empty for a while, but Yazdi had found some canned soup, and the freezer had had bread in it. So soup and bread it would have to be. One thing was for sure; that was a damn sight better than an emaciated rabbit half cooked over a tiny fire.
Michael was still getting rid of the evidence of their visit when Yazdi came back, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Sir,” she called, “come and have a look.”
Michael followed her out into the darkness and around the side of the house. Fifty meters down a rough track was a ramshackle garage. Triumphantly, Yazdi flung open the doors to reveal a small truck, battered and well used. “You’re kidding.” Michael stared at the thing, wide-eyed. “Jesus! It’s an antique. Does it work?”
Yazdi shook her head. “Dunno yet. Only one way to find out.” Climbing in, she scratched around inside. Michael had a look in the back; it was empty. Judging by the smell, it was used for carrying timber, and not that long ago, either. They needed to get away, and soon.
Yazdi snorted. She had climbed out; the hood was up. She was staring into the engine compartment in disbelief. She leaned in and sniffed. She shook her head. “It’s diesel. Unbelievable. Should be in a museum.”
“I don’t care. If it moves, that’s all that matters. Can you start it?”
“Think so. Trusting lot around here.” Yazdi waved a key. “Let’s try this. Found it in the glove box. Might save me hotwiring it.”
Michael smiled. Yazdi was a woman with hidden talents. Climbing into the driver’s seat, she put the key in and turned it. After only the slightest hesitation, the little truck’s engine burst into life. Yazdi let it run for a minute and then turned it off. It sounded pretty healthy. There was an awkward silence. Michael and Yazdi looked at each other. With no money and no identity cards, their plan had always been to keep a very low profile until they lucked out and found a computer with access to the Hammer public net. Not much of a plan but good enough for Michael, not least because it kept the chances of being picked up by DocSec to an absolute minimum.
The truck had changed all that.
They could stick to their plan and leave the truck where it was, rusting slowly in its shed. Or they could roll the dice and use it to go north, to get as close as possible to McNair and the safety of the FedWorld embassy. And even if they did not make it to McNair, there had to be a computer he could get at somewhere along the way. He hoped. Michael sighed despairingly. To keep faith with Fellsworth, all he needed was twenty minutes, for God’s sake. Twenty minutes on a computer to tell the Fed embassy that close to three hundred spacers had survived the destruction of the
“So what do you think?” Yazdi asked softly.
Michael took a deep breath. He had to decide. They could not sit around forever while he agonized over what to do. He took another deep breath and made his decision.
“I’ll get our stuff,” he said quietly. “We’ll use the truck. So let’s get going. I’m sick of this creeping around shit.”
Yazdi looked relieved. “Couldn’t agree more. I’ll make sure I can drive the damn thing.”
Michael ducked back into the house. Picking up the two packs, he was making a final check to make sure they had not left anything incriminating when something made him look again at a cheap simwood-fronted cupboard.
Later, Michael cursed himself long and hard for not having been more inquisitive earlier. Finding food, warmth, and clean clothes had been enough to make him forget the mission Fellsworth had given him. The cheap cupboard he had ignored was not a cupboard at all. It was a door into a tiny office. There, sitting on a plain wooden desk surrounded by dusty papers, was the oldest computer he had ever seen.
His breath caught in his throat.
If it worked, if he could log on, if it was connected to the public net, if he could find the right public bulletin board-that was one hell of a lot of “if ”s, he thought-he could post the message, alerting the embassy that at least some of the
Thirty long, anxious minutes later, Michael sat back, sick with relief. He was done. He had found the website he needed, a public bulletin board for people with problem pets; lost animals was a popular thread. Bunch of sick comedians, those escape-and-evade planners, he decided as he keyed in the coded message for help and pressed the Submit button. For what seemed like an age, nothing happened. He was beginning to panic by the time he got confirmation that the post had been accepted. He shook his head as he logged off and shut down the computer. It was all so damn primitive. It was like being back in the Dark Ages. No wonder the Hammers were screwed if this was the level of technology they depended on.
He was finished. He had done what Fellsworth had sent him and Yazdi the best part of a thousand kilometers to do. It was up to the embassy now. There was nothing more he could do.
Making his way outside, he pulled the map of Commitment out of his neuronics. A quick search brought up Barkersville. That looked like a promising place. It was a small farming town, so stealing diesel for the truck should not be a problem, and the road in from Baboushan ran through open country with only a handful of tiny hamlets along the way. If DocSec or the local police were stopping traffic to run identity checks, maybe they would see the roadblock early enough to get away. Not much of a plan, he would have to say, but without money and without valid Hammer identity cards, it was probably the best they could do. Their original plan-to live rough while they worked their way north on foot to McNair in the hope that they could contact the FedWorld embassy and arrange a pickup- no longer appealed to him. It was too slow, too uncertain, and besides, he had debts to repay.
Yazdi looked up from her study of the truck’s engine as he approached. “Saw you found a computer. You’ve done it, haven’t you?”
“Sure have,” Michael said with a huge grin; he could not help himself.
Yazdi breathed out hard. “You have no idea how happy that makes me. Shit. Mission accomplished and all that. Jeez, Fellsworth would be pleased. Wish we could tell her.”
“Yeah. I wish we could.” Michael stopped for a moment; he hoped the
“What we do next?”
“Yes. Here’s how I see it. We’ve done what Fellsworth sent us to do, and there’s nothing more we can do to help the
Yazdi nodded but said nothing.
“Well, nothing directly,” Michael continued. “But indirectly, there is a lot we can do.”
Yazdi looked up, her face suddenly alive.
Michael smiled. “Thought that might get your attention. It seems to me that creating a bit of confusion, a bit of mayhem, here and there will do a lot to divert the Hammers’ attention from our people. It’s a long shot, but apart from hiding in the bushes, what else can we do?”
There was a long pause as Yazdi thought about that. She nodded. “I agree. It’s simple, really. Sit around or do something to hurt the Hammers. If that takes some of the heat off the
“Exactly. Now, pull up the map. I think Barkersville should be our first port of call.”
The thought of action had transformed Yazdi. She looked positively cheerful as she gunned the battered truck down the long road leading away from the isolated house. Michael smiled. Of course Yazdi looked cheerful. Mayhem was her business, and there was every chance she would be back in business before much longer.
He smiled grimly as the truck turned north onto the main Barkersville highway. Yazdi was humming softly to herself as the truck built up speed.
Michael settled down to get some sleep. The Hammers had had their turn. Now it was his, and he was going to do his level best to make them regret going anywhere near the
