Pyros peered through the cratered windshield.
Two hundred feet ahead, the pediwalks ended. They gave way to vertical glass façades that hugged the transway.
A natural bottleneck.
A choke point.
An ideal spot for an—
He reefed the throttle backward. Compressed air blasted from the forward grill, creating a billowy wall of mist. The levicart bucked, bleeding off speed.
Fifty feet ahead, through the dissolving mist, the transway deformed and blistered. A split-second later, the ear-popping roar of sonic charges hammered the vehicle.
Crystalline hail showered the windshield, its ferocious ticks veiling Cang’s savage profanities. The concussive blasts decelerated the levicart from fifty miles an hour to a dead stop in the space of twelve inches.
Pyros pitched forward. His shock belt alone spared him from the lethal arrest. He yanked back on the steering yoke, cranking it to the right until he hit the limiter stops.
The sweeping reverse turn yawed the vehicle. It canted forty degrees and a hair’s breadth from tipping. Its nose dug into a guardrail, splintering a series of stanchions before breaking loose.
He stopped the turn and slammed the throttle forward, heart skip-beating in his throat. Beside him, Cang’s arm flexed as if she was pushing her own imaginary throttle, urging the levicart to accelerate.
Within seconds, they streaked past one hundred miles per hour. He didn’t back off the throttle until they’d doubled the speed and cleared the cull zone.
Cang released a whooshing breath. “You have good instincts, sire. Dissenters don’t often place sonic charges beneath transways.”
Pyros swiped sweat from his brow. “My instincts tell me that if the Unum stays on his present course, we’ll be seeing more of these attacks in the days to come.” He glanced at Cang. “I need a favor from you.”
“You only have to ask.”
“It will be risky.”
She nodded at the cracked and cratered windshield. “What isn’t nowadays?”
“I need you to meet with the district commanders. Gauge where their loyalties lie.”
“To what end?”
“We can’t turn all the Jireni against the ruling caste, but we have to find enough support to remove the Unum from power.”
“And who’ll take his place?”
Pyros squeezed the steering yoke. He didn’t have an answer for that question. Not yet. “I’d best get you back before your absence is noted.”
“How soon do you need to know the loyalties of the other commanders?”
“Could you complete the task before the May S.A.T.?”
Cang mulled the question. “Yes, but I’ll need an innocent way to frame the inquiry. One that won’t arouse the suspicions of those allied with the Unum.”
“You’re a courageous woman. I won’t forget this.”
She didn’t acknowledge the compliment.
Pyros allowed himself a smile; the years hadn’t changed her disposition toward flattery. He slowed the levicart and descended the next ramp onto a northbound transway. It would take them back into the heart of Zhongguo Cheng’s administrative district, back into the heart of the Unum’s reign.
With any luck that heart would soon beat no more.
* * *
IN THE VOID, Laoshi, Daoren, and Heqet gathered atop the lumenglass stage. The grooll mill’s plasmonic projection dwarfed them.
Laoshi manipulated his quantum tile, calling up a variety of renderings. Each presented a new perspective on the mill’s structure, displaying its intricacies from different angles and at multiple scales. “We’ll spend the next few weeks reviewing the grooll-making process,” he said. “You’ll study the mill’s design until you know every component, every system, and every step in the process by heart.”
Daoren and Heqet nodded, engaged and attentive.
Laoshi was relieved to see interest rather than anxiety in their eyes. They’d need all their faculties to survive the coming challenge. “The key to your survival is timing,” he continued. “The grooll-making process is fully automated and begins inside the Center. Failing prospects are stunned while they’re still restrained in their seats. Two minutes later, the seats rotate beneath the floor.”
He tapped his tile.
The projection’s perspective zoomed in, highlighting a single platform. Blue, egg-shaped pods dotted its surface, arrayed in an evenly spaced line.
“The Center’s rows and seats are aligned with the mill’s platforms and pods,” Laoshi said. “The seat restraints unlock after another minute, dropping the stunned prospects into their individual pods.”
Another tap of the tile reduced the perspective to that of a single life-sized pod.
Daoren and Heqet paced around the plasmonic pod, inspecting it from various angles. An opening measuring seven feet long and two feet wide middled its upper surface. Below the opening, a reclining seat mounted to its base. Twelve half-dome lenses protruded from the curved interior walls positioned around the seat. At the rear, twelve cables sprouted from the pod’s exterior surface. Six hoses connected to the base, each three inches in diameter.
Laoshi circled the pod while his charges examined its components. “Once you’re in the pod, you’d best get out right away.”
He tapped the tile. A transparent panel sealed the pod’s opening.
Heqet flinched at the panel’s blinding speed. “It’s self-sealing?”
“And airtight. It can’t be reopened by hand.”
Daoren passed his hand through the dozen cables connected to the pod’s rear surface. “What are these?”
“Power cables.” Laoshi tapped the tile. “For the photonic cutters.”
A ruddy matrix of hair-thin, monochromatic beams emanated from the half-dome lenses. They intersected an inch below the transparent panel, forming a horizontal grid. After ten seconds, the beams angled downward, sweeping back and forth over the seat’s longitudinal and lateral axes.
Daoren gazed at the dancing, cross-hatched light pattern. He shuddered, perhaps imagining Mako’s fate at the January S.A.T.
Laoshi drew a breath. This wouldn’t be easy for the boy to hear, but it had to be said. “The cutters pre-slice the prospect’s pienfu and skin to ease their removal.”
Daoren squeezed his eyes shut. Heqet’s hands shot up to her mouth.
“I know this is difficult,” Laoshi said, “but you need to focus. You must know what to expect if you’re to survive.”
Daoren opened his eyes. Heqet lowered her hands. They were back in the moment.
“After pre-slicing, hoses in the pod’s base evacuate the air, creating a high vacuum. The vacuum de-gloves the skin and removes the entrails.” Laoshi paused to make sure they were still with him. “And here’s the most important point to remember. Each pod uses ultrasonic energy to liquify its occupant. You must be clear of the platform before it starts.”
Daoren and Heqet spoke with one wary voice. “Or else?”
Laoshi wished he had a gentler answer, but no words could soften this hard truth. “Or else you’ll be converted into slurry.”
* * *
THE UNUM CROSSED the chamber floor, returning to his desk from his afternoon ablutions. It was another old habit—though less mature than his panel-gazing.
His gang of medical practitioners constantly berated him about the need for exercise. To still their concerns, he’d taken to using the waste chamber on the south side of the Assembly to empty his bladder and bowels. Every afternoon for the past three years, he walked ten minutes out and ten minutes back to render his effluent unto Daqin Guojin. He’d grown to enjoy the brief respite—to look forward to it, in fact. As much as he appreciated his chamber’s opulence, it could take on the suffocating feel of a prison after a half-day of inertia.
He eased into his chair. A knock issued from the door to the outer chamber the moment his posterior took his weight. He sighed—so much for the respite. “Come in if you must.”
/> The door swung open and Cang entered. She marched over, sandals clipping an assertive beat on the crystalline floor.
“Ah, Commander Cang,” he said. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
Cang halted before the desk and bowed. She straightened and clasped her hands behind her back, adopting a rigid posture that still looked relaxed. Her unblinking gaze fixed straight forward, tracking a foot above the Unum’s head.
He tarried for her to speak. Most district commanders couldn’t stop chatterwailing in his presence; a byproduct of nerves, he presumed, or a desire to steer the conversation toward topics they knew to be safe. Cang, in contrast, was a monument to reticence, and an unadorned one at that. She wore no glass implants, at least none visible to the naked eye. Beneath her black bianfu, however, her svelte body might boast the most alluring patterns.
After ten wordless seconds, the Unum realized he’d have to take the lead lest they bide the rest of the afternoon in awkward quiet. “I must tell you,” he said, “your handling of the investigation into the attack at the glass market was exemplary. I read your reports with keen interest.”
“My thanks.”
After a lengthy pause, it became clear that Cang had finished speaking. Evidently, she was a woman of few words. “I’m also told that since your appointment as district commander, acts of dissent in Zhongguo Cheng have declined by forty percent.”
“I have many good men under my command,” she said. “They’re responsible for the success.”
The Unum scanned for signs of insincerity on her unadorned face. He found none. Sapient Sha—she actually meant it. “You’re too modest. Good men are forged by great leaders.”
“Forgive me, Unum, but is there a specific reason you wanted to see me today? Your niece wasn’t able to provide one.”
“There is,” he said, appreciating her directness—a rare trait among senior Jireni. “How many open investigations do you have in your district?”
“Hundreds. I’d have to check my records to be sure.”
“Could you add one more?”
“Of course. Who’s the subject?”
“Pyros.”
He’d spent the better part of an hour pondering how to deliver the name. Should he creep up on it, planting hints as he went, to avoid alarming her? Or should he blurt it out and strive for the greatest impact? He decided the latter approach would be most revealing, but it proved disappointing.
If hearing the name shocked Cang, she hid it well. He couldn’t detect any changes to her expression, not even to the size of her pupils, that indicated concern. She remained a monument to reticence.
“Primae Jiren Pyros?”
“Yes. That Pyros.”
“It would help if I knew what you . . . what was suspected.”
“Nothing specific,” he said, tucking away the verbal slip for future reference. “It’s as much for his own protection as for that of the city-state. It would put some minds at ease.”
Cang’s brow granted the slightest wrinkle before smoothing.
He wagered she ached to ask whose minds were uneasy. It spoke well of her political intelligence that she wasn’t willing to voice the question.
“I want you to observe him,” he said, rising from his chair. “And report to me on a weekly basis regarding any behavior that seems out of character for a Primae Jiren. Can you do that?”
“I can, Unum.”
“Excellent! It goes without saying that this investigation is for no one’s eyes but my own. I’m trusting your discretion.”
Cang bowed. “You will have it.”
She marched back to the door, sandals clipping another assertive beat.
The Unum studied her departure. Reticent, humble, direct, and unflappable—Commander Cang harbored many admirable qualities.
If only more of his district commanders could be the same.
* * *
CANG EMERGED FROM the Unum’s chamber and proceeded down the hallway at a measured pace. She passed a dozen members of the Cognos Populi, nodding her usual terse greeting, before entering the waste chamber.
Inside, ten stalls lined a wall opposite a row of hand basins and a mirror. She crouched to check the stalls for occupants.
They were vacant.
Cang entered the first stall and locked its door. The nausea that had welled before she entered the Unum’s chamber crested a second later. She leaned over and retched into the waste basin. She braced her hands against her knees and retched again . . . and again.
A minute later, she spat out the remnants of bile and grooll and flushed the evidence away. She exited the stall and crossed to the hand basins.
Cang gargled water and checked the mirror to make sure she’d left no evidence on her tunic. There was none, but the redness of her scalp and bulging veins over her temples spoke of her exertion. She’d have to tarry until both subsided before leaving the chamber. It would give her time to sort through the last few disturbing minutes.
She’d walked into the Unum’s chamber thinking she’d been betrayed.
Julinian had arrived at the district office with the Unum’s summons an hour after the meeting with Pyros. The timing made it appear that she’d been set up by the Primae Jiren, enticed by him to voice her dissent toward the ruling caste. Even the attack on the levicart became suspicious; Pyros could have arranged it to strengthen their bond of trust.
She’d walked into the Unum’s chamber thinking she’d never walk out again.
Cang didn’t know what to make of the Unum’s request, but she’d wager ten years of grooll rations that he was the one with an uneasy mind. If he wanted Pyros investigated, it had to mean he viewed him as a threat. It had to mean Pyros was her ally, did it not?
She leaned on the hand basin, trying to get a grip on the situation. After a minute, she straightened her back.
The Unum’s request must be authentic. It wouldn’t make sense to ask her to monitor Pyros as a test of her loyalty if she’d already proven her loyalty to be lacking. The very fact that she was standing in a waste chamber with the acrid aftertaste of vomit in her mouth instead of facing a firing line of Jireni with a gag in her mouth was proof enough.
The question now was whether to inform Pyros. If he knew he was being investigated on the Unum’s orders, would it affect his behavior and decision-making, making an ill situation worse? She’d have to think it over.
She wouldn’t have to think over how to frame her inquiry into the loyalty of the district commanders. A sanctioned investigation into Pyros’ behavior gave her the perfect excuse to take their pulse. The realization brought a smile to her lips.
The Unum had handed her an ideal cover story.
The chamber’s door swung open. An Africoid elder in a purple shenyi entered.
“Afternoon, Jiren,” the elder said, hobbling toward the stalls.
Cang gave him a terse nod and checked her reflection. Her skin tone and veins had returned to normal.
She exited the chamber before the door swung closed.
15
Haunted
DAOREN AND HEQET occupied the center of the lumenglass stage in the Void. The grooll mill’s plasmonic projection loomed high above them.
Daoren craned his neck, taking in the glutted expanse of glass piping. It glinted beneath a single platform, every bend and twist rendered with pinpoint accuracy. He’d been staring up at the snarl for nearly an hour.
Heqet pointed at another section. “What about that route?”
Daoren squinted, but he couldn’t make out what she was pointing at. “Could you reduce the scale, Laoshi?”
Laoshi lingered on the side of the stage. He’d stayed silent the entire time, seemingly content to let them find the best path from the top of the platform to the floor of the grooll mill. He manipulated his quantum tile. The projection shrank to a more reasonable size.
“How’s that?” Laoshi asked.
“Perfect,” Daoren said, rubbing his stiff neck. The wall of piping now
rose only ten feet above the stage, but retained its fidelity. “But I still don’t see a workable route.”
“There,” Heqet said, arm still extended, finger still pointing. “It has good handholds.”
He eyed the horizontal length of pipe. “And no footholds.”
“So?”
Daoren turned to her—his neck immediately protested the sudden rotational movement. “So you’d have to support your weight with your hands alone. That pipe’s at least forty feet long.”
“So?” she asked, voice rising to match her reddening cheeks.
“So you’d have to work your way hand-over-hand until we got to there.” He pointed at an area where the piping grew more concentrated. “You’re telling me you have the grip strength to do that?”
She dipped her chin and leveled a glare. “Give me something to squeeze and I’ll prove it to you.”
Daoren snorted. “That’s constructive.”
Heqet snorted back. “It’s a threat, actually.”
“Why don’t you take your threats and stick them up your—”
“Enough!” Laoshi shouted from the stage’s margin. “You two, honestly.”
Heqet spun to her grandfather. “Is it my fault he thinks I’m weak?”
“For the love of Sha,” Daoren said. “I’m not strong enough to make that transit!”
She spun back to him. “How would you know?”
“I used to climb Rhyger’s Cliffs on the Western Mound.”
“You climbed Rhyger’s Cliffs.”
“It was one of my favorite haunts.”
“That explains so much . . .”
“What do you mean?”
“I always wondered if you fell on your head as a child.”
Daoren bit his tongue until his ire subsided. “All I’m saying is that I know what it takes to traverse a difficult route.” He pointed at the route Heqet favored. “I’d have problems making that work without solid footholds.”
“Then which route would you suggest?” she asked.
Daoren scanned the piping. In truth, he couldn’t see any workable route that spanned its height and width. Not without mechanical aids of some kind. “I don’t know.”
Survival Aptitude Test: Sound (The Extinction Odyssey Book 1) Page 16