The Velocity of Revolution

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “You need me to go to the baths?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Of course.” Wenthi was about to go, when he added, “Those two officers who escorted me here? Needlessly aggressive.”

  “Indeed, I saw how they treated you,” the clerk asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t care about that. They were crude and unseemly to both my sister—a llipe woman, Lathéi Tungét—and her guest, a Hemish woman named Nieçal Oshnå. They seemed to think that just because they were in the company of two rhique, they did not deserve the courtesy of their station.”

  The clerk nodded. “I’ll pass that along. Now go.” The clerk waved him away. “With some haste.”

  Wenthi followed directions to the baths, surprised that there even was such a thing here. He thought these were administrative buildings, offices for the people running the city and the country. But maybe that’s why they had such things within the building: They were too busy to leave for personal matters.

  He had been expecting a small, functional bathing chamber, but instead found a wide garden, open to the sky but walled on all sides. Stone tile floor, surrounding the hot spring pool in the center, with wooden benches and bamboo stalks around the perimeter, with shower heads lining the wall. Wenthi instinctively took his boots off. While he had not been to one of these in some years, he still knew the etiquette. He left them and his hat in a niche by the door and went farther in.

  There were four other people in the chamber—two in the spring pool, and two standing at attention at the benches. The two at the benches were clearly the bath servants—older women whose dark skin and hard features made Wenthi think they might be baniz, but they had to have been at least jifoz to be eligible to work in this district. They stood silently ready, rough sponges and buckets of water in hand.

  The man in the spring was swimming unflaggingly, hard laps through the steamy water, while the woman soaked at one corner. She took note of Wenthi as he stepped over to the pool’s edge.

  “So you’re the one,” she said coolly. Wenthi knew he had met her before—she was a llipe woman of clearly pure Sehosian descent. Surely one of the Roots of the Prime Families. He must have met her when he was much younger, still accompanying Mother to events. If that were the case, it would have been at an occasion when she was fully dressed, jewels adorning her features. With her naked in the bath, he had no context to place her. As with many women with Sehosian features, she had a certain ageless quality. She might be his age, or his mother’s, or even older. Of course, her age didn’t matter right now: Even having been ordered to come, he was intruding on her space simply by being rhique.

  “I was told to come here,” he said deferentially. “Officer Wenthi Tungét, though I’m not in uniform.”

  “No need,” she said. “Have a seat. He’s finishing up.”

  Wenthi took a place on one of the benches as the man swam eleven more laps. Once he completed the last one, he emerged from the pool, wiping the water off his face. Only then did Wenthi realize who the man was: Tiré Sengejú, the High Captain of the Welfare Forces. Wenthi instinctively got to his feet as the lean, naked man finally turned his attention to him.

  “Ah,” Sengejú said with a nod. “You must be Angú’s boy.”

  “Angú Tungét is my mother, sir,” Wenthi said.

  “Yes, yes,” Sengejú said, giving the slightest gesture to one of the bath servants. She came over silently and began soaping his body with her sponge.

  “We hear you had quite a good catch last night, Wenthi,” he said. “Nabbed one of those fuel-thieving rebels.”

  “Well done,” the woman said, still luxuriating in the water.

  “Did you know when you caught her she was using the mycopsilaria?” he asked.

  “Not explicitly, sir,” Wenthi said.

  “She was,” he said. “As was her accomplice, who was also caught last night.”

  “I had heard that there was a second arrest, sir.”

  “There was, which created . . . complications. What I’ll tell you must remain confidential, Officer Tungét.”

  “Of course, sir,” Wenthi said.

  “Her accomplice was a young man named Enzúri Hwungko. Does that mean anything to you?”

  Hwungko, like Tungét, was one of the Prime Families. A line that could be traced to the old Sehosian Empire’s initial arrival in Pinogoz.

  Context. The woman was Ainiro Hwungko. The Root of the Hwungko Branch of the Prime Families, and councilor in the Provisional Government Congress.

  Just as Mother was for the Tungét Branch.

  And she was the woman he had spotted leaving the third floor.

  “Of course, sir,” Wenthi said.

  “Of course,” Sengejú said as the servant scrubbed at his back. “Needless to say, a certain degree of delicacy had to be undertaken. The family was deeply saddened to hear that one of their own had fallen in with this absurd rebellion.”

  “Mortified,” Senia Hwungko said. “My nephew always had a head full of nothing, and he’s proven it beyond doubt.”

  “Of course, he will be sanctioned,” Sengejú said. “But he has confessed a few intriguing points, which gives us . . . a unique opportunity. And that’s where you come in, Officer.”

  “I am here to serve, sir,” Wenthi said. “What do you need?”

  “This boy is lovely,” Hwungko said.

  “What do you know of the mycopsilaria mushroom, son?” Sengejú asked.

  “It’s dangerous, of course.”

  “It is,” Sengejú said. “It’s also powerful. We’ve known the rebels and undercastes insist on using it, but we’ve now learned that’s why they are usually so hard to catch.”

  “What?”

  Hwungko answered as she got out of the pool, her servant immediately approaching. “They say using it expands their senses. Enzúri admitted—”

  “He took it?” Wenthi asked, and then quickly bowed his head, hoping to not offend with his interruption.

  “I felt the same way,” Hwungko said. “Sickened. That he sullied himself, and spirits even know in what other ways.”

  “Ainiro,” Sengejú said sharply.

  She sighed, continuing. “But he used it, and he claimed that when they did, they could feel law officers and alliance patrol at a distance. Knew they were coming, and thus got away.”

  “That didn’t seem to be the case, senia,” Wenthi said. “At least when I caught her.”

  “That’s apparently just it,” Sengejú said as he strolled over to the showerhead. “They didn’t sense you.”

  “I’m not sure what that means, sir,” Wenthi admitted.

  “We aren’t quite yet, either, Officer,” Sengejú said as he started to rinse the soap off his body. “But we want to explore an idea that you could be used against the rebels. We’ve tried to get officers to infiltrate the rebel cells before, never to any success. They’re always found out. We want to do further tests, but we’re thinking, maybe you won’t be.”

  His servant turned off the shower and started vigorously toweling him dry.

  Wenthi wasn’t sure what to make of this. “I’m always willing, sir,” he said. “I’ll confess I don’t understand this business with the mushroom and expanded senses, but I’m here for my duty, whatever you say it is.”

  “Good, son,” Sengejú said. “You understand this isn’t going to be working a shift, but rather you will be fully embedded in this role. You will be gone from your home and family for several weeks, even seasons.”

  “I’m here for my duty, sir,” Wenthi said.

  “New cards, new identity. Reclassified as jifoz.”

  “That is the challenge, isn’t it?” Hwungko said, her voice almost a cat’s purr. “Finding someone who will be loyal, but can plausibly pass as jifoz. But that’s definitely you, isn’t it?”

 
Wenthi took that in. Was Sengejú trying to frighten him? Test him?

  That pause must have looked like hesitation, as Sengejú went on, giving only a hint of a glare at Senia Hwungko. “Now, we are looking for officers of note within the patrol. We need to identify the people who can step up, be part of the leadership. A young man with your drive, your loyalty, and your name, if we’re being honest—you could be an excellent candidate to be promoted to the leadership.”

  “Someone needs to be the first, after all,” Hwungko said.

  “I understand what it’ll take, sir. I’m not wavering. If living a few seasons as a jifoz lets me get in with the rebels, stop their vandalism, I can do that. Whatever you need.” Was that what they wanted to hear? Was that the commitment they wanted him to give? Fine. Given. He had become an officer to prove his value, to help the people of this country. He’d gladly do what was asked.

  “A loyal boy, indeed,” Hwungko said, going over to the showers with her servant in tow.

  “Good,” Sengejú said. His servant brought over his dress robes. “Go home, put your affairs in order. We’ll be expecting you at the 9th Senja tomorrow at zero sweep on the naught.”

  “Sir,” Wenthi said with a quick bow of his head. Nothing else needed to be said, as he knew he should quickly retreat, put his boots on, and leave the baths. He had been told to go, and there was no call for him to linger. His mother had taught him well enough over the years to know his place.

  11

  Wenthi left the Damas Kom on his cycle, given a cursory check of his cards once again when passing the checkpoint. He rode with the flow of morning traffic as he wound his way through the 3rd Senja, avoiding the urge to weave and whisk his way around the autos and sedans. At this hour, of course, the streets and traffic circles of the 3rd Senja were so choked, even a corn-burning motorwasp couldn’t find a hole to weave through, let alone Wenthi’s Ungeke K’au.

  He wasn’t going to be able to take his cycle on this assignment. Would he need to garage it at the headquarters? At his mother’s? Would Mother want it in her garage with her shiny Kosopém sedan? Would her driver know how to take care of it?

  Maybe he should leave it with Paulei.

  After the expected checkpoint stops from the 3rd to the 8th, and then the 8th to the 9th, he stopped at the Circle Omes petrol station, where his ration card would be accepted today. Since it was his day, he should top off, regardless. Once he was able to get in line, it only took about ten swipes to get up front. Cycle lines went faster than autos or sedans, and rhique could use most of the pumps. Even still, he let a couple jifoz cycle-couriers go ahead of him. They surely were on the job, needing to get rolling again as soon as possible. Wenthi knew that, despite the things Lathéi and Paulei were saying last night, most of the jifoz working Intown were good, decent folk. Hard-working people, like all the staff at the KT dorm, usually on a tight schedule. Every swipe of the clock hand mattered. All he needed to do was go back to the dorm, eat something, and sleep for a couple sweeps. He could wait a bit longer for fuel.

  Topped off, he made his way home, through the weaving streets and tunnels. Part of him felt that, if he was going to go on an infiltration mission, for who knew how long, he should make the most of the day, but he was just too tired. He pulled up to the KT dorm. Guiho ran up to him as he powered down the engine at the cycle post in front of the building.

  “Hello, sir,” Guiho said to him. “Do you need me to take your cycle into the covered park? Or shine it up?”

  “No, no,” Wenthi said. “But thank you.”

  “No, thank you,” Guiho said. “I—I can’t afford to—”

  “It’s fine,” Wenthi said. “Where are you coming in from? The 11th? 14th?”

  “Ako Favel,” Guiho said. “The 16th Senja.”

  Wenthi rarely rode patrol out there. Worst part of Outtown. That had been where the largest of Rodiguen’s purge camps was, as well as his city garrison, and it was bombed the hardest during Great Noble. Still not rebuilt in any way. A complete disaster.

  Wenthi slipped a couple coins to Guiho. “Yeah, maybe polish it. If you get the chance.”

  “Thank you, sir,”

  Wenthi went inside, and realized he was more hungry than tired, and went to the cafeteria. As he came in, Paulei ran up behind him, grabbing him in an embrace.

  “Everything all right?” Paulei asked.

  “Fine, fine,” Wenthi said. “I . . . they want me for an infil mission.”

  “Really? With?”

  “With those petrol-stealing cycle gangs.”

  “Huh,” Paulei said. “Strange way to ask you.”

  “Everything fine with getting Lathéi and Oshnå home safe?”

  “Yeah, fine. I radioed Hwokó to come out and help ride them home. Oh, did you see this?”

  He handed Wenthi one of the morning newspapers. Someone had gotten a tinplate of Lath and Oshnå at the Fire Chile, with him and Paulei slightly out of focus on the side. The article was headlined LATHÉI IS BACK IN TOWN, DRESSED LIKE A DUMAMÅNG STAR.

  “The press always loved her,” Wenthi mused. “She does tinplate pretty well.”

  “That’s some truth,” Paulei said. He touched Wenthi’s chin. “Your mother did make some beautiful kids.”

  “You’re a little too built up, friend,” Wenthi said. “I need to eat something before I do anything else.”

  “Fair,” Paulei said. “So let’s—”

  Before he finished that thought, the desk manager ran up to them with a yellow cablesheet.

  “Sorry, Mister Tungét,” she said, a little out of breath. “This cable just came for you, declared urgent.”

  “Who would send a cable if it was urgent?” Paulei mused.

  Wenthi already knew the answer to that, and glancing at it confirmed the answer.

  COME TO THE HOUSEHOLD IMMEDIATELY. —MOTHER

  12

  Still hungry and tired, Wenthi rode to the checkpoint between the 9th and 2nd senjas. He knew better than to make his mother wait, and the checkpoint stop was always at least a little trouble.. How much trouble, depended on who was working the checkpoint.

  “Not working today, Wenthi?” Oswai, one of the regular zoika officers at this check, said as he pulled up. “Didn’t think you beat patrol folks got many days off.”

  “Today’s special,” Wenthi said, handing over his identity cards as a matter of course. He knew Oswai, but not the other one.

  “Does he have a work pass for the 2nd?” the other asked.

  “Nah,” Oswai said. “Family disposition. Rhique with a llipe mother.”

  “Huh,” the other officer said, glancing at Wenthi’s cards. “I didn’t think the 2nd had family privileges, even for that.” She took another look. “Oh, Tungét. I didn’t realize llipe meant . . . yeah.”

  Wenthi was long used to it. In the seven years since he had to leave Mother’s household and get residence in a district that his caste was authorized for, he had faced frequent questions and challenges crossing into the 2nd Senja. By now, most of the folk working the checkpoint knew exactly who he was.

  Being a cycle cop helped. He was almost never given too hard a time when he was in full uniform.

  Didn’t change the fact that it was a fair amount of hassle to visit his mother.

  He passed through and turned down the winding slope into the 2nd Senja, which dropped low into the river valley as the Enidizzar flowed into the bay. The last turn popped back up onto the hill where Mother’s household had an overlook of the water.

  Wenthi stopped outside the bright blue wooden gate and rang the bell. In a moment, Isacha was opening up the gate.

  “Hello, Mister Wenthi,” he said, his voice a creak. He was an old baniz man, and normally it would be impossible for him to work in the household. But he had been in Mother’s employ for as long as Wenthi could remember. Possibly befo
re the end of the Second Transoceanic. Mother had spent quite a bit of clout to keep Isacha around. Except for the time he and Lathéi were separated from Mother during the Great Noble, Isacha had been a fixture in Wenthi’s childhood.

  “How’s the house?” Wenthi asked, getting off his cycle and walking it into the wide parking way in front of the household. As usual, it was impeccably kept on the outside: green grass neatly trimmed, the garden bordering the walkways blooming with cacti and succulents, all perfectly organized to complement the house itself—bright peach walls of smooth-plastered stone, with marigold ceramic tiles for the roof.

  “It’s quieter, Mister Wenthi,” Isacha said. “Though Miss Lathéi came in about a sweep ago. I’m certain she’s asleep.”

  “I envy her,” Wenthi said. “I could stand to do that, myself, at least a sweep. Would my old room still be available?”

  Isacha looked a bit nervous. “I would have to confirm with ya senia, sir.”

  “Of course, of course,” Wenthi said. “I don’t want to put you out or anything. Is she about?”

  “The back terrace,” Isacha said. “Take the garden path around.”

  Wenthi knew the way, and of course everyone would follow protocol. He would come to the household, but never come inside until his mother explicitly asked him in. As was the way. Mother insisted on all the rules of caste etiquette when Wenthi came, even though no one but family and staff were around. While she never voiced it directly, Wenthi sometimes wondered if she resented having a rhique child.

  The path led him around to the back of the house, to the back terrace, overlooking the walled-in property garden and pool, and beyond that, the vista of the harbor. The crystal blue of the Pino Sound shone off the morning sun, as grand Pinogozi tankers headed out to sea with Alliance corvette and submarine escorts.

  Angú Tungét, Root of the Tungét Branch of the Prime Families, councilor of the Provisional Government Congress, sat at the head of the glass table, coffee in one hand, cigarillo in the other. Wenthi walked up from behind her and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Morning, Mother.”