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With missile and laser, the Overwatch satellites had destroyed any moving motorized vehicle larger than a bike, as well as factories and buildings that housed large machinery. The cities had come to resemble the middle ages on Old Earth. Fancy middle ages.
The sats enforced the Quarantine. It had devastated the planet. Even now no one was sure why it had happened.
The manufacture of most things had become a cottage industry in people’s busy little sheds and kitchens. Instead of cars there were bicycles, motorized scooters, carts, and florses. Florses seemed poorly made plump Pegasuses. Genetic experiments gone wrong? They hopped rather than flew, bopping unwary pedestrians with their miniature wings.
Calli tucked her hands into her jacket pockets then pulled them out again. Nerves, she had nerves, and wasn’t that ironic considering this was her city. She owned it, if she ignored General Vass.
Who was she kidding? She had no power unless she could persuade this Drake to aid her.
“He’s not coming to me. So, I have to find him.” Having convinced herself, she dragged her jacket hood lower over her head, put her dark glasses in place, and set off down the road. Though her boots slid on rubble, she kept going.
Since around the age of thirteen, she’d not been newsworthy and so had not been in any family photos released to the public. Few would’ve known what she looked like as an adult, until yesterday and that eulogy. Ironic, really.
Now they did, if they’d watched the newscast of the funeral on one of the public screens.
The deeper she ventured into this part of the city, the rougher looking the people. She threaded through the groups she came across, trying to be polite yet silent. Speaking would reveal she was female and she felt vulnerable, as if her sex was a weakness.
Signs above shopfronts boasted of skills, some of which she barely understood.
Claw Manicures
Old Earth Weaponry Calibrated, Sold, Refurbished
Arranged Matings—minimum litters of three guaranteed.
That last sign made her gawp, until she realized people were staring at her, so she moved on. Her biology teacher had glossed over the facts about mauleons.
When a vendor drew up and began peddling his wares, she bought a bottle of juice, just to make herself seem normal. Swigging from it, she walked on, nervously scanning the faces, the body movements. Violence seemed entirely possible.
Sweat dribbled down her neck, sticking her armored suit to her back. Her boots squeaked and rubbed skin from her ankles. Not that the armor was reliable. The slabs of plating were two hundred years old. Hopefully, it would at least stop a knife.
Her father’s pistols rested heavy on her thighs and the backpack bumped at her ass. With every street, every step, they felt heavier. If she needed to use the guns, would she even shoot the right people?
She had to ask someone about Drake, eventually.
“Sir.” She raised a hand and was surprised at how it shook.
The man, who’d been passing, stopped. Yes, it was a human, long-haired, wearing mostly... brown? She squinted, finding it difficult to focus.
“Yes? Need help, miss?”
“I have to find a mauleon called Drake.”
“And you want directions? I know of him.”
“Wonderful.” Her boot slipped off the edge of a small rock. When she staggered, the man frowned and touched her shoulder.
“Need to sit down? I can recommend a place.” A sudden alertness in his features, an eagerness, made her wary.
“No. Thank you.”
Then she walked away, fast, without even receiving those directions, sure they’d be fake. In windows she checked to see if he followed. He was there, behind her, watching. He thought her a victim? Fuck him.
She touched the holsters and strode onward, drawing strength from deep down.
After turning a corner or two, she had to rest.
Everything was swimming.
