ford handed Bozeman the toolbox.
Instead of flowing toward the stairs leading back to the surface, the two men stepped out of line and joined the men coming down the other staircase. These, they followed across the platforms toward the outbound trams. From the captured image of the tram network map, Ford knew they had three stops before the blackshirts’ air node. - (end ch 16 part 2)
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Post by 9idrr on Jan 28, 2020 20:17:17 GMT -6
They seem to have good intel so far.
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Post by texican on Jan 29, 2020 23:38:38 GMT -6
Ford and Bozeman in the City....
Thanks mic for the chapter....
Texican....
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Post by pbbrown0 on Jan 30, 2020 6:41:05 GMT -6
Excellent chapter, Mic. Thank you, again.
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Post by mic on Jan 31, 2020 21:14:55 GMT -6
(chapter 16, part 3)
Ford and Bozeman emerged from the tram station stairwell onto the fresh night air on a dimly lit concrete landing. Many of the men in gray coveralls shifted over to climb another flight of stairs to the pedestrian level. Different grays stayed on the landing and formed up into lines in front of open-sided personnel trucks that stood along the curb. Grays drifted toward one vehicle or the other, taking a seat on the back-to-back benches.
“It would be nice if we knew one of these was going our way,” said Bozeman.
“But we don’t, so let’s get waking,” said Ford. He motioned for them to follow a pack of grays headed toward the truck at the end of the row. Instead of boarding the transport, they continued walking into the darkness. The surface roads were mostly tunnels since pedestrian ways and buildings and been constructed over them. Only the occasional gap revealed the world above.
“There aren’t many cameras on the surface roads,” said Ford. “People don’t come down here much, just truck traffic. There are sensors to track the trucks. We might have to duck under those.”
"We don't dare use our luminars, but it's getting hard to see," said Bozeman.
“Run your hand along the wall,” said Ford. “It helps.” A personnel truck hummed past them. Its approach was betrayed only by the rising whine of its motors and a sudden breeze. The only visible sign was a faint line of blue dots – the illuminated eyes of the workers aboard the truck.
“I think we’re far enough from the tram station,” said Ford. “It’s your turn to turn on your visor and get another map. Ask for a meal store location somewhere on the right and image-capture the map.”
Bozeman flipped the little switch on the earpiece of his visor. His eyes were bathed in soft blue light as the visor booted up.
“Um, yes. Hello to you too.” Bozeman addressed the bot. “Show me directions to the nearest store that carries…yellow-sauce meals.”
Ford could see Bozeman’s eyes darting left and right in the faint blue glow of his visor’s screens.
“I…uh…missed my tram stop,” said Bozeman. “I was…I got distracted…busy watching an entertaining and uplifting video…Yes, a video, and I missed my tram stop and... No. Really? No, this is the visor I was issued. Right. I’m sure…but I’m really hungry and…”
Bozeman’s eyes had a worried wideness to them.
"Oh, yes. I will, but couldn't I get a yellow-sauce meal on my way? Yes. I know it's serious, and I promise to report immediately after my purchase. Thank you. Yes, that's right. Thank you." Bozeman clicked off his visor.
“What was all that about?” asked Ford.
“Oh, man! My random number belonged to a dead guy. I’m supposed to report to the nearest control office to have my visor checked. On the bright side, from the map they showed, they think I was up on the pedestrian ways, not down here.”
“But, did you get a screen capture of the map?” Ford asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I did. Hold on.” Bozeman powered on his visor again but did not set it to transmit. His eyes became visible again in the blue glow. “Restore previous image. Zoom out one.” Bozeman turned off his visor.
“At the edge of the map, I could see the edge of the air node. There should be a truck entrance about a hundred meters ahead and on the right.”
Through small and occasional holes in the decking above, they could see glimpses of blue. Dawn had come. Ford avoided looking at the sky since it made it harder to see in the low light of the street.
“There it is,” whispered Ford. “That’s the gate.” Light poured through the gate since there were no pedestrian ways above an air node’s landing plaza.
“There’s a guard,” said Bozeman. “We’ll have to figure out…”
A personnel transport rolled up from inside the air node to stop at the closed chain-link gate. The guard did not look up but continued to stare down and into the middle distance. A metal arm extended from the top of the gate frame and slowly passed over the roof of the transport. A yellow light at the base of the arm blinked yellow as it moved.
It’s scanning them, probably cross-checking that everyone who entered is leaving.
The arm returned to the frame. The light turned green, and the gate rolled to one side. The transport hummed out into the street and sped into the darkness toward the tram station.
For a brief moment, Ford thought they should rush in while the gate remained open. He had no idea what they would do with the guard if he objected.
Bozeman tapped Ford’s elbow to get his attention. “Look up at the corners of the gate frame. See those knobs? They sure look like the shockers on the corners of our concrete truck.”
“Hmm. I bet you’re right. They’re probably to stop unauthorized men from approaching the gate,” said Ford.
“We’re unauthorized,” observed Bozeman.
“True.” Ford nodded. “Maybe they won’t see us with these visors being off. Maybe we should just walk in like we know what we’re doing.”
“What about the guard?” asked Ford.
“Yeah, I don’t know.”
“I think I do,” said Ford. “Let’s head back toward the station, maybe thirty meters.”
“Why?”
“That was a truckload of night shift workers leaving, right? I’m guessing there will be a truckload of morning shift workers coming soon. We can board the transport and ride in.”
They stopped in the feeble gray light from one of the small overhead gaps.
"We should be able to see the truck enough not to get run over by it," said Ford. "Quick, put on 99's coveralls and visor."
“What? No way. I’m not wearing those.”
“Why not?” asked Ford. “You’re the one with all the experience of things he said and being in an air node.”
“Then I’ll tell you what to say,” said Bozeman, “but I am not wearing those clothes or visor. No way.”
"What? You really were creeped out?" asked Ford. "I thought you were just making up excuses."
“Not an excuse. I’m not doing it.” Bozeman folded his arms across his chest.
“Oh, fine,” grumbled Ford. “We don’t have time for this. That truck could be coming any second now.” He took out the slate-blue coveralls from the toolbox and pulled them over his clothes. He traded visors, being careful not to dislodge 99’s chip from the magnets in the earpiece. He admitted (if only to himself) that something was disquieting about wearing a dead man's clothes.
“I think I hear something coming,” said Bozeman. “Hurry up.”
“I’m ready.” Ford smoothed some wrinkles from the coveralls. "You stand in the street, so the truck will stop."
“Why do I have to be the one who stands in the street?”
“Stop whining,” said Ford. “If I have to wear 99’s clothes, you get to stand in the street. Now, get out there. I hear it too.”
Bozeman took up a position directly beneath the small trapezoidal hole in the ceiling. The whine grew louder. Bozeman squinted and tightened up his fists in anticipation of an impact. The truck’s brakes squealed, and its corner lights blinked.
Ford grabbed the rear corner railing and swung up to sit in an empty section of the bench. Bozeman stepped out of the way. As the truck resumed its travels, he grabbed the other rear corner and pulled himself up. None of the men on the back-to-back benches took any notice of the new riders. They kept their heads down, their eyes visible in the dark from the reflected light of their visors.
Both Ford and Bozeman blew out a sigh of relief when the transport turned to stop in front of the air node’s gate.
“Hey,” Ford nudged the gray beside him. He wanted to practice his foreman's voice. “What is your task?”
“Huh?”
“Your task. What is your assignment today? Access your work order.”
“Oh, uh…team to replace the left rear motor on lifter number 89-1008.”
The metal arm swung out from the gate's frame and slowly proceeded to scan the transport. Ford tried to look up only with his eyes to see the light overhead. Yellow, yellow, yellow, the light blinked twelve times. The arm folded back into the frame, the green light glowed, and the gate rolled to one side.
Ford blew out another held breath. It only scans for visors too.
As the gate closed behind them, he got a sinking feeling. That was the only way in and out that he knew of. He felt trapped – like the fish he had cornered in that shallow pool. He thought he knew how that fish felt.
The truck powered across the bare concrete plaza. Ford had to squint in the brightness of the morning. Light-gray walls of seven-story buildings surrounded the air plaza. Together, they created a deep triangular pit, the floor of which Ford and Bozeman were riding across. The men beside him rode along with their heads down. They bounced and swayed in unison as the truck bumped over expansion gaps in the paving. In the center of the plaza stood two of the large, black lifters. The truck sped between the insect-like craft and headed for a hangar along the southwest wall.
Long rolling doors stood open to reveal a wide but shallow hangar. Inside, sat three small black lifters. They were about the same size as the lifter that their salvage crew had been assigned. The personnel truck made a turn to stop in front of the center lifter. The shell of its left rear fan ring sat on tarps on the floor. Boxes and parts lay strewn around the tarp. Nearby, a bare electric motor hung from a crane hoist.
The grays slid off of their benches and trudged toward the tarp. Ford and Bozeman joined them, exchanging glances and shrugging.
“You should mingle with these other guys. Try to look busy,” whispered Ford. “I’ll stand over here and try to look like supervisory.” Ford tried not to appear obvious as he glanced around. Even within the relative shelter of the hangar, he felt exposed.
Bozeman knelt beside a box of rivets and straps. He took rivets out and laid them in a line, only to pick them up a minute later and put them back in the box. The other grays had actual work orders and went about their assigned tasks without noticing Bozeman.
While the grays began their various tasks, Ford strolled slowly around the lifter. It would certainly be handy if they could take the uplink transmitter from the machine under repair. It would not be back in service soon. They would be long gone before the missing electronics would be noticed.
The cargo doors were closed. Ford moved behind the lifter, out of sight of the grays. “One, oh, oh, eight. Open cargo doors,” he said.
Nothing happened.
“One, zero, zero eight. Cargo doors open.” Nothing. Ford tried as many variations as he could think of. The doors stayed closed.
Bozeman approached with a twisted piece of an aluminum faring in his hands. “I don’t think this unit has any power,” he whispered. “It might not even have any batteries in it since they’re working on the motor.
Ford swung his head back and forth in frustration. The lifter to his left had its doors closed too. The lifter to his right caught his eye.
“That one has the doors open.” Ford tipped his head as a way to point.
“It does,” said Bozeman, “but it also has a guard.” He tipped his head to a man in black standing near the nose of the craft. “He must be a really low-level blackshirt.”
“How do you know that?” asked Ford.
“Blackshirts aren’t usually on the plaza unless they’re boarding a lifter,” said Bozeman. “The plaza level is for worker-class grunts, not important people like blackshirts. I’ve seen it.”
“You’re making all that up,” Ford scoffed. “Like you’ve spent time in a blackshirt node.”
“Well, I have. On a couple of our salvage missions, we crossed paths with a squad of blackshirts. They gave us boxes to bring back to a blackshirt node.”
“Boxes of cut-off hands?” asked Ford. “You were bringing back their trophies for them?”
“They never said what was in them, but maybe. Anyhow, we'd get special permission to land and offload the box. They'd make us sit out on the plaza for hours for no particular reason I could figure out. It always made 99 furious. While we sat and did nothing, I watched the goings-on around the plaza. I rarely saw a regular blackshirt on the deck unless coming and going from a lifter. They all stayed up in their lounge or dining hall.” Bozeman pointed across the plaza to the line of large windows on the top floor of the building.
“They could be watching us from up there?” Ford asked, trying not to appear to be looking up.
“Maybe,” said Bozeman, “but I kind of doubt it. To hear them talk – and I’ve listened to a few of them when we brought the boxes – things down here on the ground are too trivial for them.”
“And that’s why you think this guard must be very low-ranking.”
“Right.” Bozeman nodded. “The blackshirt equivalent of our having to clean out the blue-water tanks.”
“Hmmm.” Ford’s wheels turned while he looked over Bozeman’s shoulder. “I have an idea. Don’t turn around. Keep showing me that piece of metal. I can see that there’s a camera in the upper corner by the big door opening. I don’t see one in the back corner. What do you see on the side behind me?”
Bozeman held up the piece of metal as if to study it more closely but peered over it. “There’s a camera in the other corner too. Nothing in the back.” He glanced around without moving his head. “I don’t see any others.”
“Likely, there are only these two,” said Ford. “This is an otherwise secured area. Mine is too close to see the lifter we want. We only have to worry about yours. Do you know what to look for inside the cargo area? Can you take out its uplink?”
Bozeman frown slightly. “Yeah. I think so. I’d seen 99 go in and pull the plug a few times. One good thing about city policy on technology is that they don’t like change. I’ll bet the uplink in that fancy new black lifter is in the same place and held in by the same two screws. I’ll take a screwdriver from the toolbox.”
“Good,” said Ford. “I’m going to command you to go get something from those shelves along that far wall. It doesn’t matter what’s inside those boxes. Go get one and bring it over here. Move to a middle shelf so you’ll be behind the lifter to that far camera. On your way back here, duck through the cargo doors.”
Bozeman shook his head subtly. “That’s no good. Algorithms anticipate movement. If I don’t come back out quickly enough, it will throw a flag.”
“Algorithms are also biased to watch movement,” said Ford. “I’ve created distractions before to slip out of an area. I'm going to go talk to the guard and walk around, maybe wave my arms or something. That should keep the software focused on me while you remove the uplink.”
“You’re really going to go talk to a blackshirt?”
Ford glanced over at the guard and sighed. “Do I have much choice?”
(end Chapter 16)
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Post by 9idrr on Jan 31, 2020 22:23:22 GMT -6
Nice to see that Ford's thinking abilities seem to've sharpened up a bit. Might have something to do with instinctive survival traits.
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Post by texican on Feb 1, 2020 20:20:12 GMT -6
mic,
Ford has learned to think on the go which is good....
Thanks for the chapter....
Texican....
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Post by bluefox2 on Feb 2, 2020 8:40:38 GMT -6
Kind of wonder about ol Bozeman though. does he maybe have an unknown agenda here?
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Post by mic on Feb 9, 2020 18:06:22 GMT -6
Hey Readers,
Sorry about the delay in posting. Life gets too busy sometimes. Thanks for your patience. Chapter 17 is coming up.
--- Mic
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Post by mic on Feb 9, 2020 18:15:36 GMT -6
When last we saw our two intrepid spies, they had snuck into The City and blended in with the local inhabitants. They made their way to a blackshirt airbase, in search of a transmitter and maybe the secret of the poison gas. We now return you to our story.
City – Chapter 17 (part 1)
Ford straightened up and pointed to the motor hanging from the chain. “This is no good,” he raised his voice. “You.” He pointed to Bozeman. “Go over there and get me one of…those.” He pointed to boxes on shelves beyond the black machine.
Bozeman slumped his shoulders, hung his head, and shuffled toward the far wall.
The black-clad guard turned, noticing Bozeman’s approach, began to move to intercept Bozeman. Ford strode toward the guard, interrupting him.
“I’m glad to see they’ve posted you here today,” said Ford in his best approximation of 99’s voice.
“What?” The guard looked distracted. Bozeman made it to the shelves and began rummaging through the small boxes. “Who are you? Why are you here?” asked the guard. “Repair crews don’t get a foreman.”
Ford could feel his face getting warm. He had to stay in character. “They don’t want any more errors,” he said firmly. “Check your work orders. 1008 needs a new a lift fan, right?” He gave the guard a moment to check.
The guard frowned slightly as he read from his visor screen. “Yes, 1008 is scheduled for repairs but there’s no mention of…”
“Do you know what happens when one of those fans fail?” Ford demanded.
The guard blinked a few times, as if he did not receive many questions.
Ford continued with animated arm gestures. “If one of those fans break down while your men are out there – flying over The Outside – they could crash somewhere…” Ford recalled what Ben said about blackshirts not liking to go into the woods and assumed the woods frightened them. “They could crash in the dark forest, hundreds of kilometers from anyone, wild animals with long white teeth circling in the shadows…waiting to strike!” Ford acted out the role of a mountain lion preparing to pounce.
Even though the guard was a man in his mid-twenties, his wide eyes were that of a schoolboy hearing tales of tooth and claw.
“You’ve been in The Outside?” the man asked.
Ford tried not to smile but imitate the theatrics his second-grade teacher used. “Oh yes. I’ve been in those dark woods: the foliage closing in around you to the point you think you can’t breathe! I’ve seen those cruel and hungry eyes shining down at me from the high places. It’s dangerous out there. Deadly. That’s why she made special arrangements to make sure that this job is done right,” said Ford.
He felt he was getting on thin ice with his stories. Saying ‘she’ seemed safe enough to imply some vague level of Matri authority.
“Oh. She ordered it,” the guard said with a little nod. “That’s not too surprising. Ever since she got promoted to Full Secretary of Peace, she has been riding everyone hard.”
Secretary of Peace? Owen said the woman who banished me was the assistant secretary. She must have moved up and is cracking the whip to prove herself.
“Ah, there never was a more deserving Matri.” Ford looked admiringly into the distance and stroked his chin. “Her square jaw shows her determination. Her…um…piercing eyes…prove her keen mind.”
“You know the Secretary?”
“Know her? Ha! She gave me my last assignment personally,” Ford said with his head raised slightly.
“Whoa,” the guard whispered to himself.
“That is one reason why I am concerned about the status of this lifter here.” Ford pointed to the black machine that Bozeman was hidden in. “She wants to make sure this machine is ready to go at a moment’s notice. It’s a…1053.”
“Really? A 1053? I haven’t seen any orders like that.”
“I’m not too surprised,” said Ford sympathetically. He put his arm around guard’s shoulder. “The higher-ups aren’t always as good with their paperwork as they demand of us real workers, eh?” He winked.
The guard cracked a little smile. “Yeah. They get all fussy when it comes to filing reports but…”
The muffled clunk of a dropped screwdriver caught the guard’s attention. He started to turn.
Ford stepped into his line of sight. “That 1053 is why I want you to confirm for me that this lifter is in proper working order.”
“What? How?”
“We’ll go inside and do a systems check,” said Ford. “That way, I can report back to the Secretary directly. Your prompt action will look outstanding on the report. A systems check should only take a minute.” Ford hoped that getting the guard inside the lifter would give Bozeman the opportunity to get away unseen.
The guard stood near the side door. “Seven, Five, Five, One: Open door.”
The shiny black door clicked and rose with a quiet hiss. Interior lights blinked on. The guard made his way between the seat backs to sit in a front seat.
“Seven, Five, Five, One, Systems status,” he said.
“Checking,” said a smooth voice.
Whoa. This one talks back.
Ford noticed a pair of long, thin canisters strapped to the wall. One was labeled D1. The other was marked D2 in red letters. He guessed that they might be the poison gas.
“And these are in order too?” Ford asked, pointing to the canisters.
“Oh yes. Both the gas and the applicator gun were checked just yesterday. Both tanks are full and the nozzles are set to tolerances.”
The poison gas. Ford tried not to appear obvious as he peered at the slender tanks to look for other labels that might say what was inside.
“Battery levels at 95%,” said the ships voice.
“That’s all fine,” Ford said. “But these are no good without the neutralizer. Did they check that too?”
The guard’s eyes glanced over Ford’s shoulder. “Of course. They check them all at the same time.”
“Hydraulic levels are within parameters,” aid the voice.
The neutralizer canister had a blue label with many small words in white. Ford took a screenshot in hopes that it could be enlarged later to reveal something of value.
“System check failed,” said the smooth voice.
“Failed?” The guard did a double-take. “Identify failure.”
“Connectivity quality cannot be checked. The system cannot connect to the regional server,” said the voice. “All local systems operational and within parameters. No further diagnostic information is available at this time.”
Ford was happy to see Bozeman shuffling back to the group of grays working around the chain hoist. His joy faded as he realized he did not have a plan for extracting himself.
“But, things were fine yesterday.” The guard argued with the machine. “Oh man, they’re going to knock me hard for this. I thought working the plaza was low.”
“That wouldn’t be fair,” said Ford, using his sympathetic voice. “These machines are fussy. Why should you get the blame?”
“I know. It’s just not right.”
First thing I need to do is get out of his thing.
“Let me have a look in back and see if I can see anything quickly fixed,” said Ford.
“You know how these things work?” asked the guard.
“I’ve been around them a bit,” Ford tried not to sound too smug. He stepped out of the door and into the cargo area. The guard followed behind but would not venture into the dark cargo hold.
Okay. Now what? He might not come inside here, but someone else will. How do I cover up that empty hole?
Ford could see nothing loose in the cargo bay to cover up the rectangular hole in the equipment panel where the uplink transmitter had been a minute earlier.
“Hmmm.” He ran his fingers over the panels as if he knew what he was doing. He had to come up with a plausible reason for the gaping hole. He could not simply pretend all was well. The hole would be discovered sooner or later. He might as well incorporate the undeniable fact into a tale.
“Oh my,” Ford said with a bit of drama. “It looks to me like someone has removed the uplink transmitter.”
“What? But why? It was working fine yesterday. No one reported any service work on 7551.”
Recalling some of the stories Bozeman told, Ford spun a tale. He leaned close to the guard to talk confidentially. “You know how sometimes a crew chief will just take another crew’s equipment to replace something broken of his own – rather than go through the requisition forms and work order requests.”
The guard furrowed his brow and set his jaw. “Yes, I do. And I lost two promotion points the last time that happened.”
Whew. Good guess.
“Right, well maybe they did it to you again,” said Ford. “I’ll bet their uplink was acting up, so they took one from a machine you were assigned to guard.”
“Again,” muttered the guard.
Ford sagged a little in relief. He felt a little queasy making wild guesses but it was working well enough thus far.
“But now that you know the uplink is missing, you can order another one and get it installed before anyone finds out.”
“Yeah. But hey, you’re a supervisor,” said the guard. “I bet you’d have an easier time ordering one than I could. Would you do that for me? You understand what it’s like down here.”
“Me? Oh, well, yeah. I could, I suppose, but…you wouldn’t get any credit for that, now would you? I mean, whoever took this uplink expects you to take a fall and look like a bumbling fool. But imagine the look on their faces when you don’t get in trouble! They’ll check back and see that it was you that ordered the replacement, right?”
“But, if whoever took it sees that I ordered one myself, they could get mad.”
Uh, oh. He’s getting cold feet.
“Or,” Ford quickly offered, “when they find out that it was you, they’ll know were wise to them. They can’t report you up the line, can they? They know you could expose them too. No. They can’t say anything. But, the important thing is; they’ll know they can’t kick you around anymore. Right?”
The guard frowned in determination. “Right.”
“Well, I’d better get back to my repair crew,” said Ford. “We don’t want to disappoint the new Secretary.”
“No we don’t,” said the guard. “Hey, thanks a lot for helping me out.”
“My pleasure,” said Ford. “After all, its guys like us who get the real work done, right?”
“Right,” said the guard with a knowing smile.
Ford tried to amble slowly back toward the repair crew but his legs wanted to run. “How is it going?” Ford asked Bozeman.
“Pretty well,” said Bozeman. “They’ll have the servo linkages installed in a couple hours.”
“I mean,” Ford muttered out of the side of his mouth, “do you have what you need?” Ford was not certain that Bozeman caught the hint.
“Oh. That. Yes.” He glanced at the toolbox.
“Come with me to inspect the ring mounting pins,” Ford said loudly enough for the others to overhear. He and Bozeman walked to the wing stub and pointed at nothing in particular as they whispered.
“We’ve got what we came for,” whispered Ford, as he pointed to the end of a rod. “We even have some sort of info on the poison gas. No idea if it’s helpful or not, but we need to get out of here.”
“At the pace these guys are going, they’ll be working on this thing all day,” said Bozeman. “We can’t stay around here. We have other places to get to.”
“Yes. We need to go find Ada.”
“Right. Ada,” said Bozeman. “Look, while I was over at those shelves, I could see several of those big cables coming up out of the floor and running up the corner.”
“Cables like we saw at that work site earlier this morning?”
“Exactly,” said Bozeman.
Ford’s mind studied memories of what he had seen earlier. The thick cables came up through holes in the concrete decking – holes large enough for a man to squeeze through. The cables were too stiff to make tight bends. There had to be room for the wide radius bends.
“There must be cable tunnels running under all these buildings,” whispered Ford.
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“So, where do they go?” asked Ford.
Bozeman’s face went blank. “Umm...”
“Well, wherever they go, it’s better than here,” said Ford.
(end 17, part 1)
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Post by 9idrr on Feb 9, 2020 21:07:39 GMT -6
And, with toolboxes they'll look as though they belong there. At least that's their hope.
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Post by texican on Feb 9, 2020 22:05:47 GMT -6
Mic,
Life will interfere when you are having fun....
The boys are getting better and Ford is thinking on his feet....
Thanks for the chapter....
Texican....
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Post by mic on Feb 13, 2020 17:33:16 GMT -6
(chapter 17, part 2)
“We need a big diversion if we’re going to work in that corner,” whispered Bozeman. “The far camera would see us.”
“I could start a fight with that blackshirt,” Bozeman offered. He grinned at his mental preview images.
“How are you going to get away down a hole while you’re fighting?”
Bozeman frowned at having to give up his imagined fight.
Ford knew that they needed something big and loud enough to occupy everyone for a few minutes, creating enough agitation to keep the software focused on the diversion. He studied the crane hoist holding the fan motor. The hoist itself was too stable to tip over. His eyes stopped on the D-shackle holding the motor’s sling to the end of the chain. The whole weight of the motor hung from that one steel pin.
“Do we have a plastic rod of some kind in the toolbox?” asked Ford. “Something about as big around as my little finger, but all plastic?”
“Why?”
“Never mind why, just go look.”
Bozeman shambled over to the toolbox and rummaged around. He hid something up his sleeve and returned to Ford who continued to study the end of the right-rear wing.
“This is a little smaller than your finger. Will this do?” Bozeman revealed a small plastic-handled screwdriver, cupped in his hand.
“Perfect.” Ford scooped the screwdriver in an exaggerated reach up to adjust his visor. He broke off the slender metal shaft, leaving only the plastic rod.
“Hey!” Ford addressed the grays. “This thing is not rigged right. Who did this?” He pointed to the motor hanging from the chain. “Hey. I’m talking to you. Stop doing what you’re doing and look at me.”
The grays all stopped doing their individual tasks and looked up with blank faces.
“I’m serious,” Ford demanded in his best foreman voice. “Who is responsible for this?” He pointed to the sling.
“Uh,” began one of the grays. “It was that way when we got here.”
“Yeah,” said another. “It must have been the night shift.”
Ford threw up his hands with a dramatic flair. “That’s what happens with unsupervised work crews! Well, this is not correct. Get over here and lower this thing down.”
The grays all looked at each other. Bozeman smiled slightly as he realized Ford’s plan.
“Don’t tell me that none of you know how to operate this hoist. What in the flaming blazes is this…”
“I know how to operate the hoist,” said one gray as he stood. He made his way behind the hoist and inserted a card from his pocket. The hoist’s gear-motor growled as it unspooled chain. The big lifter motor came to rest on the padded blanket.
“Now, look at these sling cables!” demanded Ford. “They’re all twisted. That’s not safe. Come on now. Untwist them. Make them flat.” He pulled out the shackle pin while two grays fumbled to untwist the four braided cords.
Ford held up the steel pin with two fingers such that it was visible to everyone. When it came time to slip it back into the shackle and through the straps, he palmed it and fed the gray plastic screwdriver handle through the holes.
“Okay. Take it up.” Ford flailed his arm at the gray behind the hoist.
The hoist motor grumbled, laboring to wind the clanking chain onto the drum. The heavy electric motor swung slightly as it rose. Realizing that the swing was good for adding stress, Ford gave the motor an extra little push.
“Higher,” said Ford. “Get it up to where you can work on it without bending over.”
Bozeman began relocating boxes of spare parts and sections of sheet metal beneath the suspended motor.
“Good,” said Ford, his hands on his hips in a triumphant pose. “Now get back to your tasks and don’t let me catch you cutting corners again.”
Everyone returned to their prior tasks. Ford commanded Bozeman to move their toolbox to the workbench in the corner. Ford pretended to take interest in the various labors of the grays while keeping a side-eye glance at the sling and shackle. The swing of the motor was flexing the plastic pin. Ford could see that the cable loops sat lower than they had before. The plastic was bending. It could only bend so far.
Ford stood a few steps outside of the circle of laborers and waited. The plastic could not last much longer. Bozeman lingered in the corner, pretending to fuss with tools in the box.
One of the grays got up to gather some screws from one of the boxes Bozeman had moved. He stooped beneath the motor. Ford could feel his heart sink. He did not intend that anyone should get hurt. He only wanted a great deal of noise.
The plastic handle snapped. The floor shook when the motor hit. Sheet metal parts spun up into the air and clanged loudly on the concrete floor. Metal parts scattered in all directions. The man with his hand in the box had his arm trapped beneath the motor. His screams echoed off the hangar walls.
This was the moment Ford had engineered but it turned out more painfully than he intended. Nonetheless, there was no time to lose.
Ford ran to the gawking guard. “Quick! His arm is pinned. See if you can help him!”
The guard ran over and joined the circle of grays all pulling ineffectually on the motor or the hoist or even the padded blanket. Ford sidestepped behind the lifter that donated its transmitter. Bozeman was busy in the corner.
“There’s plastic cover over the hole,” said Bozeman. “The cable holes are only big enough for the cables. It’s screwed down. It’ll take too long to unscrew these.”
Ford pushed on the cover. It flexed. “It’s not thick. Let’s cut through. We’ve got knives.”
Both men began stabbing and sawing the flat plastic cover to create a jagged hole barely a half meter across. Their cuts connected with the holes that the cables passed through.
“This will have to do,” said Ford. “Go down first. I’ll hand you the toolbox.”
Bozeman wriggled his hips through the hole then tilted his shoulders through. He grimaced as the rough plastic scraped at his cheek and nose. Ford handed down the toolbox then stepped into the hole. He felt nothing but a curving cable beneath his feet. Before he maneuvered his shoulders through the hole, he pulled two boxes near the hole. Once his head was inside, he reached up to pull the boxes over the hole they had cut.
“Keep sliding down the cable,” whispered Bozeman’s voice from within the total darkness. “It’s not far to the floor.”
Ford eased his grip on the thick cable. His foot touched down on a gritty concrete floor.
“I’m glad we’re out of there,” said Bozeman. “Now, which way?”
Ford pulled his luminar out of his pants pocket, opened it to its full triangular shape and fanned it back and forth until it was bright. They did not want to use their visor lights because they needed to conserve battery life. Charging stations connected to the central system.
The narrow box of a tunnel extended in only two directions. Thick black bundles of wires rested on the floor.
“Well,” said Ford. “This way seems roughly parallel to the back wall of the hangar.” He turned on his original visor to summon up the map he saved.
“If this tunnel stays on the hex-grid line, we ought to come up in a building near the subway line.”
“If that building isn’t already full of people,” added Bozeman.
“Well, of course we wouldn’t just jump up in a building full of people,” snapped Ford. “Why would you even…”
“Just saying…”
“Never mind. Let’s get going.” Ford held his luminar over his head to light the way and keep the light out of his eyes. Bozeman held his low so they could see their footing better.
After several long minutes, Bozeman broke the silence. “What are you muttering to yourself?”
“I’m counting our steps,” said Ford.
“What? Why?”
“In case we hit a dead end or an intersection or something and have to backtrack. How else would we know how far back to go? Now, be quiet and hold your light out better.”
More long minutes passed with only the soft crunch of their footsteps amid the grit on the wire chase’s floor. Ford stopped and stood tall.
“Do you feel that?”
Bozeman stood tall too. “The air is moving. I can feel it on my cheeks. We must be getting near an opening of some kind.”
“We must, but it is still so dark,” said Ford. “It can’t be a vent shaft to the surface. We’d see light.”
“Maybe it’s a big building, like a factory or something,” offered Bozeman.
“Yeah.” Ford walked taller, turning his face to feel the subtle breeze. He sniffed a few times. “Does the air smell different to you? It’s not just the dirt and wet concrete smell.”
Bozeman shook his head. “You are the smeller king, not me. I don’t smell any difference.”
Ford sniffed again. “It’s kind of like old oil and….Aghh!”
Ford dropped through a hole in the floor. Bozeman saw Ford’s luminar tumble. He grabbed at the silhouette of Ford’s arm. His fingers found fabric and clamped tight. The weight of Ford’s falling body slammed Bozeman’s chest to the floor but he refused to let go of whatever he had a grip upon. For several tense seconds, there was no sound.
“Ford? Are you okay?”
Ford twisted slowly at the end of Bozeman’s arm. “Yeah. I think so. I dropped my luminar. It’s below me. I see tracks. This is a tram tunnel.”
“I’m not in a good position to pull you up,” said Bozeman. “I can’t get off of the floor.”
“We’ve got to do something, and fast!” said Ford. “I hear a tram coming.”
“I still can’t move.”
“I don’t know if I’m too low or not,” said Ford. “I’ll have to try and climb up your arm. Hold on!”
The floor began to rumble beneath Bozeman’s chest. Air rushed up through the hole in the floor. The sound of creaking and clicking grew louder. Ford reached up with his free arm to grab the elbow of Bozeman’s coveralls.
“Okay,” said Ford. “I have a good grip on you. Let go.”
“I…I can’t,” said Bozeman. “My hand won’t let go.”
“You have to. I can’t get any higher unless…”
The roar of the oncoming tram grew loud. Ford curled his knees up to his chest as best he could. The dark mass of the tram rumbled beneath him. A faint glow from the tram’s windows raced along the tunnel walls. A strong wind blew bits of sand in his eyes. He winced in anticipation of being struck by something.
The tram passed. Creaking and clicking faded back into silence.
Ford let out the breath he had been holding. “That was close.”
“I think I can let go now,” said Bozeman. “Are you ready?”
“Ready.” Ford’s released arm swung once, twice. On the third swing he grabbed Bozeman’s shoulder. This other hand found the edge of the hole. With Bozeman pulling on his back, Ford was able to swing a leg over the edge. He hoisted himself up and rolled onto the floor.
“Ugh. I thought I was done for,” Ford said.
“The good news is that we found a tram line,” said Bozeman. “This will really help us stay on schedule. We can follow the tracks to a station and be on our way.”
“We have a schedule?”
“I mean, we can get our business done as quickly as possible,” said Bozeman.
“Right. We have to get to Ada.” Ford stood and brushed himself off. He peered carefully down the hole in the floor. His luminar rested between the rails, its glow fading. “That’s quite a ways down.”
Bozeman joined him in looking down the hole. “This is too high up to jump. We’ll just get hurt. Too bad we didn’t bring any rope with us.”
(end 17, pt.2)
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Post by texican on Feb 13, 2020 18:27:29 GMT -6
Did they bring the tool box, if not a piece of cable will work....
For will remember to not only look forward, but down too....
Thanks mic for the chapter....
Texican....
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Post by 9idrr on Feb 13, 2020 22:00:48 GMT -6
Might it be worth their while to spend a few minutes figurin' a way to recharge visors without connecting to the whole net? Hate to see them unable to access maps they need 'cause of lower power.
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Post by mic on Feb 22, 2020 18:56:28 GMT -6
From the end of Chapter 17, part 2:
Chapter 17, part 3 --- “Yeah, rope, or wire, or…cable…" Ford straightened up to study the thick cables that ran low along the walls. Each of them was bigger around than his arm.
“You’re not thinking of cutting one of those cables, are you?” Bozeman asked. “You know they’ll come looking for any breaks and probably in just minutes. They have ways to…”
“No, I’m not thinking of cutting a cable,” said Ford. He pulled out his knife and gingerly poked the point into the thick black plastic insulation. “What if we just use the outer coating?”
With a flap of plastic pried up, he turned his blade edge-up and began to slip his knife under the coating. When he had a strap a full meter in length and five centimeters wide, he tugged at, testing its strength.
“Tell you what,” said Ford. “You go about twenty meters back and start cutting a strap about this wide. I’ll start at this end and meet you. We can tie one end around this cable bracket and climb down to the tracks.”
Bozeman smiled and trotted down the tunnel. They each worked toward each other. Their cuts did not line up well as they got closer, so their strap had a jog in the middle where they adjusted their cuts.
“Let’s wait until a tram has just passed by,” said Ford. “We’ll need time to get to the nearest station. I have no idea how far up the line it is.”
“I sure don’t want to be in front of one of those. I’m not sure they’ve got the auto-stop sensors like surface vehicles do.”
Bozeman put his luminar back in its black plastic bag and exhaled into the container to recharge its luminous chemistry. The two waited in total darkness, crouched around the hole in the floor.
Before the sound could be heard, before the floor began to tremble, they could feel the air starting to push up through the hole.
Ford tugged at the strap in his hands for yet another reassurance that it was securely tied. “Well, it’s time.” -- The tram rushed beneath them with a cacophony of squeals, humming, clatter, and hissing. After only a few seconds, the speeding monster was gone. The flow of air switched from rushing up through the hole to being sucked down the opening.
Bozeman pulled out his luminar and waved it a few times to energize it. In the blue-green light, Ford set his feet on the edge of the hole dropped into the void. The strap pulled rapidly through his hands until he squeezed his fingers tight. The sudden deceleration caused him to swing forward then back. He let his grip loosen a bit and slid toward the faint glow of his fallen luminar.
Ford's feet crunched onto the trackbed. "Okay! I'm down. Your turn."
Bozeman dropped his luminar for Ford to catch. He had to hug the toolbox to his chest as he descended. There would be no free hands for the luminar. Bozeman’s descent was faster than he wanted. He landed hard, falling onto his back, but careful not to touch the rails.
“Are you okay?” Ford asked.
Bozeman gasped silently. The toolbox had landed on his chest and knocked the wind out of him. Ford helped Bozeman to his feet. The strap dangled between them.
“What are we…going to do with that?” Bozeman was finally able to say. “The next tram will hit it and might set off some alarm. We can’t afford to have them snooping around and wondering what’s going on.”
Ford studied the black ribbon. They could not cut it off high enough to avoid a tram hitting it. He held Bozeman’s luminar up to the wall. Several electrical conduits ran along the wall, a little over two meters up. He took the toolbox to use as a stepstool. A loop of the black rubber strap barely fit behind one of the conduits.
“I hope that’s out of the way enough,” said Ford as he climbed down. “Come on. We need to get to the station before another tram comes. There’s no room on the sides of the tracks to get out of the way.”
They jogged between the tracks using Bozeman’s luminar to guide them. Just as Ford was about to suggest that they take a break, he noticed a faint glow on the walls ahead.
“Okay…okay,” Ford tried to catch his breath. “The station is…up around…that bend. Let’s go slow and quiet. We need to check it out for cameras and the crowd. We have to figure out a way to get up on the platform without attracting attention.”
“Station cameras are usually at both ends,” said Bozeman. “We’ll have an easier time at one end or the other. We’ll be beneath at least one of the cameras.”
They approached the station slowly, with their backs close to the concrete wall. Light streamed into the tunnel from the platform area. Lurking within the shadows, Ford could see the black dot of a camera lens high on the wall at the far end of the station. Several dozen men stood in a cluster near the far end. Others stood in twos and threes as if somehow preferring silent companionship even though each was in his own entertainment bubble.
Ford and Bozeman crouched behind the ledge of the platform floor. “We need a distraction,” said Ford, “something to give the algorithms to focus on.”
“Like this?” Bozeman asked. He reached one of his arms and grabbed the ankle of a man standing near the edge.
The startled man tried to step away from whatever immobilized his ankle, but he stumbled. As he flailed his arms, attempting to regain his balance, he collided with other men near him. Several of them lost their balance, too, and fell.
Ford was momentarily surprised but knew a good distraction when he saw it. The two men crouch-ran along the ledge, keeping down in the relative darkness of the tracks. At the end of the platform, steel loops in the ledge wall formed a ladder. Ford peeked over the edge. The crowd of grays stood in a dense cluster, trying to see what happened with the falling men. They provided a temporary screen to the camera on the opposite wall.
“Let’s go. Quick!”
Both men climbed up, turned, and adopted the slouch typical of workers waiting for a tram.
“You could have told me you were going to do that,” whispered Ford.
"No time. I just thought of it," said Bozeman. "It worked pretty well, though. You've got to admit, huh?"
“Next time, tell me before you do something like that.”
The curious crowd dispersed, taking up positions to board the approaching tram. Ford and Bozeman opted for the end car. Ford turned on his visor to get another tram network map. He needed to figure out how to get to Ada's city hexagon. This time, his random ID number was unassigned. He argued with the bot, claiming to be a thirty-year-old sanitation worker on his way to work before switching off his visor.
“Did you get a map?” Bozeman whispered.
“I did, but the system really does not like unregistered numbers. They knew where I was and told me to report to a control office near here. We need to limit how often we connect. The algorithms will start to wonder why all these number conflicts are happening. They’ll have our locations wherever we online. We can’t afford to have them connecting the dots.”
“Why? Do you think they will guess where we’ll be next?” asked Bozeman. “They have no idea.”
“Not yet, but they’re pretty good at guessing patterns. We need to give them as few dots as we can. The algorithms will certainly flag all of that activity with that lifter motor falling. The system will be trying to reconcile images of everyone on-camera with the sensor logs. When the software can't resolve the discrepancy, it will notify a human operator. People guess better than algorithms. That’s what Owen’s job was, after all.”
“Then we need a more random pattern,” said Bozeman.
“Agreed. This is an arterial line. Let’s get off at the next stop and take a ring tram for a few hexes.”
"Sounds good," said Bozeman. "I didn't want to go anywhere near the old city center, anyhow."
(end Chapter 17, part 3)
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Post by 9idrr on Feb 22, 2020 21:29:05 GMT -6
They've outwitted the system so far. They'd better not be lulled into a false sense of security.
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