“What about voice com?” said Saburo, eyeing his disk.
“I don’t trust it. They can be hacked and listened to. I think that’s what happened to my ship, my crew. We’ll operate under radio silence.” Saburo half smiled and raised one shoulder in mild protest.
“Saburo, you’ll be guarding the bikes. If something happens – you’re in trouble, if you see something suspicious, do this:” She activated Saburo’s hologram, then formed a fist over it. The chevron moved to one side, accompanied now by a red exclamation mark. On all the other holodisks, a second red chevron appeared, pointing to Saburo’s disk. “Press it, and we’ll come back for you as soon as we can. Do not hesitate to call for help.” She reset his disk by placing a fist over it once again.
Saburo practiced a while. When satisfied, he placed the disk in his breast pocket.
“Alana,” said Loma, turning to her. “You’re coming with me. Stay low, keep your eyes peeled.” Alana nodded. “Kirwyn – you stay with Saburo and the bikes, keep your head down.” Kirwyn slid down on his back and gave a thumbs up.
Loma sealed her helmet shut. She checked her rifle, tapped it and placed securely in the nook of her arm. Alana unclasped the protective shield on her rifle’s scope and stood to attention. She stared into the black void of Loma’s helmet, Loma stared back at her, saw a calm young Ranger.
“Let’s go,” said Loma, she lead the way, climbing up out of the fountain, running into the city, Alana followed her at a distance. They ran between narrow walls, took cover wherever they could find it, silent soles stepping over cracked concrete.
Kirwyn and Saburo sat in silence. Saburo retrieved a paper tube from his jacket, and a metal cylinder that produced a fierce blue flame, he sat munk-like, smoking, his free arm resting on a denim knee. Kirwyn sat up and peered over the cusp of the fountain, looking for any signs of movement.
Saburo broke the silence. “You ever been to Lundun?”
“No,” said Kirwyn. “I’ve never been this far south before. What about you?”
“I’ve been further south, but I’ve never been inside Lundun…” He exhaled smoke from his nostrils, Kirwyn coughed quietly. “I met an old Hun once, in a bar in Craigmore. He said the Huns sent an expedition to Lundun, 20 riders – they got a tip off that there was platinum, barrels of the stuff, buried… somewhere in the capital. 20 men went out, 2 returned… One of the survivors abandoned the gang, just rode out into the wilderness – never returned – the other refused to speak about what happened – became a shell of himself.”
Kirwyn turned to Saburo, but said nothing.
“I don’t know if he was bullshitting me,” he continued, stubbing out his smoke. “But he sold it well if he was lying. Maybe he was just trying to make me send some Cavaliers on a wild goose chase for a laugh.”
Kirwyn turned back to the world. He scanned the rooftops more earnestly now.
Several minutes passed. Kirwyn would occasionally slink down and lie in the curve of the fountain, but curiosity would always get the better of him and he would go back to his watch. Saburo stayed by the bikes. He pulled out his gun, an old machine pistol with a wooden handle. He emptied the bullets and did tricks, flipping it and catching it at odd angles, balancing it, occasionally dropping it, sending it clattering to the ground which would make Kirwyn wince.
“Do you hear that?” said Saburo, suddenly.
Saburo holstered his pistol and crept next to Kirwyn, peering out into the world.
“I hear it too,” said Kirwyn. “Music.”
It was barely audible, violin music. Low and mournful.
“I think it’s coming from one of the buildings,” said Saburo.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe an old recording, turned itself on?”
Kirwyn frowned. He pulled out his holodisk. “Should we call for help.”
Saburo weighed this, turning his head to his side. “No,” he said. “I don’t think so. Wish we could have voice coms. If they could hack voice coms I’m sure they could hack these,” he said, retrieving his disk from his jacket.
“It’s getting louder,” said Kirwyn, and it was, the sound became clearer, whatever it was that made the noise, it was moving closer to them. Then it stopped.
They sat perfectly still, holding their breath, watching.
They heard footsteps behind them. Saburo aimed, held out his pistol with two hands, Kirwyn lay down so he could not be seen, his hands at the hilt of his sword.
It was Alana and Loma, they were carrying a boxy piece of machinery, about the size of a suitcase. They held it either side with one hand, it was covered in brick dust and wires trailed behind them like a wedding gown. They placed it down carefully, it was heavy.
“How we gonna get this back to Moortown?” asked Saburo, incredulously.
“It’s going to be a tight squeeze. We’ll manage.”
Saburo held the bike steady while Loma and Alana lowered it onto the back of the seat. Kirwyn strapped it down with rope, tucked away the machine’s wires and tied these together.
“While you were gone—” said Saburo “we heard music.”
“From where?” asked Loma
“Somewhere close. It stopped.”
Loma took off her helmet and considered this, hands on her hips, struggling to get her breath back. She looked around with narrowed eyes.
“Both of you heard it?”
They nodded.
“It was probably nothing,” she concluded. “Probably just a jukebox going off. But if it happens again, let us know – with the disks.”
She lent down, hands on her knees, breathing heavily. “I need a break. What about you Alana?”
“I’m fine,” she said, sitting cross-legged.
“Ok. You remember the route?”
“Yes.”
“You and Kirwyn get the spare. I’ll stay and guard the bikes. ok?”
“Ok,” said Alana, Kirwyn nodded.
The two set off. Squeezing between cracks of buildings, clambering over rubble. Kirwyn saw bombed out flats, run-down palaces and temples. He saw a woman’s face 50 metres tall with ruby red lipstick and a giant toothbrush, her teeth were covered in soot and algae, her eyes were torn out, revealing a second advertisement underneath. The sun beat down on them. Kirwyn had to take off his jacket and wrap it around his neck like a cape. Although Alana had already made the journey once, she appeared to never tire, and led the way by some distance.
They came to a large cylindrical building, the largest Kirwyn had ever seen. The parts were originally in one of the underground levels, down several flights of stairs, buried under piles of scrap, Alana explained to him. Loma’s helmet somehow saw through all the rubbish, they unearthed the treasures and brought them up to the ground floor. Loma decided that they were too heavy to carry both of them at the same time.
They lay it flat and held one side each, walking at an uncomfortable angle back the way they came. They squeezed through a narrow alleyway when Alana suddenly stopped, Kirwyn followed suit. The music had returned. A frantic fiddling. High pitched and frenetic, distant. They stared at each other.
“It’s the same as last time,” said Kirwyn.
“She said to call her,” said Alana, they placed the machine down and Alana retrieved her disk from a trouser pocket. She placed a gloved fist over the chevron. On Kirwyn’s holodisk a red chevron appeared and pointed towards her.
“We should keep moving,” said Alana.
They crouched down and picked the machine up, continuing on as before. They noticed, with some distress that the music was getting louder and clearer. Either they were moving towards it, or it to them. They picked up the pace, hoping to outrun it. They looked from building to building, half-expecting to see some figure creeping in the shadows of the alleyways, popping up at a window, ambushing them through an open doorway they passed. The music was getting louder.