The Fortress at the End of Time by McDermott Joe M

Author:McDermott, Joe M. [McDermott, Joe M.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2017-01-16T16:00:00+00:00

“Which one do I take?” she asked him. “I don’t want the Osprey.”

“Fine. Take the Hemi. Have a good time. He’s a pilot. He can handle a few bumps.” He reached into his pocket and tossed keys to her. She caught them.

I couldn’t, for the life of me, imagine a vehicle here that required something as archaic as keys. When I followed her downstairs, into the basement, she threw a tarp off a huge pile of lumps of metal and revealed a monstrosity. “My grandmother built it out of dead tractor parts, then Dad reconfigured it when he was betrothed into the family. It’s the best way to travel over the dunes. The Ospreys struggle with the winds and drafts.”

It was a beast of cobbled pieces, to be sure, but it was a polished beast, with shining chrome plates and reflective paint cooling off the joints from the beating of the sunlight. She paused before opening the door for me.

“There are currently thirteen unmarried women on the whole colony. They have all fielded numerous marriage propositions. My father has advised me to be very strategic and consider the future.”

I did not say anything. What could I say? I had never lain with a woman, and I knew nothing of the mystery of their hearts.

“Don’t propose over a ride in a Hemi, Ensign Aldo. Don’t misinterpret this.”

“I honestly confess to confusion in the whole affair. It is very hot. Do we have water to take with us?”

“We have some leftover tea. It will get stale quickly, but we must not waste it. I hope you are eliminating in the approved receptacles. Let me give you the tour of the beast.” She popped open the hood and the inner workings exposed to air. Compressed air forced through joints and axels to push out any hidden grit. It was a cool, dry blast across my face. “The bathroom is in back. There is a sheet you can pull across for privacy. Dad will empty it into the septic, later. Water is precious. Do not waste water.”

“I understand,” I said. “I sweated so much, I cannot imagine anything happening soon. Must we discuss this?”

“Do not waste water. The ice comets aren’t here yet. Let me show you the finger mountain. Strap in.”

The seat was a modified pilot seat. The straps were probably older than everyone I knew, but they would work well enough. The engine was an ancient, biodiesel hack job, put together from spare parts. It was supplemented with solar, an electric battery, and even some tiny wind turbines generating energy out of resistance. It was an odd vehicle, and ugly, but Amanda was clearly excited to be driving. She revved the engine and cheered. A panel opened in the wall large enough to fit a spaceship through, and she pushed out away from the settlement and the buildings hunkered in against it.

We rambled downhill, bumping and grinding over the sand at high speed, dodging rocks. It was fun. I wanted to drive. Next time, I’d ask to be the driver.

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