We crest the top of a hill, and I'm just about to point out a flock of sheep in a distant pasture, when a large shadow passes over us. Kara and I both strain to look out our windows and up into the sky.
"Yip, that's a low one!" Dot says.
"A low what--"
And then we see it. An enormous craft of some sort, so large I can't even see all of it yet, so large that it is still casting a shadow over us. And then it passes, and the sunshine returns.
Kara is now dipping her head and looking out the front window. "What is that?"
"A sweeper? You haven't seen one before? Well, usually they don't fly that low in their cycles. There must be a minor disturbance somewhere nearby. They're easy to miss otherwise."
We find that Dot is a wealth of information, the kind of cab driver who is well versed in all interests to accommodate her customers. She tells us that sweepers have been around for over a hundred years. They're the vacuum cleaners of the sky. They were developed after a monster volcano in Yellowstone blew and plunged much of the world into winter for several years, but they weren't invented soon enough to prevent massive starvation and disease. Millions of people died worldwide. The workforce was so severely depleted it gave rise to the proliferation of Bots.
"The world was lucky, actually. It could have been much worse--they said the explosion wasn't even half of what it could have been. Eventually the ash settled into jet streams, so the whole race didn't vanish. A warning, really, to all the Eaters and Breathers."
We learn that is what the Bots call us, the Eaters and Breathers, like we are spineless slugs at the mercy of our biology and the environment, which I suppose we are. At least I think Kara and I are in the class of Eaters and Breathers. I'm not sure I can trust anything Dr. Gatsbro told us.
"Now they mostly patrol in the upper atmosphere waiting to be called into use. Some hostile countries and a few Non-pacts still resort to primitive biowarfare, but the sweepers usually make those attacks a futile game of pounding chests. Of course, every decade or so a nuclear attack isn't intercepted by Galactic Radar Defense and then the sweepers are brought into overtime--all air travel is grounded. That can last for weeks."
I stare out the window as Dot tells us more and more about this world that I don't understand and don't fit into. As she talks, I take in every green hill, every pond, every sheep, and every cow. I tell myself some things are still the same. Some things.
We'll be okay.
I look at Kara. She nods and squeezes my hand.
Some things are still the same.
Chapter 15
I was scared when we moved. I came home from my first day at the new school, and I didn't want to go back. I was sure I would never make it. It was intense. Way more intense than my last school, and I was starting midsemester. I was certain I would never catch up. I wanted to go back to my old school, where I at least knew who would steal my lunch money. My mom didn't want to hear that. This whole move was for me and my sister. I heard the whispers in the kitchen when my dad got home and then he came to my room to talk about it.
"I don't fit in, Dad. Nothing's the same. I might as well be on another planet. It's completely different from Bellwood High."
"Different isn't necessarily bad, Locke. Just different. And in this case, I know it's a good thing. Trust me. You're just a little overwhelmed today."
I jumped on his words, emphasizing that I would never fit in, because I was certain he didn't hear me the first time I said it. I hoped that would end the conversation. It didn't.
"It takes time," he said firmly. "Think of it as a journey, Locke. A long one. Not a sprint. You'll find your way." He pulled my desk chair closer to the bed where I was lying and sat down. I knew I was in for a long one. "Sure there are going to be changes, even detours and setbacks--probably lots of them. But you have to remember what's important. The goal."
He leaned forward and wove his fingers together, looking at his hands. I looked at them too. He worked in construction. His hands showed the years of his trade, the scars, and the cracks. He was good at his work, but it was backbreaking and unreliable. I knew he wanted something different for me. He raised his eyes to mine. "You can make a difference in this world, Locke, but you have to be patient and determined and not let a few fears derail you. Focus on the goal and not on where the road is bumpy. It's rough for everyone at some point, but some people keep going and others give up. Don't be one of those who give up."
Is that what my brother did? Give up on his own dreams and theirs? I nodded, still wanting to give up but hoping my nod would make him leave. He squeezed my shoulder, but I could tell he was reading my mind. He knew me too well. He stood to leave and then paused at my bedroom door.
"Picture yourself five years from now, son. Where do you want to be? Remember that. Every day. That's how you'll get there. I believe in you, Locke. Your mother and I both believe in you. You can do this."
Picture yourself five years from now....
I look at the iScroll in my palm, the landscape I don't recognize, and the Bot who is driving me through it. I had tried to picture a lot of things that night, but I never pictured this.
Chapter 16
"Here we are," Dot says.
Our doors open automatically, but neither Kara nor I get out. We are at the end of the historic road. Ahead of us are remnants of Route 90 and where it once continued on into the city, but from this point, it is rubble and weeds.
"Don't worry," Dot adds. "About a half kilometer down, most of the road is there again. This was one of the invasion points." The invasion. How could Dr. Gatsbro not mention a small detail like the Civil War of 2112 and the dividing of the United States into two nations? Which United States are we stepping into? The Democratic States of America or the American United Republic? Kara joked that her geography was all blown to hell now. But she wasn't smiling. Neither was I.
"Go on," Dot says. "I'll meet up with you just where I told you. Oh--and if you are approached by any nasty Non-pacts, tell them you are Migration Security. With those clothes on, they'll believe you. And if they should close in, just pretend you're reaching for your Security tazegun. They'll scatter."
We can hope.
I begin to step out on one side, and Kara on the other.
"One more thing--"
We both gladly delay our departure.