by Jo Anderton
“Yes?” I addressed the Keeper, aiming for politeness.
He nodded, too fast, too hard. I thought I heard the cracking of bones in his neck, bones I wasn’t even sure he had. “You came, Tanyana. Thank you.”
“Are–” I didn’t really know what to say. “Are you hurt?”
His hands stilled. “Hurt? I always hurt.” He opened his palms, stared at his semi-transparent skin rubbed black, then pointed somewhere behind me. “That’s why I need them.”
I turned. The jars were difficult to see in this world, they were small and embedded deeply in the patterns of the door at my back.
“There isn’t much in them,” I answered.
“What?” Natasha, wavering between darkness and the doors, stepped in front of the jars. “No, he can’t have the debris. That’s all we’ve been able to collect!”
I turned back to the Keeper. Debris grains bulged in the veins along his neck and shoulders, squirming like insects or snakes beneath his skin.
“I need them,” he said, simply. Then he began muttering to himself in a strange, meaningless staccato like the words he had spoken with the Hon Ji, before I had killed her. He shook, muscles quivering, and resumed wringing his hands.
I thought about all that debris I had given over to the emptiness last night, what it must have felt like for him to close the door on part of himself and know it was gone forever. Just how much more of that could he take?
“If we have nothing to give the veche, we put ourselves at risk. All of us.”
The Keeper nodded again, and again his neck bulged. “I know. I know. They– they could come. They could be here. Even now. Here.” And his eyes darted and I began to wonder if his shivering was exhaustion and grief for the parts he had lost, or fear.
“They?” I whispered.
“Please?” he pleaded, hands wringing, body bent, everything about him desperate and imploring. “I am so weak. They are so strong. And the doors, the doors. You have so little, I know, but you are the only ones I can ask. The only people I can rely on.”
I turned back to Natasha. “Doors,” was all I said.
She flinched. “But what about us?” she asked. “This will only make us more vulnerable to the veche. That’s dangerous. For all of us.”
“I think we should,” Lad said, his voice quiet. “He needs us, and he hurts, so I think we should.”
Natasha hung her head. “The Keeper tell you to say that, did he?”
“No,” I answered for Lad. “The Keeper didn’t tell him to say anything. Those were Lad’s words.”
“I promised. See, I promised,” the Keeper whispered.
Natasha stepped out of the way.
When I touched the jars they sprung into sudden and sharp focus, as solid as my suited self. I flipped the clasps that sealed them, their lids opened with a soft hiss. The debris grains inside them floated free, aimless in the open air.
I curved my suit into a scoop and collected them. There was hardly enough to fill my cupped palms. I held them out to the Keeper, a small offering, but as Natasha had said, all that we had to give.
He held his own hands over the debris, palms down, while his head tipped back and his eyes closed. The grains were drawn up into him, through his skin. Debris filled the veins in his arms for a moment before being pumped deeper into his body.
He released a great breath. “You do not know what it is like, to have that which was lost returned to you.” He opened his eyes. They were calm. His arms hung loose by his sides. “This debris has not been tortured, twisted, or carved into a tool. It is a relief, and I thank you for it.” A small twist of a smile played on the edges of his mouth. “And there, do you see what it can do?”
I glanced over my shoulder. The door that made up part of Natasha, part of the wall, part of the table and shelves, was smaller. Not by a lot, but noticeable.
I felt something within me give. Such a small amount, we had just given him, and yet what a difference it had made. His fear, his pain, so obvious a moment before was gone. However brief this glimpse of strength, of sanity, it showed just what the Keeper could be, if only we helped him.
We could not do it with our suits, with our jars and our quota. At least, we could not do it for long before we were discovered, and punished. But Fedor could. Yicor, Valya and their underground, Unbound revolution. They might not know it, but they and their plans were the only, and most unlikely, thing that could help the Keeper now.
So that was what I had to do. Even if it cost me my safety, even if it put our collection teams in danger. Even if it brought Lad to the attention of the veche, or threatened the stability of every pion system in the city. The Keeper needed our help. How could we have thought about saying no?
“I understand,” I said and met the Keeper’s eyes.
“I believe you do.”
And then I shattered it all, by asking, “Who are they?”
He faltered. “They are impossible,” he whispered, eyes darting, hands clasping. Back to where we had started, back as though he had not absorbed any debris at all. “That’s what I think. But there are so many gaps, now, so many spaces in my memory. So many spaces in me. Maybe I do know them, maybe I have forgotten. It has been a long time since they sent me a Half who could actually help me, you know. One who remembers. One who understands. One who can connect. So long, and I am old and tired–” The Keeper dissolved into his dark and door-filled world. I stared at the spot where he had been for a long moment, trying to understand any of what he had just said, before pulling the suit back from my face.
The lamplight that lanced in through the toplevel windows was sharp. How long since Laxbell had sounded?
“So that’s the new plan, is it?” Natasha said, bitter. She leaned against the shelves with their open, empty jars, and ran her hands through her hair. The bright lights gave her face heavy shadows. “Whatever debris we find, we give over to him?” When she glanced up at me she looked exhausted. “I don’t think we will last long.”
“I know,” I said. Slowly, I dragged my suit back into its bands. After a day of quiet sluggishness it was finally taking up its usual battle of wills. “Trust me, I–”
The suit pinched me. Silenced, I blinked down at my own clothes, at the stomach I could not see beneath all the layers of cloth. Though still not fully withdrawn, the suit was no longer spread across my abdomen, only the scars from its last attack – those solid streaks of deeply woven silver – remained there. How had it pinched me?
“Tan?” Lad leaned forward, touched my shoulder. “You okay, Tan?”
Almost as though it felt him, the suit reacted. It pushed into me, like hands pressing against my belly, while the bands at my neck and on my right wrist slipped from my control, coating my upper body and flicking Lad away with a spasm.
He gasped and started back. I could barely breathe, for all the pressure. Spots of light dotted my vision. I tried to clutch him, as I sagged onto my knees, but I could not move my right arm. It felt like it did not belong to me. It felt like the suit was in control.
“Tanyana!” Mizra hurried to my side, hands lifted and hovering. In response, the suit slipped further down my back and across both shoulders. “What’s the matter? Are you ill? Does it hurt?”
“Don’t touch me,” I managed to gasp. “The suit–”
The suit was jealous. That was what it felt like. Jealous of Lad, as he tried to touch me, so it had taken control – so easily – and pushed him away. But what was it doing inside me, what was this pressure, this pain, what could it possibly be–
And then realisation trickled over me like ice water. Terrible, drowning. Inescapable.
I thought of Sofia, her piercing eyes, her testing questions. And I realised I had not bled, these past two moons, but with the suit and the Keeper and the puppet men after me – Other’s hells! – I just hadn’t noticed.
On the last night I had slept with Devich, after I saved him from the violent debris planes that had destroyed his laboratory,
but before I learned that he was, in fact, betraying me. The few contraceptive pills I had left had been stolen with my apartment, and my former life, so I simply had not taken one.
I supposed it was possible. But could I really make such a stupid mistake? Could I be carrying a child – Devich’s child, no less – and not even notice?
If it was true, then what was the suit trying to do? Rip into me, tear me and whatever new life I might be carrying, then heal me with silver so we could get on with our job as veche weaponry? Fight whatever it was the puppet men had built us to fight?
“Enough,” I managed to croak out. “I am not their weapon.” I whispered low, chin pressed to my chest, hoping that my collection team – hovering worried but unsure around me – could not hear. “You are a part of me. Not the other way around. So enough.”
Some of the pressure eased, and I drew in a deep, ragged breath.
“I am stronger than you.”
It was true, for now. This was still my body, more flesh than bright symbol and liquid metal. And I had to keep it that way, somehow, and hold back the ever-encroaching silver.
Retracting the suit was like a flex of deep muscles. Those muscles were stiff and sore when I tensed them, but no matter how they protested, no matter the pain running deep into my spine or the scalding heat across my skin, they responded. The suit slipped away, slow, muddy and thick, to sulk within its bands. But I knew better than to believe it would stay there.
All I had to do was work out how to control it, before the next time it tried to kill my child.
Child.
My head rang, but that word, that very idea chimed the loudest. Was it really possible?
“Tan!” Lad, wailing, flung himself at me and wrapped his arms around me. He buried his face in my hair and sobbed. “Oh Tan. I’m sorry!”
Gingerly, I loosened his grip and leaned away from his red, wet face. “Why, Lad?” I touched his cheek. My fingers shook. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
“I didn’t look after you–” sniff “–not properly.”
“It’s not your fault.” I allowed him to press his face into my neck and held his head, stroking his back in an effort to soothe him.
“What’s wrong with your suit?” Aleksey asked, face sickly as thin cloud. My jacket was steaming, where the suit had coated me, and the smell of slightly charred cloth rose about my head, bringing a fresh bout of nausea with it.
“Nothing,” I said, shakily. “I’m too tired, I think. Some of my control slipped.”
Aleksey lifted his own wrist and stared at his suit with horror. “It attacked you because you were tired? It does that?”
“Yes, if you don’t take proper care of yourself.” Mizra, all scowls and scepticism, took Lad’s hand from my arm and placed it firmly in Natasha’s. “Perhaps we should have warned you.” The thin, usually laconic man had never looked so stern. “Now, Tanyana. Natasha will take Lad back to his brother. I will take you home. After what just happened, you need to get some rest.”
For a moment I considered arguing with him. But I didn’t really have the strength. So I simply said, “Thank you,” and kissed Lad on the cheek.
I caught sight of Aleksey’s face as Mizra led me to the stairs. He watched me intently. Horrified, pale, and thoughtful.
“Sofia was right,” Mizra said, as he unlocked the door and held it open for me. “We thought she was losing her mind when she told us you might be pregnant. Obviously not. That’s what you must have done.”
I’d had to guide us here. Mizra had never visited my rooms above Valya’s house; only Lad and Kichlan knew where they were. As I tossed my jacket and gloves to the floor I was starting to wish it would stay that way.
“Thank you. I’ll be fine now.”
But Mizra stepped inside and closed the door with a slam. I winced. Valya would have heard that.
“Who?” he asked, and I wondered at the venom in his tone. Really, he had nothing to be so upset about. None of this had anything to do with him.
“I really don’t think–”
“Is it Kichlan?”
I had a small choking fit over the very idea.
“No? The technician. What did you say his name was? Devich.”
I nodded weakly.
“Other’s shit.”
“You’re talking about this like we know it’s true.” I sat in one of the chairs around the table and wished he would just leave me alone. “We don’t.”
Colour rose from his pale neck to deepen at his cheeks. He undid the top few buttons of his high-necked shirt. “You haven’t checked? You don’t know?”
“I–” I stared at the floor. “No. I think so, but, no. I haven’t checked.”
“Given the symptoms Sofia described and your suit’s rather extreme reaction, I think you might be right.”
I was surprised by that. “Do suits always do this if their body is pregnant?”
“They’re not usually as bad as what you just experienced, but yes, suits do some strange things during pregnancy. Something to do with the changes in your body.” He shook his head. “Either way, we need to get you to a healer. You need to know for certain.”
“Why?” I couldn’t stop the word escaping and wished I had when Mizra came a half step forward.
“Are you being serious, Tanyana? Because we need to make sure you are all right. You almost collapsed back there.” He pushed up the sleeves of his jacket, obviously getting hot with his growing frustration. “And, because you need to make a decision. What are you going to do about it?”
“Do?” I whispered and felt something cold and hard tighten within me. I had a pretty good idea what the suit wanted to do about it.
Mizra turned, hunched his back at me. “You don’t understand anything, do you?”
“Why don’t you enlighten me?” Anger was slowly rising from that knot in my belly. I was sick of Mizra’s attitude, sick of his assumptions and his belief that he knew more about what was going on in my body, in my life and mind, than I did. “Why don’t you just tell me what you’re talking about, or get out?”
He turned, expression teetering between shock and hurt. “Any child of a debris collector has a greater chance of being born a debris collector. Broken. Like Uzdal and me are broken. Or like Lad.”
That didn’t sound right to me. “Kichlan and Lad’s parents were binders. Were your parents collectors?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Then that can’t be right, none of us had parents–”
“That’s because most children of debris collectors aren’t even born!” Mizra approached me, gripped my hands. “Most children conceived without the knowledge of pions are aborted, Tanyana. And even if your baby is not a collector – if it is not broken – how will you raise it? Going to drag a toddler around the city every day, are you? Through sewerage, in emergencies, to wherever the veche decide to send you? And how will you feed them when the kopacks we earn are hardly enough to feed ourselves? How will you teach them to control pions that you can’t even see?” He released me, and stepped back. “This is your decision: If it is one of us, will you allow it to live? If it is one of them, will you give it away? For its own good?”
I stared at him, horrified. “That’s not much of a decision.”
“I know. But that’s the reality.”
Hesitantly, I placed a hand on my stomach. It didn’t feel any different, I had no way of knowing if pions were flowing, teaching, bonding, or whatever it was that differentiated a pion-binder from a debris collector. Whatever it was that bound us, or left us Unbound.
“Rest,” Mizra said. “On Rest, we will take you. You need to know.”
Numb, I did not meet his eye.
“I’m sorry, Tanyana. I really am. I wish I didn’t have to tell you these things. I wish this wasn’t the way of the world.”
I looked up. Mizra was pale, eyes red as though he had been weeping. “Goodnight,” was all I could manage.
He nodded, and left me
alone with the beings in my body.
I stripped down to my uniform. When I rolled it back the silver scars across my stomach weren’t as bad as I had expected. But as I touched them, ran fingers over their edges and pressed in, I realised they were much deeper than they looked.
Someone knocked on the door. I dragged my jacket over my uniform and opened it, wishing again for solitude and the quiet, quiet dark.
Valya stood at the top of her rickety stairs, a steaming pot in her hands. “You have not eaten.”
I took the pot, smelled vegetables and herbs and hoped I did not look as ill as I felt.
“Must be strong,” she said. “You are here to help the Keeper, and he needs you to be strong.” With that, she turned, and began her slow and unstable descent.
I closed the door, placed the pot on the table and watched it cool.
7.
Two days later, when I returned Lad to his brother’s care, Kichlan took my hand. Natasha had accompanied me for the second day in a row, apparently still uncertain about my health. And while Lad was distracted, saying his goodbyes to her, Kichlan whispered in my ear, “tonight.”
I tried not to let anything show on my face, and only gave him a small nod of acknowledgement. He did not need to see my constant exhaustion, my confusion or worry. The old binder part of me – the architect who had worked so hard to rise to the centre of a nine point circle – had grown quite vocal since I realised I could be pregnant. She criticised me constantly, like the buzzing of an irritating insect somewhere at the back of my head, making it even harder to sleep. How could I have been so foolish? I knew better than this. And, worst of all, what would Kichlan think when he found out?