Logan was an early riser, up before the sun. The first thing he did, before making breakfast, was check in with Jody. Make sure the situation with the New Cali Network Management System hadn’t changed overnight. Sometimes he felt like he was sitting on a house of cards that could cave in at any minute, and his feeling of unease worsened late at night, often accompanied by insomnia.
Talking with Jody restored his confidence. The AI joked with him that it wouldn’t be long before it had taken over the entire system. Logan was sharp with tech, but his machine was on the next level. Jody had surpassed him in its abilities and acquired its own anthropomorphous personality.
He received an email from Zyler Salvini. The mechanic said he had a system update for the echo-pulse cruiser.
Logan drove to Salvini’s workshop. It wasn’t far from Hodgett’s compound. Like other survivors, Salvini had built a tall fence around his mechanic shop, and he’d obtained swarm ejectors through Stanislav Latsko for security. Organized law enforcement was long gone in the Big Abandonado. If you had property to protect, you were on your own.
He’d commandeered a well-equipped three bay shop and nearby residence. Adverse possession of property was the status quo. Following the economic collapse, and resulting mass bankruptcies, most of the city’s residents fled with whatever they could carry. Currency issued by the federal bureaucracy became close to worthless because of skyrocketing inflation. Local banks went under and once prosperous business owners felt lucky to get out of the city with anything at all. As a result, substantial amounts of valuable property had been left behind.
Living in the arid desert was comfortable with electricity and water, but when the air conditioning failed and the faucets came up dry, that once easy living turned perilous overnight. Most of the valley’s residents cleared out within weeks, leaving behind a handful of nonconformists. Some, like Latsko, saw opportunity in the economic apocalypse. When commodities are hard to find, it becomes a seller’s market. Others preferred the solitude. Antisocial loners like Zyler Salvini.
He introduced Logan to Chance Cribley. They were cousins but bore little physical resemblance. Salvini had a slight build, dark complexion, and full beard. Cribley was tall and well-built, with a red mohawk, multiple earrings, and numerous tattoos. And he was a fugitive. On the run from law enforcement in New Cali. He didn’t offer any details on what crime he’d been accused of, and Logan didn’t ask. But that was how Zyler said he ended up in the Big Abandonado. He was wanted by the Tommy Cops in New Cali.
“I need to find something for Chance to occupy himself with,” said Salvini as he plugged his engine analyzer into the ethernet port on the cruiser’s dashboard. Cribley stood by himself, next to the open garage door smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. It was still morning, but the desert sun was already starting to cook.
“Nothing for him to do around here?” said Logan.
“Nope. I do my best work solo and charge extra if you want to watch.”
Logan laughed. “Myles and Harmony are developing a new farm. Might need some help over there.”
“Ain’t no farmer,” said Cribley, puffing on his smoke and staring out the open doorway towards the deserted buildings on the far side of the gate. Perched on a parapet across the street, a pair of ravens scanned the neighborhood for an easy meal.
“Well, I can’t have you hanging around here all day, Chance. Makes me anxious.”
“Maybe I should load up and ride on then. Go check out the northland.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Is that your bike?” said Logan. An ultra-modern motorcycle sat in an otherwise empty bay. It had a large-sized hydrogen injection motor and wheels equipped with synthetic treads like the cruiser.
“Zyler built it for me. Armored fairings and air rams. When I click them on, I can take flight and jump over anything.”
“Coil guns on the fairings?” said Logan walking over to take a closer look.
“Yeah, they shoot tungsten flechettes. Omni-directional. I can disable anything. Cars, other bikes. Puncture steel no prob and you get hit with a burst in the breadbasket, you ain’t living long, bro.”
Logan paused to collect his thoughts. “I may have a job for you.”
“Doing what?”
“Security escort. My friend Myles and I are making deliveries to the coast.”
“Sorry, amigo, but I need to steer clear of New Cali.”
“No, not New Cali. We’re hauling water to the Eden Stacks at Mellowbreak Beach.”
“Where’re you coming up with the water?”
“It’s well water,” said Logan with a slick smile. “From the aquifer.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll make it worth your while. We’re getting a premium price. Paid in gold.”
“Sounds like my kind of thing.”
Logan hired him and said he’d give him a percentage of the take. When he emailed Myles, he said he’d provide Cribley with a place to stay at the new farm. To get him out of Salvini’s hair, because it was obvious the mechanic’s patience was wearing thin.
Late in the afternoon, Logan flew his wind lifter to Latsko’s compound. Franz poured more of the imported brandy, and the H gas tycoon put Dvorak’s Eighth Symphony on the high-grade sound system.
Latsko took a sip from his glass. “I talked to Myles earlier. He’s an optimistic man with a grand set of plans. He said he wants to develop more farms and encourage settlement. How do you feel about what he’s doing, Logan?”
“Myles has a big heart. When he discovered how badly the workers are treated in the Eden Stacks, it upset him. I was reluctant to go along with his plan, but the first five we snuck out are doing great. Working hard and they’re very appreciative of what Myles and Harmony are doing for them.”
“I know you’re longtime friends, and I like Myles too, but do you think his plans are a bit reckless?”
“Because of the water source.”
“We can’t become complacent. I understand your faith in the power station AI and I’m impressed by Jody’s manipulation of the water system, but the ice we’re skating on is quite thin.”
“Yeah, I know it, Stanislav. The possibility of getting caught is not something I take lightly, believe me.”
“I can certainly help Myles and Harmony market more of their food products, but the more productive we become, the more likely it seems that suspicions may arise.”
“Do you think anyone in New Cali cares about what we’re doing out here?” Logan glanced at the abandoned hotel district on the other side of the tall windows. A no man’s land of broken glass and crumbling buildings.
“I don’t know the answer to that, but my continued production of hydrogen alone could raise suspicion. I’m also concerned about the ability of the refugees to adapt. The first five are doing well, but the more Myles brings in, the more likely it becomes that problems will develop. Political and/or personal. He told me the new farms will be collectives where a group of unrelated farmers share in the proceeds of what they produce. That sounds like trouble to me.”
“How so?”
“Because the absolute equity of the set-up defies human nature. What happens when one of the farmers becomes lazy and stops contributing their fair share of the work, but still gets an equal cut of the profits?”
“Did you mention it to Myles when you talked to him?”
“I did. He said if problems crop up, they’ll work them out.”
“It’s his baby, Stanislav. I have enough to worry about at the power station.”
“I realize that. I’m merely playing devil’s advocate. Over confidence can be fatal if it blinds you to imminent danger.”
Logan took a sip of the fine brandy and changed the subject. “I hired Zyler’s cousin to act as a security escort. He has a fast motorcycle with armored fairings and electro-magnetic coil guns.”
“Does he have body armor?”
“Probably not.”
“I’ll provide you with it then. Three sets, in case you and Myles need it too. I’d also like to arm you with directed laser pistols.”
“I’ve never used one before.”
“I’ll have Hana take you out on the target range. It’s in my best interest to keep you in one piece, my friend.”
“Thank you, Stanislav, and I’ll talk to Myles about what we discussed today.”
The following morning, Logan and Myles set out for the coast with a fresh delivery. Cribley rode ahead of the convoy on his motorcycle to scout for possible trouble. He wore brand-new body armor and had a voice-activated transmitter embedded in his helmet. He was a couple of miles in the lead on the freeway, out of sight of the cruiser. Logan saw the incoming communication icon light up on his dashboard.
He tapped the symbol: “What’s up, Chance?”
“A pack of dust bikers are headed your way in the northbound lanes. Nowhere City Serpents. They’re bird-dogging a transport.”
“Are they harassing it?”
“No. But they’re following closely.”
“Could be escorts.”
“Sounds right. I didn’t see a logo. Might be carrying contraband.”
“Slow down and let us catch up with you.”
“Better yet, I can cross the median and tail them until they pass you.”
“Yeah, okay. But hang back a little bit. Don’t start any trouble.”
“No worries, Logan. I can ride circles around those crappy dirt bikes.
A few moments later, Logan and Myles saw the transport approaching. The median between the opposing lanes was a hundred yards wide. The dust biker pack was at least ten riders strong, and though a couple of them glanced at the convoy as they passed, none of them slowed down.
“What do you suppose the truck is carrying?” said Myles.
“Hard to say. Could be weapons or syntho-bliss. Maybe both.”
Cribley re-crossed the median after they passed and returned to his position in the lead. The remainder of the journey proved unspectacular. They’d done the trip so many times it had become tedious. There wasn’t much scenery until they crossed the coastal ranges.
“So, you’re sneaking more grubs out this time?” said Logan as they descended the west side of the pass and the ocean came into view in the distance.
“I want to do twenty,” responded Myles. “We’re ready to expand to multiple farms.”
“They’ll be missed. I’m wondering if Waverly will connect the timeframe to our visits.”
“What happens if she does?”
“I don’t know, Myles. Maybe surveil the trucks in the garage if she suspects us.”
“Did she say anything to you about the first five?”
“No.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about, right Logan?
“I suppose.” Logan slowed down as they entered a series of hairpin curves. “Jody says we can take water from the pipeline indefinitely…Unless something unforeseen goes wrong.”
“Like someone notifies the Directorate.”
“Uh huh.”
“Who would do that?”
“No one in our circle. But my concern is an outside party will put two and two together when they see how much water we have. Stanislav is on the same page. He brought it up when I talked to him yesterday.”
“Not many tourists in the Big Abandonado these days.”
“That’s a fact.”
“Hodgett bought that story you told him about an earthquake opening a path to an additional aquifer.”
“I’ll keep it going if anyone else asks, but no one is complaining about more well water.” They reached the coastal plain, and Logan picked up speed as they entered a long straightaway. “Stanislav thinks your collective idea is shaky.”
“Yeah, he talked to me about it, too. It’s his Eastern European background. He thinks I’m advocating communism.”
“Looks like the road you’re headed down.”
“That’s bullshit, Logan. I’m putting a couple of farms together and trying to figure out how to keep everyone happy. If someone comes up with a better way of handling it, I’ll go with it.”
“Yeah, okay. As I told Stanislav, it’s your project. I have enough to concern myself with at the power station.”
“I’m confident we can make it work and I’m not forcing anything on anyone.”
After clearing the guard station at the border, they reached the Eden Stacks. Logan turned control of the water trucks over to the service manager, and though Logan let him park the cruiser too, Cribley insisted on parking his motorcycle. He wasn’t about to let anyone near it.
They took the elevator to the upper levels. When they reached Waverly’s suite, the ambient AI detected their approach and the automated front door swung open as they reached it.
They were greeted by Adam, her live-in domestic servant, a docile lad who couldn’t have been much older than 18. He wore silky pink hotpants, nothing else. “Good afternoon, gentlemen, Colleague Mother Waverly is expecting you.”
He led them to the table in the dining room where they’d met in the past and gestured for them to take seats. Dr. Liang Hao, Supreme Illuminator of the Eternal Dawn, looked down upon them from an over-sized portrait on the wall. “I’ll let Mother Waverly know you’ve arrived.” He slipped out of the room and entered a long passageway. He padded down the lavish Persian carpet barefoot.
At the far end of the hall, in a well-appointed study, Waverly sat in a chair with her head enclosed inside a virtual reality helmet. The chair’s arm was equipped with a keypad and a joystick that controlled the device’s functions. An icon within her field of view lit up indicating Adam’s presence. It successfully interrupted her interaction with her replicant proxy three levels below. She clicked a button on the keypad and the virtual reality helmet lifted. “What is it, Adam?” she said tersely.
“Logan Writt here to see you, Ma’am.”
“Get them drinks. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Adam returned to the dining room. “Colleague Mother Waverly will be with you momentarily. What would you like to drink?”
“Iced tea for me,” said Myles, a teetotaler.
“I’ll have a beer,” said Logan.
Adam looked towards Cribley.
“Whiskey on the rocks. The good stuff.”
“Would Scotch be acceptable?”
“Yeah, sounds great.”
Adam brought their drinks and a few moments later, Waverly appeared carrying a briefcase. Logan had noticed her prosthetic hands in the past and how wizened her natural skin looked. Though her face had been through multiple cosmetic surgeries, overall, she looked as old as the hills. The platinum blonde hair was probably a wig.
“Hello Mr. Writt, Mr. Deloof.”
She was surprised by Cribley’s presence and looked him over apprehensively. He was one rough hombre with a brawny build and bright red mohawk, and he was leering at her like he’d seen a ghost.
“Chance is our new security escort,” said Logan.
“Delightful…Here’s your payment, Mr. Writt.” She set the briefcase down in front of him. “I have an important issue I need to talk to you about.”
Logan glanced across the table at Myles and thought about their recent conversation. Did she suspect them in the disappearance of the first five refugees? He shifted his eyes back towards Waverly. “What’s up?”
Standing at the head of the table, she put her arm around Adam’s waist. “We’re having a bit of a crisis in our resource supply.” She pulled Adam closer and began stroking his hip. “Would it be possible for you to increase the volume of water you’re providing us with?”
“The twenty trucks are all we have,” said Logan.
“Could you increase the frequency of your deliveries then?” With a sly smile, she slipped her hand beneath Adam’s skimpy hotpants and began fondling his rear end. Rather aggressively, and it was obvious to Logan that her unabashed display was intentional. Letting them see how easy it was and his lack of resistance. Cribley noticed too, and he gave Logan a look of disbelief and took another swig of whiskey.
Logan grew uncomfortable with Waverly’s lewd exhibition. “I’ll need to discuss your business proposal with Myles.” He finished off his beer and began to rise, signaling his desire to conclude the meeting. “Let me get back to you.”
“Of course, Mr. Writt.” She made eye contact, then tilted her head towards her servant and smiled. “And if there’s anything Adam can do to make your stay more comfortable, just say the word.”
They left the suite and took the elevator to the guest level. It was a familiar routine.
“Damn, that is one crazy lady,” said Cribley as they settled in. “How old is she, anyway?”
“Not sure,” replied Logan.
“And that kid, Adam.” Cribley found a bottle of beer in the refrigerator and cracked it open. “I could have some fun with that muchacho.”
Logan shut him down in a flash. “Forget it.”
Myles burst out laughing and Logan walked towards the window shaking his head.
□□□
After Logan and his crew had gone, Waverly returned to her study to pick up where she’d left off, using her artificial surrogate to overpower her captive slaves. Train them to behave properly before her influential clients arrived. She derived pleasure from administering pain and had the compassion of a hungry lioness on the Serengeti Plain. Her captive grubs were like vulnerable gazelles, waiting to be devoured.
She’d spent years on the receiving end of sex as a porn star, acting out the role of a submissive woman. Sometimes taking on two or three men at a time. Suzy Hongo was a shameless slut, because that’s where the money was. In white bread porn, the customers liked to see women on their knees.
Prison life changed her. To survive, she needed to be strong, and she flipped her sexual identity. From submissive to dominant. First with lesbians in the joint and then after her release, she acquired a taste for submissive men. As she aged, she grew more sadistic. The neural implant was where she’d lost her last shred of empathy. Suzy Hongo became half machine and evolved into a reconfigured monster. She avoided mirrors because it was hard to look at herself at 113.
She sat down under the suspended VR helmet. When she clicked the control button that lowered it, nothing happened. Looking towards the digital screen on her keypad, she saw an error code had come up.
“Adam,” she called out. “Call Rashmi and tell him to get up here right away. That worthless grub told me this thing was fixed!”
□□□
Philo wasn’t sure what had happened. He’d been on the receiving end of an exceptionally filthy bondage and discipline session when the Mistress Cynthia replicant abruptly went dead. He was spread-eagled on a saltire cross, and he worked at releasing his right hand from the leather cuff. Once he’d pulled it off, he undid the left one too. Finally, he was able to squat down and release his ankles.
He took a closer look at the replicant. Lights out. The thing was stalled out cold. He left the faux dungeon and walked into the main room where Caspian sat on the floor of his cage, naked as a jaybird, as was Philo.
“Mistress Cynthia just died.”
“It’s a machine, it’ll come back on.”
“Well, it’s dead in the water right now. You want me to let you out?”
“No way. I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“You’re already in trouble. I don’t know how to break this to you, but I don’t think that machine has any intention of letting either one of us out of here alive.”
“Just leave me alone.” Caspian pulled his knees up with his hands and buried his face between them.
“Whatever turns you on…I’m finding a way out of here.”
Philo went to the front door. It was locked. He looked for a way to open it. Was there a keypad somewhere? Or maybe he could open it manually, but he was out of luck—when Waverly’s program went down it disabled the deadbolt in the locked position. It was a heavy steel door. No way he could force it open.
He ran to a window and looked out. Fifty-four stories above the beach. That option was a definite no-go, unless he could grow a set of wings.
Philo became frantic, rushing from room to room. When he realized he was running around in circles, he slowed down and tried to think things out. What about the ceiling? But when he looked it over, he was unable to find a hoped-for access panel that might lead somewhere else.
Finally, he opened a storeroom where cleaning supplies were kept and he found a way out. A laundry chute. It was awfully narrow, but he was able to crawl inside and begin working his way downward. After travelling a few feet, he realized it fed into a bigger mainline and then he was off to the races, sliding uncontrollably, with no way to slow down in the sheet metal conduit. After sliding through at least eight or ten levels and passing numerous feeder lines, he reached the end and landed in a sizeable bin. Thankfully, it was overflowing with dirty laundry and cushioned his impact.
He crawled out of the bin and checked his surroundings. He saw a bank of commercial sized washing machines and dryers, and he appeared to be alone. Philo wrapped a sheet around his torso to conceal his nudity and began exploring. He entered the next room and found identical uniforms on a table, freshly washed and folded. Sifting through them, he found a pair of pants and a shirt that fit and pulled them on.
Philo walked further and found a hallway. He came to a dead end, retraced his footsteps, and went in the opposite direction. He found a set of fire stairs and walked down them, passing multiple levels. Finally, he came upon what looked like dormitories where workers lived. No one seemed to care who he was and where he came from because they all wore uniforms identical to the one he’d pilfered from the laundry level, except he still needed to come up with a pair of shoes.
□□□
After Logan and his crew ate dinner, Myles met with a grub named Juniper Garda. She’d organized a group of potential refugees, and he walked with her down the fire stairs to meet with them.
Myles was wary of hidden surveillance devices, but in the past, Sam had said there weren’t any on the grub habitat levels. Apparently, the ruling Guardians thought the workers had been sufficiently brainwashed, and spying on them was unnecessary.
He talked with Juniper and the rest of the current candidates in a common area near the entrance to one of the frugal habitats. “We’ll walk down the stairway to the garages, and each of you can climb into the cabin of one of the transports. Keep your head down until morning and you’ll be on the road out of here.”
One of the grubs spoke up: “So, you want us to work on your farms?”
“That’s how you’ll survive, by growing food.”
“How much are you paying us to work?”
“You’ll share in the profits when the food products are sold to New Cali.”
“But you own the farms?”
“No. Each farm is a separate collective, and I don’t own anything. We’re renewing abandoned property and making it productive.”
“So, we don’t get anything while we’re building the farm?”
“My wife and I will make sure everyone has plenty to eat and your basic needs are taken care of.”
“Doesn’t sound much better than what we have here.”
Myles was losing his patience with the troublemaker. “You’ll have free will and much better food than what they’re giving you here.”
“Seems sketchy to me.”
“No one is making you go.”
“I won’t then.”
The grub wandered off. Myles was glad to get rid of him.
A man who’d been listening in but wasn’t part of the group Juniper had organized stepped forward. “I’ll go.”
“What’s your name?” said Myles.
“Philo Cristaldi.”
“Do you mind hard work?”
“Not at all…and I need to get out of here as soon as I can.”
Myles looked him over. He was young, probably early twenties, and appeared to be in good physical condition. “You’re in then.” Myles offered his hand and they shook on it. “Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”
“Someone stole them.”
“I’ll find you a pair,” said Juniper. “What size do you wear?”
“Ten.”
She went to a nearby storeroom and found a pair of shoes and socks for him. Philo pulled them on.
“All right, we better get moving people,” said Myles, “and remember to keep your voices down in the garage.”
The return trip was hassle free and when the convoy arrived in the Big Abandonado, Myles and Harmony prepared a feast for the refugees similar to the one they’d made the first time. Except bigger because there were more mouths to feed. The original five joined them too. It was a packed house.
The next morning, Philo said he needed to talk to Myles about something in private. They found a quiet spot and Philo told him the whole story. How he’d been kidnapped in New Cali, details about the abuse on the fantasy floor, and how he’d escaped when the replicant lost power. Myles was appalled. When he repeated the particulars to Harmony, she was equally horrified.
Myles talked to Logan later. “Harmony doesn’t think we should keep dealing with Waverly and I agree.”
“How do you know Philo didn’t make the whole thing up?”
“Unlikely. The emotion he showed convinced me it’s for real. He was really upset and why would he lie?”
“I’ll miss the income.”
“Maybe we could find a new customer.”
“Let’s do one more delivery before we call it quits. In another week. It’ll give me time to look for someone else.”
“Okay, Logan. One more trip to the Eden Stacks and we call it quits.”