by Laura Lam
But we won’t know if it’s enough until I pass or fail.
Tila was after Ensi. The leader of the Ratel. Though I still don’t see why, or how she could ever have thought she could take him down. All I can do is get closer to the quarry at the party in Xanadu.
SEVENTEEN
TAEMA
The Xanadu is just off Union Square.
I wonder who the billionaire Alex Kynon really is, for it’s a pseudonym wrapped in many layers of bureaucratic red tape and obfuscation.
I’ve wandered through Union Square so many times, especially around Christmas. Tila and I would always come here to see the lights. The giant Christmas tree in the center, the man-made ice rink where people zipped to and fro on old-fashioned ice skates. The city tries to trap the past like an insect in amber. It doesn’t really succeed in capturing a sense of what it must have felt like—not with those hypermodern fashions the men and women wear as they bustle about, actually shopping in person for the sheer nostalgia of it, droids following behind carrying their wares—but I do appreciate the effort.
Nazarin and I discussed our plan over and over before I left. We’ll take different MUNI trains, arriving at Union Square at different times from different directions. We’ll enter the party nearly together, though. Tila and Skel have been seen flirting with each other at previous parties, so we can act friendly, but won’t linger together too much. Nazarin is hoping to network, and speak to one of the discontented members of the Ratel, try to become closer to him. He tells me the name, keeping his promise not to hold anything back: it’s Leo, the man that Tila wrote about in her notes.
My objective is to do the Test, try not to die, and find out what happens at the next level of the Ratel.
No big deal.
Nazarin appears on my right. I’m waiting for him beneath the pillar of the Dewey Memorial. Far above him, the young woman balances on one toe, holding her wreath and trident.
He pauses. “You look nice.”
“Thanks.” He saw me leave with my coat, but I have it unbuttoned in the warm evening. I must have tried on all the clothes I’d taken from Tila’s place three times before I decided on an outfit. In the end I chose a form-fitting silver zip-up catsuit that covers me from neck to wrists to built-in heels. According to Tila’s notes, I’m meant to attract attention at these things. Here’s hoping no one misses me, looking like a human-shaped disco ball from space.
“Have you ever been here before?” I ask, jerking my head in the direction of the Xanadu.
“No.”
“And you think both the King and Queen will be there?”
“They’re meant to be.”
Ensi is the named leader of the Ratel, but if the chess analogy is to be carried on, the Queen is the most important player. She’s the one who does the dirty work and takes out the other pieces, if need be. I recall Tila’s sketch of her, the beautiful woman with long dark hair, a sardonic smile and a cruel glint to her eye.
“OK,” Nazarin says. “It’s nearly time.”
“Right.”
He reaches out and grips my shoulder. “We’re in this together. You’ve prepared for this as much as you can. You can do this.”
“You have more faith in me than I do.”
A short smile. “I have no doubt you can do this. You’re tough as nails.”
His words hearten me, as they are meant to. I watch him walk away, counting in my head.
Then I follow him, my silver heels clicking along the sidewalk.
It doesn’t take long to arrive at the gates. The whole block used to be high-end stores, but now it is all a private residence. I didn’t know this before the SFPD told me in the brainload. The average civilian wouldn’t. Distribution of wealth isn’t as uneven as before the Great Upheaval. Most people make enough to live comfortably, poverty is erased in all but the worst of the Zealots, and though citizens can order vast amounts of goods from the replicator, all can be recycled back. There are still obscenely wealthy people in this city but they tend to keep a lower profile than, say, those in Hollywood, where status and ranking have more pull. Having far, far more money than you need is seen as wasteful.
Nazarin walks through the gates. I approach a minute later, projecting Tila’s invitation from my ocular implant onto a little wallscreen to the left. The door opens with a snick, and I walk in.
In front of us is the large, faux brick building, now made of bomb-proof, acid-proof material. We walk through to the second gate, a replica of the original Art Deco iron arched gate, topped by four rings of brick. Like many buildings, it was destroyed in the Great Quake and rebuilt to be larger than the previous plans. The original building was a store, and now it is a mansion.
Nazarin—no, Skel, he is Skel now—lingers enough that we almost walk into the darkened tunnel at the same time. He does not turn back or acknowledge me, but I’m thankful for his nearness.
I take a steadying breath. I am about to enter the same building as the Ratel King and Queen. It’s what I’ve prepared for. I am now, for all intents and purposes, my sister: a lucid dreamer for a Verve lounge for the biggest mob in the city. None of it seems real. I can’t really be doing this. Still, I place one foot in front of the other, moving closer to whatever is to come.
The tunnel fills with soft lights of green, blue, and purple, and a light fog drifts at waist height, scented with lilacs.
“In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree,” I whisper.
Nazarin stiffens and almost turns back in confusion. I guess he’s never read Coleridge.
We enter, still staggered, and the droids take our coats. I shed that outer layer like a carapace, wearing only my silver, shining second skin. Nazarin passes over his gun. No weapons at parties. Nazarin’s eyes slide over me, but I ignore him, staring upward, unable to stop myself from gaping.
The whole ceiling is open, showing the stars and moon above. It’s made from the finest bulletproof glass. Despite the seriousness of the situation I can’t help but be transported by the beauty of it. The main ballroom has a re-creation of the original spiral staircase along its edges but much larger, like the inside of a shell, perfect circles cut out of the sides, like the holes in an abalone. The walls are creamy white, lights tingeing the smooth plaster green and blue. Twining, living vines hang from the ceiling, framing an enormous organic chandelier suspended above the dance floor, twinkling with emeralds and other jewels among the leaves. Elephants drink from a palm-framed water hole, and birds fly overhead. They’re all mechanical, their eyes cameras for security posted in the next room, available to come in at a moment’s notice if needed.
There aren’t as many people here as I would have thought, but everyone looks so sleek and stylish, they nearly put Zenith to shame. Yet they are obviously dangerous too, marked with moving tattoos and wearing their scars proudly. A few dance to music, twining their bodies together, skin pressed against skin. Others huddle together, murmuring among themselves, while some wander from group to group, hovering here to say a few words before fluttering onward, like butterflies sipping nectar from each cluster. Despite their prettiness, I cannot forget the venom they all have the ability to spread. More lines of that poem come to me:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
I straighten my shoulders and put on Tila’s sultry smile. I let her personality settle over mine. I’m Tila. I’m confident and strong. I’m unafraid. A droid leaves the bar nestled at the back and passes by, offering me a glass of champagne. I take a sip and almost choke. It’s real champagne—nothing remotely synth about it. The liquid burns slightly, and my taste buds tingle, the bubbles popping against my tongue.
I recognize some of the faces from Tila’s sketches. I stay calm—my eyes flicker over them quickly, but I don’t see the King and Queen of the Ratel.
&nb
sp; Nazarin leaves me, mingling with others before returning. He greets me, giving me one of those small hugs you give people you don’t know very well. “Something’s not right,” he whispers in my ear. “Be careful.”
Before I can ask him more questions, he disappears, and I’m taken aback. I know we can’t be seen too much together, but surely if Tila flirted with him at a previous party, we could take up the same cover again. How can he just leave me here on my own, with what I’m about to face?
Some of the familiar faces from Tila’s sketchbook come to greet me, and I smile and kiss them on the cheeks, greeting them by name, all too aware that the hands gently resting on my shoulders have killed people. All these polite guests are hardened criminals, many with hits under their belts. It’s almost like I can feel the ghosts, a press of the invisible, cold corpses these people are responsible for, crowding the room with the revelers.
I shake my head, which feels fuzzy. I eye the scented fog in suspicion—have they put something in it, like the way they release extra pheromones in the casinos? Was there something in that glass of champagne—real champagne!—I drank far too quickly?
I have to keep my wits about me.
I understand a lot more than I did before, but there are still so many gaps. Tila came into the Ratel from a different direction than Nazarin. She may have run errands briefly, but as soon as she proved that she could lucid dream, she worked her way in deeper without going through the official steps. Until now. She’s close enough that they want her to do something more important for them, if she just passes this Test. If I just pass the Test.
I force myself to stay calm, to smile at the guests as if nothing is bothering me.
What did the Ratel think, when Vuk disappeared? Do they think he went rogue, or do they know that something happened to him? Tila wasn’t supposed to be working that night, but surely someone at the club noticed her. Sal saw her. Did he change his colors and decide to turn her in to the Ratel? There is a chance that this is all an elaborate trap. Nazarin said that the hitman, that Adam-turned-Vuk, wasn’t after her. I’m not sure if I still believe that.
I look around for Nazarin again, my mouth dry. I drink more champagne to wet it, though the bubbles are going to my head already. It all just seems so very, very stupid. We’re here with essentially no backup because any type of surveillance would be instantly recognized by the scanners we passed at the gate. There’s plenty of cops seconds away if we can manage to call them, but the odds of that in here are next to nothing—all signals are blocked.
I’m beginning to panic, sweating beneath the silver fabric. Where is Nazarin? He wouldn’t leave me, would he? I keep saying hello to strangers, fudging conversations, my mind working in overtime not to step in the wrong place. Nobody mentions a thing about the Ratel. They comment on the decor, how amazing this building is, the champagne, the salty caviar blintzes. I want to scream.
Be Tila. She’d know how to react. None of this would faze her.
The party wears on. My cheeks ache from the effort of appearing cheerful and flirtatious, uncaring and unaware of the precariousness of my situation. I dance with people. I sip more champagne, nibble at the decadent treats. There’s still no Nazarin. I can’t help but feel he’s thrown me to the wolves. The shiny, silvery distraction.
Nazarin finally returns. He has a pretty man next to him, who’s flirting shamelessly, and he’s flirting in turn with considerable skill. I feel an unwelcome flare of annoyance at the display. With a start, I recognize the other person: he’s Leo, the young man Tila mentioned in her notes. The potential ally. I make my way toward them.
“Good evening. Great party, right?” I sound inane.
Nazarin gestures to me. “Leo, I believe you’ve met Tila.”
“How could I ever forget?” he says, taking my hand and kissing the back of it.
I wonder what sort of impression Tila made.
Leo seems composed, but his eyes keep darting about the room. Perhaps he’s uncomfortable with eye contact. He moves with the grace of someone who knows how to fight.
He meets my eyes. “The party’s only just getting started, isn’t it? Lots more entertainment to come, I’m sure.”
I smile, though something makes me uneasy. Nazarin narrows his eyes at Leo.
“Leo,” Nazarin says. “You’ll have to excuse us, but I want to steal Tila for a dance.”
Leo smiles. “Of course. I might have to steal her after, if you don’t mind that is,” he says to me. Smooth. Very smooth.
“That’d be lovely,” I say, thinking it would be no such thing. “Excuse me, I’m going to find another drink, first.” Nazarin reaches out to touch my elbow. He wants to tell me something, but there’s no way he can. The crowd is thicker than at the start of the evening. Too many ears to overhear a whisper. Ocular and auditory implants have been blocked by tech dampeners.
Nazarin’s eyes follow me as I take another flute of champagne I will not drink from a droid servant.
I turn around and a woman stands right before me, flanked by two guards. She looks me up and down, smiling in recognition. She knows me and has seen me before.
And I recognize her, though it takes me a moment to realize who she is, with her hair up.
It’s Malka. The Queen of the Ratel.
She has the tightness around her eyes that speaks of facelifts. Her brows are high and arched, her full lips curl at the edges. She has skin of a deep brown, her hair in a slick updo, with a web of metal and crystals holding the hair in place.
“Tila,” Malka says. She reeks of power. The two bodyguards at her sides are droids, their blank faces twisting from side to side for danger.
I smile blankly in return, my mind running in frantic circles. I glance at Nazarin and his eyes are wide, locked on me.
“The Khan of Xanadu is ready to see you now. It’s time to Test your mettle.”
I blink quickly, then put another inane grin on my face. “Wonderful. I’ve been looking forward to it.”
She laughs, low and throaty, rubbing the fingers of one hand against the fleshy base of her thumb. “I wouldn’t be, if I were you. Come along, little canary.”
Malka takes my arm and leads me through the crowd. She stops as people greet her, introducing me. I watch other people’s reactions, the awe and fear she inspires in them.
People notice me at her side, and wonder why I’ve been so favored. Why has she come to get me herself? How well does she know me? Tila’s notes didn’t tell me much about her. I’m lost.
“Come,” Malka says. “We musn’t be late.”
All my nerve endings seem to freeze. Malka takes my arm, unlocking me, and I follow her toward the spiral ramp. I chance a look over my shoulder and Nazarin’s staring at me, barely concealed panic in his eyes. Leo is speaking to him, but he doesn’t seem to hear. He wanted to tell me something, but now it’s too late. I try to smile at him, but I can’t. I turn away and walk up the stairs.
I don’t have a choice.
Nobody is up on this level. The clear glass of the ceiling seems almost close enough to touch. Up here, little rooms helix off around the huge circle in the center, a maze of little hidden nooks and crannies. I peek over the banister down at the revelers below. Nobody looks up except for Nazarin. I nod at him, try to smile.
I feel strangely detached. Deep down, I’m aware I should be more scared about this. But it feels … inevitable. I’m following Tila’s breadcrumbs, seeing if they lead to the gingerbread house and the hungry witch.
The Queen opens a door. I can’t see anything inside but another dark, curving hallway.
“Put these on.” She passes me a small white box. I open it. Inside are small electrodes. She helps me attach them to my temples, the back of my neck, my heart. There’s a thin pair of dark glasses. I put them on, feeling silly.
“These will track your physical responses,” she says.
“All right.” I wonder if my mechanical heart will impact anything. They’ll know of it, I’m sure.
They know everything; except, hopefully, that I have changed my face and taken my sister’s place.
“There. Now. Go down to the end of the hallway and turn left.”
I lick my lips. “Any advice?” I ask, striving for a light tone. Desperate as I am, she’s my only point of contact and I’ll take any help I can get—even if it’s from the devil herself. I sense she appreciates that I’ve asked her.
She leans close, and she smells of jasmine and expensive makeup. “Don’t speak unless ordered. Don’t lie. Don’t look away. Don’t let us down.”
She looks into my eyes, deep and searching, as if she knows all my sins. After a moment, she leans back. I don’t know what she found. With a twirl of turquoise silk, she is gone.
I’ve never been more confused. My head hurts, and I’m still dizzy. There must be something in the fog in that room downstairs. I should be tempted to throw myself out that window, climb down, jump the impossibly high fence, and make a break for freedom. How would Tila feel, if it was still her walking down this hallway to this Test? If she’d never come across Vuk, if he’d never ended up dead, then she’d be here, right now, and I’d never know. My head feels unattached to my body, like it’s floating down this darkened hallway.
I turn to the left as instructed, and push open the door.
I’m the last person to arrive. In the room are four chairs. The other three are occupied. One is a girl with bright crimson hair down to her waist, dressed in black trousers and a glittering top. A man with a tuft of blond hair and black eyeliner wearing a red suit, with a tattoo of a tarantula on the back of his hand, sits in the middle. The man next to him has dark green hair and is dressed in black leather. It goes without saying that they’re all beautiful.
I sit in the last chair, crossing my legs to stop them from shaking.
The room is completely blank. White walls, white chairs, white floors. I open my mouth, but then I remember what Malka said. Don’t speak. My mouth snaps shut. I grind my teeth together. The drug from downstairs might be wearing off. I’m petrified.