Goddess in the Machine

by Lora Beth Johnson

  Her dark eyes remained unimpressed, though, as she took in the dagger.

  “It wasn’t apurpose,” he said, pocketing it. “Her magic is unreliable. But if she doesn’t prove her goddessness soon and sooner, if she doesn’t make herself indispensable, the people will call for her sacrifice. We need to fake a miracle.”

  Skilla chewed on her lip, hand resting on the battle axe strapped to her side, and nodded. “Be at luck. Xana, see our guests peaced.”

  She turned back toward the cavern, but Wead stepped forward. “General. I’m Lew-Eadin, Doon’s brother.”

  Doon had been quiet during the full convo, but now she beamed.

  Skilla paused, groaning as she faced him. He nodded his head deferentialish, and she reluctantish nodded back. Zhade probablish should have let Wead do all the convo from the beginning.

  Skilla’s eyes narrowed. “I see the resemblance.” She placed a long-fingered hand on Doon’s shoulder. “Doon has been a great help to us. She’s special.”

  Wead smiled softish. He’d always been full proud of Doon, but neither of them had wanted her to end up with the Schism. “Firm. She is. And I want to hold her safe. The Third is special too. She can save us. We can’t let her be sacrificed like the others.”

  Skilla’s gaze bore into him, and Zhade was familiar with her expression. It was carved into something ferocious, but it was just a mask she held in place while she was considering. She never let herself appear vulnerable or indecisive. That—more than anything except Maret’s hunger for power—was what had gotten his mother killed.

  Finalish, she said, “Neg. If she’s so special, she can save herself. There’s too much at stake soon and now. I won’t risk exposing ourselves.”

  The sounds of the crowded cave muted as Zhade’s anger flared. “You’re all selfish cowards,” he spat. “At least that hasn’t changed.”

  He recked it was futile. It was mereish him and Wead soon and now. They’d survived the Wastes together, for certz they could protect the Goddess as well.

  Skilla nodded to herself, her smile patronizing. “You sole ever see mirrors of yourself, Zhade. Now, I have somewhere to be. Despite the fact you reck where to find us, I won’t have you killed. You’re welcome. Don’t make me regret it.”

  With that, she left, disappearing into the cave and Xana following in her wake. They were soon swallowed by the crowd. Doon remained behind, gnawing a fingernail, avoiding her brother’s gaze. Her foot scraped against the cave floor, rearranging the graveled hardcrete.

  “That is what you work for now?” Wead asked, and it was the angriest Zhade had ever seen him.

  Doon scowled, still not meeting his eyes. “They took care of me when you didn’t. They skooled me how to survive when you chose him over me. Chose that Goddess over me.”

  “I didn’t choose,” Wead argued. “I did my job, and I did it because of you. We need the goddesses to survive. They made a better world for us. A safer world. That’s a world I want you to age up in. I reck you’re not old enough to have memories, but we used to have hope.”

  “You left me,” Doon said. “I’m old enough to have memories of that.”

  Wead’s face was pained, and he opened his mouth to argue, but a voice cut him off.

  “Lew-Eadin!”

  Wead froze. Footsteps thudded toward them, and Wead’s face drained of blood as Dzeni threw her arms round his neck.

  She gripped him tightish, her small frame clinging to his, sobbing into his chest. He stood stiffish, but his arms twitched as though they wanted to wrap round her. His eyes scanned the cave, no doubt searching for Cheska and the kiddun.

  Dzeni pulled back, looking a bit confused, but overwhelmed with happiness. She reached up and grabbed Wead’s face, staring at him in disbelief. Her black hair was pulled back, her heart-shaped face framed with wisps of curls. Her full lips were open in a gasp, and her blue eyes shimmered, brimming with tears.

  “They told me you returned, but I didn’t believe it.” Her voice was hoarse. “Why didn’t you come see me?”

  Zhade shuffled his feet. “Seeya, I feel full awkward.”

  Dzeni shot him a playfulish chastising glance. “Oh, hush, you rogue. You’ll get your hug soon and sooner.” She turned back to Wead. “Where have you been?”

  He took her gentlish by the wrists and lowered her hands from his face. She didn’t even react to his new magic arm. “I . . .” Wead’s voice cracked, and he cleared it. “I didn’t want to . . . intrude . . .”

  He released her and took a step back. She took a step forward. He took another step back. Zhade tried to catch Doon’s eye, but she’d become suddenish captivated by picking the dirt from under her nails with a knife, the blade glinting in the torchlight.

  “Where did you get that?”

  Doon pushed him away. “Get your own. It’s mine.”

  Dzeni gave Wead a confused look. “How could you ever think you were intruding? Why didn’t you come see me? Why did I have to hear bout it from Cheska’s uncle?”

  At the sound of Cheska’s name, Wead tensed, and Zhade scoffed. He had always liked Dzeni—adored her actualish—and he’d never considered her stupid or cruel. But she was being one or the other anow.

  “Oh, you heard bout it from Cheska’s uncle, marah?” Zhade snapped. “What else has Cheska’s fam told you? Do you chat after fam prayers? Cheska, Cheska, Cheska. Can you convo anything else?”

  Dzeni looked to be at the edge of tears again—not the happy kind this time—but Zhade couldn’t bring himself to care.

  “I . . . what? I mentioned him once. What is this bout? Wead?” She stepped toward Lew-Eadin, reaching out for him, and this time he flinched. Dzeni gasped. “Do you no longer love me?”

  “Sands, Dzeni,” he sighed, running a hand over his face. “I will always, always love you. Til I’m sunk into stardust. Even after. That is the one thing in life I reck for certz.”

  She hiccupped. “Then why—”

  “Because Cheska. Because of the kiddun you have with him. It’s too . . . fraughts, I reck it’s selfish, but I mereish can’t, Dzeni. I mereish can’t.”

  For a moment, she stared at him, mouth agape, her eyes shining.

  And then she laughed.

  This time, when Zhade tried to meet Doon’s eye, she frowned and shrugged.

  “I’m not with Cheska, Wead.” Dzeni laughed again.

  “What?” His voice was rough.

  She erased the distance between them, rushing into his arms. They went round her automistic, and Zhade suddenish felt like he was intruding.

  “Cheska helps, is all,” she said, her voice muffled, head tucked against his chest, and Zhade didn’t mean to listen. “With mam and da gone, Cheska offered helpings. He’s with Swan, actualish. He’s full good with Dehgo.”

  “Dehgo?” Wead croaked.

  Zhade watched as realization hit him. They’d been gone four years. Four years, and Doon said the kiddun looked to be round three. He thought she’d just moved on to Cheska quickish, but she hadn’t. That meant the kiddun . . .

  “Is yours, you spoon.” Dzeni looked up at Wead, her chin resting against his chest, and Zhade felt a sharp pain above his heart.

  He wandered back toward the tunnel entrance, allowing Dzeni and Wead their privacy, leaving the laughing and kissing and planning behind. His feet scraped against the floor, and cold sweat ran down his spine. He was almost back to the tunnel entrance, when someone pulled on his sleeve. Doon was there, round face looking up at him.

  “What do you want, little assassin?”

  Her eyes were wide. “Why did my brother go with you? Why didn’t he stay with me? Or at least stay for Dzeni?”

  Zhade recked what the girl was asking. Why wasn’t I enough? But that was not a question he wanted to answer. Not a question he wanted to ask himself.

  “Because . . .”
He leaned against the wall, rolling his sleeves up to his forearms. A rock jabbed his shoulder. Back in the alcove, Wead and Dzeni were still locked in an embrace. “Because I ordered him to. And his job is to follow my orders.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Heya.” Zhade frowned. “Don’t you believe I’d order someone to leave their fam and promised to wander the Wastes for an indefinite period of time mereish so I wouldn’t be alone?”

  “Neg, I full believe you would. But I don’t believe my brother would obey. Soze, why did he go?” She narrowed her eyes. “Why did you go? There are places inside the city to hide.”

  “Not good ones.”

  “Better than waiting to be swallowed by a pocket.”

  Zhade shrugged. “True convo. Maybe we were looking for something.”

  “The Goddess?”

  Zhade didn’t answer. He turned to go, but Doon’s hand on his arm stopped him.

  “What, tiny warrior?”

  “Does she import that much?”

  Did she? Zhade wasn’t certz how much she imported to Eerensed. He doubted she would save them the way Wead recked she would. But to him? His plan full hinged on her.

  He placed a hand on Doon’s shoulder. “Firm. More than you reck.”

  She gave him a disconcerting smile and brushed his hand away. “Can I borrow your dagger?”

  “Neg. Why?”

  “I have an idea. A way to fake a miracle for the Third. You said that both times her life was at danger?”

  Zhade nodded slowish, not liking where this was going.

  “Evens. You give her the dagger, and I attack her afront of a crowd of people. With the dagger in her hand, and her life at danger, she’ll automistic perform a miracle for true. You won’t have to fake one.”

  “Neg. Absolutish not.” Zhade shook his head emphaticish. There was no guarantee the Goddess’s magic would work, and Doon might hurt the Goddess. And if her magic did work, the Goddess might hurt Doon. Or worse.

  “Hear, Zhade, I bet you a Silver Second I can do it.”

  “I have no doubt you can, tiny friend-sister.” He ruffled her hair, and she glared at him and pushed him away. They had such fun together. “But there are too many variables. No shakes. I’m full brill, seeya. I’ll imagine a plan soon and sooner.”

  Zhade turned away from her scowl, but worry knotted his stomach.

  TWENTY-TWO

  frenemy, n.

  Etymology: rooted in Millennial English, a portmanteau of friend and enemy.

  Definition:

  a person with whom one must make an alliance, despite intense mutual dislike.

  Andra sat in her suite with the useless mech’bot. A breeze fluttered the gauzy balcony curtains, and the morning light cast a soft glow on the ’bot’s midnight surface. She tucked her feet under her, sinking into the vanity’s accompanying velvet chair. But instead of looking at her own reflection, she was staring down the ’bot. Its blank face gazed back, expression fixed and empty. Andra put her head in her hands and sighed.

  She finally had what she needed, and it didn’t matter. The Ark was gone. In geosynchronous orbit around a completely different planet.

  Andra was stuck on Earth.

  Over the last thousand years, those ’swarms of corrupted tech in the desert had destroyed the planet, leaving its residents struggling to survive this hellscape. Andra had been left on a dying world to die with it. Her family, LAC, all the colonists, had saved themselves and ignored everyone else. She felt a strange kinship with the people left behind. She didn’t understand their culture or religion or speech, but she was one of them. One of the forgotten.

  “What am I going to do with you, Mechy?” Andra asked the robot.

  It tilted its head, eyes flashing, but didn’t respond. It wasn’t AI, so it couldn’t answer such an open-ended question. It could only reply with programmed responses to explicit requests.

  She’d restored it as much as she could. Some of the scraps Zhade had brought her fixed the worst damage. She replaced most of its casing and did what she could to keep its software running smoothly. It had thanked her, as though it could feel any gratitude. At least its manners algorithms were still intact. As for its shuttle construction capabilities, there was no use for them now.

  She scratched at what was left of the wound over her birthmark. It had healed quickly, but it itched like crazy. She rested her head against the back of the chair, stretching out kinks. This was her future now—pretending to be a goddess forever, or at least until someone inevitably decided to kill her.

  She couldn’t accept it. Wouldn’t. She wasn’t made to just give up when things were tough. If she had to be a goddess, she was going to be the best damn goddess these people ever had.

  And she would start by fixing the ’dome.

  In so many unfortunate ways, this was her home. It was Eerensed, where she was a goddess; and it was Riverside, where she’d grown up. It was up to her to keep it safe. Luckily, she still had the hidden AI to fall back on. If only she could find it.

  She was jolted out of her thoughts by a knock at the door. The only people who visited her were Zhade and Lilibet, and neither of them was fantastic at knocking. She hurried to pull the mech’bot behind the balcony’s velvet inner curtain, but it didn’t move. It was far too heavy for her to carry or drag.

  “Mechy! Don’t just stand there,” she hissed. “Help me!”

  It walked jerkily to the balcony and let Andra throw the curtain shut, hiding it from view. She opened the door, expecting Kiv or another guard. Instead, she came face-to-face with Maret.

  “Guv,” Andra said, dipping into the awkward bow Zhade had taught her.

  Maret raised a brow. “Goddess.” He brushed past her into her room. He was wearing a black high-waisted robe, angular collar climbing up his pale neck. His blond hair was only partially slicked back, stray strands brushing his cheek. “We need to convo.”

  Andra stiffened. She’d hidden the mech’bot, but not well. She hadn’t anticipated the Guv just waltzing into her room. She tried to catalog the other contraband she had in here—the cos’mask still tuned to her birthmark, the heaps of broken tech Zhade had brought her. None of it had been expressly forbidden, but she had a feeling Maret wouldn’t like it. It was more than just Andra at stake—it was Zhade and Lew-Eadin and Lilibet.

  “Please,” Andra said dryly, “make yourself at home.”

  Maret tossed himself into the chair Zhade usually occupied. He slouched, where Zhade would have lounged, but it was impossible not to see the similarities between them. Their voices, their expressions. Their insecurities. Zhade thought he hid his better, but he was just louder.

  Maret squinted, the thumb of his right hand tapping each of his other fingers in turn. “Why did my brother come back?” he asked without preamble. “For the throne?”

  Andra turned the vanity chair so it faced him and positioned herself between the Guv and the ’bot. “I can honestly say I have no clue why your brother does anything.” She felt the urge to defend Zhade. “But he did tell me once that the throne was never his to begin with.”

  Maret let out a mocking laugh. “Evens, did he? Magicalish, the throne is his alone.”

  Andra blinked, stunned. She hadn’t expected him to admit the throne he occupied wasn’t his.

  He shrugged, kicking off his boots with his heels. He leaned farther back into the chair. “There’s a reason Bodhizhad is not guv.”

  “Bodhizhad?”

  A smirk tugged at Maret’s lips. “He didn’t even tell you his full name?” He threw an arm over the back of the chair and exhaled. “My brother is many things, and a liar is one of them. Don’t ever forget that, Goddess.”

  Zhade was a liar, but Maret was a murderer. His temple gleamed with the crown. Even if he didn’t notice the hidden ’bot, all he needed were some well-pla
ced nanos to explode her lungs or stop her heart.

  He sat forward, steepling his fingers, eyes glazed. “My mother wants to kill Zhade.” He glanced up at Andra. “I won’t let her.”

  “What?” She tried to hide her shock, but her face gave away everything.

  Maret smiled. “Surprised I care to stop her?”

  “A bit,” Andra admitted. “I want to kill him most days, so I figured you would too.”

  Maret tilted his head in agreement. “I banished him to save him, and the fraughted bastard came back. My mother wants him dead. She would prefer I do it, but she’ll march in if I stall much longer. Whatever else he is, he’s my brother. I can’t let her kill him.”

  “Just like you didn’t let her kill my maids?”

  “That’s not fair.” He started fidgeting again. Tap-tap-tap went his thumb against the tip of each finger. He twisted his neck as though working out a kink.

  “Just like you’re planning to sacrifice me at the festival?”

  “I . . . what?” He froze, hand paused at his neck.

  Andra took a steadying breath. “I know you sacrificed the other goddesses. And I know you did so at their festivals.”

  Maret’s shock was replaced by annoyance. “You’ve been convoing with the common people, haven’t you?”

  “Common people you’re supposed to protect.”

  Maret sighed. “Whatever you were told, it’s a half-truth at best.”

  “A half-truth? What creative excuse are you going to use to justify murder this time?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, his hand dangerously close to his crown. Andra shifted in her chair, wondering if she should have taken the time to shut down the mech’bot completely.

  “Hear,” Maret said. “We can argue bout morality, or I can swear I have no intention of sacrificing you.”

  “And why should I believe you?”

  “Because I want to make a deal.”

  “A deal?” She thought back to the deal she’d made with Zhade—a piece of tech for every goddess lesson. It had all been for nothing.