Valence (Confluence Book 4)

by Jennifer Foehner Wells

  She was so close.

  Zara crossed to the other side of the center aisle and then to the opposite wall. She walked along the back wall of the building, watching the gaps between the stacks for signs of terminals. She passed the circulation desk from behind. On the other side of the building she spotted about a dozen ancient computers next to the little kids’ books. Only three were being used by people.

  Her stomach growled really loud. It was already lunchtime.

  She settled in the chair farthest from the main desk and on the opposite side from it. That put the computers and people between her and the librarians so they wouldn’t get a good look at her. She forced herself not to glance over at them and focused on the monitor. She read the home screen three times before she figured out how to navigate to outside web access instead of the library lookup system.

  Now she was in more familiar territory. She typed in the name of a search engine, and when that came up, she typed How to hide my IP address. She read three sites until she felt she understood what she had to do.

  She didn’t think it was enough to just use the library’s computer. The library’s IP address would be assigned to a known geographical place. That meant that if anyone looked to see where she’d uploaded from, they’d know it came from this specific place. She had to take it up another level. Otherwise, everyone at her dad’s work would be under scrutiny. Bringing attention to this geographical region could put heat on her dad. On her.

  She contemplated using her prepaid credit card to buy access to a VPN, but her parents would see the transaction when they transferred chore money to the card. They sometimes commented on her purchases, or lack thereof. It was monitored. That was a dead end. She suddenly remembered that her parents would see the mocha purchase when she should have been at school and felt momentarily dazed with fear. She hadn’t been thinking clearly. Then she forced herself to move on. She still didn’t want her parents to know about her using a VPN.

  The only other option was a free proxy server which would disguise the library’s IP address and make it look like the file had originated somewhere else in the US or even the world. That was her only viable option, so that’s what she would do. She found a list of proxy servers, but she couldn’t figure out how to make the first two work. The sluggish wheel on the screen just kept rotating endlessly.

  The third one worked.

  She opened her laptop and connected it to the super-slow Wi-Fi, too, so she could work on things that didn’t need to be secure at the same time. She needed screenshots from the Mensententia software and a really kickass profile pic. She also had to come up with an interesting screen name.

  She created a new profile on the Instamat social network, using a cropped image of a female comic-book hero as the avatar. She called herself SectiliusDestiny, which was lame, but the three names she tried before that one were taken.

  For the bio she simply wrote, “I found it.” That was enigmatic. She hoped it got someone’s attention.

  She found a free Web host and made a simple page. At the top, a title said, “Mensententia Learning Software from Jane Holloway and the Sectilius.” Underneath, a line of text that said Click here would start the download.

  Then, because she hoped her site would get enough traffic to overwhelm the servers, she made four similar pages on different sites to handle the overflow. Thinking ahead like this made her feel clever. She’d never made a Web page before, but it wasn’t that hard. She gathered up all of the links and put them in her bio. Then she created her first and only post to Instamat, which included all five links and a line of text explaining what they were, along with a really cool screenshot from the program to get people’s attention.

  Now she had to make sure people saw it. She typed Cats of Instamat into the search bar and started following anyone who was obviously her age. She took her time, didn’t rush. It was important that kids found the post first because adult attention might prompt the government to get it shut down through Instamat. When she found the right users, it was easy to find a lot more in their friend lists. That spread things around. She didn’t add any of her own friends or herself because that could draw attention to her. She felt she needed to follow at least several hundred, maybe more, to make sure enough people clicked on the post.

  Her stomach kept growling so loudly that a lady with half-bleached-orange and half-brown hair stared at her like she was annoyed. Then Zara remembered the muffin from the coffee shop that morning. It had been crushed in her backpack and crumbs were everywhere, but she wolfed it down and kept working. It didn’t really help her hunger much, but it tasted delicious and stopped the gastric noises temporarily.

  As she continued to follow Instamat users, she started to get notifications that people were replying to the post. Dis real? someone typed.

  U catfishin. Virus. Now it, someone else commented.

  Think I’m stupid?

  She didn’t reply. Nothing she could say would sway them to believe it was real. She considered creating another account to use to leave a comment that said the link was legit, but a new account wouldn’t have any history and would be ignored by smart users. She decided it would make her post look even more suspicious. The only thing that would work was social proof and sharing.

  Someone just had to click on it.

  “Come on…” she whispered under her breath.

  It had to go viral. It just had to.

  She continued adding targeted friends to the SectiliusDestiny account, ignoring the red flag at the top of the Instamat page that told her people were replying. Lots of people were, but if all the comments were negative, there was no point in looking at them. Her eyes welled up with tears and the screen went blurry. It might fail because no one would take a chance on clicking the links, or the download.

  Everyone she knew wanted this. Everyone wanted a chance to know more about the Sectilius. If only someone would try it and report back—someone with a trustworthy profile—then others might too.

  When the red flag told her there were fifty-eight new comments, she clicked on it with cold, shaky fingers. The newest comments were at the top.

  The thread had blown up.

  So kewl!

  Mind blown!

  Loaded all five links in a sandbox. Checks out clean. Still looking at download which *appears* to be in another language with a patch that allows it to run on PC. Could still be a hoax, but it would take longer than 17 days to create something like this. I’m inclined to believe this is the real deal. She faved that comment even though she was pretty sure it was an adult.

  This is the shit!

  What the fuck is a sandbox, Corker348?

  Crap!!!!!!! I can’t believe it!!!!!! Finally!!!!!!

  They started sharing the post on their feeds. She refreshed the screen several times and the shares went up by one or two.

  Now there were comments like, Am I rly learning Mensenti? and K this is fkng cool. Don’t care if its real or not, and Wow!!!!! This is amazing!

  SectDestiny wear you get this???????

  NASA Leaks!!!!! lmao lol roflmao :D :D :D

  She packed up her stuff and looked around. No one else was using the computers anymore. The librarians were laughing and chatting quietly with each other. It was just another day for them.

  But not for her.

  Zara refreshed the page again. Her post had been shared thirty-four times. Another refresh just a second later brought the total to fifty-two.

  She stared at the screen. She’d done it. Comments were in the hundreds and the newest ones were at the top—now the believers were outnumbering the skeptics. She’d done something important. What would Jane think of her? Jane would be proud, Zara was sure. She smiled.

  Then she checked the time. It was 5:30.

  Oh, no.

  If she hadn’t been in trouble before, she was now.

  11

  JANE GLANCED at Alan and then around at the rest of her crew. Everyone was uncomfortable with what had just tr
anspired, but Huna seemed most uncomfortable of all. She took a step toward him, unsure what to say. She had to tread carefully here, not make any promises the pligans might not let her keep. Her ship and the Oblignatus were still being worked on by pligans whom she couldn’t afford to offend.

  She reached out to Huna, just short of contact. She didn’t know if a touch would be reassuring or unwelcome. She couldn’t be sure if he was embarrassed or angry that they’d witnessed his confession. “Huna, that must have been very difficult to say.”

  Her words seemed to prompt him to shudder. He met her eyes, still partly shrouded by his lower lids. “It was.” He moved a little. “Are we alone, here?”

  Jane looked around. They were hardly alone. But she thought she knew what he meant. “Bigu and Gili left. I haven’t seen anyone else. I think it’s just myself, my crew, and you.”

  His eyes opened fully, and he turned in his painfully shuffling way to look for himself in all directions. Then he sprang up to touch the ceiling and clung there with his hands, dangling, stretching his legs out fully. Letting go of the ceiling, he bounced in place a few times in a very controlled way, all of the previous awkwardness of his gait completely gone. “That’s so much better. I’m sorry if I’m being rude. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “You…I…you aren’t being rude.” Jane reached for the right words to say. “We were told you were disabled.”

  Huna let out an almost-human sigh through the nostrils at the end of his rounded face. “I am not disabled. I am expected to conform to a construct within which I do not fit.” He bounced a few more times in what seemed to be a very natural way for him. “My people breed for a particular appearance, at some cost. In the pursuit of a favored leg type, they inevitably damage the cognitive ability to innovate. Ancient DNA is then reintroduced to reinvigorate the gene pool for a few generations, then the cycle repeats. Due to this focus on the superficial, they cannot evolve as fully as they should. Because so few take an interest in what has gone on before, they make the same mistakes again and again. They are stuck in this recursive cycle of short bursts of innovation and long periods of stagnation. They’re unable to see this even when I explain it explicitly. I have tried to change these practices and have been unsuccessful. Those with my genetics are an unheard minority. There are so few of us alive at any given time. People like me have given them Hiding and Escaping, and so much more. They respect me for my work, but not my opinions. The culture is too deeply entrenched and the average person too limited to understand the repercussions. It is an abhorrent practice. One I no longer want to be a part of.”

  Alan blew out a low whistle. “Dude, that sucks.”

  Huna hopped forward into an open space, more interior to the ship. Jane and the others followed.

  “I come here, or to one of the other Escaping vessels, often, to be alone where I can move unobserved—to be myself as I desire to be, and to mitigate the pain of being among the others. I have never allowed anyone else to see me move naturally, not since I reached adulthood. I just don’t belong among them.”

  He was appealing to her for sanctuary. She wondered if this was something akin to early adult angst or something far more serious. Instinct told her it was more. “I want to help you, but I hope you can understand that I’ll need to see what happens. I’m in a precarious position here.”

  Huna blinked slowly. “You need not worry overmuch. I believe they will object and lament, but ultimately let me go. If not, then I will remain as I am, as many who have gone before me have done.”

  Jane absorbed this. He seemed resigned. She hoped he would be able to come with them. She would do everything she could to make it possible. He might be able to teach them some of the secrets of pligan DNA manipulation, and he deserved to live unencumbered.

  Pledor turned away from examining a workstation. “Is there an explanation for why your speech patterns are so different from the others?”

  Jane pressed her lips together. This wasn’t the most tactful time to bring that up, but she’d been wondering about it too.

  Huna’s throat fluttered. A choked laugh coughed out of him. “Your speech patterns differ from hers—” he pointed to Jane, then swept his arm toward Alan, “—and even more greatly from his.”

  Pledor’s eyes narrowed in their hawklike way. “We are different species from different worlds.”

  Jane interrupted, trying to mitigate any discord. “And we have different levels of experience and practice with the language. For some of us, Mensententia is very new.”

  Huna settled into a splayed-leg crouch that looked more comfortable for him. His posture seemed more relaxed when he wasn’t trying to force his legs forward at an unnatural angle. “That is understandable. I will try to help you make sense of it. Every brood cycle is raised in much the same way, but wants instinctively to distinguish itself, ironically enough. They spend a lot of time together. They develop idiosyncrasies, silly affectations. Gili and Bigu are from two different broods. They know full well how to speak properly, I suspect, but it gives them a sense of belonging, especially when spending time with broodmates. It becomes a habit.”

  Pledor tilted his head to one side. “We met someone named Kula—”

  “Kula is from my brood. I set the trend in that brood, by refusing to indulge the pretension. My will in that group was strongest, so that is our distinction.” Huna looked down. His toes flexed against the floor. “Now Kula bears some of the next brood, and many of those youths will be something like me.”

  Schlewan took a step forward. “Why do you conform? Why not just insist on being yourself in all ways, not just speech?”

  Ron dropped to a knee next to Huna, sympathy written all over his face. “It’s not always that easy, is it, man?”

  “No, it is not.”

  Jane thought about the correction Kula had given the youth who had wanted to hop freely and the corrections her own grandparents had given her to counteract what they had seen as her undesirable behavior. Both instances were well intentioned, but probably wrongly done. They served to stifle something that was a benign expression of individuality.

  Ajaya asked, “Would you be able to survive away from the Tree?”

  Huna chirped. “I will not even try. I will bring a piece of it with me. I believe I can easily reconfigure your Greenspace Deck to allow Existence to flourish there. As long as I remain aboard, it will thrive, and in turn it will allow me to thrive.”

  Pledor visibly balked. “What about the flora flourishing there already?”

  Huna’s large eyes moved back and forth. “It should be unaffected if I modify only a portion of the environment.”

  Jane’s stomach protested the lengthy lack of food with a prolonged grumble. She suddenly realized that their guides through the city had abandoned them and it would be nearly impossible to find their way back to the ship unless Huna helped them. And that would be a slow, painful process for him. She looked back toward the hatch, wondering what the best approach would be to return to the Speroancora.

  “There is more,” Huna said, lunging forward in what seemed like a desperate gesture. Her heart went out to him. “I know you fear your planet Terra is in danger from the Swarm. I also know you’re very curious about Hiding and whether something like it could be used to protect your world. I believe I can give it to you.”

  “Are you serious?” Alan asked sharply. “How?”

  “The Pliga That Was—the planet my people used before this one. It was also tidally locked to a red-dwarf star, because that is what Existence needs. But they chose a young planet, hoping that with less competition Existence would thrive and cover the arable land quickly. That plan backfired when a volcanic eruption filled the atmosphere with ash, blocking out the star’s light. Existence went dormant. The people began to starve. They used Escaping and migrated here. But…” Huna trailed off.

  Schlewan spoke up. “Enough time has passed that the Tree will have recovered? It could be used to manufacture enough of the par
ticles they mentioned to protect a planet?”

  “Yes,” Huna agreed. “I believe I can make that happen if the Tree yet lives. Yes.”

  12

  INSTANT RECOGNITION of the danger ignited primal instincts.

  Brai flashed Pio a signal while his mental voice bellowed at her to flee. He darted toward her without conscious thought.

  She whirled, her arms flinging in a graceful arc around her. Swelling with water, taking in what was needed to jet in any direction—just away—she pulled her arms to her center line, a compact shape for quicker movement.

  But it was too late. The predator was quicker. She didn’t draw her limbs in fast enough.

  Teeth.

  Arms in a viselike grip.

  Her body lashed violently from side to side.

  Pio shrieked inside his head.

  Her pain was a blow, but it did not deter him.

  His sensate skin could taste her metallic blood, growing in concentration as he moved in.

  Brai reached the sharklike thing. He could sense its ravenous hunger, its determination to feed.

  The head. He aimed for its triangular head.

  His beak was fully extended and open. He chopped at the tough flesh, quickly opening a gaping wound. Acrid bitterness filled his mouth. He wrestled chunks free, allowing the turbulent water to sweep the unwanted mess away as he bit the malefactor again and again.

  Three of his arms wrapped around the animal’s upper jaw. He tugged, digging the jagged hooks that capped his terminal suction cups into the animal’s flesh, and pulled up, attempting to pry the creature’s mouth open to release Pio.

  Stubbornly, it clung to her.

  Pio rallied from the shock. She flung her free arms out to grapple with her captor.

  It thrashed, trying to buck Brai off, fully bite through her arms, or maybe break away. Brai held on. He would not be dislodged until she was free.

  Then he realized that while it thrashed, the shark had managed to reset its bite higher on Pio’s body, very close to where her arms joined her mantle.