Paul Collins - Earthborn The

"He comes with us," Sarah replied. She looked pointedly at Ilija. "Or does someone here have a better knowledge of the sky ship's equipment?" When no one answered, she said, "I didn't think so."

Ilija opened his mouth but shut it. He glowered at Welkin.

"Con, you're with me," Sarah said. "Gillian, you lead out. Budge, you check on Pedros and Green.

Pedros might even be asleep—he didn't answer my call again, damn him."

After a rest and some food, the "bartering party" left by different routes and rejoined at a prearranged rendezvous. Sarah explained that they had several exits in case of fire or attack.

Even in daylight, most of the stairwells and tunnels would have I. been ill-lit by sunlight seeping through jagged fissures. Now, traveling at night, they carried cleft sticks containing the phosphorescentfungus.

Sarah even had a working flashlight, but it was for use in emergencies only.

They moved quickly but with ever-vigilant caution. Con brought up the rear while Gillian was somewhere ahead on point. The others took flanking positions. Despite their caution, they moved efficiently and with purpose.

At one point, as they crept through a maze of broken corridors and collapsed walls, Gillian and the flankers rejoined the group, the terrain too dangerous for wide formation. Welkin kept sneaking glances at her as she glided around obstacles, climbed walls and debris with catlike grace. She was a waif of a girl compared to Sarah, yet she was tautly muscled, her movements fluid. Welkin guessed she would be a deadly fighter. But he found it difficult to think of her like that. She was pretty, with an elfin face, and black hair cropped short in the utilitarian fashion favored by the family. She had deep, dark eyes and a frank expression that hid nothing. With a start, he realized he was scared of her, scared of her . . .

girlness.

"Keep up," Sarah said briskly. "Don't lag behind."

They slipped out of the building and merged with the night. Somewhere along the way Gillian left them. Welkin didn't ask where she went. These people seemed to do things as though by instinct. It was a bit unnerving.

Welkin looked longingly back at the building. He hated the open spaces, felt naked in them. Worst of all, there was no ceiling. It was almost obscene! He had an almost primitive desire to put his head down and run for cover like a rabbit bolting for its burrow, terrifyingly aware that something could drop from that big airy emptiness in the blink of an eye. Welkin understood the rabbit perfectly, even if he'd seen them only in vids. Right now, he wanted to be under something, anything. Nor was he aware that when he walked in open spaces he did so hunched over, shoulders clenched, as if waiting for a blow from above. It added to his abiding sense of unease.

Colony had been so regimented and safe. Everyone had his timetable and allotted hours in which to perform his duties, and everyone performed the tasks set him without question. Above all, they had had their training, their endless regimental briefings, their sessions in therecently developed neural sims that stimulated correct thinking and acting. On top of that, everyone on Colony under the age of sixteen was nominally part of the glorious and heroic Army of Resurrection. Day in and day out, in everything they did, it was drilled into them how to their generation had fallen the greatest honor of all, the reclamation of Earth, the rebuilding of an entire world, the social terra-forming of Old Earth itself!

Apart from the micrometeor showers that sometimes got through Colony's shields, Welkin always felt safe in the skyworld. Once, he'd been in the scanner cabin and had listened as a staccato of impacts rang clangingly through the ship as the space debris, traveling at colossal speeds, slammed into the hull.

Standard drill was to exit all "surface" compartments, which were then sealed off in case of rupture.

Now, here on Earth, he never really felt safe.

Welkin stayed close to Sarah. He knew that despite his superior training and education he wouldn't last long alone out here. Everything was too hostile and barbaric. He tried to control the anger that was rising in him. Damn those stupid virtual reality games he'd played on Colony. His whole upbringing had been a pack of lies. Virtual games were nothing like the real thing. That's all they'd been— games. Games to keep the kids happy while the elders toyed with their future.

He forced these thoughts away. He had to stay focused. He was in this mess, and it would need all his superior ingenuity and resourcefulness to get out of it. His best hope was Sarah. She seemed to know what she was doing, and she seemed to genuinely like him. Unless that was a trick . . .

Sarah clicked her fingers. Three of them were huddled behind a firebombed vehicle. Its windows had been blown out and its doors were welded shut by corrosion.

Sarah held a finger to her lips until she was sure they were secure. "You keep your lips zipped, Welkin. The people we're meeting tonight are bad news. Let's not provoke them more than we have to."

She thought for a moment, her tongue protruding. "If things turn sour, you hide out till morning, then head back to Colony." She pointed to a huge building, from behind which a glare spread into the nightsky. She squinted. "You can't miss it. They've got the entire area lit up like a Christmas tree."

Welkin felt butterflies in his stomach. The moment for action was rapidly approaching. He had a presentiment: Somewhere in the next few hours he would be presented with a terrible choice. What he

decided would rule the rest of his life.

A noise whipped his head around. He peered over the hood of the derelict car.

The night was filled with a low, clanking sound, punctuated by dull, rhythmic thuds. And something else, something Welkin had heard before but couldn't place for the moment. A mournful, wailing sound.

The clanking grew louder. Metal on metal—ear-piercing and discordant squeals: thumper!

thumper-thump!

A troupe of ferals, indistinct at first, came into view. Some carried pipes of various sizes and lengths in each hand, clanging them together as they walked along. Others had large tins and metal buckets hanging about their necks, which they beat with sticks. Over the top of the din came the plaintive wail of a mouth organ. Welkin had seen one in a blues hologram once. It was the saddest sound he'd ever heard.

He looked questioningly at Sarah.

"Not the sort of musos you'd listen to on Colony, I'll wager." She squinted to get a better view of the shadowy figures. "Shockers," she said, hoping to channel his anxiety. "A bit hard to play guitars and keyboards without electricity."

"Do they always do this?" Welkin's skin prickled as though he knew the answer.

"It's a ritual feast—" Suddenly Sarah tugged Welkin back down.

Several ferals charged across the wind-scoured street. They were chasing a tall screaming figure.

Sarah kept her hand on Welkin's arm, felt his muscles tense.

"There's nothing we can do, Welkin. Everyone has his own path, even when it leads to death."

The other ferals stopped their playing immediately and joined in the chase. They darted through the broken landscape like rats streaking in for a kill. Before long, they passed from sight.

Sarah indicated an alleyway that ran between two buildings thatslumped against one another like tired old men. Gathering themselves, they moved out, diving into the steepled tunnel formed by the leaning structures. The inverted V shape had an odd cathedral feel to it. Welkin reflected that in olden days they would have crossed themselves before entering.

The meeting was held at an abandoned factory. Every skylight had been shot out, and most of the corrugated iron had long since rusted. The full moon, pushing in through barred vents, cast striated shadows that gave the meeting place the feel of a prison.