The Farthest City Read online

  The Farthest City

  By Daniel P. Swenson

  Text copyright © 2015 Daniel P. Swenson

  Cover art copyright © 2014 by Thomas Mihm

  All rights reserved.

  Contents

  Chapter 1 – Four

  Chapter 2 – Soldier

  Chapter 3 – Underground

  Chapter 4 – Gone

  Chapter 5 – Machine

  Chapter 6 – Departure

  Chapter 7 – Spliced

  Chapter 8 – Gliese 667 C

  Chapter 9 – Travelers

  Chapter 10 – Signals

  Chapter 11 – The Dead

  Chapter 12 – EVA

  Chapter 13 – Citizen

  Chapter 14 – Codec

  Chapter 15 – Iron53

  Chapter 16 – Five

  Chapter 17 – Chines

  Chapter 18 – Ice

  Chapter 19 – Gatherer

  Chapter 20 – Crash

  Chapter 21 – Welcome Party

  Chapter 22 – Riven

  Chapter 23 – News

  Chapter 24 – The City

  Chapter 25 – Smoke

  Chapter 26 – Offer

  Chapter 27 – Words

  Chapter 28 – Forget

  Chapter 29 – Message

  Chapter 30 – Divine Wisdom

  Chapter 31 – Unspecified

  Chapter 32 – Revelation

  Chapter 33 – Freak

  Chapter 34 – Ricochet

  Chapter 35 – Reboot

  Chapter 36 – Combat

  Chapter 37 – Destroyer

  Chapter 38 – Zoo

  Chapter 39 – Apotheosis

  Chapter 40 – Dirt

  Epilogue – Part 1

  Epilogue – Part 2

  Note to Readers

  About the Author

  Other Works by Daniel P Swenson

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1 – Four

  Izmit was a Digger. Kellen could tell right away from his dirty clothes, broken fingernails, and pale skin. The man sat beside him one day at a ration stall, ordered food, and turned out to the street, whistling softly and watching the crowd. Particles of dirt clung to the hairs on his arms.

  In his mind, Kellen sketched. Arms of corded muscle, elbows battered and scratched, dark eyes under a thick brow. Moustache like woven wires.

  “Kellen, right?” the Digger said.

  Kellen stood and gathered up his things.

  “I’m Izmit.”

  Kellen nodded, just enough to be polite, and edged back a step. He’d known a Digger before. He knew what they wanted, what they always wanted.

  “You’re a Drawer,” Izmit said.

  Drawers tended to keep company with those compelled to dig beneath the cities. Kellen no longer encouraged those friendships. He never drew in public. Digger, Lighter, Drawer, Singer. Four fools.

  Kellen looked into Izmit’s eyes. “I’m not who you’re looking for.”

  “You’re an artist.”

  “There are lots of artists around. Check the feed.”

  “Not like you,” Izmit said. “I’ve seen you sketching. Even when you don’t have a pen, your fingers move. You barely go out, don’t talk to anyone. What are you hiding?”

  Fear pooled in Kellen’s guts. Perhaps Izmit only pretended to be a Digger. Was he with the government?

  “I’m not a freak.” Kellen spit out the words like poison, then walked away as fast as he could.

  “I know you’re not,” Izmit called out. “Everyone thinks we’re crazy, but we’re not. We’re everyone’s last hope.”

  People had turned to listen.

  Kellen fled.

  #

  Despite being rebuffed, Izmit continued to appear whenever Kellen slipped out of his apartment.

  Kellen had hidden for five years now. He’d gotten skilled at blending in. Now this interloper had shattered his anonymity. Yet, despite his anxiety, part of him welcomed the intrusion. He’d forgotten what it was like to know someone, even Izmit, who wasn’t much more than a stranger.

  His loneliness bubbled to the surface at inconvenient times, driving him out to walk the city where he’d be more likely to run into Izmit. His fear of discovery faded, even as he derided himself. If they see what I am, they’ll catch me, and I’ll be disappeared. Just one more freak no one will miss.

  He walked through the city one day out to the Altamaha River. Other than recycled place names, little was left of the original Jesup as it had stood more than two thousand years ago. The New Cities were chine-built. Whereas Jesup nestled in the pines and flats west of the Altamaha, the city of his childhood, Grand-Mère had been all hills and lakes and dark, wet trees. Despite their differences, the two cities were almost identical in their basic layouts. Sometimes he expected to pass by his mother or father, felt them nearby in the home they’d shared, or where it should be, if here were there, which it wasn’t.

  Izmit found him sitting along the river bank.

  Kellen watched eddies form and dissolve as the brown water slid by. The river smelled of rotten logs and mud. “How are we anyone’s hope?”

  Izmit sat on an overhanging root and reached down to crumble damp earth between his fingers.

  “We were created by the chines for a time like this, when humanity needs help,” Izmit said. “The Four are the only ones who can call back the chines.”

  “No one believes that,” Kellen said, “except the chine cults, and they’re crazy, too. It’s just a myth, a delusion. And the Four who believe it, the ones who think they’re heroes, they get taken away, and they don’t come back.”

  Izmit formed a ball of mud in his fingers and hurled it out into the river. “You’re wrong. We’re more than that. We’re here for a purpose. When did the Four first come to light? A hundred and eight years ago. The Butcher of Yunxian. She imprisoned and tortured people for seventeen years. There were protests, assassinations. That’s the first time the Four come up in the records. That’s when the legend began.”

  “They killed them,” Kellen said.

  Izmit’s eyes lit up with a fervor Kellen had seen before. Cesar had looked at him the same way the last time they’d met. “When did the Four come up next? Twenty-five years ago when the scientists detected asteroid 5261 UV2. Just over a kilometer wide, and the government projected it would strike Earth.”

  “My family sheltered in the habs,” Kellen said. “I was only three.”

  “I was seven,” Izmit said.

  Kellen could see the excitement in Izmit’s eyes, and suddenly he was back with Pearl and Cesar, spinning stories about what they’d do when the chines came back. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He’s the same. He’ll get me in trouble, get me killed. Kellen felt the urge to run away before the craziness caught him up as well, but something kept him there.

  “Everyone thought we would all die,” Kellen said.

  “And the Four were there then, too.”

  “But what good did they do? They were all over the feed, then they started doing crazy stuff. A Lighter electrocuted herself. They arrested a Digger below the habs drilling through a factory floor. And the asteroid missed anyway—they nudged it out of the way. The Four accomplished nothing.”

  “Maybe,” Izmit said. “Maybe it got resolved before they could do anything. Or maybe they didn’t want it badly enough. Maybe they really were mentally ill. But I’m not. I’m solid, and I want it. I want to bring the chines back. Don’t you? We need them to return. The Hexi are killing us. You know it, I know it, even if the government won’t admit it. We’re losing this war, but you and I can change that. We can—the Four, we can change everything.”

  Kellen wanted to believe it, after al
l the hiding, the pain. He could see it. He’d no longer be a freak. He could prove it to them, and they would love him again.

  #

  The next evening, at the agreed-upon time, Izmit knocked on Kellen’s door. Inside, he set down a bulging pack and studied Kellen for a moment. Kellen had on what he usually wore on walks in the fall: a light jacket, pants, and soft-soled shoes.

  “It’ll be cold and dirty work,” Izmit said. “You have anything better to wear?”

  Kellen went to find a thicker jacket and some old boots.

  “Mind if I have some cola?” Izmit asked from the kitchen.

  “Help yourself.”

  Izmit drank his cola and moved about the small apartment, examining Kellen’s artwork.

  Kellen knew he wasn’t like the Drawers people talked about, covering every square centimeter of their homespace with rambling scrawls of chine symbols, circuit diagrams, depictions of the chines themselves like portraits of gods. Some ended up scratching into their own skin, babbling their visions out to anyone who’d stop to listen, until the government came to get them and you never saw them again. Yes, he drew those things, but he was discreet. He drew on paper, painted canvasses, etched metal, carved wood. Framed works hung from his walls, the chine elements hidden in plain sight, blended into other artistic styles and subjects.

  “I like this one,” Izmit said pointing to a painting of a bipedal chine standing on a hill, a human baby cradled in its robotic arms.

  It was one of his early attempts using oils. The chine’s head bristled with antennae, but otherwise its pose was natural and somehow conveyed the warmth and concern of a mother. It appeared human at first, unless one looked closely.

  A distant boom shook the walls, reminding Kellen of the building pressure he felt inside. As the war had progressed, the call had grown more insistent—draw more, paint more. So far he’d managed the impulse, not letting it boil over into mania.

  “They seem closer each day,” Kellen said, as some of his newfound courage ebbed. “People say Jesup might fall.”

  Izmit’s eyes narrowed, and his characteristic energy dimmed. “Not just here. King City, Xicoténcatl, Grand-Mère, and all the other New Cities are under threat now.”

  Grand-Mère. Hearing the city’s name cracked open a door. Familiar faces threatened to force their way into Kellen’s mind. “Let’s go,” he said, not wanting to remember.

  They set off in the cool night air, taking a path into the heart of the government district. Tall, darkened buildings loomed overhead. They passed through the plaza and down the north gate into the habs. The guards nodded as they entered.

  They avoided the broad, central staircase with its sweep of white marble steps, in favor of the escalators on either side. Inside the central apex level, they made their way past refugee citizens out for a late-night walk and rode one of the lesser-used elevators.

  They moved past the upper levels, where most people had taken refuge not long after the Hexi arrived in force three years before. They continued down into the lower levels housing the city’s power, sewage, and water utilities, even automated factories. Restricted access, but Izmit had a passcode. Kellen declined to ask from where.

  The elevator stopped and opened. Alarmed, Kellen looked at Izmit, who shrugged and gazed at the floor. The elevator closed and continued downward, but Kellen’s adrenalin surge persisted. What happens if they catch us here? We’re not supposed to be here.

  As they descended into the earth, Kellen felt a disturbing conspicuousness, as if the walls contained hidden eyes—this was how people like him got caught. He clamped down the lid of his mind, barely restraining his alarm. Despite the fear, a pressure lifted as if his spirit had been unburdened. Go with it, he thought.

  The elevator came to a stop and opened onto the lowest level. A soft glow from the walls provided illumination. Drips echoed. Ready to flee or hide, Kellen and Izmit explored. The passageways were built with a precise geometry, but people had managed to clutter the spaces with palettes of supplies, pipes and metal plates, and machinery left by the engineers who kept the city running in the absence of its more skilled makers.

  Izmit opened his pack, took out two short shovels, and handed one to Kellen.

  Kellen grasped the proffered shovel. “We’re going to save the world with these?”

  Izmit gave him a scathing look, then his face softened and he laughed. “We could use an automated excavator, but those require power and ID.”

  “Right,” Kellen said. “What exactly are we looking for?”

  They walked further along the passageway, their boots making clopping echoes.

  “A way down,” Izmit said. “We’ve got to find something below the city, deeper down. I can feel it waiting for us.”

  It? Whatever it was, Kellen took Izmit at his word. For once in his life, all his doubts had fallen away. Something’s down there, and we’ll find it.

  Tools in hand, they dropped into a fissure where the passageway had shifted and cracked open, unmasking earth. They struggled to penetrate the layers of soil, silt, and cobbles at first, then dense clay. Downwards, always down. Kellen’s hands chafed under his gloves, his soft skin not accustomed to manual labor. He didn’t complain. Thrust, pry, lift, heave. His thoughts dissolved into a rhythm of labor until he heard Izmit’s shovel clink.

  Izmit grunted and struck the bedrock they’d exposed. “We’ll try somewhere else.”

  They worked their way along passageways, Izmit running his scanner along the walls, listening to its buzzes and clicks. Kellen followed, carrying the shovels and picks. They’d been at it for an hour when the scanner died.

  Izmit inspected the device, turning it over. “Dead.”

  “Batteries?” Kellen asked.

  “Just replaced ’em.”

  Izmit shrugged and tapped the smooth walls with a shovel, his ear to the wall. They went along like that until Kellen’s arms and back hurt. He wasn’t anywhere near as strong as Izmit. He stopped to rest, laying the bag of tools at his feet. Izmit looked at him and walked back to where Kellen sat against the wall.

  “That’s enough, Kel,” he said. “We’ll find a new spot next time.”

  It would be dawn soon, and activity would increase. It would be harder to move about undetected. Kellen nodded and got to his feet. They returned to the surface and parted at the gate.

  Chapter 2 – Soldier

  Prone in the mud, pinpricks of rain on her arms and neck, Sheemi thought of her brother and felt the dead space inside billow out like a shroud. It settled over her until she couldn’t feel her own body, except for one finger on the cold metal trigger. The scope fed her eye a magnified image of a Hexi marching down a path a few kilometers away, well within the reach of her K91. Her K-soft agreed with her target choice, all systems go, windage and rain accounted for, laser guide cal’d. She waited for her platoon leader to call it. From the other end of the line, Danbury gave the signal—three short clicks. It was on. Weapons fired along the line as Second Platoon engaged.

  She held her breath and lightly squeezed the trigger. Her explosive round flew downrange, supersonic. She scoped the kill zone to confirm her shot. Her target had been reduced to a heap of jet-black limbs crowned by a splattered head and torso. You should have taken me instead.

  She smiled and looked for another target, but her squad must have gotten them all. Only the designated alien survivor stood, looking stunned. It swayed, and she thought it might fall.

  They stayed in position, providing cover as First Platoon swept the kill zone and recovered the prisoner. Danbury signaled to pull back—two long bleeps. Sheemi crawled through the brush as they withdrew. Minutes later, mud and fire leapt skyward at the position they’d just vacated. The Hexi artillery sent shrapnel whirring through the air. They waited for the initial salvo to end, then disappeared into the forest before enemy drones arrived.

  Nestled among tree roots, Sheemi ate something tasteless while Nguyen dialed into their company’s encrypted cha
nnel. Trees danced as another round of air bursts tore apart the forest canopy, then the artillery fell silent.

  “On your feet!” Danbury yelled.

  They ran through the forest, covering the distance to the linkup point. First Platoon arrived on their heels, dragging the Hexi along with them. Third Platoon had the perimeter covered, their big guns focused toward the coast.

  “We got ’em alive!” shouted one of First Platoon’s squad leaders.

  That’s ironic, Sheemi thought. They usually celebrated the opposite, but this time it was different. Their orders had been to capture a prisoner intact.

  The alien strained silently against its bonds, to no avail. It struggled, they beat it down. Repeat. Repeat.

  Someone’s round had blown one of its legs half off. The ruptured flesh gave off gouts of blue blood until Freddy sprayed it with sealant. The alien slumped over.

  “Is it dead?” someone asked.

  “Everyone shut up and take cover,” Danbury said.

  Sheemi joined the perimeter and stared downscope.

  “You think we’ll get hit?” Kelly whispered.

  Sheemi shrugged. Sometimes the Hexi wouldn’t reinforce when one of their units was ambushed, other times they came in droves.

  They scanned the horizon until the fliers rumbled in and took them into their bellies. Safe. She strapped in and slept.

  In her dream, Brin bled out in her arms. He was all shot up, yet he didn’t scream or cry or beg for life. “I love you,” he said. “Never give up.” She tried to say it back, to tell him that she loved him, that she wouldn’t, but her voice drained away.

  #

  Back at King City, Sheemi helped carry their prisoner to the lab. The thing was so large it took four of them to lift it, and it pulled against them. At least it hadn’t died yet. It must have been in quite a bit of pain, she guessed, but the Hexi didn’t make any noise. They never did. They were marsh creatures, at home in the mud and muck. The Army hadn’t yet been able to push them back, and the Hexi didn't seem anxious to advance. They kept to the coasts, within striking distance of the cities, building their floating compounds, round and oblong, like eggs rising up from the brackish water.