by S. B. Divya
Zeli’s mother and Bhairavi Chitthi snored softly from across the room. Light from the full moon fell through the window and limned the prone bodies. Zeli’s sister lay on her back, her jaw slack as she slept. Nithya turned her attention back to the printed documents.
An hour later, Zeli grinned.
“Are you in?” Nithya whispered.
A nod. Dark fingers danced on the tabletop, faster than Nithya could interface, even on flow. No wonder Zeli designed so well.
Nithya stayed quiet. Better to let Zeli work than break her trance with more questions. Her own thoughts skipped like a frog on lily pads, from one worrisome matter to the next. She wished her husband had a friend who could hack the network, too, but only she was so lucky.
Nithya turned the screen on and added two more lines: Is Luis well? If you see him, tell him we love him and miss him.
WELGA
12. Our agents and bots have outstripped the intelligence and capability of our pets, albeit in different areas of competence. Being their creators, we have not endowed in them a desire for independence, reproduction, or self-improvement. We do not compensate them for their work, other than to maintain their existence. Some would argue that we owe them nothing, not even the minimum of keeping them “alive.”
—The Machinehood Manifesto, March 20, 2095
Connor drummed his fingers on the bed while Welga paced around the room. She was downing duo-zips every three hours to keep herself from turning into a human quake, and she had nearly run out. She’d budgeted enough to get her through the journey to Eko-Yi. On a rocket that floated in the middle of the ocean. That wouldn’t launch anytime soon.
The latent energy that zips filled her with didn’t help her restless mood.
“Can you believe this shit they’re pulling? Again?” she seethed. “Can you?”
Connor sighed. “You can’t do anything about it. Call Olafson. Ask him to put you back on the Maghreb mission.”
“The Machinehood isn’t in North Africa.” Welga growled and jabbed a finger upward. “They are up there. I know it! They know it!”
“You need to relax. This isn’t good for you. Go cook something. I could use a bowl of chicken soup.”
“The state of the fucking world isn’t good for me, and cooking soup won’t make it better. We have to figure out a way to get that rocket launched.”
“And risk the lives of twenty civilians? Those interceptors can scramble in three minutes. They’ll be over the rocket in five.”
“I’ll go to the base and destroy them.”
Connor snorted. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Goddamn right.”
“Maybe you’re wrong about Eko-Yi, and the caliph really is behind the Machinehood. Ao Tara doesn’t seem the type to create this kind of chaos.”
“No, I’m right. This administration wants a reason to invade the empire, and I do, too, but a legit reason. Not some bullshit that goes against the evidence we have. I walked away from doing the right thing before, when I was too young and scared to go against orders, but this fight belongs to me and every other human being on this planet. The Machinehood brought it to us, and our chickenshit government doesn’t own it any more than I do. They’re going to fuck this up again, and this time, it won’t be only North Africa that suffers. We’ll all pay the price. I’m not going to sit around and let that happen.”
“You can’t do this alone,” he said gently, “just like you couldn’t have gone back into Marrakech and taken the caliph out by yourself. That wasn’t your fault.”
“I can go to DC and beat some sense into the politicians. Or broadcast the operation details and get the people of this country to know the truth. I don’t care what happens to me. If I can get footage of the dakini interrogation, I could leak it—”
“Your brother,” Connor said.
Welga stopped. “What?”
“Doesn’t he belong to a rocket club?”
“In Chennai. So?”
“India has paused its launches, but it hasn’t agreed to an embargo yet. Luis has access to a rocket.” He opened his eyes and stared like the rest was obvious.
“The agency isn’t going to fly me to Chennai so I can take a foreign rocket to violate orders by the commander in chief.”
“Your contract with the agency is at will. You said it yourself—this fight belongs to everyone. If you can stop the Machinehood, does it matter how?”
Welga blinked at her partner. “Go rogue? That plan is almost as crazy and stupid as mine.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “You don’t do crazy or stupid. I rely on you to talk me out of that shit.”
“If you can’t beat them, join them.”
Whatever it takes. Bypassing her government entirely just might work.
She nodded, more to herself than him. “I like it. Guess I’d better go to Phoenix.”
Connor grimaced. “If I were more mobile, I could find you a berth on a cargo ship. That’s your best way overseas.”
In spite of the emergency stellas, the government hadn’t allowed any international flights in or out. Part of their idiotic attempt to coerce the Asians into cooperation, no doubt.
“Maybe Ammanuel could help us with that. I bet they’re really damn bored right now,” Welga said.
“Can we trust them?”
“They’re a Raider. That’s enough for me.”
* * *
Welga realized that she had no physical address for Jady Ammanuel after she got in the truck. She knew where Platinum Shield Services had their local office, though, so she headed there. Hassan looked understandably confused to see her, but he pulled her into a bear hug anyway.
“It’s good to see you in one piece, Ramírez.”
Why did people keep greeting her that way?
“Good to see you, too, boss, but I’m afraid I’m in a hurry. I need to borrow Ammanuel for a bit. I assume they aren’t busy right now?”
“No, they’re on leave along with the majority of shields. The funders have walled themselves away from the world’s shitstorm.”
Hassan found Ammanuel’s address and gave it to her. He narrowed his eyes. “I suppose I can’t ask you what this is about?”
“You can ask. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”
He snorted. “Stay safe, Ramírez.”
The streets were quieter than they had been when she’d arrived three days before. Abandoned and wrecked bots still littered her way, but she didn’t see many people other than those who were prone on the sidewalks. The world had moved to crowdsourced cures as a fast way to counter the bioengineered diseases of midcentury. Kitchens made the treatments handy, and daily design updates had ended the pandemics… until now. Whether those people on the side of the road had fallen to illness or starvation, she couldn’t be sure, and she wouldn’t risk the exposure to find out. At some point, though, even the disease-hackers would run out of supplies. How long would that take?
Ammanuel lived in the subbasement of a low-rent hive. Luckily, their street was free of bodies. Welga ran in, waited like an idiot for the door to open, and then remembered she had to knock.
“Ramírez?” They gawked at her.
She pushed past them into a studio apartment. In the middle of the room, a low table sat surrounded by three basic chairs. Light came from harsh electrics rather than tubes. An unpowered kitchen occupied the back corner, and a mattress lay on the floor nearby, a young masculine person with sandy brown hair sprawled in deep sleep on its surface. Ammanuel wore a basic shift and leggings in a rusty orange that complemented their hair color.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Welga whispered. “I need your help. Hassan said you’re benched for now and have some free cycles.”
“That’s right. Can’t gig, can’t work. What’s going on?”
She held up a hand and deployed the last of the security-swarm from the agency.
“Clear to proceed,” Por Qué said.
Her agent’s flat affect still made her wince. She’d gotten som
ewhat used to the absence of feeds in her visual, but having Por Qué reduced to a basic WAI felt like she was missing part of her mind.
Welga explained the situation to Ammanuel and concluded by asking them to be a gofer for Connor. She didn’t know them well enough to read their body language as she talked, but to her relief, they agreed.
“Thank you,” she said. “Not too many people I can trust anymore. You’d better pack for a few days. It’s hard to get around.”
“I noticed,” Ammanuel said, “but you can see I don’t have much. Haven’t had the time or coin to settle in. Let me grab a few things from the bathroom and say good-bye. I’ll meet you outside.”
She resisted the urge to hurry them up. The number of pills in her pocket had turned into a fuse. She had no more microcards to buy another batch, and the banks would move only minimal amounts of coin. They refused to dispense untraceable money. She had to get to Phoenix before her supply ran out. Papa always kept some cash on hand.
* * *
Welga arrived at the outskirts of Phoenix just before sunset. People on the streets sorted through the rubble and kept getting in the way of Welga’s truck. Idiots. Did they think she wouldn’t run them over? She was tempted. So damn tempted.
Her final check-in with Olafson hadn’t helped her mood. Yes, she was sure she wanted to cancel her contract with the agency. No, Troit didn’t want to stay, either. He hadn’t fully healed from the refinery incident. Yes, she realized she would’ve been in trouble for launching without him. No, she didn’t want to rendezvous with the Maghreb team. Yes, she was really damn sure. No, she didn’t need a week to reconsider. I have bigger plans, traitor. Which was somewhat unfair to Olafson. He hadn’t created this situation, but she couldn’t help the bitterness. He’d gotten her involved only to frustrate her again. She changed her mind and accepted the extra week. She needed the time with the military vehicle and emergency stella access.
A sandstorm from the previous night had scoured the landscape of smaller debris. Large bots—more mechanical death—hulked in every street. Plenty of good pickings for scavengers. Welga ignored the yelling as she drove over a pile of weeder-bots in the middle of the street. It’s a road, assholes. Find a better place to dump your shit.
She was down to two zips. Phoenix had its hot zones—every city did—but she had to go home and grab some microcards first. She’d lost consciousness twice since getting off the freeway, waking to find the truck rammed into a wall and herself flopped at an awkward angle, pain radiating from multiple parts of her body. She needed to increase the dosage frequency again. Christ, she missed Por Qué—the real one, not this shitty generic version. No doubt a full-fledged Por Qué would’ve informed Welga of seizure activity and reported it, too, but at least she would have looked after her.
Welga stopped at the nearest charging station to the house. She had some network access from the emergency stellas, but seeing the empty bays reminded her that most everyone else didn’t.
“Incoming anonymous message,” Por Qué announced.
Welga blinked at the alert in her visual. Who the hell would be routing an anonymous message to her? The agency had no reason to. The public network remained dark. Machine rights people? The odds of them hacking the emergency stellas were slim. The Machinehood, on the other hand… If the enemy engaged, she couldn’t ignore it.
“Display message.”
Nithya. Of all people. She’d sent an enormous document full of charts and numbers along with a note, brief and stunning: Find Josephine Lee, a bioethics lawyer who worked with the EUBGA and others. She can help us get data for your motor-system problem.
“Download the document,” Welga said. It would take hours, but she had other shit to deal with in the meantime.
She drove away from the station. How the hell had Nithya accessed the emergency network? And how had she come across Jun-ha Park’s mother? So Ao Tara had information relating to Welga’s zip problem. Too rich. Her leg twitched. Maybe the monk would cooperate with Welga out of sympathy. After all, her son had died from some kind of disease. Didn’t she owe Welga—and others suffering like her—some help? Find Josephine Lee. Welga nearly laughed out loud. One more reason to get to Eko-Yi.
She pulled into the driveway of the house. The truck was so wide, the right tires ended up in the front yard. Sheets of temporary-use plastic covered the left side of the house. Luis opened the front door and peered out. His jaw dropped briefly, then closed as she stepped out of the vehicle. He ran and wrapped her in a hug. She leaned into him.
“You came! He’s not doing good.”
Welga pulled back. “Who? What are you talking about?”
Luis frowned. He turned and led her inside. Wood boards covered the windows. Dim light came from old ceiling lamps in the kitchen and living room, the sunlight tubes sitting still and dark. The odor of stale smoke tickled her nose.
“Papa had a heart attack,” Luis said. “I thought maybe you saw it on your spy network. That’s not why you’re here?”
Welga clutched her brother’s arm as the world spun. “What? No, I came… because…” She stopped talking as all her breath escaped. Her leg tingled. “Shit! Not again.”
Luis’s concerned expression swam in and out of her sight, then everything went sparkly black.
* * *
When consciousness returned, Welga had a perfect view of the ceiling. It needed paint. Goddamn static houses and their maintenance. Her head throbbed. Oscar sat nearby, resembling a skeleton hung with brown paper skin.
“Papa,” she said. Her voice emerged hoarse and rough.
He moved to her side. His hand was warm and dry as it brushed the hair from her forehead. “Thank God. You were so still after that convulsion, I was afraid… well, you’re all right now.”
“Where’s Luis?”
“I’m here,” her brother said.
Welga turned and saw him in the kitchen. He walked over, helped her sit up, and handed her a cup of water. A wave of nausea rushed through Welga. She closed her eyes for three deep breaths, then took a sip. The tepid water felt cool on its way to her stomach. She fished out a zip and placed it under her tongue. When she opened her eyes, two grim faces stared at her. They didn’t need words to demand an explanation.
“It’s funny,” she said. “After all these years of avoiding flow, the zips did me in. I have some condition that gets worse every time I take a zip, but while I’m sped up, the symptoms get better. That was an epileptic seizure you saw just now. Withdrawal or maybe more damage. I don’t know.”
Luis nodded. “Nithya mentioned something was going on, but she didn’t say it was this bad.”
“I’m getting worse,” Welga admitted. “I haven’t told her.”
“So why are you still taking those pills?” Papa demanded. “You’re making it bad on purpose?”
Welga waved a tired hand. “I’m down to my last one, mainly to get here. I need to borrow some credit and push on.”
She told them about Connor and the launch and the plan to use Luis’s club instead.
“I’m going to live until I take those fuckers on Eko-Yi down. After that, I don’t know,” Welga said. “But I intend to come back and figure out how to get over this shit.”
“I’m not going back to Chennai,” Luis said.
“What do you mean?” Welga asked.
“I’m going to live here.”
Luis relayed Nithya’s confession. He didn’t mention how she’d gotten the abortion, so her sister-in-law hadn’t told him Welga’s part. Stern approval of Luis’s separation from Nithya took root in Oscar’s face as her brother finished. Christ, her family was so predictable.
The windows rattled.
“Another storm?” Welga said.
“Sounds like it,” Papa replied.
Of course they wouldn’t know, not with the network being dark.
“You worried about your truck?” Papa said. “Want me to put it in the garage?”
Welga nodded and handed him
the key to start it. If anyone in her family could operate a large vehicle, it was Oscar, with all his years of mech-wearing and construction work.
While he was gone, she turned all her fury on her brother. “If you leave your wife, you are the biggest fucking idiot on the planet. You knew she wasn’t going to be a good little Catholic when you married her, and you can’t expect her to act like one to spare your feelings.”
“Don’t advise me about marriage, Welga. You wouldn’t understand.”
I’ve had a partner for a decade, asshole. She squelched the desire to wring her little brother’s neck and took two deep breaths. She needed to win Luis over, not cement his stubborn idiocy. “When you find a good person, someone who you can spend your life with and not hate the world, someone who’s grown with you, moved around with you, who forgives your bullshit and thinks you’re sexy on your off days, someone…” who you leave again and again, who waits for you, not knowing if you’ll come back alive. “When it hurts to live without them, no matter how angry you are, you find it in your heart to forgive their bullshit.” Welga grabbed his arm. “If you don’t go back to her, you will regret it until your last breath. I can promise you that.”
The front door slammed as Oscar came in. A generous coating of dust made his graying hair look shades lighter. Wind whistled through a crack.
As their father washed his hands in the kitchen sink, he said, “Luis, you should help your sister. You can always come back here after.”
Luis blinked. “Even if we could somehow pull off a launch, Welga is in no shape to go up there.”
“You let me work that part out,” Welga said. “The answer to everything, even my neurological problems, could come from a person on Eko-Yi. Your wife told me so.”
“The Machinehood lives up there. You can’t face them in your condition, alone. Think of what they did to you when you could still fight! It’s a death warrant!”
