Dark Age

A heavy rattling shook Maiken from her sleep. She’d dropped off – again. Was this a side effect of the treatment? She gripped the arms of the chair, her hands were greasy with sweat. In front of her, the security door was open and a series of lights blinked red through the holographic fog of the cockpit.

“Back with us?” Anna’s voice was hurried. Her hands twitched and leapt as she clutched at virtual ghosts. The craft lurched violently to the right and then dipped. Maiken felt her insides flip. “Hostiles locked on. A ground crew and a rapid response drone.” The wind was now roaring around the craft’s stubby wings.

“What?” Maiken yelled. The spectre of sleep threatened to pull her back from the world. “Where are we?”

“The wrong side of the NORCALA mountains. Scavengers probably. They – ” The pilot stopped talking and the craft twisted on its axis, making them both slam against the restraints. “There’s a bag under the seat. Don’t decorate my ship!” Maiken nodded and pulled it. She told herself she’d had worse, but her brain was struggling to put any details to that hope. The ship’s warning systems let out a series of cries like pierced pigs and Anna cursed in Russian. Two white hot stars leapt from the side of the craft and span off in different directions like drunken fireworks. There was more rattling, then a very loud bang behind them and the craft dipped forwards in a sickly motion. Anna cursed again and resolved the drop.

“Was that the drone?” Maiken called forward.

“No, no luck on that. That’s still with us and closing.” The craft rattled again and a few objects that hadn’t been strapped down fully, shook lose. A water bottle rolled by Maiken’s foot and she snared it between her feet. “Got reverse lock… c’mon database… Oh jeez.”

Maiken twisted in her webbing, trying to get a look at the hazy shape held in the cockpit’s overlay display. “What is that?”

“Not scav – sorry – not scavenger class. That’s military.” Anna’s steely gaze burned from the tiny mirror stuck to one of the screen struts. Maiken didn’t like being on the end of it. “Anything you want to tell me?”

“Not that will make a difference,” the old hacker replied. “They radioed you yet?” The pilot shook her head. “Figures. I wonder who ratted? Not that it matters now.”

“I got a sensor ping as we left the liftport,” Anna replied. She waved her hands through shapes and dials, the craft pushed itself forward on silent engines. “I put it down to Customs… Shit!” Another bright star shot from the side of the liftcraft and Anna pitched the vehicle hard right. Maiken just hung on and shut her eyes as sensors squealed. Time drew out on adrenalin and she waited for the explosion – it didn’t disappoint. Hard light burrowed through squeezed eyelids and everything went quiet.

Sound returned as if the volume level had been cranked back up. “Anti-noise,” Anna called over her shoulder. Maiken’s eye settled on an old holo panel that even she recognised: a comms unit. The system was processing and as she looked round at Anna, she could see the pilot sub-vocalising.

Knowing she was about to be traded, Maiken popped her seat harness and studied the pilot’s reaction. Nothing. She seemed locked in the debate with their attackers. Sliding from her chair, Maiken crawled and stumbled towards the back of the craft. There were no obvious weapons: no brace of carbines webbed into position, or giant wrenches ready to be grabbed. She spied Anna’s kit bag and rummaged through it, hopeful she’d find a gun or even a non-lethal.

There was a tension in the air. The craft’s position had steadied. “Looking for something?” The pilot’s voice purred with anger and Maiken looked up. Anna stood about a metre from her, a snub nosed pistol in her hand. The bright yellow casing was chipped and scared, but the lightning bolts on front of its emitter plate looked nasty enough. “Hands up slowly. We’re going to trade. All they want is you.”

Lifting herself slowly, Maiken stood. She still had one of Anna’s t-shirts in her hand and she let that drop to the floor. The pilot’s eyes flicked to it and Maiken took her chance. She twisted on her side and slammed her fist into the water bottle. Stale liquid jetted over Anna, soaking her face and spraying the weapon. Anna raised the weapon to fire, but it was too late as the safety system had rendered it useless. Maiken’s elbow slammed into the pilot’s stomach and she got Anna into a headlock. “There’ll be no trade, not today. They’ll bomb you out of existence as soon as you slow down. Put the gun down.”

Anna shuddered with rage and said nothing. Maiken increased her grip on the woman’s neck. “Do it or I’ll choke you.”

“You can’t fly this ship without me,” the pilot hissed. She threw the arc pistol on to a nearby canvas chair.

“Says who?” Maiken saw the drone overtake them through one of the port side windows. “I thought you were good.”

“I am, but I’m not stupid. Give it up, there’s nowhere to go from here.”

“Yes there is. We over the mountains yet?”

“Just. The LZ is a mile behind,” Anna’s voice had a notch of panic in it.

“We’ll never make it, they just want us off civilian airspace checks. Speed up.”

“No.” Maiken pushed the pilot into the superstructure and twisted her arm up behind her back. “N-no w-way. I’m not going to die with you,” she spat.

This one wasn’t going to crack easily, Maiken thought. Some folk were like that. She carried on pushing the pilot’s arm upwards until she shouted obscenities and the craft sped up a little. The old hacker’s eyes fell on the emergency pods. “Get up front and say you’re arranging a new landing zone.”

Pushing the pilot forward, Maiken scooped up the pistol and pulled an emergency pod off the wall. Anna rubbed her sore arm and stumbled forward, Maiken saw her face reflected in a window – it was set in hatred. She wasn’t surprised, the woman had been threatened, assaulted and was under the impression she was going to die. “Get back in the seat and I’ll direct. No funny business. I want the comms on speaker.”

Anna slid into the chair and reached for her straps. Maiken poked her in the shoulder with the arc gun. “Uh-uh, just in case you were thinking of spinning the ship. No webbing for you.” Anna’s hands danced through the haze of light in the cabin.

“They’re not replying.”

“Hail them again,” Maiken ordered. She reached up and knocked the mirror from the strut. Anna just scowled. “Radio them that you’re going to put down 2 miles north from here.”

“There’s noth-”

“Don’t ask,” Maiken hissed and she took a pace back. Ensuring Anna was busy with the comms work, she took a moment to read the instructions on the emergency pod. It had its own mini-lift engine. Not enough to let you fly, but enough to serious slow your fall.

Without warning, the craft lurched hard to the right and Maiken struggled to hang on. She saw Anna with a manic look on her face and one arm in the crash webbing. The other arm raised upwards and she flipped Maiken the finger. She made a slicing motion with her other hand and the craft tipped upwards until it was almost vertical. There wasn’t much to hang on to, Maiken slipped and grabbed for the nearest seat. Her arms screamed in pain as she jolted the sockets. Behind her, the void of the craft span in sun lit disco beams as the vehicle twisted in the sky. “Down you go!” Anna shouted over her shoulder and made the craft dance.

Maiken slid down the floor that was now a wall. She bumped into cargo, chair posts and clawed at webbing. She slowed down but she wasn’t going to stop easily. She kicked a leg out – her bad one – and her foot caught in the crook of one of the cargo net rings. She was thrown around and the pain almost had her pass out. The craft bucked and her head banged against the floor. She spat blood and pulled her foot free – the back of the craft was metres away and she let herself fall to it. “Transport to HG-786a,” crackled Anna’s voice over the speakers. “Situation under control. Returning to designated LZ. Over.”

There was a mess of junk covering the back of the vehicle. Used cups, water bottles, magazines, a jumble of Anna’s clothes and – yes! – the emergency pod. Maiken seized the device and struggled into the straps. Her right arm complained but she got it on. Anna started to straighten the vehicle up again. Maiken’s gaze slid up the wall towards the hatch button. Reaching up, she slammed her hand into it and a warning klaxon fired. “What the hell are you doing?!” Anna screamed over the speakers.

There was no time to answer, debris and Maiken where thrown from the back of the liftcraft as the emergency systems blew the back cargo doors away. Sky earth sky earth sky earth went the terrain until Maiken managed to hit the pod’s central dial. She felt the nausea kick in as the tiny lift engine surged into life. Straps dug into her body as they self tightened and the unit fought to stabilise and slow her down.

She was passed the mountains and she could see houses and the odd road through the desert scrub. Anna’s craft was far in the distance and she saw it bank hard. It spat out more hot chaff as the drone chased it down. Maiken took her eye off it as she risked another look down. “Oh dear Lord,” she whispered as the situation sank in. If it was lack of oxygen or the damned implant, Maiken felt herself begin to nod. Terror kept the sleep at bay for a few minutes and she felt herself slowing more and more. She could see dead palm trees, a sandbanked road and – further away – the fringes of NORCALA: the Northern Californian Alliance. “Time,” she whispered to herself and then darkness claimed her.

The blacktech’s van rolled along the broken highway. Mountains and the desert giving way to the flat, dead scrub that had been bio-oil plantations, ranches or solar farms. Nature had fought back, made savage by a petro-chemical kicking and was winning clawed hands down. Maiken would look out of the small window from time to time. Dead gas stops and gutted strip malls hung to the spine of the road like so many broken ribs. Fossils of a former civilisation. The wilderness was truly that: wild and untamed. The journey dragged on and despite her worries, a fitful sleep claimed her.

A knocking noise startled her. “Hey. Wake up Smith.” Jonas’s voice pulled her from rest and she came too. Damn these old bones, she thought and nodded to his summons.

“Where are we?” Maiken tried to blink the sleep from her gaze. It was like pulling her way from under a thick throw.

“The edges of Fresno,” Jonas answered. She could see regular buildings through the heavy glass. Fear grabbed her heart and she gripped the seat. “S’okay,” Jonas whispered. “You’re cool for another day or so yet. The unit next to your seat, it’s checking that brain crab for activity. It’s sleeping.” He looker her straight in the eye. “You’re safe.”

Maiken swallowed and reached for the remainder of the water. Unscrewing the cap, she drank what was left. It was unlike anything she could remember: it was tasteless, just wet. There was no grit, no tang of rust to it. She swilled it around her mouth carefully, enjoying the simple pleasure. Swallowing, she asked: “Fresno’s changed a bit.”

Jonas looked out of the front window. “Sure has. They’ve got sand crawlers pushing the stuff back. Stops the outlanders coming in over the city walls.” He tapped a featureless black box that had been wedged in place of a stereo system. “Today we’re Truck 15 from U-Ship-It. No stops for us. Straight to the airport with our parcel.” He turned and grinned. “That’ll be you. Cash on delivery.”

Maiken almost laughed out loud. She’d not had company for so long. “Don’t worry, I won’t forget. Just get me to the LZ – ” Jonas gave her a confused look ” – the landing zone and we’ll be straight. I just need your cell.” The beefcake chuckled. “I say something funny?”

“Nobody calls them that. Not for years,” he rumbled. Maiken couldn’t see his face, but the tone was pleasant. “Mobies now. Just like the Euros call them.”

He meant well, but the point was driven home: she’d been away for so long. Not just away from friends, but from the world. Jonas broke the silence. “We’re coming up to the lift-port. There’s a Nancy – sorry, NC5 class – lift craft that’ll take you wherever you’re booked.”

The van slowed down for a check point and the box in the dash whistled as it powered up. A moment later they were snaking through some buildings. Big ones by the look of it as they cast a shadow over the vehicle. “Here,” grunted the big guard. “Out now.” Both him and Jonas climbed out, the doors pulling themselves shut with a slight hiss. Glare leapt into the back as someone opened the door. Maiken screwed her eyes shut and groped for her goggles. A big hand took hers and thrust a set of glasses into them. “These,” he said pulling her onwards. “The others no good.”

Stumbling into the light, she was helped down to stand on the swept concrete. Slipping the glasses on, she found herself stood at the back of the van under a canopy of treated smart-canvas. It rippled slowly in the light wind like a lazy wave. No doubt it was generating power, they’d had that tech before she was exiled. “Thanks,” she managed. Her manners were taking a while to come back.

Jonas reached to the side of her and pulled out a plastic bag with something in it. “Here, it – it’s for the trip. Included in the price.” She held clean clothes in her hand. Something that hadn’t been rinsed in water that’d been recycled more times than spacer’s piss. I must stink, she thought. It was something you got used to.

Again, Maiken forgot her manners. “Sorry… Thanks.”

The big man spoke. “The craft. This way.” She followed him as Jonas shut the van up. He took big strides and she struggled to keep up with him, her bad leg twinging with each loping stride. There was a scuttle of trainers against dry concrete as Jonas caught up with them. He kept his distance to the side, an old street gesture: don’t spook the customer.

Tucked under the canvas was something that looked like a converted helicopter. The rotors where gone and four egg shaped pods had been strung out in a diamond shaped rig that slid from the fuselage. Two pods hung out from the sides and a fat round one hung under the cock-pit like a yellow plastic boil. “NC5 cargo unit,” the beef muttered. “Pilot will be along soon. Our task ends when you get on.”

A door on the side opened as they drew nearer. A lithe figure – a woman? yes, a woman – with blonde dreadlocks waved a hello. She climbed down and stood by her craft. A data socket with a shiny chrome button was stuck at the side of her temple. There’s not even any wires anymore, Maiken thought as she waved back.

Jonas removed his cell – no, mobie – from his pocket and offered it to Maiken. “This is as far as we go,” he said. “You can call from inside the craft if you want.” He raised a hand to cut some of the sun from his eyes. The shadow of the bodyguard slipped away as he moved back towards the van.

“It’s cool,” Maiken said and smiled to him. She held the unit width ways in her left hand as the other danced over the holographic keyboard. Jonas looked surprised. “Ex-typist,” she joked and he grinned.

“Whatever, lady. I don’t want to know.” As she handed the unit back to him, it let out a bleep. “Nice doing business with you. The funds will be cleared after you take.” He bowed from the waist – a very formal oriental gesture -and put the mobie away. “Have a nice life. Just remember: 41 hours and 15 minutes.” Concern showed in his eyes. Word would get out if he’d botched the timing. Stuff like that always did. Maiken nodded and she walked away.

Paranoia painted a laser target on her back as she walked up to the craft. She’d read about them on the Network, but never seen one. They’d been built long after her time away. Seems everything was wireless now: people and transport. There were warning decals stuck on the lift pods and as she walked by one, felt a queasy sensation in the pit of her tummy. A small notice stated: “Caution: Strong Field: Do not approach when operational.”

“Hi,” muttered the pilot. “Just you is there?” Maiken nodded. “That your carry on?” She gestured to the wrapped up overall and the half full bottle of water.

“Yeah,” she drawled back picking up on the woman’s Norcala accent. “Not much to bring with me.”

“Anna,” the pilot replied and pushed out a fist slowly. They touched knuckles. Maiken wondered why people still did that as Anna twisted to allow her up the small ramp.

“Maiken,” she replied and climbed in. The inside was cool and was packed with crates held down with webbing. A cluster of four flight chairs with four point harnesses had been fitted to the craft and the security door of the pilot’s bubble was open. “Nice craft,” she said smiling.

“Had this old girl for a while,” Anna replied and patted one of the bulkheads affectionately. “SouthAm export and refitted during the Alaska Uprising. Ice and rotors ain’t a good mix. Spin engines are the way to go. Slot on, slot off. They rock.”

Unable to understand the conversation, Maiken nodded and made her way to the chair and sat herself down. Anna pulled the door shut and made her way to the cock pit at the front. She made a gesture with her hands and the craft seemed to stretch into position like a cat waking up. “Terminal 54, Longport, Norcala, right?”

“That’s right. Just by the docks.”

“P.O.D too,” Anna continued as she turned her back and prodded a few switches. “Just get yourself comfortable and don’t worry about a thing. We like Payment on Delivery, no messing with cash. Traceless stuff.” She grinned showing a collection white smile peppered with stone and gold teeth. “Don’t know where you came from and I don’t know where you’re headed. Cargo’s cargo – no offence.”

“None taken,” Maiken replied and got the harness on. She fidgeted a bit and then got the headrest just so.

“Gonna taxi out,” Anna called over her shoulder as she hauled herself into the flight chair. “Just sit tight and I’ll flick on the comm if you want to talk. Just give me until the green light goes on when we’re up, okay?”

Maiken nodded and was surprised when the craft glided forward. There was no grunt of engines or growl of fuel: no wonder the military had gone batsh** for these things. Her old quad bike had made more noise. She listened carefully and there was a very delicate humming coming from the right hand engine. In front of her, the security door flowed shut sealing Anna in her pilot’s bubble.

Maiken looked out of the window as they slipped across the concrete along a painted line of bright orange. The line curved around and she noticed that Jonas had gone. She wondered what he might spend the money on. Another soul she’d bumped into and chances are, would never see again. Random encounters, an ex would say. The line curved around into the open area of the lift port. A few craft hung high in the bright blue-white sky, they didn’t circle, just wait like children’s toys hung from a ceiling or bunk.

They followed the line until they reached a circle of orange and white stripes. Static hissed in a hidden speaker: “We’re clear,” Anna’s voice whispered from everywhere. Before she could say anything, the craft lifted diagonally upwards, its nose dipping only slightly. Maiken felt her stomach drop and her head was suddenly very heavy. The ground dropped away in virtual silence, there was no roar of engines or rumble of wheels, just the growing whistle of the wind. She put her head back and closed her eyes. She didn’t like flying, why had she let the midman talk her into taking a lift-craft? Ahh, time. Time was the old enemy.

Sand hissed against the pitted form of the old diner, swirling against scuffed glass and blasted plastic. Fine grains would dance and swirl across the retro tiles glued and pealing on the uneven floor. The desert seemed to wash everything out to a hideous beige.

A figure sat hunched in the shade of the fallen roof, while a white sun seared the fallen row of stools by the bar. No-one came here any more. There was no solar, no juice and thanks to an old biker’s rifle, the network link was dead too. Maiken sat fanning herself in nomad rags. A make-shift battery pack and signal jammer rested by her boot. A sawn-off shotgun hung from a rope by her arm, the double barrel filled with the one cartridge and she didn’t fancy her chances on that.

The woman looked up and listened. Yes. Someone was coming. She unscrewed the cap from her water bottle and took a swig. The contents where the wrong side of warm, but at least it wet her throat. A truck’s engine sang in the distance and she moved to get a better look: just a peak from behind the bar.

The vehicle slipped from the sand covered road and bumped onto the hardpan, circling the old building twice before stopping. Two men got out: a short guy with what looked like a mechanic’s toolbox by his side and a walking slab of beef. Both wore sunglasses to try and stop the glare, but only the hired muscle had got them right, the short guy’s glasses looked cool, but his face was so screwed up, Maiken wondered if he could see.

The two stepped apart and a long barrelled pistol dropped into the hand of the beefcake. “Smith?” called the short guy. “Tullen sent us.” He raised the toolbox and put his other arm to cover his eyes. Maiken had planned well and they’d parked up looking straight into the glare. She hoped she didn’t need that advantage.

“We know you’re in there,” the short guy called out. There was humour in his voice, but no cruelty. “Tullen said to say that the rose garden visit is off.”

“I’m in here,” Maiken called to him. At least Tullen had sent them. He loved those odd-ball phrases of his. She couldn’t resist a smirk at the memory of her last job from him. Code words and phrases like something from an old movie.

The short guy lowered the box and craned his neck. “You mind if coming out, or you want us in?” He looked to his accomplice, who shook his head. “Nix that, you better come out.”

Maiken checked the jammer and moved to the door. She made a show of lumbering by the windows so they’d get a good view of her. The scratched plexiglass had offered a little shade, no wonder shortie was squinting so much. “You got it?” she asked.

“Right here,” the techie replied. “I’m Jonah. This is – ” He looked to his bodyguard, but he just shrugged. ” – a friend. Just in case, y’know? You got the money?”

“No,” Maiken said flatly. “Tullen’s got the remaining half. I blurt him from civilisation and you get the rest. Just like we agreed.”

Jonah nodded. “S’right. You want to do it in there, or you want to catch some A/C in the van?”

Maiken wasn’t sure. Either way they’d be tapping her brain, or rather tapping that cybernetic vampire in her head. There was no point pissing about. Time was not on her side, a blurt to a dummy social networking site tipped her off about the UNPS plans for the monthly death signals. Anyone with a brain crab who picked up one of those signals was gone. A brain pulping thrash of a ride than only ended up one way: death. She’d managed to stall a dozen of them, hoping that hers wouldn’t stand out amongst the other exiles.

The beef spoke, his dark skin almost as thick as his accent. “Come inside,” he rumbled. “Look. I will put my gun away. You, you do the same.” He holstered the hand cannon that hung from his arm. He raised both hands. Maiken had no doubt he had other stuff tucked away, but no was not the time for power games.

“Okay,” she nodded and undid her headscarf. She held up an arm and very slowly, let the sawn-off be lowered to the floor. Bending – and wincing at the pain in her leg – she picked it up barrel first and opened the breach.

“Trouble?” Jonas asked pointing at her leg. “You should have said. I got a stack of medi-tabs in the back. Good price and a good date on them.”

“Maybe later,” Maiken answered and walked slowly towards them.

Jonas nodded at the battery pack and jammer. “What’s that?”

“Protection from the network,” Maiken answered. Jonas nodded and moved back towards the truck. He and his guard opened the back doors slowly, letting Maiken see inside. It was all a trust game. If they stiffed her over, their reputation wouldn’t be worth a damn. Of course, reputations come and go and they’re no consolation to a dead guy.

Once inside, the guard closed the doors and Jonas turned up the air-con. It was sweet bliss, a welcome as a cool summer’s night in the valley. “You want a drink?” he asked. “No charge. I got water.”

Maiken nodded as she took in the packed shelves with unknown components and masses of cables or tools. There was a small fridge somewhere in there and Jonas handed her an unopened bottle of Artic H2O – ‘no rads or your money back!’ sang the label. Pulling open a packet of baby’s wet wipes, Jonas pulled out a long bench from the side of the packed van and patted it. “Please. Lay down here and we’ll begin. When did you get this fitted?”

“I – I can’t remember,” she said as he wiped the muck from her forehead.

“No biggie,” he said looking over her. “The scanner – ” He tapped something out on a flat plate of black glass. ” – it’ll pick it up. Yeah. It’s a 3-0-A series. Nasty as there’s a bit of plastique in there too. I can’t removed that here, but I can make it sleep. You got your tickets booked?”

Maiken nodded as he applied some ‘trodes to her forehead. “Tullen’s sorting me out. Some friend of his in Norcala.”

“I don’t want to know,” Jonas smiled and tapped on the plate again. “If it’s Jess, say hi from me. She’s solid.” He tapped a few more times. “Okay.” The last word drew out. Jonas put two small blocks of electronics either side of Maiken’s head. “Put the water down and… and if you feel any pain. Raise a hand or say something. J-just don’t yell or you’ll upset the big guy.”

There was a small high pitched whine as the electronics charged up. “You ready? On three. One. Two. Three.”

Maiken’s body tensed up – every muscle in her body went rigid. Her breath caught in her throat. “Nearly there,” Jonas muttered.

Static danced in her vision, the roof of the van flickering as if a million ants danced upon it. A roaring surf of white noise began to build up, threatening to consume. An acrid taste flowed into her mouth and a freezing fire plucked at her fingers. The pain began to build, but she could not move. “Uhhh,” she moaned.

Everything stopped. There was just the sound of her breathing. “Done,” Jonas said and he packed up the equipment. “You’re good for 48 hours and then… well, you’re solid for 48. Make sure you get that thing zapped.” He banged a hand on the partition wall behind him and the engine coughed into life.

Gesturing to a fold-out seat, Jonas pulled open a small hatch. “Better make yourself comfortable. We’ve got quite a ride. The Interstate isn’t what it used to be.”

Leaving her with the water and silence in her head, Jonas pulled the little door shut and the hulking mobile lab rolled onwards. Maiken pulled herself into the chair and strapped the buckles closed. I am on my way, she thought. Dampness pooled around her eyes and left tracks in the dirt on her face. Reaching into the bin, she picked up one of the wipes and cleaned herself up as best she could.

Fresno Lift-Port was a long ride away, but the journey had begun. A chance to finally shake herself lose from this digital shackle.

The last few weeks had been hellish. Soaring temperatures and sunlight so keen, exposed flesh was raw in moments. Anything and anyone with any sense stayed hidden, either underground or undercover. Only the mad and the foolish went out after mid-morning. The parched moon-like landscape would surprise every once in a while, with the bleached bones and the tattered scraps of flesh hung on the rare bodies of animals unable to survive.

Maiken staggered under the weight of exhaustion. One hand was bent around a shovel, the other – luckily gloved – held a mask of rags to her face. One of the connection boxes had failed, cutting her off just when she needed the link the most. Weeks had slipped by since her first attempt and now, when the ball was well and truly rolling onwards, the solar unit had burned itself out.

When she’d found the box, the insides where too hot to hold. The stink of hot plastic hung around the gully and feeling the wrath of climate change against her back, she wasn’t surprised. Really, the cobbled together unit had done well to last this long. She worked in the sun because she needed the light. Sunlight to recharge the unit and also to see by. Her only lamp had burned itself out in her second to last all night data run.

Three hours later, she finished and had started to make her way back. As she crested the gravelly hill, the shack could be seen through the wobbling bars of heat that scoured the land. To hell with conserving water, she would sit herself in the bucket and drink what was left.

She stopped and lowered herself to the ground. There was something waiting by the shack, a six wheel drive off-roader. High and mighty with a nasty looking front and UNPS logo across the hood. The windows were dark – almost black – to cut out most of the glare and she could hear the soft whine of its air-con pumps against her own.

Maiken swallowed, her dry tongue gluing itself to the roof of her mouth. She had been so careful! Her eyes became damp with liquid she could ill afford to lose. UNPS, the United Nations Prosecution Service. They were UN through and through, by the book and to the letter. A good bunch to have on your side, but the opposite rang true too. You did not cross the ‘you-nips’, not twice anyway.

As she hunkered down in the dirt, Maiken realised how exposed she was. Any decent ground-sat would spot her laid out here. Dirty grey clothing against the sandy soil. Hell, you could probably spot her with a decent set of bio-optics. She jumped as there was a clunk and a hiss as the doors opened. Two men got out and shut the vehicle’s doors quickly. They had on pressed beige fatigues and dark baggy jackets that covered their faces and arms. As one of them turned to admire the rocky view, she caught sight of a heat exchange pack on the rear of his left hip, a large calibre handgun on the other.

Sweat ran into her eyes and she found herself holding her breath. The men moved around the building inspecting it. One climbed on top of the truck and studied the shack’s roof. He held up a black item and pointed at each of the devices strapped or glued on there. It was likely he was taking a picture, you didn’t need the hold a scanner up to find out what those systems were doing. She wasn’t doing anything illegal – at least, not to her knowledge.

The other man moved around the make-shift building after a pause. As he approached the back door, he stopped to examine the moisture farm before going to knock on the plank-built entrance. What? No HEP round to the hinges and a boot to open it? The man knocked more loudly this time and then tried the handle. It was locked, Maiken had the key around her neck on a piece of string.

The second man joined him. They seemed to be having a conversation, but it was too far to hear what they were saying. No doubt throat mics would be involved, the UNIPs loved their tech. She smiled beneath the sweat soaked mask, perhaps they loved their equipment a little too much: it was their only weakness.

Maiken wiped her gloved hand on her shirt and then wiped her eyes. When she looked back, the men had glued a plastic envelope to the door and where now getting back into the truck. At this range, it was impossible to know what it was. Damn them.

She lay in the baking sun as they drove off. A cloud of dust floated behind them like a brown cloud. They took a long winding route out between the hills and along the floor of the valley. She give it another ten minutes after she lost sight of them and then took a wide route back to the shack.

Her legs ached almost as much as her head did, but she sneaked around to the side of the building and pushed a set of loose boards away from the sand. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be a rattler waiting underneath. That would just about top her day off nicely. She took the small fragment of mirror she’d got from the truck stop and tried to look underneath. There were no marks in the sand and she crawled underneath.

After a comfort break and a long drink of water, Maiken slithered out from the trapdoor and used what tech she had to study what was on the door. There were no RF signals, no traces of power and the sniffer she’d knocked together didn’t pick anything up other than ink and paper. Annoyed at her paranoia, she put the units away and walked up to the plastic envelope. Inside was a letter, nothing more than that.

Scanning down it, Maiken’s face split into a wide smile. She’d been reported dead. Her faked emails from a coroner for a Jane Doe had finally paid off. They wouldn’t come looking for her. The letter offered a reward for anyone who could confirm additional information on her. UNPS wanted to tie up any lose ends, that was how they operated. This was a generic letter, a reward that they’d be posting at coffee houses, truck stops and dope holes along the interstate and in the mountain communities.

The smile flatlined and she re-read the notice. “I’m dead,” she whispered hoarsely. “They’ll issue a termination warrant on the crab. Shit. Shit. Shit!” How could she have miscalculated this? She looked up to the signal blockers. They had done their work, done it in spades. She’d been safe from the Network too long. Not a peep nor a PING had escaped from the demon strapped around her brain. The tech lived on nutrients from her blood stream, when she died, so did the tech. No wonder some runners called them spider-vamps.

Issuing the kill command would be easy, just a quick release into the communications networks and the crab would pick it up. After all, she was dead, what harm could there be in issuing it? Some of the exiled had tried to use chill tanks to escape the exile. Cooling themselves down to suspended animation and lying low for a dozen years. Despite the heat, Maiken shuddered, recalling that when they were revived, they were brain dead. Or at least, they were five minutes after waking up.

Shit squared. What now? She put the letter back in the envelope, went inside and fired up the make-shift terminal. The death-clock ticked loudly in her head.

Hot wind blew dust against the dry boards of the shack. Plastic foam had been sprayed between the gaps making the small building look like a giant black fungus was bulging from within. In the limited shade, an ancient air-con unit wheezed and whined in the heat, its solar powered batteries fully charged by the searing sun. Above the burbling machine, a stack of roof bound black panels tracked the daytime glare like obedient flowers, collectors raised in trade of worship for power.

The heat shimmered cruelly and under an improvised lean-too, an electric quad bike sweated in the heat. It plastic seat almost liquid soft from the sun’s bombardment. It squatted, beached and gripped by the desert sand that had built up around its tyres like a slacker sandstorm.

Towards the back of the shack, a high fence hung between high wooden poles. The grey plastic was at odds with the sun bleached wood than had been hammered into the iron pan dirt garden. There was no wind to flap the sails of this arc of fine mesh. The moisture farm stood bone dry in the heat, the precious vapour sucked by nanofilaments from a sky during less Hellish times. A polished barrel lay half buried, the precious cargo encased in vacuum coolness.

Upwards, something whined in the heat. The hiss of electricity came from the baking roof: a few pods of electronics chatting to each other in lazy consultation. Their sensors reached out, tasting the radio spectrum and blocking the weak signal of the network. Inside, the single occupant worked hunched over a broken comms unit. The temperature was on the wrong side of warm, the unpleasant sticky level. Sweat dripped from her forehead and she wiped her face with a dirty towel. Her dark hair was pulled back and bundled into a tight bun. This, coupled with the odd wisps of grey, made her look rather severe. Ridges of scar tissue could be seen around the back of her ears at at the nape of her neck. Reminders of the brutal work done to drive home her punishment.

She stopped and arched her back, her arms pressing in to her sides to help shift the ball of tension that had settled there. There were more scars on her wrists: places where they’d ripped the data dots from her. The tiny plastic disks had been crushed under heavy pilers as one part of her sentence had been carried out. The other part, the more insidious one, was nestled within her skull; its icy talons reaching down into her cortex to spike motor or pain sensors. A whisper from global network was all it took.

Her crime? Frankly: a long list, but chief among them was that of hacking. Hacking the systems of big companies who should know better, but the law – corrupt as it was, was still the law. The woman put down the third hand microtool and picked up a glass of water. It was warm, but at least it was wet. It would be another six hours before the portable batteries where charged enough to take the quad bike and the jammer towards the fuel station.

The punishment wasn’t just disconnection: no, that would be far too lenient. This was banishment. If she came within range of any network traffic, the brain crab – as some had come to call it – would pick up on it. The nano-filaments would squawk with alarm, the ribbon tentacles sending tiny pulses to create a crescendo of agony. She’s risked it once and where it not for a helpful biker, would no doubt have fitted herself to death. Such was her drive – and arrogance – in the early days.

With luck, her years of planning would pay off shortly. The signal blockers where her first small victory. They halted the ever forward march of connectivity, she was now an island of zero presence. The data flow ebbed against this barrier of denial and she knew that it could not last. She had seen a worn fax-paper news story. The earth was gearing up for a global spanning network: not just the cities and arcologies, but a true all-net. There would be data when and where you wanted it – for a price no doubt – but for people like her, there would be few places to hide. A deep mine or industrial dead zone if she was lucky. Ironic really, the one thing she had craved as a decker – a true planet wide network – now threatened to consume her.

In the early days she had wanted them to pay: to be able to lash out at those who had pulled her from her kingdom. That fire was now cold, replaced with the drive to subvert the system and simply escape. In all her time here, she had never had a visit. They knew where she was and she hoped that their confidence would also be their undoing. Pride comes before a fall, at least that’s what a fortune cookie had said.

She unwrapped the towel and wiped her neck. It came away gritty: even with the ship-foam, tiny fines would make there way in. The desert was ever present: in her eyes, her clothes and in her meagre food. She harked back to a time when all it took was a swipe of a card to arrange any luxury. She smiled at the memory. So many cards, so many names and faces: Maiken Smith, Maddie Roberts, Sarah Lopez, Marie Gibson. The only one throughout had been her avatar and handle: a black winged bird, a raven.

Now her face was weathered and lined, the once fashionably pale skin beaten to a ruddy glow by the elements. One long but broken vamp tooth remained, the other – which had contained a poison injector – had been pulled out. At least they had replaced her lost leg. It was just about the right length, but it was a cheap O-type part: a military cast off. One meant to last until you got to civilisation, not one to suffer the stresses she’d put it under. In time, she told herself, in time all will be right once again.

Maiken picked up the microtool once again and began working her way through the faulty components. She had dug and buried the multi-core fibre herself. Pulled rocks and broken fingers in her effort to hide the loop. Now the end lay open on her table. She had only to fix this bridge unit and a hard-line would be hers.

On the table behind her, a mess of begged, borrowed and stolen components were wedged or glued into a dust proof plastic box. A single holo plate – which was dusty with sand – lay on top. It’s electronic heart pulsed slowly on power-save, the network socket awaited connection.

Putting the water aside, Maiken coaxed and teased the connection into life. The computer terminal hummed into life, the face of a search engine displayed in grainy holographic glory. The kill switch hung from the wall and a length of twine connected it to her wrist. A harsh pull – that from a fall or a fit – and the link would be dead.

She moved carefully and with shaking hands, tapped out a search to the web. Maiken closed her eyes and smiled. She was connected. Callused hands stabbed at the keyboard like blind mad cranes – the fingers jabbing at keys. The work was manual and hard. Maiken persisted, the old skill slowly coming back to her, until hours into the task, she didn’t have to look any more. The screen repeated the tap-tap-taps converting what was in her head to something on the screen.

The temptation to short-cut was immense. There would be bank accounts that were still loaded, no doubt fat with the interest gleaned over the years of her exile. Oh, the things she needed – food, painkillers, ‘ware. Maiken shook her head. No, to run now would be foolish. She had to be patient. Time would be her guardian. She must pick at the knot that bound her, not cut through the ropes to leave fraying trails.

She shied away from old stomping grounds, instead legacy systems where her target. A government system fell first, a weak password letting her through and from there, her hands reached out to slip inside the undefended hulks of long abandoned systems. As the moon rose high into the sky, she hid her trail in a nightmarish mix of paths, cross-paths and switchbacks. A stepping stone from one system to another, until she was sure there was enough to keep the electronic wolves from the door.

As the morning sun peaked at the mountains, her work was just about done. Maiken’s eyes hurt and she rubbed at the grey circle under one, wincing as her knuckle came away gritty. She checked and re-checked the bait. The document’s headers where correct, someone had been sloppy in keeping their security keys on-line. That was always the weak point: people. Computers would do as they were told, but people did not and God bless them for it. Life would be far duller if we were machines.

She snorted a laugh out as her hand hovered over the enter key. In the old days, how much of her body had she lost to metal? An arm first, then another. Her eyes too had been replaced by squishy synthetic ones, eyes that were never tired or blinded by darkness or glare. Carelessness had cost her a leg and from then on, she had always carried a gun. Maiken shook her head, at her recklessness. Had that really been 20 years ago? She had walked many lines in her life: blurred that between what it was to be human and cyborg. She had fallen low in the dark times, almost slipped into the embrace of rage. The psychosis brought on by replacement and surrogate parts. ‘I am better than you’ they had whispered. A shot in the leg meant nothing – it was just a dint, not a wound.

Maiken found herself chewing her lip and staring at the flashing prompt of the holo panel. Where had it changed? Yes, the tipping point had been that time in the amazon. Surfer had pulled her out of the river, gunmetal legs chewed up and one arm working. The assassin had not succeeded, but he had come close. Far too close. Where was he now? she thought. Where were any of them?

Batting aside nostalgia, Maiken concentrated on the task ahead. The information was ready, the electronic signature correct. A clink of light now fell into her prison. In time, she would pry and poke at this gap. The bars would twist and the walls fall. In time. She his transmit and disconnected.

Tired and joyful, she pulled off her clothes and crashed out on the sleeping mat. She reached over and put the lid of the waste bucket, the water processor would have to wait until tomorrow. Maybe the fog collector would be generous and she could afford a wash. Her eyelids drooped and sleep came. Behind them, she dreamed of the people long gone. The dead and the lost. Her mind saw webs of light pulsing and fat with data like dew on a spider’s web. They would take the bait, those sort always did… and when they did, the balance would tip. Wheels would turn slowly and she would leave this place.