“A different city?” the sheriff said. “Across the Outlands? We’d die out there.”
“Take flyers, or other vehicles,” Rhea told him.
The sheriff shook his head. “There aren’t enough for the whole population.”
“Then we storm Aradne,” Rhea said. “And take cover inside its walls.”
The sheriff studied her a moment. “We won’t have to storm Aradne. If the city can’t protect us, for whatever reason, then they’ll let us enter freely. But if it’s true these bioweapons of yours are immune to energy weapons, I’m not sure what hope for us there is in Aradne.”
“The bioweapons won’t strike Aradne…” Rhea told him. “You see, the city is behind the attack.”
The sheriff stared at her with wide eyes, then snorted in disbelief. “Nonsense.”
“It’s true,” Rhea said. “They’re running out of water.”
The sheriff raised an eyebrow. “And where did you hear this?”
“From a mercenary sent to kill me,” she told him.
“Ah,” the sheriff said. “A most reputable source, of course.” His voice oozed sarcasm. “Listen to me. The pipes of Aradne drink directly from the ocean. They’ll never run out.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” she told him. “But apparently, the oceans are running out. The governments have kept the knowledge from us.”
“More ‘news’ from your mercenary source, I’m sure,” the sheriff said. “Look, I’ll talk to my contacts in Aradne. If there’s a threat, they’ll deal with it.”
“Don’t you get it, they want to destroy you,” Rhea said. “They—the people that run Aradne—are done sharing their water with Rust Town. Rather than risking a revolt, they’ve decided it’s best to kill you as fast as possible. They have dispatched the bioweapons!”
The sheriff shook his head. “The Aradne council would never ratify such a genocide.”
“I’m not saying they have,” Rhea told him. “This would’ve been something decided off the record, outside the council, by a select few.”
The sheriff gave her a look that could best be described as dubious. “If they wanted to kill us instantly, there are much more effective ways. Flooding the settlement with gas, for example. Why go through the trouble of creating designer bioweapons?”
“Because they’d go to jail?” Rhea said. “Bioweapons give them the perfect out. If they cover their tracks properly, they can say the attack was random.” She stared at the hologram and implored: “You have to issue a warning at least, so people can evacuate. Otherwise, they’re all dead.”
The sheriff stared at her for a moment. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You would have me cause a panic, when you have no proof backing up anything you’ve said?”
“I’ve already told you to dispatch drones—” Rhea threw up her arms. “Forget it. This is useless. You’re obviously in cahoots with Aradne. Nothing I say is going to make a difference. What did the mayor offer you, a position on the city council or something? Traitor.”
She pulled up the permissions menu on her HUD and disallowed all of Astor’s previous access to her augmented reality interface. Cut off, the man immediately vanished from her HUD.
She stood up and went to the entrance door. It slid aside, and she stormed out.
Will and Horatio joined her a moment later.
“Well, that went well,” Will quipped.
26
Rhea stared at the lean-tos around her. People lived cloistered within, mostly oblivious to the outside world, save for those times they accessed their external security cameras, or left home for the occasional errand. Some families probably lived out their entire lives without ever setting foot beyond their doorsteps. And now they were all going to die.
Overcome with sadness and guilt, she pressed her hands to either side of her face.
I failed. All of this is going to vanish.
“I thought you gave up a little too quickly,” Horatio said.
“Don’t make her feel worse,” Will scolded the robot. “She did the right thing. It was obvious the sheriff wasn’t going to help. If we want to issue a warning, we’re going to have to do it ourselves.”
Rhea dropped her hands and slumped. “No one will listen to us.”
“We can try uploading videos of our encounters to the streaming sites,” Horatio said. “And hope enough people see them before the content is pulled.”
“We can try,” she agreed. “But even if some do view the videos, how many will believe it’s true, and not some fiction published to garner views?”
“Might as well do it,” Will told Horatio.
“I’m uploading as we speak,” Horatio said.
“How many followers do you have?” Rhea asked.
“Er,” Horatio said. “Five.”
She glanced at Will. “You?”
“I never was a big streamer,” Will answered.
“So how many?” she pressed.
“About the same as Horatio,” Will admitted.
“Hmm,” Horatio said.
Will turned toward the robot. “What?”
“Two of the videos have already been flagged for content review,” Horatio explained.
“What’s that mean?” Rhea asked.
“It means they won’t go live until a moderator reviews them,” the robot explained. A few seconds later: “The remaining videos were also flagged.”
“There you go,” Rhea said. “Pointless.” She gazed at the series of cargo containers behind her. “Maybe we can hijack their equipment? Use it to send out an official-looking alert?”
“Hacking was never one of my strong suites,” Will said.
When she glanced at Horatio, the robot said: “Don’t look at me. I’m just an AI.”
She sighed. “I still can’t believe he blew us off. A sheriff’s duty is to protect his people. Ensure civil order.”
“What reaction were you expecting?” Horatio asked. “If the rulers of Aradne intend to destroy Rust Town, of course they’re going to enlist the aid of its sheriff and get him and his security force to stand down. The sheriff probably isn’t even in Rust Town anymore. He’s relaxing in the palatial suite Aradne’s mayor provided him with as part of the reward for his cooperation.”
Rhea closed her eyes for a moment. “I was a fool to think I could make a difference. Naive.” She glanced at Will. “Impressionable. Like you told me. You tried to warn me that it was stupid to come back here. I wouldn’t listen.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Will said. “At least you tried.”
She thought for a moment. “There’s one
