by Zen, Raeden
Lady Eulalie kissed her cheeks and slung her arms around Brody, holding him tightly. “Oh, oh, oh, my little boy’s all grown and handsome and a captain and a supreme scientist! How I’ve missed you!” She looked around. “Where’s my other boy, where’s Nero?”
“Yes,” Damy said, her head tilted, “where is Nero?”
“On his way.”
Brody had not yet told Damy about Nero’s direct participation in the raid, having learned only this morning that his striker planned to join the BP’s assault on the Crypt. He’d wished Nero luck and promised to look after Verena, should the worst happen. For if the BP could steal a supreme scientist from the Research Superstructure, surely then they could also extract a comatose Verena from the RDD infirmary.
“Oh, oh, oh, I heard about Verena,” Lady Eulalie said with pouty lips. “Poor thing, I do hope she’ll be all right.”
“So do we,” Brody said.
A keeper bot called to Lady Eulalie. The lady waved. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said. She smiled and mouthed, I’m coming! “Oh, it was a pleasure to see you, but now I must greet the ministers, I so hope you’ll stop by our house when things … slow down.”
“We’d be honored to visit,” Damy said.
The lady kissed Brody and Damy on both their cheeks, then blended with the crowd.
Damy locked her arm into Brody’s again, and they scuttled up the stairs to the second platform, where Minister Noria Furongielle awaited with two guests and one of her white tigers. Damy’s sister-in-development wore a maroon gown, opaque below and transparent above. Dried black roses and wintergreen vines, recently cut and still redolent, twisted around her back and chest. Her arms were locked through the arms of two men, twins, developers by the looks of them, their suits embroidered with snakeskin designs.
The white tiger growled at Damy.
“She can sense a slut when she sees one,” Noria said.
“Are you sure,” Damy said, “or is it that she smells walking trash?”
The tiger bared its sharp teeth.
Damy drew back. Brody sensed her fear in the ZPF, though it had little to do with Noria or her tiger; she was reliving the attack in Silkscape City. He moved to comfort her.
Noria cut in front of him, putting her hand around his neck. She looked like she might kiss him, and he wasn’t sure what he could do, here, at the Bicentennial, for Noria was a minister. He glanced at Damy, who looked angry and petrified, her bronze skin graying.
“Congratulations on your heirs,” Noria said. “I do hope the Summersets make them as beautiful as the Variscans made you, and should the Harpoons go awry, know that I won’t let them leave the auction without a bid.”
Damy found her voice. “We don’t need your help.”
The white tiger lunged for Damy, who held back a scream.
Noria raised her hand, and the tiger calmed and purred. It rubbed its head against Noria’s leg, leaving white hair upon her gown. Noria wiped the hairs away and gave Brody an energetic, wet kiss. She released him and turned … into the slap of Damy’s palm.
Noria put her hand to her raw cheek, unable to hide the look of shock from her face. “Bitch.” She turned away from Damy and strutted toward the third platform, the twins on either arm, her white tiger in her wake, tail swaying.
Damy breathed deeply, looking ill.
“Are you all right?” Brody said. “Please, speak to me.” He cupped her face with his hands.
“I’m okay … it’s just that after that other night …” She sighed and rubbed her thumb over his lips. “You have lipstick,” she said, then chuckled. “I’ve made it worse.”
Brody licked his handkerchief and cleaned her fingers and his lips.
Damy waved to Verne and Gwen. Verne was dressed in traditional Navitan attire, a green and yellow button-down shirt with golden suspenders, green bow tie, corduroy pants, and a long cashmere coat. Gwen wore a traditional Palaestran gown, interlaced with pink floral designs that shifted back and forth depending on how she moved. Her magenta heels matched a boa around her neck that fluttered near her ankles.
“I love your dress,” Damy said.
Gwen curtsied and smiled and hugged her.
Verne bowed slightly to Brody and extended his hand. “Pleasure, Captain.”
“Pleasure,” Brody said, not unkindly, though he wished he’d seen neither Verne nor Gwen tonight, his last night with Damy for gods knew how long.
When Gwen and Damy finished talking about their hair and makeup and designers and Project Silkscape, Damy hugged Verne, and Gwen kissed Brody’s cheek tenderly. “You look stately tonight, Captain Barão.”
“As do you,” Brody said. He kissed her right hand. “I’ve heard you have a nasty right hook.” In truth, he heard she had punched Antosha so hard he flew ten meters through the air and rolled so awkwardly down marble steps in the Champion’s Suite that many neophytes thought she’d killed him. He’d not seen her since the incident.
Gwen batted her eyelashes, then pressed her lips to Brody’s ear. “I’m loyal to you, my captain.” She faced him. “Together we’re going to find a cure for the Reassortment Strain.”
Brody grinned. “We should move on to the third platform.”
Gwen nodded and stepped forward as if Brody’s words were an invitation to join them. “What about Nero?” she said.
“Yes,” Damy echoed, “what about Nero?”
“He’ll meet us up there.”
The four of them proceeded up the steps together. On the third platform, near the trellis, the crowd gazed to the sky in unison. The firework launchers at the hall’s base burst, and the city skyline flashed. In the night sky, bright blue and green letters formed:
CONGRATULATIONS BEIMENI ON TWO HUNDRED YEARS OF PEACE AND PROSPERITY
The crowd clapped and roared. Large particles of some kind fell from the sky. When the phosphorescent lighting shone on them, Brody saw they were passionflowers, spinning, reflecting gold.
Damy caught one in her hand and blew it from her palm in a kiss.
Brody couldn’t tell if it was meant for him or Verne.
“Attention. Attention. This is the evening’s first call to decorum.” Lady Isabelle’s voice boomed from the speakers.
White light beneath the trellis dimmed, and the babble trailed to whispers and silence. Lady Isabelle floated across the golden marble stage beneath a spotlight. Her beauty struck Brody, oddly, even as the bile rose in his throat. Temporary animated tattoos that looked like neurons adorned her porcelain skin on her chest and neck. Skin tone and coloring designed—Brody realized for the first time—to feign solidarity with the lesser territories, ever an afterthought for her eternal partner, and fertile recruiting grounds for the BP.
Isabelle arrived at the glass podium center stage. Her lavender hair splayed over a golden band, visible above her forehead, sparkling under the trellis lights. “Welcome, Beimeni,” the lady began, “to the opening festivities of your two-hundredth-year celebration of an unprecedented era of peace and prosperity.” She extended her arms. She seemed happier than Brody remembered in recent years, a color in her face similar to the day she’d attacked him and Damy. He felt a coldness in his stomach and swallowed. “I present to you … Supreme Chancellor Atticus Masimovian, he who will always serve.”
Likenesses of Chancellor Masimovian repeated over the fifty Granville panels beneath the trellis. Lady Isabelle awaited an end to the applause. “And now, Great Commonwealth, to begin the first act in our celebration, I give to you the unforgettable, the spectacular, the luscious, Miss Veronicella!”
“I loved her in the Cornucopia of the Underworld!” a man shouted. “Bravo!” another man screamed. “I haven’t seen her perform since A Gale in Winter in 237, what a year!” More praise followed. A woman almost fainted next to Brody.
Veronicella took the stage, and her voice flooded the hall with serenity and peace.
May the gods be with my striker and his comrades this evening, Brody thought, and may
they prove my decision wise.
After Veronicella, the duet of Gannon and Severina concluded with a standing ovation and more chants of “Bravo!” All Brody pondered was Damy, the twins, and Nero, who would risk his life tonight for a man they had so cleverly and clandestinely deposed.
How times changed.
How I’ve changed.
Lady Isabelle reappeared. “I hope everyone savored the opening act of the Bicentennial. We’ll be pausing for an intermission while the chairs are cleared. Feel free to enjoy the pyrotechnic display outside and the refreshments at the south end of the third platform. I’ll call for decorum prior to remarks from our keynote speaker.”
Brody held Damy’s hand, and they made their way to the balustrades at the third platform’s east side, facing the city’s southeast districts and the Cherry Hills beyond. Verne and Gwen laughed near a golden bot that held a tray covered with hors d’oeuvres. They took a shot of a strong synism-infused alcohol, which looked bright orange in the clear glasses. They sucked lime slices, then Verne fed her a blueberry tart.
“They’re getting along well enough,” Brody said.
Damy didn’t respond, but he noted the twist to her face.
She doesn’t like to see him with another woman—
“Hey, Captain!” he heard, the speaker a scientist on his team named Jeanerette. She waved and pointed to the bar. Brody waved his hand, No thanks. He leaned against the balustrade. Damy spoke, but he didn’t hear her.
“Where’s Nero?” she repeated.
He pinched his nose and rubbed his eyes. Another Reassortment scientist and her eternal partner greeted them, saving Brody momentarily, until Damy grabbed his cashmere coat sleeve and marched him down to the second-platform balustrades, separated from the Janzers and the aristocrats and the Bicentennial celebration.
She turned him to face her. “Where’s Nero?”
“On his way to retrieve Jeremiah Selendia.”
“This is madness! Gods, you’ve done it again!”
“I only found out this morning.”
Though her face twisted with fury, she was choking back tears. Brody didn’t know what to say, so he stayed quiet.
“Nero, fighting with the BP,” she whispered. “Oh Brody, please, let’s not wait to see how this turns out. We could leave right now, together. Save our children—”
He looked into her eyes. “I want to make the world better for you and the twins. I have an opportunity to do that.”
She turned away from him. “All I want is Oriana and Pasha in my arms in the North. I don’t care about the BP or Jeremiah Selendia.” She faced Brody. Whether it was hate in her expression, or determination, he couldn’t tell. “Have you forgotten what it was like to work with him?” Brody hesitated, and Damy added, “You told me more times than I can count that he was just like his brother-in-development. You’re trading one tyrant for another.”
“No, no, I can’t believe that.” Brody reached for her, but she stepped away from his grasp. “I could be next. You could be next, Damy. The ministry must know—”
“The ministry won’t believe you. And even if they do, Chancellor Masimovian will—”
“But I have to try. Don’t you see?”
“Oh, I see … yes, I finally do.”
Splashes of light from the pyrotechnic display accentuated the illusory waterfall effect from the blue-on-blue light on the side of Hammerton Hall. The aristocrats cheered. Brody and Damy looked up toward the third platform.
“Attention, attention,” Lady Isabelle’s voice boomed, “this is the evening’s second call to decorum.”
“Come,” Damy said.
Atticus Masimovian stepped up to the glass podium, his garb covering him so thickly it was hard to believe the chancellor stood beneath it all.
The applause and screams and stomps sounded as if an army marched through the hall.
Gwen and Verne returned, chatting and laughing.
“Please,” Brody said in Damy’s ear, “stay close!”
Damy didn’t respond. He’d never seen her look so distant.
Masimovian smiled and turned to and fro as two panels emerged upon the stage on either side of him. “I love speaking to Beimenians,” he said, “especially when I have good news!”
Magnificent Masimo! Magnificent Masimo!
Magnificent Masimo! Magnificent Masimo!
Masimovian raised and lowered his arms, and the crowd quieted. “It was two hundred years ago when I stood on the man-made ground of Livelle city-state. Two hundred years ago when I assured the newly created commonwealth that humanity would live on, would fight on, would prosper, would one day return to the surface.
“Now as we all gather under the lights of the great halls and squares, expanded further and longer than anyone then imagined, it is altogether fitting and proper that I reassure the people my resolve stands by yours.
“We shall move forward!
“We shall achieve conversion!
“We shall return to the surface of the Earth!”
Magnificent Masimo! Magnificent Masimo!
Magnificent Masimo! Magnificent Masimo!
He grinned and blew Beimeni-sized kisses. His lips moved to say I love you, and he waved in all directions. The lights reflected off his teeth.
Magnificent Masimo! Magnificent Masimo!
Magnificent Masimo! Magnificent Masimo!
To the sounds of trumpets, the Granville panels displayed key moments in the commonwealth’s history—the construction of Livelle City at a depth of two thousand five hundred meters deep, the first expansion from Livelle City, the first iteration of the Fountain of Youth, the first man and woman to live to age one hundred, the first man and woman to live to age one hundred fifty, to age two hundred, a picture of Masimovian with his current age of 233 years was illuminated in gold, the first manned mission to Mars, the first manned mission to Venus, the first manned Mission to Vigna, Dr. Kole Shrader’s stasis tank, the construction and completion of Hammerton Hall.
Red rose petals drizzled over the crowd, and Chancellor Masimovian embraced Lady Isabelle, her hair swinging around her with her gown. She grinned and let the petals drip onto her palms.
“It’s with great honor,” Masimovian said, “that I announce a commencement of the celebratory session!”
The orgy, Brody thought. This was his and Damy’s opportunity to leave, unnoticed. He would await word from the operation with Minister Kaspasparon in Portage Citadel, and Damy would secure the twins. If the ministry disbelieved him, she would remain hidden with them forever. He dared not think what might happen to him.
When Brody moved through the crowd, he was blocked, for thousands of golden bots streamed across the third platform, carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne glasses.
Explosions blared in the Granville night, timed with the pyrotechnic display. The hall rumbled.
The crowd assumed the tremors through Hammerton Hall were part of the show and cheered, but most of the Janzers on the third platform raced down the marble stairs.
ZPF Impulse Particles
Beimeni and Middle Zones
2,500 and 2,750 meters deep
Particle 1: Cornelius Selendia
When the explosions filled the pit, Connor thought he saw Hans, his brother’s face and body formed within the light, outlined in smoke, his lips moving. Don’t be afraid. That’s what Hans had told him prior to their departure from Piscator. And later on, when Connor had asked if he’d see him again, he’d replied, “I hope so.”
Hans might not approve of his participation in the raid, but surely he’d approve of the outcome. Father, Connor thought, we’re here, we’re here … I’m coming—
“Down!” Aera said.
Connor adjusted the lever on his rappel device, as did Aera, Murray, and Nero, and they broke through the smoke.
Kneeling upon the hard alloy ground of Permutation Crypt, Connor activated his night vision.
They darted through the parallelogram-shap
ed room, into a tunnel, and on to the next room.
“I have movement,” Aera said.
She unsheathed her sword, and Nero lifted a shuriken.
“No,” she said, “it’s nothing, just a blown vent.”
They scurried into the next tunnel, Aera and Murray on point. Nero and Connor trailed them.
Connor breathed deeply as Aera had taught him, to keep his nerves, and emotions, under control.
The team pressed onward, into a new tunnel, but when they did, a thick, transparent plastic barrier emerged. Aera and Murray were beyond it. Murray turned and pressed against it with his palms.
The corners of the tunnel, the entryway, and the rooms filled with fluid and electric-blue phosphorescent light. Aera’s and Murray’s faces brightened in the void.
Murray’s eyes were wide. He pointed to the ceiling and mouthed, Shift!
“Brace yourself!” Nero said.
The EMP should have fried the electromagnetic coils, Connor thought, just as a low hum and a rumble shook the tunnel.
“Get down, now—”
The tunnel’s walls, floor, and ceiling moved with such speed and force that Connor felt weightless. He and Nero levitated and twisted as the alloy-containing objects on their bodies and inside their belts forced them up.
Along the corners, a blackened coil twisted through transparent tubes.
A plate unlatched from behind Connor’s knee and calf when he crashed into the ceiling.
“It’s been magnetized,” Nero said, stammering, his voice broken by the vibrations. The tubes that attached to the mineral crusher tank dislodged and swung around Nero. His shuriken loosened.
Alloy stools and rods and fragments became pasted to the ceiling all around him and Connor.
Beams from the wall dislodged. Connor saw them coming but couldn’t move. They shot across his synsuit. He wailed and his visor fogged.