Goddess in the Machine

by Lora Beth Johnson

  There was a knock on the door and the sound of Lilibet’s dainty feet. She expected the maid to scold her for still being in bed. Show the toe, you spoon. Goddesses don’t pass all day abed! But instead there was just a small cough.

  She lifted her head and saw Lilibet staring at her, eyes wide and watery. Andra shot up.

  “What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you?”

  Lilibet sniffed. “Neg, Goddess, but you happen kind to ask.” Another sniffle. “I just came to tell you I heard from Lew-Eadin.”

  “Is something wrong?” Andra immediately started collecting things and shoving them into a silk purse. Canisters of water, bandages, anything an injured Lew might need. She almost grabbed the tiara Zhade had given her to barter with, but thought better of it. As soon as she tried to sell it, people would know who she was. “Is he okay?”

  “Evens?” Lilibet asked. “Firm. He’s evens. He has an angel for you to look at.”

  Andra dropped her things. “An angel?”

  Lilibet nodded. “One of those . . . what did you call it? Mech . . . bots?”

  “Lilibet, that’s awesome!” After Andra’s failure to find the AI and almost getting caught in the process, she needed a win. But Lilibet still looked on the verge of tears. “Why are you so upset?”

  Was it because Andra was leaving? Maybe Lilibet realized she was abandoning them all to death.

  The maid took a deep breath. “I have . . . something to confess, Goddess.”

  The pit of Andra’s stomach dropped. Was Lilibet a spy for Maret? Was she part of that group—the Luddites?—who hated the Goddesses? Had she told someone Andra’s identity? Or was it something more Lilibet? Maybe she would confess she didn’t actually know how to sew, or that she didn’t really like the color of Andra’s newest dress.

  “What is it?” Andra asked. She sat on the bed, hands clamped on either side of her. She nodded for Lilibet to have a seat.

  The maid sat in Zhade’s chair, running her long sleeve over her eyes. “I’m not who you reck I am.”

  Andra held her breath.

  “I didn’t ask to be your maid because I was tired of stirring stews. I came to the palace because . . . because . . .” She hiccupped. “Because I was looking for the Second!”

  She burst into tears.

  Andra sat silent for a moment, trying to process what she’d just been told, but there was too much missing information.

  “Okay . . .”

  “Seeya, we reck she’s still alive,” Lilibet said, voice wavering. “No one saw her die, and me and the others, we reck she’s hidden somewhere apalace, or they moved her to a safe location in the Wastes . . . evens, safeish, marah? I came here to gather info, but then I became your maid, and even though you’re not a real goddess, I full bars like you. You’re such a good friend, and now you’re going to diiiiieeeee.” The last word devolved into sobs.

  Andra stood. “I’m going to do what?”

  Lilibet said something, but through the tears, Andra couldn’t distinguish it. She knelt before the girl.

  “Lilibet. You have to calm down. What are you talking about?” She tried to say it gently, but her panic was rising.

  Lilibet blew out a shuddering breath, eyes rolling back to look at the coffered ceiling. She dabbed at the last few tears to leak out.

  “Sorries and worries,” she said, her voice slightly stronger. “You need to peace soon and now.” Lilibet looked around the room, her voice lowering. “Tonight even. If you can.”

  “Why?”

  “Has Zhade told you what happened to the First?”

  “He told me she died.”

  “Did he tell you how?”

  Andra shook her head.

  “She was sacrificed.”

  Andra’s blood ran cold. “She was what now?”

  Lilibet tucked her hands beneath her knees. Another tear dribbled down her cheek. “I was a kiddun, but I have memories. The First, she gave us so much, but it was never enough for some people. She saved Eerensed, but she didn’t save the neighbor villages. We have fam out in the Wastes. Or fam that were eaten by pockets. Or murdered.” Lilibet’s voice grew quiet. “The First didn’t waken to save us. I don’t reck what she was doing, but whatever it was, all this was mereish the cuppins frost. The people got tired of waiting for miracles. So they decided to make one.”

  “Make one?”

  Lilibet nodded. “There was a rumor that . . . that when a goddess died it would be just like when an angel dies, but more powerful.”

  Andra didn’t need her to go on. When ’bots died, they released their nano’swarm, so any functioning nanos could serve surrounding systems. It was simple conservation. An algorithm to prevent waste. For a short time after the system absorbed the ’swarm from the dead ’bot, it would look like it was performing at top speed. It was a quick high, while the system acclimated itself to the additional moving parts.

  For a people who worshipped nanos, it would look like a soul escaping a body, and then dispersing to a nearby source of magic. The ’dome probably actually worked better after a ’bot died. But not that much better.

  There were two things that didn’t make sense though. One: ’implants didn’t actually hold nanos. They just commanded the nanos around them. So how were the other goddesses housing them to release upon death? Two: Andra’s ’implant proved colonial tech wasn’t compatible with Eerensedian tech. So, even if the goddesses did somehow release nanos, how did they boost the tech around them?

  The goddesses had been different, though, able to use the Eerensedian tech to perform miracles, where Andra could not.

  Lilibet bit her lip. “They sacrificed the First, and for time and a half, everything was evens. The gods’ dome protected us, and magic was stronger. But when it didn’t last, they sacrificed the Second as well . . .” Lilibet trailed off, twisting her dark hair around her fingers. “Or said they did. I recked she was alive, but the more I look, the more I believe . . . she’s gone too, and I have fear you’ll be next.”

  Andra was having trouble breathing. Her mind was spinning, calculating the implications, fitting together all the disparate pieces of what she’d just heard with everything she’d experienced so far.

  Holy shit. Once the Eerensedians thought the goddesses were more helpful dead than alive, they killed them. And so far, Andra had been anything but helpful.

  “Why?” Andra croaked. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because,” Lilibet said, “the Third Festival is soon and sooner.”

  “Yeah, I know.” It had been mentioned in a meeting several days ago. Each of the goddesses had a festival dedicated just to her, and Andra’s festival was in a few days. Apparently, there would be fireworks and sparklers and star-shaped butter cookies, all in tribute to her stupid birthmark. Unlike all the other religious rituals and ceremonies, all Eerensedians would be invited, instead of just the diplomats and government officials. Part of Andra—a very small part—was looking forward to it.

  “We don’t celebrate the First’s and Second’s festivals anymore. Because . . .” Lilibet hiccupped, her shaking hand pushing back her hair. She met Andra’s gaze. “Because it was during their festivals that they were sacrificed.”

  NINETEEN

  forget, v.

  Definition:

  to cease or fail to remember.

  to overlook, to neglect, to leave behind.

  archaic: to be guilty of that which is unworthy.

  Andra didn’t wait for Zhade or ask Maret for permission. She ducked out of the palace through a side door and nobody stopped her. Apparently, she was running out of time, so she would go out into the city, following the directions Lilibet had given her, and find Lew-Eadin and the mech’bot he’d discovered. A tiny spark of hope lit in her chest. Regardless of what Lilibet said about the goddess sacrifices
, she couldn’t help but feel something was about to go right.

  Please let something go right.

  She should have done this long ago. Even with the fear of the unknown, leaving the palace was freeing. She wore nondescript clothes and she’d programmed her cos’mask to a random face. No one even looked her way as she followed the winding streets, the ’dome looming above, the palace towering behind. The silver tower shone to her left, and she had the urge to head toward it.

  There was no logic to the city layout, and Andra had to rely on instinct as much as Lilibet’s directions. It wasn’t that Eerensed was large space-wise. It was that it was packed in tight. Too many buildings and people crammed into a too-small space. It made Andra claustrophobic, but it was worth it to leave the palace.

  She followed cobblestone streets and alleyways, weaving through markets and ducking past guards. She crossed a brick bridge that led over the river into another tangle of neighborhoods. And still she kept going.

  Too many thoughts were fighting for dominance in her mind. Lew-Eadin had a mech’bot. An AI was in the palace. The other goddesses were sacrificed.

  The threat of death had loomed over her since she’d arrived, but Zhade had talked her through how to avoid Maret’s wrath. He hadn’t told her about the sacrifices and that she had to curb Eerensedian resentment as well. The Third Festival was in a little over a week, and it could be her execution date. Sure, the First had lived through many festivals before the one they’d killed her during, but she had also given the people numerous miracles. Andra had provided them with none. She would have to change that. Even if this mech’bot was exactly what she was looking for, it would take at least two weeks to build the shuttle. She would need a miracle to survive until then.

  It took almost an hour—or a bell, as the Eerensedians called it—for Andra to find the place Lew-Eadin was staying. Southwarden was a blend of richly adorned apartments and fancy shops. Andra found herself on a winding street full of restaurants. The scent shifted from savory to sweet, and Andra finally located the bakery Lilibet said Lew was living behind.

  She pushed open the shop door and a bell rang a discordant chime. The bakery was free of customers, and most of the baked goods were picked over, leaving only a sprinkling of crumbs and misshapen scone-like pastries in the case. A single worker leaned on the counter, biological hand clasped with a modded one. Lew-Eadin.

  He looked up, and it only took a moment for him to recognize her. So much for her disguise.

  “What are you doing here?” he whispered, urgently ushering her in, then drawing the shades and locking the door behind her.

  “I came for the mech’bot,” Andra said. “You told Lilibet—”

  “I didn’t convo her to send you for it. I was going to bring it to goddess lessons. Does Zhade reck you’re here?”

  No. “Yeah,” Andra said. “It was . . . his idea.”

  A few weeks pretending to be a goddess, and she’d become an expert at lying.

  Lew looked skeptical—maybe not an expert then—but didn’t argue. He shrugged and pulled back the curtain that led to the back room. There were pots and pans and an old stove cobbled together from disparate parts, but Andra didn’t care to take in her surroundings, because right in front of her stood a mech’bot.

  It was almost seven feet tall, its black casing polished to a shine even with deep silver scratches running along its torso and arms. Its left forearm sported a silver LAC logo. It looked mostly humanoid, except for the multijointed limbs.

  She approached the ’bot and it came to life, its flat eyes sparking and glowing white. Suddenly, she was aware of the ’bot, like she used to be aware of light switches and sim controllers and open-access tablets. She couldn’t control it with her ’implant—it was still just out of reach—but it was close.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “What is your make and model?”

  “I am pleased to comply with your request,” the ’bot said, its voice thin and crisp. “I am a LAC-sanctioned mechatronics and engineering robot, Class B, with a Corsairs-Veridian drive and Coppercell core.”

  “Year?”

  “2162.”

  Andra felt a rush of dizziness overtake her. That was the year after she’d gone into stasis. The year the colonists had left for Holymyth. This ’bot had been created just before they’d departed, or perhaps even on the ship. It had been among the very first colonists. Maybe even interacted with her family. Whatever the ’bot had been used for since, it had been first designed for building things: hospitals, roadways, trains.

  Shuttles.

  Andra swallowed. “Will you please display . . .” Her voice was no more than a whisper, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Will you please display your protocols?”

  The ’bot lifted its palm, projecting a holo’display containing a list of the tasks it was designed for. Andra filtered through until she got to the T’s, then gasped, tears springing to her eyes.

  “Is everything evens, Andra?” Lew asked. “Is this what you were looking for?”

  Right under the topic Transportation were the words Shuttle construction and maintenance.

  Andra took a steadying breath. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

  * * *

  Andra took a different route back to the palace, this time getting caught in the late afternoon rush. She’d managed to convince Lew to let her return by herself.

  “I’ll be fine,” she’d said. “I have Mechy here to protect me.” She patted the ’bot’s shoulder and then realized that was something Zhade would have done.

  Not that she minded Lew’s company, but she needed time to herself, time to think. She’d expected to feel joy when she finally obtained a mech’bot, and there was some. But there was also fear of the festival, and strangely, guilt for planning on leaving. And on top of all that, disappointment that she wasn’t only feeling euphoria. It was too much to untangle with someone by her side.

  She got lost in the crowd, the mech’bot following behind. She picked up bits of language as she passed. It sounded different from the pieces Zhade, Lew, and Lilibet taught her, the accent thicker, the rhythm too fast.

  She followed twist after turn, dodging barkers selling their wares and swerving past what was apparently a school letting the student sorcers out for lunch. She kept turning back to make sure the mech’bot was keeping up. It was. People parted to let it pass, barely giving it a glance. Andra was exhausted, but she kept going, until the buildings fell away and the noise of the city muted, and she found herself standing at the edge of a clearing.

  The river flowed on the far side. The ground was sandy as the desert, and nothing—no rocks, no plants, no buildings—were within a two-hundred-meter radius. Except for a grove of ruins in the very center.

  A circle of columns stretched out of the earth and broke off suddenly, their edges worn and cracked. A crumbling statue was buried in the middle, the head and shoulders of a humanoid figure jutting out of the ground, so worn down, it looked like a decaying body. These ruins were old. Perhaps from the first colony, just like the mech’bot. The colony she was supposed to be a part of.

  Something more than curiosity pulled Andra toward them. A tug, a nag. She gave the mech’bot a command to stay where it was and crossed the clearing, gravel crunching beneath her feet. When she made it to the first stone, she reached out cautiously, wanting to touch it, to feel what had been created possibly by people she knew. Oz might have stared up at the statue, clinging to his sister’s hand. Acadia’s, instead of Andra’s.

  Right before she made contact, she heard a voice behind her.

  “How you happen here, girl?”

  It was not a friendly voice. The threat was evident. Andra spun.

  The man in front of her was dirty, hair hanging in stringy clumps, a sinister leer revealing several missing teeth. He wasn’t alone. Two others stood behi
nd him.

  They had dark reddish tans—the kind of permanent sunburn that people who worked outside got, only visible on their exposed forearms and torsos. The rest of them was completely covered in ragged sand-colored clothing, crusted with dirt and twigs. Their faces were hidden, wrapped in rags, and curved horns protruded from their temples. One snarled, and where his teeth should have been were metallic pieces filed down to points. Andra wasn’t sure if they were bio’mods or decoration. Her heart thundered. She cast her gaze to the mech’bot, but it was too far away to help, and she wasn’t sure what one unarmed ’bot could do against three men.

  The man in front laughed and scratched his uneven beard. “Hear, boyos. It’s the Goddess.” He spat the word. Seriously, her disguise was terrible. “All alone in the Small Wastes. You should reck better, charling.”

  Andra took a step back, the sand shifting beneath her feet, and poised herself to run, but she knew she wouldn’t be fast enough.

  She was right.

  They were on her before she could think, knives clutched in their hands. They jabbed at her, and she barely danced away.

  The leader said something to the others in Common Eerensedian, and Andra knew just enough to understand he was telling them not to kill her. To keep her alive for now so she could be sacrificed later.

  That was only slightly reassuring.

  Andra ducked behind a column, but one of the other men had guessed her intentions and cut her off on the other side. His knife slashed, catching her in the collarbone. She gasped, feeling the sting a moment later, then the hot rush of blood. She meant to run, to fight back, but the pain overtook her and she fell to her knees.

  Neurons fired, delivering messages. Pain, pain, pain, they said.