Pepper stormed out of the Millennium Kestrel. Tears glistened in her eyes. Where had all Fisk's hate and rage come from? He'd always been grumpy and off-hand, but the words he just spewed filled her with a coarse, empty sadness.
She lifted the tent flap and emerged in the twilit streets of Hope's Ruin.
Anger boiled in her veins. A mirror of the clouds above.
With the hulking frame of The Spear cast into shadow, she walked through the curious mix of hotchpotch homes and camps, each different to the next. Many people nodded as she passed. Others ignored her, far too concerned with their own problems.
Outposts traded scrap and tech. Kitchens sold stringy-looking meats presented on metal skewers for outrageous prices. Pepper hated to think what it was. Other groups sat around campfires singing quietly and telling stories.
Beyond the limits of the residential districts, a high wall circled the entire township. It was constructed from scrap and salvage that nobody had any use for or was broken beyond repair. Pepper ran her fingers over sheets of metal and burst tyres, a splintered ship's wheel, broken office furniture, chunks of masonry, and rusted iron girders. The stuff went on and on, wrapping its way around the township. A belt of mangled, unwanted waste.
At the southernmost point was a gate constructed of two enormous hammered-metal doors, barred with a single brace. Ladders fed a look-out point where two shadowy figures sat in shoddy deckchairs, snoring loudly.
Pepper collapsed, crossed-legged, on the sloping piles of trash that cascaded down from the top of the interior wall.
Her eyes found the sky.
A thick web of clouds spun across the horizon. To Pepper it seemed as though they grew and expanded every day. As if all the water that had once clogged the earth had evaporated and waited in the heavens. And through the clouds, a legion of stars blinked in and out of existence, dancing merrily across the night. Pepper's eyes bounced from one to the next, joining them with invisible lines, making shapes of faces, flowers, monsters.
Her thoughts returned to her brother's spiteful words. To The Spear and what might be going on inside under the gaze of Governor Sawyer and the Doctor. She shifted position, her fingers instinctively worming through the rubbish—as all good Hope's Ruiners did—on the off-chance that she'd discover something incredibly useful, or valuable, or rare. But all she found was more crumbling cement, chipboard, stretched rubber, and broken glass.
Maybe Fisk was right—not about reanimates—but about returning to Ashewood City and building a new life. A better life. One free from the fearful grip that choked Hope's Ruin. But it was such a long way. A journey filled with danger. But the promise of true freedom.
She wondered if freedom was really what she craved.
Was such a thing even possible in this strange new world?
Pepper liked the order of Hope's Ruin. The regimented structure, no matter how barbaric it seemed sometimes. Without it, chaos would consume everything. She had a home, food, her brother, and all the time in the world to fix and trade tech. And work on Flake 99.
She pushed off the ground and kicked a dented oil can towards the wall. It clattered into a stack of metal poles that shook for a moment before collapsing in on themselves. A small avalanche of trash swept towards her.
Pepper jumped. Landed softly.
The waste rolled to a dusty halt.
The sound raised a few voices. Several pairs of feet came to see what had happened. But Pepper's eyes were glued to a dirt-smeared plastic cuboid that had materialised beneath the shifting rubbish.
"Everyone alright?" came a shout.
"All's well," Pepper replied. "Minor trashvalanche. Nothing more."
"Rightio!"
Before anyone arrived to confirm, Pepper was climbing awkwardly towards the cuboid. Her feet fought for purchase on the shifting debris. She grabbed an iron bar protruding from a hunk of masonry and levered herself to the top of the mound.
Her eyes glimpsed the top of the wall for a moment.
Beyond, sweeping snakes of sand and dust skittered across the blue-black dunes. The carcasses of ships and lorries and whale bones cast their silhouettes against the sand.
She looked down and plunged her hands through the dirt. Pepper's fingers inched round the cuboid's corners. The moulded plastic felt familiar in her grasp. Was it really all she'd hoped it would be? And if it was, how had anyone missed it?
Yanking hard, the object shifted, and finally came free. Pepper toppled backwards, falling head over heels, the cuboid nestled close to her chest. She landed at the bottom with a considerable thunk!
Her head rattled. Her eyes saw double for a second.
She rolled onto her back and held her prize aloft.
In the cloudy moonlight, Pepper's eyes widened.
Yes. Oh, yes. He's a beauty!
A Powerfire, 6 cell, 12 volt car battery.
But surely it's damaged or broken or corroded in some way.
Pepper licked her finger and dabbed the positive terminal.
Glorious spikes of pain burned her skin.
* * *
Pepper plonked the battery in the sand beside the frame of Flake 99 and paced in circles. Where to start? She'd run low power through the robot's devices numerous times, but nothing with the same kick as a 12 volt car battery. This was going to be trial and error. The possibility of frying every circuit inside Flake weighed heavy on her mind.
She looked to the door of the Airstream, to her brother sleeping inside.
Would he know?
But she was mad at him. Too mad to ask a favour. He'd probably take the battery and present it to the Governor, and get her strung up from The Spear.
Breathe, she told herself. That's insane.
Shaking her fears away, Pepper focused on Flake 99. She dragged the stool close and parked herself on the smooth wood. With the cables removed from the auxiliary and temporal ports, she rerouted the power via two jump leads to the car battery. Pepper double-checked all the connections. Sat Flake 99 up straight. Dusted a fresh swathe of sand from his head and shoulders. Stole a quick glimpse beyond the canvas tent, where the warm night air was filled with whispered words, nomadic song, and dying embers.
Pepper held the final connector above the positive terminal of the Powerfire battery.
This was it.
Wasn't it?
Months and months of work about to come to life.
Or go up in flames.
Pepper grimaced.
Lowered her hand.
The clamp and the terminal connected with an excited fizz.
Flake 99 jolted.
His arm and legs flew out.
Activation and power diodes ignited, flashed.
Stripes of blue light slithered through the robot's body.
The screen of his Mackintosh face blinked.
In the dark, Flake 99 hummed.
Pepper had to remind herself to breathe.
A cursor appeared in the top left of Flake 99's screen.
DOS >>> BOOTING >>> STARTING UP
Pepper's jaw ached from clenching.
The screen flickered and went dark.
Did that work? It must have worked?
She wriggled her fingers.
The wait was intolerable.
I've killed him. Fried all his circuits. I'm such an—
Flake 99's body changed, like a corpse slowly injected with life.
A single eye flashed onto the monitor in jagged 8-bit pixels.
"Flake?" she whispered.
A voice bleated from the robot's soundboard speakers.
<< hello >>