Broken Lands Page 2

  “Sanza,” he replied with a terse nod.

  “I hear you asked for me.”

  “I did.”

  “How strange.” The corners of her mouth twitched with amusement. “I seem to recall you saying something about never wanting my help again. In fact, I think your exact words were, ‘I’d rather eat sand.’”

  “I stand by that.”

  “And yet, here I am.” She arched an eyebrow. “So, what gives?”

  He nodded at the large machine. “You tell me.”

  Her gaze turned curious and she headed toward it. Kneeling down, she checked its cords as well as the wall socket. Then she pried open a panel and studied the machine’s guts.

  Sanza’s official title was Chief of Reverse-Engineering. Her staff was responsible for maintaining hundreds of machines throughout Natica. The rasco ovens, for instance. And the computers that controlled the reservoir and aqueducts. Plus, strange contraptions like this one. Ancient machines with unknown purposes.

  “Incredible,” she muttered. “It woke up.”

  “Woke up?”

  “That’s our way of saying it’s no longer in hibernation. It’s doing something.” She rubbed her hands together, visibly excited. “This is the first machine to awaken in years.”

  “So, what’s it doing?”

  “How should I know?” She ran her fingers through her dense curls. “It just woke up.”

  “Isn’t it your job to know?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, pardon me, Mr. High-and-Mighty. We can’t all be perfect like you.”

  “It’s not about perfection,” he argued. “Your job is to understand the machines.”

  “Actually, no. It’s to keep them operational. That’s it. That’s all we’re supposed to do.”

  He snorted.

  She glared at him. “You can blame me all you like. But it’s not my fault nobody kept records. That decision was made long before I was born.”

  She was right, of course. He gave the machine another look. “So, you’ve got nothing for me?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then let me know when you do.” Hiking toward the staircase, he started up the steps.

  “Titus?”

  He halted halfway up the first flight. “What?”

  “It’s unlikely it woke up on its own accord.”

  “Meaning …?”

  “Meaning it’s responding to an outside stimulus. In other words, something has changed. As to what that could be, your guess is as good as mine.”

  A frown creased his visage. He thought back to the blinding light he’d witnessed at the front gate. He’d never seen anything like it before. Could it, somehow, be the reason the machine had awoken?

  “Regardless, we’re talking about something new, something unexpected.” A smirk danced across her face. “Something even you couldn’t have anticipated.”

  He noted the heavy sarcasm in her tone. “Well, there’s one way we can anticipate things like this in the future,” he said, resuming his walk. “Starting today, I want records kept on all machines, awake or otherwise.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Are you joking? You’d better be joking, Titus. Or Manda help me, I’ll—”

  He kept walking, ignoring her sudden barrage of shouts and questions. Truthfully, he was messing with her. He had no intention of changing Reverse-Engineering. And he’d tell her that …

  Just not tonight.

  Chapter 3

  As he often did when walking outside, Titus took a good, long look at the compound. Rising seventy-four feet above the sand, it was the tallest structure within the walled fort. Combined with its interior, which consisted of twelve sprawling floors, it was even larger than the reservoir.

  The compound, of course, held Miot. Miot was a massive machine, consisting of an enormous array of metal, bolts, screws, transistors, microchips, cords, and screens. Generations of his people had devoted their existence to it, fulfilling its every need using materials set aside within the warehouse. Anything and everything was done to keep it operational. And with good reason.

  Many years ago, the great deity Manda had foreseen the Broken. She’d led the travelers to this place, the promised land of Natica. Then She’d guided their hands in the creation of Miot, prophesizing that it would one day end the Broken.

  Shifting his gaze, he saw a pair of soldiers out front, guarding the torchlit entrance. A couple of reverse-engineers, clearly en route to see the newly-awoken machine, lowered their voices as they passed by it.

  He quickened his pace until he reached the concrete pillars that marked his father’s apartment. Pulling up next to the heavy green curtain, he listened for snores. Hearing nothing, he cleared his throat. “King Jayter?” he called. “Are you awake?”

  He waited for his father’s familiar, deep-throated voice. When it didn’t come, he pushed the curtain aside and glanced down the long staircase.

  A sizable apartment, lavish by Natica’s standards, lay before him. A sandbed—a thin metal box filled with copious amounts of sand—was pushed up against the far wall. The metal furniture consisted of dressers, chairs, tables, a display case, and a sizable desk.

  King Jayter Foster sat at the desk. The man’s eyes were dark and swirling. A dense beard, black as night, covered the lower half of his face. He stared intently at a rock statue cradled in his hands. Lightly, his fingertips traced its grooves.

  The statue looked like a younger version of Titus and yet, it wasn’t of him. Rather, it depicted Dargon Foster, Jayter’s first son and Titus’ older brother. Dargon had carved the rock himself and given it to their father four years earlier, on the occasion of his birthday. It was so Jayter would always remember him, Dargon had said at the time.

  As if he could ever forget.

  “King Jayter?” Titus’ voice was stronger this time, yet still respectful.

  With a soft sigh, Jayter placed the statue on his desk. Then he twisted in his chair and faced the staircase.

  “At ease, General,” he replied in a raspy tone. “What can I do for you?”

  Titus hiked down the staircase to the sunken apartment. “I have news to report.”

  “Oh?”

  “The sting was, I’m pleased to say, a complete success. We recovered a sizable amount of stolen water and apprehended all four criminals.” He paused, letting the information sink in. “The banishment ceremony will take place at daybreak.”

  “Perhaps we should give them a short reprieve,” Jayter suggested. “After all, Skywater is almost here.”

  Ahh, Skywater. The annual celebration, heralding the prophesized ending of the Broken. In less than twenty-four hours, Natica would erupt into a massive party, full of dancing, drinking, singing, and general mayhem. Truly, it was the best day of the year, bar none.

  “The Code of Conduct is very clear on this.” Titus nodded at a display case. A well-worn manual—the last surviving book on Earth—rested beneath the thick glass. “All banishment ceremonies are to be conducted at first daybreak.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  “Is something wrong, Father?”

  “It’s just … sometimes I …” He trailed off.

  Titus frowned.

  “I’m not long for this world.” Titus started to protest, but Jayter lifted a hand, stopping him cold. “It’s true. I’m sick, Son. Sick and old. There’s no denying it. And now that I’m nearing the end, I’m starting to look back on my reign. I find myself questioning the Code, our slavish devotion to it.”

  “That sounds an awful lot like something he would have said,” Titus replied with a nod at the statue. He felt strange referencing his deceased brother this way, especially on the near-anniversary of the man’s death. But it was true. Dargon had spent his final years quietly railing against the Code, telling anyone who would listen that its tenets were inhumane. That Natica needed to move past it, to evolve into something better.

  “I’m serious,” Jayter replied.

  “You’re thinking with
your heart instead of with your head. That’s precisely why the Code exists, Dad. To enshrine difficult principles for the long haul. Principles that are essential for our survival.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” He grunted. “Well, uh, is there anything else?”

  “Actually, yes. After the sting was finished, one of the machines … well, it woke up.”

  Jayter’s eyes gleamed. “Oh?”

  Swiftly, Titus filled him in on everything that had transpired. Afterward, the king leaned back in his chair, deep in thought.

  “So, you think that light was the stimulus?” he asked.

  “Could be.” Titus pictured the strange flash of light he’d seen in the western desert. “There’s no way to be sure though.”

  “Maybe you should go there.”

  “The hinterlands?”

  He nodded.

  “Forget it.”

  “But—”

  “The light doesn’t matter,” he argued. “All that matters is what happens inside our walls.”

  Jayter glanced at his desk. An ancient clock, a sturdy mechanism from a more advanced age, stared back at him. “Do you ever wonder about time?” he asked.

  “What’s that got to do with this?”

  “Everything.”

  Titus arched an eyebrow. “Are we talking about the concept of time? Like, how did the ancients establish it? Or are we talking about how time is allocated? Sixty minutes to an hour, for instance. And twenty-four hours to a day.”

  “Neither. I’m talking about where it comes from. That is, how does this clock know what time to display? Does it generate the information on its own accord? Does it gather it from somewhere inside of the fort? Or does it pull data out of the air itself?”

  Titus shrugged. “How should I know?”

  “Exactly my point. We live amongst machines. They control the water flow. They harness solar energy. They make rascos for our bellies and clean our waste. We’re completely dependent upon them. And yet, we have no idea how they really work.”

  Titus chuckled. “I was just talking about this very issue with Sanza.”

  “The whole purpose of Reverse-Engineering is to maintain the machines, to fix them when trouble arises. But the very process of reverse-engineering something, of tearing it apart to see how it works, is limited. Sanza and her people could repair this clock. They could even build a duplicate from scratch. But that’s all they could do. They’ll never truly understand how it works.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  He clucked his tongue. “My point is that we know so little about our machines, especially the ones that remain in hibernation. Now, we’ve been gifted with the possibility of learning something new. I say we take it.”

  “And I say we don’t.”

  Jayter frowned.

  “Look, I’d love to continue this, Dad. But I’ve got to prepare for the banishment ceremony.”

  “Fine.” He exhaled, suddenly looking beyond tired. “Do me a favor. After the banishment, take my place.”

  “Your place?”

  “I mean give the Skywater speech.” He coughed a few times. “I’m not feeling up to it.”

  Every year, King Jayter visited the school on the day before Skywater. He gave a speech about the holiday, about its origin and lasting importance, to all of Natica’s children.

  “Of course.” Taking a deep breath, Titus quieted his frazzled nerves. He’d never given a speech before and honestly, he wasn’t sure he was ready to do so now.

  “Thank you.” Jayter turned back to the desk. Holding up the statue, he studied it at length.

  Titus watched him for a minute, then glanced at the statue. Naticans, by and large, lacked imagination. That had never been a problem for Dargon. The man’s mind had been so weirdly odd. Back then, Jayter had just rolled his eyes at all of Dargon’s wild ideas. But now, he seemed to be changing his tune, a fact that bothered Titus.

  Taking his leave, he walked up the stairs. Donning his headgear, he pushed aside the curtain. Then he angled his shoulders toward the prison and strolled outside. Trudging across the boiling sand, he tried to concentrate on the upcoming banishment ceremony.

  But all he could think about was his father. He’d known for a long time that King Jayter was dying. Soon, too soon, Titus would take his place.

  Now, more than ever, the Code of Conduct mattered. It was everything. For without its guidance, Natica would surely crumble to dust.

  Chapter 4

  The four prisoners, hemmed in by eight soldiers, marched slowly across the length of the prison. Reaching the staircase, they started up the steps, their shackles jingling the entire way. At the top, Private Rohor Stubbels parted the curtains and the group walked out from under the concrete entryway.

  Sandals slapping against the sun-drenched sand, they hiked toward the enormous gate. A slow, rhythmic clapping started up from within the shaded areas afforded by Natica’s buildings and structures.

  Headgear in place, Titus followed the group up the stairs and stepped out onto the hot sand. Exhaling, he watched the prisoners stumble across the uneven terrain. He felt little pity for Andlor and Gorik and even less for Private Keyst Yolk. They deserved what was coming to them. But if he searched his deepest feelings, a very small part of him felt sorrow for the fourth member of the ring, Zayda Howt.

  He swiveled toward his father’s apartment. He was surprised to see King Jayter standing, slightly hunched, just inside of the entrance. The king made it a point to attend all major events, including banishment ceremonies. But, sick as he was, nobody would’ve blamed him if he’d skipped this particular one.

  Breaking off his gaze, Titus hiked to the gate. Soldiers filled the two opposing sentinel posts. The fort’s exterior wall stood still and silent.

  Looking toward the western sentinel post, he caught the attention of Private Pierce Jilton. “Any activity on the horizon, Private?” he asked.

  Jilton snapped to attention. “No, Sir.”

  In his twenty-two years, Titus had yet to meet a single outsider. Like everyone else, he suspected this was because outsiders simply didn’t exist, that the rest of Earth was completely dried out and thus, barren of life.

  Even if outsiders did exist somewhere, it was highly unlikely they’d travel during daytime. With average morning temperatures hovering around the 130-degree Fahrenheit mark, who could survive more than a few hours of direct sunlight?

  “Then open the gate,” he ordered.

  Directing his attention to one of the many computers making up Natica’s network, Jilton typed on the keyboard. The electronic lock clicked as it disengaged. The metal barrier swung open.

  Titus laid eyes upon the cloaked prisoners and upon Zayda in particular. Sturdy metal shackles encased her slim wrists and ankles. Her cloak’s headgear covered her skull.

  He stared through the gate, into the depths of the desert. He’d spent three years as General of the Natica Army, three years upholding and enforcing King Jayter’s rule in accordance with the Code of Conduct. Three years fulfilling his primary duty—protecting Miot from any and all threats—to the utmost of his ability.

  In those three years, he’d overseen dozens of banishments, sending a myriad of rule-breakers and criminals into the vast hinterlands. He still recalled the earliest ceremonies. He recalled the swagger in his step, the adrenaline in his heart. He’d been so proud to do his duty in those days. But Dargon’s revolt and subsequent banishment had changed all of that.

  Stiffening his posture, he turned toward the prisoners. “Don’t struggle,” he said. “If you do, my soldiers will have no choice but to respond. They won’t kill you, but they’ll make your last few hours far more painful. Do you understand?”

  The four heads bobbed up and down.

  “Good.” Titus glanced at the nearby soldiers. “Remove their restraints.”

  Four privates stepped forward and unlocked the chains. Meanwhile, the others hovered nearby, swords at the ready.

  After the
prisoners were free, all eight soldiers took up position behind them. The rhythmic clapping gained speed and volume. A collective chant lifted up from the throats of Natica’s residents.

  “Purge the scourge. Purge the scourge. Purge the scourge …”

  Titus studied the prisoners. Gorik and Keyst stared at the sand. Andlor directed his attention at the sky. Zayda, however, met his gaze with a pleading look. “Gorik Skefford, Private Keyst Yolk, Andlor Isforth, and Zayda Howt,” he said. “You’re guilty of water theft. Your punishment, as defined by the Code of Conduct, is banishment.”

  Zayda stared out at the vast expanse of dry, dead land. “Where will we go?” she asked, her voice cracking at the seams.

  “That’s up to you.”

  “Can’t you at least give us water?” A bit of panic seeped into her voice. “Maybe some rascos?”

  “Food and water are for the living. That goes for clothing, as well.”

  With or without supplies, a banished prisoner would perish within a day of exiting the fort. Anything that prisoner took would thus be wasted. And Natica wasted nothing. When computers broke down, they were set aside to be repaired or salvaged for parts. When cloaks ripped, they were patched up. Nothing was ever thrown away for the simple reason that this was all they possessed.

  “How will we survive out there?” she asked.

  You won’t, he thought without answering.

  Her eyes teared up, but the hot wind quickly dried them. Taking a deep breath, she pulled off her cloak and kicked off her sandals. The other prisoners followed suit. They stood still for a moment, naked and unsure of themselves.

  Zayda started to cover her privates, but changed her mind at the last second. Turning toward the fort’s interior, she lifted her voice to a shout. “I didn’t keep it. I gave it to Yoren, to save his life. Shouldn’t that mean something?”

  Natica’s collective voice roared in response.

  “Purge the scourge. Purge the scourge. Purge the scourge …”

  Zayda’s kid brother, Yoren, suffered from perpetual sickness and was unable to work. As per the Code, he was only allotted half-rations of water, which wasn’t enough to satiate a man of his stature. The Howt family sacrificed for him, trading for extra water whenever possible. But it was never enough.