“Neil said it was developed for the sporting goods division. The objective function might not be that complicated.” Axel clicked through some pages of code and referenced a linked manifest. “It looks like there are a variety of product SKU numbers it will want to build, about thirty different kinds. That’s it. That’s all it wants to do—to build as many of them as possible.”
“What kind of products?” Bhavin asked.
“Let me see.” Axel looked up the manifest and compared it to the SKU numbers. “Bicycles,” Axel said, “bicycles of all kinds. It looks like its objective is to build as many bicycles as possible.”
BLACKSBURG
The old forager in Lynchburg had described Blacksburg well. More than any other Old World city, it was covered with melted hardware, each husk surely some machine or other electronic marvel at one time. But these piles of molten rubble weren’t on buildings or factories like in other Old World cities. They were punctuated across fields, as if great robot armies had fought each other here. There was no sign of who or what were the victors, or if there were any victors at all.
Preston imagined the swarm of retchers that must have come through the place, a hurricane of beating wings and acidic vomit, leaving only unrecognizable metal lumps in their wake.
While for Preston the place held a certain kind of fascination, it most certainly made the mules on their expedition uncomfortable.
“I ain’t never seen no place like this before,” the one named Vinny said to Jeroen. “This wasn’t what we spoke about. We didn’t agree to this.” Vinny was scrawny and a bit belligerent, but otherwise he pulled well over his weight. He was part of the new batch of railroad mules. The mules they’d used in the past had learned from experience that it did no good to complain. Unfortunately these new ones still hadn’t been broken in yet.
“If you want to get paid, you’ll keep pedaling and shut your mouth,” Jeroen replied from behind Preston on the platform. Jeroen had been responsible for recruiting the new mules. He’d won over Thorpe on the cost despite Preston’s protests about their quality. Even Chester had voiced his concern about using them, citing their spotty work history. They had little choice. Too many of the quality riders had been picked over. Too many were being used for the countless other Seeville projects Bartz had running.
As he’d done several times on the journey, Preston felt the need to try to bridge the divide, to keep up some vague sense of morale. “If you think about it,” Preston said, “it means less chance of SLS interference. They would never come through a place like this. Even though we are in SLS territory, we are probably safer here than in the surrounding area.”
Vinny looked across to Chester, who was pedaling resolutely ahead of Preston. Chester just nodded. His gravitas on mule matters was enough to quell any further objection, at least for now.
They passed by another field of melted metal statuettes on their left. Vegetation grew precariously around them. Beyond the field was what looked like a helipad, with an old helicopter in ruins. The passenger pod had folded inward from retcher wounds, and the blades lay at odd angles over the deflated chassis.
The peloton followed the road into the forest for a while, and then finally the stadium began looming through the sparse trees. Chester turned his head and gave Preston a frown. Frown or not, Chester kept quiet. He knew not to instill any unnecessary misgivings, particularly in these less agreeable mules.
The two platforms pulled up on the west side of the stadium in an Old World parking lot. Aside from animal tracks, there was no sign of life. It gave Preston confidence that Gail was right about the cache.
Not that he should doubt her. She’d only been wrong once, but even then she’d warned of the lower probability of success. The cache had been completely burned out and melted down by bandits. How could she have known?
Preston unpacked the voice-stone, lifted it off the platform and carried it away from the platforms.
He heard a laugh behind him. “There he goes with his pet rock.”
Preston paused in his stride and turned. It was one of the new mules again, this time the one named Chastain.
Rourke hastily walked toward Chastain. He had that devilish smile on his lips. His pistol was unholstered, twirling on his finger. Preston shook his head at Rourke. In response Rourke tilted his head in a form of mild exasperation.
Chastain looked confused, not understanding the exchange between Preston and Rourke. Vinny was equally puzzled.
Chester clearly did understand, however. He knew what could happen when Rourke started to get giddy. “Chastain!” he hollered, marching around the platform. “Don’t go stirring the shit here, believe me. Preston knows what he’s doing, and that pet rock of his is more important than all of us put together. So keep your ignorant quips to yourself, or so help me, you can ride home alone. Do you understand?”
Chastain had reddened, surprised and confused at the level of the reprimand. “Geez, I was just making a joke. Fine.” He walked away across the parking lot, sulking childishly.
Preston nodded to Chester in thanks. Meanwhile Rourke looked disappointed, shrugged, and then holstered his weapon.
Preston walked far enough away to avoid prying ears and eyes. The rock was heavy, and at one point it nearly slipped from his grasp. It was no wonder the new mules harbored resentment toward it. They had to lug it all this way, without knowing why. Some day they would have to find another way to protect the phone, but for now this was the only way to sufficiently contain the electromagnetic emissions.
He gently placed the stone behind a small bush that had somehow found purchase in the pavement of the old parking lot.
“Gail, we’re here, at the stadium. You can come out of hibernation.”
Gail’s voice sounded distant and distorted. “I’m here, Preston. Is there any sign of forced entry?”
“No. Looks pretty much untouched.”
“Are there any large, cylindrical bullet holes, like you would see in the bike towers area?”
“No.”
“Good. Do you see a barricaded door on the bottom right-hand side of the stadium? You will need to cut an opening centered exactly thirty-one-and-a-half feet to the left of it.”
Preston looked over and saw the barricaded door. It was only partially obscured by vegetation. “Yes. We can do that.”
“Good. Once you have done that, proceed up the stairs. You will need to cut into a large wall at the top. This wall will take longer. Once you are on the main stadium floor you will cross directly to the other side and then cut another hole below the rightmost palisade. Then we can talk again.”
“Got it. Thank you Gail.”
Gail said, “No. Thank you, Preston. This is an important cache for us. It will do a lot to help us keep up our progress in Seeville. I am going back into hibernation now.” The stone went quiet.
Preston touched the stone surface, feeling the hard, smooth curvature, and then he fingered the fastened seam, which could open the stone to extract the phone. It was amazing how his life had changed since he’d found Gail. He’d learned so much, and there was so much more Gail could teach him.
Preston returned to the platforms and got to work. The exterior wall was easy enough to cut through. Inside was a musty hallway and a stairway going up. They secured two dollies and began hoisting them up the long staircase.
At the top of the stairs was a metal wall, three times the height of a man. Preston and Jeroen lit their torches and began cutting through it. This wall took longer, just as Gail had suggested it would. The others ate some provisions on the dank stairs while they cut.
Vinny said, “Hey Chester. Didn’t you say something about not liking these stadiums? I worked on a job where the wrench wouldn’t even go close.”