by Loren Walker
Lander’s eyes grew round and afraid, and he clutched his arm, as if he were afraid that she might yank it off. “NINE,” he repeated, shuddering.
“I know,” Anandi agreed, resentment swirling in her chest. “NINE.”
II.
Travelling back to her base of operations, Anandi removed the passport again, and stared at the picture. Why had she held onto it, all this time? All it did was drudge up all her insecurities, all her memories of how she’d first gotten ensnared by Phaira and her brothers.
Ten years, ago, she, along with other mathematicians, had been recruited to help put an end to a small, but violent conflict in the West, their task to clear communications, satellites, and codes, so casualties could be minimized, and a treaty could be developed. Neither side was budging, and they were speaking in code to each other, so Osha asked for remote translators and codebreakers. It was a brief assignment, only seven days, but she always remembered the intensity of it. She was so young, only fourteen years old, and smarter than everyone in the room. If she volunteered, the university told her, they would clear her disciplinary record, and ‘forget’ about her violation of private records. It seemed like a simple choice, and another way to keep going. For Anandi, stealing information was natural. A slip of paper in her boot; a swipe of her Lissome to make copies; little secrets, little tells, here and there to gather and store away for another time.
So, she was in a cramped lab space, somewhere in the desert, with a bunch of men and women just as hot and frustrated as her, waiting for directions. And she’d overheard a conversation, looked over and seen a young man whispering furiously into a Lissome: “Do you have a shaved head??”
When she’d craned her neck to get a look at the visual, Anandi saw the face of a girl with gray-green eyes and sharp features. Her heart had fluttered at the sight.
The man, however, was red-faced, hissing into the Lissome: “You’re too young. Just turn around and go home. There’s a war going on, and you’ve just put yourself on the front lines. They could deploy you over here, and then what? We don’t even know what - ”
“Why are you mad at me?” came the girl’s interruption, her voice dark and husky, despite her youth. “I’m of age. I can be useful. I’ve had training in martial arts, I’m strong, I pick things up fast. I can help - ”
The audio cut off as the young man clicked his Lissome closed. Curious, Anandi watched him out of the corner of her eye, how tightly he gripped the mechanism, how his mouth moved without sound. She felt drawn to him, somehow. Everyone else on this team, they barely wanted to have anything to do with her, for her youth, for her genius, for her odd, awkward looks.
She rocked back and forth on her heels, waiting for him to notice her. Finally, he did, glaring at her over his glasses, his blond hair flopping over his forehead. “What?”
“That your girlfriend?”
He made a face. “My sister.”
“So what’s got you so upset?”
“She joined the army without telling me.”
“Oh!" Anandi exclaimed, with growing interest. "Well, good for her.”
“No, not good for her,” the man shot back. “Reckless, and irresponsible, and done when I’m not at home to stop it, of course. The one time I’m not there….”
“Geez, you sound like her father.”
“Someone’s got to be in charge, and it ended up being me.”
“Well, she won’t get deployed,” Anandi reasoned. “Training for the first two years, minimum.”
“And if the conflict continues out here?” he shot back.
“This isn’t a war,” she reminded him. “It’s a skirmish that people want to bury.” She eyed him up and down. “You really hate being here. Where do you study?”
“Daro. Experimental mathematics.”
“You wish you were back there?”
There was a curious shift in his expression. “Here, it just seems we are sitting around, waiting to be useful,” he finally said.
“I don’t wait to be useful,” Anandi said.
The young man stared at her. “What’s your name? How old are you?”
“Ani,” she said. “And old enough.”
One side of his mouth quirked in a smile. “Well, I’m Renzo. You kind of remind me of my sister. Does that mean I have to watch out for you, too?”
Smiling back at him, Anandi made a decision.
I’m going to find out everything I can about you and that sister.
And she kept to her vow. Since their dismissal from the conflict one week later, she had been somewhat stalking Renzo and Phaira for the past ten years, never interacting, never interfering, but keeping track on their whereabouts. She checked once a week to see if anything had changed. Through her dogged schedule, Anandi knew every detail of the siblings’ lives, available on the network and deep within official files: their genetic codes, their medical records, their arguments with child protective services. She debated, time and again, about getting in touch with Renzo, trying to resume a friendship, but each attempt made her feel foolish. She was notorious by then as Anandi Ajyo, known hacker-cracker, along with her father. Though she never told her father about her tracking. She never told anyone.
And now, at the other end: bitterness. That was the primary emotion when it came to the Byrne family. Bitterness, for involving Anandi in their complicated, near criminal dealings. Too many times, they relied on her and her fast-moving fingers and her endless paths of intel, without thought or care to the consequences to her. She was just a computer for them. She wondered sometimes if they even liked her as a person, or just saw her for how she was useful. Bitterness, resentment, and nostalgia, sometimes, for that brief moment in time that she and Renzo built the Arazura. When she taught him hacking and cracking. When Phaira protected her from law patrol's sudden attempt to arrest her. When Phaira held her hand when Anandi’s father was near-death, and she couldn't cry any more tears.
Then, once again, the Savas had ruined everything. Turned the family to their side, poisoned them into thinking they were doing good. It made Anandi sick to see the reports, detailing the appearances of Theron Sava, with the Byrne family at his side. Theron Sava had become a threat the moment his grandfather died, and he was the only blood successor. Phaira and Renzo were fools to not realize it, to not heed Anandi’s warnings and run far, far away. They had chosen to believe a Sava over her.
It was her hurt, and her determination that led Anandi to discover the truth behind Bianco Sava’s identity. In truth, she wondered why she hadn't made the connection earlier.
When the Sava killings started, and Anandi dug deeper into the underworld, she immediately took notice of the man who was always with Theron, the advisor’s oddly-empty history beyond twenty years. Too similar to the NINE timeline, she thought on first glance. Some deeply-hidden image files, scrounged up from the strangely well-protected Asanto Foundation, confirmed her fears. He was fatter, older, and balder than he once was, but he had the same eyes, even though they were dyed gold; they were the same as Joran Asanto’s. Incredible; he had leeched himself onto the grandfather Sava and taken a place in the family.
For what purpose, though? she wondered. The Asanto name was still relevant. Why build another legacy?
Because that's what Bianco Sava had been doing all this time, it seemed, as she waded through recorded conversations, travel plans, surveillance files from every corner of Osha, showing Bianco Sava speaking with noted syndicate members, shaking hands, exchanging funds. He was making deals across the continent. And given the secrecy of these dealings, Anandi suspected that it wasn't for the benefit of the syndicate.
A report came in, from one of the Hitodama monitors: I think I found the Arazura, came the scrolling text. It’s been impounded in Ivo: abandoned, supposedly. Registered to a rental company, but has the same blue paneling that you mentioned. Do you want to claim it?
That was curious. Anandi has been unable to track the Arazura, since learning CaLarca had stolen i
t. That was surprising, it was usually easy to pinpoint the ship and peek into the family’s affairs. Now here it was: stolen, likely shoved into some awful warehouse, waiting for a claim within seven days before it was torn apart for scrap metal. She knew how things worked in poor towns; there was a lot of rana in the Arazura, and its parts could be useful to someone. She’d had a part in building the thing, she’d assembled all the engineers to work under Renzo to make him feel useful, stubborn and prickly as he was. Did she ever even get a thank you? She couldn’t remember.
Still, something tugged at her. This wasn’t right, as hostile as she felt about the Byrne family. Renzo adored the Arazura. She could remember him sitting on its roof in that hanger, when they were building, running his hands over the paneling, how comfortable he was in the pilot’s seat.
How many times was she going to go through the motions of saving them? If it wasn't for her, they would have been dead or jailed months ago. She could just send someone to claim the Arazura, so it didn't get junked. That was favor enough.
Anandi leaned back in her chair, stomping one foot on the ground. No. She needed to go herself. An honest exchange, for once in her life. No corrupted files, no masks. Visual confirmation that the beautiful ship wasn't destroyed. Maybe she would take it for herself. Long past-due payment for everything she had done for that family.
** *
“You can't be seen in public. I'll go.”
Anandi sighed. “No one knows what I look like, Papa.”
“Do you know how many times your name is mentioned in a day, Anandi? You might not tell your father what you're doing, but your actions make big ripples.”
“You don't have to stay,” she told her father. “I'm wondering why you are still following me around, if I'm honest. You don't need blood transfusions anymore. You don't want to get involved in Hitodama, anyways. Maybe you should go back to work somewhere.”
Emir looked pale and startled. “I want to help you,” he corrected. “As your employee, or your friend. Or yes, even your father.”
In that moment, Anandi thought of Phaira: was this what she felt like, always pushing people away who sought to be involved? It was lonely, and terrifying, but the right thing to do. What a feeling to process.
“I just think it would be better if we were to separate, and talk later,” she told her father. “When things have calmed down. After I bring back the Arazura.”
“You haven't flown a ship in years.”
“I can manage.”
“You won't go alone, though.”
“Papa,” she said firmly. “I'll make that choice myself.”
Emir looked at her for a long while. Then he spoke: "You feel like I've betrayed you, don't you. When Sydel came to work with me, and I supported her going to Theron Sava's aid. You haven't been right since the day that happened.”
He was correct. Still, she worked to keep her anger out of her voice. “You knew this was going to happen, eventually. And you sped up the process by getting involved. Theron would still be laid up if it wasn't for Sydel, or any of them. He might even be dead. Then I could focus on something else, rather than constantly thwarting whatever horrible thing he is planning.”
Emir had no answer. In watching him, she saw him as old for the first time, the white in his beard, the slump of his shoulders, the fatigue in his eyes. Her chest panged at the pain. He was tired. They were all so tired of this.
This was why she stayed with the Hitodama, she reasoned. So fathers and daughters never fought about such things. That they were never drafted into service on account of their names.
That people like Theron Sava were never allowed to develop.
* * *
Despite the fight with her father, Anandi chose to bring two Hitodama with her, each with some experience with physical matters. Anytime she ever tried to fight, she was clumsy, and completely ineffective; her brain was her weapon, not her body. But Quinlan and Pero had access to firearms. Pero even knew some martial arts, he told her proudly. Between the three of them, they could get a hold of one impounded ship.
As twilight made the gentle shift into night, the three got off the train, and made their way to Ivo. Through the chain link fence, Anandi could see stacks of old ships and transports, abandoned and crushed. Her heart gave a little flip, hoping they weren’t too late.
On approach, she could make out a silhouette, standing at the possession booth, speaking with the attendant.
Someone extraordinarily tall.
Anandi's lungs seized, and she pulled on Quinlan and Pero’s arms so suddenly that they both squawked with surprise.
“Quiet,” she ordered.
Then the shadow stepped into the light, and she saw the telltale black hair, tied back with red cord: Theron Sava, speaking quietly to the attendant.
"He's here," she whispered. "Why is he here?"
Her heart thudded in her chest as Theron walked into the impound lot. Anandi gestured for the others to follow the perimeter of the chain-link fence, trying to move quickly and quietly, and achieving neither, plump, short, clumsy thing that she was.
When they rounded a corner, Theron was standing in front of the Arazura, hands in trouser pockets, looking up at the silent, looming mass. It was dirty, far dirtier than Renzo had ever left it. Still, it was majestic, if a little broken-down in appearance. He didn't move from his spot. Curious… Theron was alone?
She had to run. She had to say something. Maybe she was the only one who dared to.
"Stay here," she ordered Pero and Quinlan. “Whatever you do, don't come out."
There was a small tear in the fence, and as the two held the hole open, Anandi gingerly stepped through, wincing as an edge caught her arm. She crept closer, and closer, as Theron lifted a hand, as if to caress the blue paneling of the Arazura.
"Don't touch it." Her shrill voice rang through the yard.
His gloved hand hovered.
"You have no claim to it," Anandi challenged, scurrying to his side.
Theron turned his head, so his profile showed. His tone was amused as he responded: "Neither do you. And yet here we both are."
"For Renzo," she shot back, craning her neck to glare at him, wishing for the thousandth time that she had a few more inches to her frame. Her hands were fists at her sides, and for a brief flash, she wondered if she would do any damage at all if she punched him in the face.
"Same as me," Theron said wryly. "Not the first time I've served as a delivery boy for that family."
Anandi went still. "You’re – you’re getting the Arazura for Renzo? Is he with you?"
"Funny to see you," Theron continued, as if he hadn’t heard her question. "Because I've been meaning to make contact. I could use your -"
"No," she shot back. "Answer my question."
Theron raised an eyebrow. "I didn't even say - "
"I don’t care. Why did Renzo leave his family in that valley and go with you?" she pressed. "For what purpose? What have you roped him into, Theron? Isn't it bad enough that you already recruited Cohen and Phaira?"
"Anandi," Theron broke in. "We have history, so out of respect, I'm keeping my hands in my pockets. But guard your tone with me. People are listening."
Who do you think you are? she wanted to scream at him. I knew you when you were skinny and ugly and a joke among your own family.
But her own eyes went to his pockets, and she could only imagine what he might have concealed in there, what he could pull out in an instant and slice her in half with. He could click his fingers and wipe out the Hitodama, truthfully, those people that she had come to care about.
"I'm extending an invitation for you to join me in Lea." His eyes flickered over her head, glancing at something. "Well, not so much of an invitation. You know how it is."
A cold shiver went over her skin. "Don't do this, Theron."
Instinctively, she looked back over her shoulder, searching for Pero and Quinlan. There was no sign of her friends.
"Too late," came Th
eron's detached voice, as the canvas bag went over her head.
Cold circled her wrists, and she couldn’t see, or barely breathe, with the hands on her yanking, and pulling, her shoes scraping on the ground. She cried out with fear, and then she heard it - the sound of firearms in the distance, and then more shots fired, so loud they felt like they were right by her ear. She shrieked and squirmed, trying to wrestle away. But she could only hear and feel; Theron's hot fingers around her upper arm; the sound of the Arazura's hatch opening with a rusty groan; the groans and whimpers of Quinlan and Pero, somewhere in the distance; the clang of her feet on the metal floor.
Then the air shifted, and they were in an enclosed space, she could sense it, and Anandi was shoved backwards, falling into a cushioned chair. She felt the fabric of the bag pulsing against her open mouth as she gasped for breath, and writhed, and finally went still when she felt the engines rumbling under her feet.
Only then did tears start to fall, desperate and terrified, and all she could think about was her father, and how worried he would be when she didn't return.
III.
Time passed. Anandi made an attempt to dry her face with her shoulder through the canvas bag. Theron was in front of her, somewhere; she could hear his even breath, and the squeak of his gloved hands. Gentle beeping. The rush of air. The near-soundless engines under her feet.
She was in the cockpit of the Arazura.
Anandi swept her foot in front of her, feeling for the edge of a hidden compartment that she knew Renzo installed in the cockpit for smuggling. There were weapons in there, and other inventions. Maybe if Theron was distracted, and if she could get her wrists free? She'd never fired a gun, or hurt anyone in fact, but maybe she could figure out a way to subdue Theron.
And fly the Arazura? With him in it?
Her foot went still. No, it wasn't possible. She had to wait until they landed, until she surmised what his plan was. All she needed was a Lissome, to contact the Hitodama and give the call to attack. Hers was still in her front pocket. Theron hadn’t removed it, strangely enough. Occasionally, she heard him mutter under his breath, little whispers that sounded full of worry, or resentment.