Sword of Minerva (The Guild Wars Book 10) by Mark Wandrey (good books to read for teens txt) 📗

awake for 31 hours now. Sleep would be good, but now was not the time for a snooze. They needed to make time while they could.

So he drove on through the night while Sato quietly snored in the passenger seat. The rugged country picked up again as they left Esquipulas behind, long stretches of valley broken by bridges, tunnels, and mountain passes. He passed other vehicles going in the opposite direction twice before dawn. One was a lumbering old dump truck he passed while navigating some switchbacks. The other was a bus crowded with people and baggage on the roof. The second one proved the most difficult, because he encountered it where there wasn’t enough room to pass.

Amazingly, the bus driver simply reversed for almost a kilometer to where the road was just wide enough for them to pass without swapping paint. He was sure they were less than a millimeter apart at one point. Then the bus driver waved, and they were on their way.

As morning arrived, Rick was navigating down a forest road paralleling the Rio Ixcan. They crossed into Mexico without need of a border crossing encounter. There were no guards on this particular road. The truck bounced over a last huge rut and onto Mexican Highway 307. Ahead was another 500 kilometers of twists, turns, and switchbacks, but they were now out of Central America. The rest should be easy.

* * * * *

Chapter Eight

Sato opened his eyes and yawned. He’d been dreaming about riding rollercoasters. He tried to concentrate on the memory, but as usual, it fell from his grasp. He was surprised to see the sun was up, and they were moving along at maybe 50 kph on a smooth, paved highway.

“Did I sleep all night?”

“Yes,” Rick answered. “You looked really tired, so I just let you sleep.”

Sato yawned again and nodded. “Why are we going so slow?” A car laid on the horn as it passed them on a corner.

“Diesel crapped out an hour ago. I think one of the backroads might have torn something out.”

“Where are we?”

“Just outside Tuxtla Gutiérrez,” Rick explained. “Either we need new transportation, or another option. The fuel cell efficiency is below 25% and dropping.”

Sato nodded and stared out the windshield. They were passing some houses now as a city was nearby. It was still early, so there wasn’t much traffic sharing the road with them. Something was drawing him. First to Earth, now toward America. Like much of his life, he couldn’t remember the last time he was there. Or if he’d ever been there. He was pretty certain he’d been there.

“Everything is so damned fuzzy.”

“Sorry, sir?”

Sato shook his head. “Just thinking aloud,” he said.

“Well, we’re almost at the end of the line. What do you want to do?”

“Might as well find a hotel while I figure out what to do.”

“Aren’t you worried about that woman?”

“McKenzie?” Rick nodded. “She can find us if she wants to.” Sato made a face as a word, a name, danced on the edge of his memory. “We need to take a break and see how Nemo’s bud is doing.”

Rick nodded as he examined the businesses along the road. “That look okay?”

It was a small roadside motel, probably dated back to before first contact, with 20 or so rooms. Certainly operated by a family. It even had a little restaurant attached, harkening back to ages past.

“Should be fine,” Sato said, and Rick steered the nearly dead truck into the driveway.

An old stoop-backed woman was pushing a wobbly housekeeping cart between rooms. A young child in a brightly colored dress holding a doll was following the woman. Sato got out to arrange the room. Since it was daytime, Rick was too obviously out of place. The office was empty, and he had to ring the bell to get someone’s attention. A middle-aged man came in through a door and stopped when he saw who’d rung the bell.

“Hola,” the man said.

“Hello,” Sato replied, using his pinplants to directly access the translator he wore around his neck in a pendant. “I need a room, please.”

“Uhm, sure,” the man said and stepped up to the counter. “How many?”

“There are two of us. Two beds please.”

“The truck yours?”

“Yes. We’re moving…scientific equipment.”

“Oh,” the man said, his eyes narrowed curiously. He fumbled with the pegboard of keys before selecting one. “It’s 1,400 pesos, sir.”

Sato checked their stash and found 500 total pesos. The clerk was asking about $70 dollars, according to the Aethernet. He didn’t want to further tip the man’s level of suspicion. What would be worse, giving him a pile of various countries’ currencies, or credits? Sato settled on credits and placed a 5-credit chit on the counter. As he expected, the man’s eyes went wide.

“Sir, I cannot give you change.”

“It isn’t necessary,” Sato said. He held up a 25-credit chit. “We might be here for 2 days. We just need to rest, quietly. This is yours when we leave. Deal?”

“Yes, yes,” the man said. “Very good!”

It should be, Sato thought. Thirty credits was worth about 65,000 pesos.

“Room 9,” the man said and passed him the key. Sato scooped it up and left without comment.

“Number 9,” he said as he climbed into the passenger seat. The hotel only had one floor, laid out in an L configuration. The open area between the arms had once held a pool, as evidenced by the ancient rusting ladders and diving board. Now it was a garden. Their room was in the crook of the L, and Rick backed the truck to within a meter of the hotel room door.

It was impossible to hide moving the duffel bags and water-filled module from the back of the truck, so they didn’t try. Rick and Sato did it quickly, though, to