dead ends they have to investigate, the more time we buy for ourselves."
"And in the meantime, we think," Kebe said. "Given the options, this sounds feasible. What about us?"
"You said you came to teach me Survival 101–My girl, this is where I need your help."
"If we stay together, we do them a favor. So we split up."
"That's depressing," Nero said.
"Yes, it's sad," she said. "We send the mail. Then I leave with the original manuscript. I can give you the address of a safe house, but you must be careful getting there: It's not your butt alone at stake. On the way, we ship outbound decoys. You got money?"
Nero nodded.
"Are you done with dinner?" Kebe said.
Nero dropped his napkin on the table and stood up. "Let's get going."
*
Working the mailer now, and the beacon later, required way more power than the backup generator could supply. A handbook instructed Nero how to put a bigger one on line. Nero wanted to make the changes as soon as possible, so he left Kebe alone in the trailer and jumped onto his cart.
Doka after sunset was freezing and pitch dark. Nero was soon shivering in the driver's seat, squinting to see the road, wishing he'd started the tractor. But in the warm trailer the cart had seemed adequate. The wind felt its way through his heavy parka, its frigid fingers seeping into collar and sleeves.
After an eternity on the road, he reached the hangar. His feet hurt from touching the ground when he dismounted; much of his body felt numb. As soon as he could do so without pain, he stomped and flapped to warm up.
The building was eerie as usual. His breath puffed in the light of sodium lamps. All inactive equipment needed testing prior to restart; the whole exercise would be bothersome in the cold. Nero decided not to mind, he had a good reason to ignore the cold now that his existential nightmares lay wasted and still. He was working for a cause–his quest to find Margo's golden pages. And start a revolution, perhaps.
He was ready to squander his savings, jeopardize his freedom, charge windmills, endanger his own and others' personal safety, and freeze to death. Feeling alive was wonderful.
There were two spare generators, each big enough to sustain the forthcoming loads. Nero fiddled with their panels for a long time. The machines whirred and spun and stopped and restarted and groaned. At the end, they both checked OK, 100% output. He took the outer glove off his right hand, and reached into his pocket for Lucky Eagle–an old silver coin his father had given him ages ago. Heads, I start the generator on the left, tails, the one on the right, he thought, sniffled and tossed. His hand stretched out to grab the falling coin.
Pook appeared in a flash–two flashes?–just before his nose. An overwhelming dizziness overtook him: the hangar became a wild roller coaster ride–he dry heaved, his legs began yielding. Yet he wondered: Two flashes–I saw two flashes, didn't I? before losing consciousness.
*
Kebe had started preparing a list of destinations for their rock decoys–bureaucrats, miscellaneous riffraff, collections of persona non grata –but too many of the 3,500 addresses were picked at random. All recipients would have, at best, a lot of explaining to do.
"It will be their privilege to help the cause," Kebe said to the walls, trying to convince herself. Still, she had to do it.
She ran another query through her dynabase, browsing the results. The plan was shaky; she knew it, and Nero knew it. Her description of their circumstances, however, had been fair. Manipulating Nero was not necessary: He'd do his best, whatever the consequences. "Sad, sad, sad that the book was traced; Doka would have been a great hiding place." And now, she had this mess to sort out.
Their escape needed organizing: transportation, communications–too much, too fast. She was well aware that Nero might never make it
"And in the meantime, we think," Kebe said. "Given the options, this sounds feasible. What about us?"
"You said you came to teach me Survival 101–My girl, this is where I need your help."
"If we stay together, we do them a favor. So we split up."
"That's depressing," Nero said.
"Yes, it's sad," she said. "We send the mail. Then I leave with the original manuscript. I can give you the address of a safe house, but you must be careful getting there: It's not your butt alone at stake. On the way, we ship outbound decoys. You got money?"
Nero nodded.
"Are you done with dinner?" Kebe said.
Nero dropped his napkin on the table and stood up. "Let's get going."
*
Working the mailer now, and the beacon later, required way more power than the backup generator could supply. A handbook instructed Nero how to put a bigger one on line. Nero wanted to make the changes as soon as possible, so he left Kebe alone in the trailer and jumped onto his cart.
Doka after sunset was freezing and pitch dark. Nero was soon shivering in the driver's seat, squinting to see the road, wishing he'd started the tractor. But in the warm trailer the cart had seemed adequate. The wind felt its way through his heavy parka, its frigid fingers seeping into collar and sleeves.
After an eternity on the road, he reached the hangar. His feet hurt from touching the ground when he dismounted; much of his body felt numb. As soon as he could do so without pain, he stomped and flapped to warm up.
The building was eerie as usual. His breath puffed in the light of sodium lamps. All inactive equipment needed testing prior to restart; the whole exercise would be bothersome in the cold. Nero decided not to mind, he had a good reason to ignore the cold now that his existential nightmares lay wasted and still. He was working for a cause–his quest to find Margo's golden pages. And start a revolution, perhaps.
He was ready to squander his savings, jeopardize his freedom, charge windmills, endanger his own and others' personal safety, and freeze to death. Feeling alive was wonderful.
There were two spare generators, each big enough to sustain the forthcoming loads. Nero fiddled with their panels for a long time. The machines whirred and spun and stopped and restarted and groaned. At the end, they both checked OK, 100% output. He took the outer glove off his right hand, and reached into his pocket for Lucky Eagle–an old silver coin his father had given him ages ago. Heads, I start the generator on the left, tails, the one on the right, he thought, sniffled and tossed. His hand stretched out to grab the falling coin.
Pook appeared in a flash–two flashes?–just before his nose. An overwhelming dizziness overtook him: the hangar became a wild roller coaster ride–he dry heaved, his legs began yielding. Yet he wondered: Two flashes–I saw two flashes, didn't I? before losing consciousness.
*
Kebe had started preparing a list of destinations for their rock decoys–bureaucrats, miscellaneous riffraff, collections of persona non grata –but too many of the 3,500 addresses were picked at random. All recipients would have, at best, a lot of explaining to do.
"It will be their privilege to help the cause," Kebe said to the walls, trying to convince herself. Still, she had to do it.
She ran another query through her dynabase, browsing the results. The plan was shaky; she knew it, and Nero knew it. Her description of their circumstances, however, had been fair. Manipulating Nero was not necessary: He'd do his best, whatever the consequences. "Sad, sad, sad that the book was traced; Doka would have been a great hiding place." And now, she had this mess to sort out.
Their escape needed organizing: transportation, communications–too much, too fast. She was well aware that Nero might never make it
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