Goddess in the Machine

by Lora Beth Johnson

  The little girl looked at Zhade, who shook his head. She seemed to understand, her face hardening into stoicism as though she were prepared for her brother’s death. Tears sprang to Andra’s eyes. She wondered if Zhade would tell Doon how Lew had died, if he would tell her it was his fault. If he would tell her Andra’s part in it.

  She took a seat on one of the benches lining the room. She was careful to avoid acknowledging Zhade. There was a moment of stale silence, and then Xana asked, “Now what?”

  “Now,” Skilla said, setting a holo’table in the middle of the room, “we plan.”

  The ’table unfolded itself, spindly legs easing out of a small silver box that then flattened into a platform. Skilla pressed a button and a holo’map of the city hovered above the surface of the ’table. The districts swallowed by the pocket were highlighted in muted red.

  Zhade found the one chair in the room large enough to drape himself over. He was so much thinner than he’d once been. “I reck we deserve a time off, marah?”

  Skilla shot him a withering look. “Do you for true want to convo bout what you deserve?”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched.

  “He shouldn’t be here,” Xana snapped. “He’s the reason our friends are dead. He led Maret and his angel army straight to the Schism.”

  “I’m also the reason you’re alive. No prob, beedub.” Zhade sat forward, clasping his hands. “And just so we’re crystal, I didn’t kill those people. Maret did.”

  “You might as well have killed them,” Xana snarled. “How many people are left in this room?”

  “Nineteen,” Doon said quietly.

  “There’s more hidden outside the city,” Skilla said.

  “It doesn’t meteor,” Xana muttered. Skilla’s eyebrows raised.

  “It does to them,” Lilibet said.

  Xana turned on her. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

  Lilibet’s eyes widened and she pointed to Kiv.

  “And why is he here?”

  Zhade raised his hand.

  “Enough!” Skilla snapped, leaning heavy against the ’table. “We don’t have time and a half. The ’dome is destroyed, there’s a pocket in the city. Many thousands died today, and thousands more will follow if we don’t do something. We need to figure a way to fix the ’dome.”

  “We can’t,” Andra said, trying to drown out Skilla’s words. Thousands died. Many thousands. She hadn’t meant to call the pocket, but it didn’t change the fact it had been her ’implant that did it. That she was the cause of all those deaths.

  Skilla crossed her arms. “And why, Goddess, can’t we?”

  “We can’t fix the ’dome. It’s gone. We need a whole new one now.”

  Skilla didn’t even blink. “Then build one.”

  “What? Me? No,” Andra spluttered. “I’m not—that’s . . . I’m not like the First, okay? She was, apparently, a goddamn genius. I’m . . . a teenager. I’m average. I could . . . I don’t . . .”

  “Your magic doesn’t work like that?” a refugee asked from the corner of the room. Their face was plastered with dirt and blood. “You promised you were going to save us, and now happens a good time.”

  Every eye in the dimly lit room was drawn to her. The weight of all the lies, and even the truths—that she liked being a goddess, being important—smothered her, and she knew that whatever happened next, she had to do it as Andra, not as the Third.

  She took a deep breath, let it out unsteadily. “I’m not a goddess.”

  The others stared, waiting for Andra to continue, waiting for the truth, and she told them.

  She told them about cryonics and space travel and how it wasn’t magic at all, but thousands of years of cumulative human ingenuity. She told them about her life and her family and that she was nothing more than ordinary. Told them about being frozen and then waking up drowning, about trying to discover why, and Zhade’s deal to find out in return for getting him into the city. About realizing she was on Earth, and that she’d been left. They’d all been left.

  They listened in silence, and when she was done, no one reacted. At least, not right away. Then Xana stormed out. Skilla blinked before sighing and going after her. The others stood gape-mouthed.

  After a moment, Doon spoke. “So what happens?” It took Andra a moment to realize Doon was asking her.

  They were still looking to Andra to fix things. She wanted nothing more than to let someone else worry about it. It wasn’t her job. She wasn’t a goddess, and now everybody knew it. She wasn’t anybody now.

  Except she was the only person who knew what to do next.

  She took a deep breath. “I can’t create a new ’dome.” She finally met Zhade’s eyes, and his look was unreadable. “But I know someone who can.”

  * * *

  They’d spent hours planning—how to get into the palace, how to find Rashmi and sneak her out, how to let her create the ’dome without anyone noticing. How to not die while doing it.

  First, Andra and Zhade would slip into the palace through a tunnel only he knew about. In the meantime, what was left of the Schism would attack from the courtyard, drawing the attention of Maret, Tsurina, and their guards, so that Andra could free Rashmi from the dungeons. The problem was that the Schism’s numbers had been decimated when Maret’s ’bot army had attacked. Luckily, they had backup.

  The ’drones Andra and Zhade had made for her miracle.

  They were still stationed around the courtyard, waiting to be triggered remotely and project a simulated attack. Zhade and Andra would split up once they got to the palace, with Zhade triggering the ’drones and Andra taking Rashmi when the commotion was at its peak.

  Andra wasn’t happy with the number of variables, but they needed to act quickly, while the palace was still reeling from the loss of the ’dome and the appearance of the pocket.

  They had a few hours until midnight—when they would strike—and some were using the time to sleep. Andra mentally ran through the plan, analyzing all the things that could go wrong, all the things that needed to go right.

  She lay in an unfamiliar bed, staring up at a craggy ceiling, avoiding sleep. A series of bunks had been carved into the underground room, nothing more than holes in the wall with enough space to lie down and sit up. On the floor across from Andra’s bunk, Lilibet sat in a tight ball, her long dark hair spreading over her back and elbows and knees. Kiv groaned as he sat next to her, straightening his legs out in front of him, a blossom of blood soaking through his pants.

  “You’re hurt,” Lilibet said. He didn’t respond. She grabbed his face and turned him toward her. “You’re hurt,” she said again.

  Andra felt like she should look away, felt like this was too personal and intimate and human for her to watch. She was always a spectator of these sorts of things, and the one time she wasn’t . . . Well. Zhade had left right after the meeting and hadn’t returned. He hadn’t said a word to her. Not that she wanted him to. She didn’t. Didn’t she?

  Kiv blinked at Lilibet. “I’m evens,” he said. It was the first time Andra had heard his voice, and something about it was careful, strained, his accent muffled.

  Lilibet perked up. “Not yet. But I’ll fix it evens!” She ran off and quickly returned with an armful of first aid supplies, including some rags and a med’disc. It was obvious to Andra that Lilibet knew nothing about dressing wounds, but she was energetic and earnest, and Kiv watched her with rapt attention.

  “I happen so glad you’re actualish a good boyo,” she said as she worked. “Not that I ever imagined you happened a bad boyo, not like the Goddess did. Or Andra. She goes by Andra soon and now, did you reck? She didn’t trust you, and to say true, I reck she still doesn’t, but that ’pens evens, because she always changes her mind.” A brief pause for a breath. “Although, sometimes she changes it back again. I’m not full certz bout Zhade. Seeya, I�
��m not certz bout the Goddess’s—I mean, Andra’s mind bout Zhade. Not that I’m not certz bout Zhade. Although, I’m not not certz I’m certz bout Zhade. But I was certz bout you, because—”

  Kiv reached down and lifted her chin and she froze, her eyes wide and her lips parted. He pointed to her mouth, and her breath caught. Andra looked away, but couldn’t block out their conversation.

  “I have to see you,” he said, his accent not quite Eerensedian.

  “Oh,” she breathed.

  “To reck what you say.”

  “Oh!” She giggled. “Why?”

  Andra looked up, studying Kiv—the way he watched Lilibet, reading her lips.

  “You’re deaf?” she asked, before she remembered she wasn’t supposed to be listening.

  It made sense now. Why he never spoke, rarely responded in any way. How Zhade would sometimes give him physical cues. His intense stare, latched on to Lilibet, wasn’t a threat, but concentration.

  “Death?” Lilibet asked.

  “Deaf. He can’t hear.” Andra was now overly conscious of how her lips formed the words. Was she overenunciating? “Why are you hiding it? Someone could have helped you. I’ve seen the modded arms and eyes here. The sorcers know what to do. The med’bots—uh, angels, could have fixed you.”

  Kiv watched her mouth as she formed the words, his expression hardening.

  “I’m not broken,” he said. His voice was deep, his vowels not quite aligning with High Goddess or the rougher dialects of the Eerensed-ians. Andra had never interacted with a deaf person before—in her time, as soon as children were identified as deaf, they received mods—but she imagined it would be difficult to learn to speak if you couldn’t hear to mimic sounds.

  “No, I don’t think you’re broken,” she said, flustered. “It’s just—you could hear if you wanted to.”

  “I am me,” he said. “I don’t need to change for you.”

  Andra flushed. “No, I didn’t mean—”

  Lilibet tapped his shoulder. His gaze snapped back to her like a rubber band.

  “You haven’t heard a word I said this full time?” she asked. “But how do you reck what I say?” She looked from Andra to Kiv and back to Andra. “Does he reck what I say?” Then back to Kiv. “Do you reck what I say?”

  Kiv placed a finger on her mouth, silencing her. Her eyes widened, and he traced her bottom lip with his thumb.

  “I read your words on your lips.”

  Lilibet blushed, for once speechless, coaxing the smallest smile from Kiv.

  Andra turned away, giving them privacy. She’d misjudged him—at least, she’d made incorrect assumptions. She’d quantified the variables and came up with the wrong solution. She’d been wrong about everything. About the Schism. About Maret.

  About Zhade.

  He’d risked everything to save her. It was a miracle the plan worked, and he probably knew that. But he was still willing to take that chance to keep her from being executed. Even after she’d chosen him to die.

  Did any of that matter, if he was simply fixing his own mistakes?

  As though summoned by her thoughts, Zhade entered the room. He stooped under the tunnel opening and then his eyes latched on to something and he froze. Not something. Someone.

  A woman with black hair, olive skin, and willowy limbs. She was gripping tightly to a little boy’s hand. The child looked up at Zhade with wide eyes, before skirting back behind his mother. She rushed to Zhade and he caught her by the shoulders. Andra couldn’t make out the words, but the woman was speaking frantically. Zhade took her hands in his, his face as serious as Andra had ever seen it. He said a few words, soft.

  And the woman broke.

  Andra didn’t know how else to describe it. The woman had been standing straight, her face alive, and then everything about her dropped, like someone had cut her strings. Zhade caught her and held her as she cried silently. Her grief was overwhelming, reaching out to Andra and wrapping around her until she felt like she would suffocate.

  Andra turned away, resting her head against the gritty wall of her bunk. She closed her eyes, trying to push out the image.

  Dzeni. That had to be Dzeni, the woman Lew loved. The one he’d asked Andra to save. But how could she? She hadn’t been able to save him. She hadn’t even been able to save herself.

  She’d called the pocket that took Lew’s arm, killed the man by the ruins, destroyed the ’dome and let thousands die. She couldn’t control the thing inside her, had tried and failed and failed again.

  She felt used up.

  Drained.

  Empty.

  Zhade plopped down next to her, jolting her awake. She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep, but she must have because Dzeni was nowhere to be seen and Kiv and Lilibet sat propped against each other, dozing. Zhade didn’t look at Andra. He had something silver in his hand, passing it between his fingers like a coin. It took her a moment to realize it was the med’wand he’d used on her in the desert. The one that had nearly killed her.

  “Can we speak?” he asked, glancing around. “Elsewhere.”

  Andra eyed the ’wand spinning in his hand.

  He cleared his throat and put it in his pocket. “Sorries. Habit.”

  Andra glowered and he lifted his hands in surrender.

  “I give my promise, I will not attack you.” he said, digging the ’wand back out and offering it to her. “I didn’t go through all that trouble to rescue you just to hurt you now.”

  “Fine,” Andra said, standing and gripping the med’wand. She hadn’t seen him use it since that day in the desert, and she wondered why he still carried it. “But I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  He cocked his head. “Put what past me where?”

  She didn’t answer, just clutched the ’wand tighter. It was cold enough to bite her skin.

  Zhade led her back to the tunnel, but instead of returning to the house they’d entered through, he took a passage that branched off to the left. At the end of the tunnel was a series of rooms with blankets draped across the entries. Zhade pulled one aside and gestured for Andra to go first.

  The room was almost homey. A bed that was more than a cot. Kinetic lighting. Wood furniture. It was still a cave, but there was room to breathe in here. Privacy.

  “Who did you sweet talk to get this?” she asked.

  She suddenly felt awkward, even though she’d been alone with Zhade plenty of times. She didn’t know if she was scared or if it was something else. Things felt heavier between them now, more intense.

  “I didn’t have to sweet anything,” Zhade said, tossing his bag on the floor and kicking off his boots. “Tia Ludmila loves me.”

  They fell into awkward silence.

  “Hear—” Zhade said.

  “So—” Andra said at the same time.

  Zhade scratched the back of his neck, looking away. “You go first.”

  “You let him kill Lew,” Andra blurted, and Zhade’s expression fell. He lowered himself to the bed, still not meeting Andra’s eyes.

  “Firm,” he said, his voice paper thin. He now had a coin in his hand, passing it between his fingers. “I had to.”

  “You could have saved him.”

  “Neg, I—not without . . .” He sighed. “It’s complicated, evens?”

  The brittle pieces of Andra snapped. “No. Not evens. Very much not evens. You got Doon out. You could have done something for her brother. Anything. You didn’t have to let him die. You could have gotten help. He was your servant!”

  “He was my friend!” He leaned forward, letting out a growl, tugging at his bleached hair. A chunk of it came out in his hands.

  Andra sat across from him, hands on her knees, posture rigid, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do. Her anger boiled hot, but it wasn’t the only emotion she felt.

  Zhade t
ook a deep breath. “I had to make a choice. I had to make Maret think I sided with him, or I would have been imprisoned. Or dead. Or . . . I don’t reck what he would have done to me, but whatever it was, I wouldn’t have been in position to save you.”

  “I would have been fine if you’d just let me stay in the caves,” Andra snapped, clicking the med’wand on and off. “I was evens. You were the one who led Maret to me.”

  “I didn’t realize!” He flung the coin across the room, not violently, just a jerk of movement. It pinged against a stone. He lay back on the bed, and the springs creaked beneath him. “I didn’t reck he would do that. I didn’t reck he’d let Tsurina talk him into—” He cut himself off with a groan.

  It was all so confusing. This wasn’t Zhade—this defensive, guilt-ridden creature wasn’t the person she’d grown to argue with and laugh at and care for—but it somehow made him more real. More human.

  “When I finalish full comped what was happening, there were no good choices left,” he said, arm thrown over his face. It should have been a relaxed position, but every muscle was tensed. “No right ones. I wanted to save you both, but I couldn’t. I decided, and it was full bad magic, but I’d do it again. I had to sacrifice him so you would live. I had to decide,” he said again, then hesitated. “Like you did.”

  Andra looked away. A patch of moss grew on the wall beside her. “Don’t put that on me.”

  “Neg, that’s on Maret. But I want you to comp, Wead would have agreed. That it was worth it, that you were worth it. It’s . . . I reck it’s not a choice anyone wants to make. But Wead would have chosen you to live.”

  Andra was silent a moment. A spider was tangled in the moss. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’m sorry I chose you. It wasn’t because—”

  “I comp,” Zhade cut her off. “It was the right choice. Between the two of us, he—”

  “But I still shouldn’t have—”

  “It was Maret, not you. It was—”

  “I don’t want you to die.” She turned to look at him.