Terminal White

I am assigned to Delta Level for two days every week once my shift at Designated Task #004 has finished. There, I am tasked to prepare meals for the ville, specifically for my tower. This involves cleaning, peeling and chopping vegetables and fruit before they are mulched together in a nutritious paste-like gruel. The gruel smells strongly during preparation. On my first occasion I waited forty minutes until my allocated break, at which point I left the room and vomited, the smell too much. I have trained myself to be better now, but it is all I can do to keep myself from vomiting while I wash and chop and peel, such is the sweet malodor of the mashed components.

The food is portioned into small trays, which are then distributed to the canteens around the ville. The serving of the food is a separate Designated Task, #008.

—From the journal of Citizen 619F.

Chapter 7 (#ulink_1699a578-54ea-5a32-88a3-e5add670593b)

Twenty feet wide and painted white, the unit was perfectly camouflaged for the environment. The noise of the engine should have given the behemoth’s approach away, but the thick snow had muffled it almost entirely until it had reached within a dozen feet of the Cerberus warriors.

Kane leaped one way, Grant and Brigid the other as the massive unit came barreling at them, accompanied by a churning engine noise that boomed like thunder in the mountains.

Kane rolled and brought himself back up as the vehicle passed, his Sin Eater appearing without conscious thought in the palm of his hand. He was tracking the monster machine as it trundled away, automatically activating his Commtact as he watched it disappear behind the camouflaging curtain of falling snow. “Check in—everyone okay?” he asked.

* * *

“ALIVE,” GRANT WHUFFED, his voice coming in a breathless growl as he skittered across the snow. He was scrambling forward in a tumble of dislodged snow, out of control.

Grant was thirty feet away from Kane and still moving, having leaped in the opposite direction to his partner. There had been no time to plan the maneuver—Grant had simply leaped out of the behemoth’s path. When he did so, Grant had been surprised by breaking ice and a dip in the snow and had suddenly found himself scrambling down a steep slope, not quite balanced or in control of his descent. A dark copse of leafless trees loomed up ahead like grave markers in the whiteness. Grant felt his feet lift off the ground as he bumped over something hidden by the snow, and for a moment he was in the air. Then he crashed into the foremost tree with a yelp of pain, and a shower of snow came tumbling over him, dislodged from the tree’s splayed branches.

Grant muttered something unintelligible as he sagged to the ground, his descent curtailed in an instant.

* * *

BRIGID HAD BEEN more successful, diving out of the path of the artificial monster, tucking and rolling as the thing roared past. “Me, too,” she chimed in, responding to Kane’s query from where she now lay sprawled on the freezing white blanket of snow.

But she had become temporarily confused, lost on the white blanket, snow-blind.

* * *

REASSURED BY HIS partners’ responses, Kane watched the vehicle lumber past him in a descending hum of growling engine. The noise was almost obliterated by the muffling effect of the snow, and after barely a dozen feet it had—incredibly—all but fallen into silence.

Kane pulled himself up from the ground and started after the disappearing vehicle, the Sin Eater clenched in his right hand. It was traveling slowly—Kane estimated it was moving at no more than ten miles an hour—but it was big and heavy and the environment had perfectly masked its approach until almost too late.

It wasn’t just wide—it was long, too; fifty feet of towering vehicle, like a double-stack train carriage bumping over the alabaster environment like a skipping stone on a lake.

Twin funnels or chimneys were located on its roof, one on each end, wide as a Manta’s wing and all but obscured by the falling snow. Kane could barely see them through the thick snow—thicker than before, in fact.

In a split-second decision, Kane sent the Sin Eater back to its hidden holster and began hurrying after the vehicle. “I’m going after it,” Kane said into the Commtact pickup.

“Kane—wait!” Brigid urged, but Kane ignored her.

The thick snow slowed his movements—it was more like wading than running—but Kane was close enough that he should be able to reach the mysterious vehicle in a dozen paces at the speed it was traveling. Through the there-again-gone-again curtain of snow, he saw bars lining the back vertical and horizontal pipes that presumably carried some kind of warming fluid to keep the vehicle running in the extreme cold. Kane reached for one, kicking his legs high to pull himself over the thick snow. It was like hurdling, keeping up with the slow-moving machine through the dense carpet of snow, the blasted thing frustratingly just out of reach, like something chased in a dream.