CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
A War of the Mind
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Enjoy this book? You can change the world!
About the Author
Glossary
Acknowledgements
EXCERPT: TYCHE'S DEMONS
Something Wicked
Chapter One
TYCHE'S GRACE
Richard Parry
TYCHE'S GRACE copyright © 2018 Richard Parry.
Cover design copyright © 2018 Mondegreen.
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9951090-4-9
First edition.
No parts of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without permission. Piracy, much as it sounds like a cool thing done at sea with a lot of, “Me hearties!” commentary, is a dick move. It gives nothing back to the people who made this book, so don’t do it. Support original works: purchase only authorized editions.
While we’re here, what you’re holding is a work of fiction created by a professional liar. It is not done in an edgy documentary style with recovered footage. Pretty much everything in here was made up by the author so you could enjoy a story about the world being saved through action scenes and witty dialog. No people were used as templates, serial numbers filed off for anonymity: let’s be honest, October Kohl couldn’t be based on anyone real. Any resemblance to humans you know (alive) or have known (dead) is coincidental.
Details on how to get your FREE STARTER LIBRARY can be found at the end of this book.
Find out more about Richard Parry at mondegreen.co
Published by Mondegreen, New Zealand.
For Julia, and her steady hand on life’s tiller.
A WAR OF THE MIND
GRACE KNEW SHE was a prisoner at fourteen.
They’d taken an air car to Ise. In the air car, the interior patterned with pictures of trees and dragons, soft leather against her skin, Grace had pressed her face to the windows, looking down at the fields scudding by below. She’d tried to ignore the rigid posture of Megumi, because under her silence was regret/fear/duty/protect, a mantra repeated louder than the full force of taiko drums. Grace had tried to ignore the sweet-sour smell of Iwao, last night’s alcohol hanging closer than the suit he wore. She didn’t mind he drank to stop the shaking in his hands. It left his mind quiet, a relief next to the rolling thunder of Megumi’s feelings.
When the air car sat down, steam hissing underneath as gull wings opened into the humid air, Grace had wanted to run ahead. She knew better than to try, but it didn’t stop her thirsting for it. Iwao had stepped out first, eyes hidden behind sunglasses that Grace knew described the world in higher detail. An overlay, telling him about the people around him. Which ones would do them harm. Which ones carried weapons. Iwao needed the glasses because he wasn’t like Grace, and he wasn’t like her father. He was ordinary, as ordinary as anyone who’d survived the plague city of Osaka could be.
Megumi stepped out in his wake, one hand straying near the opening of her suit jacket, which hid a sidearm. She radiated concern/bad idea/fear/duty, the beat of taiko ever vigilant. Megumi also wore dark glasses, but Grace expected they were as much for extra world detail as they were to hide her too-Western eyes. There they were, the three of them against the might of Ise. The fearsome ice cream sellers that tried to sell cool, crisp flavor, as if that would tear the world to the ground.
Concern/concern/concern/bad idea, the drums louder, until they quietened, Megumi’s hand falling away from her jacket. “It’s safe,” she said, not looking at Grace. Shame/fear/duty.
Grace put a hand on the sill of the gull wing doors, stepping into the quiet of Ise. The ground was paved, the seams nearly perfect between the stones. There were very few people, the streets almost empty here except for a few early risers. A man peddled away from them on a bicycle, the circular motion of his feet at odds with the bright holo that lit across the handlebars. A woman with a broom swept the front of her store, preparing the way for the coming day. Across from her, an older man too bent by time was lifting the rattling shutters from a set of machines that would husk rice for a few Empire credits.
Quaint. Still. Grace closed her eyes, breathing in the silence. There was a slight breeze, Iwao’s sweet-sour downwind from her for a moment. Aside from Megumi and Iwao, there was little here to draw her mind’s eye. The woman with the broom radiated curiosity/opportunity. The old man with the rice husking machines was tired/new day/tired, like his body wasn’t ready for another day on this quiet earth. The bicyclist was already gone, a faint chime of a bell the only memory of his passing.
The walk to the ice cream vendor was pleasant. Grace played a game with herself, where she imagined that Iwao and Megumi were good friends, and the three of them on their way to get ice cream together. It didn’t matter it was before breakfast. It didn’t matter that Iwao and Megumi weren’t her friends. It didn’t matter they’d been ordered to chaperone Grace by Kazuo Gushiken. He’d said she needs a new lesson today, and Grace hadn’t thought about that because they were leaving the grounds on an adventure. It didn’t matter that the adventure was ice cream with Iwao and Megumi. Not even the sad eyes of her mother Aya made her curious as she boarded the air car, because her mother was always sad, but always silent with it.
The ice cream vendor was a small woman with a lined face, her eyes still bright despite her age. She seemed to know exactly what Grace wanted, a cone with a single piece of paper wrapped around it held out in greeting. Grace looked at Iwao, who ignored her, so she looked at Megumi, who nodded. Grace took the cone. “Thank you.” She didn’t pay. Grace never paid. Credits chimed nonetheless, Iwao dropping two chits to shine on the vendor’s counter.
The cone was close to Grace’s mouth when her eyes saw something unusual. A girl, a little younger than her, was being pulled along by a woman, presumably her mother. Grace smiled in delight. The only other girls Grace had met were at the other end of a holo during her studies. They had names like Charlie Alpha Sixteen and Tango Foxtrot Thirty-Two. Their eyes were flat, faces empty, as all of them shared lessons online. Grace knew they were like her, kept apart, Mickey Chase saying they’d be like fucking uranium if you got ‘em too close to each other. Grace hadn’t understood what he’d meant, but she’d looked up uranium on her console, and while that didn’t help, a sub article talked about criticality accidents. She was left wondering if it was girls or people who could read minds that were the problem. Grace had always assumed the second until now, when she saw the other girl being pulled along, eyes wide.
In their hurry, the girl dropped a small bag, a stylized cat drawn on the back pocket. Grace slipped past Iwao’s grasping hand, darting across the street to get the bag. Her mind focused forward, trying to see the girl in the way only she could. Grace heard confusion/fear/run/loss as she picked up the bag. “Hey,” she called out to the girl. “You dropped your bag.”
The girl’s mother stopped hauling on her daughter’s arm. Fear/fear. Her eyes darted to the side, taking in Iwao and Megumi, who had — as if by magic — produced sidearms. The blasters were alike, short, elegant, almost beautiful. Grace stood her ground against the thunder of the taiko, concern/disapproval/fear/fight coming from Megumi, run/chase/protect from Iwao. She held the bag out, the contents sliding a little with the motion. “Your bag,” she repeated.
The girl freed herself with a tug from her mother, closing the short distance between them in two heartbeats. Grace wasn’t afraid, because she’d been training with Keiji Kimora, Mickey Chase, and Kiyoko Shimizu for most of her life. She knew how
people ran when they were trying to fight you, and this girl wasn’t running like that. To Grace’s eyes, there wasn’t enough to the other girl to damage the butterflies that kissed the golden flowers in the family grounds, let alone fight her. But Iwao and Megumi were concerned, and the girl’s mother was fear/fear/terror/fear/run/terror/fear. None of which made sense, so Grace just stood there holding the bag out, and waiting for those two heartbeats to pass so she could talk to the other girl.
“Thanks,” said the girl in a breathless rush, a hand grabbing for the bag’s straps. Grace felt the way the weight shifted between them, from I-have-your-bag through to you-have-your-bag. She felt a dull concern/confusion mixed with interest/curiosity as the girl said, “I thought everyone had to leave?” It was phrased half statement, half question.
Grace looked at the ice cream vendor. The old woman seemed to shrug, so Grace said, “Not everyone. There’s still ice cream.”
“I’m so sorry,” said the girl’s mother, arriving to grab at her elbow. The mother wasn’t talking to Grace, but to Iwao and Megumi, who still stood like angry statues. “We tried to get out last night, but we missed the train.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” said Megumi.
“You should be killed for this,” said Iwao.
“What?” said Grace. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” said Megumi, holstering her blaster under her jacket, the beautiful weapon hidden away like a prize jewel. “Nothing at all, little Grace. Come.” She held a hand out to Grace, which was surprising because Megumi never wanted to touch her. No one did, but all Grace heard from Megumi was protect/fear/duty.
Grace turned from the girl, readying to go, then stopped. She held out the ice cream. “I haven’t eaten any,” she said. “I can get another. Would you like it?”
“Yes,” said the girl, as concern/fear/terror poured off her mother like fusion fire from a starship’s drive. The girl took the ice cream from Grace, the soft green color clear and crisp in the new light of the day. Green tea ice cream was soothing against Ise’s heat and humidity, good since Grace didn’t like tea without the ice cream around it. It was the first time Grace remembered giving something she owned to someone, as she had nothing of her own apart from a few clothes. The girl took the ice cream with a smile, licking it. She turned away from Grace with a wave, and made it three steps before she fell to the paved street, ice cream falling from her hand. One of her legs twitched twice before she lay still. In the moment between standing and lying down, Grace had felt confusion/pain/fear from her, and after her foot stopped moving, nothing at all.
Just a space in the world where a girl had been.
Megumi was already moving, blaster back out like it had always been in her hand. She covered Grace’s body with her own, but nothing could mask Grace’s surprise. She wanted to ask what was going on, and she wanted the girl to stand back up. But Iwao was moving like charged light, stance wide as he drew down on the ice cream vendor. The old woman had pulled a big blaster from behind her, and was readying to rain plasma on Iwao before he fired. He made one perfect shot, blue-white plasma accompanying a fzzzzt-crack. The old woman’s body was blown apart, the plasma destroying her body and the ice cream around her. To Grace, the air smelled of sweet, burnt ice cream, and it was the first smell she associated with death.
Megumi’s arms were around her as they hurried back to the air car. Grace tried not to look as they passed the body of the girl, her mother wailing over the still form, but her eyes were drawn like she was being compelled. The girl had been alive, and curious, and had a bag with a cat on the back of it, until Grace had given her a poisoned ice cream. Just like that, Grace had traded her life for someone else’s, and left ruin in her wake. She wanted to run, but Megumi’s hand on her arm was like a vice.
Kill/kill came from behind a wall to their right. It was a store that sold small conveniences, charge coils for electronics and Pocari for the heat. The door was open a crack, no lights on. Grace pointed. “There,” she said, afraid Megumi wouldn’t hear her. She needn’t have worried, Megumi moving like an auto turret on a holo vid, plasma fzzzt-cracking again and again against the wall of the store. There was a scream, and Grace made out the form of someone staggering about as flames consumed their flesh.
Up ahead, their air car sat, gull wings opening in welcome. Grace tried to pull free, feeling terror welling up inside her. They were just getting ice cream! They were getting ice cream before the heat of the day started, a rare allowance from her father, and now people were on fire.
There was a bang, and Megumi jerked against her. Grace felt something hot and wet against the side of her face, Megumi’s gasp louder than Grace’s own breathing. Megumi raised her weapon at an open window where a long metal barrel of an ancient rifle poked down at them, and fired her blaster. The window, wall, and everything behind them burned, the side of the building exploding out in a shower of ancient plaster.
Grace made to move forward, but Megumi was slower. Grace turned to see Megumi’s face, ashen, lips a grey line, glasses lost somewhere in the run to the car. Her suit jacket had been torn away left of her neck, the shoulder underneath a pulpy mess. Blood flowed like the small waterfall that fed the koi lake at the grounds. Megumi leaned close. “Run, little Grace.” Duty/duty/compassion. “Get to the car. It will protect you.”
“No,” said Grace. Two hours ago she wouldn’t have said it, but Megumi had wanted to touch her, and had called her little Grace. And those two things were unique, and mighty, and Grace felt like she might have made a friend by buying ice cream, even if someone else had to die. So, she stood there, and said, “No, not without you.”
A look came across Megumi’s face, a dawning realization that said she wasn’t getting out that easy. That in order for Grace to live, Megumi needed to live too. Megumi groaned as she pushed herself upright, a bloody smear remaining on the wall beside her. Together, they staggered toward the air car.
There was a rapid fire series of explosions behind them, heat lapping at Grace’s back. She turned as much as she could with Megumi’s good arm over her shoulders, and saw the street behind her engulfed in flame. The flame didn’t have the forced brightness of the plasma fire Grace had just seen. It was outside a stall that promised cheap noodles. Something in there had exploded, perhaps a power cell for cooking, or if the place was old enough, a real gas cylinder. Back that way was Iwao, and Grace was wondering if she’d see him again as a door banged open beside them. Iwao staggered out, suit smoking, a manic grin on his face. The grin fell as he saw Megumi. He took in Megumi’s arm around Grace’s shoulders, the blood covering both of them, and then he turned to look at the air car. “You … stayed,” he said. Like it was an idea that didn’t fit in his mind, it was more of a question than a statement.
“Yes,” said Grace. “Megumi’s hurt.” Which seemed a stupid thing to say, because of course Megumi was hurt, but despite her training this was not what she thought she was getting out of bed to face this morning.
“No other Gushiken would have stayed,” said Iwao. Megumi hissed with more than pain, and Iwao seemed to remember himself, the burning fires behind Grace reflecting in his glasses. He gave a bow. “I apologize. I misspoke.”
“We need to run,” said Megumi, in no state to run.
When they reached the air car, the safety of ascent beneath them, Iwao went to work with a small first aid kit on Megumi. He staunched blood as the car clawed the clouds for home. He said, “Fifty caliber, old weapon, no wonder it made it in under the scans.”
Megumi’s hand clawed his, her eyes bright. “We made it out,” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“No,” she said, some last vestige of strength pushing her out of her seat to lean forward. Her good hand grabbed for Iwao’s. “We made it out. Not her.”
Iwao’s eyes moved to Grace, then back to Megumi. “He will know. He always knows.”
“Not if he never has suspicion to look,” she said. Then she leaned back, st
rength gone, as unconsciousness took her.
Iwao kept working, not looking at Grace. “Do you understand, Grace?” The sweet-sour smell was gone, replaced by something that smelled like fear.
Grace looked at Megumi, who had called her little Grace, and who hadn’t wanted to touch her until she was scared Grace might die. She thought about her father and his lessons. “Yes,” she said.
• • •
Her father smiled as they exited the air car, rubbing a smear of drying blood on Grace’s face. He watched as Iwao took Megumi inside. “What was the lesson today, Grace?”
Grace had thought about it in the air car ride here. “There is danger everywhere, even when it looks safe.” She wanted to say, People can die for no reason. Grace wanted to say, Megumi is brave, because she wants to hide little Grace, the compassionate one, from even you. She wanted to scream at her father, You knew! But that wouldn’t bring the other girl back to life. Grace hid all of this behind her mask, the one she’d built for conversations like this.
Her father Kazuo Gushiken nodded. “Yes,” he said. “What else?”
Grace knew she should have kept her mouth shut, but before she knew it her chin jutted forward. “Ise is a city full of people who fear you.”
“No,” said her father. “It is a city empty of people who fear me.” He turned and walked away, leaving Grace near the blood-stained air car. He turned one last time on the edge of the landing pad. “This is why, Grace. It is to protect you from the evil in the world.”
She watched him go, hating him. Grace had hated him before, but it seemed more important now. While she rarely left the grounds, she knew more than the empty streets of Ise were outside. She scuffed her shoe against the ceramicrete landing pad, thinking, Ise is a prison. This whole place is a prison, made to contain me. She thought of the noise that buffeted against her from people, and wondered if the prison was to protect her, or cage her.
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