Future Americas Read online

Don’t get into trouble.

  And stay here.

  I felt a smile coming across my face, as the part of me that belonged to Mother rose to the surface. I was being a good boy, and would always be a good boy, for while Father was kind and gentle in the household, on most days, I know from rumors and such from my friends at school that he did have a temper, was strong, and that there were several men at work in the tar pits out west due to his displeasure at finding corruption in the Trade Ministry.

  And yet . . .

  I left the balcony, tossed on a short cape, and went out and locked the door behind me, and went downstairs to the lobby. It was quiet as I walked across the stone floor to the front desk, past the dark, rough-looking furniture, and the bellmen, standing at attention, white-gloved hands held before them. There was an older woman there, flipping through some papers, and she looked up at me with a smile as I approached. Even in the heat, she had on a long skirt and some sort of dark blouse, her dark hair rolled up in a bun at the back of her head.

  ‘‘May I help you, young sire?’’ she asked.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ I said. ‘‘I’d like to arrange for a tour to the ruins.’’

  Her smile seemed to flicker a bit. ‘‘Are you sure?’’

  ‘‘Yes, I’m sure.’’

  She nodded. ‘‘All right, then. If you go toward the front, by the doors, you’ll see some tour guides by a table. They are all bonded, licensed, and insured. All operate through the cooperation of the hotel. Use one of them. They are all safe.’’

  ‘‘Are there any ones you recommend?’’

  She shook her head. ‘‘No, they are all legitimate . . . but if I may add, you should go with the one you feel comfortable with. Examine the brochures, talk to the tour operators . . . and oh, one more thing.’’

  From underneath the counter, she took out a white sash with a gold eagle centered in the middle. She passed it over to me and said, ‘‘Here. Wear this.’’

  I slipped the sash over my left shoulder, looked at her. ‘‘Why?’’

  A slight shrug. ‘‘The ruins are safe during the day . . . but we want to ensure without a doubt that our guests will be safe no matter the time or place. While wearing the sash, it means you’re under the protection of the Prez. No one will dare hurt you, or harass you, or cause you any trouble.’’

  I touched the sash. The cloth was rough, like it was hand-woven. ‘‘And suppose someone ignores the sash?’’

  A tight, worldly smile. ‘‘Then he or she will be sentenced to the cane fields. For life.’’

  I followed the directions and passed through the doors, which were made of glass, a fair expense for this part of the world. Uniformed guards with peaked hats and short swords kept an eye on the guests and visitors coming through. Off to the left was a long table, and behind the table was a collection of men and women. There were expensive signs before them, professionally printed in the local dialect and franglish, and they all looked at me expectantly as I came forward.

  And yet . . .

  They seemed too slick, too polished, like something Father or somebody else in the Trade Ministry would choose. I looked at the far end of the table, where a young man sat, almost about my age, dark-skinned with close-cropped black hair. He was dressed plainly and before him was a hand-printed sign, on white cardboard, Honest Tours, Honest Ways. He caught my eye and then I just decided to walk over to him.

  And I thought of Father.

  Be a good boy. Well, I was being a good boy. I was polite to the desk clerk and I was going to be polite to this young man before me, and I was going to pay him some money, which, judging by his haircut and clothes, he could use.

  And trouble . . . yes, I was going to stay out of trouble. And with the sash about me, that was going to be guaranteed.

  One more thing. What had that been?

  Oh, yes, stay here, he had said. But he hadn’t defined here, had he? Here could mean the hotel room. Or the hotel. Or the town and its ruins.

  So I had listened to Father. Of that I had no doubt.

  I went forward to the young man.

  ‘‘I would like to arrange a tour.’’

  The young man just nodded. I thought he might have been excited at getting a paying customer, so early in the morning, but he just bent over a tablet of paper and started laboriously writing with a pencil.

  ‘‘Your name, sire?’’ He spoke franglish well, with just a bit of a southern accent.

  ‘‘Armand de la Cloutier,’’ I said.

  ‘‘Your room number?’’

  ‘‘Suite twelve.’’

  ‘‘And your home address, sire?’’

  ‘‘Mansion de la Cloutier, Torontah, Empire of the Nunavut.’’

  ‘‘Very good, sire,’’ he said, writing some more.

  As he wrote, a well-dressed older man leaned over in our direction. ‘‘Sire,’’ he said in a low voice. ‘‘That’s not what you want. Come with us, we’ll show you things you’ve never imagined, things you’ll remember the rest of your life.’’

  The young man said in a quiet but firm voice, ‘‘You’re poaching, Alex. You know what the rules are for poaching.’’

  The other man laughed. ‘‘Not poaching. Just offering an interesting alternative, something he won’t get back home. Like the counting houses. Hear that, sire? Off the cane fields, the young ladies that work there, it’s quite hot and humid. The way they dress, leaves very little to the imagination, and for just a bit more payment—’’

  The young man tore off a slip of paper and passed it over to me. ‘‘One brass sovereign, if you please, sire. And then we’ll be on our way.’’

  I opened the leather pouch at my side, pulled out a sovereign and passed it over. He pocketed it and stood up, now smiling, the hand drawn sign now under his arm. ‘‘My name is Micah. Shall we go?’’

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ I said. ‘‘Let’s go.’’

  Outside, the tropical air was thick and heavy, and the sky was overcast, threatening rain. Before us was a curved driveway, with taxis arriving and leaving, guests and others milling about, and young beggars and urchins, out there among the crowd, holding out their palms, pleading, begging. Occasionally, one of the guests would toss a coin to the ground, and they would fight for the treasure, scrambling and yelling. But though they saw me and the way I was dressed, none approached. The sash was like an invisible shield, not letting anyone near me, and I’m embarrassed to say, it made me feel more important than I should.

  Micah led me down to a line of luxury vehicles, and I recognized the names painted on the side with those of the tour guides inside the hotel. I wiped at my brow, looking forward to being inside a cool vehicle, but Micah kept on walking, until we reached the end of the line of vehicles, where there was—

  A pedicab, with a parasol on the top, and with a sign hanging by cords from the rear. Honest Tours, Honest Ways. He looked to me and then smiled. ‘‘I see you look disappointed, sire. If you would like a refund and go with someone else, please do. That’s your right.’’

  If I had been Mother or one of my sisters, I’m sure that’s exactly would have happened. But I liked his look, liked his smile, and liked his attitude. I was going with what the woman at the front desk had recommended.

  ‘‘No, Micah, this would be fine.’’

  He kept his smile. ‘‘That’s good. Where would you like to go?’’

 
; ‘‘The ruins,’’ I said. ‘‘I hear they’re quite dramatic.’’

  ‘‘That they are,’’ Micah said. ‘‘But if what Alex said has any interest for you—’’

  ‘‘No,’’ I interrupted. ‘‘The ruins. That’s what I want to see.’’

  ‘‘Very good, sire,’’ he said. ‘‘If I may suggest . . . your cape will be too warm. May I take it?’’

  I unhooked the cape and passed it over to him, and he placed it within a small leather container at the rear of the pedicab. He then led me over and said, ‘‘Please climb in.’’

  He helped me in the rear of the pedicab, to a clean and padded seat. Before me was a low shelf, with plastic bags of nuts and fruits, and bottles of water. He got forward, undid a hand brake, and started pedaling. There was a mirror so I could see his face, and he said, ‘‘Is this your first time to Tomac?’’

  ‘‘Yes, it is,’’ I said.

  ‘‘And are you here on business or pleasure, sire?’’

  I laughed. ‘‘My father is here on business, and I’m supposed to be here on pleasure, but so far, all I’ve gotten is boredom.’’

  He paused at the road, and then went out, joining the traffic. The road was well-paved and wide, and though I didn’t see any signs, it seemed there was a series of lanes for different modes. People walking or pushing wagons were on the far right, and then were bicycles and pedicabs, then horses, and then powered vehicles. Micah pedaled at a fair pace, and I had to smile at what I saw next. From the roof of the parasol a small fan was suspended and with a complex set of gears and chains, the fan spun as Micah pedaled, sendingair across my face. It was very hot, and I undid the top few buttons of my tunic, enjoying the movement of the breeze.

  ‘‘It won’t take long,’’ Micah said, ‘‘and we’ll stay out in the ruins as long as you’d like.’’

  ‘‘Thank you,’’ I said, as I turned here and there, to see our progress. The land was flat and was jammed at each side of the road with thick growth, though on occasion, a dirt road would lead off deep into the jungle, ending up God knows where. It was hot, but I found I was enjoying the ride, and though I felt just a bit of guilt over being pedaled there by Micah, I thought I had paid him well, and it would work out for the best.

  The sun was strong and the clouds moved away, and I saw two airships, up there in the distance, and felt a bit of pride. Only my home empire had airships this large and powerful, and it felt good, to see them up there, like they were somehow watching over me. After a while the road rose up a bit and the jungle fell away, allowing us a fair view off to the east. Miicah paused and I looked out, where I saw a few plumes of smoke rising up.

  ‘‘The cane fields,’’ he pointed out. ‘‘The old fields get burned. Part of the growing cycle.’’

  ‘‘I see,’’ I said.

  He grunted something and then said, ‘‘Look. Up ahead. That’s where we’re going.’’

  Before us, the road swooped down and to the west, and there was a flash of white out there in the distance, of old buildings, poking up through the jungle and growth. I felt my pulse quicken some. It had been one thing to read about the ruins and to see the news-reels; it was another to know that in a few minutes, I would be right there, in the middle.

  And if I knew then what I know now, I think I would have paid Micah, one more time, to turn around and take me back to the hotel.

  With the downward slope of the road, we made good time, the breeze washing over us, and then there was a fork in the road, and Micah aimed the pedicab to the left, to a stretch of road that was much narrower. I held onto the side of the pedicab as we came to a large sign that I couldn’t understand—the language being written in Tomacese, or whatever—and then we came to a large dirt area, seemingly carved from the jungle. There were powered vehicles here, from large buses to smaller vehicles, some with the engines idling. Micah pedaled to the far side of the lot, where there were a few other pedicabs. There was a small group of young boys and girls, dressed in ragged clothes, barefoot, and the tallest of them came forward, holding a large staff. Micah got out of the pedicab, said something quickly in the local patois, and the boy with the staff laughed, and the other kids scattered.

  I got out, stretched my legs, and said, ‘‘What was that all about?’’

  Micah shrugged. ‘‘That was Lucas. He keeps an eye on my cab while I’m touring.’’

  From the front of the pedicab, he pulled out a yellow scarf, which he draped about his neck. ‘‘Take one of the waters,’’ he said. ‘‘You’ll need it.’’

  I did just that, as we went down a well-packed dirt path, past a group of men with short swords and yellow scarves that looked like they were gatekeepers of a sort. There were other tourists there as well, some with bulky cameras, and I kept pace with Micah as we walked deeper into the jungle.

  ‘‘What do you know of this place?’’ Micah asked.

  ‘‘The ruins? That they’re very, very old. That it’s believed they were the capitol district of the city-states that were here, a very long time ago.’’

  Micah grunted again. ‘‘I suppose.’’

  ‘‘What do you mean?’’

  ‘‘I guess that’s what they teach you up north, right?’’

  ‘‘That’s right,’’ he said. ‘‘And what’s wrong with that?’’

  There were other paths off on other sides of the jungle, but Micah obviously knew where to take me, as he ignored my question. He said, ‘‘Up ahead, there’s an observation tower. We’ll climb up there and you’ll see where we’re going.’’

  Which is what we did. There was a gaggle of young people at the base of a wooden tower, but they scattered at Micah’s words and—I’m sure—by the sash I was wearing. We climbed up the steep stairs to a platform about six meters to a side. I was out of breath and took a sip of the warm water I carried as we emerged. The viewing platform was crowded again, with tourists and some of the dark-skinned beggar children, but Micah led me to one side and said, ‘‘Look.’’

  Before us was a jungle-covered plain, with more lumps of white stone emerging from the growth, but this close, I could make out the shapes better. There was a large building before us, with a dome that was collapsing upon itself, with vines and saplings and trees poking through the old stone. On either side of the dome were two wings of other buildings, more obscured than the dome. Off in the distance there were other buildings, plus one that was fairly clear. It was shaped like a box with pillars of some sort, and before this building was a long, open pond.

  Micah said, ‘‘We’ll be going to the large building first, and then, depending on the time, the temple at the end.’’ He smiled. ‘‘That place is my favorite.’’

  I could make out the language of the tourists, and heard that some were from home. They were wearing white sashes similar to mine. An older man and woman, and they both laughed as the man scattered coins on the floor. The children fought over the coins and the man laughed again. ‘‘Barbarians,’’ he said. ‘‘Little brown monkeys. Look at them.’’

  I was suddenly ashamed to be there, with Micah, but if it bothered him, he didn’t show it. He leaned a bit over the railing and said, ‘‘This place . . . these people . . . what do you know about them?’’

  I
wiped at my face again. ‘‘A very rich, very powerful, very corrupt empire. An empire that polluted the air, the water, even the very cultures of the world. An empire that tried to rule the world . . . until the other peoples fought against them, and brought them down, just as the earth was rebelling against it as well, with droughts, storms, and floods.’’

  ‘‘And what was it called?’’

  ‘‘It had a number of names. Merka being the most common.’’

  Micah turned to me. ‘‘Not bad for a tourist. Come along, Armand, let me show you the ruins of my people.’’

  After a half hour of slogging along the path, we came out before the large domed building, at what seemed to be its front entrance. Other tourists were there as well, and more of the ragged children, either begging or trying to sell iced drinks or carvings of the various buildings that were still hidden among the jungle. There were wide stone steps leading up to the main dome, and we went up, and Micah talked to me. ‘‘This is the most lavish and decorated building here among this collection of ruins, and most believe that this is where the assembly or parliament met.’’

  I noted the collapsing stone, the empty windows, the birds flying in and out of the ruins. ‘‘Is it safe?’’

  ‘‘No, not really,’’ he said, ‘‘but we’ll go to places that are fairly safe. There are many, many small rooms in here, which we think were where the representatives met, or lived.’’

  At one of the doorways Micah spoke to another man who wore the same yellow scarf, and he reached below a stone counter and came up with a lantern. He lit the lantern and spoke quickly in patois, and Micah laughed and looked to me.

  ‘‘Ready?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ I said, feeling my heart thump right along.

  ‘‘Then let’s go back in time, Armand.’’

  And I followed him into the darkness.