‘But he didn’t die at Ter’un.’
Sola shook her head. ‘He didn’t. But I did. I died and I failed him. I knew, man that he was, that he wouldn’t care. I knew that he would do anything for me – even abandon the rebellion. But I couldn’t let him do that. It was too important. For me. For him. It was his, as the humans would call it, raison d’etre. I was in the way. A failed weapon. I knew that I needed to leave him. From what Grexus showed me, he needed to believe that I was dead.’
‘You left Xerl. You left me, because you feared you distracted Kei from rebellion?’
‘I have subjected myself to enough torment for many lifetimes for my actions, dear sister. There is no point admonishing me further on the subject. But at that point, I couldn’t stay on Xerl. I was caught at the steps of the Temple and brought to father. He shouted at me in that way of his. And then he stopped. He scowled, as if at a mangy zot, and sent his warp-tendrils into my womb. I had been pregnant with Kei’s child…and he killed it. Before I even knew that I was carrying the love of my life’s child, it was taken away from me.’
Sola didn’t cry at this. She had wept for it all already. There was a limit to how many tears could fall for any one reason.
‘At this time, famines wracked Xerl. They blamed me for them, before they blamed you. They imprisoned me, but I hadn’t just learnt philosophy during my time in the rebellion. I escaped, and through sabotage of the barbaric tech of Imperia, I faked my death. I didn’t return to Kei. I let him think I was dead, and I swore Eri to secrecy. She didn’t agree with my reasoning but as you know, Eri is the greatest friend you can ever have. She will hold to an oath to the void, and past it. She never broke that oath.’
Silence. Sola shrugged.
‘And the rest you know.’
Silence…and then.
‘Thank you.’
‘Why?’
‘All I’ve wanted,’ Re’lien looked up with earnest eyes, ‘Was to know why. I didn’t care what you said. I just wanted to know. I needed a reason, from you. I needed to know about this connection we have with the man you loved and the man who used me to destroy our homeworld…’
‘I would never have wanted him to do that to you, whatever he did.’
Re’lien shook her head. ‘No. I understand now. I understand that if you love something, you do what is right by them. Even if it means abandoning them. Even if it means upsetting them. Even if it means telling them what they don’t want to hear, so they will not miss your death.’
Sola cocked her head, incredulous.
‘Kei loved you, my sister. And I think, in his own way, he loved me. Not in the naïve way I thought I loved him, but as the embodiment of what he lost. He loved me because he loved you, and when he knew that he was going to die, he did what he thought he had to, to stop me from missing him. But, as I think you were wrong to hide from him, he was wrong to try make me hate him. All these dreams, all these visions, warp-dreams or not, visions or not. I miss Kei.’
Re’lien had been wrong. Sola teared up again, as the desert of sadness proved to be not so spent. She wept and Re’lien did so as well.
Kei had touched them both. In some way. For some reason. For his principle, for his love. Re’lien had felt anger that she had been used as a tool to achieve his dreams of rebellion, but there was more to it than that. Xerl meant something to Kei. It had been the happiest place for him, and the place that reminded him so much of what he had lost. For that, it had to burn. But he didn’t need Re’lien to do that. He had the connections. The resources. He didn’t need an informant in Xerl household. So why? Because she was Sola’s sister – and that meant something.
Re’lien felt an entity at the edge of her consciousness. A left-over from her visions. A warring, broken and disembodied personality. But it wasn’t broken anymore. It felt her peace, and it felt Sola’s, and appeased it faded away.
Kei, all of him, was free. And Re’lien could now live.
“Everything ends. Everything fades. You may be the ruler of your empire now, but it will crumble. Eventually.” – Aka, speaking to Gotar, the last emperor of the grays.
Chapter 11.
Fading
The air was tense anxiety. Unity was not the place of escapism and joy that it usually was. An invisible cloud hung over the virtual homestead, crushing Re’lien’s spirit as she spawned in.
Re’lien had written her exams. Despite her lack of studying, she felt good about her possible results. She had been a hard worker before and when the time came to test her knowledge, it all came back to her. For three days, she didn’t play Frontier, and every second away from Unity and her friends left her with stifled breath and fidgeting fingers. She rushed home after her last exam, only feeling the slight anxiety of being exposed in the transit areas of Martian society. With excitement bordering on hyperventilation, she put on her MindBand and was met with her virtual home.
But she did not find peace.
There was something wrong.
Were we raided?
Re’lien looked around. The cabins, fences and other assorted structures were still standing. No vandalism. No damages.
She sniffed. The smell of pine and wood lacquer. No fires. No signs of death. Sometimes, there were benefits for activating all features of the sense settings. Sure, one got the bad smells. But they also got an entire level of perception that allowed them to perceive possible dangers. There were no bad smells now.
But if they hadn’t been raided – what was wrong?
The air was quiet. No clanging of metal from the smithy. No sawing of wood. No clicking and clanking of metal as Grettaduk patrolled the homestead.
‘Re’lien!’ Muur called, running and waving. Her face was pale. Muur had activated the full package of emotes with her avatar. Didn’t want to hide a thing about herself. Re’lien noted that exanoids did seem to always be quite open. They were pacifists at heart. And friend-makers. They had very little capacity for trickery and almost none for violence. What would they have to hide?
Muur stopped and panted. She must have been sprinting all over the area. The ingame stamina system was usually quite forgiving.
‘What’s wrong, Muur?’ Re’lien asked, forehead creasing with worry.
‘It’s Grett. We can’t find her anywhere.’
‘She might just be exploring far afield. Or maybe doing something IRL.’
That didn’t seem to calm her. ‘Grett is always online. Always!’
‘Where’s Franc, what does he have to say about this?’
‘I’m right here, Re’lien,’ he answered. He wasn’t even attempting his RP-drawl accent. His voice sounded shaky.
‘I’m sure somethings just come up. Mars is a high-energy society. She must work somewhere. Can’t be online all the time.’
‘That’s just the thing, Re’lien. Grett can’t go out IRL.’
‘What, why? Is she injured?’
Franc shook his head. Muur also looked curious. It seemed she didn’t know that much about Grettaduk herself.
Franc sighed. ‘I tried contacting her out of game. We’ve spoken outside of the game before, and I’ve met her. But she isn’t answering this time. In fact, her tab is registering as disconnected.’
Re’lien stared blankly.
‘Grett’s tab is never disconnected.’
‘But why can’t she go out IRL?’
‘She didn’t want me to tell anyone…’
‘Franc, if you really think something is wrong, we need to know everything we can.’
‘Grett…Grett’s a squogg.’ Franc’s voice cracked halfway through.
Muur almost gasped, but caught it. Re’lien only noticed due to the edal’s superior perception.
Squogg. The race of decaying, hulking humanoids encased permanently in suits to keep their rotting bodies from falling apart. The warlike enemy of the Troopers, who never surrendered. But that last part was only Black Fleet, the dominant legion of the squogg race. There were peaceful squogg. Many of them had s
ettled on human worlds, dissidents like Re’lien and Sola. Re’lien didn’t think any ill of her friend for a second at this realisation.
‘So?’ Re’lien asked, with genuine incredulity.
‘Squogg are hated on Mars. Grett lived in a facility for squogg refugees. She made creds selling ingame items. She never left the facility – ever…’
‘But?’ Muur chimed in.
‘The facility isn’t answering their comms either. Guys, I think something really bad has happened to Grett. I…I…’
Franc stifled some tears and steadied himself.
‘I need to go see if she is okay. And if she isn’t, to help her.’
‘Troopers will look into it…’ Muur offered.
‘Vok the Troopers,’ Franc swore, in a rare fit of rage. ‘Vok the Order-Administration. They don’t defend xenos. Just look at what is happening to edal and ulyx across the planet. Too many of those tin-men remember Ganymede. For all that is vokken worth. And even more got mozar-beef with Black Fleet. And idiot grakos that they are…they will…take it out on Grett.’
Re’lien sighed. ‘What do you want to do, Franc?’
‘I am going to the facility. It’s in New London. Order-Administration district.’
‘Don’t go alone. I’ll meet up with you.’
Franc frowned. ‘The city is crawling with xenophobes. You’re…’
‘An edal. But I can handle myself. I’ll watch my six.’
‘I’ll come too,’ Muur said, her face and voice earnest.
Franc nodded, stern-faced. ‘Thank you. Really. Let’s meet at the Victoria Café. We can rendezvous there.’
‘I’ll leave now,’ Re’lien nodded.
‘Already leaving,’ Muur added, blinking out of existence.
Franc put his hand on Re’lien’s arm before she could logout.
‘Thank you...’
Re’lien faintly smiled, and then disappeared.
‘Apartment, what do I have that will conceal my features the most?’
The wall opened and revealed Re’lien’s hooded-coat, with the slits by the sides to let out her ears. Re’lien clicked her tongue. It was similar to the hoodie she was wearing when she was attacked.
‘Something that covers my ears.’
The apartment’s smart-closet system didn’t respond or change its choice.
Re’lien shook her head. Edal ears may have helped her hear things better, but their length didn’t help her cause. But that couldn’t stop her. Her friends needed her. She only wished Eri was planet-side. She would know what to do. But maybe there was someone who could help…
She raised her new wrist-tab and brought up the contacts.
S for Sola…
‘This user’s tab has been disconnected by the user,’ the wrist-tab spoke into her ears. ‘Reason given: conference.’
Re’lien frowned. Her sister was a busy woman. What else did she expect? They may have mended their relationship, as much as one could, but that didn’t change the fact that Sola had her own life – and Re’lien her own.
Re’lien didn’t want to go out alone. She had balked at the idea of being isolated for her own safety, but now that she had the prospect of leaving alone, she was terrified. Instead of flashbacks of Xerl, she felt the heavy-blows of human assailants on her frame. Mars was not safe…but she had made a promise. And Grett was her friend.
She left a pending message on her apartment’s computer to send to Sola when her tab was reconnected.
‘Friend in trouble. Meeting with friends to help her at Victoria Café, New London. Sorry.’
Re’lien glanced at the hooded-coat with its conspicuous slits. It would have to do.
The Trooper guard at the taxi-port tried to warn Re’lien off leaving Fredala.
‘Gans are everywhere, miss. We can’t effectively protect you if you go out into the city. We’re too spread out and…’
He wanted to say that Troopers in the city couldn’t be trusted. That they hated edal. That they’d look the other way if Gans attacked, if not be the attackers themselves. The frontier Troopers guarding Fredala had proven to do their job effectively and honestly. They soon realised that their charge was important and that many of the native children of Mars had forgotten the key human tenets of individualism and innocence before proven guilty. Re’lien was glad that these folks from the edge of the void still remembered such inalienable principles. They gave her some hope for humanity – despite what some of its members had done to her and may have done to Grett.
The guard couldn’t stop Re’lien but wished her luck.
The taxi arrived in the closest port to Victoria Café. The café was located in an area that was designated only for foot traffic. The Revival Corporation, who had dominated much of New London’s infrastructure, believed that urban renewal required citizens to walk across their city, rather than skipping most of it with the use of transport. Taxi-ports were located at strategic intervals, but if one wanted to traverse a Revival Corporation owned platform or city-block, they needed to go on foot.
Re’lien exited the shuttle. Immediately as she stepped onto the black-metal platform, people stared. Most, curious to see blue ears sticking out from a grey-hooded figure. A few faces reddened. Breathing sped up. Clenched fists. Re’lien blinked and walked fast and purposefully down the stairs and onto the white-tiled streets. Revival Corporation areas were always clean. No stink of urban degradation. Plant-life, parks, top-notch modern architecture blended with the classics. Cleaning syns were always out in droves. If anyone dared litter or vandalise the streets, all record of their misdeed was cleaned immediately and the assailant was fined or even banned from the area. Re’lien had loved Revival Corporation areas. The cleanliness made her feel safe, in the past. When a city was clean, its citizens behaved. They respected each other and their surroundings. A clean city begot clean minds. But the Gans had been too effective in their propaganda. Despite being branded a terrorist organisation, the Gans were gaining popular support among many on Mars. It wasn’t just ulyx and edal under attack now, but all aliens other than exanoids. The people of this area now stared at Re’lien with hateful eyes. Their glares polluted the clean streets with hate.
Re’lien had known that the Gans had been growing, but hadn’t thought about it. She had been safe in Fredala. Safe in Frontier. But now that she was out on the streets of Mars, she felt fear. Fear very like that she had felt on Xerl. She clutched for a knife that she knew wasn’t there. A knife that a child-her had killed her peers with. She felt simultaneously grateful and terrified that there was no knife hidden on her person. Grateful, for she didn’t want to ever feel the guilt of the kill ever again, but terrified that it may be her dying due to her defencelessness.
The streets grew darker as she left the centre of the Revival Corp district and entered a zone which ownership was blurred. The common cafes, parlours and smart-apartments of the district before became rarer, as the area became dotted with 3D-printing facilities, server-rooms, crypto-bars and corporate offices. At the end of the street, white-stone and metal modern architecture was replaced with grim, black-metal blocks. The spartan and intimidating design of Trooper buildings. The next block over was an Order-Administration district. No one lived in these districts, except for, it seems, the refugees that were unwelcome anywhere else. They were reserved for mass-server farms, court-houses, industrial centres and anything that the civilian government of Mars required. Because they were not meant to receive too much traffic, the Troopers built them like they built everything: functional, effective and intimidating. Black and dark-crimson – everywhere. People were not meant to want to be in Order-Administration districts.
The streets were emptying of people. There were more syns than people. For once, Re’lien was glad to be around AI. They didn’t have the irrational hatred of her kind. They had functions – and they fulfilled them. Maybe, too enthusiastically, sometimes. But they could be trusted. Re’lien looked behind her a
nd saw no one suspicious. Just a plastic-suited man checking the commodity market on the hologram display of his wrist-tab. A floating syn with a bright-cyclops eye and single tendril-like arm tried to usher the man out of the way so it could clean a pile of gunge.
Re’lien did some breathing techniques and calmed herself.
Guard syns will protect me. They aren’t tin-men. They’ll hunt Gans.
She reached the end of the street, at the border of where white-tiles turned to black tarmac. An old-style neon-sign heralded Victoria Cafe, with the name written in cursive. A shining representation of a crown stood next to the lettering. The curtains were closed but a dim light shone through the cracks.
Re’lien entered, a bell sounding her arrival.
‘Welcome, visitor,’ a synthetic voice called in a haughty voice. ‘Please take a seat and place your order.’
Re’lien realised that Victoria Café was a syn-run establishment. There were many like them. Businesspeople, corporations, entrepreneurs – all relied on AI for at least some function of their business. Some businesses established fully automated venues and started raking in the creds. But sometimes, corporations would go under. Businesses would crash and disappear. And sometimes, not all their assets got sold. In times like this, syn-establishments continued their function. Their business kept on running while their mother-organisation had ceased to exist even centuries before. By the date-stamp over a mounted plasma rifle on the wall, Re’lien realised that the Victoria Café was over three hundred years old. From where she was standing, the café was empty of customers.
‘Re’lien!’ a voice called. Re’lien had never heard it before, but she had felt it. It was croaky, while deep. But it held a deep warmth. A familiarity that filled Re’lien with joy.
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