The wagon jerked, and Lew let out a moan. The stump of his arm was beginning to swell, streaks of infection fanning out from the wound. His skin was on fire.
“You’re pale, Goddess,” he slurred. Then started murmuring too low for Andra to understand, his ramblings sporadically punctuated by a name that sounded like “Jenny.”
Both his clothes and Andra’s were drenched in blood, sticky and wet. She wondered how porous the cloth was, and how much blood it could hold, and was that more or less than Lew-Eadin could survive losing? He was well past the two pints that caused shock, but hopefully not close to the six pints that caused death. A square meter of material was probably soaked through, but then there’d been the blood lost to the sand. And the fabric wasn’t cotton, it was some kind of rough—
She looked up and there it was.
Eerensed.
The sun kissed the horizon, its rays sifting through the wind-strewn sand to land on the city, encased in a giant bio’dome. The ’dome was nothing more than a sheen of transparent skin circling it like a snow globe, anchored by a titanium wall. Within it, teetering buildings spired into the sky, awash in vibrant colors. A single silver tower jutted up like a beacon.
Hope. But still too far off.
Andra felt Lew lose consciousness, felt the beat of his heart fall dangerously slow. What she wouldn’t give for a defib app right about now.
“Hurry!” she shouted, keeping a finger at Lew’s pulse.
Zhade didn’t respond, only pushed the horse harder. They raced the rest of the way in a frenzied rush, not stopping until they were right up on the ’dome’s base. It towered dark above them and stretched out in both directions. Andra almost missed the seam, the outline of a heavy door.
“What are you waiting for?” she shouted.
Zhade gave her a panicked look. “If they would open the gate for me, don’t you reck I would have done that by now? You’ll have to tell them who you are.”
“Fine,” she huffed, lifting herself out of the cart. “Take him.”
Zhade did, and there was no time to think. No time to second-guess. Andra darted across the sand to the ’dome’s gate, pounding her fist against the metal. It rang out tinny. Hollow.
“Let us in! I have an injured man who needs help!”
Silence.
She knocked again.
“You have to tell them who you are,” Zhade called.
“This is Andra,” she yelled. “Your . . . goddess.”
She winced. Not only at the halting, unconfident way she spoke, but at the words themselves. The lie.
A lie that worked.
There was a creaking, a grinding of gritty gears. The whoosh of an airlock. Andra stumbled back. Hinges groaning, the door slid open, hissing as the vacuum seal popped. A plume of mist puffed out of the hole it left behind, and after a tense moment, a figure emerged. A soldier—dressed in all black. Glistening armor covered him like fish scales, and his face was hidden behind a dark mesh mask.
Andra sucked in a breath as he approached. She risked a glance at Zhade, who was watching the soldier, his expression tense, and Andra wondered if he had just led them to their deaths. The man’s armor jangled as he pulled his mesh mask off, revealing a tanned face with an angular jaw, clenched. His eyes narrowed.
Andra stood frozen, her mind calculating the best escape route, the places to strike that would cause the most damage. She thought back on the strategies she’d learned playing sims and watching her little brother pretend to fight aliens and the one day of self-defense they’d had in her freshman social behavior class. Then Zhade said, “Gryfud?”
The soldier blinked, then his eyes focused on Zhade in the back of the cart.
“Zhade? You’re you, boyo? I nearish recognize you.” The soldier let out a long whoop. Then his gaze fell on Lew-Eadin and his blood sticking to Zhade’s fingers, and the soldier cut off mid-laugh. His face paled. “Wead?”
“He’s marching to badness,” Zhade said. “Let us in, evens?”
The soldier shook his head. “They’ll kill you, seeya.”
Zhade nodded to Andra. “I don’t reck so.”
Gryfud’s gaze finally focused on Andra and she saw the moment realization struck. His eyes widened, his mouth forming a comical O.
“For true, you’re you?” he asked, voice rough.
Before Andra could answer, he dropped to a knee in the sand, head bowed.
“Forgive me, Goddess, I recked it was jokings. I didn’t reck you were for true you.”
There was an awkward silence, and Andra cleared her throat.
“You’re . . . forgiven?”
“Thank you, Goddess, thank you.” Gryfud rose and clasped her hand. “We hoped you would return. We prayed for it. I was convoeing the boyos yestereven—”
“Time runs, boyo,” Zhade said, deftly slipping Andra’s hand from the big man’s grasp. He nodded toward Lew-Eadin, still unconscious in the cart. “Can you help?”
“Please,” Andra added.
Gryfud nodded. “Certz. Certz. Anything for the Third.” He gave her one last glance as he hopped into the cart. It groaned beneath his weight. “Where to, boss?” he asked Zhade.
“Tia Ludmila’s place. Southwarden. She’s a meddoc.”
Gryfud nodded, and Andra moved to get back in the cart, but to her surprise, Zhade climbed out, leaving Lew alone with the strange soldier.
He grabbed Andra’s wrist. “Not you, Goddess. You and I are going to the Rock.”
Andra tugged away. She didn’t feel right leaving Lew. Especially with this soldier who looked like he could tear him apart with his bare hands. But before she could stop him, he flicked the reins and they disappeared into the city.
Andra turned on Zhade. “You just let him take Lew?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “He’ll be evens.”
“He’s dying, and you just let some random person take him. He’s your best friend.”
“He’s my servant,” Zhade corrected, striding through the gate without a backward glance. “And he’s not dying. Tia Ludmila will heal him up for certz.”
Andra bit her cheek but hurried to follow.
As soon as she passed into the ’dome, the world changed. The temperature dropped thirty degrees, the humidity rose. The air was breathable, and Andra’s relief was overwhelming. But then the gate closed behind her, and it gave her the sense of being trapped. She cast one last look the direction the cart had disappeared, then turned to catch up with Zhade.
A tangle of streets spread out ahead of them, marked with patches of green. Buildings jutted up on either side, winding and twisting. It was an architectural miracle any of them were standing. The bleached-out facades shone in the sunlight. Those buildings lucky enough to have shade featured intricate designs in vibrant reds and blues and yellows, or tiles shaped into mosaics.
Andra shivered as the breeze cooled her skin, and then she felt the faint tickle of nanos. It was almost like a piece of home. She’d lived her entire life in a society where nano’bots were ubiquitous, the foundation of most, if not all, technology. ’Implants allowed users to cognitively interface with the nanos, and the nanos would interface with surrounding tech. Andra could turn on a light just by thinking about it. The electrical impulses of her brain would send the message to her ’implant, and then her ’implant would send the message to the nearest nanos, and then the nanos would send the message to the light. More complex technologies—like med’tech—required mental coding with an interface, but simple tasks were only a thought away.
But she only felt the nanos physically. When she searched for a mental connection, it was like stretching for something just out of reach. Whatever these nanos were, they were related to the tech she knew, but changed somehow. Like they’d been upgraded, and she had not.
Now that the adrenaline of the race to the c
ity was ebbing, she felt the throb of pain in her burned hand. If she could just access the nanos around her, she could turn them into med’bots to heal the wound. She would worry about that later, maybe just ask the other goddesses.
A giddy thrill of anticipation passed through her, even though half of her mind was still with Lew in the cart. If the other goddesses really were colonists woken too late (and what else could they be?), then she would finally know what happened.
She hurried to catch up with Zhade. To their right, the silver tower she’d seen shone in the distance, at the northern edge of the ’dome.
“Is that where we’re going?” she asked, pointing. Something about it called to her.
Zhade looked briefly over his shoulder, then shook his head. “Neg. Keep apace.”
A clothesline hung over the road, and dust-colored shirts flapped in the breeze. Zhade grabbed one without breaking his stride and tugged it on. His gait was swift, his long legs carrying him faster than Andra could easily follow. She kept tripping over the uneven stone streets. Streets in a city on a new planet a thousand years in the future, growing out of the ruins of something the colonists built.
From what she could tell, the ’dome wasn’t actually preserving the city. It had just been built around it to protect what was already there. Eerensed was like a vase that had been broken and glued back together over and over. New plaster on fallen ruins. Patched roofs and boarded windows.
Andra kept one eye on Zhade’s back, while also trying to take in her surroundings. The streets were quiet, almost as though he was leading her purposely through alleys and abandoned neighborhoods. As they traveled farther into the city, the buildings grew nicer—detailing around the windows and above doors, more space between houses, vibrant paint covering the facades. They crossed a river. The water lapped at the banks, and she wanted to jump in and take a long drink. But not as much as she wanted to see the other goddesses.
Andra’s shins were burning by the time the winding streets and tangled alleys fell away, revealing a building hewn into an outcropping of rock rising above the city. It twisted and spiraled higher and higher, a series of disjointed structures, teetering on a cliff. The walls were a pale pink stucco, and every crevice was adorned with sandstone carvings. It reached eight, nine stories into the sky, sectioned off into cubes wedged into the rock. Parapets wreathed the roof, and a single tower sprung up from the highest level.
“The Rock,” Zhade said, pointing at what could only have been a palace.
Its shadow fell over Andra and Zhade as they followed the road to the front gate. Andra’s body hummed with nervousness. They passed an open space of vibrant grass, immaculately groomed, lined with towering palms and ostentatious fountains. The road itself was sturdy brick, not the mismatched cobblestone of the city streets, and the metal spires of the gate shone gold in the fading sunlight.
Andra thought of the people of the decaying village that had hosted her frozen body for so long. There was so much here and it was so close to them. So why were they still in the desert?
As they approached, the gate opened, revealing stone steps ascending to the palace. A tall, thin woman in golden robes hurried down the stairs, her long brown hair streaming behind her. She was followed by a guard.
“Goddess,” the woman said. The edges of her eyes crinkled in a grimace-like smile. Then her gaze caught on Zhade, and she froze. Her tanned skin went ashen, and her mouth tightened.
“Advisor Tsurina.” Zhade’s face spread into a grin and he gestured at Andra. “I brought you a gift.”
A muscle in the woman’s jaw twitched. Andra tensed at the theatrical power dynamics at play. She’d been so focused on finding the others like her, she hadn’t considered the type of culture she was walking into. Everything about this moment felt . . . courtly.
The woman wore a neutral expression. She continued down the steps and stopped before Andra, bowing her head briefly. She was elegant, regal, a few strands of gray hair framing her high cheekbones.
“I’m Tsurina, Grande Advisor and mother of our Guv. We’re surprised to see you.” Her voice was smooth, pleasant, but something in her tone made Andra feel threatened. She offered her hand, and Andra shook it quickly, then pulled away before the woman’s grip could tighten.
“But we’re delighted, even so,” she tacked on like an afterthought. She gave the figure behind her a quick nod.
In addition to the dark armor, the guard wore a gold breastplate and an elaborate sword in an ornate scabbard. He was handsome, but in an intimidating way, a serious expression carved into his deep brown skin, his head shaved, his nose hawkish. He held his jaw clenched, his dark eyes seeming to bore through Andra.
“Heya, Kiv,” Zhade said, waving. The guard didn’t respond.
“Please,” Tsurina said. “The Guv is certz anxious to meet you. It exists a miracle you returned.”
Her accent was close to Andra’s, familiar, though peppered with future slang. She extended her arm in an invitation to follow, but Andra didn’t move. She had expected to be taken straight to the other goddesses—to finally find some normalcy in all this strangeness. But things were just getting stranger.
“Can I come too?” Zhade grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. He winked at the older woman.
Tsurina’s expression didn’t change, but her voice turned ominous. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of stopping you.” And Andra realized what the danger she felt was. This woman wanted to kill Zhade. Not metaphorically. Literally. Slowly and methodically.
Returning a dangerous smile of his own, Zhade offered Andra his arm, wedging himself between them. The advisor gritted her teeth, then turned swiftly and glided up the steps. Andra had no choice but to follow.
EIGHT
guv, n.
Etymology: possible abbreviation of millenial English governor.
Definition:
a ruler; one invested with supreme authority.
one with divine right of power.
Despite its precarious position on the rock, the palace was as opulent as a postapocalyptic bio’dome-protected palace could be. When they reached the top of the steps, glistening silver mech’bots dragged open the intricately carved wooden doors, revealing the marble entry beyond.
Zhade tightened his grip on Andra’s arm and hissed for her to wait. She pulled free and, stomach churning, followed Tsurina into the palace.
Her gasp echoed in the cavernous entry hall. Vaulted ceilings arched over marble columns and intricately tiled floors. Crystal vases held tropical flowers in pinks and greens and purples, and a constant bubble of water drifted from a series of fountains down the center of the hall. Before Andra, a handful of steps led down to a floor tiled with a repeating star design. On either side, a double staircase wrapped around the room, flowers and trees carved into its marble balusters.
Tsurina led them across the hall to a set of doors larger than the first. Gold-plated mech’bots waited for them, but didn’t open the doors until the advisor nodded. Andra wondered if the woman had an ’implant, or if the ’bots were simply programmed to respond to ambiguous gestures. She tried to interact with them—get them to close the doors instead of open them—but they too were just out of reach, like they were running on different software. They grabbed the iron rings set into the double doors and pulled. The doors groaned open, and Andra’s breath caught.
The room was larger than she expected, and she realized part of it must be hewn into the rock on which the palace sat. Columns lined the walls, carved from a blue-veined marble. Light flooded in through the windows in the arched ceilings, but some trick in the curvature of the glass directed most of the light toward this Guv.
He sat on a throne carved from a gnarled tree stump, its frayed edges blackened, pointed spikes of broken bark shooting off at odd angles. The tree had been broken, not felled, and it had been
old. The Guv lounged lazily, catlike, one leg slung over an armrest, and he twirled something Andra couldn’t see between his long fingers, watching them approach.
He wore a dark cloak lined with gold stitching. His ice-blond hair was slicked back from his pale, haughty face, and tacked to his left temple was a silver ’implant crown. It was larger than the models that had been in vogue in Andra’s time, covering from forehead to just below his ear, curving behind the shell. Simple but elegant, and it glistened in the sunlight.
It was the first Andra had seen since waking, and she assumed it must be programmed to interact with the tech here—the tech out of Andra’s reach. Maybe these people wore crowns rather than embedded ’implants. Or maybe just one person had that privilege.
The room was lined with ’bots of different shapes and sizes, though all were starkly humanoid. Presumably, the Guv could control every ’bot in the room. All of them were armed.
Outside of ’Bot Wars and the occasional sim, Andra had never seen a ’bot with a weapon. However these people were using technology, it was not what she was used to.
Andra self-consciously tugged at the blood-soaked shirt suctioned to her thick waist, pushed her hair out of her eyes. Her palm throbbed from the burn, but she ignored it as Zhade led her down the center aisle, his hand resting on the small of her back. Their feet slapped against the marble.
She came to a stop in front of the throne, craning her neck to see the man—boy, really; he wasn’t much older than Andra—who decided their fate.
It was silent. The Guv sat forward. Andra felt exposed. The empty room was too large for her. She didn’t fill the space.
“Hi.” Her voice squeaked.
The Guv pocketed whatever piece of gold he was twirling between his fingers. “Goddess?” He didn’t smile. Didn’t frown. Didn’t make any expression at all, just a tightening around the eyes, waiting for her to respond.
Goddess in the Machine Page 7