She fought against the masses of people shambling onto the moving walkways. They were headed down to Getho Center, for the best food and ‘caves this side of HiRenDist.
The Forger pinged her again. Come see me. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe he’d decided to find Watson’s intel. Maybe she was suffering for nothing.
“Hey,” she told her stupo magical power, “you should fix my socket. If I go under and the Forger still won’t do this job, I’ll find the Butcher’s identity myself.”
But the stupo magical power didn’t listen. Her head kept on low-grade morting, and her stomach lurched. Why was everything so terrible? It was all Watson’s fault.
She finally broke free of the stream of people and took the almost empty moving walkway north toward HiRenDist.
The boxy security mecha at the entrance to Tanto’s building said she wasn’t allowed inside. “You are on the do-not-let-in, but do-not-be-rude-to list.”
“Well,” said Redcholate, “it’d be rude to not ask his OS one more time if I can go inside.”
The mecha paused a milli, probs to run a manners algorithm, and then said, “I will inquire.” Redcholate barely had time to take a deep breath before the mecha said, “Tanto’s OS has reconfirmed. You are on the do-not-let—”
“K,” Redcholate half-shouted. “I understand.” She went off to the side a few meters, pretending to consult her OS, as the mecha let in another few people. But really, she was cogiking on whether she should do what she really wanted to do. Which was snipe the mecha’s asteroid.
Using her infiltration prog on the security mecha for an actual building where forgers lived was different than slagging a LoRen ‘cave bot. And she didn’t know exactly how good her prog was. It seemed daebak to her, but she was no forger. Redcholate glanced at the mecha again. No. She didn’t dare use her prog at an actual forger’s domicile. She turned to leave.
Agony tore through her body, contracting her muscles, wrenching her bones out of alignment. Her brain twisted, as if trying to move independently from her body. Redcholate stumbled against the wall and leaned over, clutching her braincase and gasping for breath. Please, she said to her stupo magical power. I’ll do it. I’ll sneak inside and get Tanto’s help.
The pain receded, cautiously, as if it suspected she wasn’t telling the truth. But she was telling the truth. She had to get inside. Had to.
She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked around. No one was coming inside or leaving. With a desperate bravado, she shot her infiltration prog through the sphere and deactivated the security mecha. The mecha, already being stationary, didn’t give any outward signs of being under her control.
Did it work? she asked her OS.
All indications point to the security mecha’s immobilization.
Redcholate crept forward. The mecha didn’t respond. Via her infiltration prog, she unlatched the gate and hurried to the elevator. Once the doors closed, she scrubbed the last several millis of secuvid and reactivated the mecha. Then she cleared her mind of that prob. She had worse things to worry about ahead.
The ride to the third floor seemed to take a millio years, but finally she emerged and scamped to Tanto’s door. Using her infiltration prog one last time, she popped 3001’s door.
“Tanto?” she whispered, eyecubing the innards of his apartment through a four-centimeter-wide crack. “Are you up?”
No answer.
She slid inside, shut the door. Unless Tanto was having a little chew ‘n’ poo break, he’d be under. The small dining table was empty, the nutrition panel quiescent. The bathroom sat open and dark. She crept forward, barely noticing the proprietary view. The ocean would have to admire itself right now.
Rounding one end of the couch, she saw Tanto exactly where she’d seen him last: lying supine, jacked in.
She had two options. Hana, she could grab a pillow and suffocate him. He’d deffo wake up before he died. Everyone’s OS monitored their vitals when they were under. The failsafe. But after he woke up, he’d probs toss her into the Thaumaturge Ocean. And then do something worse.
So that left her with the other option. Mainlining into his tie-in jack. Sharing his connection. All three mecha-doctors and the hook booth had said there wasn’t anything broken in her socket, so her connection must be jammed somehow. But if she mainlined, she’d be using an already established connection.
Mainlining was almost as unforgivable as setting off someone’s failsafe. She could just wait for Tanto to come up on his own. But it’d probs take hours for him to come up, and the only reason her head wasn’t morting her was because she was doing something right now. Taking action. So she ran to the nutrition panel and ordered a sharp knife and a spoon. The machine deposited them on the tray, glistening clean from the panel’s internal dishwasher. She took them to the couch, sat on the floor right near the tie-in jack, paused a milli to take a deep breath.
“If you act up,” she said to her magical power, “I’ll make a mistake. So don’t.”
The last wisps of headache cleared. Her stomach stopped fluttering. She pulled some slack into the tie-in cord, and pierced the insulation with the knife. Carefully as if she were carving into her own skin, she made a 2.5 centimeter slit in the insulation, then carefully wedged the handle of the spoon into the fat cable’s innards.
She lay down on the floor, then sat up and stole the pillow from under Tanto’s knees. Might as well be comfy.
“Sorry, Tanto,” she whispered. She settled her head on the pillow, then touched the bowl of the spoon to her tie-in jack. Metal was conductive, almost by definition.
Do I have a connection? she asked her OS.
Affirmative.
Take me under.
Chapter 14
Variegor
Date: 2414
He arrived in the middle of their Taich practice, a big man with gray and black hair and a deep, silvery voice. Medals and pins coated his jacket. A golden agony stick was holstered at his hip.
Armintor had never met him, but over the last almost four years she’d lived on Variegor, she’d seen his face on screens all over Varie City. His name was Leader Yarr. He held the Supreme Office. He ruled Variegor.
Yarr stalked around the living room, ignoring Armintor so assiduously that he was obviously aware of her. And just as obviously, he wanted her to leave his presence.
Since they’d been in the middle of Taich practice, Armintor reflexively clasped her hands at her chest and bowed at Twomanrie, who nodded and flapped her hands. “That’s fine. Go to your room.” But when Yarr turned his back, Twomanrie winked.
Armintor hid a smile as she walked silently to her room and eased the door closed. If Twomanrie was winking, then there was no reason to be afraid. Surely. Yet even with the door closed, there was no getting away from Yarr’s voice. It boomed through the plazstik. “When are you going to take an Alpha apprentice?”
Alpha apprentice? Armintor’s heart skipped a beat. She’d never even heard of such a thing. What would that mean? Would the apprentice live with them? Take all of Twomanrie’s time? Supplant Armintor herself?
Twomanrie’s answer was too low to hear.
“I’ve already asked you twice,” said Yarr. “I won’t ask again.”
Even though Armintor crammed her ear against the door, Twomanrie’s answer was again too low for her to distinguish the words.
“Unacceptable.” Yarr’s voice was louder, even more forceful. “I’ll make it exquisitely clear. You’ve got two days to choose an apprentice, or I’ll assign you one.”
Twomanrie’s voice rose into an audible range. “How dare you try to shame me into this, Yarr?”
“Because it’s shameful that you aren’t passing along your knowledge.”
“What’s this sudden craze for apprenticeships? I was never an apprentice. You never were.”
Yarr’s voice grew louder and softer in turns, as if he were pacing back and forth. “It’s all these impatient plaguer Alphas. And over the last four years,
they’ve infected our own Alpha children with their impatience.”
“And who,” said Twomanrie, her voice rising with indignation, “told you we shouldn’t accept all those offworlders? That such a huge influx of offworld ideas would cause problems?”
Twomanrie’s words felt like a slap across Armintor’s cheek. Twomanrie hadn’t wanted Variegor to take in her and the other plaguer children. Would she have wanted to leave them all on Terry’s New Earth, amongst their dead families?
Yet, when the time had come to choose an assistant, she had chosen Armintor—a plaguer.
“Yes, yes,” said Yarr. “You were correct. But they have a point. If we continue to insist on individual accomplishments, we’re making them invent the SplitDrive over and over. And you’re a legendary figure. What does it say when you refuse to take an apprentice?”
“It says that I have no desire to condone your new system, Yarr. And why are you insisting in the first place? You’re acting like the essence of an Alpha is taking orders.” Yarr started to speak but she cut him off. “And if I am a legend, then the younger Alphas will think about why I’m refusing to take an apprentice.”
“And what’s your reason?”
“You can’t create an Alpha.”
“Is that it? Or are you afraid having a younger Alpha around will make you feel weak in contrast?”
Twomanrie laughed. “I hardly know how to answer that, Yarr. How could anyone be a threat to me?”
Silence fell in the front room. Armintor could picture the glare Twomanrie was giving Yarr. But was Twomanrie defending Armintor’s right to be her Beta, or Twomanrie’s own right to not have an apprentice?
Yarr broke the silence. “Is that what you think you have in there, Twomanrie? An Alpha? A mislabeled Alpha?”
Armintor’s heart skipped another beat. She, as an Alpha?
“No.”
Twomanrie’s negative answer pierced Armintor’s heart more painfully than a knife. But was it uncertainty she’d heard in her mentor’s voice? If so, it would be the first time she’d heard her mentor sound uncertain about anything.
“In that case,” Yarr said, “maybe she should be culled.”
“Get out, Yarr. Now.”
“You have two days.” Yarr sounded cold and furious. “Two days.”
The front door opened and closed. Silence filled the front room.
Armintor turned and pressed her back against the door. Her heart throbbed uncomfortably in her chest. She felt like she’d been in a fight herself, rather than just listening to one. And no matter what happened to her, the two Alphas who decided her fate would survive and thrive.
“Armintor,” Twomanrie called. “Come out.”
Armintor swallowed in her dry throat, then stepped out into the front room, eyes lowered.
“Let’s resume our practice. Tornado kick.” Twomanrie spun and kicked at the padded practice stand. She moved with explosive power. As if an infinite energy source had been momentarily unleashed.
Armintor had never been able to match her mentor’s powerful kicks, even though she was almost twice her size. But today, she felt an overwhelming need to prove she was better than any Alpha apprentice. That she—Armintor—was a misclassified Alpha. She spun and kicked. Instead of a solid hit, she struck the stand a glancing blow. She stumbled backward, stunned. Just when she should be perfect, she couldn’t even do something she’d practiced thousands of times.
“Again,” said Twomanrie.
Armintor tried to sense her internal power source. She channeled it, then spun and kicked, but this time her foot missed the practice stand entirely. She struck her calf against the corner of a table. Wincing, she hopped, pressing her hand to the stinging red mark.
Twomanrie rested her hand on Armintor’s shoulder. “That’s enough. Go wash and change.”
Armintor tried in vain to control her breathing as she pulled on her Beta coverall. What a ridiculous time to fail at Taich practice.
She rubbed her face, then ran her hands through her still-damp hair. She didn’t want to return to the main room, but Twomanrie would never tolerate deviation from their schedule. They ate breakfast after Taich. So what if Taich had been interrupted? They would still eat breakfast. She stepped into the living room.
Instead of standing at the nutrition panel choosing her breakfast, Twomanrie stood in the doorway of her own bedroom.
Armintor felt the blood drain from her face. Twomanrie had come to a decision. She knew the signs. There was an even sharper set to Twomanrie’s shoulders, yet she exuded an air of insouciance. Armintor pressed her palm against the wall to steady herself.
Twomanrie’s clear brown eyes held an indiscernible emotion. “I know what you fear. It isn’t coming to pass. If you were to apply logic to this situation, you wouldn’t be afraid. Remember, to the logician, all things should be seen exactly as they are, to quote Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”
Armintor hid a convulsive swallow by brushing her hair out of her eyes.
Twomanrie held out a stack of folded clothing. “These are yours.”
Mechanically, Armintor stepped forward and took them. They weren’t Beta coveralls, but real clothes, like she would have worn back on Terry’s New Earth. At the memory, a hollow pain made her heart ache. Almost four years had partially filled the old abyss of despair, but it would never be gone.
“Where will I wear these?” she asked.
“We don’t have time for questions.” Twomanrie led Armintor inside her bedroom and removed two bags from the compression closet. They popped out flat as Armintor’s morning crepes. Twomanrie snapped them into shape with one quick flip. “Pack those clothes in this one.”
Armintor obeyed. Meanwhile, Twomanrie packed some of her own clothing and a few books into the other bag with almost inhuman neatness.
“Ready?” Twomanrie said. “Do you have anything in your room that you wish to bring?”
Armintor shook her head. Other than library books, she had nothing in there besides a few coveralls.
“Come, then.” Twomanrie closed the bag along its self-healing seam and headed for the front door. Armintor pushed the hoverfunction on the bags, grabbed their tethers, and followed.
Twomanrie led them out to the street and hailed a skimmercab. “Are you ready to know where we’re going?” she said as they slid into the seats of the skimmer.
Armintor nodded. She felt dizzy, sick, desperately hopeful.
Twomanrie grinned, then leaned forward and called, “Spaceport,” into the speaker.
“We’re leaving?” Armintor’s own words rang in her ears. “We’re leaving Variegor?”
Twomanrie sighed as if disappointed. “What other logical conclusion could you draw upon learning our destination?”
Fat tears spilled from Armintor’s eyes and scalded down her cheeks. She was leaving Variegor. It was like a dream. A dream she’d woken up to experience.
As the human pilot eased them up in a smooth, practiced glide, she looked down. Glittering Alpha apartments. Long, smooth sidewalks and people movers. Luxurious Alpha shops. And as their skimmer moved forward, two dismal Beta barracks came into view. The dichotomy, so long seen from the ground, seemed a hundred times more apparent from above.
“Leaving?” she whispered again. She’d lived on Variegor for almost four years. Four terrible years. She hadn’t had a choice as to whether to come, and she wasn’t being given a choice to leave. As they approached the spaceport, Twomanrie nudged her impatiently in the ribs. Armintor wiped her face and snuffled.
Soon they were being lifted offplanet to a giant interstellar transport ship in orbit. All interstellar craft were required to stay in orbit instead of landing upon Variegor’s surface, for of course the hitek systems in a spaceship could never be allowed on the teknophobe planet.
During the ship’s entry processing, Twomanrie was required to surrender her agony stick.
“Please retrieve your banned item before you disembark at your destination planet,” said the ship
’s security mecha.
“No need to hold it for retrieval,” said Twomanrie, with that disdainful look she wore whenever required to interact with a thinking mecha. “It’s banned on almost every planet except for Variegor.”
Armintor watched, eyes wide, as the mecha deposited the agony stick into a secure locker in its innards. Although that particular agony stick had never been used upon her, it had figured loudly in her nightmares. In the first instant away from Variegor, that feared, hated instrument of torture had been taken away from Twomanrie. No, that wasn’t right. Rather, a sane society had taken it away from Twomanrie.
Variegor’s system was evil. And there was some sanity, some goodness, remaining in the universe.
Armintor was free.
She moved through the ship as if in a dream. How many times had she daydreamed of escaping Variegor? She kept touching the walls of the ship’s hallways, the objects in their tiny shared berth, her own shocked face. This was real. She was awake. She had left that planet. Never to return.
From their small window, she looked down on Variegor. It seemed so innocuous, a planet consisting of one large brown and green continent and a blue sea with no polar ice caps. Far enough that all its miseries were smoothed away.
The ship left orbit. Slowly, Variegor receded until it became a blue sphere in a field of black, and then a faint dot, and then nothing.
Chapter 15
Interstellar Transport Go Go Vega-2!, A Moving Point in the Galaxy
Las Vega, Vega-2
Date: 2415
The interstellar transport ship and its other passengers fascinated Armintor. Even on Terry’s New Earth, disfiguring hooks had been uncommon. On this ship filled with wealthy travelers, disfigs were everywhere: blatantly inhuman eyes, routed voiceboxes, prosthetic hands turned into mechanical claws.
It was only when she and Twomanrie were eating dinner in the utilitarian dining room that her mind returned to Variegor. She asked, “What is the culling?”
Twomanrie inhaled deeply through her nose, then exhaled in a long deliberate stream as if the air had somehow offended her, or been judged as subpar. “I will not reveal anything about the culling. I will only say that it is the Alpha tradition most steeped in honor.”
The Disk Mirror Solution (Galaxia Mortem Book 1) Page 10