by Platt, Sean
She’d heard a choir that sounded fifty monks strong, but there were only three people in the large room. None were singing. They were all working at the strangest computers Piper had ever seen. Each had a touch screen embedded in a large slab of wood, like an ancient console television. The monks were in the same brown robes as the others, but their expressions as they turned, Piper thought, were anything but Zen. There was no serenity or peaceful contemplation. Instead, there was hard light and skeptical intelligence. One was at rolltop desk, holding a plastic device that looked like an enormous syringe with a plunger under his thumb. On the desk, its top open, were dishes, trays, and some sort of electronic fluid-containing device that Piper didn’t recognize.
She watched the choir room doors sigh closed behind them, the reticence shocked from her body. Large metal bolts extruded at the edges — bolts that would extend and seat once the doors were closed, but would be mostly invisible when fully recessed. The door itself was much thicker than it appeared, and the monk closing it now was sliding a compartment closed on the right door’s surface, hiding a high-tech-looking control panel.
Piper stopped resisting, and Thelonius released her. She looked around the room, noticing something else amiss — just one among many.
“Where are the windows?”
“They’re stained glass lightboxes on the outside.” His temper seemed to settle with Piper’s mood.
“The chanting. Where is the chanting coming from?”
“It’s a recording. There are about a dozen speakers in various places, leaking the approximate amount of sound your ear would naturally expect from any given place around the perimeter. Fortunately, that many sources facing out means it doesn’t have to be deafening in here to sound loud enough out there.”
Piper felt her head shaking. She stepped into the room’s center, baffled. The monk scientists returned to their work, apparently less interested in Piper than those outside.
“What is this place?”
“A place of science,” said a voice behind her.
Piper turned. She hadn’t seen the large Hispanic woman when she’d entered, but now she saw an alcove to the right filled with a paperwork nest. There didn’t appear to be a computer. Just paper.
The woman was dressed in a robe similar to the others, but her hood, also down, appeared much fuller, its color a deep maroon. Her insignia was slightly more ornate, edged in golden thread. That struck Piper as strange, too, considering that traditional monks were supposed to eschew flair to celebrate modesty and homogeneity. But then again, these weren’t traditional monks.
The woman held out a hand. “I’m Gloria Reyes, this order’s abbess.”
“Abbess?”
“Spiritual leader of a monastery,” Gloria explained.
Piper looked around, feeling more out of place than at any time in her life. She was wearing a girlish summery dress and half of a draped shawl on her shoulders. Her hair was askew but carefully brushed. She must look immodest amid the monks, city royalty among the poor. Famous among the anonymous. Infamous while the monks, apparently, championed the resistance.
“But you’re not a religion,” said Piper. “It’s a cover for … for whatever I’m seeing.”
“We’re very much a religion,” Gloria said. “Honest religions seek the truth.”
“Then what is all this?”
“The search for truth.”
Piper paced the room, drawing glances from the working monks. Thelonius waited, silent behind her.
“We’re able to convert this room if needed.” Gloria gestured at one of the huge, wood-framed touch screens, which Piper now saw was backed by some sort of even larger wooden base. “These fold down into pews, hiding the screens at their bottoms,” she said, nodding toward a long hinge at the consoles’ bases. “Where Michael is working, the rolltop folds down and there’s a compartment toward the back, hollowed into the wall behind, to stow his equipment. The door keeps curious eyes out. And if we have time, there are freestanding pews in the narthex we can move into this area here.”
Piper looked around. It wasn’t like a spy movie. Maybe the space could be made to look like the choir chamber it sounded like, but it wouldn’t happen at the pull of a lever.
“What if you don’t have enough warning? How did you build this place? Where did you get the big doors with their huge bolts?”
“It’s not relevant,” Gloria said. “What’s relevant is that Terrence sent you to us. The message was limited, but it did suggest that you have something we should see.”
The woman held out her hand, softly smiling.
Piper met the abbess’s brown eyes. Terrence had sent her here, yes. But there was still far too much unknown to surrender herself so easily. She was tired of the dark. She’d lived in it under Meyer during their flight from New York, then under Cameron. Now she was in the dark yet again under a new Meyer, who kept personal secrets as well as the more tangible sort she’d seen then copied from his office terminal. Piper was tired of not knowing. Tired of not deciding. Tired of being another person’s pretty thing to command.
“Did Terrence have this church built?” Piper pretended she didn’t see Gloria’s open hand.
“No, of course not. A faction here had it built. But in a city this size, under duress, it’s never long before curious minds find similar thoughts. Since then, along with us, he’s been communicating with others from here.”
“Who?”
“We should get started, Mrs. Dempsey.” Gloria extended her hand farther.
Piper clasped the drive in her pocket, aware too late that she was drawing an X on her treasure.
“Not yet. First, you tell me who Terrence has been talking to.” Piper figured she knew the answer but wasn’t about to volunteer information these strangers might not yet have.
“Very well. It’s a group in the Utah desert. The principal’s name is Benjamin Bannister.”
“You know Benjamin?”
“Somewhat. But Terrence knows them best.”
Piper’s eyes darted around. She urged herself to relax. What were the odds that these people would bring her in here, show her their treason, speak of both Terrence’s dual allegiance and Benjamin by first and last name … and still be playing Piper into a trap? The Astrals wouldn’t go to these lengths; they’d have killed or detained her outside. Meyer wouldn’t go to such lengths either. His approach to disagreement was simpler and surprisingly effective. He bullied the other party into seeing his way of thinking.
Piper found herself willing to deliver the drive (she’d wanted to reach Benjamin and was now at the source), but Gloria lowered her hand from its beckoning then gestured to a second alcove and a pair of comfortable-looking chairs.
“Please have a seat,” she said. “You seem uneasy.”
“I’m okay.”
“Nonetheless.” She gestured more firmly.
“Really, I’m okay.”
“You have questions.”
“It’s fine,” said Piper, now fearing a conversion sermon. They were scientists, sure, but the abbess had made it clear this was also religion. Piper had grown up religious, giving her mixed feelings today. In Piper’s experience, the pushiest among the faithful saw the unenlightened as filled with questions. Conveniently, the church always had answers.
“Please, have a seat. Time is always short, but it’s important that you’re comfortable.”
“I’m okay,” Piper said for the third time.
The abbess approached, using her superior bulk to herd Piper toward the chairs.
Piper sat. Gloria followed. Scientists continued to work in the background.
“Are you going to tell me why your people carve those stone effigies around the city walls?” Piper asked, unsure what to say.
“The artists among us believe in something they cannot see, and hope to reach it through the journey of spirit.”
“Oh,” Piper said.
“That’s the perfect place to begin,” the abbess said
. “We believe this is happening because your husband did the same thing.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Mommy,” said Clara, “what did Grandpa lose?”
Lila looked at her daughter. Once upon a time, she would have been shocked by the child’s ability to manage a sentence like that at two years old. But given the other developmental leaps Clara had taken ahead of time (early crawling, early walking, an eerie inability to be fooled while playing peekaboo), Lila usually thought of Clara as normal in advance. It wasn’t like she had a talking infant — just a precocious toddler. She could almost close her eyes, pretend she’d given birth five years ago instead of two, and forget for long periods of time that other mothers had it different.
Instead of noticing the girl’s words, Lila found herself wondering how to respond to the question’s oddity.
“I don’t know, sweetie. His wallet?”
“What’s a wallet?”
Right. That didn’t make sense. Her father had lost his wallet in the past because he didn’t carry it in his back pocket like most people, but now he didn’t even have one. Same for car keys. Maybe the world was on its way to perfection: a place with literally nothing to lose.
Lila squatted next to Clara. “I don’t know, sweetie. Why don’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know what it is.”
“Then how do you know he lost anything?”
“No, Mommy,” Clara said, giving her a look well beyond even her seeming years — a look straight from the derisive face of Grandma Heather. “I mean I don’t know what the thing he lost is.”
Lila stood. She didn’t like questions like this and usually responded the way many parents answered their children’s questions about sex: by pretending they hadn’t heard then changing the subject.
Clara’s question filled Lila’s awareness with a dark cloud. Clara knew Meyer had lost something and could picture it just fine. But unlike a remote control or a tablet, Clara didn’t recognize the thing. She wasn’t asking if something was lost; she knew what was lost but couldn’t identify it. Maybe it was a wallet after all.
“Oh, I don’t know, honey.” Lila looked toward the window. “It’s such a nice day outside. Would you like to play in the yard?”
Clara brightened, her thoughts easily distracted. “Sure! Can Daddy come too?”
“Which Daddy?” Lila, hearing herself, flinched. It was a habit she was supposed to discourage, not off-the-cuff perpetuate. If Raj ever heard Clara (let alone Lila) refer to Christopher as “Daddy Chris,” he’d lose his head. He might even request that Christopher lose his.
Clara beat her to the punch. She sprang up and gave Lila another of those condescending Heather looks.
“Daddy daddy, Mommy.”
“I’m sorry, honey, Daddy can’t play right now.”
“Why not?”
“He’s working,” Lila said. Though that was a laugh.
“Oh, Daddy is always working!” Clara pouted.
“Well, we’ll just have to play without him. Want to go to Grandma’s house and—”
A voice behind Lila cut her off. “Play without whom?”
Lila turned. Raj was behind her, wearing his ridiculous robe and even more ridiculous canvas shirt beneath. He claimed the outfit was culturally Indian — and that now more than ever it made sense to honor their old cultures as the world melted together. But in Lila’s opinion, the world wasn’t melting together so much as melting. It was true that cultural borders were decaying into multicultural cityscapes worldwide, almost as if humans were being deliberately shuffled. But that didn’t make his get-up any less ridiculous, or make her want to wear lederhosen and a cap with a green feather to celebrate her German-Irish roots. And besides, since when was canvas beneath a robe Indian? He did that because the shirt was warm and Raj was always cold — and never mind the incongruity.
“Daddy!” Clara ran to Raj.
He scooped her up. “You weren’t going to play without me, were you?”
“I thought you were working,” Lila said.
“It’s under control. Interestingly, it looks like your stepmother was the problem.”
“Piper?”
Raj nodded.
“That’s ridiculous. The peacekeepers are just riled up after that plane attack. There are too many out there on the streets. They’re going to cause more problems than good.” Lila couldn’t help adding, “As always.”
“I see,” said Raj. “So your solution is to just let Piper go.”
“Let her go for what? Are you saying she did something wrong?”
“Perhaps.”
“How the hell could Piper do anything to merit all the …” Lila stopped herself from saying “shit” then took Clara from Raj’s arms and set the girl aside with her toys. Raj looked angry, but Lila didn’t feel like caring.
She whispered, “How Piper could merit all the bullshit out there is beyond me, Raj.”
“Fortunately, you don’t have to agree since it isn’t your call.”
“It’s not yours either.”
Raj’s brown eyes hardened. Lila wasn’t surprised to feel a flash of fear. Still, her irritation was stronger. As she’d reminded him before, Raj should never have made it to Colorado and had only been saved by the grace of her father. What’s more, Old Dad would have punched a hole in Raj’s face after learning that he’d knocked up his daughter. The fact that things had turned out different were just Raj’s good luck.
“I’m Commander of the Guard.”
“Christopher is Captain of the Guard,” Lila said. “Sounds redundant, but what do I know?”
“Are you questioning my position?”
“I’ve questioned your position for years, hon.”
His jaw worked. Lila’s heart beat harder, but she kept her eyes on his. And to think: she’d gazed into this man’s eyes with love, back when they’d been stupid kids together.
“You’re right,” said Raj. “I guess I don’t have time to play today.”
“Shocking,” Lila said, tallying off a mental point won.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I’m a single fucking parent, Raj. That’s what.”
“Really? That’s my bed in there, too.”
“Oh, and how happy I am about that.”
Again, Raj’s eyes watched Lila’s. She reminded herself that even though the man across from her was commander of the guard (and chief network nerd, among many other useless titles) and the viceroy’s son-in-law, she was the viceroy’s daughter. Her father might think this family needed to appear shiny and happy for the laughably named free press, but that didn’t mean Lila had to lie down and take it from someone whose only relation was through the viceroy’s granddaughter.
Raj’s head twitched toward Clara, who Lila hoped had managed to miss every word, despite her excellent hearing and astonishing powers of comprehension. Her father’s voice, when he spoke next, was saccharine sweet.
“Hey, honey,” he said to Clara. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you after all.”
“What? Why?” Clara snapped.
Despite her fury at Raj, Lila had to cover her mouth to hold in a smile. Hearing her husband abused by his barely-out-of-diapers daughter was funny in itself, and it got funnier when she did it in Heather’s caustic, mocking tone. Lila half expected a racial epithet to follow — possibly something having to do with spicy food or math skills.
“I have to work,” Raj said, his voice still pleasant. He crossed to the girl, stooped, then gave Lila a look before kissing Clara and straightening again. Lila recognized that look, too, and tallied it as another point in her favor. It was his old look: pathetic and sad, as if she’d wounded him and should feel awful about it. Fortunately, Lila had grown immune.
Raj paused at the door then spoke quietly to Lila, his voice edged with spite.
“I know you’re close with Piper.”
Lila didn’t reply, not wanting to play into his games.
“As it tur
ns out, your father seems to think she copied something from his office computer. He won’t go into detail, but it seems to be of some importance. Something new from above.”
Raj looked up, indicating the mothership. Lila tried to keep her face impassive, but doing so was becoming hard. She knew her father’s modified mind was somehow able to talk directly to the Astrals — not to individuals, but to the hive mind they all seemed to share — but that some information still came down in traditional ways. Before now, that information usually had to do with insurgency and pending attacks, because those things most directly required human involvement and assistance. Raj’s assertion that Piper may have stolen from her father — perhaps claimed by the Astrals above — filled Lila with chills. If it were true, Piper would have some serious explaining to do when she returned.
If, that was, she ever did return — something a few piecemeal comments by Clara had already caused Lila to doubt.
“So?” said Lila, not feeling the word’s intended apathy.
“If it turns out to be a problem, I imagine the questions could extend to others who are friendly with Piper. In the interest of being thorough, you understand.”
Lila chewed her lip for a second then stopped. The nervous habit betrayed her.
“Whatever you say, Commander.”
Lila turned back to Clara, waiting for Raj to leave.
“If the Astrals themselves feel they’ve lost something to Piper and those who might have helped her,” he told Lila’s back, “I wonder how far a viceroy’s protection could possibly extend?”
Chapter Seventeen
Cameron killed the connection before considering that he should have maybe kept the radio on. But before he could move his finger to reactivate the connection, he realized that the large, burnished-metal spheres above the road ahead weren’t the problem. The problem was that he was still screaming down the highway at nearly forty miles per hour, and someone had covered the road with thousands upon thousands of ball bearings.
Cameron used his final moment of wobbling stability to jockey a few inches closer to the left-side berm and gently apply the brakes then surrendered to the inevitable skid.