Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) by Milo Fowler (paper ebook reader .TXT) 📕

"How's that plan going?" Daiyna downs half her coffee now that it's cooled a bit.

Luther's plan.

"Not well. All Eurasian citizens living inside the Domes are fitted with neural implants once they're of age. Visual and auditory augmentation that allows them to interface with the Linkstream. But it also allows the Governors to monitor the health, activities, and whereabouts of every citizen, keeping track of the population. We cannot introduce an unaugmented person into the Domes. First we must find a way to fit them with the proper implants, then immediately have them take the place of someone else—before any change in the official census is noticed."

Seems simple enough. "So you send in one of us and take out one of them?"

Shechara shakes her head. "You would only need to deactivate someone's augments. As soon as they're offline, you could send in one of us."

"That's the theory. But we would have to match your augments precisely to the deactivated citizen's, of course. Otherwise, the analysts would notice a change in biometric data." Mutegi pauses. "Except for you two." He looks at Shechara and me. "We could send you inside the next time we dock."

"What makes us special?" I frown.

"Dome 6..." Shechara murmurs. Reinhart mentioned something about that.

Mutegi nods. "After the plague, hundreds of thousands survived, but many lost appendages and limbs due to infection. They carry telltale scars and wear prosthetics nearly identical to your own. Since they're not included in the official census reports, they are not required to be fitted with neural implants."

They sound like second-class citizens. "So how would you sneak us in?"

"As dust runners."

Right. "This is no longer a navy ship, I take it."

"Not officially. After Sergeant Bishop's escape, I was not allowed to return to Eurasia. My loyal crew stuck with me. We aren't raiders, since our work here is not government-sanctioned. We are smugglers, supplying a lucrative business in the Domes, and as long as we continue to do so, the Argonaus is ours." He pauses. "I have an underworld contact who pilots an aerocar for Dome 1 law enforcement. He will be able to get you where you need to be."

"Aerocar…" I stare at him. "That wouldn't be—?"

"A flying car, yes." Half a smile appears on his stoic face. "Welcome to the future, Mr. Samson."

"But what would we do there, in Dome 6?" Shechara asks.

"Luther will fill you in on the details."

The door slides open, and appearing as if summoned, Luther steps inside. He looks at each of us like it's New Year's morning and we're gifts that have been wrapped up and set out for him alone. In his eyes, I see no hint of a grudge for the way we parted company years ago.

I give him a nod, and he nods back, smiling broadly. It's damn good to see him again.

He remains silent as his gaze rests on Daiyna. She rises, her chair skidding across the floor behind her. She stares at him, at a loss for words.

Tears shining in their eyes, they reach for each other and embrace. Doesn't look like they'll be letting go anytime soon.

20 Sera22 Years After All-Clear

When I open my eyes, I find myself lying on a bench seat in the cargo area of an aerocar. We're moving through the air, and from what I can see of the view outside, we're no longer in Dome 10.

Or any dome, for that matter.

Panic grips my insides as I stare at the sky above, unobscured by a tinted shield of plexicon. The ground below is lifeless, a barren landscape of dirt and rock.

"Where are we?" My voice sounds thick, my vision blurry as I stumble to my feet and grab for the back of the pilot's chair. Suddenly dizzy. "Who the hell are you?"

The pilot is a dark-haired guy with a bloody face, and he's wearing a security clone's armored suit. He steers the aerocar deftly, skimming fifty meters above the terrain. The passenger seat in the cockpit is empty.

"You're awake," he observes in the voice of D1-436, but without the helmet speaker acting as a relay. "We are almost there, Enforcer Chen."

I've never seen a clone's face before, and I can't help leaning forward with overweening curiosity. It looks a lot like the famous scientist Solomon Wong who created the clones in the first place. Not just like him—it is Wong, just forty years younger.

Did he make every Eurasian security clone in his own image?

D1-436 glances at me, quickly returning its eyes to the windscreen and the flashing coordinates on the display. "I apologize for my appearance—"

"You took us outside…" I stare ahead, not quite able to believe what I'm seeing. Everyone knows the quarantined wastelands exist, but nobody ever ventures out to see them firsthand. It's forbidden. "Why?"

"This is where the Twenty have been taken. These are the coordinates I retrieved while we were in Dome 2."

"And they just...let you fly out of Dome 10?"

"If by they you mean port security, I believe they assumed we were yet another government vehicle transporting precious cargo to the facility across the sea."

I peer out one of the side windows. "So we've crossed the Mediterranean." I glance at the display on the console. "And we're heading west."

"That is correct, Enforcer Chen. Are you quite all right? Perhaps you should return to your—"

I flop into the passenger seat next to the clone. "Tell me what happened."

I remember a hidden room in that lounge for underworld types. Erik was there, looking like somebody had worked him over. Before I could find out what was happening, somebody hit me from behind with a shocker.

"Your friend Drasko arrived in his aerocar shortly after you and Erik Paine entered the building. Drasko shot me and the clone beside me through the windscreen with projectile rounds. My helmet was irreparably damaged, yet I survived."

"Drasko." He's the one who hit me with that shocker. Some friend. "Why'd he—?"

"His intentions were unclear."

"What about Arienna? Is she all right?"

"Unknown. When I regained consciousness,