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.""I know a lot of out of state students.And there are scholarships.""You gotta pass tests.I checked." She glared briefly as the other girl movingback by with a stack of empty plates made a rude noise."I bet none of yourout of state friends are bounty farm brats, are they?""If you can't pass the tests, read and study until you can."The girl laughed tonelessly."Library." She indicated the bounty agent'strailer."Two shelves of pre-war encyclopedias and a dog-eared copy ofLeather Goddesses of Phobos.""You're kidding." Cally's jaw dropped."Nope." She grinned tightly."Well, unless you count the porno mags underAgent Thomas's bed.I've been that bored.Oop, gotta go.Try the peaches." Sheshrank a bit from the face of the middle-aged woman looking out the plasticand duct tape "window" of the grill and began rapidly collecting empty dishesand silverware.Cally stared after her for a moment before rummaging in her backpack for abattered paperback copy ofPygmalion and staring at it a moment.I can always get another prop.She tucked the girl's tip in the inside cover and finished her water, makingher way to where the waitress was returning for another load.Her mouthtightened at the reddening print on the girl's face and her hot eyes.Shepressed the book into the girl's hand."Never give up," she told her firmly, grabbing her chin gently and pulling herface around for eye contact."Never give up.Not ever.You will make it out."The teenager paused for a second, looking at the other woman as if she hadsudden sneaking suspicion that she was far older than twenty, whatever elseshe may have been.She smiled grimly and tucked the book into her front pocketwhere it was bulkier but probably safer, and got back to work.Cally heard her mutter, "Thanks, ma'am," as she strolled back to the vanexactly like a student tourist, trying not to visibly berate herself forbreaking cover.* * *Outside the walls, Cally grimaced at the profusion of roadside kudzu."Hell ofPage 40ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlan abat hazard, isn't it?""What? Like, oh, yeah, totally bogus.Happens a bit in some of these places.If it's not good farmland or right next to your house, it's somebody else'sproblem.It's a lot of work to get in and clear that stuff and if you're doingthat, like, you aren't getting bounties or raising your own crops.Until somepoor schmuck gets stung by a grat.There's just totally not enough money inthe world to get me to bounty farm, man."As the land and the road got more hilly, first the small trees and undergrowthrose beside the highway like green walls, then the huge granite cut-throughsand drop-offs passed by as they climbed into the BlueRidge, which rose in front of them in a great green wall, softened by theafternoon haze.With the changing terrain eliminating the need for a Roundupzone, clumps of grass vied for purchase in the rocky soil with brown-eyedSusans and some small purple flower she didn't recognize.Occasionally shecaught a dull orange flash of Virginia creeper, or the more brilliant orangesplash of what she vaguely remembered were mountain azaleas.Reefer flippedoff the air conditioner and opened the windows to let in the cooler, freshermountain air.She suppressed the urge to wrinkle her nose at the exhaust fumesfrom the rest of the convoy and pulled her hair back into a quick ponytail tokeep the dark curls from flying around her face.At one of the cut-throughs you could still see the scraps of exotic rubblewhere they blew the Wall and relaid the road after the Green River Gorgedrawbridge came on-line as part of reopening the route toCharleston harbor.There was no delay at the drawbridge, the lead truck having radioed ahead thetime-synchronized codes to signal the attendant.Cally was reassured to seethe unusually alert and attentive man obviously watching the convoy and allhis sensors as the van clattered across the lowered bridge.After the first exit past the bridge, they started to pass some localtraffic the occasional ancient pickuptruck or SUV from the mountain communities that, after the great postwar RIFof the surviving soldiers, had gone back to living mostly as they had for thepast four hundred years.A bit poorer, perhaps, but for a people who had cometo love these highlands as their ancestors had loved an earlier home, they hadtheir mountains, and they had their neighbors, and the mild poverty wrappedaround them felt more like a comfortably broken-in and familiar set of workclothes than any true hardship.Their mountains weren't for the soft, or thegreedy, or the lazy, but they had protected them from a hazard that had gonethrough softer and richer peoples like a hot knife through butter.Thisknowledge had cemented the locals'attachment to their mountains from a rough affection to a respectful devotionapproaching reverence, so that rural Appalachia had one of the lowestout-migration rates on the planet.While the mountain folk knew there weremany places men could live in the modern galaxy, this one was theirs, and theyreckoned they'd keep it.It was early evening but still quite bright when the convoy entered BaldwinGap, home of the SoutheastAsheville Urb.Turning off the Blue Ridge Parkway onto Victory Road, they cameinto the valley through the dilapidated remains of forty-year-oldfortifications, topped with a mishmash of sensor boxes and transmittersprobably emplaced and maintained by local farmers who were more interested inprotecting their stock than in any bounty [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]