by Liv Olteano
“Yes,” I whispered. “I suppose I am. But I’ll choose what kind of monster I’ll be, and becoming the resident will make me the worst kind. I won’t be the one killing human beings to keep this thing floating, I simply can’t. I won’t. I refuse to.”
With that I got up from my chair and headed for the door. Without looking back, I said, “Plan what you will. I’ll do whatever I can to finish this Verner business once and for all, but nothing beyond that.”
Then I walked out, leaving behind a silent room. No one tried to stop me. As I headed for the stairs, I ran into Tach. He was just carrying a new tray of tea and coffee to the room. He stopped before me, bowed, and looked me straight in the eye. I was taken aback by the so-very-human stare. I couldn’t help but think he needed, wanted badly to tell me something right then. But he couldn’t. An alkemist had taken away his soul, his breath, his voice.
I dashed up the stairs, tears stinging my eyes. I couldn’t become that monster. I just couldn’t accept that I was. Not yet, perhaps not ever.
I closed the door of my room behind me and pressed myself against it. The action was so much like the one last night in Nikola’s room. I remembered the feel of her body against mine, the tingling sensation that danced through me at her nearness. I remembered her arms wrapped around me as I was shaking, the way her scent invaded me and made my blood rush through my veins.
Pink tendrils of smoke materialized on the floor, slowly wrapping around the bed and me. They seemed to caress the entire room and beckon me farther inside. I walked to the bed and slumped onto it. Someone knocked on the door. Nana, most likely, trying to calm me down.
“Come on in,” I called.
The door clicked open and shut. But it wasn’t Nana who stood there. It was Nikola, her arms crossed at her back.
“We need to talk, Mer.”
I got up into a sitting position and waved my hand around the room. “By all means, do come in. It’s your house.”
She sighed and walked to the nearest chair. When she sat down, she revealed a small box in one of her hands. She flipped the lid on it and took out a small vial. It looked like some sort of liquid radiating light in all colors. It looked very much like….
“Is that… floating fuel?” I asked, shivering.
“One of my finest creations,” she said in bleak tone.
I blinked a few times, stunned. “You mean you invented floating fuel?”
Her face grew horribly pale, eyes seeming hollow for a moment. As if catching herself, she shook her head and looked back at me. “I’m guessing you hate me, huh? You all do. And yet without it, none of you would’ve ever been born.”
“I don’t understand…. How could you have invented it? That would mean you’re older than the hovering platforms themselves.”
She smiled that small bitter smile of hers. “I am. I was alive when the world was truly alive, Mer. I was alive when real trees swayed in the wind and real animals freely roamed the forests. When people lived on the ground and died of old age or some random disease. When the withering didn’t exist.”
I shook my head, feeling queasy. “The world was truly like that? You saw it?”
She nodded. “It was miraculous. Of course it only seemed normal to us back then. Natural, you know? We took it for granted. And then came nuclear winter…. Well, first came the war over resources. Scientists speculated what sort of cataclysm might happen in a hypothetical future, what might put the planet in danger. We never expected all of the scenarios to play out one by one. Overpopulation, starvation, dwindling resources…. There were wars over what was left. Caution was a luxury many states felt they couldn’t afford anymore. After the wars whatever population was left was swiftly taken down by radiation sickness and all sorts of mutated viruses. The withering is a form of radiation sickness too, you know. It’s been much longer than we’d predicted a nuclear winter might last, and the planet shows no signs of moving on. As irony would have it, it was that part that we guessed wrong about.”
“But how did you survive, then?”
She shrugged. “I was part of a scientific team that researched surviving the increasingly hostile environment. We came up with vaccines, tablets, all kinds of treatments to counteract the radiation. They were very expensive, of course. Only the wealthiest could afford them.”
I shook my head, lost. “But then why are there so few alkemists?”
“They didn’t work, those treatments. Nothing really worked. And the side effects…. Horrible. In the end there was an international team, a virtual Who’s Who of scientists from all fields put together. We worked on counteracting radiation and found the only solution was a new kind of radiation. But we didn’t sell that solution… we tested it on ourselves. Our last project, the great solution. If we failed, then that was that.”
“You didn’t fail,” I muttered in awe.
She shook her head. “Not… quite. But we didn’t succeed either. Those exposed became immune to anything, practically immortal. Wide-scale immunization wasn’t approved. It was going to provoke a wave of overpopulation all over again.”
My eyes widened. “Who would deny people a cure for their illness?”
She smiled. “Government. On that all of them agreed. Most of the research team did too.”
I shook my head, shocked. “And Verner was part of this team?”
“Most of the alkemists alive now were part of it. He was the one who proposed we look into… alternatives. The domes, these hovering platforms, were his idea. So instead of working on a cure for the ailing, we just… let them die. And worked on a way to contain life without immunization. I was in charge of sustainable fuel for these new contained environments. Edgar worked on the filters and mechanics of the hovering platforms.”
I felt bitterness crawl up my throat. “And you found this disgusting float fuel solution.”
“It was the only sustainable one,” she whispered brokenly as she stared at that vial. “We set up trials, built platforms, tried fuels of many kinds while so many people died…. This one was what I came up with in the end. It was a form of recycling, after all. I never meant for the resident citizens to be killed for it, just to recycle them when they were on the cusp of natural death. You have to believe me, Mer, I never intended for any of this to happen.”
“But it did. You gave your people a new toy to play with. And they played with it as they saw fit.”
“Things got out of hand. There were auctions for spots on these platforms. News spread like wildfire. Radicals claimed we were only saving the wealthy, which we were, and they bombed our research facility. The radiation device we initially devised for immunization blew up. Those who didn’t make it on the platforms before the explosion… the final wave of radiation killed them all. It killed everything but what we’d saved as samples and resources for the platforms.”
“All but you, the immunized ones. The immortal ones,” I spat.
She nodded, looking defeated. “Immortality wasn’t our goal. But once earned we could at least use it to keep the hovering platforms going. It was either that or going extinct. Or at least for normal human beings. Then we’d be left among ourselves, a number of alkemists living on this whole planet, or what’s left of it. Waiting, maybe wishing to disappear along with it.”
“Keeping us alive to use us like cattle seems better to you?” I snapped.
“Keeping them alive, Cristina Mera. You keep forgetting you’re one of us now. Or will be soon. But you’re no longer one of them.”
I looked away, annoyed. I wasn’t one of either, it seemed. I’d be the one deciding what and who I was, not her, not anyone else.
“Human life, all life is precious,” she said. “I’d never liken people to cattle. You shouldn’t think in those terms either. We’re all victims of circumstance. And we’re all trying to make it in the world as it is.”
“So the alkemic nature is induced by science.”
She nodded.
“Then how is it that I’m… what I
am? Are the platforms used for experiments even as we speak? Are the citizens used without their consent? Without them even knowing?”
Nikola glanced away. But before she did, I noticed a strange look in her eyes. A look that terrified me.
“Radiation from Outside is filtered out by the domes, for the most part. But not all of it. It’s impossible. Some citizens are more susceptible to it than others. Most die as a result. But few—very few—suffer mutations that make them alkemic in nature.”
“Why won’t you look at me?”
She did. “I’m devastated by what happened. I’m not proud of how things went. But I’d do again what I did to have you here. My point, Cristina Mera, is that sacrifices must be made for human beings to survive. But not as many sacrifices as Verner has everyone believe.”
I looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“The number of souls needed for the fuel is a lot smaller than your death count. He’s gorging on souls, feeding his reaper appetite. If someone else were the resident, it would cut down….”
“Murders?” I supplied with squinted eyes.
“Losses,” she said, looking down at the vial. “I’ve been working on a factor adjustment device. Results so far show promise. The factor could be adjusted before extraction so all souls extracted would serve the engines. And even then, just natural death or a moment very close to natural death would be enough, if my experiments go well.”
“Are you saying you have a new great solution?”
“I’m saying that Verner is on a killing spree for his own reasons. That I’m working on ways to minimize losses. I’m trying to rein in some of the monstrosity my creation has become.”
I looked down, focused on the carpet. “What good will that do to all the ones killed by harvesters in our town? What good will it do for my dead father?”
She sighed, a heavy sound that made me glance up. When I did her eyes were again haunted, her face pale. She kept playing with the vial, watching the liquid slosh against the walls.
“I did what I could with what we had, with what we thought was right. This was our only hope, our last one. And in the beginning, it seemed like our salvation.”
“Until it turned into a curse,” I added.
“Despair makes ugly monsters out of people, as I have told you. We were desperate. Now I’m desperate again. Many of us have become reapers, and the atrocities reapers entertain themselves with… it can’t go on. I’ll do what I can to minimize damages. It’s the only thing I can do. There’s no undoing the harm that has been done, Mer. But we can try to limit how much harm will be done from now on. That has to count for something,” she whispered. “It has to.”
I got up from the bed and paced in front of the fireplace. The fire wasn’t lit and the room was chilly. Whispers and giggles echoed from the corners of the room. I turned to face her and tried to catch her gaze, but she avoided eye contact.
“When you say they’ve become reapers, you make it sound like a choice.”
“It is a choice. Any one of us could become a reaper, Cristina Mera. All it takes is our consuming souls. It’s a choice like everything else. You choose to be a regular alkemist and not feed on souls, or you choose to start reaping and consuming souls. As a reaper you’ll be stronger, you’ll increase the extraction power of your device. You’ll fuel more and better equipment because all of it functions on float fuel to some degree.”
I shook my head. “You’re saying Verner is stronger than you?”
“In many ways he is. But I’m a much better scientist. I’ve always been a better scientist. It’s why I’m the Wanderer. He has to be stopped. Another resident alkemist would be like a blessing for this hovertown.”
I straightened my back abruptly. “I know what you’re trying to do here, and it won’t work, Nikola.”
Chapter 16
SHE FINALLY looked up at me, eyes murky and distant. “Oh? And what am I doing?”
“Trying to guilt me into becoming a resident if we somehow manage to take Verner out. Not only is it unlikely that I’ll manage to extract his soul, but it’s downright impossible for me to do what he does. Even if in a small measure. I’m sorry. I really am. I understand your point. I see the logic. But I simply can’t be people’s executioner.”
She set the vial back in the box and walked up to me. “Then be people’s savior. Be my savior, Mer.”
She reached for my hand, and I allowed her to turn it wrist up and drag it up to her lips. I watched them as they hovered right over my sensitive skin, making my whole body tingle. She kissed my hand three times, the last one a lingering kiss I was learning she was very fond of.
“You’re young, my dear. Young, naïve, and full of life. I envy you. But I understand. I’m here to tell you that if we succeed, I’ll be the resident. Until I solve the floating fuel issue, until it can be made from souls of the dying only. Would you consider becoming the resident then?”
I gulped but nodded. If taking the souls of the dying was the only way we’d keep the platform floating, I’d be willing to extract them. In a way it would be like my mercies.
She smiled and kissed my wrist again. “We have a deal, then. Now about your ability to extract souls—”
I stepped back, pulling my hand away. “It’s not something I control. We can’t rely on that.”
“But we must.”
“Why do I have the sneaking suspicion you have some idea about that?”
She chuckled. “You know me so well already. I do have an idea. I believe we can amp up your powers for a short period. And if it’s ever going to work, it will be with this boost.”
I frowned and regarded her suspiciously. “And how would we do that?”
She turned around and stared at the bottle of float fuel.
I looked at it, looked back at her. I shook my head and stepped back again. “No. You can’t expect me to….”
“I’ve never killed anyone the way Verner does. My resources are from the already dying, a simple case of not letting souls go to waste. I promise you it’s our best shot. Our only shot.”
“You’d say it’s a desperate situation?” I mused.
She nodded.
“That would make ugly monsters out of us then, wouldn’t it? You said so yourself.”
She crossed her hands at the small of her back. “I was under the impression you wanted him dead?”
“I do.”
“Then do it,” she said. “Kill the bastard. Save this miserable hovertown and help me make it a better place to live in.”
“Nikola Skazat, don’t you dare raise your voice at me again,” I said, jabbing a finger into her chest to emphasize each word. “I’m not the one who caused this whole mess to begin with, remember? That’s all on you.”
Her face darkened, and she abruptly walked back to the chair, sat down, and put her head between her hands. “Don’t you think I know? I do. I see the faces of the dead in my mind. I always see them. Hear them, feel them. Suffer their absence. They call to me from the middle of the floating engines, they scream, ‘Murderer!’ and ‘Monster!’ And I know they’re right. But I never intended for any of this to happen. I just couldn’t let everyone die.”
Despite my resolve to not be affected, my heart squeezed tight. After all, if I’d been her, I would’ve done the same thing. Anyone would have, I guessed. Because they had to have been desperate back then, and despair made ugly monsters out of people. But it also made survivors. And what was better, a clear conscience for a dead world or a muddy one for the still living? I didn’t know the answer to that. It wasn’t for me to decide, after all. Unlike Verner I refused to make such decisions about who should and shouldn’t die.
“Fine,” I said on a sigh and plopped to sit on the bed. “I’ll use the fuel, give it my best shot. And then if we succeed, we’ll do what you said. You’ll be resident. I’ll be your apprentice. And when we have a solution, I’ll… I’ll… do what must be done. But promise me you’ll find that solution, Nikola. Swear
to me that you will.”
She got to her feet and walked to me. She kneeled and grabbed both of my hands.
“I swear to you that I’ll find that solution.”
I looked into her beautiful eyes and saw—or wanted desperately enough to see—honesty. Either way I decided it was there. I’d take it. Because what other choice did I have, really? Verner was a monster. He was killing New Bayou, and now he was out to kill me. He had to die, or we… they… all would. This was what I’d been wishing for ever since the reaper extracted my father’s soul, or even before that. So I’d do it.
“All right. Get up from there. I don’t like to see you kneel. It doesn’t suit your character.”
She got up, then sat beside me on the bed. My heart thumped violently but I tried to ignore any lusty thoughts.
“What’s our plan?” I asked, staring at my lap.
“We’ll use Verner’s grand ball. With all the guests there, Jean’s people will be able to infiltrate Verner’s home easier. They can’t take the place by storm, or every harvester and Verner’s full crew of golems will be at them, and we won’t stand a chance. The marauders will come up with something to give the two of us a window of opportunity. We’ll bide our time, and when they make their move, we’ll try our luck with Verner. If you succeed in using your skills, the harvesters will be caught and imprisoned for their crimes. The mayor will either renounce his position or ‘discuss’ it with the marauders. I don’t care what happens to him. He’s as dirty as Verner.”
True, he was. “It sounds more like wishful thinking than a plan,” I observed, pulling on my lip piercing.
“Perhaps. But there’s a certain element of wishful thinking in any plan. Ours just has more of it. I’m sure it will work out somehow. It has to.”
“Because we’ve all been so lucky so far?”
“Because it’s our only option,” she replied. “Once word spreads of our success, other reapers will have to reconsider their policies.”