Warning: Hitchhikers May Be Escaping Convicts

United Earth Government Priority Transmission 92371B-24

Date: August 31, 2513 (Military Calendar)

Encryption Code: Red

Public Key: NA

From: Survey Team NWA

To: UEG/ SE, SM, SHR

Subject: Results/ Survey of Northwest Americas

Classification: Restricted (BGX Directive)

/start file/

For the review of the United Earth Government (UEG) Subcommittee of the Environment (SE), Subcommittee of Materials (SM), and Subcommittee of Human Resources (SHR).

As per request, survey of the Northwest region of North America has been completed. Results confirm: equipment and scrap remain from oil drilling in the Alaska National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR) performed in the late twenty-first century; thousands of miles of pipeline remain from transporting said oil overland from Alaska through the former nation of Canada to the former United States of America; large cities in the Northwest have been mostly abandoned as temperatures have dropped back to late nineteenth century levels proportional to the reduction of greenhouse gases by the use of alternative fuel sources from the twenty-second century on and the advent of convenient space travel and colonization outside the solar system; large open plains used for agriculture during the incident of global warming have also been abandoned due to a return of colder temperatures.

Conclusions: Significant material remains for repurposing and recycling. Transportation network already in place in form of maglev train system. Said trains can be adapted for heavy loads with little impact on speed. Costs for upgrades are minimal. Footprint will be contained in already specified zones and will diminish as progress is made. Plains areas fit for reforestation and subsequent timber harvesting. Manpower required for all endeavors will be substantial.

For estimated tonnages and acreages please see attached notes.

/end file/

Press ENTER to open linked attachments.

0649 Hours, November 18, 2516 (Military Calendar) / Sol System, Earth

Bump!

His head bashed against the crossbar he was laying on.

"Mmm!" Septimus let out a muffled yell as his eyes shot open. He rubbed his head; or at least tried to rub his head before realizing that his arms would not move. He looked down. It was still dark, but the small running lights on the truck trailer allowed him to see a faint glint. His entire body was covered in ice! How in the world had this happened?

Suddenly a splash of slushy, wet snow kicked up from under one of the tires and landed on him. It suddenly occurred to him. That night, just after he left with the truck, he had been hit with some snow that had almost instantly frozen to his face before he flicked it off. He had not given it a second thought at the time, but the same thing must have happened over and over while he was asleep. Now the steady progress of several hours had left him encased in an icy shell.

At least his head was mostly free. There were flecks of ice scattered on his hood and he discovered that his mask was stuck to his mouth. The condensation from his breath had frozen it in place.

The bright side to this little situation was that the ice had effectively locked him in place on the trailer's crossbeams and was preventing him from falling. On the other hand, getting out might be a problem. That and the unbelievable cold.

As his brain finally began to kick into high gear the cold washed over him like a wave. This was completely different from being in the snow. Before, the temperature was low enough that even his body temperature would not melt the snow he was crawling on. It was more like moving through freezing cold sand or powder. He had at least been able to stay dry. Now though, the slush from the truck tires had soaked into his clothing, and in addition to being cold he was wet.

He vaguely remembered one of his instructors telling him something about that. In a cold environment it is okay to be cold, but never let yourself get wet. Septimus silently thanked that he had not already died of hypothermia in his sleep.

First, he tried moving his fingers, but he could not feel them at all. Maybe they were moving, maybe not. He rolled his eyes and tried his toes; same result. Frustrated, he decided to try somewhere he was sure would work: his mouth.

When he opened it all that happened was that his lips stretched out.

"Mm MmMmm!" He growled, gathered up as much saliva as he could, and then forced it against the seal on his mouth. Gradually the ice melted and he was able to open his mouth.

"Finally!" He thought about trying to free his lips from the mask, but decided it probably would not work. Since the mask was pressing against his face, any saliva he used to melt the ice would only refreeze, and he would be in the same position all over again.

Now, to figure out how to get the rest of his frozen body free...

Bump!

Stars burst in front of Septimus' eyes as his head smacked the crossbar again.

"ARGH! Seriously! Ooow!" The stars faded and he was once again shrouded in darkness. He took another look down at his body. There was something different, but he could not quite tell what it was because the running lights were not very bright. He leaned his head down as far as he could. There seemed to be a line where the reflections of the ice did not quite match up.

"A crack? Alright! It must have come from the bump." He wiggled his shoulders and the line grew longer. "C'mon, just a little more..." The crack steadily grew wider as he began throwing his weight back and forth within the loosening shell. With an earsplitting snap the ice around his chest and arms fell away into the snow below.

Septimus gave a small cheer of approval, but it did not last long. His arms were still totally numb and they flopped around uselessly. It was as if they had fallen asleep when he laid on them for too long in the bed.

He willed his still working shoulders to move and shakily brought his arms up before letting them flop back down on his chest. He did not feel anything. He did it again. Still nothing. Again. Finally, some sort of feedback reached his brain. It was almost like the brush of a feather; just barely there.

He moved his fingers slowly at first. They were not fully responding yet, but at least he could almost feel them now. He shook his arms as hard as he could and slapped them against his chest. Gradually all his nerves awoke from hibernation until they were throbbing. His left hand felt especially weak, and it was painful to make a fist. He was still stiff, and the pain did not feel pleasant, but it at least let him know that his arms were okay.

"Now for my legs." He reached into one of his coat pockets and pulled out a small knife. With a flick of his wrist the blade flipped around into position. It was only about four inches long; to small for a good weapon, but plenty big for hacking ice.

With one arm bracing against the bottom of the trailer he began cutting away at the ice with hard downward strikes. He managed to get his hips free when the truck suddenly hit another bump. This time, however, with his hand firmly planted in place, he prevented himself from causing any further injury to his head.

He breathed a sigh of relief and went back to work, being very careful not to accidentally stab himself in the dark. After another twenty minutes he finally had his legs and feet completely freed from their icy prison. He slipped the knife back into his pocket and started rubbing his lower body. After a few minutes he could move his toes and stretch his legs.

Satisfied that he was reasonably warmed up, Septimus decided to check the time. He rolled back his sleeve and hit the light button. It was –

Bump!

"Whoaaaaa!" The jolt completely picked Septimus up off the crossbars and threw him over the edge. In the blink of an eye he was falling into the snow below. He curled into a ball to protect himself but was suddenly snapped open with an exploding pain around his chest. His feet hit the ground sending him into an uncontrollable spin in midair.

He groaned and grabbed the cable of the climbing harness that had just saved his life. He tried to pull himself up, but his left hand would not squeeze correctly, leaving him dangling helplessly from the undercarriage of the trailer.

The slush from the tires that had mostly been passing harmlessly underneath his perch was now hitting him full force. He sputtered and flailed his arms to get the freezing stuff off his face. Not only was he getting hit with a lot more slush than before, but he was also much more exposed to the wind. He could feel the body heat being sucked out of him. At this rate he really would freeze to death. Only one option.

He pulled out his knife and began sawing at the safety line connecting him to the trailer. It was thick, but after a few seconds the fibers started splitting and the rope broke free. There was a moment of free fall before he hit the snow. His momentum caused him to keep rolling over and skid. With a roar the back end of the trailer passed harmlessly overhead and disappeared into the distance. He bounced a few more meters before finally crunching to a halt.

He lay in the snow for a minute to catch his breath. Already the cold was starting to seep into his jacket. Quickly, he stood up and surveyed his surroundings. In the direction the truck had gone he could see the faint glow of lights. It was the city. Unlucky as it was to have fallen from the truck, at least he was within walking distance of civilization.

The first thing he had to do was get his body temperature back up. He did some jumping jacks and started to jog towards the lights. After half a mile he slowed to a walk and decided to check his watch. 0721 hrs. If he walked fast he could still make it to town in time. He picked up the pace.

The only sounds that broke the eerie silence were his breathing and the crunch of the ankle deep snow under his boots. A few minutes later another sound joined in. A loud grumble escaped his stomach. He suddenly realized how hungry he was. He had not eaten since the party the night before.

When he pulled a protein bar and a small bottle of water from his jacket pocket he was disappointed to find them frozen solid. His teeth met rock hard chocolate when he tried to take a bite of the bar. Determined to have his food sooner or later, he stuffed the bar and bottle under his shirt to warm them up, yelping as the freezing objects touched his chest. Now all he had to do was keep walking and sooner or later his meal would thaw out.

Septimus checked his watch again. 0803 hrs. On the eastern horizon just the smallest touch of gray could be seen. Dawn was on the way.

He stuffed the empty wrapper back into his pocket and took a swig of partially melted ice water. Cold as it was, the water was very refreshing.

From another pocket, he retrieved the piece of paper. He read the second line. Pioneer Station: L 203; C 14 31 7; T 0925.

He nearly stumbled as he felt something solid beneath his feet. He returned the paper and looked down at a road. He traced its path and saw that it was headed directly for the city, the outskirts of which were now clearly visible.

Time was of the essence, so he started jogging again until he came to the first real house he had ever seen. He had seen pictures of them before, but never a real home. There was a small white picket fence surrounding the snow covered yard and a newly shoveled path of cobblestones leading from the fence's gate to the front porch. The house itself was painted white and only had one story. The windows were all shuttered, and the front door was closed. Just outside the fence was an ancient looking truck that was so rusted Septimus could not see any remains of paint on it.

He ran over and inspected the bed of the truck. It was filled with all manner of tools and spare parts. The owner must have been some sort of mechanic.

The door to the house opened, and a middle aged man wearing a blue set of coveralls and a crimson jacket walked out. Septimus ducked behind the truck and peeked around the back.

"I'll be back in later this afternoon, honey. I got to head into town and fix a few pipes that froze and busted in some apartment building on Broadway." It seemed that the man was heading further into the city. If Septimus could hitch a ride it would greatly reduce his travel time. The man blew a kiss inside and shut the door before heading in Septimus' direction.

While the man stepped into the truck, Septimus jumped in the bed with all the tools. It was not very comfortable, but a free ride was a free ride.

After a short but very rough trip, the truck began slowing to a stop. There was a little more light now, so Septimus quickly rolled over the side of the truck and then under to avoid detection as the man climbed out of the driver's side door. When the man had grabbed some tools from the rear of the truck and walked off, Septimus crawled from underneath the truck and took a quick look around.

He seemed to be in the middle of a residential district of the city. High rise apartment buildings towered on either side of a wide street. The strange thing was that the place looked nearly deserted. A few newer model cars passed and disappeared further into the city, but for the most part there was no traffic whatsoever. Septimus thought it very weird that such a large city had almost no people in it, but he pushed the thought from his mind and concentrated back on his mission.

He pulled out the paper again and flipped it over. There was a simple schematic showing the major roads going into and out of the city. Near the middle was a marker with PS written next to it. That was his destination. He quickly sifted through the abundance of street names until he found Broadway Ave. It ran North to South, from one end of the city to the other, and came fairly close to the marker. The only problem was that he did not know where he was on the street.

As casually as he could he walked up to the nearest apartment building and checked the address number on the front door. Large block letters adorned the glass of the window. Henderson Place 154.

He returned to the sidewalk and confirmed from the street signs that he was indeed on Broadway Ave. where it intersected 45th St. To his annoyance, he found that most of the smaller roads were not marked on the map. Figuring that the address numbers would start small in the center of the city and grow larger as the roads radiated out, he guessed that he must be a few miles out from the center.

His watch read 0825 hrs. Not good. He began running towards 44th St. making sure to stay on the sidewalk. Traffic was sparse, but that was no excuse to risk being hit by a poor driver.

He passed several people, but was not overly worried about being discovered. He still had his hood up and his ski mask over most of his face. Some looked at him funny, but then went about their business. No sense getting worked up over some little kid playing around, especially this early in the morning, with it being so cold out and the sun not even up yet. At least, that was what Septimus hoped they were thinking. Unwanted attention could cause trouble.

Upon reaching number 125 he bent over panting. His lungs were burning and his limbs felt like cement. It was now 0852 hrs. He had been running for nearly thirty minutes. Normally a half hour would not have been so bad, but the escape from the base, the truck ride, and already having run through the snow to the city after the abruptly exiting the trailer (all while being in freezing cold weather), had nearly sapped all his strength. At this pace he would never make it on time. Septimus was getting desperate, so he knew he had to take a risk to speed things up.

Though traffic was low there were still cars going in both directions. It was now or never. He stepped out slightly into the street and began to walk backwards with his thumb in the air. As lame as the plan was, it was the best he could come up with at the spur of the moment.

Within a minute a bright yellow sedan flashed its lights as it drove by, and pulled over a little down the road. Septimus noticed that it had a small sign on the top reading TAXI. He was not sure what that meant, but he ran up to the passenger window as it rolled down. There was a gruff man at the wheel with a cigar sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

"Where ya goin?" the man asked.

"Pioneer Station. I need to get there fast."

The man's face twisted into a smirk and he winked. "No problem, kid. You got the credits, I got the ride. Jump in the back and buckle up."

As soon as the seatbelt clicked the driver slammed his foot on the gas, forcing Septimus back into the seat as the cab rocketed from the curb. He gripped the seat as tightly as possible while the car whipped in and out of traffic down Broadway. It was at this moment that Septimus praised the person who invented the basic safety harness. He was sure that without it, he would be getting bashed into a pulp as he was thrown around the inside of the car.

The man must have been insane. Septimus cringed as they nearly crashed head on into oncoming traffic while they were passing slower cars on the proper side of the street. His heart hammered in his chest and he just closed his eyes to avoid seeing their inevitable deaths.

With a bone wrenching jerk, the taxi came to a halt. "Pioneer station, kid. That'll be 23 credits."

Septimus cracked his eyes. The car was indeed stopped and he was not dead. Thank god.

Even though Septimus had always been provided with whatever he needed, he was still familiar with the exchange of currency, a.k.a. money, for services. He had occasionally bought some snacks at the base's commissary. He pulled some bills out of a pocket and payed the man over the seat.

The man's face light up. "Wow, kid! Actual paper money! I havn't seen that in years. Alright! Next time I go the liquor store I can pay with this and they can't trace my card."

Septimus left the man talking to himself and stepped shakily out of the car. That was the first and last time he would ever get in a car marked Taxi.

Before him was a terminal of sorts with Pioneer Station adorning the front of the building. According to his watch it was only 0905 hours. Insane as the car ride had been, it had gotten him to his destination with time to spare.

His first few steps were a bit wobbly, but he was soon quickly making his way up a set of steps and through a large set of glass doors. The station seemed to be nearly empty. Directly in front was a young woman manning what appeared to be the check in desk. Further behind the desk he could see that the room branched off into two long corridors with people waiting intermittently for their trains to arrive.

He discreetly pulled down his hood and his ski mask so that his entire head was visible to the cameras placed along the ceiling. A critical part of his plan had just been set in motion. It would not take long before he was positively identified. No time to waste.

Septimus stepped up to the desk. "Excuse me, ma'am."

The woman looked up from her computer and gave him a warm smile. "May I help you young man?"

"Yes, ma'am. I need to find locker number 203. Could you point me in the right direction?"

"Sure." She pointed behind herself and to the right. "See that way over there? See how it has a two over the gateway? That's terminal two and any locker in the two hundreds will be that way. Need anything else?"

Septimus returned the woman' smile. "No, ma'am. Thanks." He walked off as the woman wished him a good day.

There was a security station just past the wall of lockers. He had to get through there before he could get to the proper gate. But first he located locker 203 and recalled the combination from memory. The dial spun, stopping on three different numbers. 14 31 7. The lock popped and he opened the door.

Inside there was a black duffel back nearly as big as he was. Before hauling it out he unzipped a smaller side pocket and fished around. After a second he pulled out his prize: a one way ticket to Vancouver. Attached via paper clip was an ID card with a small picture of himself, informing that his name was Alexander Smith.

The next thing he pulled out was a small sandwich sized bag with a few computer components and a small slip of paper. He removed the paper and put all his findings in separate pockets. After zipping the duffel back up he proceeded to the security station. When it was his turn he placed the duffel on the roller wheels and pushed it through the scanner. After a signal from the security guard he walked through the metal detector. As soon as stepped across it screeched loudly causing him to jump.

He blushed, slightly embarrassed from having been startled as the guard rolled his eyes and signaled for him to come to the side.

The guard set a small tray down and told him to empty his pockets. A minute later the tray contained several pieces of paper, an empty water bottle, a protein bar wrapper, the plastic bag with computer parts, and most lastly, his knife. He mentally slapped himself. Of course the knife would be detected.

The man ran a portable metal detector around Septimus' body and, satisfied that the boy was clean, examined the contents of the tray. He raised an eyebrow. "Son, what are you doing with a knife?"

Luckily, Septimus had already come up with an alibi. "I had that with me while me and my grandpa were out hiking. I came up to visit him. He always says that you can't be too prepared for anything. So we always carry extra food, and extra climbing gear, and-"

"Okay, son, okay. I get it," the man interrupted. "Look, that's fine. I'm sure you and grandpa had a great time, but you're not allowed to carry that on the train with you. You'll have to leave it here."

Septimus feigned hurt and put on the best puppy dog face he could manage. "B-but my grandpa gave that to me. It's my most favorite present! If I put it in my bag will it be okay? I promise I won't touch it until I get home." To Septimus own amazement he actually had tears running down his own cheeks. "Please, mister? Please?"

The man looked unsure for a moment and the crowd at the security checkpoint seemed to be getting impatient. He bent down to eye level. "Alright, we'll put the knife in your bag. It'll be in there the whole trip in the luggage car. Is that okay?"

Septimus nodded and wiped away the tears. He put on his best smile.

"Okay." The man took the knife and slipped it into a pocket of the duffel bag that had come through the scanner. Meanwhile, Septimus grabbed all of his belongings from the tray and returned them to his pockets.

After attaching a sorting tag to the duffel back, the guard walked back over. "Okay, Alex," he said as he handed back Septimus' ID and ticket. "Here's your ticket and ID. Just show them to the person at the gate and have a safe trip."

Septimus continued smiling as he walked off. "Thanks, mister!" He even gave the man a small wave.

A few minutes later Septimus was at his gate. Even though things had not gone exactly to plan, it had all worked out so far. Hopefully that trend would continue.

At 0920 hrs a train pulled up to the gate and began unloading its passengers. Septimus presented his ticket to the hostess at the gate and stepped out onto the platform. The train seemed to be made for speed. It was very sleek with little external clutter and a slick silver and red paint job. There were only four cars present, and Septimus figured it was because there were not many people taking the trip. Either way, he walked to the second to last car. At the rear he could see the luggage being loaded into its own car.

Once he had taken his seat he picked up a small magazine from the pocket on the seat in front of him. A quick glance showed that it contained some basic information on the area. He decided to hang on to the reading material for later; it might come in handy.

The doors shut and the train began to accelerate. It went up a slight rise before leveling off and picking up more speed. Buildings whipped by at blinding speed becoming no more than a blur, until they were replaced by a plain of snow.

Septimus relaxed and leaned his seat back. He set the timer on his watch to wake him up in four hours. That would give him about two hours before the train was scheduled to arrive in Vancouver. He closed his eyes and let sweet sleep take him.

He pressed the button on his watch and the alarm stopped. 1330 hrs. With a yawn he pulled the plastic bag and a piece of paper from his pocket. After studying the directions thoroughly he began tinkering with the small components.

In between constructing his device and reviewing the directions, he glanced out of the window. In the distance he could just make out a dark line discoloring the ever thinning snow. Continuing to work, he made sure to keep an eye on the time. After forty five minutes he was finished. In his lap he held the solution to getting off the train.

Leaning around the seat, he observed the rest of the cabin. There were a few people further up. Some were sleeping, while others were reading newspapers or magazines. The key: no one was paying him any attention.

Satisfied, he discreetly got up and walked to the rear of the compartment and stepped into the bathroom. He took this moment to relieve himself, refill his water bottle from the sink, and to throw away the used wrapper.

Upon completion of his business, he quietly opened the bathroom door and stepped out. The other passengers did not even look up. Luckily the stewardess' workroom was at the front. He stepped up to the rear door and examined the locking mechanism. It had a card receiver and a number pad in case an employee lost their card. He inserted his device into the lock's card receiver slot. Within a few seconds a small blue light flashed, indicating that the lock was now open. Military grade technology had its benefits. He pulled out his lock pick, grasped the handle, and slipped through.

On the other side of the door was a small tunnel connecting the two train cars. A dull roar could be heard from the other side of the walls. Septimus was not sure what the outer material was made of, but it looked like millions of chain links were strung together to give both strength and flexibility. He guessed that the tunnel itself was to reduce wind resistance on the train as a whole so that it could reach its maximum speed.

Making sure to keep a firm grip on the handrails, he stepped across a small bridge and picked the next door lock. On the other side rows upon rows of suitcases and other material were stacked neatly on silvery, metal pipe shelves while being held down with thick bungee cords. Within a few minutes he had located his own bag and removed it.

He unzipped the main pocket and pulled out a large, flat piece of fiberglass. One end was pointed like that of a surfboard and curved slightly upwards. The other end was hollow. He reached into the hole, grabbed a small indentation, and pulled. Several consecutively smaller sections of board extended from inside the outer piece until he had a complete length of about five feet.

He set the board down and retrieved several other items from the bag; a pair of tinted goggles, some thick gloves; and another ski mask. When all the gear had been put on, he transferred everything from his pockets, except the lock pick, to the duffel bag.

After opening the rear door, he placed the lock pick in the the bag. He cringed as the roar of the wind threatened to deafen him. The rear of the train had a small railed walkway. The only opening was directly in front of the door, so Septimus wisely decided to move to the side.

Looking over the edge he could see the snow rushing by. Every now and then he spotted a patch of grass, but in an instant it was gone, vanishing behind the train in the blink of an eye. Off to the left, the dark line still marred the white plain. He looked down and suddenly had a sickening feeling in his stomach. Maybe this was not such a good idea after all. The ground was a good ten feet down, rushing past in a blur of white.

Septimus gulped and tried to calm down and force the feeling from his gut. It worked a little, but he could not shake the uneasiness from his mind. What he was about to attempt was so dangerous that no sane person would have ever even considered doing it. If he messed up he was dead, no questions asked. Did that make him a little insane? It must, because he steeled himself to go through with it.

As small as he was, Septimus could fit his arms through the hand holds of the duffel bag and wear it like a backpack. He shrugged the bag into position and grabbed the board.

Looking over the rear railing, he could see the tracks that the train was running on. On either side only one column held up that half of the track. In the middle was nothing but air. He briefly considered this option, but then decided that becoming paste on one of the support columns did not seem very pleasant.

Over the side rail there was nothing but the expanse of snow. Thankfully it was free of hazardous obstacles. It seemed the only logical solution.

With one arm gripping the board, he took hold of a small hand grip that was on the wall and hauled himself up onto the railing. The sudden onslaught of wind nearly caused him to fall. He managed to regain his balance and closed his eyes. The feeling in his stomach had returned tenfold and his whole body seemed to be shaking.

He jumped.

Alright, Ch.3 is finally up. Apologies for the delay (although I did warn you), I had football camp and school started a few weeks ago. Bummer, I know. I feel the pain of all you other students out there. I had the first third of this chapter finished for the longest time before I was finally able to finish it this week. Hopefully chapter four will come out quicker than this one did.

I also just noticed that whatever system uses for the document, it messes with the spacing a little. Hmm.

Reviews are appreciated. Questions? I'll see if I can answer them without spoilers. :p