This time Nasri took no chances. He tied us up in the back of the carrier, then locked us to the door. He huffed, stomped, hopped, and grumbled about how he would make us pay for destroying the other carrier and his desalinator. He didn't seem to care at all for the men he'd lost, the man he had killed, or even his own injury-but the destruction of his machines was more than he could bear. Both Will and I knew enough to keep quiet.
We traveled until nightfall, then camped beside a rocky bed that once held a sprawling river. Now it was a gully with earthen walls, the rocks worn smooth and flat, forming a natural barrier to the east. Although there was no water, the way across was still treacherous and slow. Nasri said we would wait for morning to continue the journey.
He didn't feed us, but one of his men took pity and gave us a few scraps and two bottles of water. We ate with our hands tied behind our backs, chewing at our food like animals. Because Will's leg hurt worse than before, I held his bottle between my knees and opened the top with my teeth. We were too tired to talk and fell asleep huddled against each for warmth.
In the morning Nasri brought us breakfast, along with two pills for Will's injury. His mood had improved, which made me worry. Sure enough he announced we were heading to an auction where we would fetch top dollar-not enough to replace the carrier, but more than enough for a new desalinator.
"And with the money Bluewater owes us, we'll have another carrier in no time," he declared.
I felt the prickly tendrils of unease on my neck. There was something unholy about the relationship between the corporate desalinator and the environmental group.
"Why does Bluewater owe you money?"
"That's for me to know and you to find out," he cackled.
"Shouldn't it be the other way around?"
"Should be!" He was hopping again.
"You had their desalinator, but you said they owed you money."
"Genius! It's a shame we had to take you out of school."
"I thought environmentalists believed desalination was bad for the environment."
A scowl crossed his face but then passed. "Haven't you learned anything by now? What's good for the environment isn't always good for environmentalists, and vice versa." He was in a fine mood, hopping from one foot to the other as if he were standing on hot coals.
Will had been watching our conversation carefully, like a spectator at a gaming match. Now our eyes locked, and I could see he was truly frightened. I was frightened too, but I plunged ahead. Talking was the only way I knew to keep fear at bay.
"So you're hypocrites," I said.
"If there's money in it." Nasri cackled again.
"Did you kill Dr. Tinker for money?"
"Of course. Why else kill a man?"
Then it came to me in a moment of clarity. "Bluewater paid you to kill Dr. Tinker."
"Not enough." Nasri stopped hopping. "Let's just say there was some renegotiating once we had him."
"But why?"
"Ours is not to question why," said Nasri. "We just cash the credit chips."
"And the dam?"
"A diversion. To spirit the good doctor away."
"You killed all these people for a diversion?"
"Oh, and to save Earth, of course."
The pirates, PELA, and now Bluewater all wanted Dr. Tinker. But it wasn't Tinker they had really wanted; it was what they had thought he would lead them to. And now he was dead, which meant only one thing. I felt like I had been kicked in the heart.
"I'd rather kill a man than kidnap him anyway," Nasri continued. "Simpler, and you don't have to deal with grieving relatives. Just dump the body and move along."
I didn't answer, and Nasri seemed disappointed by my silence. But my stomach was knotted, and I couldn't talk even if I had wanted to. After several attempts Nasri stopped trying. "It's a shame to lose you," he said. "You're such a cute girl."
I flinched, but he had already turned for the door. When it closed we were in darkness again.
"Vera?" asked Will.
"Bluewater has Kai."
"You don't know that."
"I do." Anyone who knew the location of the river was a threat to Bluewater and its water monopoly. That was why it had paid PELA to kidnap Dr. Tinker. The desalinating companies were like countries unto themselves-fighting for territory and power. Just as nations profited from surpluses, they profited from shortages and scarcity. But they wouldn't have killed Dr. Tinker if they had thought he was still useful.
I could feel the hover-carrier lifting off the ancient riverbed. Time seemed to have slowed; each second was like the space between drops of water. In between the drops I could feel my friend's absence.
"They're going to kill him, Will."
"No, they won't. Why would they? Think about it logically, Vera. If Bluewater went through the trouble to kidnap him from his home, why kill him?"
I wanted to believe Will was right, but I knew he wasn't. If Dr. Tinker was dead, it meant Bluewater no longer needed him. If they no longer needed him, it meant they knew the location of the river, or had Kai, or both. Soon they would not need Kai either.
I sank to the floor of the carrier. My hands were still tied behind my back, so I curled into an awkward ball, my feet facing one direction, my head and knees in the other. Will sidled up beside me and nudged my shoulder onto his thigh. His ripped trousers still smelled faintly of chemo-wash, the brand our father kept buying even after our mother could no longer do the laundry.
We stayed that way for a long time. The carrier swooped and dipped, crossing the wrecked and forsaken land. Below us were hectares of parched earth, fissured and broken without a trace of green. A dazzling sun illuminated metallic yellows, grays, and blues: mercury, lead, cadmium. The air was dusty and glittered gold with thousands of particles swirling in the wind. I dozed, or thought I did, my mind jumbled and disjointed like confetti.
When the carriers finally stopped, it was late afternoon. The rear doors were flung open, and the cargo hold was bathed in a sudden chill. A lone horn sounded in the distance. It made me shiver. "Where are we?" I asked Will.
"Welcome to Niagara!" said Nasri from the rear steps. "Enjoy the honeymoon!" His laugh was brittle and thin.
I rose slowly and helped Will off the floor. We stood unsteadily, blinking in the harsh light. Nasri scampered into the cargo hold, followed by two of his men who were dressed as if for combat: boots, kev-jackets, pistols tucked in waistbands. He signaled to them, and one of them grabbed Will, while the other took firm hold of my arm.
"Normally we'd get more for you," Nasri said, squeezing Will's cheek between his forefinger and thumb. "But your sister here is feisty, and there is that nasty wound on your leg."
"You can't sell us!" I said.
"See what I mean?" said Nasri. "Feisty!"
"How much are they paying you?" I asked. "Our father will pay you more."
"I thought your parents were dead. Besides, we've come too far to ransom you back to your family."
Outside, the horn sounded again, and the men tightened their grips.
"Do not ask for whom the bell tolls…" said Nasri, and then there was that cackle again.
"What's going to happen to us?"
"You will become quite excellent shimmiers, capable of disappearing into the narrowest hole. Then you will be sold off to mercenaries to fight in the war."
Will's face was pale and covered in a sheen of perspiration. He gripped my elbow unsteadily. But he stood on his two feet and spoke in a clear, strong voice.
"You won't get away with this," he said.
"But I will," said Nasri.
"Then you should hope we die here. Because if we don't, one day I'll be old enough, and I will hunt you down and kill you."
Nasri smiled, but his brown eye twitched. "Tough words for such a skinny boy. I suppose I should kill you now."
"Do it," said Will. "It's your last chance." He stared back at Nasri fiercely.
I couldn't believe Will was talking to Nasri this way, daring him to kill us. Nasri was just crazy enough to do it-we had already seen him shoot Dr. Tinker. But he didn't even remove his pistol from his waistband.
"I hope you live long enough to follow through on your plans," Nasri said. Then he signaled to his men, and they followed him from the hold, dragging us like old luggage.
Nothing prepared me for the scene that greeted us when we stepped from the carrier. If someone had told me we were on the moon, I wouldn't have doubted it. The land was pocked and cratered, with holes as large as entire canyons. Though the sun was shining, it was through a dusty haze, weak and distant. Giant machines, which at first I thought were buildings, perched beside mountains of rocks and sand. A bone-rattling wind blew, and it carried a stench that was indescribable and yet horribly familiar: a metallic smell, like sticking your head into a venti-unit, or being buried alive. It was the smell of sickness, disease, and death.
Most striking, however, were the children: thousands of them scrambling over the piles of dirt or shimmying down into crevices between rocks. Deep in the canyon bottom, they scurried from drill hole to drill hole, emerging into the gloom like colonies of insects.
They were sick. I could see it even from a distance. Though some wore shields, they could not cover watery inflamed eyes, swollen lips, bloody noses, open scabs, and pus-filled wounds. Some were missing fingers, and others were missing entire limbs. Many were bald or balding, and every now and then, one would collapse and lay still.
"What is this place?" I whispered.
"It used to be a great waterfall," said Nasri.
I'd heard about Niagara in school. So much water rushed from the mountains that it poured off the shelf of the land into the giant canyon. The power of the waterfall generated enough electricity to light an entire city, and the people who lived there grew rich and prosperous. Then oil replaced water as the cheaper form of power, and the people fled while the city deteriorated. Now water meant great wealth again, except it had been squandered and wasted, and all that remained was trapped hundreds of meters below ground.
Nasri repeated the story to us. He seemed to take pleasure in his history lesson. It was as if it gave him a sense of superiority to recount the foolishness of people who had thought their resources were endless. In dangerous times, people like Nasri ruled. They cared little for grand ideals, but much more for survival. They watched their backs and wielded quick knives. Their lives were nasty, brutish, and short.
"And the children?" I asked.
"Waiting for Santa Claus," said Nasri.
His men shoved us roughly toward a tin-roofed compound that appeared to be the office or headquarters of whoever ran the drilling operation. Will dragged his bad leg while I tried to slow down so he could keep up. Although we passed several groups of children, none looked at us. There wasn't a single one who appeared healthy. Even those with all their limbs and digits had open wounds on the backs of their hands or arms and scabby spots on their heads where their hair was missing. I tried to get Will's attention, but he was staring at the children, his mouth open in horror.
I was interrupted by the sight of a tall man who appeared from the trailer with two armed guards. He seemed to know Nasri, and the two men exchanged greetings while the guards watched warily. Then he stepped over toward Will, took his lower jaw in his hand, and cast an appraising glance over the length of his body.
"What happened to this one?" he asked.
"Leg wound. He'll be fine. It's healing nicely."
The man grunted and tore open the rest of Will's trouser leg with a knife. His wound looked worse than before, more green than red and moist with fluid. The man poked at it with the tip of his knife, and Will winced visibly but remained silent.
"No worse than anyone else," concluded the man.
Then he approached me, and I could smell his stink before he was within arm's length. There was no way to describe it except to say that he had obviously never wasted any chemicals on cleaning himself. He was rancid, and I couldn't help gagging.
"You'll grow used to it," he said. "They all do." He lifted my head by my hair, then pulled down my eyelids with a thick blackened finger. "Good root tone," he said. "I'll take 'em both."
"They're fifty credits each."
"I'll give you forty for them both."
"Seventy-five."
"Fifty."
"Deal."
The man pulled out a wireless device from his rear pocket and beamed the transaction to Nasri's handheld.
The entire encounter had taken no more than a minute, and suddenly we were locked in the strong grip of two guards. "There's nowhere to run," said the man. "You'll learn that soon too."
As bad as things had been, they were now worse. This was a prison camp disguised as a drilling operation, and I was certain the money that had just changed hands was not merely for free labor. Other horrors awaited us, deadly and unknown.
"Nasri!" I called out.
He stopped and turned around. "What is it?" he asked. His hand was already on the key pad of the hover-carrier.
"I don't believe you are a bad man."
"But I am."
"Don't you have any kids of your own?"
"None that I care about."
He turned and raised a finger to punch the code on the hover-carrier door pad.
A thumping sound like a thousand birds beating their wings at the same time interrupted him, while a sharp and violent wind spat sand across the sky. I looked up, but the wind filled my eyes with tears. A rocket scorched overhead, and the lead hover-carrier exploded in flames. Machine gun fire ripped the air. Nasri screamed as the door shredded in his hands. His men dropped to their knees to return fire, but bullets cut through their kev-jackets as though they were blankets.
Smoke, shrapnel, pandemonium, and death were everywhere. I reached for Will, and we flung ourselves to the ground-with nothing but rubble to save us.