Ethos Read online

  This was a relief to David. The twenty-sixth century Ethosian landscape was unsettling to him. Through the dome of the glider, he watched awestruck as what had once been eastern Michigan unfolded like a jungle around him. The civilization and development that once defined this stretch of land was gone. Five hundred years, evidently, was enough time for brick and mortar to crumble and shrink away.

  So, when the skyline of Detroit appeared over the horizon, the familiar shapes of skyscrapers rising up, flanked on the eastern side by Lake Saint Clair, David was surprised to discover that it was not terribly changed. The shapes were the same, except that, as in Flint, all of the buildings were completely covered with solar panels, gleaming like black armor. It gave the city an insidious look, as if it were encased inside a metallic shell.

  Nev was driving the glider. With Detroit still at least two miles ahead, she eased the vehicle to a standstill and pulled into a stand of trees several yards off the grassy path. They had agreed during their preparations in Flint that, although Malcolm had given them their pick of all the best technology the Immortal Council had to offer, they would enter Detroit on foot. It was extremely rare for Bereft to be granted driver’s licenses, much less to earn enough to purchase a glider, and so they didn’t want to risk the attention and questions that driving into Detroit would surely provoke.

  This particular glider was larger than the police vehicle David had ridden in after the Bereft bunker was raided. Inside, it had three rows of seats, enough for eight people, and a large open space that they had loaded with supplies. Now, as they descended from the glider, they began to unload this equipment.

  First David pulled out a wooden pushcart with three wheels. It would have been old-fashioned even in 2024; in 2524 it was downright ridiculous. Where Councilor Floyd had managed to procure it was a total mystery, although David suspected that he might have had it constructed expressly for this purpose. As anachronistic as it was, it was perhaps the only kind of vehicle that wouldn’t attract suspicion as it passed through the Warped Immortal checkpoints at the perimeter of Detroit. The few Bereft who braved the no man’s land between Flint and Detroit to trade goods or services from city to city always traveled on foot, with makeshift carts and wagons to transport their wares.

  Once the pushcart was set up, its rickety wheels wobbly and precarious on the unpaved earth, the Bereft unit began to load it with a layer of seven biotogglers, one for each of them. David had already seen firsthand the deadliness of these weapons, but he hadn’t understood how they worked until Nev explained as they were planning to leave Flint.

  In the aftermath of the Great Genetic War, the remaining scientists of Ethos had managed to re-isolate and tame the rogue mRNA that had caused so much carnage. They had harnessed its power into weaponry of all kinds, which they called “peace-keeping weapons,” wanting to differentiate themselves from the nefarious forces that had started the war with the exact same biotechnology.

  Now, a pellet containing the attack mRNA could be fired with precision at long distances, like any other bullet, from a biotoggler into a specific target. The pellet would release the mRNA on impact, which immediately would begin dissolving the host body’s cells. However, Ethosian scientists had re-engineered the mRNA to disintegrate along with the cells it attacked, so that it died off as the host body died. The virus was then too short lived to be contagious, which eliminated the risk of a second global epidemic.

  The biotogglers were a backup plan that Nev hoped they wouldn’t have to resort to. They each had a more compact, handgun variety of biotoggler strapped under their shirts; these they could draw and use quickly if they needed to take out a single target. If the more powerful, long-barreled biotogglers they were now loading into the cart became necessary, that would mean that they were under attack from a large force of Warped Immortals . . . and it would also likely mean that they wouldn’t survive.

  “But,” Nev had said with a wry half-smile, “always be prepared anyway!”

  Over the biotogglers at the bottom of the cart went a layer of burlap. David was still getting used to the collision of the ancient and the modern in Ethos. The Bereft lived simply, growing or raising much of their own food and manufacturing much of their own clothing and consumables—burlap, for them, was hardly out of date. The Immortals, on the other hand, drove gliders and rode Dactyls and carried biotogglers, and David was sure that there was still more to discover that would astonish him about the tools, technological and biological, they had at their disposal.

  Over the burlap, the Bereft heaped crates of apples, cucumbers, lettuce, zucchini, cherries, and string beans, produce native to Michigan that many Bereft still grew along the outskirts of Flint as a means of subsistence.

  This was their cover. They were coming to Detroit to sell fruits and vegetables.

  And finally, in among the produce, they nestled a live, sedated pig.

  One of the Bereft leaned over the sleeping pig and drew a syringe of blood from its jugular vein. Her name was Dagmar, and Nev had selected her for the unit because she was one of the few Bereft to have made it through medical school. Most doctors in Ethos were Immortal; medical science had advanced so far that medical training was a grueling, decade-long ordeal, and it was rare for anyone to apply herself to it without medicine becoming her singular ethos.

  Dagmar was a curious and exceptionally intelligent woman who had written two fantasy novels during her time at medical school. She loved medicine, she had explained to David at the beginning of their journey, but it wasn’t her life’s purpose.

  Dagmar emptied the syringe of pig’s blood into a vial of clear liquid and shook it. The blood cells immediately began to separate in the medium, so much so that they lost their red color, and the solution turned translucent. She then uncorked the vial and, using her bare hand, began to sprinkle its contents all over the wooden cart, flecking it over the burlap and the crates of fruits and vegetables.

  Nev had explained to David that the Warped Immortals could scan for concealed biotogglers. Their system was far more sophisticated than the metal detectors used to scan for guns in David’s time. Instead, they used the same biotechnology that could track genesignals to scan for the unique genetic coding of the rogue mRNA in the ammunition of biotogglers. Dagmar had just isolated several million of the pig’s red blood cells and scattered them all over the cart. When the group passed through the Warped Immortal checkpoint, the pig’s DNA would mask the mRNA ammunition.

  As for the handheld biotogglers they wore on their bodies, they just had to hope that the Warped Immortals wouldn’t be interested enough in a band of ragtag Bereft farmers to scan them.

  As Dagmar was finishing her genetic disguise of the wooden cart, another of the Bereft unit, Brendle, turned to the glider. It was partially concealed by the stand of trees, but its black shining flank might still catch the eye of a Warped Immortal patrol. Nev had brought Brendle onto the team for his expertise in organic materials. Many of the construction materials used in Ethos were now a blend of organic and inorganic, a hybridization that allowed Immortals to construct buildings with breathable, self-cooling walls and floors that more rapidly and efficiently disseminated solar power. Brendle had studied these construction methods for several years but ultimately had become bored with them and abandoned the contracting business he had founded.

  Now Brendle reached up into the foliage of one of the nearby trees and snapped off a thin branch. He drove it into the ground beside the glider, so that it stood erect, its heavy, waxen leaves leaning against the side of the vehicle. Then he pulled a small syringe out of an inner pocket of his jacket. He uncapped it, and very deftly, inserted its needle into a tiny white vein on one of the leaves of the branch. Slowly, he injected the vein with a murky brown liquid. Almost instantly, the leaf seemed to stiffen. Brendle stood up and took a step back.

  David watched as, from the center of the leaf, a delicate, light-green stalk shot out. This stalk grew and branched outward, its branches sprouting
leaves, which unfurled and spread outward even as new stalks formed. Breathtakingly, the branch was growing up and out into a latticework of new branches and leaves. Soon, the whole right side of the glider was covered in thick, leafy vines. A moment later, these vines spread over the upper dome of the glider and down its opposite side.

  Only about thirty seconds had passed, and the glider was completely concealed by what looked like a massive tangle of underbrush.

  David gave Nev a nod, impressed. She had told him that Brendle could make organic material replicate at an astonishing rate—and he had delivered.

  Their preparations were finished. It was time to enter Detroit.

  Brendle grabbed one handle of the wooden cart, now heavily laden with pig, produce, and guns. Another of their unit, Anksyr, took up the other handle, and the two of them together began to drag the cart behind them. Anksyr and the remaining two Bereft in the unit Nev had assembled, Sol and Tezzlee, had been chosen for their combat skills. They had all been part of the upper command of the Bereft Rebels occupying the bunker.

  Anksyr, who David guessed was at least six feet four, had taut, muscled shoulders and deeply sun-browned skin. He was trained in a handful of martial arts, including jiu-jitsu and Muay Thai, both of which had survived the Great Genetic War through traditional guru-to-student pedagogy.

  Sol was just as fit as Anksyr, but compact and wiry of frame. He could run faster and longer than any of the other Rebels, often running missions on foot through the miles-long network of tunnels leading to the bunker when the tramcars were stalled or too conspicuous and unwieldy to use. Nev had once sent Sol on a mission that required him to cover almost ten miles of tunnel, and he had returned in an hour.

  Tezzlee was petite and angular, built like a teenage boy, her red hair pulled straight back from her face into a severe ponytail. She was an expert marksman. Her shots with a biotoggler were accurate to just shy of a thousand yards, and her reaction time measured in microseconds.

  Nev rounded out the team with her superior tactical knowledge, and David brought a sharp mathematical mind to the table. He had been abashed at first when Malcolm insisted that he have equal command with Nev on this mission, but in their strategizing meeting through the prior evening and into the early morning, he had been surprised more than once by just how much he had to offer. He was the one who calculated the distance of their journey both to and within Detroit, and, using intelligence Malcolm had provided, he had mapped out their route through the city.

  At one point during their planning, Nev had placed a hand on his forearm and said earnestly, “Brilliant, David.” He had been wrapped up in what he was saying, sketching a route around a Warped Immortal guard as he talked, and Nev’s hand had stopped him midsentence. He looked up and saw her warm, coffee-brown eyes on him and felt a surge of pride. Nothing in his accounting office ever felt this good.

  Taken together, the seven of them made a formidable unit. Among them, they covered a wide range of smarts, skills, knowledge, and physical adeptness. As they walked along the path, seven abreast, David felt like a warrior. A conqueror.

  Except for one thing. When he looked side to side at his companions, there was something a bit unusual about their group. There wasn’t a single one of them under forty. In fact, with the exception of Nev, they were mostly hovering around fifty. It made for an odd cognitive dissonance. Here David was, part of the most lethal band of fighters he had ever seen assembled in one place, but had he met them in the twenty-first century, they would be dealing with nagging mailings from AARP and writing tuition checks for their kids. David had to smile to himself. Ethos was a topsy-turvy world indeed.

  The two-mile walk to Detroit passed mostly in silence. Their plans had been laid; they were ready. They conserved their energy and focused their minds.

  The first checkpoint was the easiest. It was simply two Warped Immortals stationed in a small structure, no larger than a tollbooth, by the side of the grassy lane. They did not even exit the booth to speak with the unit. Instead, one of the Warped Immortals leaned his head out of a small window and waved a hand.

  “Trading?” He asked curtly.

  “Yes, sir,” Nev replied.

  David realized that his shirt—a gray linen tunic with the Mandarin collar he now knew to be common in Ethos—was clinging to the small of his back with sweat. He felt his heart beat wildly in his chest and resisted the urge to put a hand to his side, checking for the handheld biotoggler.

  Instead, he willed his face to remain impassive and stared straight ahead. They had already agreed that Nev would do the talking at the checkpoints; all he had to do was remain un-noteworthy.

  “Your industry?” The Immortal asked. He wasn’t even making eye contact with Nev. His unlined blue eyes stared off into the middle distance, giving him the look of a hung-over college kid at a calculus lecture.

  “Agriculture,” Nev replied. She held up a trader’s license the Immortal Council of Flint had supplied, but the Warped Immortal guard was not interested. He waved it away with a brusque gesture.

  “Go on,” he commanded. “Keep to the Bereft Quadrant. Be out of the city limits and back on your way by dusk.”

  Nev nodded demurely. She was good at turning her commander’s air on and off at will.

  As Brendle and Anksyr passed by the booth with the cart, David heard a series of low beeps. He turned to glance over his shoulder and saw the Warped Immortal guard lethargically waving a black cylindrical object over the wooden cart. He was scanning its genetic data. When the scan was complete, he withdrew back into the booth without a word. Dagmar’s pig’s blood disguise had fooled the scanner.

  As they neared the city, a huge black wall around its perimeter came into view. It was perhaps forty feet high, constructed of a charcoal metallic material. The sunlight rebounded off its surface in blinding flashes. It felt strangely out of time: medieval in its rampart-like shape, but futuristic in its material. Flint was surrounded by an identical defensive barrier—both cities, in fact, were heavily fortified, each protected against the encroachments of the other.

  The grassy path led directly to a large gateway, standing open. Dozens of Warped Immortals, dressed in black fatigues, their pant legs pulled tight and tucked into high combat boots, were milling around the opening. David allowed himself to steal a glance upward and saw that more black-clad figures were strolling back and forth along the top of the wall. He realized with a jolt that two of these figures were standing motionless between the ramparts, their biotogglers trained steadily on the approaching Bereft.

  This was the second and final checkpoint. A Warped Immortal held up her hand for the Bereft to stop just as they came to the gate. They obeyed, Brendle and Anksyr setting down the long handles of the pushcart.

  Then, much to David’s surprise, the Warped Immortal broke into a casual grin. She was extremely tall for a woman, and willowy. Her bulky fatigues hung almost gracefully from her slender frame. She carried her biotoggler at a jaunty angle across her body, as if it were a banjo and not an instrument of instant death. Her dark skin was radiant in the early morning sun, and her teeth flashed white as she smiled.

  “Whatcha trading today?” She asked jovially.

  Nev returned the grin. If she was at all ill at ease, it didn’t show. “Produce. We have an agricultural pass.” Nev began to reach for the license in her breast pocket, but the Warped Immortal shrugged.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. She leaned over the side of the pushcart with curiosity. “Look at this guy!” She exclaimed, seeing the pig. Luckily, the pig was still under the influence of the sedative. It did not stir.

  David felt his heart hammering in his chest again. Would this guard scan the pushcart again, more carefully? Would she rifle through the produce? Or ask for a scan of their bodies?

  But he needn’t have worried. The Warped Immortal was murmuring lowly to the pig.

  “Hellooo, piggy piggy piggy,” she cooed.

  She turned and looked at N
ev with delight. “I love animals,” she said, with a childlike lilt. “Can I pet him?”

  Nev didn’t betray an ounce of surprise. “Of course,” she said, nodding toward the pig as if to say, “Be my guest.”

  The Warped Immortal guard swung her biotoggler behind her back, out of her way. She began to trace her fingertips along the pig’s snout. David felt his throat tighten. He was waiting for some sign of whatever evil ethos this woman surely possessed. Maybe she was some kind of sadist and would make a swift motion to hurt the pig.

  But the Warped Immortal only turned to Nev, her youthful brow creased with almost cartoon-like worry. “He’s not a bacon hog, is he? You’re not bringing him for slaughter, are you?” Her voice had lowered, and although she could well have been many decades old, she sounded like a little girl.

  David saw the faintest flicker of surprise pass across Nev’s face, but it was so fleeting that, if the Warped Immortal saw it at all, she could only have registered it as a passing shadow cast by a cloud.

  “Of course not,” Nev said lightly. “This is Hotspur. He’s for breeding only.”

  Unconsciously, David let out a long exhale. That Nev was quick on her feet.

  “Aw,” the Warped Immortal murmured. “He’s a sweetie.”

  Then she straightened up away from the cart and called to a second guard standing at attention at the side of the gateway.

  “These Bereft are cleared for the day. Agricultural pass.”

  She began to wave them through the gate, but Nev interjected confusedly. “Don’t we need scanpasses?”

  The Warped Immortal shrugged. “Nah,” she said. “I don’t feel like entering all the data, too much trouble. The central market in the Bereft Quadrant doesn’t require scanpasses for entry anyway. Just do me a favor and be out by dusk so no one hassles me.” She winked conspiratorially.