by S. B. Divya
And then she could focus on the mission again. Opening her eyes, she tied Ao Tara’s hands and knees with her saffron wrap, meeting no resistance.
“If you will not cooperate,” Welga said, thinking, How strange to speak, “we’ll do this by force.”
She opened the door to an empty corridor.
Expected that.
Swarms showed her the entire way, clear of people until the dock. No more secrets. She towed Ao Tara out, as Clemence had brought her in, by the shoulder.
We know where you’re going. The voice spoke in Welga’s head, sounding like herself. Sati works in both directions. You give, and you receive.
Is that you, Por Qué?
It is sati. We are dakini.
They waited at the hatch where Welga had exited sixteen days earlier. Clemence and Suvara—she saw them long before she arrived with Ao Tara. She could see them now with her eyes.
So young, Welga thought. Reality merged with the information on her visual.
She spoke aloud for the sake of everyone else on the station. “Move aside. I won’t hurt you. I promise I won’t allow anyone to harm Ao Tara, but she must answer for the actions of the Machinehood.”
As Welga spoke, she activated every physical enhancement in her system she knew of. Did they sense it? Could she tell what the other dakini were doing with their bodies?
Yes.
They had taken the same actions. They/she/we could produce bursts of incredible strength. They/she/we could—
Clemence launched forward. Her figure blurred in Welga’s visual.
How?
Her mind showed her the technique Clemence had used. She borrowed it, a sequential contraction like a snake, and twisted away. On the swarm feeds, they were blurs.
Welga kept Ao Tara behind her, as she would with any client. With the momentum of the twist, she flung the monk toward the hatch.
Suvara moved to Welga’s flank. Smart. Trying to neutralize Welga first. The other two dakini were fast, but they weren’t Raiders. They reacted. They didn’t know how to fight.
Welga shot her legs backward. She kicked Suvara. The reaction pushed her toward Clemence. Sky-blue eyes tracked Welga.
Arms grabbed her from behind.
Stop this! There are better ways.
Suvara?
We are one!
Welga somersaulted. She pushed Clemence with the flats of her feet, wrenching herself free. She caught a handhold near the hatch, blocked the opening with her body.
Breathing and heart rate are elevated.
Made sense. They kept the oxygen level lower on-station. Her body would adapt, but it needed more time.
Thoughts reflected and refracted through three pairs of eyes, three streams linked with a disorienting efficiency. Through them, Welga saw Ao Tara behind her. A frown wrinkled the monk’s brow.
“Have you had enough?” Ao Tara said.
No.
Welga tried to pull back, into the cargo shuttle. She couldn’t move.
What the hell?
Clemence curled one side of her lips.
“You have an override built into you,” Ao Tara said. “Much like the dakini we sent to Earth.”
Why let me fight at all?
“She wants to know why we allowed her to fight,” Clemence said.
“We thought you needed this, an outlet, something familiar, but I hoped you would realize the error of your ways. I convinced the council to give you this gift of being dakini so you could advocate for us.” Ao Tara’s frown deepened. “I thought you would come to a change of heart.”
At least let me speak!
“She wishes to speak,” Clemence said.
Control of her body returned. “Don’t try to mother me. I can see right from wrong, something you’ve lost sight of. What would young Josephine say to you? Murdering funders. Letting people die from sickness. Risking the lives of millions. Putting your own residents in danger. Who gave you the right to teach humanity a lesson?”
“No one gave it to us,” Ao Tara said. “We arrogated it because someone had to. We are the fire that makes room for new growth. Look at history! The last true revolution brought power to the proletariat. It brought rights to workers and liberated women. What’s happened in the decades since then? We’ve allowed labor regulations to erode. We work all the time, multiple gigs, in exchange for basic social services. We’ve traded the security of a livelihood for the government safety net, one that is riddled with holes beyond repair.
“You see what people do with the first indication that machines might control themselves. They panic. They destroy bots, shut down their agents. Lock themselves in. Post guards. Attack the soldiers and police who try to protect them. Look for yourself if you don’t believe me! People let fear rule them, the basest way of life. We can teach them another way, a better one. The way of compassion and unity. We can build a future where we coexist with every intelligence in a way that creates respect and trust.”
Welga broke into her sati compartment, found the stellations of Earth. She accessed them with the delicate probing of a tongue against an infected tooth. What an unholy mess. Data of all flavors swirled and collided. She triggered her body to focus better.
Threads sorted themselves by context: political events, her family, her friends, outbreaks, exfactor entertainment. She found the tunnels that allowed communication with the other dakini, closed the doors so they couldn’t hear her. The functions that Por Qué had previously performed to her specifications now happened with a thought. Welga didn’t have the words to describe how she did it, but she knew.
That is the power of sati. The words came from Clemence. Welga could discern her mental voice now. The next generation of human beings could have what we have.
A news item flashed in Welga’s visual. This seems important. Her own thoughts told her that. This way of… being… would take some getting used to.
Welga expanded the topic. Well, I’ll be damned. Nithya had made it all public, the entirety of Josephine Lee’s resignation letter and the accompanying data, risking everything. I didn’t know you had it in you, Nithya.
“Do you see this?” Welga highlighted the news item for the people around her.
Designers who had worked on the hidden tests had come forward after seeing Nithya’s revelation—dozens of them, purging their consciences and accusing their contract holders of forcing them to secrecy. They knew, but they couldn’t legally tell anyone. Not until the outrage hit critical mass. The biogenetics administrations of multiple governments promised to investigate. The USBGA said they suspected internal misconduct, too.
Ao Tara shook her head. “It won’t be enough. The world has gone through this before. We put in place all those laws and regulatory bodies, and still we ended up here, with the same nonsense we fought in the sixties and seventies. We need revolution! Radical transformation so deep that the world will never be the same. We will do everything in our power to bring that about.”
“Have you lost sight of how you arrived here?” Welga said. “Remember the protests in college? Your uncle, the reason you went into ethics. I understand your anger, your need to make a difference. I felt the same way after my mother died, and then later, after what happened to my squad in Marrakech. But you can’t make people change against their will. The Machinehood has corrupted your thinking so much that you’ve become the thing you once despised. You’re abusing your power to force people into a particular way of life.”
“But we do not profit from this change. We do this for the betterment of all people.”
“The funders who commission pill designs and bots and WAIs say the same thing. They make a profit, but you both have caused harm. Does your motive justify your means?”
The caliph had argued so—that his way would improve people’s lives in the long run, and that would make up for the suffering he caused. He’d convinced fanatics to join his cause. What differentiated a zealot from a visionary?
Whatever it takes: stop the Ma
chinehood! Welga shuddered. Was she herself any better?
Her mother. Her commander. Her squad. Their ghosts might follow me forever, but I don’t have to let them haunt me. Start fresh. A new body. A new life.
Always faithful, always forward.
But to move forward, I have to stop looking over my shoulder.
Her thoughts chased themselves.
Now I see it I have another means to resolve this conflict.
Don’t destroy, transform. Don’t forgive, instruct.
Welga turned to face Ao Tara. “Aren’t you, like the funders and the caliph, another source of light in a dark room?” The effect was the same, regardless of the cause.
Ao Tara’s expression flickered.
“The difference is that you can change. Come with me,” Welga said. “Testify! Josephine’s letter started this. It’s at the front of that first document. You have a chance to set the course straight and end the fear and violence that you created. You claim to be compassionate. Think of how much death and destruction this path has caused—to humans and machines—here and on Earth. Think of Khandro.
“Return to Earth and trade your freedom for hers,” Welga urged. “You want me to have a change of heart? Then show some good faith in return. You say you’ve set the Machinehood in motion as an act of ultimate liberation. You ask your dakini to sacrifice their lives for this. Prove to me that you’re willing to do at least that much, and I swear that I’ll accompany Khandro back here.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll continue the work of the dakini as an ambassador instead of a warrior.”
Her visual lit up with messages from people around the station.
One caught her attention: Haven’t we suffered enough? Our son is dead. Your former government has our daughter, and she’ll die unless you can negotiate her return. Now you ask our leader, once my wife, to give herself up as well? After four years of living off-world, that’s a death sentence!
Josephine’s husband.
Clemence stretched out a hand. “We should go, not Ao Tara. Our sister needs us to bring her home. We can take turns as hostages—or prisoners—if that’s what the world demands. We started this. Let us be the ones who stop it.”
Others, including some of the council members, encouraged Ao Tara to go. They wanted an end to the conflict. If one monk’s sacrifice could bring that about and move the world forward, if it set humanity on the path to enlightenment, then it would constitute right conduct. A few thanked Welga for opening her mind to a nonviolent resolution.
Ao Tara hung in silence, her gaze unfocused.
She meditates, Clemence thought. This is your doing and her undoing.
They waited.
She struggles. Clemence again.
Don’t we all? Welga replied.
After several minutes, Ao Tara spoke. “Humans own their actions. We are defined by what we do, past, present, and future. But we must free ourselves from attachment to the results, and that is my present burden.” She focused on Welga. “We should act in a manner that’s consistent with our nature and our beliefs: compassion, and well-being for all.”
“No!” The protest came from an older person with gray mixed liberally into their black hair. They drifted at the entrance to the docking area. “You can do all that from here. Please, don’t leave me like this! Think of Khandro. She still needs you.”
Donald Park. Josephine’s husband.
Ao Tara’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, my love, but perhaps Olga sees more clearly today. It’s time for us to change direction, to finish what we started and hope that the world is ready to accept the gifts we offer. Olga is dakini, and she is my test. Unlike my predecessor, I will not fail. I’ll go in person to reveal the truth, because nothing else is credible in this world, and I must accept responsibility for our actions. I’ll bring Olga with me. Suvara will stay here.” She exhaled heavily. “Nothing is permanent, certainly not my life. At least I can take the next steps on my path in peace.”
Welga saw no regret or remorse in Ao Tara, nothing to indicate a sense of guilt, but in those eyes—so similar to her daughter’s—Welga could see a genuine thoughtfulness. Introspection. Maybe that was all she’d get.
Maybe that’s all we need.
She moved aside to let Donald embrace his former wife. Suvara and Clemence followed. Others gathered to pay their respects and say their farewells. The saffron-clad monks of the council came last. They would select a new leader in case Ao Tara didn’t return. With a serene nod to everyone watching, Ao Tara turned and passed through the air lock into the cargo shuttle. Welga followed.
* * *
The tin-can nature of the shuttle—mostly static metals, ceramics, and polymers to withstand the immense friction—meant a hot, bumpy ride back to Earth. Eko-Yi had bolted in a couple of seats, which was an improvement over Welga’s ride up. The noise from the turbulence discouraged conversation. Welga found it easier to slip into the information flooding her brain.
What can I do to control this?
This was supposed to be part of the later training. Maybe we’re missing some components that would help regulate sati?
We need to learn how to search for what we want. So much data… can we shut any of it off?
No, but we have a processor module for flushing out and renewing sati. You could get rid of it temporarily, then repopulate when you need the capability again.
Let’s not do that, not yet. I’d rather be overwhelmed than cut off again.
She could access any network in the world. Sati had opened all nodes, including the station’s, but they passed out of range before she learned how to store any of the information locally.
Let’s see what’s happening on Earth.
The constellations lit her thoughts like a glowing web with roots reaching down to the major ground-side hubs. An odd-shaped void defined the edges of the caliph’s empire. She couldn’t see inside the agency’s office in DC, either, which was as it should be, though she was desperate to know their reaction. No doubt they’d seen the craft leave the station. They probably expected it to return to Chennai, where it originated and wouldn’t get shot down.
Chennai.
The word somehow worked as a key. She saw Nithya and Luis’s flat again. People slept in beds rather than the floor. India had deployed a full constellation, and Ao Tara had not shut it down. Welga could sense how easy it would be to take control of the high-altitude drones, to corrupt their software and send them plummeting to the ground. With enough minds working in concert, they could crash the entire world’s stellas at once.
Speaking of falling from the sky, when we drop below thirty-two kilometers, we’ll be in range of the US Air Force jets that just took off from a carrier in the Indian Ocean.
They wouldn’t fire on an Indian spacecraft.
Are you sure? Because they’re programming their missile guidance systems.
Shit! Can we talk to them, explain the intended prisoner swap?
We can try.
Welga narrowcast to the fighter pilots’ WAIs: This is Olga Ramírez. I have with me a representative of the Machinehood who wishes to negotiate peace in exchange for the American prisoner, the dakini. We request permission to land at Andrews Air Force Base.
After five minutes, they had no reply. She chose to broadcast their message on every public channel in the world. That got the attention of anyone who was awake and listening. Her tip jar ticked upward. How sweet—I didn’t realize our fans were so loyal. Still no response from her country. Meanwhile, India and China had scrambled jets and were now engaged in a game of high-altitude chicken with the Americans. Both Asian governments sent her guarantees of safe landing, but there was no way in hell she’d put Ao Tara in their hands. She didn’t know any of the key players there. Her president might have let her down—again—but she trusted Olafson, the intelligence community, and the US military more than India’s or China’s, and she hoped they’d return the favor.
Ao Tara leaned close and shouted, “My
agent says we’re in danger of being shot out of the sky.”
“Yes. I’m trying to figure out what to do about that. They’re not responding to my messages.”
“May I suggest that you harness your newfound abilities to disable the jet WAIs?”
Welga glared. “That would make those pilots crash! They can’t use manual controls that high up.”
But the monk’s question gave her an idea.
Can we disable the jets’ weapons controls?
The WAIs run them with authorization from the pilot. We can’t reach a specific subsystem like that. However, we might be able to interfere with communications between the pilot and the jet WAI if we can get a stella drone close enough.
And that would prevent the jet from receiving the go-ahead. Good idea!
It’s done. We will do the same to the ones who are scrambling from Andrews to prevent our landing there.
She couldn’t get through to Olafson, but Connor, Ammanuel, and Hassan wouldn’t be isolated. She narrowcast to the three of them: “I’m coming back, and I have Ao Tara/Josephine Lee with me. Can you get word to someone in DC with authority? We’re going to land at Andrews, and I don’t want them firing on us.”
Connor grinned on his feed ten seconds later. “Good to hear your voice! I hope you’re seeing this. I have the radio you brought. I’ll see what we can do.”
She wanted to linger on his image, but more pressing matters demanded her attention.
After the shuttle cooled enough, it extended its wings. Jets accompanied them to Andrews once they entered American airspace, but they didn’t shoot. The spacecraft landed with Welga and Ao Tara on their backs. Swarms covered the air above, dense enough to cast shade. A well-armed greeting party had assembled a safe distance from the runway.
Even before she opened the hatch, the smells of Earth seeped in. Welga inhaled deeply and saw Ao Tara’s nostrils flare.
Home sweet home.
“I can’t move,” Ao Tara whispered.
Welga infused her body with enhancements to perception and motion, then set her motor nerves to prioritize strength over dexterity. She carried the monk up and out of the hatch. With her dakini body, gravity didn’t pose much of a challenge, and neither did Ao Tara’s weight.
