Fugitive X by Gregg Rosenblum Read Free Book Online Page B

Tech Tom’s workshop. The trick was to pull it slow and steady along the wood, so the lase would bite evenly, and to keep your hands firmly on the grips and nowhere near the cutting plane. It was harder than it looked, because the lase cut effortlessly and it was tempting to move too fast and ruin the cut, but Kevin had no problem picking it up immediately after watching Otter run one plank. The woman at the table lase watched him carefully on his first cut, then nodded with a somewhat surprised grunt of satisfaction and went back to her work.
    They continued stripping the wood, working their way slowly through the large pile of lumber. Kevin tried to unobtrusively study the Wall as he worked. The conduction lines obviously powered whatever sort of camouflage field was being generated and dispersed it along the Wall perimeter. But what in the world was that field? He had never heard of anything like it.
    He watched the two men working with the conduction line. They had laid out a long length, about twenty feet, and were fitting one end into a connection hub. Kevin felt a rush of recognition—it was no different, really, than the power grid lines and connectors that he knew so well, just on a much bigger scale. Something was bothering him, though, the way one of the men was struggling with the hub. He was fighting with it, forcing it in with brute strength, but if the hub was anything like Tom’s grid hubs, then all he had to do was release the interior bolt lock . . . “Can’t you just release the bolt lock and then reclamp it?” he said, and immediately regretted it. Everyone froze at his question—the two men, the woman at the table lase, the three boys planing the wood.
    The man fighting with the hub straightened. “These hubs don’t have hand-release bolt locks,” he said. “They’re designed for use by construct bots, which we don’t have, and that’s why every damned hub connection is a twenty-minute shoving match.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I bet you’re used to grid hubs, right? Easy to lay out by hand?”
    Kevin shrugged and didn’t say anything. He silently cursed himself.
    Otter shoved him hard on the shoulder, and he stumbled forward a step. “Back to work,” he said. Kevin turned his attention to the wood, glad to look away from the curious stares of the three adults.
    They worked quietly for a while longer, and then Kevin stopped abruptly when he saw two patch-faced bots approaching.
    “What’s the problem?” said Otter, then he turned, following Kevin’s gaze, and saw the bots. “Oh,” he muttered quietly. “Here come the Governor’s clowns.”
    The bots walked up to the pile of stripped planks that the boys had created. “We shall assist you in moving the lumber,” one said. “Now.”
    So they laid down their glides and began hauling the lumber over to a new pile, next to the woman still working at the table lase. The bots were very strong; Kevin struggled to lift his end of each plank, while the bots picked up their end with seemingly little effort.
    They finished moving the pile and the bots left, without a word.
    The woman turned off her table lase; the soft hum that Kevin hadn’t even realized he had been hearing faded away. She wiped her face with the edge of her shirt and nodded at the boys. “Food, and bed,” she said. “You’re done for the day.”

CHAPTER 11
    NICK SAT IN THE MAIN ROOM OF A SMALL WOODEN-SLAT BUILDING IN the middle of the Freepost. It was furnished as a meeting space, with a large rough-cut wooden table and scavenged metal folding chairs in the center of the floor. Across from him sat the gray-haired woman—Doc’s wife—her son, Aram, and Lucas. Erica had gone to trade with residents of the Freepost.
    “Ma’am, I need to find my brother,” said Nick. “I’m hoping he’s here.”
    “Agatha,” said the gray-haired woman. “I’m Agatha Wells Pallos, not ma’am. And your name?”
    “Nick.” He paused, gathering himself, then