World War 97 Part 1 Page 5

  Zirconia grunted. “Exactly. I hoped your worthlessness could be a recessive gene and you would at least produce useful children. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”

  “Wait.” Darius had always been her favorite, the one who would build the family legacy. “Darius is dead. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” I hadn’t expected her to break down, but I had expected some emotion.

  “We have to accept what’s happened, get over it, and move on. I’ll leave the crying to you.”

  She turned to go, but I stopped her. “What if there’s more to his death than it appears?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Darius came to see me the day before he was ki—” I swallowed. “He had me ordered off the Eisenhower before the attack.”

  Zirconia shrugged. “You should have been off the ship ever since you lost your nerve.”

  “I didn’t just lose my nerve.” Anger bubbled under the surface of my words. “There was the small matter of a plane crash that reduced me to a charred lump.” Advanced body recreation technology had rebuilt my body. The doctors had repeatedly warned me that although the machines could heal all the physical scars, there was nothing they could do about the mental ones.

  “Go on, get angry—at me, at the world. I don’t care. Anything is better than dissolving into a puddle of self-pity.” She walked away.

  Christina touched my arm. “Is there anything else Darius said that has made you suspect he knew?”

  “Get away from me.” I brushed her hand away. “I need some space.” Stumbling against several passing shoulders, I shoved blindly through the crowd until I found a side exit. The hip flask was in my hand before I’d left the Square. The mibs at the door watched me with impassive expressions as I unscrewed the lid and gulped several mouthfuls.

  This passageway wasn’t as crowded as the one I’d arrived in. The people were gathered around a news screen where they watched Burnett shake hands with a long line of mourners. I slumped into a sitting position against the wall.

  “Why are they shaking hands with Burnett? Why not his family?” I muttered. As far as everyone was concerned, they’d lost a president, not a person.

  They didn’t know anything about Darius the man, Darius the boy. They didn’t know that Darius got sulky if he lost at anything and that he could never resist a grin when he won. I’d sometimes preferred to lose in a minor contest just to get the smile rather than the frown. Darius’s mood shifts were as sudden as turbulence when flying. None of that ever showed in his demeanor on the newscasts, though. He was praised as charismatic, yet I’d always found him wooden on the screen, as if his persona were a careful performance.

  But what do I know? We’d become increasingly distant as the years had gone by. Perhaps Burnett knew him better than I did, and I’d held onto the memory of a gangly teenage boy who was always getting into mischief and getting away with it.

  Hearing funereal music, I glanced up at the screen. It showed a slide leading down into the graveyard chasm. The soldiers were gently lowering Darius’s coffin onto the flat part of it. An empty coffin, I reminded myself. I lifted the flask and tilted back my head. The last drops of rum fell onto my tongue; the liquid no longer burned. The soldiers folded the American flag, left it in a neat square at the back of the coffin, stepped back, snapped a sharp salute, and held it.

  Darius had discovered the entrance to those ancient unused tunnels we used to play in. He was thirteen and I was fourteen when we found them. Being there alone, the beams of our flashlights our only defense against the darkness all around us, had been scary. We would hear vermin scrabbling around, and we’d been so close to the surface that sometimes, the ground would shake from bombing above. We would hold the flashlights in our mouths when we climbed over obstructions—I could still remember the oily wetness of those rocks. I’d been terrified, but still, the only other time I’d felt that alive was when I was flying V-Tips. Darius always urged me to venture farther and explore more. It was our secret world; we never told anyone else about those tunnels. When we got older, we’d explored less then stopped going altogether. I hadn’t thought about them in years—until Darius mentioned them when we’d met on the Eisenhower.

  I threw away the empty flask in disgust. On screen, the sergeant picked up the flag and gave the coffin a little push. It slid into the chasm and was swallowed by the darkness. My cheeks felt wet, and I touched them, wondering how long I had been crying without realizing it.

  “Are you okay, sir?” One of the mibs was leaning over me.

  I stood. “Can’t a guy be left to mourn in peace?” I muttered. Apparently not. I brushed past the mib and staggered back into Times Square, drying my cheeks with my sleeve. I decided to get Christina and leave.

  Halfway across the square, though, I changed my mind. Or, at least, my feet did, for they directed me toward where Burnett was still shaking hands.

  I stood beside Burnett and grabbed the outstretched palm of the next person in line.

  “Thanks for coming to offer me your sympathies at the loss of my brother,” I said loudly.

  The people in line froze in place, and the background noise died down as heads turned our way. A cameraman moved closer. Several mibs approached from different directions before stopping and returning to their places.

  Burnett gripped my forearm. “My condolences, Mr. Roberts.”

  The line started moving again, with the mourners shaking my hand first before Burnett’s. I had wanted to make a disturbance, not end up shaking the hands of oily politicians. That was what I did, though, even if I did it with violent handshakes and an angry glare. Burnett was a smooth operator.

  When the line ended—I could have sworn there were more people queuing before my arrival—Burnett pulled me aside.

  “Mr. Roberts, I wish we could have met under better circumstances. Your brother talked about you often. Now, I know you are angry that I used your brother’s funeral for political ends.”

  “You do?” My voice slurred slightly.

  “Of course. You’re no fool. You know that I used this opportunity to send a message, to try and unite everyone so they’ll be ready for this struggle before us. The thing is”—Burnett put his hand on my shoulder—“I didn’t exaggerate how desperate our situation is. A devastator from the Territories is already close to Florida, and we are in retreat. Europe is under huge pressure from Russian and Indian forces. We need to be strong right now. I think that Darius would have forgiven me for making a funeral speech such as I did instead of celebrating him as a person. Do you understand? Do you accept the need?”

  I nodded dumbly.

  “Good.” He gave me a warm smile. “You and his mother were here for him. That’s the important thing. Family meant everything to Darius.”

  “I don’t care about the funeral.” Some soldiers tossed an empty box down a black hole. “I want to know the truth about Darius’s death.” I regretted the words even as I said them; I had no proof. Saying something to my mother was one thing; bringing up my suspicions to the chief of staff was quite another.

  “The truth?” He raised an eyebrow. “The world saw what happened.”

  “It wasn’t a surprise attack. Darius knew beforehand.”

  Burnett’s spine stiffened, and he moved his face closer to mine. “He couldn’t have. That makes no sense. Why would he have flown to the Bolivar if he knew?”

  “Well...” It did seem crazy when he said it like that. Twice, I was about to speak, and the thought was gone before I had a chance to say it. “Ah... ah... he came to see me the day before. The things he said... I can’t explain it. I just knew.”

  “It’s easy to attribute ulterior explanations to innocent statements when you have the benefit of hindsight. I miss him, too.” Burnett patted me on the shoulder. “However, we still should investigate. If there’s the remotest chance that what you say is true...” He patted me again. “Darius deserves nothing less.” Burnett raised his arm and gestured
, then a smartly dressed woman wearing a black dress approached. “Do you know Director Mari Larsen?”

  I swallowed. “We haven’t met.” My head was beginning to spin, and the last thing I needed was to be interrogated by the Bureau director.

  “Mr. Roberts feels his brother’s death was suspicious.” Burnett said.

  Mari Larsen smiled. “We know it wasn’t natural causes.”

  “He feels that Darius knew the attack was coming.”

  I was actually feeling sick. Burnett’s and Larsen’s faces were blurry. “No, no. It was just an ulterior thingy. With hind... hind... with looking backward. Excuse me, I have to go.” I stumbled away from them then walked swiftly toward the exit. I needed to get away before the Bureau director arrested me or I fell over and got sick on the floor. The exit wasn’t where I’d expected it to be, though. It was just a wall. I leaned my head against it. Then Christina was beside me.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m trying to leave. But the exit has disappeared.”

  She took my arm and led me back across the room. The blurry shapes of people drifted past me. I badly needed to pee.

  Chapter 6

  The autopilot light blinked red then went off. Red, then off. I shivered because I knew what it meant. It should never happen, and it always happened. Red, then off. Red, then off. I flicked the autopilot control back and forth; it had no effect. My stomach lurched as the plane nosed downward. I clenched my teeth and wrenched back on the control stick with grim determination as if willpower alone could keep the plane in the sky. With sick inevitability, the plane continued its rapid descent.

  It flickered red then went off. That was how I was sure I was dreaming. A solid red light meant the autopilot was engaged; no light meant the plane was on manual. There was no status that involved it flickering back and forth. In fact, it was impossible for the autopilot to engage and disengage that quickly. The techs had assured me of this many times. Safety protocols within fail-safe mechanisms meant that the flickering was utterly ludicrous. Yet I had seen a flickering autopilot light—once in real life and over and over again in my nightmares.

  Another lurch, and the plane tilted farther, until it was diving directly downward. Pieces of sky hurtled past the windshield in a silent scream. The autopilot couldn’t crash the plane. No way, no how, the techs had assured me. My fingers turned white as they tightened on the control stick. The cockpit rotated around me. I knew what was coming—pain and fire—and it made me fight all the harder. I couldn’t do anything to prevent it, and still, I strained with all my might.

  The autopilot light flickered red then went off. The land spiraled ever closer. My arms trembled, and sweat stung my eyes. I could sense the heat behind me—the fire was coming. The seat belt dug into my shoulders and chest like bands of iron.

  Flames flickered inside the autopilot light, then it was gone. This is just a nightmare. Wake up! I screamed inside my head. The ground was close enough that I could make out individual trees. The g-forces wrenched at me, threatening to tear me apart even before I hit the ground. I could see the exact spot where I would crash, the patch of bare earth just before the tree line. I screamed... and threw myself forward. I blinked away sweat and looked around, taking shuddering breaths. I was in my bed, and Christina was sitting in a chair beside me. At least the dream had ended before the worst part.

  I waited for my heart to slow. “Were you just watching? Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “I thought it best to let the dream finish. Maybe help you work through your issues.”

  I snorted. “If nightmares cured, I’d be the healthiest man in Under Nyork.”

  “Are you ready? I wanted to start off as soon as you woke.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “What are you talking about?” The hangover wasn’t as bad as the day before, but my head needed clearing.

  “Don’t you remember what we decided last night?”

  “Don’t trust anything I say when I’m drunk.” I thought back to the funeral. Had I made a fool of myself in front of the chief of staff and Bureau director? I had been unsteady on my feet before I ever approached them. I cringed at the memory of Mari Larsen’s amused smile as I’d stuttered like one of those conspiracy theory nuts who were always being made fun of on the newscasts. Sam Burnett had patted me in the shoulder as though he were comforting a senile grandfather. What had happened after I left Times Square was a total blank; I only wished that the blackout had started earlier. “What did we decide last night?”

  “We are going to investigate your brother’s death.”

  That did sound like something my drunken self would have decided. The previous day, I had been entirely certain that Darius had known beforehand that he would crash. But now? As Burnett had asked, why would Darius have gotten into Transport One if he’d known? “I managed to convince you? I thought you’d be the sensible one and keep me grounded.”

  “I believe in you. You shouldn’t doubt yourself. I’m sure we’ll find evidence in those tunnels.”

  “Which tunnels?”

  “The abandoned ones up near the surface. Where you and your brother played when you were teenagers.”

  “I told you about them?”

  “Yes, you said you hadn’t thought about them in years. Then Darius brought them up out of the blue. If he knew what was coming and wanted to leave you a message, wouldn’t it be in a place where only you two knew?”

  “I thought of all that?” It was actually decent idea. I always suspected that my best ideas came when I was drunk, only I could never remember them afterward. “I guess it’s worth checking out.” Even if I discovered nothing, it would be good to go back to where Darius and I were closest, as a remembrance. I glanced through the bathroom door, up at the ceiling tile. A little Invernes Red would supply the energy I needed. “Give me time to get ready.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.” Christina stood up and folded her arms. “We should go immediately.”

  I frowned; it was unlike Christina to be so forceful. “Just let me take a shower first.”

  “A quick one then.” She pulled the covers off the bed then leaned against the bathroom door. “Go on.”

  “A bit of privacy please.”

  “You’re my husband. I’m a nurse.” She shrugged. “You have no need for modesty around me.”

  I smiled at that. “It’s been a while since I got the chance to dazzle you.” I stood up and let my underpants slide down my legs until they were bunched on one foot. Then I kicked them at her.

  She swayed to the side so they missed her. “Pretty much how I remember. Male genitalia has never been something to inspire the poets. Boys do like to make a big deal about their junk, though. Why are you standing there grinning at me? Surely you don’t expect me to ohh and ahh now that we’re married?”

  “No, but a bit of sucking and fucking would be nice.”

  “You always say the most romantic things. Really puts a girl in the mood.” She grabbed my arm, pulled me toward her, then twisted out of the way and pushed me into the shower cubicle. “Later. First we find out what happened to Darius.”

  I turned the taps, waited until the water was warm, then stepped under it. My hangover was light enough that ten seconds under the water made me feel ten times better. I looked over my shoulder. “There’s room for two in here.”

  She shook her head. “There isn’t. And later, remember.”

  We hadn’t been married long, but I thought I knew my wife. She was the most caring, kind, and understanding person I had ever met. She was nothing like my previous girlfriends—especially not Arianne, who was a right bitch. I wasn’t sure what Christina had put in her morning coffee, but she was showing a new side of herself. I liked it. Still, I wished she would leave me alone long enough to fortify myself with some red whiskey.

  Instead, she hustled me out of our quarters in record time. We needed to take two conveyor pods since the older part of the city
was on a different system. As I stepped out of the pod, my foot caught on loose cabling, and I almost fell. I had forgotten how disused the upper parts of Under Nyork were. Paneling was falling away, and patches of damp blotched the walls, which even had moss growing on them in places.

  The conveyor system wasn’t as extensive as it was in the rest of Under Nyork, so we climbed two flights of stairs before we reached the section I was looking for. I thought I would have forgotten the way after so long, but the memories came rushing back. I saw a twist of metal on the ground that had tripped up Darius one time when I was chasing him. He’d gotten a cut above his eye and blood wouldn’t stop gushing from it. I’d been terrified that he would bleed out, but he’d kept making jokes. Christina and I turned a corner, and I noticed two strips of cable that Darius and I had cut and used for skipping ropes. The green one was for Darius, and the red one was mine. The two cables still lay where we’d thrown them after having a skipping contest, untouched for over two decades. I crouched, reaching for the green one.

  “What are you doing?” Christina asked.

  I hesitated then left the cables where they were. “Nothing,” I said, and resumed walking alongside her. “Little has changed since I was here last. The entrance is—”

  I stopped suddenly. Something had very much changed. A desk had been placed halfway down the passageway, and two mibs were sitting at it. One of them was watching a mobile newscast screen, but the other had spotted our approach; it was too late to find a way around them without being seen. Why would mibs be stationed here in the abandoned passageways?

  “Maybe we should go back.” I wasn’t sure that we would be allowed to leave without questioning, but it was worth a shot.

  “We’ve come this far.” Christina walked forward confidently.

  “We’ve no reason for being in this part of Under Nyork.” I reluctantly followed. It didn’t take much for mibs to bring someone in for questioning, as I knew from experience, having made one too many bad jokes at their expense. It was generally best not to give them an excuse.