A Conspiracy of Whispers

by Ada Harper

  The struggle had died on Galen’s face, once he’d got all that out. He looked at her, steady. He was always so steady, even in the middle of disaster, as if Olivia could rest the whole of her world on him and he’d turn it for her. She was tempted, he was practically begging her to ask more, ask why. Ask what this was. Ask what it could be.

  She wanted to. But she’d just had her world dashed with a single call. It wasn’t a future for sharing. She pretended to inspect the emitters again. “That’s sweet. Kind of creepy, but sweet. But we need to get you back to your own country.” Before the empress showed up at her dining room table next, for fuck’s sake.

  “While you go to the Walls?” Galen’s voice turned dark, troubled. It had an edge that made Olivia turn.

  “You know the Walls?”

  “I know they’re a wasteland. No laws, no resources, just desperate people.”

  Galen’s tactical assessment had an annoying way of being correct. The Syndicate had started out a bustling city-state. Over the generations since the Crisis, the population had shrunk, drawing law-abiding residents farther into the densely organized city core. That left miles of abandoned cityscape as a rotting shell. Mercenaries scavenged it. Criminals ran it. The government ignored it. It was a good place to get lost. Her lips thinned. “Then you’re aware Whispers can’t operate there. It’s the only place beyond reach of the government.”

  “I can think of one other place.”

  The Empire. The air deflated from Olivia’s lungs. “Galen.”

  “Won’t you consider it, Liv?” Galen said, in the way that said, Won’t you consider me? And he was so considerable: worried chocolate eyes, flat planes of warm skin a little too visible beneath his borrowed shirt. The lips she once thought arrogant now curved into a familiar, soft smile. The man was a confusing amalgam of sturdy morals and soft, inviting hopes. She wondered how she’d ever mistaken him for cruel.

  “I can’t,” Olivia answered both. She realized with a start that they’d drawn nearer. He still had her hand, fingers intertwined. His body tilted just so to shield her from the rooftop wind. It gave off a heat she was reluctant to step away from. She always found it easier to draw nearer to Galen than push away. “I can’t...consider.”

  “Afraid you’ll kiss me again?” His voice dipped, doing nonsense to Olivia’s stomach. She’d forgotten that he had a streak of that in him. “I promise I will ask first.”

  He had no idea the things Olivia was afraid she wanted to do with him. To him. She scoffed. “Haven’t you ever heard of a momentary distraction? That moment has passed.”

  “Not for me.” Galen looked at her.

  He was suddenly too big, filling up the roof with his presence. With cautious eyes and gentle hands and hard angles of skin that put off heat like a radiator and just made her want to thaw, thaw, thaw. To thaw when she was terrified with the thought that there would be nothing of her left under the ice. Being here put him in her world, her reality. It made the politics spinning around her real, it made the weeks in the Caeweld real, and if that was real so was the ache in her chest. Olivia had no way of looking at that straight on right now, not when the rest of her world was in flames and the only safe choice was to stay frozen.

  “Dinner,” she croaked out, backing up a step before managing to wave a hand in a way that didn’t feel like retreat. “I’m going to go help Yoshi. You just...” The motion became aimless and Olivia dropped down through the hatch before Galen could respond.

  * * *

  Yoshi and Emeric were halfway through a stir-fry war as she entered the kitchen. It immediately made the place feel shabbily homey, rather than the squatter’s hideout it actually was. Olivia paused at the door and took a slow breath, just letting the wave of humid spices and soft-edged grumbling wash over her. Emeric was chopping a handful of scraggly-looking greens on a board. Fresh vegetables were an upper-class commodity in the Syn—most of the Cauldron residents supplemented their food with the freeze-dried nutrients the government recommended. Emeric always found veggies anyway.

  “Emitters in place?” Emeric finished dicing what looked like a malnourished pepper and dumped it into the pan that Yoshi was pushing meat around in.

  “Yes, Pa. Finished all my chores, too.” Olivia grinned as Emeric made a face at her.

  Yoshi began to neatly pick every green thing out of the pan with tongs. “We’ll have dinner in a few.”

  “Growing revolutionaries need their veggies.” Emeric moved to the other side and began rescuing the veggies Yoshi was doing his best to discard.

  “I don’t think we’re overthrowing the Syn any time soon,” Yoshi said.

  “One country at war is bad enough.” Olivia leaned over the counter and grabbed for a pepper slice only to have her hand batted away. Emeric didn’t even have to look. “Only you would go on the run with fresh stir-fry ingredients.”

  “What?” This time Emeric rapped his partner’s hand as Yoshi tried to fish the greens out again. “It was on the meal plan anyway.”

  “Running from government kill squads works up an appetite,” Yoshi chirped.

  Emeric grumbled. “If you don’t eat something green you’re going to die of scurvy long before the government gets ahold of you.”

  “They’re slimy.”

  “The nutrients are in the slime. Lady’s bits, you’re worse than Jael.”

  “I’m gonna lose my appetite,” Olivia interrupted by snagging a plate as Emeric portioned it out. She picked through it with her fingers—Emeric had remembered enough food but not enough forks, evidently. She trained her eyes on the table. “Is Jael really going to be all right with you two hiding out here?”

  “There’s no place safer than with Noor.” Emeric fussed with his hair, which had mussed by the kitchen’s heat. He spoke sharp, as if annoyed by Olivia’s doubts—or his own. “He’ll be fine. Even if they flag our guardian status, I can clear it up before the Minders look for him there.”

  The governmental arm authorized with child placement and welfare were not nearly as kind as the name denoted. Whispers, Minders—the Syn had a gift for giving soft names to cruelties. The Minders scrutinized hopeful genta and altus couples looking to raise a child, and regularly snatched away children from homes if one parent died or the home fell below their standards. Something Emeric had traumatic personal experience with. Something he and Yoshi had just put behind them. Olivia’s gut tightened. She wouldn’t be responsible for any more tragedy, especially not for Yoshi and his family.

  “We’ll be fine,” Yoshi reassured her as he slid his share of peppers onto her plate. Olivia ate them, slimy and burning hot down her throat, before Emeric could notice.

  * * *

  By now, Galen knew better than to immediately chase Olivia when she fled. He took his time making sure all the devices they’d installed were working and watched the city skyline darken as he straightened out his thoughts.

  He’d been honest when he told Olivia he hadn’t come here expecting anything. When she left for the border, he’d simply come to the unpleasant realization that he could not summon the mental fortitude to return to his own country’s problems knowing Olivia was walking into a trap. It didn’t matter that she was a Syndicate woman. It didn’t matter that he’d barely had her acquaintance for two weeks. It most certainly didn’t matter if she was caricae, genta, or altus. She could be a moonwolf for all he cared. It was a gut-level need, a painful cord in his chest that ran out after her. The same instinctual rhythm was what had allowed two enemies to survive one of the most dangerous terrains in the Empire together. The immediate feeling that had allowed him to trust a mercenary who’d been willing to shoot him for pocket change.

  That had allowed Olivia to trust someone who embodied nearly everything she hated. It wasn’t convenience. It wasn’t utility. He believed it was more than that. The feeling that pulled him after her, even as his own country tee
tered on the edge—that made it more than a belief.

  He’d follow her to the ends of the earth. But gods, he wished she’d stop running out of the room every time he tried to talk.

  Galen followed the burnt smell of chemical spices to the kitchen. Olivia and her friends were already halfway through a pot that appeared to be on fire. Olivia was deep into what sounded like an argument with Emeric, having switched to a rapid-fire Syn basic. Galen, despite being trained in the staccato language, only caught every third word. Yoshi was taking the distraction to neatly pile his veggies, one by one, on Emeric’s plate before snagging more scraggly meat snips out of the scalding pan at the center of the table. Galen paused by the door and took the time to appreciate the sight. It was foreign, and a little horrifying, but it felt warm. Warm in a way he hadn’t felt since he and Sabine had moved to the palace.

  Olivia was in the middle of threatening Emeric with greasy fingers when she looked up. She caught Galen’s eye and only hesitated for a moment before shoving a plate toward the remaining chair next to the upended crate she sat on. “Eat. I saved you a fork.”

  He couldn’t help but notice she ate with her fingers. The whole table graciously switched back to Common as he sat down, though he couldn’t miss the feeling of three sets of Syndicate eyes on him as he snagged a couple clumps of the stir-fry from the pan. He skewered some veggies and paused with them halfway to his mouth. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

  “Depends.” Olivia dropped her chin into her hand and smirked in a way that made him feel whatever coming pain was worth it. “How do you feel about synth peppers?”

  As it turned out, Galen had strong opinions about synth peppers; new opinions, none of them good. He barely recognized what he ate as vegetables or meat, barely could see it for his watering eyes. He’d soldiered through half a bowl of it before Olivia took mercy and slid him a cup of milky, green-tinted liquid. “It’ll neutralize some of the heat.”

  Galen drank the cup in one gulp. It had a chalky, mint taste but he could speak again. “What kind of daft country makes food that has to be neutralized by other food?”

  “We get our entertainment where we can. It beats the government-mandated rot.” Emeric wiped tears from his own eyes—his cackle had been a background soundtrack since Galen’s third bite.

  The conversation turned quickly to the crisis at hand. Olivia fell quiet as Emeric outlined updates from the pulse feed. There was a statement on state-run news sources: a dangerous dissident, lines backing up at all the rail stations as sniffers were out in force.

  “You can’t stay in the city, of course.” Emeric pushed his plate away. “Do you have somewhere else you can be?”

  “Maybe.” Olivia studied the ceiling. “I was considering a run for the Walls.”

  “No.” Galen looked to Olivia imploringly. “No. Consider something else.”

  Olivia’s gaze cooled. “Are you trying to order me? This isn’t your country.”

  “I’m trying to beg you.”

  “Do you have anywhere else you can be?” Emeric asked again.

  Her chair creaked. Olivia looked away. “No.”

  Emeric, however, didn’t miss it. He looked quickly between Galen and Olivia. “Shaw, this isn’t really the time to be a stubborn—”

  “I’m not—”

  “You are always being stubborn. You’re a born asshole—”

  “And we love you for that,” Yoshi cut in.

  “Sure, whatever.” Emeric waved a hand. “But the Walls is a death sentence. You know it. Is there anywhere else you could be safe outside the city?”

  Galen held his tongue. The calculations twitched through her jaw. Olivia dragged a hand over her face. “I could cross the border again. The Empire. Maybe.” She wouldn’t look at him.

  “You’ll be safe there?” Emeric’s skepticism was obvious.

  “She will,” Galen said. He pressed his lips together again, briefly meeting her eyes, before the corners turned up. “Not that she needs protection, but she’d have it.”

  “I suppose that means we’re watching the hellbeast in the closet again,” Emeric muttered.

  Yoshi beamed. “Jael’ll be excited.”

  “If we’re doing this, we should probably loop the creeper in.” Olivia looked to Galen.

  It took a moment before he realized she was talking about Lyre. His smile quirked and he nodded. He dug around in his pocket until he brought out a silver button. He raised the blind of the window just enough to leave it balanced on the sill, silver face glinting outward.

  “She’s gonna see a thing like that in the dark?” Olivia foisted some dirty dishes into his hands as he returned. Emeric, to Galen’s surprise, manned the sink with a scrubber. He’d withdrawn a tiny vial of soap from his bag of tricks, though the ancient faucet only released lukewarm water in fits and spurts.

  “From the minister’s ottoman, yes,” Galen said, earning a lip twitch from Olivia and confused glances from the others. They’d barely finished piling the dishes in the sink when the door—the supposedly locked door—slid open.

  Lyre slouched in the doorway, looking just as comfortable in Syn streetwear as she did in Imperial uniform. He caught her give him a once-over before her hand subtly shifted in her pocket. Probably putting away whatever weapon had been aimed at his gut. “Not dead?”

  “Not yet.” Galen smiled. “You missed dinner.”

  “I kept busy. Are you done playing hero yet?” Lyre shouldered past him, sharp gaze ticking around the room, noting the state of the flat, the supply duffel on the ground, the smell of lethal Syn spices lingering in the air. Her chin turned toward the sound of chatter coming from the galley.

  Galen said, “Olivia’s—I suppose you’d call them her family.”

  “Meeting the family already? Hell, you do move fast.”

  “Play. Nice,” Galen reminded her before shoving her in for what was sure to be awkward introductions.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “The real problem,” Emeric pronounced once Lyre had joined them and Olivia had made grudging introductions, “is logistics.”

  “What do you mean?” Galen asked. The border crossing had been the most dangerous. Once they were inside the country, Galen and Lyre had encountered no problems moving about the Syndicate’s very public transit systems.

  “Getting to the border means getting on the train. I can fool the FL-AI scans with some clever pulseband tinkering but...”

  “Sniffers,” Olivia supplied, voice matter-of-fact in a way that heightened Galen’s concern. “If they’re really looking hard for me, they’ll have the sniffers in place at the train stations. It’s a measure that is only triggered when there’s an all-points bounty on a particularly dangerous rogue altus. Or a runaway caricae. There will be a checkpoint—”

  “A sealed checkpoint,” Emeric added.

  “—a sealed checkpoint before you can enter the station,” Olivia continued, grimacing. “Whenever sniffers are out, I can’t work for a week. Stupid machines.”

  “It’s a device that does a quick and dirty pheromone swab of the sweat on your palm.” Emeric evidently decided it was his turn to pick up the technical explanation. “Crude but effective. Gentas get a green light and go on through. An altus will get yellow and be pulled aside for a paperwork check. And since caricaes don’t leave an enrichment facility without a chaperon, if you come up as caricae—”

  “Red lights, locked doors, free sedatives, and an all-expense paid lifetime vacation to the program,” Olivia muttered. She meant it as the gallows humor she usually employed, but there was a specter of fear just behind it that made Galen’s chest hurt.

  Unacceptable. Galen focused his mind on the task. “Surely there’s a way to overcome the test.”

  “Sweat doesn’t lie. I would think an altus with such fine breeding as yourself would know that.”
Emeric’s tone was mild and prodding, but it turned regretful when his eyes flicked briefly to Olivia. “I’ve looked into it. The test is too simple to fool into false negatives, and the systems are enclosed—I don’t have the means to even touch it. Not anymore.” A look loaded with history slipped between Emeric and his husband before Yoshi straightened.

  “You could hide here,” he offered. “Least until the sniffers go offline.”

  Olivia and Lyre nearly shook their heads in unison, and Galen found it deeply unsettling when they agreed on anything. “It’d be a fox hunt then. This place is cleverly made to root out people,” said Lyre.

  “The fastest route to the border.” Olivia’s voice was subdued. Galen turned, but she appeared to be deep in a staring contest with her reflection in the shuttered window.

  Emeric began to helpfully tick off his fingers. “You’re going to run into the same problem with taxi scanners, rail stations, scooter rentals...”

  “And it’s not as if we can steal a train.” Yoshi laughed. He turned and nudged Olivia. His face fell. “Oh, no.”

  “What?” Emeric squinted over the mist of his screen.

  But Galen knew that faraway light in Olivia’s eyes. The idea that slowly, unerringly, tugged the corner of her mouth up into a half-mad smirk that swelled affection in his chest and already made his muscles ache with future stress. “We’re stealing a train?”

  “It’s not as if the sniffers are on the train. Only at the stations, right? Once we get on the train we only have to worry about the usual precautions.” Olivia’s voice sped up with zeal as she worked through the problem. “Sniffers lock down a station, but if we can enter the train somewhere that’s not the station—”

  Emeric stopped working. “The trains travel in sealed tubes through most of the city and at approximately several hundred clicks an hour.”

  “We just have to find the right spot where it’s not covered—” Olivia’s eyes squinted before flashing open. “The beltway bridge.”