chapter TWENTY-TWO
It took them an hour to find a boat, never talking to each other beyond simple monosyllables: Here. There. No. It was a small motorboat, maybe twelve feet from stem to stern, mounted on a trailer and packed into a backyard practically overflowing with trucks and off-road vehicles. Kira walked around it, splashing in the shallow water, determining how it was attached, how to unhook it, where they might be able to push a truck or break a fence to get the thing out of the yard. There didn’t seem to be a way. She simmered, still angry at Samm, but finally spoke without looking at him.
“I don’t think we can get it out.”
“I agree.” His voice was plain and unemotional, but he was always like that. Was he as mad at her as she was at him? The thought that he might not be made her even angrier than before.
“Whoever lived here was obviously an outdoorsman,” said Samm, glancing around at the dirt bikes and camping trailers lying near the immovable boat. “He might have something smaller in his garage.”
“Or her garage,” said Kira, immediately regretting the tone of petulance in her voice. You can be mad at him without being an idiot, Kira. She focused on the problem at hand, looking at the truck’s tires again, wondering how far it would get if she tried to start it: The tires were flat, and the gas in the tank was twelve years old, so if it started at all, it wouldn’t get far. To the end of the street? The end of the driveway? They were only a block from the south fork of the highway river; if they could just get that far, they could dump it in and row it the rest of the way. She tried the door to the house, supposing that if the owners were home when they died, the keys to the truck might be inside. The door was locked, and she pulled her pistol to shoot off the lock when suddenly Samm emerged from the garage, loudly banging a small metal rowboat against the door frame.
“There are oars inside,” he said, nodding back toward the garage.
“It’s kind of small.”
“It’s the best I could find,” said Samm, “I’m only a Partial.” There was no vitriol in his voice as he said it, because there never was, but Kira felt a small surge of anger that could have come from the link—or it could have come from her own raging mind. Whether she felt it or not, he was clearly still thinking about their argument, and the revelation gave her a joint thrill of anger and triumph. She forced herself to keep a cool expression and went inside to get the oars.
By the time they made it back to the highway junction, first rowing and then carrying the boat up the small incline, Heron and Afa were standing alone. “I tied up the horses in the train yard,” said Heron.
“She made me get off my horse,” said Afa. “I hate that horse.”
“You should be glad to be rid of it, then,” said Kira. She looked at Heron pointedly. “They’re safe?”
“I gave yours a gun just in case.”
“Perfect,” said Kira. “Ready to go?”
Heron glanced at Samm, then back at Kira, calculating silently. “What happened between you two?”
“Nothing,” said Samm. Heron raised an eyebrow.
They slipped the boat back into the water, helping Afa in and positioning him carefully in the center. The boat sank lower under his weight, but it held, and he clutched his backpack tightly to his chest. “We need a bigger boat. I brought all our nacho sauce.”
“Yum,” said Kira. She wanted to look at Samm, to see if he was rolling his eyes or making some other outward sign of derision over Afa’s childlike behavior, but she didn’t dare, and she knew he wouldn’t be anyway.
“It will get wet,” said Afa.
“We won’t let it get wet,” said Samm. They shoved the boat farther from the shallow, inclined shore, and Heron and Kira piled in after Afa. They took the oars, and Samm pushed them even farther out before getting in himself. He was wet to the waist, and dripped and sloshed all over the bottom of the boat; Afa reached out dispassionately to knock him back over the side, but Kira held him back. They settled in, kept their weight as balanced as possible, and began to row.
The river grew deeper and deeper as they rowed out into it. The lines of cars, stopped or crashed in their drivers’ last moments of life, looked like lines of squat brown animals slowly wading into a watering hole: Here was one with just its front tires wet; here was another with its engine submerged; here was one with its only the roof and antenna poking up from the water. They rowed without speaking, the water lapping at the edges of the boat, and soon even the diesel trailers and giant shipping trucks were submerged, with only the very tops shining up through the water like steep metal sandbars.
The edges of the river highway were lined with trees, tall and no longer limited by human supervision; they had reclaimed backyards, parks, and even some portions of the road. Every mile or so they passed under a bridge, the old roadways between one side of the highway and the other, and often these were hung with moss and vines—not kudzu, but something with smaller, darker leaves that Kira didn’t recognize. She plucked one off as they glided beneath it, and she saw that it was waxy to the touch. She rubbed it softly between her fingers, wondering what it was called, and dropped it into the water.
The greater hazard below the bridges were the flocks of waterbirds that had taken up residence there, streaking the concrete supports with yellow-white droppings. Under the third bridge a roosting flock was disturbed by their passage and flew away, first diving down before swooping away from the water and soaring high into the air. Afa flailed at them, startled by the sight and sound of a hundred swarming birds, almost toppling the boat, but Kira was able to calm him. She handed her oar to Samm and focused her attention on keeping Afa mellow. The river was long, even longer than they had expected, and Kira started to wonder how accurate their map had been. Right as she was ready to turn them around, certain they’d somehow missed their turn, they passed the ballpark Heron had seen on the map. Kira announced that they were close, and listened and nodded reassuringly as Afa told her about the technical specs of the data center.
The road rose above the water only once, an overpass in the final interchange before leaving the highway and entering the city. They carried the boat over it, scanning the city as they did, and Kira pointed out the building she guessed was the data center—a fat brick building with two square towers. They walked down the other side of the overpass and got back in the boat, though they could only row for a few more blocks before the depth became too inconsistent to bother. They waded the final mile, probing the ground before them with sticks to keep from falling into any sudden sinkholes. There were two, and they had to go a full block out of their way to avoid the second one. When they arrived at the data center, Kira smiled proudly—it was the same building she’d spotted from the hill. The water level reached almost to their knees, and Samm looked up at the multistory building.
“I hope the computer you’re looking for isn’t on the first floor,” he said. “Or in the basement.”
“I won’t know until we get them turned on,” said Afa, splashing toward the corner. “The emergency generator should be outside somewhere. Find some paint thinner.”
Kira glanced at Samm, then immediately looked away, aiming her question at Heron instead. “Paint thinner?”
Heron shook her head. “Maybe he’s doing some home improvement projects.”
Afa’s answer was lost as he walked around the corner of the building, and Kira and the Partials hurried to catch up. “. . . breaks apart the resin,” he said. “It’s not an effective long-term solution, because the fumes it puts out are toxic, but it’ll get that motor running better than it has in twelve years.” He was back in lucid mode again, perhaps more lucid and eager than she had ever seen him—here, in his element, he was all genius with none of the child to slow him down. It made Kira, in contrast, feel like the slow one.
“What are you talking about?” asked Kira, tapping the ground ahead nervously with her stick as she raced to keep up.
“That,” said Afa, rounding the back corner of the building. Behind the data center was a series of power poles, cables, and giant metal blocks, once painted gray but now mottled with rust. He splashed up to the gate and wrestled with the locks. “We need to get these started, at least one of them, and the best way is with paint thinner.”
“Let me do it,” said Heron, pulling a pair of thin metal prods from somewhere on her belt. She inserted them in the lock on the fence, twisted them slightly, and the lock popped open. Afa raced in, nearly losing his balance in the water. The metal blocks were marked with various icons and labels and warnings. Even looking at them, Kira wasn’t sure what they were for.
“This place was one of the biggest data centers in the world,” said Afa. “If it lost power, half the planet lost their data. It pulled power from the overall power grid like everybody else, but it had all these as backups—if anything happened to the main grid, or even to one of these generators, there were ten other generators on site to pick up the slack. They’re diesel-powered, so we just need to find the . . . I don’t understand.” He sloshed off in another direction, and Kira read the labels on the nearest metal block.
“These aren’t power generators,” she said, “they’re . . . cold generators?”
“It’s a cooling system for the data center,” Afa shouted. He splashed back, nearly falling as he came. “I’ve never seen one this big. But where are the generators?”
“Let’s look inside,” said Heron, and they followed her in. The building was more ornate than Kira expected, an older style of architecture done with brick and plaster and wood paneling. Even the ceilings were vaulted. The first floor of the building was just as flooded as the outside, thanks to the shattered glass and poor seals in the doorways; it came just past their knees, and a coating of dust and debris floated on the top of it like a crust. There were a few offices, but most of the floor was taken up with a single giant room filled end to end with rows of computer towers—not just screens, like the portable computer Afa carried with him, but giant bricks of memory and processing power, each one taller and wider than Kira herself. The first floor had hundreds, lined up like obelisks, bits of wire and insulation floating in the water around them.
“That’s not good,” said Samm. “We’ll never get these running again.”
“Then we hope what we want’s on another floor,” said Afa, and splashed down a row of servers to a large metal tank. “And we hope they have more of these up there with it.”
“It’s a gas tank,” said Kira, and Afa nodded enthusiastically.
“And the generator’s right next to it. This is where we need the paint thinner.”
“I still don’t get that,” said Kira.
“Gas degrades over time,” said Samm, nodding as if he understood everything. “The petroleum inside turns into resin, like a thick gum. That is why none of the cars work anymore.”
“Everybody knows that,” said Kira.
“That is why he’s looking for paint thinner,” said Samm. “It breaks down resin and turns it back into gasoline. The exhaust would be toxic, like he said before, but the generator would run.”
“At least long enough for us to get our data,” said Afa. He clambered up on a metal stair and started straining against the valve on the tank.
“I’ll open it,” said Samm, pushing him gently aside. “You two find some paint thinner.”
“Yes, sir,” said Kira primly, and managed to stifle a curtsy as she turned to leave. Heron followed her out and spoke softly as they left the building.
“Glad to see you two getting along so well,” said Heron. “Anything you want to tell me before you stab Samm in the face?”
Kira didn’t answer, scanning the storefronts for anything that looked like it might sell hardware. She took a breath, trying to calm herself. “Do you think humans are inferior?”
“I think everyone’s inferior.”
Kira stopped, looking back to glare at Heron, then turned again and kept walking. “Do you think that’s the answer I’m looking for?”
“It’s a fact,” said Heron. “Facts are too busy being true to worry about how you feel about them.”
“But you’re a person, not a fact—how do you feel about it?”
“Partials live in a caste system,” said Heron. “The soldiers are the best fighters, the generals are the best leaders and problem solvers, the doctors have the most knowledge and manual dexterity. It’s how we were built—there’s no shame in knowing that you’ve been outsmarted by a general, because they are designed, from the genetic level, to outsmart everyone.” She bowed slightly, an immodest smile creeping over her face. “But I’m an espionage model, and we’re designed to beat everyone at everything. Independent operatives who function outside the normal command structure, facing problems in every category and overcoming them without outside assistance. How could I not feel superior when I demonstrably am?” She paused, and her smile turned more serious. “When I suggested that you might be an espionage model as well, that’s pretty much the best compliment I can give.”
“You don’t get it,” said Kira. “You or Samm or any of the other Partials.” She stopped walking again, throwing up her hands in frustration. “How do you think this is going to end? You kill us and we kill you until nobody’s left?”
“I’m pretty sure we’ll win,” said Heron.
“And then what?” asked Kira. “In two more years you’ll all be past your twenty-year limit, and you’ll be dead. And if any of us live through the war, we’ll die with you, because we need your pheromone to live. And what if we avoid the war? What if we find something in this data center and we cure RM and expiration and we go on with our lives? We’ll both live and we’ll both hate each other and sooner or later we’ll have another war, and we’re never going to escape it unless we change the way we think. So no, Heron, I don’t like your facts or your attitude or your self-righteous explanation of why it’s okay to be a racist, fascist jerk. Damn it, where is there a hardware store?” They turned another corner, and Kira saw a sign that looked promising, storming toward it in waterlogged boots. She didn’t bother looking to see if Heron was behind her.
The store was odd, a kind of combination pet store/home repair store, but they did have paint thinner, and Kira loaded up with two gallon cans per fist. When she turned around, Heron was right behind her, and she grabbed four cans as well. They stomped back through the water to the generators, being careful to follow the same exact route in case there were any collapses or sinkholes they’d missed on the way out.
By the time they got back, Samm and Afa had managed to open the gas valve, and Afa was probing the tank with a long piece of rebar.
“Glued almost solid,” he said. “This could take a while.”
“There are a few more cans in the store if we need them,” said Kira, setting the cans heavily on the metal grating near the tank. “I brought a funnel.”
“First we need to make sure this is the right tank,” said Afa. “Samm looked around, and there are several more on this floor, and from the looks of this wiring there are more upstairs as well.”
“That means we can’t put it off any longer,” said Samm. “We have to figure out which server ParaGen’s data is on.”
Afa nodded. “Records of which servers are ParaGen’s will be found in an administration office; probably upstairs.”
They found the nearest staircase and trudged up; Kira exulted in the feeling as she finally stepped up above the water level. The second story held nothing but servers, as did the third, but the fourth had a number of small offices along one row of broken windows. Afa set down his pack and zipped it open, pulling out a Tokamin—a phone-shaped battery that provided nearly perpetual power, but only in small quantities, and the device’s benefits had traditionally been negated by the ambient radiation it emitted. The old world had never produced them beyond the proof of concept, and though the survivors on Long Island had toyed with the idea, they’d deemed it too dangerous for practical use. When you only have a handful of humans left, there’s no sense giving them cancer. Afa, it seemed, had made his own; Kira stepped back from it, and noticed that Samm and Heron did the same. Afa pressed the button to power it on, and Kira cringed, half expecting a burst of gaseous green energy, but all it did was light up a small doughnut-shaped icon in the center. He plugged it into the desk computer, one of the black-framed glass ones Kira had seen in the Manhattan ParaGen office, and turned it on.
The desk flickered, a five-foot panel of clear glass—on, off, on, on, off. With a final burst of blue light the desk lit up, showing essentially a larger version of Afa’s handheld screen. It was like a window had opened into another world, replacing the sheet of glass with a view of a verdant green jungle, so sharp and clear Kira reached out to touch it. It was the same glass, covered with drifts of dust and dirt, and marred here and there by pixelated glitches in the image. Glowing softly in the center was a small box requesting a password, and Afa tried a few simple words before turning back to his pack and rooting around for something.
“Look for notes,” he said, gesturing haphazardly at the rest of the room. “Seventy-eight percent of office workers leave their passwords written down near their computers.” Kira and Samm scoured the ruined office for pieces of paper, though twelve years of broken windows and full access to the elements had left the room so disheveled she didn’t expect to find anything useful. Heron turned instead to the room’s few remaining photos, turning them around to see if any had names on the back. While they searched, Afa retrieved a memory stick from his backpack and inserted it into a port in the frame of the desk. Before anyone could find a password, Afa barked a short laugh. “Got it.”
Kira looked up. “The password?”
“No, but these desks had a maintenance mode, and I was able to trigger it. I can’t see any of the data, and I can’t modify anything at all, but this will let me see the settings and, more importantly, the file tree.” The image on the screen wasn’t even an image anymore; the jungle and the icons had been replaced with scrolling text, broken into branches and offshoots like a word-based root system. Afa’s fingers flew across the image, expanding it here, compressing it there, flipping past row after row of names and files. “This is perfect.”
“So you’re going to be able to find the ParaGen servers?” asked Samm. Afa nodded, his eyes glued to the screen. Samm waited a moment, then asked, “How long?”
“Unless we get really lucky, most of the night,” said Afa. “Can you bring me some more of that nacho sauce?”