The wagon rumbled along in the darkness. It was pulled by four barrel-chested mares, their manner as placid as if they were being driven to market midday. A Devil sat on the box, clenching the reins in his hands. He dared not light the lamps that swung from their posts on either side of him; they were passing into territory where their kind was still forbidden. Eden, at night, didn’t look like much; even by day the land wouldn’t whisper its secrets. People, on the other hand, couldn’t stop saying it: Rhodium. Anyone could claim a plot of sand and shale, shift and shake the top soil, and watch for that distinct silvery sparkle.
Well, almost anyone. “It’s worth the risk,” Mike reminded himself as he tried not to pull on the reigns. Even though he trusted the keen eyes of his horses, driving blind was terrifying.
A strong hand patted his shoulder, “It is worth it.” Smithy squeezed onto the box next to him, her eyes flickering red in the dark, “Think about Anabelle’s future.”
“A bit hard to think of anything when I feel like I’m flying into the abyss.”
“Want me to drive?” Smithy felt for the reigns, “I’m a Devil you know, I came from the abyss.”
Instead of handing them over, Mike jerked to attention, “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.” There was the thwacking sound of a drone’s blades, then light bathed the wagon. Mike let out a sound, half curse, half giddyup, urging the horses into a canter. It was odd how he was suddenly aware of everything; the way the downdraft blew sand up around them like flakes of gold, the way the box bit into the backs of his knees, the bitter taste of fear in his mouth.
“Halt. Your vehicle has been selected for a mandatory inspection. You must stop willingly or be faced with additional fines,” a robotic voice announced.
“That’s the last thing I intend to do,” Mike reached for his whip.
“Nonpon. Selectium motore tui par inspectione madatore,” the message repeated in Edenian.
“It’s automated,” Smithy yelled in his ear, “You know, one of those robot things.”
More robot things appeared in the distance. “Halt. Your vehicle has been selected for a mandatory inspection,” a hatch in the bottom of the drone opened, “You must stop willingly or be faced with additional fines.” A claw-like device on a chain spun out of the hatch. Mike burned through all the obscenities in his lexicon. The claw hit the wagon with a terrifying thud.
“Anabelle!” Smithy dove under the torn canvas, “ANABELLE!”
The horses slowed, lowering their heads as if they were pulling uphill. Then, with a creaking groan, the wagon lifted off the ground and stopped.
It was like being on a boat, the wagon bobbing and swaying under him as he scrambled into the back. His wife and child huddled together under the torn canvas dome, Anabelle whimpering. “We have to get out,” his mind was already planning their escape; they would unhitch the horses and ride. “Now,” he insisted. Smithy pulled Anabelle to her feet and Mike climbed back onto the box. As Smithy boosted Anabelle up, Mike hoisted her up by her arms. From the box it was only a short hop to the ground, but the oscillations of the wagon and noise from the drone’s rotors mucked up his perceptions. Mike stumbled as he hit the sand, falling to his knees before he was able to get his feet under him.
“ . . . inspectione mandatore. Con permite bastare . . .”
It was so loud he wasn’t sure Anabelle could hear him yelling, “Jump!” She clung to the wagon, the flames in her eyes dancing with fear. The other drones were getting closer, and he could see their search lights switch on. Smithy appeared next to Anabelle, taking the little girl’s hand. Together they leapt from the wagon, Anabelle face-planting in the sand while Smithy tried to roll out of the fall. Seeing they were out, Mike ran to the rear left of the four horses, a horse Anabelle had christened Spot. Spot was frothing with panic, her eyes rolling in her head as she tried to loose herself from the traces. Initially, Mike had wanted to free each horse separately, but now he agreed with Spot; they needed to ditch the wagon and go.
Mike was blinded as another drone reached them, its lights shining in his eyes. It lowered itself over them, and instinctively, he ducked. The swirls of sand increased as the drone hovered, the dull thud of its propellers deafening in their intensity. The four horses bolted, straps snapping and breaches splintering. For a moment the left side held, and he feared that the horses would come down on him in a pile; then something gave and they were off, tails high as they vanished into the dark swirl of sand.
The drone landed a good fifteen feet away from the wagon, settling on the ground like a bee landing on a leaf. A door rolled open and aluminum stairs folded down. “Please enter the drone for processing,” the new drone had the same voice as the first one.
“Like hell, I will,” Mike turned back towards his family. There was percussive burst, and a scream. Mike was laying on the sand before his brain could process what had happened. “They shot me! Those blue-haired sons of-arggh!”
A droid picked him up with a pneumatic arm. All he could see as it dragged him along was its caterpillar track wheels. It deposited him inside the drone, unceremoniously dropping him in a corner before tasing him.
“Okay, okay, we’re stepping into the robot-space-ship,” Smithy’s voice drifted up him. Mike lifted his head to see if Anabelle was with her. The droid responded by hitting him with the taser again.
“Daddy!”
Well, that answered his question. “I’m okay, Sweetie,” he tried to stay as still as possible.
The drone shifted and vibrated as it took off. “Are you, uh, Robot Sir, taking us to your leader?” Smithy asked politely.
Mike couldn’t help it. The laughter bubbled up inside him and escaped in little gasps. The droid tased him again.
