by Liam Clay
Francis scratches his head. “Yes, well, there is that. But her and Tikal used to be best buds, and besides, she's trying to make amends now.”
“I don't think it counts as making amends if you're getting paid to do it. But fine, I promise to play nice if I see her.”
I’ve stayed standing throughout this conversation. Now I climb onto Tikal’s bunk. She is warm, real and present - an amazing feeling after weeks of being alone. I wonder what she’ll think of the stand I’m about to take.
“I can't leave yet, though.”
“Why not!” Francis shouts.
“Because we need to sabotage this factory first.”
“But who cares if the Null get themselves a spaceship? If they want to fuck off to some other planet, I say more power to them.”
“But if we can stop them here, maybe they will be slower to attack Opacity and the Hive.” My skin goes cold. “Unless they’ve already done that?”
“Apparently not.” Amy replies. “Calendo said they’re still digging the Worldpoolers out of their iceblock.”
“Thank god for that. But it’s been months since we’ve been able to strike back at the Null. And now that we have a chance, I want to take it. Plus I’m kind of committed to overthrowing all of Ninetown.”
“God damn it, Anex. I forgot how difficult you can be. And what about Delez?”
“I want to find him as much as you do. But I think this needs to come first.”
We all turn to look at Peace. The sniper responds by flipping her electric blonde hair down over her face. She stays like that for a while, and we give her the time, knowing what she’s going through. When she finally returns to us, her expression is set.
“I will never stop looking for my husband. But this place... it steals people's souls.” She turns to me. “So if you know of a way to fuck up Ninetown, I’m all ears.”
Lucy turns to me. “Yes Anex, let’s hear it: how do you plan to overthrow an entrenched society of ruthless slavers?”
“I haven't worked out all of the details yet. But I've already plunged the entertainment quarter into anarchy, so that’s something.”
The poker player gives me a disbelieving look. “That was you?”
“Yes, although I didn’t do it alone. Have you heard of the White Shade?”
“Have I heard of the White Shade?” Francis splutters. “I've practically got his poster hung up in my room.”
“You don't have a room.” Peace says.
“I said practically, didn’t I? Anex, are you saying that you know the White Shade?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. You might even call him a close personal friend.”
Rolling over, Tikal fixes me with a look of mock outrage.
“So here I was, worrying myself sick day and night, and now I find out that you were running around with this Shade character the whole time? I'll bet you spent most of your time cruising the bars hitting on chicks.”
“Don't be ridiculous. He's super gay.”
“Can ghosts be gay?”
“I don't see why not. He's real, though.”
“So where is he now?”
“Fuck if I know. But he’ll probably show up here sooner rather than later. And when he does, we can use his reputation to kick things off. But we’ll need to stir the pot a little first.”
“Let me make sure I’m getting this.” Lucy says. “You want us to stay here for now, drumming up unrest. And then, when the White Shade shows up, you want us to start a revolution with Calendo's mercenaries helping out.”
“That’s right. What’s so bad about that?”
Lucy looks confused. “Nothing - I think it’s a decent plan. Why do you ask?”
“Because you sounded really sarcastic just now.”
Francis grins. “That’s just how she talks, remember? You really were gone for a while.”
“Guess I was. But now I’m back, and better than ever!”
Glad to hear it.” Amy says. “Now let’s all get some rest. The next shift starts in a few hours, and you guys have newbies to train.”
CHAPTER 19
And so I begin my tenure in the rover department. After Amy has left for the day (she’s working as an inter-factory courier) the rest of us head to the facility floor. And I have to admit that it’s a fascinating place. In this chamber, raw steel, microchips and wiring are converted into vehicles capable of navigating hostile planets. I’m itching to inspect the final product, but Tikal leads me to a fenced in area containing racks and buckets of raw materials.
“I missed you.” I tell her as we walk.
“I missed you, too.” She hesitates. “That slaver woman, Vorashia... what did she do to you?”
“She did a lot of things. But none of them worked.”
“I can tell. You seem stronger than before, more in control of yourself.”
“I am. The things I accomplished without an arm... they proved that raw strength isn’t everything. I was already in a good place by the time the Hawks gave me this prosthetic.”
Tikal makes a relieved sound.
“That’s good to hear. I thought maybe it was the reason you were so happy.”
“Not at all. In fact, I’m still not sure how I feel about it. But I will probably need it for my new job - whatever that turns out to be.”
She smiles. “I won’t keep you in suspense any longer then.”
We enter the storage area. It smells of steel and solder and melted plastic, but not necessarily in a bad way.
“This repository will be your home base.” Tikal says. “Workers will radio you throughout the day with requests for materials. You just have to deliver them. It should be simple enough.”
“What happened to the last person who did this?”
“Nothing. The Hawks had a bot doing it, but everyone was complaining about how slow it was.”
“Haha! Score one point for humanity.”
“True, although we’re still down by a trillion or so.” She lowers her voice. “This should be a good job for spreading word about our rebellion. I’m stuck at a single station, assembling lighting rigs all day. But you get to move all over the floor; and to other departments too, if you have to find a part that’s out of stock. And if you’re fast, everyone will love you, because that goddamn bot was making it hard for people to hit quota.”
“I’ll do my best.”
She places both hands on my chest and looks me in the eye.
“I’m sure you will, Anex. And I want you to know that I’m proud of you. Not many people could have overcome what you’ve gone through, these past few months.”
Then she gives me an earbud, a throat microphone and a lingering kiss.
“Have a nice day, honey.”
.
The work, it turns out, is hard. I spend the morning lugging materials back and forth across the shop floor, trying to find the workers who requested them while they swear at me over the radio. But I keep at it. And slowly, a mental map of the floor emerges in my head. I learn to associate specific voices with their machines, and by the end of the shift, the derision has stopped flowing over the comms channel.
That night I collapse into bed and sleep, dreamlessly, until my friends wake me for the next shift. And so it goes. I get progressively better at my job, until I’m bringing materials to the workers before they need it. Instead of mockery, I start to receive approving grunts. It feels good to be useful, and the exercise doesn’t hurt either.
Within a week’s time, I am on first name terms with most of the workers in our department. And slowly, I start to sow the seeds of rebellion. I’m rather proud of how I go about it, too. At no point do I suggest revolt as an option. Instead, I talk about what I saw in the entertainment quarter, and about how the Ninetowners have lost control there.
But what they really latch onto are stories about the White Shade. Nem told me he wanted to be famous again; and although I don't know what his benchmark is, he's become a local legend here at least. Most of the tales
I tell are 100% made up, and I suspect that everyone knows it. But in all of them, the Hornets are characterized as bumbling fools. And since laughter is the bane of fear, this is the perfect message to spread.
Once I’ve proven myself competent, Simons gives me permission to travel between departments in search of parts. In this way, I am able to spread my stories even further. And at some point, they take on lives of their own. Before long, I'm having my own lies repeated back to me by complete strangers - often with humorous embellishments tacked onto them. It’s fascinating, really. Who needs social media when you’ve got good old word of mouth?
The only person who doesn’t like my tales is Bruin. He starts to make a point of stalking off whenever someone asks to hear one (which is often). It gets so bad that Tikal assigns him to a different department - one that produces vacuum excursion suits. He is the exception, though. And for a while, it feels like we’re making progress.
But the seeds I've planted refuse to grow. Listening to stories is one thing, but when I try to insinuate real revolt, I am met with the same old fear. I'd hoped to bring the slaves around gradually, but it starts to feel like I've just been providing some pleasant escapism. And as nice as that is, it isn't going to help anyone actually escape this place.
Then, three weeks into my time at the factory, I come face to face with Pep. I've taken a wrong turn, which has brought me to a fenced-in area tucked under the overhung base of the Sun. It's late afternoon. To the west, a copper sun sits just above the pyramid's exterior wall. Its rays slant into the electrified enclosure, turning the ground a dusty gold. I haven't been outside for weeks, and so I close my eye, letting the warmth play over my face. And when I open them again, there is Pep, sweeping small metallic objects into piles. His childlike face is as I remember it, but the expression it wears is new. We both freeze. And then he says,
“Peppin Rojas, at your service. And I believe you are Anex: former reality star and friend of the White Shade?”
When I get over my shock at hearing the man speak in lucid sentences, I reach out to shake his hand.
“So it’s true then. You really did come here to kill Datsel.”
“I did indeed.” He says sadly. “My sister used to be one of his acrobats. I wanted to save her, but she died in an accident before I could reach Ninetown. After that, I had no choice but to settle for revenge. And it would have worked too, if one of my informants hadn’t sold me out to Sipholo. I barely escaped with my life.”
“And you’re from Opacity just like me?”
“That is correct.” He sketches a half bow. “I am a classically trained actor, born to tread the boards of the theatrical stage. But alas, fate had other plans in store for me.”
We are both silent a moment, mourning the man's sister and his former life. Then he perks up.
“Maybe you can tell me something. When the White Shade appeared at the battle circus, did he kill Datsel by any chance?”
“No, but Sipholo shot him.”
“Excellent! Did he perish?”
“I don’t know. But I burned down the circus, so at least no one else will ever die there again.”
A smile appears on Peppin's face, and knots fade from his shoulders.
“That is wondrous news. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”
“I don’t know. Are you any good at telling stories?”
“Why my good man, what sort of a question is that? I am a storyteller of the highest repute. What tale do you wish told?”
“Anything that might encourage the slaves here to rebel. I’ve been using stories about Nem.”
“Who?”
“Sorry, the White Shade.”
“Ah, so you are the source from which those stories spring! You have a flare for the dramatic, I must say. But if it’s revolution you’re after, I don’t think any number of yarns will do. These people are past believing that change is possible.”
His words echo my own fears, and I hang my head.
“It hasn't been going too well, I must admit. But I don't know what else to try.”
Pep claps me on the back. “I will help you then, on the offchance that I am mistaken.”
“Thank you.”
“It's nothing. Now, I should get back to work. The Hawks aren’t ones to turn down a free resource, but they did think it was strange when I turned up on their doorstep, asking for work. So they still watch me rather closely.”
“Why did you come to the crater, then? Couldn’t you have tried to escape instead?”
“I will not leave this place while Datsel Lima lives.”
“And now that you’ve heard he might be dead?”
“I will believe that when I have proof. And besides, where else would I go?”
“What about all those client ships on the canal? Could you stow away on one of those? Or better yet, talk your way aboard using those acting skills of yours?”
“I suppose it could be done. But we need express permission to leave the factory.”
“What about the Hawks' client? They must come here to collect their merchandise.”
He nods reluctantly. “They do. There is a ship that ties up outside the Sun every week or so. But its captain is... vigilant. I swear that man does not blink, and his face is like rough-cut stone. I don’t fancy my chances of getting past him, either through stealth or lies. Now go, please, before they catch us talking.”
.
After my conversation with Peppin, I start to make excuses to visit the factory's canal-side entrance. The huge bay door is left open throughout the day to receive shipments from other parts of the crater. Twice, I complete trumped up errands without seeing anything out of the ordinary. But on my third visit, I get lucky.
I’m waiting on delivery of a part when I notice a disturbance in the fog near the canal’s entrance. Then it parts to reveal a vessel. The ship is a refitted freighter. It is painted all in black, flies no flag, and bears no visible name. When they see it, the Hawk dockworkers spring into action: repositioning cranes, activating conveyor belts, firing up forklifts. The freighter travels the length of the canal, and I imagine that a hush descends in its wake. Workers crawl over its decks, preparing to dock. They wear linen hoods to protect against the sun, which is blistering hot here in this pit of rotting steel. But even with their scars hidden, there is no doubt in my mind that these are Null. It is a certain directness of movement, accompanied by a total lack of self-consciousness.
Their presence confirms our assumptions (although the mystery of why they are building an interstellar ship remains.) I try to think of a way this intel could be used to cause unrest among the slaves. But to them, the Null will be just another client. This is so frustrating. Could the entertainment quarter revolt have been an unrepeatable fluke?
My delivery slips in just ahead of the Null freighter. While I’m signing for the order, a flicker of movement brings my head around. A man has just emerged onto the freighter's deck. When I see him, the courier's pen falls from my hand. I would know the angular planes of that face anywhere.
It’s Delez.
Not long ago, Vorashia forced me to relive the moment when my friend went into that nullification pod. And so the pain of losing him feels fresh. Where has he been since then, I wonder? And what has he done? Alone of all the Null on deck, his head is uncovered. And from this angle, I can’t see a scar. But before I can get my hopes up, he turns. And there it is, running back from his temple and up into his hair. Logically, I knew it would be there. He is the captain of a Null ship, after all. But seeing it still hits me like a punch to the gut. An aging dockworker sees me looking, and shakes his head.
“I’m glad we’re close to seeing the back of these bastards, and scarhead there in particular. Gives me the creeps, he does.”
Schooling my face to calm, I ask him what he means.
“According to the schedule, we only have two more shipments to go out after this one. So in two weeks, scarhead will be out of our hair for good.” He glances
around the bustling yard. “Although what the Hawks are going to do with all this extra manpower, I have no idea. We've got five times as many workers as we did before this job started.”
My head is a jumble of competing thoughts now. Nodding to the man, I collect my order and hurry away from the loading bay.
On the one hand, I still want to bring down Ninetown. But now that we know where Delez is, shouldn’t we drop everything and try to save him? I know Peace will be dead set on it. Of course, getting our friend back will actually have more in common with a kidnapping. And even if it works, we will have no idea how to cure him. Or we could give ourselves up to the Null, do everything the Architect tells us to, and hope that she will return our friend to us. I remember a time when we always seemed to have one crappy option and no good ones available to us. Now it feels like I've always got a dozen, equally bad courses of action to choose from. I think I liked the old way better.
But as I make my way back to the rover facility, my mind turns to something the dockworker said. Unless they can secure a new contract of equal size, the Hawks will soon have a massive surplus of workers on their hands. Which raises the question of what they will do with them. Some could probably be resold in the stadium, but not all. Then I think back to my last encounter with Pep. Not to anything he said though, but to what he was doing.
Changing direction, I emulate the wrong turn I took that day. The Hawks are used to seeing me around now, and no one says anything. I quickly find my way back to the electrified enclosure. It’s empty this time. The sun is directly above the factory, layering the space in shadow. I start to search in the half-dark. I'm operating on one of those hunches that you hope will turn out to be wrong. But within seconds, I’ve found what I'm looking for.
Spent bullet casings. Lots of them. And a few faint red streaks as well. Dropping the blackened cylinders, I conduct another fact assessment.
Fact 1: The Hawks believe in the god of efficiency, or something like that.
Fact 2: In two weeks, they are going to own way more slaves than they need.
Fact 3: They kill underperforming workers by firing squad.
Fact 4: Someone has fired off hundreds of shots in this enclosure since the last time Pep was here.