The Velocity of Revolution

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “You’re usually as subtle as a brick in the face, dear. Which is what I like about you. Come in.”

  She closed the gate and brought her into the house. “Did you hear what happened to my father?” Ajiñe asked.

  Miss Dallatan went to the icebox and pulled out a couple bottles of Arlacasta. She was the only one on Street Xaomico to have good stuff like that. Ajiñe wondered if she was getting it out for the charity of it, or just as a demonstration of her own wealth and power. It could be either with Miss Dallatan. Either way, Ajiñe took it and savored the sweet, rich goodness.

  “Let me guess. They got wind of Ziva doing her Spirit Dance so they cut his parental rations?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And left Ziva with nothing because she’s too young to earn her own?”

  “You’ve heard this song before.”

  “It’s been around longer than I have,” Miss Dallatan said. “Somewhere in the Shattered years, when this city was under the Reloumene, they made that policy to force undercaste folks into stopping Spirit Dances. Didn’t work, but, well, they love enforcing the policy anyway.”

  “Can you help us?”

  “I don’t know, what can Ziva do?”

  “She’s patched up these pants pretty good,” Ajiñe said, lifting her leg to show off the patch on the large rip going through the crotch of the pants. She also showed off the hole that Ziva didn’t patch, hoping the flash of skin would keep Miss Dallatan’s attention. “And she’s the one who can cook.”

  “All right, I’ll ask around. Maybe there’s a taco shop or meat stand that needs an apprentice. I could get Anlezri to apprentice her at the tailor shop, but . . .”

  “But?”

  “He does like to have his apprentices watch him touch himself . . .”

  “The meat stand would be lovely,” Ajiñe said firmly.

  “I can—” Miss Dallatan said before her radio went from the Sehosian Orchestra to a cool alto voice.

  “No rest for the wicked, dear friends, the trucks are rolling and the people are hungry. Ride hard and fast to feed them all.”

  Miss Dallatan raised an eyebrow. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Yeah,” Ajiñe said. “That was Varazina. She just gave me a new mission.” She finished the last of the Arlacasta—not going to waste that—and kissed Miss Dallatan warmly. “Thank you for Ziva.”

  “I like that girl, and your father.” Miss Dallatan grabbed her ass and squeezed. “You’re pretty good too. But you’ve got important things to do. I’ll see you later.”

  33

  Ajiñe went down the street to the phonebox, where she passed Renzi walking back up.

  “We still on for working the cycle?” he asked.

  “You tell me,” she said.

  “I thought so.”

  “I need to make a call,” she said. “Go over to the shop, my papa is expecting you. Be there in a bit.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Everything all right?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Let me make the call and I’ll let you know.”

  He shrugged and went back up.

  The phonebox was like most of the ones in this part of town: an ugly steel box with the door ripped off, papered with Alliance propaganda about giving more and paying back the debt—the shit they know about debt?—and then those prop sheets torn and written over.

  She got in and called into the switchboard.

  “Connection?”

  “Fourteen-Atreina-Seven-Seven.”

  “One moment.” The buzz and click of the switchover, and then the ring of the other end of the line.

  “Well?” Nicalla’s voice on the line.

  They all knew that the shitheads, both the Civil Patrol and the Alliance Guard, would listen in on calls, even in the phoneboxes. Not that they knew who was on the lines: Ajiñe was in a public box, and Nicalla’s box was rigged up with trick switches so even the shitheads couldn’t track it. Nicalla was too smart for them.

  Still, they had to be careful what they said.

  “I heard our old friend was looking for me,” Ajiñe said.

  “That’s true,” Nicalla said. “She was hoping you could do a favor.”

  “Is it her usual favor?”

  “No,” Nicalla said. “She was hoping you’d help her with dinner.”

  That meant food delivery trucks.

  “I’d always love to help. Do you think I should invite a new friend for dinner?”

  Nicalla paused for a moment. “Yes, I think this would be a good time for him to come.”

  “Is that you or our old friend saying that?”

  “It’s my decision,” Nicalla said. “And I think it’s a good idea. If he’s hungry and wants to join us.”

  “I’m going to go ask him. When should we come over?”

  “See you tonight at six sweep on the naught. And make sure you all have clean shirts on.”

  “I understand,” Ajiñe said. There were a number of places around Outtown where they had arranged to meet before a mission. Tonight, it was in the alley behind the laundry shop on Circle Yendwei. “Tell the family I miss them.”

  An instruction to have the rest of the cell hold back, in case of ambush. She still had doubts about Renzi, and if she was going to bring him in, she’d minimize the risk.

  “They’ll see you there,” Nicalla said. “And everyone will be eager for a taste of what’s being cooked up tonight.”

  “Great,” Ajiñe said. “See you tonight.”

  She hung up and got out of the box fast, walking into the circle grocer across the street, cutting through and out the back of the store. Then up the alley to wrap around her way back to Street Xaomico. An absurd series of precautions, because it was unlikely the patrol were specifically tapping that call. Even if they were, even more unlikely that they also were watching that box, or could send a pair of tories to cycle past it quick enough to see who made the call. But Ajiñe had too much to lose to not take extra care.

  She made her way to Papa’s shop, where Renzi was already sitting on the ground with Papa, swapping out the burnt hoses.

  “He’s got a good machine here,” Papa said. “Don’t know who thought it was a good idea to put an inline four from a 1296 in this—I bet the heat singes your leg—”

  “Little bit,” Renzi said. “That’s why my pants have the mark here.”

  “But he’s a tight machine for a junkbash 960.” Papa laughed with approval. “Needs new oil and coolant, though.”

  “Do you have that to spare?” Renzi asked.

  “Not for free, boy,” Papa said.

  “No, of course,” Renzi said. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “I’ll go fetch it.” Papa walked past Ajiñe, tapping her on the arm. “Nice boy.”

  “Too nice for me, Papa,” she said.

  “We’ll see,” he said as he went into the storeroom.

  Renzi pulled himself up onto one knee, kneeling next to his cycle. “Something up?”

  “Are you good to ride tonight?” Ajiñe asked him.

  “There another race?”

  “No,” she said. “This wouldn’t be a race.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Does that mean—”

  “Yes,” she said. “So . . . are you good to ride tonight?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

  34

  Tonight, they weren’t standing on any sort of ceremony. Ajiñe welcomed having Renzi join them for this run—it was a test, of course—but she needed to decide whether or not to trust him. They had come here, to the alley behind the laundry shop, straight from Papa’s shop, and he had stayed in her sight the whole time. He hadn’t had the chance to betray them yet. Of course, he might have been anticipating that. He had been wal
king back from the phonebox. Had he made a call? Maybe someone had followed from the shop.

  As usual for a run like this, she had her hard denim slacks and jacket, goggles and helmet. Renzi was dressed the same, ready for action. He had asked about bringing a pistol or handcannon, but she had made it clear that was not part of the plan. “Pistols give the tories an excuse.” She did have Urka Quibala’s military knife on her hip, though.

  “So what are we doing?” he asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” she said.

  “You don’t?”

  “You’ll find out when I do, and that’s when we move. That’s how it works.”

  “Ah,” he said, leaning into the seat of his cycle. “You’re still testing me.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No,” he said. “I mean, I’m testing you all as well.”

  “Are you?”

  He gave her a cocky smile. “I’m still trying to decide if you are just a common gang on a lark, or if you actually are living up to these grander goals.”

  “And yet you said you were in.”

  “I’m in for a lark, sure. But I want to find out how deep this goes. Is it just you and your friends taking the mushroom, playing revolutionary, or are you trying to do something real?”

  “What are you doing that’s real?”

  “Me?” He sighed. “Nothing, and that’s the problem. I’ve already been locked up for nothing, though, so if I have to do that shit again, I want it to be for something. So you tell me—not knowing what we’re going to do, can you tell me it’ll matter?”

  She did know the answer to that, and it annoyed her that he was asking. “Yeah, it will.”

  “So you do know something.”

  “I know what, but not where,” she said. “We do this right, it means the difference between people going hungry or not.”

  That got his attention. “By ‘people,’ do you mean your family, or people in a larger sense?”

  “Both,” she said. She didn’t want to talk about her family’s situation with him. “What’s your food ration like?”

  “Not as bad as my fuel one,” he said. “I usually eat at the Henáca place with the family.”

  “And your ration chits?”

  “I give them to Anizé.” So he knew how to be part of a family, even one he just joined. That was in his favor.

  She looked out of the alley, partly to see if she could spot Fenito, or Mensi, and partly to see if anyone seemed to be following or watching them. Neither one. “And you know it’s bullshit, don’t you?”

  “What is?”

  “Food rationing,” she said. “Fuel rationing. All of it is just an excuse to keep their thumb on us.”

  “Do you think it’s a lie or something? They aren’t sending fuel and food to the war effort?”

  “I’m sure they are. But why do they send ours? You best believe the folks in Intown aren’t going hungry or unable to fill their tanks. The overcastes aren’t being asked to pay their debt.”

  Renzi frowned but didn’t say anything.

  She looked out of the alley again. Gabrána was standing on the other side of the circle, looking pretty in her belly-tied loose blouse and tight pants, dressed just like Xang Xewung in the opening scene of The Desperate Ladies. Ajiñe had seen it in the cinescopes with Gab at least three times, and Gab had seen it often enough to mouth every line Xang said along with her. Every time they were on a job, if she could, Gabrána would dress exactly like a character from one of her favorite scopes.

  Ajiñe never had the heart to tell Gab plain that she would never be on that screen herself. Let her keep that impossible dream.

  For now, though, Gabrána was on watch, and any tories who rode past her would assume she was a curbgirl looking to make coin and leave her alone. Ajiñe always felt better on a run if Gabrána was on watch. She always spotted more than anyone.

  “Stay right here,” she told Renzi, and went out across the circle to Gab.

  “Hey, girl,” Gabrána said casually. “You looking for a tumble?”

  “Maybe a taste for a chit?” Ajiñe said, holding up the coin.

  “I’ll take it, it’s been slow.” She took the coin and grabbed Ajiñe by the front of her shirt, pulling her close before kissing her hard and strong.

  She slid her tongue into Ajiñe’s mouth, and with it, a dusting of the mushroom.

  “That’s enough taste for you and a friend,” Gab said, pushing her away. “All you get for a chit.”

  “All I need for now,” Ajiñe said. “But I might come back later.”

  She went back to the alley, still feeling the warmth of Gabrána’s mouth on hers, and feeling Gab’s own mouth, the tight pinch of her pants, the cool breeze on her bare stomach. And the web spread from her—to Mensi on another curb, wearing just an open jacket and denim pants with the top two buttons undone, showing off the tight muscles of his stomach and hips and a hint of what more he had. Every spirit watching over him knew he could work curbboy all night long and make good coin—that was how he always had gotten by—but he was ready for the run.

  Fenito was in the truck, nervously tapping his fingers on the wheel while parked in a cracked-up lot next to a demolished apartment. Eyes on the highway passdown. Ready to move. Nicalla was in her listenhole, with radios and a two-way and a hardline and maps of the whole city.

  Everyone was ready, save her and Renzi. The mushroom dose was dissolving on her tongue, filling her body and mind with more and more of her crew.

  “Are we—” Renzi started as she came back to the alley. She grabbed him by the back of the head and pulled him in for a kiss, depositing the rest of the mushroom in his mouth.

  He kissed back, warm and firm and strong and she felt herself kissing him as the mushroom synced his body with her. She pulled away and wiped off her mouth.

  “Now we’re ready,” she said. “Get on your cycle and ride with me.”

  He got right on, adjusting himself slightly to not hurt his aroused member. Ajiñe always loved feeling that through the mushroom sync. Something so powerful and intense in feeling that arousal from someone else, knowing that she had evoked it.

  But this wasn’t the time.

  She kicked on her cycle and raced it out into the circle, kicking up the loose gravel of the shitty road as she whipped through the traffic and coming out on the street leading toward the highway passdown. She wasn’t sure of the timing, but she knew they needed to build up some speed, activate the sync to the next level. She cranked it up to cruising and then passing gear, her speedometer clocking higher and higher.

  “Spirits, I love that,” Gabrána whispered in her ear, her hands coming around her waist, as if she was on the back of the cycle. “I could live and die a thousand lives and never tire of it.”

  “Slip onto Renzi,” Ajiñe said, and with that she felt herself reach the speed to manifest with him on his cycle while still being on her own. She and Gab were both with him on the ’goiz, as impossible as it would be if they were all there in the flesh. She and Gab melted and intermingled with each other as they clutched on to him. His emotions flowed into them, and fascinatingly, he was completely calm. Like he did this sort of thing all the time.

  “Stay cool, pretty boy,” Gabrána told him.

  “What the shit—” he said.

  “This is what happens when you sync and speed together,” Ajiñe said. “The faster you go, the harder and stronger it becomes.”

  “Ease back!” he shouted. “I can’t focus on the road with the three of you.”

  That was odd. Maybe Mensi or Fenito had synced with him as well. “Follow along,” she said. “We need you on your game.”

  He took a deep breath, not easing on the throttle an inch. “Lead the way.”

  She took a hard curve leading to the highway.

  Nicalla was
there. “The target is coming in now. Get around to the ramp-up and crank it. You’ve got about two swipes until it’s in position.”

  Not much time. She shifted up and rocketed down the street, past the passdown and Fenito in the truck.

  “Marked you,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Got you marking me,” she told him.

  “How are you not losing your damned minds?” Renzi asked, on her back like he was clutching for his life. Amazing how, on the outside, his projection, he behaved like he was almost in a panic, but he still read as completely calm. It didn’t make sense. Was the panic an act, even though he was completely in control?

  “Focus on your riding,” she told him.

  “It’s handled,” he said. “What’s the play?”

  “Head for the ramp-up, get on the highway, and crank it to your fire gear once you’re up top. Then follow me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and his cycle surged forward toward the ramp.

  She had to admire his enthusiasm. She gave chase and launched up to the highway, putting her cycle up to fire gear.

  “That’s the target,” Fenito said, appearing on her cycle with her, just as he was moving into position from the curb he was pretending to work. He pointed to the twelve-wheel rig barreling down the highway. “Get it off at our passdown.”

  “What’s the play?” Renzi asked.

  “Get in front and push it toward the passdown,” Ajiñe told him.

  “That’s a twelve-wheel truck, it’ll crash right over me.”

  “You better hope not.”

  She gunned her throttle, getting ahead of the truck. On her signal, she and Renzi both swerved in front and tapped their brakes, just enough to make it jerk over one lane, closer to the passdown.

  “Now to force it the rest of the way,” she said. “Distract the driver.”

  Renzi whipped back to the side of the truck, next to the driver’s door.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he shouted. “That’s a lot of metal you’re steering!”

  “The shit is wrong with you?” the driver shouted back. “You trying to get killed?”

  The driver’s attention firmly on Renzi, Ajiñe dropped to the other side of the truck, matching pace while hopefully staying in the driver’s blind spot. She drew out the knife, whispered to the spirit of Urka Quibala to guide her hand, and threw it at one of the tires.