WILLIAM KAUFMANN

Chapter 1 – THE ARRIVAL

If he thought I was there to kill him, he was wrong. Circumstances would do that for me. His lips were black, one eye frozen shut, the other still open but drifting. Faint puffs of moisture iced his beard. Freezing to death is more merciful in the end stage. The slope was steep, and I steadied myself against the boulder propping him up, then watched that drifting eye shift into a lifeless stare. Security had warned he might be Anteater. I had never seen one in real life, but I knew they were vicious killers. An Anteater this close to our complex was a problem.

There wasn’t much to take—his worn leather aviator’s cap was typical Anteater uniform, his hikers still had use, no weapons. In his pocket were empty vials, perhaps some sort of medicine, and a thin silvery glove, a piece of old technology but still useful. I put it on. Immediately, its warmth surrounded my fingers. But neither the glove nor anything else he owned saved him from the wrath of the Desolation.

I slung his boots over my shoulder and headed back up the icy mountain path. From the upper valley, his figure looked like a grain of sand on the edge of an ocean, waiting to be washed away. The wind was bitter, temperature well below zero, my time outside already over limit. He died but a few miles from our upper gate, not that he would have found it. Hidden deep within the mountain core is our underground community. The snow-covered valley is disorienting — landmarks are few. Still, it was curious that he chose this mountain and this valley out of all the others.

The wind stabbed my face like a thousand pricking needles. Clouds poured over distant mountains, a waterfall of thick grayish vapor; a monstrous storm was approaching. Soon night would descend, creating an inescapable blindness where a hand inches from the eye could not be seen. I have never seen actual moonlight, nor stars, and tomorrow there will be no sun. Blue sky is only a fairytale. We call this era the Change, although there are other names for it.

There was a brief crackle in my earpiece, then a voice. It was Abraham, the head Gatekeeper, my mentor and trusted friend, watching my progress from the complex. “Brick… more visitors,” he warned. “They’re by the rock, looking at the body.”

Perhaps this lost trekker had companions. The cold was penetrating and with a malicious storm approaching, I had to be careful­, but it was my duty to go back. Outlanders wandering in our valley was dangerous.

The wind died, giving blowing snow a brief respite. Through glasses, I saw Abraham was right—four strangers stood by the boulder inspecting the corpse. A female on bent knee held the dead man’s hand. Another, an older male, turned and looked up. Shadows hid my position, yet his tilted head seemed to indicate he sensed my presence.

Abraham’s voice crackled in my ear again—he was seeing something I missed. “My god, Brick! Two of them look like… children. Let them follow you to the gate.”

Children are highly valued prizes. Opportunities for genetic diversity were rare. That young ones were still alive traveling in such treachery was an anomaly that contradicted the very laws of survival. I stood in the open, waving my arms, and they immediately ran toward me. Of course, they would—they were either lost, starved, freezing, or all three. I led them up the valley toward the gate, looking back only to make sure they were following. Robotic weaponry hidden throughout the valley protects me, along with the careful assistance provided by Abraham.

It was the woman who gained ground. The others fell behind. She wore a pack; long, knotted hair flopped from under her hat. She stepped lightly over rocks that made the others halt and clamber. Considering the circumstances, her athleticism was remarkable.

I ignored her desperate shouts as she pursued me. She knew their situation was grave. “Stop,” she yelled, “wait!” But I kept moving until the camouflaged entrance to our underground complex came into view. For the adults, there was only one question that mattered—what do you bring that we need? Their answers would save them or kill them. At this juncture, I was their judge and jury.

Steel reinforced doors divided in the middle, built to retract into rock. Without my permission, the trail was a dead end. The mountain jaggedly leaned back to a sheer granite wall that rose hundreds of feet to the mountain peak. The woman halted not more than ten steps from me, breathing hard, bent over, keeping a wary eye on my movements. It is a perilous situation when two strangers meet and life hangs in the balance. Desperation is unpredictable. I have seen it many times. We did not take our eyes off each other, although the advantage weighs heavily in my favor. The chase had been difficult and her energetic pursuit spoke well of her physical health. A small sound from the package on her back stunned me. She carried a baby. She swayed to soothe its discomfort. What kind of mother would risk her baby’s life for a journey like this? Standing at our gate with children would not guarantee entrance for her or her male companion. If the Community needed their talents, the gates would open; otherwise, their sentence was death, even though they had committed no crime. The real crime was committed generations ago by those who destroyed the planet.

The rest of the family arrived shortly after—puffing and not clothed for such temps. The adult male strained under the weight of a heavy backpack, his arm bent inward, most likely to protect frost-bitten fingers. If so, he had another day, perhaps two, before he became just another piece of a callous landscape.

And yes, two small children stood solemnly between them. I guessed them as sisters, five and six years old, maybe younger, skin color darker, closer to the male. It was doubtful that this family had the resources for a return trip, and most likely, they were good people. It was not their fault that they were here; no one should be here. Those who held the future in contempt handed this legacy to us through decisions based on self-indulgence and false beliefs. We are the last era of a history that will remain unwritten. It has been almost two generations since the sun disappeared under a vast blanket of clouds. Sunrise and sunset are now just words. I could not hate my ancestors more.

Their eyes shone with a grim hopefulness as they stood before me. The wind rose again, creating urgency for negotiation. Heavy breathing and the creak of boots on dry snow were signs of uneasiness as we stared at each other. The female, with piercing turquoise eyes, smiled to release the awkward tension. Words froze to her lips. This family had taken a gamble they should never have considered.

“Are you a robot?” The younger child spoke first. The question tinged with innocence and curiosity. This child—I could not understand why—was not afraid. She went to step forward, but her mother tugged her back.

“Luna, shush.” The female took the little girl’s hand and looked at me. “You are a real person, aren’t you?” She was the leader. She had already caught her breath, while the others still panted.

I knew they could easily mistake me for a droid. My bulky clothing gave no clue to my shape, except that I was large. On my right hand, I wore a thick rigid glove, which was also a weapon. The dead man’s thin silk glove covered my other hand. My helmet had a darkened visor, my eyes hidden, yet information hung within a virtual plain continuously analyzing my field of vision. This technology had already captured the tone and cadence of the female’s voice, which would help assess her truthfulness. It also told me she was on the end cusp of childbearing age, a strike against her. I raised my visor. “I am quite human,” I answered.

The female knelt, put both hands on her head. “By your grace,” she said. Her words were barely audible, her head bowed. It was a strange gesture I had not seen before. She raised her head. “We are not Anteater.”

It was a curious calculation on her part to offer information without being asked. It was obvious she recognized the dead body as Anteater, but at the moment it was not my primary concern.

“If you are carrying weapons, it is best you throw them down now.” I ignored her overture. I offered no welcoming introduction, no greeting, and no pity. Lying about weapons would force me to kill the adults.

The female shook her head as she rose to her feet. “No weapons.” Her voice was strong, not fearful, eyes penetrating. She seemed aware advanced technology scanned her every movement. She took a small object from her pocket, holding it up so I could see. My visor indicated it was a laser guidance pen that calculated distance, a harmless item. The interview could now begin.

“How did you find us?” It was a simple question, but the answer had to be precise.

She handed me a torn paper with a map drawn on it. “I bought it from a trader. He was passing through a nest where we were staying. The seller had been to the mountain zone and said that it was safe from Anteaters.”

“Did you know this trader? Did he have a reputation?”

“I had never met him before,” she replied.

“How did he obtain such a map?”

“It was a nest. People trade things all the time. He didn’t say where he got it. To ask is often a dangerous question. Everyone is looking for a safe place. I don’t think he understood the numbers on the map, but I did.” Breath steamed from her mouth. She looked directly at my visor as though she could see my eyes.

My scanning could not identify the numbers or formulas on the map.

Abraham was also looking at the paper. “Brick, I’m passing the map on to Eva. She will know for sure.”

There was no way they found us with this map. The outlander woman was holding back. One does not find our valley accidentally or by some map bought from an unknown trader. I stuffed the lie back in her hand. They were already slipping.

“What was your point of origin?” I addressed the question to the male, who was silent.

“His mouth is frozen,” she explained.

It was a common malady I had seen in others. She spoke for him, spinning a story about another underground community two hundred miles from here, where he taught children how to read. The wind began to roar, and I cut her off. There was no colony two hundred miles from ours. Time was short, the storm now quickly approaching.

I raised my visor. The man was worthless, their answers lies. The female could see it in my eyes right away. She was most likely the reason they were not dead. She was a good leader, but it was not a quality that gained admission.

“What do you offer?” The final question. Almost everyone spun a tale of significant accomplishment or their importance in a history already dead. The female kept her eyes fixed on mine. “I am a teacher and have knowledge about restorative gardening.”

She noticed my eyes perk, but it was not because of what she could do. She was finally telling the truth. I doubted the children were hers biologically. They almost never are. Her skills were of minimal use, the map unconvincing, and her place of origin a lie.

My earpiece crackled again. It was Abraham. “Ask her about protonic preservation.”

I followed his instructions.

She shifted the baby. “It is old technology used for safeguarding nutrients.”

The question was a test. It is far from old technology and has nothing to do with nutrient preservation. It was useless to go on. She was bluffing. There was nothing to gain by admitting her or her partner.

“We will take the children. The Community will raise them properly. They will have a chance for a productive life.” It was my only consolation.

A look of horror spread across the female’s face. Words stuck to her lips. The children clutched at her legs, unwilling to let go. I could just kill the parents, but this is not how we deal with a situation like this. We will let the environment do it for us. The parents would use their bodies to protect the children from the coming storm, and the young ones, if healthy, will survive. The parents wouldn’t. It was the humane thing to do. We had done this before. Children should not have to witness the murder of their parents. They were freaks of nature to have come this far, but since they had no valuable skills, there was nothing more to talk about. We did not need extra mouths to feed. I turned to reenter the gate; they had ten steps to make up their minds.

The female ran after me. A wind burst roared down the mountain, blowing her to her knees. “Wait,” she screamed. Her voice was a guttural sound rising above the howl of the wind. “There is something else.”

We call it the plea, or the supplication.

“What else?” My only interest was in something solid, something that would add value to the Community, and for her sake, something beyond the pretense they were hiding behind.

She did not break eye contact. She seemed to know that her life hung on her next few words.

“Please… wait.” She extended her hand.

I pulled her up. Her fingers took mine in a firm grip, radiating unusual warmth. My eyes shifted. Our clasped hands were shining like embers, encased in a soft lavender glow.

I jerked my arm upward. She fell backwards. I shook my hand as if it were on fire. The visor suddenly useless. An alarm within my suit went off, broadcasting an alert to Abraham. I heard the lock on the cold steel gate bolt shut behind me. The color vanished—she did not hurt me, yet her action was hostile. I raised my weapon.

“Stop!” She put her palm in front of her face, fingers spread apart. “Let me show you, please.”

She quickly shed her coat, unbuttoned her shirt and held it open, revealing a silvery fabric covered in small diamond shape patterns that delicately outlined her body. “I am wearing cellular thermal skin,” she shouted above the wind. Gently, she took my hand and put it on her chest. The same low lavender glow radiated from contact between my thin glove and her thermals. We stared at each other. There was a strange thumping in my ears, a heartbeat that was not mine. I slowly retracted my hand. Once again, she knelt and put her hands on her head. The family watched in silence.

“By your grace,” she said, her head turned down, her voice full of repentance. “Forgive my uncalled for actions. I am taking a risk that you will see something of benefit. We are pleading for entrance and our lives.”

My eyes narrowed. I felt disrespected by her hostile act, and I was not sure about the value of what she wore. There were stories about an experimental technology developed for space exploration with implications far beyond their intended use. But no one had seen it, no one possessed it, least of all a family like this.

Winds blew snow horizontally as the storm breached the closest mountain peaks and rolled toward us like a monstrous tidal wave.

“Cellular thermal skin?” Abraham’s deep voice filled my helmet, communication once again functional. “Get them through the gate. Now!” The lock triggered, the steel entrance rolled open. Never had Abraham been so excited about outlanders. I waved them into the stone tunnel. Mother and kids rushed in. The old man was too slow.

The storm was a searing mass of darkness filling the entire horizon. The wind howled like wolves and I shouted at him to drop the pack, but he wouldn’t. As the door closed, he took off his heavy load and swung it into the tunnel, then collapsed his walking stick and wedged it horizontally between the massive doors, stopping them from closing. He squeezed between the narrow opening as the first wave hit. We hid in a crevice as the wind tore through the tunnel. The old man hung onto his wedged cane, his body blowing like a flag. It was no ordinary cane; he was no ordinary human. He must have pushed a button, because the cane shortened and slipped into his hand. The gates slammed shut. He fell to the stone floor, and the woman ran to his aid.

The impact of wind against steel made a shuddering sound that echoed off the arched stone walls. What was happening outside was unimaginable. The children held each other as the female brought her companion to his feet. Their trust in each other was complete. They have lived another day.

“Brick.” Abraham’s deep voice echoed in my headset, “Eva has confirmed—the map is real!” I could hear his astonishment. A map with our location on it was a problem, a big problem for a community that depended on its hidden location for survival.

The family had managed entrance, but it did not mean acceptance. It was not even a maybe. They will be investigated, questioned, and interviewed. Their claim of thermal skin thoroughly tested. Then the Committee will decide whether they will stay or return to the Desolation. Even an exceptional family like this would eventually starve or die of exposure or worse, Anteaters would capture them. It is not a happy arrangement, but it is my job as a Gatekeeper. Written protocols are the law. Without these, there would be chaos in our community. The female wept as the family passed deeper into our underground community. Her hands clasped as if in prayer. She did not realize that I could just as well be her executioner. Their ignorance gave them hope. If it were any other point in history, they would be cursing me. They should be cursing me. I am cursing me.