Video transcription of an interview with General Adam McClain, 2046.
“Please, enter a destination,” says Fyfe as soon as Jude is back in the pilot’s chair.
“We’re going to Nevada.”
“Satellite connection not found. Please, check for system errors.”
“You weren’t joking when you said he hasn’t been updated since the Rise,” Jude says to me. “The satellites stopped working decades ago, Dumdumb. Just head north. We’ll do it the good ol’ way. I’ll guide you.”
I would love nothing more than to die in peace, but a question is already burning my lips.
“What’s in Nevada?” I ask in a faint voice.
His answer takes so long to come that I first thought he didn’t hear me.
“We need a hacker to change Dumdumb’s command and give me full control. And I only know one that is skilled enough to hack into a military-grade AI,” he says as theFirefly’s engines come to life.
Hackers are a rare breed. Nowadays, survival is easier if you learn how to hunt, gather, and farm. Technology has been slowly dying out since the Rise. But a few people still try to keep it going with the little means they possess.
And I know only of one place in particular that has a few hackers for hire. That’s where I sent for the one who hacked into theFireflythe first time.
“The Traveling Market,” I say.
Jude nods. “If we’re lucky, it’s still in Nevada.”
“You have access?” I ask, in awe.
The Traveling Market is one of the most guarded secrets of the Broken States. Twenty years ago, its crazy founders had the idea to build a market on top of three Baggers 301. Before the Rise, they were the biggest vehicles in the world, designed to excavate huge amounts of rubble from mine sites. Three arms as long as a football field—two on top for balance, and one for the excavation wheel—sit on top of the main body that rotates. The bucket wheel alone is as big as a six-story building. Those behemoths—also called the Eiffel Towers on wheels—travel slowly on giant tracks made to reach excavation sites.
I’ve seen the pictures. They’ve built bridges to connect the three Baggers together, and platforms to house the market and stalls. People actually live full-time on the Traveling Market.
And as its name indicates, it moves around, making sure that its location constantly changes. Their wide network of traveling merchants informs them of the old gods’ movements, allowing them to avoid destruction.
The Traveling Market is the beating heart of our modern trade routes. I’ve never seen it in person. You need to have access to their radio network to be able to get their coordinates at any given time.
“I do,” answers Jude.
“You’re not a merchant,” I say.
I forbid my men from attacking or putting traveling merchants under slavery. They are vital to all communities. You don’t want to be cut off from the trade routes. Without them, there would be no antibiotics, food, tools, messages, fuel… We all need something at some point, and I wasn’t stupid enough to ignore it.
They work as a guild, and at its center is the Traveling Market and the King of Merchants. If you save the life of one, the entire guild owes you. And if you hurt one of them… you better hope no one sees you.
“I’m not,” says Jude. “But I was… acquainted with one of them. And they gave me access to the market. I don’t know where the market is right now, but it’s usually either in Nevada or Utah. We need to get close enough to pick up their radio signal. I have a friend in. Now shut the fuck up and try not to die until we reach the market.”
I close my eyes, wishing I could die now just to spite him.
The painkillers he gave me are working, and the edge of the pain is dulled enough that I find myself drifting to sleep.
The jellyfish float above me again. I cower at the bottom of the tank, my little arms around my legs and my eyes fixed on the beautiful threats drifting in the tank. It’s a small mercy that I don’t need to blink underwater.
My younger self thinks that the jellyfish are toying with him. That they’re waiting for him to lower his guard so they can attack. But the adult version of me, who knows I’m dreaming, is aware that jellyfish don’t think as we do. They are content to follow the current and wait for small prey to be drawn by their colors. Once their victim is in their embrace, their thin tentacles inject them with venom and they get slowly pulled toward their mouth. I keep my eyes wide open, mesmerized and terrified. I expect them to reach for me. One of them drifts to the bottom of the tank. I’m crying, but the tears disappear in the salt water. I try to escape, but the cylinder tank is too narrow to offer much room. The tentacles touch my arms first, then my face. I scream.
My screams, too, are swallowed by the surrounding water.
I jolt awake, gasping for air. TheFirefly’s cockpit is dark, and I struggle to remember where I am. My ankles are still shackled, and now my hands are tied, too. Jude is sleeping on the pilot’s chair. It looks like theFireflyhas landed somewhere for the night.
I try to calm my beating heart as memories bubble to the surface of my conscious mind.
