The marbled ivory tones of the Temple gave way to clean, polished metal inside the small chamber. Two chairs, both occupied, faced the east and west walls where liquid-black screens were lit with bright, white lights. She'd never worked the Comms Department, so she wasn't certain what each light on the touchable screens meant. Her expertise was in strategy and calculations. At the southern wall another thin, mounted screen flickered through static until an image started to form.
"That's as good as we can get it," one of the women reported.
"Do we have audio?" the woman on the screen asked, half her words crackling with noise.
"Affirmative," Celeocia stepped closer to the screen. "Report."
She knew the woman without having to access any data files; Rebecca Dorsan, twenty-seven years old. Rebecca had been suspected of murdering her husband, though nothing had been proven. Three days after his death she joined the Temple. Highly intelligent, an excellent pilot, she'd been given the designation Blue Twelve upon entry to the Novo Femina.
There was movement on the screen as Rebecca made a quick duck. A moment later the camera readjusted, flashing into view a crude toilet and supply shelf before Rebecca's face showed up again. From the awkward vantage Celeocia could see the girl was crammed up against the door, and some kind of pounding rattled the camera, shaking the already distorted image.
It was obvious that they had very little time.
"Report," Celeocia said again.
"Target acquired," Rebecca's voice broke into static but her mouth kept moving. Seconds later the audio came back. "I repeat; Caresse Zimmerman is Reesa Zimms."
On screen, the door burst open, and Rebecca toppled to the floor. The camera whirled three times before settling, the viewfinder giving a clear picture of the breathless moments that followed. Two men in tactical gear shoved their way into the room, weapons aimed at Rebecca. Orders were shouted, unclear amidst the scratch from the audio. Rebecca's leg, obviously robotic even in the black and white image, bent until her knee was in reach. Both men paused in shock, which was all Rebecca needed. She pulled the pin on the explosive device mounted in the robotic limb and the screen exploded into static.
Silence enveloped the communications room as the screen shut off. Celeocia lowered her gaze to the dull metal floor, giving homage to Rebecca Dorsan, Blue Twelve, a woman of vision and courage. A woman who had refused to hide behind the robes; a Novo Femina who deserved so much more than a rudimentary toilet room as a final resting place.
Rebecca Dorsan, her friend of seventeen years.
And she could not even mourn for her. Not in public anyway. It would be impossible to explain the death, not only 400 million kilometers away but several hundred years in the past.
Tense, uncertain shifting in the room forced Celeocia to lift her head. Two deep breaths later she turned to face them, her features returning to that disciplined gaze of disinterest that she'd perfected. The robotic part of her that clawed around the left side of her neck and chin helped with this, keeping muscles exactly where she wanted them.
"The man in the receiving room is a Makeem Loyalist. Identify him and process his information. I want all Novo Femina to be aware of him by night fall." She exhaled through her teeth, gave a curt nod to the room, and started for the door.
She didn't bother returning to the receiving room. Eanmar was more than capable of handling the applicant and the pain of losing Rebecca was sharp enough that Celeocia didn't trust herself around the spy. With the loss, however, was also a gain. While Rebecca hadn't managed to find patient zero, she had been successful in locating the one woman in history who could; Caresse Zimmerman.
Celeocia made her way through the maze of marble-metal-meshed hallways, ignoring the respectful bows of the women who passed. The puzzle was nearly finished. She could almost see it, completed, answers pouring around her, the great feminine movement revived; freedom at last for all women. The last piece, the Zimmerman woman, was all she needed now.
But time and finances were against her.
Rebecca had taken the last ship. It was on the other side, waiting. She couldn't buy a new one, either. There was an influx of spinsters joining the Temple, more than doubling the costs of food and lodging. The Temple was already stretched thin, even with the generous donations from some of the engineering companies. Some days, she just wanted to strangle the Scientific Community for their convoluted trade-and-sell economy.
Most civilians led simple lives, farming or working some form of trade, but were cash poor. The Community, in its brilliance, gave everything a monetary value, allowing civilians to trade for goods they would normally be required to pay for with cash. A man with a five thousand head herd of cattle could purchase a single-seat orbital class ship simply by trading their herd.
But Celeocia did not have a five-thousand head herd of cattle. She didn't have a five-thousand head herd of anything. The charity work that the Novo Femina provided was stringently recorded by Makeem Loyalists; all payments made to the Temple were done by trade, never cash. The only way Celeocia got anything done was by subterfuge, hiding what little cash they had in various places.
Pausing on the pentice joining the main temple to the living quarters, Celeocia caught a glimpse of cobalt in her peripheral vision. Moving to the marbled railing, she saw the answer to her problem. A landing pad of creamy textures cut a wide, open circle into the otherwise dark shades of purple that were trademark of terraformed Mars. In the center of the landing pad, looking noble and clean and everything she'd ever needed, was the Lothogy. Hedric's ship. Her son's ship.
They'd come here for more than one type of repair, she knew. Hedric was mourning for his recently lost wife; Mesa.
Strumming the railing with sharp, rapid taps Celeocia had to fight another sort of pain. The pain only a mother could understand. Hedric's loss cut her as deeply as the death of Rebecca. Still, she knew what she had to do. She didn't like it, but it was necessary.
Hedric would understand in the end.
***
A myriad of colors smattered against the ivory-toned walls, tinting the small room with shades of twilight. Hedric sat on the foot of the double bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped before him, unable to see either the room, or the fading light. He'd been there, motionless, for hours. From the door he could make out the hushed conversation of his crew. Twice he'd heard someone shuffle to the door as though they might enter, but both times the person had opted to walk away.
It had been the right choice on their part.
Hedric didn't want comfort or company. He wanted the silence, the chance to seethe. A secret part of him hoped that somewhere in the silence he would hear her voice again. Maybe their love, their connection, was strong enough that she could call out his name from the Netherworld. Just once, just enough for him to lock the sound of her voice into his memory.
It was romantic fancy. He knew this.
Mesa was dead. Not just dead but annihilated, her body shredded into particles and evaporated like moisture in the desert.
And it was his fault.
He'd known when he took the job that something was going to happen. They'd been too lucky for too long, the odds were against them. Hedric had felt that foreboding down to his very bones but he'd ignored it. For the life of him he couldn't figure out why. They didn't need the money. The ship was in perfect condition. Every crew member had been paid; they had no outstanding debts with any of the engineering companies.
That was what bothered him the most. Mesa was dead for no reason. He could have turned the job down, taken the crew someplace warm and comfortable. Hell, they could have retired four years ago.
But no, he'd taken that weasel Quimbly's job.
Infiltrate the Borden Company - which Hedric loved to do anyway. Matthew Borden was such an arrogant son of a bitch that it was nice to agitate him from time to time. This particular mission had been locating all data on "MRD's" - Magnetic Repellant Devices - the newest project for the military faction of th
e company. If they had all the facts straight, the nasty little bomb would act like a Frag grenade, only the fragments it let out were designed to disengage the magnetic field around the hull of a ship.
While it wasn't normal for stellar battles to ensue, the growing tensions between the Makeem and Novo Femina seemed to suggest that a religious war was imminent. The Scientific Community was doing its best to keep the two factions from killing each other, but on the whole the Community was not adept at political maneuvering. Members were recognized for their own contributions, for their furtherance of technology in existence, and they were not altogether bright when it came to matters of the faith.
Hedric had the inescapable nightmare of what an MRD could do if Borden was successful. With the magnetics gone, he could see the hull of his ship as it collapsed under the pressure of its own weight. Unprotected, the Lothogy would implode, jagged bits of metal slamming inward, crushing everyone inside.
His thoughts were interrupted when the door opened. Hedric glared at the intrusion, prepared to order whoever it was out of his sight, but stopped. His mother gave him a small, compassionate smile, and closed the door behind her. Instead of approaching him, she walked to the large bay window, her burgundy robes lightly scraping against the floor. She looked imperial, formidable, and deserving of every ounce of respect her title as High Priestess commanded.
Angular features cast deep shadows under her cheekbones and nose, made all the more prevalent with the tight bun keeping her pale hair in place. The position of the knot of hair was high enough on her head that he could see the wink of metal invading where skin should be. Hedric relaxed a bit, watching her with fond familiarity. He knew the robotic bits that traced up her neck, spiking like fingers around the left side of her face, were battling against that part of her that was his mother. The machine would process the best course of action; the woman in her would find a way to reach him in his desperate state.
Just beyond her, through the window, he could see the bright sprinkle of fragments that made a crescent over the whole of the sky. Phobos, the moon that had disintegrated as it lowered into Mars' orbit, was now a long ring twinkling like the stars high above. The pieces hung transposed in the sky, so close one could almost reach out and grab them. Silence stretched while they watched the Martian night, a view both spectacular and ordinary all at once.
"I am sorry for your pain, son."
"I know."
She clasped her wrist behind her back, military style, and cleared her throat. "I might have a way to fix it."
Hedric snorted, "The Novo Femina can alter death now?"
"I didn't say that. I said I might have a way to fix it." His mother turned to face him. "But it would be dangerous."
"There was nothing left of her body to clone if that's what you're suggesting."
"No, that wasn't what I had in mind."
He stared at her, frustrated at her hesitance. "Out with it, mother."
She surprised him by walking to his side. Some of the tension seeped out of him as she squeezed his shoulder. Then she sat beside him with a sigh, her hand still on his arm as she shook her head.
"I cannot explain everything. Not yet anyway. And you would have to agree to follow my instructions to the letter." A strained smile passed her face and for a moment Hedric completely forgot that she was part robot. "Any deviation will kill you."
He cocked an eyebrow.
She'd sent him on dangerous missions before, but had never put the prospect of death at the forefront of her summary. He'd always assumed that was a testament to the confidence she had in him. If he was right, then his mother thought he wouldn't succeed in whatever she wanted from him, which perked his curiosity considerably.
"What are you asking for, mother?"
Her dark eyes cast to the floor and she retracted from him. Hedric sensed the struggle she went through, it was written in the tense line of her shoulders, the puckered brow and the brief contortion of her mouth. For a moment she looked as though she was going to reconsider her request. But then she straightened, her frown deepening in a determined sort of way.
"A flight pattern would be given to you," she said. "After you follow it, I need you to locate a woman by the name of Caresse Zimmerman and bring her to me."
"And this Zimmerman woman can do what? Reanimate the dead? Rewind time?"
"I don't know how it works, son." Celeocia took his hand and squeezed.
She was telling the truth. His mother always called him "son" when she was telling him something real. In the end, it was the way she looked at him, worry evident in her eyes that made his decision. Anything was better than dwelling on the pain of Mesa's absence. He wanted reckless danger, the mystery of his mother's actions.
"I'll do it," he said.
The words were final, pressing heavy in the room as his mother made an involuntary flinch. He knew by her grimace that she didn't like his answer. At the same time, she was resigned to it. Zimmerman was that important to her. If he'd cared at all, he would have felt a spurt of alarm as she stood, kissed his forehead, and left him. Motherly affection was not over-used between them and she had touched him no less than three times in their conversation.
Whatever he was about to face, Hedric knew his mother had already seen it.
*
"Makeem Scientists announced early Monday morning that they had discovered a cure to the Mavirus Carcinoma. After two days of testing, the newly appointed World Scientific Community has confirmed the proclamations of hope. W.S.C. Representative Allan Byrne has issued an order for all surviving females to undergo the extreme treatment. The announcement was met with unsettled silence as many wonder if this miracle cure has come too late." -- A.P. Wednesday, April 27, 2184
Chapter Three
September 17, 2010
The latch on her luggage pushed into her thigh in an uncomfortable manner. Kate ignored it for the most part, watching Reesa's small boat come into the harbor. It was better than sitting on the pier, where she'd witnessed a handful of fishermen gut their catches. Private fishermen, of course. Commercial fishermen had more efficient means for this. And the sight had held a small amount of charm to it since these had been fathers and sons of varying ages.
She could almost imagine her own husband and child out there. Quinn was too young to stand still for long, so Ben would restrict their fishing to the edge of the pier. It was just too dangerous to try sailing and watching the six-year-old alone, and fishing wasn't something Kate would accompany. Not that she wouldn't have enjoyed it, just that tradition marked it as a male sort of holiday, a special moment for father and son.
That and she hated hooks. They just looked sinister, all spindly and sharp, and they seemed to carry with them the desperation of their would-be prey.
In a sense she was fishing, just not for anything under the water. As Reesa wrestled her boat into the harbor, skin gleaming with a three-week tan, muscles straining under familiar exertion, Kate tried to compare her friend's movements to that of a gasping, flopping fish. Propping her chin in her palm, Kate smirked. While the graceful movements on board the little boat did not resemble flopping, she knew that internally Caresse Zimmerman loathed every second of seeing civilization again.
For once in their twenty-three year friendship, Kate Woodson understood. Reesa was skittish to begin with; add the trauma of watching a friend shot, a fan blow themselves up, and you had the makings of a bona-fide hermit on your hands. But Kate wasn't about to let her friend just disappear. There were very few things that Kate could call her own in the crowded family life she'd grown into. Reesa was one of them. Ben had grumped about losing Kate for a week, but he'd agreed that the extreme circumstances required action.
So when the harbor master called to let Kate know Reesa was inbound, she'd shared a hurried meal with her family, squeezed a laughing and breathless hug from Quinn, and rushed to the pier. Her bag was only mostly packed so she knew she'd have to visit a store before trailing Reesa, but she'd been too afraid o
f missing her to stop on the way.
Water slapped against the side of Ho'ola Jane, the small ketch boat Reesa had purchased after the sale of her first book. Its white and red paint stood out against the darker blue of the ocean, looking almost new. In the back of her mind, she could still remember the day Reesa had gotten the thing. There had been squeals of laughter and the general excitement of a well-made and well-earned purchase. She watched as Reesa anchored to the pier, moody blue eyes frowning at her from the deck.
"It's a little early for you isn't it?" Reesa asked.
Kate looked up at the foggy, pale morning sky, "A bit."
Propping one foot on the rim of the boat, Reesa rested a hand on her hip, displeasure rippling out from her. Kate recognized it but was undeterred. She'd waited four hours on that pier, she wasn't going to give up yet. Or to be honest, Kate seldom gave up on a fight she felt was worth her attention. And her best friend's mental health was certainly worth her attention. Reesa seemed to recognize this because her shoulders slumped and she huffed an irritated sigh.
"I told you I wanted to be alone."
"And I left you alone," Kate stood up. "For three weeks I left you alone. Now I'm going to invade."
"What if I don't feel like sailing anymore?"
"Cross country is fine by me. But you're not going to be alone anymore and that's final."
Reesa lifted her eyes heavenward and growled in frustration. Not perplexed, Kate waited. She knew that patience would get her what she wanted. Fifteen years ago they'd gone through a similar situation. Kate had never discovered the circumstances behind the last break down, but she'd known it was significant. So significant, in fact, that Reesa hadn't been home or spoken to her mother since.
"Look, I'm not asking you to talk about it. I just want to keep you company. It's not healthy to be alone so much. Not to mention the dangers of sailing by yourself." There; her two most valid points were made. Reesa couldn't possibly argue. Or so she thought.
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