by Zen, Raeden
“Do you believe in the Legend?”
“I believe what I must, that this Dr. Shrader, whoever he is, was put in that mechanism for a reason, and I want to hope that whoever put him there had good reason.”
“Do you think he’s immune?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
“You sound like you care.”
“You know, you and I, beautiful Damosel, we’re not all that different.”
He paused, and Damy was curious where he was taking this, for she thought herself as opposite him as Jupiter to Mars. And he’d never called her beautiful before.
Verne pushed the sand around with a twig. “Sure, you’re Phanean and I’m Navitan.” The way he said Phanean made it sound like a curse. He leaned closer to Damy now, and she met his gaze. “You might be able to hide your feelings about this place from Marstone … but not from me.”
“I never said—”
“For a while I loved it too.” Verne plucked a few goldenrods and waved them around like wands, then handed them to Damy. “The sights and the sounds and the territories, Navita’s parades, Palaestra’s synism silos, the Fountain of Youth in Phanes. Serve Beimeni, live forever, they say. Well I say sure, I’ll live forever, problem is … all this,” Verne motioned his chin to the lake, “it’s all fake … you know it, and I think you loathe underground living as much as I do.”
Damy sniffed the goldenrod and feigned disinterest in his comments. She tried to remember the last time Brody had offered her a bouquet of any kind. Why was it so hard to find the time for each other when they shared a home and a bed?
“We were never meant to be so confined,” Verne added, “so controlled.” A seagull chick landed on the sand nearby. It twitched its wings and beak, and Verne smiled. Then it flew away. “We’re designed to expand, to explore, to advance, to love, to be loved … we’ll never have any of that down here—”
“We’ve failed in some ways,” Damy said, “but there have been successes. There has been conversion. There is hope still in the commonwealth and beyond. We’ve seen other planets. Brody’s team will lead us out—”
“Where, to the Earth’s surface, to death by Reassortment in horrific pain … no thanks, sister, I’d rather rot down here.” A gust kicked up, and Verne’s hair blew into his face. He pushed it aside. “So, you’ve been touring with the neophytes, what can you tell me about the RDD’s next victims?”
Damy laughed, for the first time with Vernon Lebrizzi. “They’re impressive,” she said. “There’s the one I mentioned, who interests me particularly.” Damy sipped her iced cappuccino and peered back up to the lake, hoping that Gwen wasn’t Noria’s daughter.
“What’s his name?” Verne said.
“Her name is Gwendolyn Horvearth, and I think she’s just the talent we need to get us through opening day.”
“What percentile did she perform in?”
Damy hadn’t yet conducted due diligence on Gwen, but she would not make the same mistake she had with Verne. “I’m not sure. Why don’t you check it out?”
Verne connected to the RDD’s and Marstone’s databases. Information normally restricted in Marstone’s Database was declassified for purchased Harpoon candidates. His eyes moved back and forth as he flipped through hundreds of thousands of pages of electronic data. “You’re sure her name’s Gwendolyn Horvearth?”
“I’m sure.”
“Here we go then,” Verne said, “birth year in 367, birthplace Seventh Ward, Transport City, Portage, Underground—”
“Central,” Damy said. Brody’s home territory and region.
“There’s more,” Verne said. “Gwen was left by her parents on the steps of a government building in Transport City with a cryptor that transmitted a message, Please take care of her. The administrators of Transport City sent her to the Portage Citadel, where Minister Kaspasparon sent a request to the developers at House Variscan, who—”
“Accept orphans,” Damy said, “and they developed her, the same as they did with—”
“Me,” Verne said.
And Brody and Nero, Damy thought. Nero was also abandoned by his parents, something which Damy knew bothered him still, all these decades later.
“She was the champion, just like …” Vernon looked up, and they both said, “Brody.” Verne closed the file. “Do you think there’s anything to the commonalities? Or is someone just fucking with you?”
“Charming,” Damy said. She wanted to say that she wasn’t sure, that there was something about Gwen that seemed … off. But she held back. She’d given Verne plenty of reason to dislike Gwen by comparing them this morning. It was wisest to avoid handing him ammunition against her.
At least she isn’t Noria’s, Damy thought. She recalled Gwen’s leadership, her enthusiasm, her persistence, her intelligence, and her arrogance during the tour. Just like Verne. And herself. Damy pondered the conversions she could achieve with Gwen and Verne on her team. Then another idea struck her.
Brody’s success on Vigna should ensure more time, but not endless time for his team, and a resource like Gwen, obsessed with terraforming, might be just what his team needed to send humanity back to the surface.
“I assume we’ll request her placement on Project Silkscape?” Verne said.
“No,” Damy said in a tone that bit, “the Reassortment team needs her more than we do.”
“Don’t they have enough?”
“Reassortment is the great challenge of our time, not Silkscape—”
“We’re behind schedule!”
“Submit a request for Gwen’s placement on Reassortment. This is my command, my decision, and it’s final.”
Verne gave her a long look, and complied.
ZPF Impulse Wave: Isabelle Lutetia
Beimeni City
Phanes, Underground Central
2,500 meters deep
Lady Isabelle stood within the hollowed dome of Marstone’s Cerebral Core. Sixty black bots surrounded her, inert, the Core’s laser security grid deactivated. She raised her arms and connected to the ZPF. The dome filled with galaxies and nebulae. The Milky Way spiraled above, then the solar system. The view blurred when she focused on Earth, sending her consciousness deep inside, four thousand meters deep, to the Lower Level—and her sweet Antosha’s mind.
When will I find myself outside the boundaries of this Lower Level, Antosha sent, back in Phanes where I should be, with you?
Not soon enough. Isabelle’s speeding heart calmed. She felt warm and beautiful, hearing Antosha’s voice. It had been two trimesters since they had last spoken. Why hasn’t the Controller allowed you access to the zeropoint field?
Part of Antosha’s sentencing included routine injections of E. barrier, a synism that disrupted the transhuman mind-body-cosmos connection. But Isabelle paid the Controller tens of thousands of benaris for his cooperation—and agreement that he miss injections now and then—assuring him that her conversations with Antosha were a matter of national security regarding the campaign against the Beimeni Polemon. She promised the Controller she’d force Chancellor Masimovian to allow his return after they won the war, one of many lies she’d told him over the years. If he continued to disobey her, she might have to find another catspaw to run the Lower Level.
The Controller thinks he works for the good of transhumans and the commonwealth. Antosha’s voice softened. He mistakenly believes his power is granted by the chancellor. The great fool doesn’t understand where true power is derived—
The genes. Isabelle finished his thought, as she often did.
I long to return to Beimeni, complete my work, and lead the people back to the surface with you.
Isabelle placed her hand against her chest, over her golden phoenix. As the gods intended. She didn’t believe in the Twin Gods, for they’d never answered her prayers. But she knew Antosha held faith in them. He’d visited the Spa of Delphi often when he lived in the Beimeni zone.
What news from the commonwealth?
Heyw
ood sent the Barão Strike Team to Vigna. Isabelle twisted one of her golden rings, then held up her forefingers, examining her nails and rings.
I thought we agreed that might not be wise.
Isabelle dropped her hands to her sides. To achieve perfection we must have the Lorum. You admitted so—
I told you we need the Lorum’s DNA. Antosha paused. Though I yearn for the Barão Strike Team to suffer, slowly and painfully, either during a failed jump through space-time or at the hands of the Lorum, I would have preferred to study the alien from a safe distance, from Mars, to fully assess its weaknesses, to develop my skills in transmigration and translate its chromosomes—
I had no choice.
With close contact, the Lorum may now learn our flaws.
The transmissions disappeared from Candor Chasma!
This is fraught with risk.
I had to adjust when the chancellor delayed your return. Isabelle put her hands on her hips. And the Barão Strike Team’s continued failure with Reassortment and Regenesis cannot go unpunished!
It won’t. What of Jeremiah Selendia?
Secure in my new prison, soon to be joined by his sons.
Isabelle received a Marstone summons from Chancellor Masimovian. She ignored him.
Tell me about Jeremiah’s capture, tell me about … his sons?
Much has happened since we last spoke, my love. Jeremiah has three illegal heirs. The eldest, Zorian, was the Polemon named Jonyn I told you about. The fool thinks I’ll grant him clemency for cooperation. He infected his father with E. barrier for me. You should’ve seen Jeremiah when we surrounded him and he couldn’t access the field.
I could only imagine.
The middle son, Johann, I apprehended along with the youngest, Cornelius, in Ypresia Village. But they somehow escaped from the DOP. We reacquired Johann, but Cornelius escaped with Murray Olyorna.
Murray …
A former Reassortment research scientist on Jeremiah’s team, the BP’s developer according to my intel.
Where is Johann now?
A corpse in quarantine. I sent him to the surface, but Cornelius and Murray elude me still. The youngest Selendia is underdeveloped. He won’t survive for long.
I’d like to meet this Zorian.
You might get the chance. He’s in Masimovian Tower as we speak.
Splendid. You might consider keeping him around awhile longer. Antosha paused. Jeremiah grew more careless than we imagined. How could he think we’d not find his heirs? And how could he believe we wouldn’t be able to turn them to our cause? With him gone, I trust the Front is disintegrating, as you assumed?
Isabelle looked down. Wish that were so. The BP’s influence strengthens by the day, near as fast as the economy weakens. It’s as if some reflexive disease has taken hold.
Does the chancellor suggest a means to end the war with the BP? When will he grant my release?
He drinks himself comatose by day and beds his maidens by night. Just thinking about him made Isabelle want to gag. The slob is barely in connection with the Janzers any longer, making my job more difficult. But he assures me he’ll grant your reinstatement. The chancellor expects you to … aid me in my search for the Polemon.
You are truly a protector of the commonwealth and I would see you above the world rather than beneath it.
Where humanity belongs. Isabelle blew out a deep breath. My love, I must confess, we have a separate issue. She paused. Miss Damosel didn’t accept Gwendolyn Horvearth to her team, and worse, she recommended our Harpoon Champion to shadow Captain Barão on Reassortment. How can we move forward?
That’s fine … in fact, that’s even better.
The chancellor sent another summons through Marstone. Though Isabelle didn’t respond, she sensed his growing agitation through the ZPF.
I must go. Atticus seems to have sobered long enough to notice my absence.
Will wonders never cease. Be well, my dove.
Stay alive. I’ll have you out of there soon.
Masimovian Tower
Beimeni City, Phanes
Isabelle rubbed the soft fabric of her silk scarf as she made her way beneath an archway, her gown sweeping the carbyne floor behind her. Atticus had summoned her to the Library Level. He stood in the reading room, searching the semicircular cases full of holographic books, which glowed with white phosphorescent light. A Janzer stood on either side of him, along with several keeper bots. They bowed to Isabelle upon her approach.
“You seem pleased with yourself,” he said without looking up. He closed his eyes, disengaging his extended consciousness from the texts, and turned toward her. He was nothing like the man she’d fallen in love with, centuries ago—his breath reeking of alcohol, his eyes bloodshot, his face as full as a warthog’s, his voice full of hate. “Where have you been?”
“I told you I would search for the whelp this day.”
He bristled and his entire face twitched. “You sent Icarian to Farino Prison without my approval. And you found Jeremiah’s eldest son, but didn’t tell me!” Atticus closed the distance between them and leaned toward her ear. “What else are you hiding, my lady? Pray tell.”
She drew back, then slowly orbited him as if she were lecturing in Harpoon class. He stood still and turned his head with hers, like a Harpoon candidate. She ran her forefingers over the back of his neck. “It’s my job to protect the people—”
He grabbed her wrist, twisting her to him, drawing her face close to his. The smell of booze hung on his breath. “Your job is to please me, Isabelle.”
She broke free and slapped him, forward and backward, letting her many rings slice his cheeks. He narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth, his tongue on his lower lip.
“I’m not in the mood,” she said.
The chancellor swiped his hand toward a keeper bot, which injected him with uficilin, healing his cuts. The bot then wiped his face of blood.
After it finished, Atticus reached for the pendant around his neck. He sent a command, and the Janzers departed, the bots trailing behind. Isabelle sensed the clash of anger and lust within her eternal partner, enjoying his confusion. Atticus did like it rough.
Once they were alone, he turned to her. “You left the BP’s most skilled telepath in my tower and kept it to yourself. Do you take me for one of your Harpoon candidates?”
Isabelle took care to block him from her mind. “I take you for our leader,” she said, her voice as soft as rose petals, “and I thought the apprehension of one of the Polemon’s last commanders would please you.” She raised her hand toward his face, bracelets jangling. He flinched. She smiled and brushed her forefingers over the beads of sweat upon his forehead. “Those maidens can’t handle you the way I can.” His breathing calmed. “Come,” she added, “let us meet with Zorian Selendia, together.”
She took him by the arm to the Cellar Level, where two Janzer divisions and a pack of tenehounds surrounded Zorian. His wrists were cuffed, his chin and face glowing green from the Converse Collar.
“Forgive me,” Atticus said, “we sometimes forget our courtesies.” He nodded to a Janzer, who then unlocked the collar, deactivating it.
Isabelle felt Zorian’s presence in the ZPF immediately. His quantum energy pulsated around her, alarmingly powerful. Her heart drummed.
“If I wanted to kill you,” Zorian said, “I would have done so already.”
Isabelle laughed. “Child, you think you’re skilled because your father is Jeremiah Selendia. You think you’ve suffered because you’ve never known life outside a family you never understood, and now loathe.” Zorian pressed his lips together, blinking. He folded his arms. “Oh yes, child, much as you think you’ve seen my mind, I’ve seen yours. I’ve seen your fights with your brother, your hatred for your father, and your love for the commonwealth’s central territories.”
In truth, Isabelle had seen all this in brief glimpses, when Zorian was bleeding out from tenehound bites. And it wasn’t so much love for Vivo or Nexirenna as it
was, she hoped, desire to live a legal life. As soon as she’d injected him with uficilin, he blocked her out again. She couldn’t see him, truly, when he focused. Even now, he evaded her.
The pillars and cellar flashed. The animated sea-life tattoos upon Zorian’s arms spread as if they had wings, engulfing Isabelle and Atticus. The Janzers activated their pulse weapons and drew their swords, while the tenehounds howled. The Cellar Level disappeared …
… Replaced by what Isabelle could only construe as construction assembly lines, obscured by geothermal steam. What the terrorists were building, only the gods knew, but it couldn’t bode well for the commonwealth. Men and women raised and lowered hammers. Alloy sparked. The smell of burning oil and minerals filled the air.
The scene shifted. She, Zorian, and Atticus now stood in a maze of tunnels. Endless tunnels! They snaked up and down and left and right, all throughout the underground, where the BP took care to hide a piping system, which, it seemed, stole cool water from the commonwealth. They somehow avoided detection, though Isabelle would conduct more research into this. Zorian took them deeper, or parallel, to the Beimeni zone. It was hard for Isabelle to keep up with his mind. He stopped and she turned, observing a cavern hidden from the commonwealth with lichen and false limestone. The BP stored synism vials along the riverbanks, beneath the rivers, at the wharfs, within the ships, and through the walls, side by side. It made sense to Isabelle now, how the BP had survived so long, how the war had dragged on for decades. This was the result of the BP’s attacks in the RDD. Isabelle felt nauseated. How could they drain resources from more than three hundred million people? How could they put so many at risk?
The way of Reassortment with them, she thought.
The view shifted, blending people and places together and pulling them apart. Zorian led them through the underground from Gaia in the West to Portage and Phanes in Central to Gubertiana in the Northeast, to all thirty territories in the Great Commonwealth—ending in Navita.