The Seven. Peter Newman

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       CHAPTER THREE

      A metal snake moves effortlessly over hills, matching their undulations. Inside the head, the Vagrant works the controls. Anger manifests in his gestures, making course corrections sharp.

      He looks over his shoulder often but Delta of The Seven remains folded in the space behind them, a placid statue. Her sword is on the floor by the Vagrant’s side. It too, has gone quiet again, its eye closed tight.

      Reela sniffles quietly in the seat next to his. As he works, she tries to get closer to him but straps hold her tight, thwarting the effort. A hint of a storm crosses her features and she begins to wail.

      The Vagrant glances over, touching a finger to his lips.

      Reela copies him.

      Her stormy expression abates and he goes back to managing the vehicle. Calmer now, she attends to the Vagrant. She positions her left hand like his, her fingers hovering over imaginary buttons. With her right, she mimes holding the control stick. She straightens her back, raises her chin, and after another glance at his face, adds a frown.

      When the Vagrant looks through the viewing screen, staring intently, she leans forward to do the same. When, briefly, he presses his fist to his forehead, the frustration is mirrored in miniature.

      The Vagrant does not notice.

      Gradually, the hills flatten out and the snake winds its way over flatlands and between trees planted in orderly rows, wide spaced, with branches that only start high up, shade-making and unobtrusive.

      There is a scratching sound from behind the head of the snake.

      Instantly, the Vagrant tenses. He releases the straps that hold him then turns, one hand still on the controls, the other reaching down for Delta’s sword.

      Reela’s eyes light up with new knowledge. She presses the central buckle where the straps cross over her chest but nothing happens. She presses it again, using two fingers, then again with her fist. With a soft click, the straps spring apart.

      The scratching sounds again. It is close, coming from the other side of the metal that separates the head section from the body of the snake.

      The Vagrant raises Delta’s sword, his eyes flicking between where Delta sits and the intruder’s location.

      There is a click, then a soft exhalation of machinery, and the panel slides back to reveal Jem. He has mud on his face and in his hair but appears untouched by sword or flame.

      ‘It’s me! It’s just me! I was out tending the goats when the knights came. By the time I got here it was … too late. I managed to climb in the back while they were all distracted with you.’

      The Vagrant stares at him for a moment, then places Delta’s sword back on the floor.

      Jem’s face splits in a relieved smile. ‘Reela! You’re alive. Thank—’ he notices Delta, springs back against the wall. His voice is much softer when he speaks again. ‘Is that …?’

      The Vagrant nods.

      A moment later, Reela nods.

      ‘But you can’t just take Her! What are you thinking?’

      The Vagrant shrugs.

      Reela shrugs.

      ‘What are we going to do?’

      The Vagrant holds up a hand. Jem’s face sours as Reela does the same. Before he can comment however, something over the Vagrant’s shoulder, on the other side of the viewing screen, grabs his attention. ‘Look out!’

      The Vagrant whirls back to the controls to see they are heading directly towards one of the great pillars. Proximity alerts rapidly ramp up in volume, streams of numbers representing distance and time to impact appear on the view screen, flashing to show their urgency. He jerks the controls, throwing the snake to the right and everyone inside the cockpit to the left.

      Only Delta does not move, her serenity untouched. Jem is thrown into the opposite wall, Reela and the Vagrant hurled from their seats.

      A musical array of flesh smacking against hard surfaces follows.

      While the humans recover, the metal snake continues to veer to the right, until it catches sight of its own tail, making circles of muddy brown in the grass beneath its tracks.

      The Vagrant hauls himself back onto his chair, one hand pressing against the new bump on his skull, the other taking the control stick, pointing the snake forward once more.

      Jem also gets up, going to where Reela curls on the floor. ‘It’s alright,’ he says, gathering her into his arms. ‘It’s alright. Ohh, you poor thing.’

      She begins to cry and Jem holds her tighter. ‘Are you hurt? Does it hurt anywhere?’

      Reela blinks, looks over to where the Vagrant is, then takes a deep breath. She squeezes her face, squishing the tear on her cheek and forcing down the other ones.

      ‘Reela?’ Jem asks. ‘Are you okay?’

      She nods.

      ‘Does it hurt anywhere?’

      She shakes her head and Jem moves her over to the empty chair. As he fixes Reela into place, he glances at the Vagrant, mutters, ‘She should have been strapped in.’

      The Vagrant’s mouth opens in protest but he says nothing.

      The snake travels on, its eyes lighting the dark ahead. On the viewing screen, green lines fill in details for frail human eyes. The gradations in the landscape, the outline of trees and, on the horizon, the line where the sea begins.

      Unlike the vast majority of the citizens of the Empire of the Winged Eye, no one in the cockpit is in possession of a working chip. The Vagrant has never had one, neither has Reela. Jem does have one but it is poorly made, a cheap replica of those in the Shining City. It malfunctioned years ago. Now it is a purposeless lump, a little bit of junk in his brain. Because of this, none of them hears the broadcast.

      Delta СКАЧАТЬ