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Post by texican on Feb 23, 2020 15:08:30 GMT -6
Mic,
Ford and Bozeman, both thinking on the go which is good....
Now, outing the system is getting more intense....
Now just what could go wrong??.??
Thanks for the chapter....
Texican....
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Post by texican on Mar 4, 2020 15:26:22 GMT -6
Hey mic,
It is March and Ford and Bozeman should have gotten into more problems by now....
Texican....
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Post by 9idrr on Mar 5, 2020 20:29:05 GMT -6
You're right, Texican. It'll be my turn next month if'n he hasn't posted more. I'll be happy to rattle his cage... uh... pick on him...or... gently remind him. Yeah, that's it. We'll gently remind him.
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Post by papaof2 on Mar 5, 2020 21:06:07 GMT -6
He doesn't, perchance, live in WA, OR, GA, FL. NY, NJ, TX or any other state with Covid-19 infections? The panic in GA isn't yet at full speed but there are some pictures in this post: pawfiction.proboards.com/post/19930
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Post by sniper69 on Mar 11, 2020 15:08:16 GMT -6
Here's hoping that we can read more about Ford's adventure soon.
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Post by 9idrr on Mar 11, 2020 21:11:48 GMT -6
Here's hoping that we can read more about Ford's adventure soon. Don't worry, our boy's good at stringin' us along but it's always worth the wait.
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Post by mic on Mar 14, 2020 14:55:07 GMT -6
Hi all,
Sorry about the delays. No, not COVID-related, although that's getting to be quite the buzz. (What's up with people hoarding TP?) Actually, been away a lot on business travel. Happily, some of that has been cancelled due to the virus. Got tied up in writing some longish blog posts. The other part was that it was the busy part of maple syrup season. Almost boiling around the clock there for a while to keep up. Sap's almost done flowing now.
Now that things have settled down a bit, I've had some time to tidy up the next installment.
Thanks for your patience!
--- Mic
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Post by mic on Mar 14, 2020 14:59:24 GMT -6
Chapter 18 – Unexpected Rendezvous (part 1)
"Got to say," Bozeman whispered out of the side of his mouth. "We've only been riding the trams for an hour, and I'm already sick of it."
“You’ll just have to cope,” Ford whispered back. “It might take another eight hours to get to where Ada lives.”
“I’m sick of standing up,” Bozeman whined to himself. He sagged against the wide window ledge at the end of the tram.
“You can’t lean like that,” Ford whispered harshly. “Nobody does that. You’ll look obvious.”
Bozeman stood straight but rolled his eyes and moaned. They both saw the rest of the gray-clad men in the tram spread their stance or tighten their grip on the bar. The tram was about to slow down for the next station.
When he lived in The City, Ford had taken for granted the almost-constant automated messages coming through his visor. Back then, he rarely took note of them. Now that his visor was powered off, the silence was surreal, like going deaf. He had to read the body language of the other passengers to tell what was happening.
As the tram slowed to a stop, Ford and Bozeman took their place amid the others waiting for the doors to open. “Maybe when we trade tram cars,” whispered Bozeman, “it will be crowded enough that I can sit on the toolbox.”
The doors opened, but Ford stood still. He grabbed Bozeman's elbow. "I don't think we should trade cars just yet." He pointed with a tip of his head.
Between the escalator and the stairs stood a lone blackshirt. He was a large man and looking stern as he actively studied the faces of the masses flowing out of the trams and up the stairs.
“What’s up with that?” whispered Bozeman.
“I wonder if the system did not like our random sign-ins and is looking for more direct data to explain it. Camera footage must not have been enough.”
“Of course not,” said Bozeman. “We’ve been messing that up with our face paint.”
“I’ll bet that’s why he’s here.”
“He’s by himself,” observed Bozeman. “They always work in pairs, if not groups.” Both Ford and Bozeman circled within the mixed crowd and blended in with new passengers entering the same tram they had just left.
As the tram left the station and entered the relative obscurity of the tunnel, Ford felt a little better about having evaded that one blackshirt. The prospect that there would be more prevented him from feeling more relieved.
“I think we need to lose the toolbox.” Ford glanced down at the gray metal box. “We’ve had it with us whenever we did our quick sign-ins.”
“And you think the algorithms have noticed it as the common feature?” asked Bozeman.
“It could be,” said Ford. “To play it safe, we need to lose it. I’ll stand between you and the camera. You stoop down and take out our bags.”
“How is that better?” objected Bozeman. “Nobody wears backpacks in The City. The system will just start looking for two guys with bags.”
“Eventually, maybe. For now, let’s stuff them inside our overalls.”
“What? And look fat? Grays are never fat,” said Bozeman. “I’ve seen some plump Matri when the cameras were too far back during one of their speeches, but no one else gets enough food to become fat. That’s why they banished Teuz, remember?”
“We’ll have to hide it as best we can until we think of something else,” said Ford. “Right now, we need to lose the toolbox.”
The tram slowed for the next station.
“Uh oh,” said Bozeman. “There’s one here too. He's stopping everyone and looking right at their faces.”
“We need a diversion,” Ford said to himself. He settled his backpack against his stomach and zipped up his coveralls.
“Let’s give the box to one of these grays,” said Bozeman. “Let the blackshirt catch him with it. I’ve got a spare knife. I’ll put that in the box for the blackshirt to find. That ought to keep him busy.”
“That could work,” said Ford. “Hurry up. The doors will be opening soon.”
As the men began to flow out through the doors, Ford grabbed the man ahead of him by the arm. “Hey. You forgot your toolbox.”
The man turned and peered at Ford with a stupefied look. "Huh? My what?"
“Your toolbox.” Ford was careful to look down so his face could not be seen by the man's visor camera.
“But…I don’t have a…”
“You had it when you got on. It must be yours.” He pointed to the gray metal box. “If you lost it, they might make you eat no-sauce meals for a month! Better hurry,” said Ford. “The doors will be closing.”
“Uh. Okay.” The man bent over and picked up the box, still looking confused. He turned and headed for the stairs.
“Let’s follow him,” said Ford. “Stay two or three men behind him.”
“I don’t like walking toward a blackshirt,” muttered Bozeman.
“Me either. I’m hoping he’ll stop that guy and be too focused on him and the toolbox to notice us going past him.”
“Hoping? That’s your plan?”
“Yes. Now, be quiet and keep your head down.”
The mass of gray-clad men bunched up at the foot of the stairs. Peering over the top of his visor, Ford could see the blackshirt’s eyes widen at the sight of the toolbox. Ford held his breath.
So, they were looking for the toolbox.
The man in black stopped the unwitting gray with a big hand clamped onto his shoulder. He grabbed the box, opened it, and gasped out loud. Ford could guess that he saw the knife. The guard threw the unwitting gray to the floor and began shouting questions at him while he tied his wrists behind his back.
The rest of the grays looked on with only the mildest of passing interest. The crowd parted and flowed around the scene as stream water flows around a rock. Ford felt terrible about having caused the poor gray such trouble. Ford and Bozeman exchanged glances as they joined the line climbing the stairs.
“We can’t stay on that tram line,” said Ford. “They were looking for that toolbox. Our mystery dots must have formed a line.”
“How can the pedestrian ways be better than the trams? There are a lot more cameras up there,” said Bozeman.
“I know, but they’re looking on the trams. When that guy turns out to be nobody, I bet they’ll go back to checking that tram line. Keep your head down. Touch your face a lot when we get close to cameras. We need to walk west to the next ring-tram line. Hopefully, the system won’t be looking for anomalies there.”
“There you go with your hoping plan again,” quipped Bozeman.
“Feel free to have a genius plan any time now.”
Ford and Bozeman mingled into a cluster of men walking west along the walkway. Ford adjusted his position and pace to keep one of the grays between himself and the nearest camera. From what Owen had told him, the facial recognition system used the highpoints of cheeks, nose, and chin as landmarks. Everyone, the theory went, had a unique combination of dis between those four points. With those six numbers, the system could identify any citizen. What thwarted the system was having any one of the measurements in doubt.
Ford was careful to have his hand on his cheek facing the camera. Later, he would rub his nose past another camera. With his little paint pot, the rubbed a diagonal line of black from his cheek to his chin. Before they reached the next camera, he had rubbed off the stripe but left a large dot on his chin.
“I had imagined that we would be moving through The City undefined and not have to worry about anything. Seeing blackshirts watching crowds, I’m thinking we’re not quite as invisible as I thought. Do you think catching that guy with our toolbox satisfied the algorithms?” Bozeman asked.
Ford glanced over the heads of the grays ahead of him and moaned. “I don’t think it did.” He pointed with his eyes.
A blackshirt stood on a pedestal in the center of an intersection. Rows of workers’ heads flowed around his knees. The man studied the people shuffling past him. Ford wondered if the man in black was acting like a mobile camera, helping the system by getting close-up images via his visor camera. Or, he was sent out to look for anything that did not fit the usual routine.
“I’m sure they ran status checks on that poor man we stuck with the toolbox,” said Ford. “His records would come up clean eventually. I was hoping it would take them longer to figure out that he was nothing.”
“The unclaimed toolbox and knife is yet another mystery,” said Bozeman. “And now they’re sending humans to look for anything odd.”
“We can fool cameras and algorithms,” said Ford, “but not human eyes. That’s why Owen had the job he had. We need to get off this walkway.”
“Stair to the surface roads on our right. See it?” asked Bozeman.
“Yes. Casually drift right. No sudden moves. It’s got to look like we always planned to go down there.”
As they descended the narrow stairs, Ford kept a discrete eye on the elevated blackshirt. Would he notice the two men going down? Most citizens used the pedestrian ways to get from the tram stations to their apartments. The surface roads were more the realm of autonomous trucks than people. Still, they dared not walk near anyone actively looking for anything odd. Ford and Bozeman, with their plump-bellied coveralls, would undoubtedly qualify as odd.
“I don’t think he saw us go down,” said Ford.
“Great...I guess, but now what? We don’t have time to walk all the way,” said Bozeman.
“Time?”
“I mean, it’s a long way. How long do you think it will take us to walk all the way to your old city hexagon: a few days? Do we have food and water for a few days?”
Ford frowned. He had been so focused on evading cameras and getting to Ada that he had not put much thought into how long their supplies would last. They had little prospect of resupply. Without an active visor, no automated doors would open for them. That meant that stores were unavailable. Even if they could get into a meal-box store, they could never get out with a meal. Without a proper debit from a valid account, the exit doors would not open.
All they had with them were a few more corn cakes and a bottle of water. Bozeman was right. They did not have the time to travel slowly and carefully.
A boxy supply truck hummed past them, creating a momentary gust of wind.
“Maybe we can ride there,” said Ford.
“On supply trucks? Who knows where these things are going,” said Bozeman. “We could end up farther away, not closer.”
“True.” Ford frowned. It was a good idea to have died so quickly. A faint but familiar hum came to his ears. He turned his head to aim an ear down the dark street. “Hear that?”
Bozeman frowned slightly. “Hear what? Wait. I know that sound: that tire hum. We rode on one of those for two days.”
“Right, a cement carrier.” Ford began talking fast as the unseen truck approached. “Look, there are only three or four crusher factories in The City. A carrier coming in this direction is probably headed to the factory I used to work at. This gives me an idea. Quick. Stand in the street, so it will stop."
“Me? Why do I have to…”
There was no time to argue. Ford shoved Bozeman into the street. The concrete truck’s brakes squealed a high, metallic note. The lights blinked. Bozeman had his arms up over his face, but the truck stopped two meters away from him.
“You just pushed me in front of a truck,” protested Bozeman.
“You were asking too many questions,” said Ford. “We had to act fast.”
“We?” Bozeman raised his voice in anger. “You pushed me in front of a truck! That’s not a we.”
“Stop being so sensitive and quiet down. You’d rather walk? Come on. Step out of the way and as it rolls past, grab a handle,” said Ford. He stepped up on the rear tire and hefted himself over the side of the cargo bin.
After Bozeman stepped out of the way, the truck began to accelerate. He ran a few steps to equalize his speed, grabbed the corner handle, and pulled himself up. Ford was making his way forward over the chunks and slabs.
“The system might have noticed that this truck had to stop,” said Ford as he dug through his backpack.
“You mean they might search this truck?” It was too dark to see Bozeman’s expression, but his voice sounded nervous.
“Anything’s possible,” said Ford. He draped his mylar sheet over his legs, pinching it between his feet so he could pull it up to his shoulders. “But, you said yourself that blackshirts don’t usually work alone.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, I think seeing the last few of them working alone means they’re spread thin. They can’t be everywhere.” Ford scooped his hands across the rubble, gathering concrete dust and grit.
“They can’t stop this truck to inspect it,” said Ford. “Their routes are all timed down to the minute to keep the material flowing to the grinders. They’ll use the scanners we pass under to check it out.” He tossed his handful of dust across his blanket. The shine vanished.
Bozeman quickly duplicated Ford's moves. "I like it. We won't show up on heat scans, and we'll look like more rubble to any cameras."
“Right. And most of the cameras I’ve seen down here on the streets aim into travel lanes. If we stay up against the front wall, we should be even less visible.” Ford scooped another handful of gray powder to toss over himself.
The motor whine and tire hum echoed off the tunnel-like walls of the streets. The truck clanked and occasionally rumbled as it crossed uneven seams in the paving. Occasional patches of light lit up the cargo as the truck passed under openings to the sky above.
“If I’m right about this truck,” said Ford, “and I think I must be, we’ll be in here for several hours. Why don't you try to get some sleep? I'll keep watch first."
"Sleep? With blackshirts sniffing around and trapped down here like a rat?"
“Then rest your eyes.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
(end ch.18, part 1)
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Post by texican on Mar 14, 2020 15:38:58 GMT -6
Ford's desire for ADA will get him and Bozeman caught and then no telling what will happen to them....
Time to reconsider....
Thanks Mic for the chapter....
Be careful out there....
Texican....
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Post by 9idrr on Mar 14, 2020 20:44:30 GMT -6
Not sure I could think that quickly on the fly. Our boys're doin' just fine. And another one that was worth waitin' for. Thank you, sir.
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Post by mic on Mar 20, 2020 18:33:24 GMT -6
Chapter 18, part 2
The harmony of tire hum, motor whine, and the low rumble of the cargo created a background noise that took the place of conversation. Ford had figured how and where to spend the night, but what of the next day? How would he contact Ada? She said she took a personnel transport to the nursery where she worked. He knew about a service hatch that could get him into the women’s streets that ran below the pedestrian ways but above the surface roads.
Without an active visor, the system could not identify him. No one would know he was breaking the rules by being in a women’s zone. He could call out to Ada from the shadows as she passed. How would he pull her aside without the other women noticing a man in their midst? They would scream. His image, transmitted by a dozen women's visors, would be all over monitors at the security offices. He could run, but they would seal off exits. He would get caught and probably killed.
He shook his head. He needed a better plan.
Bozeman interrupted Ford’s thoughts. “How is you taking Ada any different than that Dog warrior taking Ivy?”
“What do you mean? This is nothing like that,” Ford objected.
“Isn’t it? Like I was saying before, what if Ada doesn’t want to go with you?”
“Why are you still going on and on about this?” grumbled Ford. “We settled that.”
“No.” Bozeman shook his head. “We just stopped talking when that light thing came on and blew out our fire, remember?”
“What? Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure she will want to get out." Ford tried to sound confident, but Bozeman had already planted seeds of doubt. Ford had never broached the idea of fleeing The City with her. “I’m taking her to freedom. Who doesn’t want freedom?”
“Almost everyone in this stupid concrete prison. They need a wake-up call,” muttered Bozeman.
“Ada isn’t like everyone else in here. What is it about riding in a concrete truck that makes you keep coming up with negative thoughts about Ada?”
“I’m not negative, I’m just asking. Maybe I should ask why you’re not thinking of these things. If she says no, will you take her by the wrist and drag her away? Wouldn’t that be stealing a woman just like that warrior was?”
Ford let out a growl and a sigh at the same time. “Why do you always come up with stuff like this?”
“It’s just like I told you last time. There’s nothing else to do while riding in a concrete truck. You’re avoiding the question. You’re all about the plans.”
“I think about doing the right thing, not about how everything could go wrong. Who thinks about all the stuff that can go wrong?”
“See? That’s what I mean. Stuff goes wrong all the time. What’s your plan if she says no?” asked Bozeman. “Huh?”
“If all you think about is what could go wrong, you won’t recognize the right thing when you see it!”
“Don’t you get all sensitive now,” Bozeman teased. “Still, you ought to think about what you’d do if she’s not as keen on escaping as you think she’ll be.”
Ford frowned at his chest. Of course, Ada will want to get out of The City. Bozeman is just being annoying -- like those little black flies that keep trying to fly up your nose.
Ford determined to be optimistic. Nonetheless, the seed had been planted. Ford vowed that he would never steal Ada. Her escape had to be her decision, her choice. She had to want to come with him willingly. Freedom has to be a choice, or it is not really freedom.
Then he wondered how she could make a rational choice without information? All she knew was just one side: The City. Ford had seen The Outside. He knew – first hand – that it was far superior to The City. But, he knew that only because he had been there and seen it himself. He did not understand that before. He learned it.
Outside was freedom. There would be no Matri enforcing all their rules. They could be together without getting into trouble. They could make a life doing whatever they wanted – talking as long as they liked, building fires to keep warm, cooking corn cakes. Ada would like corn cakes. Freedom offered so many new sensations. And then there was love. That was not forbidden in The Outside too. He wanted to know more about love.
On the other hand, The Outside was dangerous. The Prairie Dogs, or some other hostile group, could attack to steal or kill. The City was safe that way.
Work in The Outside was exhausting. He knew that. You could not just go home at the end of your shift and let the next crew finish the job. You had to work until the task was done.
How could he explain all of that to Ada? It would take over an hour. Even then, she would not know it from experience. It would all just be words to her. Even so, he did not have time for a lot of words.
Still, she needed to know what he was asking of her. No, he though. That was not quite right. It was important to him that she understood and made the choice for herself. He could not steal her, making her his captive instead of The City's captive. She had to willingly choose freedom. Coming with him had to be her idea, too, not just his. Could he explain freedom in a few convincing sentences?
“Hey.” Ford nudged Bozeman beneath his dusty blanket. “You’re snoring.”
Bozeman snorted and jumped. “Huh? What? Blackshirts?”
“No. I think we got far enough away from where their mysteries were happening. It’s time to wake up,” said Ford. “This thing has made several turns. I think we’re getting close to the factory. We need to get ready to move.”
“Move how?”
“The trucks line up at the receiving door, pretty much like they did before that city gate. We need to roll out and hang onto the left side. A guy stands on the right side of the doorway, watching the numbers scroll by. Once the truck is inside the building, it will turn left into the unloading area. We drop off there.”
“That sounds like holding on for a long time.”
“It might be, so get a good grip. Maybe we can get our feet on the rub rail. That’ll help.”
“And after we drop off?” asked Bozeman. “The truck leaves, and we're just standing there waving to the cameras? Hi, blackshirts, come pick us up? ”
“No. I’ve got a plan,” said Ford.
“Oh. More of your hope thing?”
Ford rolled his eyes. “Let’s get ready. These streets are looking familiar.”
The truck slowed and took its place in a line of a half-dozen identical concrete carriers. Ford and Bozeman hung off of the left side. Their dusty-gray fingers were hardly noticeable on the battered rim of the cargo bed. While footing was precarious on the rub rail, it did provide occasional relief to their weary arms and fingers.
“Here we go,” whispered Ford. “We’re next. Don't stick your butt out, or the door jamb will scrape you off."
The truck rolled slowly through the big square opening, passing from partial daylight reflected off of the factory walls into the dark interior.
“I used to work at that guy’s position, so I know what happens next. The truck will turn left, go up a little ramp and through a metal ring. When it stops, we drop off and step down off of the platform. The cameras are on the other side. Don’t stay on the platform. When I tell you, step back a few more steps and kneel under a walkway that will be behind us. You’ll see it.”
“What are you going to do?” Bozeman asked.
“I need to set up a little failure as a distraction.” Ford grinned. He held up a chunk of concrete a little larger than a fist.
The truck’s tight turns and bumping up on the ramp nearly dislodged Ford and Bozeman. Ford pressed himself flat against the metal side of the truck, Bozeman copied him as the trunk passed through a wide metal ring just large enough to permit passage.
“Now!” Ford whispered.
The two dropped to the deck and backed down off of the steel platform. Ford could see Bozeman quickly scanning the upper walls for cameras.
"There's one in that corner and down that corridor," said Ford. "That's why I said to hang off the left side. We've got the truck between us and the cameras and the one guy stationed at the door. We'll be fine here until…"
With a loud clank and deep hum, the platform jerked into a rising motion.
“It’s dumping. This will give us a few seconds of cover.” Ford had to speak louder to be heard over the growl of heavy gears and the thunks of concrete sliding against the side of the truck.
The platform had locked onto the wheels of the truck and was rotating to tip the truck upside down. Concrete chunks fell down into a wide hole in the floor. Three distinct sounds arose from below: a deep bam-bam-bam, a faster chigida-chigida, and rapid zhish-zhish-zhish. The sorters were separating the big chunks from the medium and small.
Ford tapped Bozeman on the shoulder and pointed to the low metal walkway that ran along the wall about a meter off the floor. Bozeman crouch-ran to the wall and ducked under the yellow framing.
Ford peered around the front corner of the platform as it began to rotate back to horizontal. The man stationed on the walkway across the corridor was not looking in Ford’s direction at all. He stared out the door. From the subtle head-bobs, Ford could tell the man’s mind was absorbed in entertainment.
A quick glance at the upper walls showed that there were no new cameras, only the usual three. One watched the door, one looked down the corridor. The third camera was trained into the dump hole and the three conveyor belts that rose over one side.
Ford knew from previous experience that the third camera could not see over the low walls surrounding the dump hole. Months earlier, the system had not detected a large chunk of concrete that fell off of the end conveyor, and he had to call in a technician to deal with it.
He crawled on hands and knees along the thick steel wall. The left conveyor carried smaller rubble. The central belt moved bigger chunks. The belt on the right side lifted the pieces too big to sift. Each belt dumped its material into open-topped steel boxes. When a box was full, a lift truck placed the bin onto the flat back of a waiting transfer truck. Ford had seen the process carried out thousands of times before, so he knew it well.
As a lift truck hoisted a full bin, thereby obscuring Ford from view, he hurried over to the waiting lift truck. He placed his chunk of concrete on the bed and quickly retreated to the shadows to watch.
He smiled mischievously when the lift truck set down its load. Ford’s chunk prevented the bin from lying flat. The truck’s locking pins chunked into place, but the container sat too high. The pins missed the holes, passing under the bin. The transfer truck with the unsecured load slowly whined down the corridor.
“Hopefully, that will become a huge mess,” Ford chuckled to himself. He crawled back and found Bozeman huddled beneath the walkway.
“What took you so long?” Bozeman scolded.
“Good trouble takes time,” Ford said with a grin. “We just have to wait.”
“Wait for what?”
Ford held up one finger and cocked an ear to listen. The crash and bang of carriers dumping their cargo in the hole and the staccato thunks of rubble filling bins seemed like too much noise already.
Yet, above the familiar din, Ford heard a different noise, a sharp clang from somewhere down the corridor. The man by the door jumped to his feet. Ford could see his eyes being lit up red from his visor. The man turned and ran down the catwalk, his boots making a rhythmic clanging.
“Heh. That was me,” Ford muttered. “Okay, while he’s gone, let’s go.” He emerged from under the walkway, ran twenty meters to a ladder on the wall.
“We’re going to the rafters,” Ford said over his shoulder as he climbed the rungs.
The air up near the steel trusses was warmer and smelled more of oil than concrete dust. Between the trusses, where they bolted to the wall, was a ledge about a meter in width.
“I found this place when I was coming down from checking on a grinder’s sensors. I knew it would be a good place to hide, although, to be honest, I could never figure out how I'd use it. I mean, there's no food or water or blue-water. Still, it will do for one night."
“It’s a little dusty in here…” Bozeman held his breath as he swept the ledge with his forearm.
“True, but we can spend the night here without anyone finding us. We can make our move in the morning when Ada’s on her way to work.”
Bozeman sat with his back against the wall. “It’s been a long day, but I don’t know if I can sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
"Yes, it is," said Ford as he pushed his back against the wall. He handed Bozeman a corn cake. They took turns sipping what water they had left. "I don't know if I can sleep either."
I still need to figure out what to do for meeting Ada – if she’s still here.
(end 18, pt.2)
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Post by 9idrr on Mar 20, 2020 20:22:29 GMT -6
Haven't things gone a little too smoothly. Are our boys due for a little excitement? Not that I wanna jinx 'em.
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Post by texican on Mar 21, 2020 23:03:29 GMT -6
I still need to figure out what to do for meeting Ada – if she’s still here.What will happen when Ada says no? There is a young lady waiting for him and he is too blind with Ada to realize it.... Mic, we have confidence you can figure out the meeting.... Texican....
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Post by mic on Mar 27, 2020 19:04:10 GMT -6
Chapter 18, part 3
Ford and Bozeman emerged from an air vent in a wall of an access alley. The air was cooler, and the tops of the apartment buildings were tipped in golden sunbeams. They patted and wiped their coveralls to remove the excess concrete dust.
“Okay,” said Ford. “There’s a camera at the intersection to the right. We wait until some men walk past, going right, and we join in behind them.”
“Sounds good.” Bozeman nodded. “What’s your plan?”
“Um. It’s a long walk to her building. We’d better get started.”
A group of five or six grays shuffled past the opening of the alley. Ford and Bozeman tucked in behind them, keeping their heads down and swinging their arms listlessly like the others.
What is my plan? I’m running out of time to come up with something.
Switching groups of men, the two were able to make their way along the pedestrian ways without attracting attention. It was a big relief to see no blackshirts stationed at the intersections. Perhaps the two had deviated from whatever pattern the algorithms constructed.
Ford had abandoned his call-from-the-shadows plan. He was not even sure Ada still lived in the same building, let alone had the same routines as when he left. Doubts rose up like campfire smoke, choking his confidence.
The only plan he could devise was to look for her in the Women’s Park. Assuming she was still there and following her previous routines, he would see her and signal to her.
“You didn’t really answer me back there,” said Bozeman. He kept his head down and swayed as he shuffled. “What’s our plan?”
“Yeah, well. It’s like this.” Ford licked his dry lips. “Ada likes to get a bit of sun and fresh air in the Women’s Park before she goes to work. The nursery has no windows.”
“You really think she’ll still be doing the exact same stuff she did when you left?”
Ford looked away to conceal any expressions of doubt on his face. “She likes what she likes, okay. Do you want to hear my plan or just snipe?”
"Oh, alright. What next?”
"I call out her name…maybe, making it sound like a cough. She’ll recognize her name right away, but no one else will. No one calls out ID numbers, let alone names. Once she sees that it’s me, I’ll cough The Place.”
“What does that mean?”
“Back when we were stealing little conversations, we talked about the roof of a clothing distribution center nearby. It had a women’s clothing side and a men’s side, but all under one roof. She had seen a ladder that led up to that roof. I found one on the men’s side too. It was all locked up, but I could climb the outside of the cage. We talked about meeting up there someday and called that spot The Place.”
“You’d never actually been there? How do you know you could both do it?”
“We just could, okay? When we meet her on that roof, we give her 99’s coveralls to put on and head for the tram station.”
“Did you just make that plan up on the spot?” asked Bozeman. “It sounds pretty weak.”
Ford frowned. “Is that all you can do, is criticize? You never have a better idea.”
Bozeman raised his hands in surrender. “There you go getting sensitive again. Don’t get all cranky. For now, tell me how – in your well-thought-out plan – we are going to get up to your Men’s Park? Doors won’t open for us without active visors. We don’t want to turn one on just to get up to the park. They’ll send blackshirts to check it out.”
“Agreed,” said Ford. “I have a different idea. Follow me.”
Ford joined a line of men waiting to get through a door to the concourse of his apartment complex. He motioned for Bozeman to get behind a different man. When the man ahead of Ford stepped forward, and the door slid open, Ford hurried over the threshold, nearly colliding with the man. Bozeman repeated the trick. The door sensors would only register the passage of active visors.
The gate to the Men’s Park was more of a challenge. There was no line of men to join. They had to wait. Ford tapped Bozeman’s arm and pointed with his eyes. A pair of men shuffled toward the door. Ford and Bozeman followed close behind them. Ford got through quickly, but the door nearly closed on Bozeman’s leg.
"You realize we're going to have to do all of that again to get out of here," whispered Bozeman.
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Ford was preoccupied, staring over the heads of other men in the park. He could see a few women sitting on benches in the Women's Park. None of them looked like Ada.
“It’s still early,” Ford whispered. “We just need to keep…”
His eyes fell on a small figure hunched over on one of the benches.
“It’s him,” Ford gasped. “He’s here.”
“Who’s him? What are you talking about? You’re looking for Ada. She’s not a him. I have no idea what she looks like so…”
“The old man that was crying,” Ford said to himself. “He’s the reason I got exiled.”
“He got your exiled?”
"No. It's not that he did it, but something about him triggered the hater videos that I wasn't supposed to see. I have to talk to him.”
“What? Why? You just said he was what got you in trouble the first time. We don’t have time for trouble. You’re here to look for Ada so we can get out of here. Don’t get sidetracked,” warned Bozeman.
Ford ignored his friend and shuffled a bit faster than he should have, taking a diagonal line one way then back until he could sit on the same bench. The old man did not look up.
“I saw you crying a few weeks ago,” Ford said out of the side of his mouth.
The old man sat up, startled. His eyes were wide with fear. “I didn’t… I’ve done nothing,” he stammered. “I follow all the rules. I respect the rules. The Matri are wise. The City cares for everyone equally. The City is…”
“Shhhh,” Ford tried to quiet the man. “I just want to ask you a couple questions.”
"I don't know anything." The man looked around for an escape route, but Bozeman had shuffled up and stood his way. "I don't…I haven't…"
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Ford tried to sound reassuring. “We’re not blackshirts, just plain men.” Ford smiled.
The old man stared into Ford’s eyes for a long time. He then looked up into Bozeman’s eyes. “Wait. You don’t have empty eyes.” He took off his visor and put it into a bag. His voice dropped to a faint whisper. “You’re from The Outside.”
Ford nodded slightly and smiled a little wider. “I used to live in The City until a few weeks ago. I saw you on that bench over there. You were crying. I wanted to ask you why but never got the chance. Why were you crying?”
The old man stared at the ground for a long moment. “It was The Day. So many years ago, but I always remembered them – my parents -- on that day every year.”
“You had a mother and father?” Ford asked. “Are you from The Outside too?”
“I was.” The old man looked at the ground. “I was seven. We lived in a yellow house on Castle Drive, but they were smashing all the houses. Everyone was ordered to move into The City. My parents did not want to go. They said we were going to run away to the north. They heard there were others up there – others who did not want to move into The City. We were hiding in a basement, but they found us. They hit my mother. She screamed. My father tried to stop them, but they stuck him down. Another man took me by the arm and dragged me away. I never saw them again. They took me to The City to live in a boys ward.”
“They were going to look for the River People?” Bozeman asked Ford.
“Wait.” The old man squinted into Ford’s eyes. “If you’re from The Outside, why are you here?”
Ford was not sure why he trusted the old man, but he did. Perhaps it was because the man was not a product of The City but rather, a relic of the before-times. Maybe it was the fact that he still mourned the loss of his parents – an emotion that Ford could only imagine.
“To tell you the truth,” Ford said, “we’re here to meet a woman I know.”
“And take her out of The City,” added Bozeman with a little nod.
"Not 'take,'" objected Ford. “Help her get out because she wants to.”
Bozeman rolled his eyes. “You get so hung up on words.”
The old man’s face lit up. “You have a way out of The City?”
“Well, I…” Ford did not have a firm plan other than retracing their steps.
“Take me with you!” The old man grabbed Ford’s hands and held on tight. “Take me with you, please!”
(end chapter 18)
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Post by sniper69 on Mar 27, 2020 20:00:59 GMT -6
mic - thanks for the newest chapter. Uh oh - sounds like things are going to get interesting. I wonder if the old man is related to any of the river people? Will Ford find Ada? Will they be able to escape? Only more chapters will tell.....
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Post by 9idrr on Mar 27, 2020 21:36:46 GMT -6
Coming soon, how to smuggle a party of 17 out of The City. I'm pretty sure our boys are up to it.
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Post by texican on Mar 27, 2020 23:11:03 GMT -6
Another to add to the party. Just what will Ford and Bozeman do?
Thanks for the chapter.
Mic, your readers need moar chapters to see what happens to the two boys, Ada and the old man.
Texican....
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Post by mic on Apr 4, 2020 18:24:52 GMT -6
City - Chapter 19 (part 1)
“No way, right?” Bozeman looked at Ford for corroboration.
Ford stared at the ground, his face scrunched in a puzzled frown.
“Right?” insisted Bozeman, trying to catch Ford’s eye. “Wait. You’re not thinking of saying yes, are you?”
The old man looked from Ford to Bozeman and back, his eyes wide with expectation.
“You are thinking about it,” accused Bozeman.
He pulled Ford aside and whispered hoarsely. “Look, we’ve already risked a lot just getting this far. We haven’t found your friend yet and whether we do or not, we still have to get back out of this prison.”
“I know, I know,” said Ford. “But…”
“No buts. Look at him! He’s got to be two hundred years old and probably can’t walk more than a single kilometer. We’ve got hundreds to cover. He’ll slow us down and we’ll need to travel as fast as we can…and why am I still having to tell you all this?”
“He used to live out there,” said Ford. “Remember the young boys we saw in the village? He was one of them. They looked happy. They lived out there with their families: free. He belongs out there.”
“Belongs?” Bozeman raised his voice. “What has that got to do with anything? We don’t have the time to put everything where it belongs. We have to get out as fast as we can.”
Bozeman tried to dial back his irritation and sound more persuasive. “Look, he’s lived in The City a long time. He’s better off here. He’s really old and fragile. I mean, look at him. He can barely stand. They’ve got medical facilities in here. There’s nothing like that out there. That old man is better off right here.”
“I’m not that fragile,” said the old man. “And my name is James, not old man.” They were not as far out of earshot as Bozeman thought. “And I know some helpful things too, like how to hitch rides on supply trucks to get around.”
“We already know how to do that,” Bozeman said dismissively. “Come on, Ford. Don’t lose focus. We came here to get this radio thing, get Ada, and get out. Are you listening to me?”
“There she is,” whispered Ford. He pointed with a tip of his head but his eyes remained fixed.
A figure wearing a pale blue pantsuit moved slowly across the Women’s Park. Her path included an occasional shallow zig or a zag but looked more deliberate than the aimless plodding of the others.
“You’re sure?” asked Bozeman. “They all look alike to me.”
“I’m sure. That’s her. I told you she’d be here.”
“You didn’t know. You hoped she would be here.”
“She’s carrying something,” said Ford. “Where is she going?”
“Who cares? You said you were going to cough her name. You’d better hurry. She’s almost to the right side wall.”
Ford drew in a deep breath for his fake cough but stopped. Ada disappeared into the wall. Ford stared, his mouth hanging open slightly. His eyes stayed locked onto the spot where she vanished.
“Where did she go?” Ford asked no one in particular.
“You didn’t call out,” said Bozeman.
“Call out to who? No one’s there,” snapped Ford. He was in no mood for mysteries or criticism. “How can she not be there?”
“I bet she’s in the alcove,” offered James from behind Ford and Bozeman.
“The what?” both men turned in unison.
“Well,” James shrank back a half step. “That’s what I call it, anyhow.” He pointed discretely with one gnarled finger at the wall on the other side of the Men’s Park.
“See that little jog in the wall? It forms a little pocket behind that planter. There’s a matching one on the ladies’ side too. There’s an air vent back there. I guess being recessed keeps wind from blowing down the vent or something. The alcove is one of the few spots up here that the camera’s can’t see.”
“Air vent?
“Uh, huh. I bet that’s where she was going,” said James. “The air vent on their side.”
“Look, old man…”
“James.”
“Okay, whatever. We don’t have time for riddles. What in the Ell are you talking about and make it fast,” said Bozeman. “What has an air vent got to do with her disappearing?”
“Well, I figure she’s figured out how to open them too, and she’s gone down in there to get around.”
“Too?” asked Ford. “You know how to open the air vents from the outside?”
James’ face scrunched into a wrinkled smile. With a quick glance at the cameras, he turned his back to them and pulled a stiff aluminum wire from his pants pocket. One end was bent into a little hook. “I use this to sneak out and go looking around. Not so much lately, but the air ducts can get you around, provided you don’t have your visor on. They’d track you then.”
“Do the air ducts connect the men’s and women’s sides?” Ford asked. “Come on, come on. Do they?”
“Well, yeah, but…”
Ford grabbed James’ elbow and started to walk toward the alcove.
“Hey, not so hard,” whined James. He retracted his elbow and rubbed the spot.
“Quiet. If you want to get out of The City you have to help us. Understand? Come on. We have to act quickly.”
Ford strode toward the alcove. Bozeman took a more circuitous path, managing to look more casual and aimless than Ford. Nonetheless, the two of them met behind the planter that stood in front of the alcove.
James shuffled toward the planter, setting the rubber feet of his four-footed cane a quarter of a meter ahead of himself. Only when he had both of his feet caught up to the cane would he move the cane forward and take the next step.
“It’s going to take him a week to get here.” Bozeman shook his head in exasperation. “How can you think we can get him out of this place?”
Ford winced as he watched James inching his way closer. What had he gotten himself into this time? He wondered if he would have to strap James to a cart of some kind and trundle him the whole way out. He would have to figure out something. He would not go back on his word.
James eventually arrived at the planter. He slowly knelt on the crushed stone and threaded his bent wire through the louvers. His eyes rolled around as his bony fingers twisted the hook.
After a dull clunking sound, the top of the louver panel popped away from the rough concrete wall. Ford and Bozeman quickly pulled the panel aside. Ford peered down the shaft.
“It’s a smooth metal shaft,” said Ford. “There’s no ladder rungs or anything. You said you’ve been down this shaft before?”
“Oh yeah. Many times. The last time was a few months ago but…”
“Never mind. How did you do it?” Bozeman’s face was twisted in deep skepticism.
“Don’t get all snippy,” chided James. “I’ll go first and show you.”
James clipped his cane to a strap and slung it over his back. He kicked his legs into the square hole and dropped in. Ford gasped and reached for his sleeve, expecting James to fall into the dark void.
James did not fall.
“What?” Bozeman stuck his head into the opening, incredulous that James appeared to be floating. “How are you…the cane. You could barely walk across the plaza. How in the world can you…”
“I was still on camera out there,” said James with his little smile. “I’ve been working on my decrepit-old-man image for longer than you’ve been alive. It helps if they don’t think I can get around.”
“But, how will you…” began Ford.
“The sheet metal flexes. See? You push out with your feet,” said James. “There’s a seam or a rib every meter or so. You push out and stand wedged on the little slope you made. Let yourself down to the next seam. Easier going down than up but…”
“Great,” added Ford hastily. “We have to get moving before someone sees us back here. You get going down and we’ll follow.”
“Yeah, well, it’s dark in these ducts,” said James. “I didn’t bring my little light with me since I wasn’t thinking that I would be…”
“Here.” Ford took out his luminar, spread it to full fan and stuck the handle in James’ breast pocket. “Now get going. Bozeman, you follow him down. I’ll close up the grating so no one knows we’re in here.”
As Ford descended in meter-long increments, he could feel warm air rushing past his face. It dried his eyes. The silhouette of Bozeman shifted from side to side below him. Soft thuds or dull gong sounds filtered up as each man flexed the sheet metal ductwork to create footing.
After descending fifteen meters or so, the walls of the shaft stopped. Ford dropped to the floor of the cross-duct, and plucked the luminar from James’ pocket. One shaft led left, another one led right. He glanced up the shaft they had just descended to see the glowing vent at the top and get his bearings.
“That way leads to the women’s side.” Ford pointed into the left shaft.
“What’s down that way?” Bozeman asked James.
“How should I know? That’s the women’s side. If they ever caught me down here, at least on the men’s side, I could play the feeble old man and claim I fell down a hole. If they caught me on the women’s side, they’d just kill me without any questions.”
“Well, we’re going in there now. Come on.” Ford stooped and ducked his head to enter the shaft. He held the luminar beside and behind him to light his way without blinding himself.
He chose his steps carefully, placing each foot on a seam or close to the wall to avoid flexing the sheet metal. After traveling a several meters, the left wall showed dark void. Shining his luminar into the void, Ford could see an axial fan at the end of a downward sloped shaft. The fan rotated just slowly enough to be able to make out the silvery blades. The airflow carried a dusty smell mingled with faint ozone.
“There’s a lot of these spurs on this run,” said James quietly. “Vents for the women’s street.”
Progressing farther along the shaft, Ford’s light revealed something hanging down.
“There’s a rope up here,” Ford whispered back to the other two.
His eyes followed up the path of the rope. A small square of daylight glowed at the top of a vertical shaft. “This must be where Ada came down.”
“A rope, huh?” James fingered 12mm rope, knots tied at intervals. “Guess she goes back up the way she came. I don’t have the upper body strength to…”
“Well, she’s not here now,” said Ford. “We keep going.” His voice was firm but the hairs on his neck stood up. He was deep into forbidden territory.
At the second fan shaft, he held his luminar in for a quick look. He could hear the hum of a fan motor, but he could see no rotating blades. His curiosity piqued, he stepped into the diagonal shaft for a better look.
“What are you doing?” Bozeman asked.
“Just checking something that…wait. I see more rope. It’s tied to an upper corner. She went this way.”
Ford slid down the shaft on his butt, checking gravity’s pull with his feet against the walls. At the dark end of the duct, he could see that the fan had been swung away from the opening, held by the two sturdy bolts on the left. The motor still powered the blades, causing a pulsating wuf-wuf-wuf of air against Ford’s face as he peered through the hole. The rope was tied to the upper bolt and trailed down the concrete wall.
A wave of wind began a couple of seconds before the whine of truck motors and tires became audible. Ford braced himself against the sides of the duct, lest one of his companions lose their footing and inadvertently push him into the path of the approaching truck.
The supply vehicle whooshed by, reversing the apparent wind direction. Holding his luminar through the hole, Ford could see that the rope led down to a narrow walkway that followed one wall of the tunnel.
“We’ve got to go down,” said Ford. “James, can you handle going down a rope?”
“Down, yes. Up, not so much.”
“We’ll figure out how to go up later. Let’s go before the next truck comes.”
Ford held his luminar in his teeth as he lowered himself down to the concrete walkway. Bozeman clambered down quickly. James came down with cautious pauses.
“Which way now?” Bozeman whispered.
“50-50,” said Ford. “Let’s try this direction first. If we don’t see any clues, we backtrack to this rope and try the other way.”
Ford sidestepped along the narrow walkway that ran along the wall. The curved wall of the tunnel prevented anyone from keeping their shoulders squared as they walked. He held his luminar out beside him in hopes of seeing a clue that Ada had gone that direction, or perhaps a different passageway that she might have taken.
For a flash of a second, a face appeared in the middle of the wall, about ten meters ahead. His heart froze for a moment. If he had been looking down or away, he would have missed it. He drew a morsel of comfort from the face’s quick disappearance. Whoever it was did not want to be seen any more than he did.
“I saw someone up ahead,” Ford whispered over his shoulder. He kept sidestepping forward toward the slot in the wall where the face appeared.
“Someone’s down here?” whispered Bozeman.
“About five more meters ahead. There’s a gap in the…”
“Ford?” called a woman’s voice. The face reappeared.
“Ada!” Ford sidestepped faster, nearly losing his footing a couple of times.
“Oh, I can’t believe it, but I am so glad it’s you. I saw a light and thought they had found me. I thought I was going to be in deep…wait. Why are you here? No. Who cares? You’re here!” She stepped out onto the walkway and threw her arms around him.
Ford felt himself melt on the inside. He had found her at last and she was okay. It was a crazy place to meet her but it was away from the cameras. He wanted to put his arms around her too and squeeze just as tightly but he still held his luminar and needed to steady himself.
“You disappeared,” said Ada. “I thought they found out about us and…” She pulled back to look him in the eye. A tear glistened in the corner of one eye. “I thought they killed you.”
“They kind of tried to,” said Ford. “It’s a long story and we don’t have time for all that now. Listen, I’ve come to…” His former vows to let her choose her future flooded back into his mind.
“Come to what?” she asked. “And why are you down here? This is the women’s side. Who are they?”
“Um. That will take some explaining. But for now, this is Bozeman. He saved my life and back there is James. It’s a really long story. Never mind that right now. Listen. We don’t have much time. I was exiled to The Outside but I didn’t die. There are people living out there and they’re free. They live free of the Matri…”
“Unless you count the blackshirts,” interjected Bozeman.
“Shhh.” Ford waved his friend to silence without looking back.
Ford tried to recall the speeches he had rehearsed in his head but none of it came to mind. He went blank after seeing Ada’s face again.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “People in The Outside? What has that to do with…”
“I don’t have time to explain everything,” said Ford. “I’m trying to say that people out there live free. They’re happy. Men and women can be together. It’s not against the law. In fact, they kind of insist on it.”
“Really?” Ada blinked at the foreign concept.
“Yes, and I came back to…I wanted to…I mean, If you wanted to, and only if you wanted to…by your own choice, of course, because it has to be your choice. Because, even though there’s freedom in The Outside, it is also a lot of hard work being free. There are no box-meals and you’d have to break flax and…”
“What are you talking about?” Ada shook her head slowly.
“He’s trying to say that he wants to take you out of The City,” blurted Bozeman impatiently.
“Not take,” scolded Ford. “I came to ask you if you would come with me and live in The Outside with me.” Ford smiled as best he could after delivering such a hack job of his over-thought speech.
“Oh, Ford.” Ada took his hand in hers and let out a big sigh. “That is the sweetest thing ever, but I can’t.”
Ford’s mouth hung open. “What?” He had been so certain she would say yes.
“Told ya,” quipped Bozeman.
--- (end 19, part 1)
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Post by 9idrr on Apr 4, 2020 21:08:50 GMT -6
So now we're hangin' on a cliff, underground... Who'll she want to bring with them?
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Post by sniper69 on Apr 4, 2020 22:51:22 GMT -6
Thanks for the excellent chapter. Now to see if I can keep my grip on the cliff while awaiting the next chapter.
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Post by texican on Apr 5, 2020 2:00:16 GMT -6
Thanks Mic.
Ford found Ada, but Ada wants to, but Ada can not.
Need Part 2.
Texican....
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Post by spacecadet12364 on Apr 5, 2020 14:39:36 GMT -6
I'm gonna guess that Ada got a "promotion" of sorts. She was a Tender....now she is or is going to be a Carrier.
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Post by papaof2 on Apr 5, 2020 15:22:31 GMT -6
So what he should have done was sing "Love Me, Tender"?
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Post by mic on May 3, 2020 18:08:33 GMT -6
Hey there, readers, sorry for the month-long absence. When my employer said we would all work from home until further notice, I thought it would mean lots more writing time. I was quite wrong. I'll admit the commute (from coffee pot to desk) is fabulous, I've come to realize that the hour (each way) on the bus was actually my protected writing time. Working from home has blurred the work-private lines, letting work seep into before-work and after-work hours. To be fair, it kind of compensates for middle-of-the day time taken out to do things around the house because it's light out. There is, too, the Honey Do List. When you're "just" sitting at the keyboard, it's a lot easy for the dear wife to make the big sad eyes about X or Y "ought" to be done. Sigh. Not much writing could get done.
That said, I have been waking up at 2 in the morning to get some writing in, or sliding the laptop under the truck and saying that I'm changing the oil...
Actually, none of those are true, but they sounded good. I have, however, manage to get a couple more installments ready, so I'll post those now. Hope you haven't forgotten where we left off.
8-O
--- Mic
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Post by mic on May 3, 2020 18:14:45 GMT -6
Chapter 19 (part 2)
From the end of part 1...
“What do you mean you can’t? You’re worried it will be too hard? Well, yeah, life out there would be a lot of hard work. I mean, people are expected to take care of themselves, but we can do it, and it’s actually rather satisfying. Yeah, there could be raids by some bad men but…but… You want to stay in The City?”
"It's not that I want to stay." Ada hung her head. "I would like to go with you more than you know, but I can't."
“Why not?” Her refusal simply made no sense to Ford.
“I can’t abandon her. I’m all she’s got.”
“Her?”
Ada backed into the slot in the wall, motioning for Ford to follow. The gap in the concrete wall widened into a corridor. Pipes and conduit ran overhead. Flat steel boxes and access panels lined one wall. In the back corner of the narrow room, a small light hung from long wire revealed a pile of blankets, some opaque jars, and empty meal boxes.
Opposite that stood a young woman who was trying in vain to back deeper into a shallow corner. Strands of long dark hair hung over her wide eyes as she glanced from Ada to Ford and back. In the light of the luminar, Ford could see that her dark blue clothing was dusty and rumpled.
“It’s okay, Dena,” Ada said soothingly. “He’s okay. You’ll never believe it, but this is Ford – the one I was telling you about.”
Dena’s expression began to soften until her gaze suddenly shifted to the opening. The faces of Bozeman and James peeked around the corner.
“Oh. And those are…”
“Bozeman and James,” Ford interjected. “They’re okay too, I guess. They’re with me. Ada, what’s going on here?”
“This is Dena. She’s the reason I can’t go with you. I found her hiding in the service way behind the nursery. She was digging through the trash and licking out old meal boxes.”
“She’s Matri,” James said under his breath, a boney finger pointed at Dena.
“She used to be,” said Ada. “She ran away. She needed a place to hide. I knew about this place. I bring her food and what supplies I can without attracting attention.”
“A Matri gave up on being Matri?” said James. “Never heard of that before.”
“We don’t have time for any of this, Ford,” said Bozeman. “You found Ada. She said she no. You’ve got your answer. We have to get going.”
“Hold on, hold on,” snapped Ford. His mind was still overloaded with the collapse of his plan and all of the new information. “Ada, what are you going to do here? You can’t keep her down in this hole forever.”
Ada looked down and fidgeted with her fingers. “I know, I know. I was thinking that I could…bring her some Tender clothing…and that I could maybe…somehow…sneak her up to my apartment…where…”
“What about your roommate?”
“I hadn’t figured out everything yet, okay? This isn’t easy,” Ada snipped. “But I will figure something out. I can’t let them find her. She’s in trouble.”
Ford realized the only solution to both problems. “What if we take her with us?”
“What?!” Bozeman roared. “First, this old man…”
“James.”
“Quiet! Now you want to add a runaway Matri? Do you realize how much trouble…are you completely crazy?”
“Maybe,” said Ford. He turned back to Ada. “What do you say? If we take Dena with us, you won’t have to stay. Will you come with me then?”
Ada threw her arms around Ford and buried her face into the side of his neck. The move caught Ford off guard. Her face was warm and soft. He could feel her breath against his neck. His arms remained out. They would not move.
Agh! She’s got it too!
Ford had never felt the radiation from Ada before. Of course, they had not been this close together, let alone touched. He had assumed the problem was confined to Outside women. His new discovery was disconcerting.
“Awww,” muttered James. “Just like mama used to do with papa.”
“Um…I’ll take this as a yes?” Ford asked the back of Ada’s head. He could feel her crying softly.
“You can’t be serious,” blurted Bozeman. “We’ll have enough trouble getting back out of here as it is.”
“Where are you going?” Dena asked. Her tone and posture had become more confident.
His arms still out, Ford said over his shoulder, “Out of The City. Bozeman and I have been living in The Outside. I came back to get Ada and take her…no…Iet her join me in freedom.”
Ada stood back. Ford seized the opportunity to take in a deep breath. She smiled, snuffled, and wiped her eye with her sleeve.
“Outside of The City?” Dena’s eyebrows drooped. Ford suspected that Marti education must have included the same dangerous images of ‘out there.’
“It’s not as bad as they say,” said Ford. “But it can be hard…”
“Is it better than here?” Dena glanced around her concrete cell.
It would not have taken much to be better than the dark hole she had been living in. Ford could only nod and shrug.
“Then, I’m coming with you.”
“Great!”
“Not great,” objected Bozeman. “Just how are we going to go anywhere with her? This was already going to be hard enough, traveling with Ada. We couldn’t be seen on the men’s roads with a woman or the women’s roads at all. But that’s nothing compared to this! When was the last time you saw Matri on the streets? Huh? Any streets? Never, that’s when. That’s because they don’t go down on the streets. They stay up in their towers. Do you realize how much attention we’ll attract?”
Bozeman adopted an exaggeratedly casual pose. “Oh, don’t mind us. We’re just taking some random Matri for a little walk. Totally normal.”
“Then she can’t look like a Matri," said Ford. He reached into his coveralls to pull out his pack. "She can wear 99's coveralls instead. Ada, can you do something with her hair, so it doesn't look long?"
“I think so,” said Ada. “Okay, all of you out. She’s going to change clothes.”
“Why should we go out?” asked Bozeman sincerely.
“Let’s go, dummy,” said James. “It’s a girl thing. My sister was like that.” He grabbed a handful of the back of Bozeman’s coveralls and pulled him out.
Since Ford left his luminar with Ada, the three men stood on the walkway in the dark. Ford could feel the rush of incoming wind and hear the whir of motors and tires. A truck rushed past them in the dark. His mind fashioned a vague map from his familiarity with the parks above them. The women’s street tunnel ran northeast to southwest. The truck that had just passed by was headed south.
“We need to stop the next truck that’s traveling north – going the opposite way of that last one.”
“Let me see if I can figure out where that might take us,” said Bozeman. He put on his visor. His eyes were bathed in blue light as the visor powered up.
“What are you doing?” scolded Ford.
“Stop worrying. I’m not transmitting or logging in, just powering on to look at some maps I saved.”
“What maps? When did you do that?”
“Yesterday, while you were so worried about my leaning against tram walls,” replied Bozeman. “I knew we’d need maps to get back out, so I did screen captures along our way.”
“That’s why there were blackshirts on the surface looking for us. You were giving them all kinds of dots to connect.”
“Pfft. Not ‘all kinds of dots.’ I only did it a of couple times and not when we were closer to here. Don’t get all cranky. We’ll need these maps to retrace our steps.”
“Yeah, right into their hands.”
“Um, if you don’t mind my interrupting,” said James. “Catching a ride on a truck is a great idea. I’ve done it lots of times, but most of ‘em only go to and from the industrial triangles. Individual supply trucks don’t go all that far. The edge of The City is a long ways off.”
“What do you think?” asked Ada as she and Dena emerged from the gap. Ada held the luminar up high. She presented Dena, suited up in 99’s old coveralls. The outfit’s arms and legs were cuffed to suit Dena’s more petite stature. Ada had tied Dena’s hair back and tucked the low ponytail down inside the back of the coveralls. If someone did not look too closely, it could pass for a somewhat longer men’s haircut.
"Four out of five of us are dressed as men," said Ford. "We'll need to find you set of men's clothes somewhere, Ada. I don’t think your pale blue will pass for a male supervisor’s slate-gray.”
“I hear a truck coming from the south,” said Bozeman.
“Then get down there and stop it,” said Ford.
“Me? Why do I always…”
Ford gave Bozeman a little push. He flailed his arms for a moment, trying to regain his balance, but he slipped onto the street.
Ada and Dena gasped as the whine of the truck grew louder.
Bozeman made no effort to brace himself for impact. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on Ford, his face set in a disapproving scowl. He held out one stiff arm toward the approaching truck. Its brakes squealed slightly, and its tires scraped on a few loose stones. The corner lights blinked as it came to a halt.
(end 19, pt. 2)
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