“I heard you guys talking,” she said, her expression somewhat worried, “through the door.”
I sighed, closing my eyes again as I finally caught my breath, but didn’t say anything.
“You knew I came from Florida,” Rosaline said, “during the devolution.”
I turned to look at her, but still said nothing.
Rosaline was quiet for some time, staring off at nothing. Finally, she spoke. “My mom used to tell me stories about my crazy aunt Marcy. About how she wasn’t around when my grandma died. Her strange behavior. Panic attacks.” Her eyes focused on me when she said this, “How she came up with all these delusions, like that she lived forever, reincarnated each time she died.” Rosy paused a moment, then went on. “I remember my aunt as bein’ a bit…eccentric. But I knew she cared for me. I was hurt when she disappeared.”
I stayed silent, eyes fixed on hers.
Rosaline smiled. “When I was young, I sometimes wondered if what my aunt said was true. Of course, I got over that after a few years. Especially with my mom always saying how crazy she was.” She shook her head, “My mom was so angry at her. By the time I was in my twenties, I really didn’t think about her that much anymore. But I came across this story online. An Anonymous Knights blog. It talked about the crash in Japan. When their grid was taken down by a virus. That story didn’t get much play in mainstream circuits in America, but the AKs loved it. They leaked some information from some Benecorp subsidiary called Comsaco, and my aunt’s name came up.” She exhaled slowly. “Comsaco had been watchin’ her as she trekked her way around the world, ultimately landing in Japan. But the information said my aunt died there. At the time, I thought it was a strange turn of events that she would end up in Japan, involved in some other terrorist activity almost fifteen years after her involvement in the Florida gang riots. But…my mom assured me it was probably just more of her craziness.”
“When the devolution started, I got interested in the secession movement,” Riviera continued, “I moved out west with a buncha my friends. My mom wasn’t happy about that. When that Gabriel Mitchell asshole came to power, I wanted her to move out here, too. She didn’t want to. After her stroke, I got her moved out here. She wasn’t mentally stable by then, but she started talkin’ about my aunt again, saying how much she missed her. Saying she regretted how they parted. That she wished she could’ve listened to her more and treated her better. That she wanted to help her. I just thought this was a mixture of the stroke damage and end-of-life self-examination.”
Both of us sat quiet for some time until I said, “When did you start to suspect?”
Rosy laughed, “I couldn’t help but notice the look in your eyes. The same one my aunt had. I kept tellin’ myself it was just me seein’ things that weren’t actually there. But some internet conspiracy mills liked to talk about the forty-eights being started by an immortal being. Someone reincarnated every time they die.” She shook her head, “I kept askin’ myself why it is that people listen so much to this young kid. And why they would go all the way to the DRC to get ‘em,” She paused a moment, “And now, after overhearing you and Akira…I couldn’t believe…I mean, I had to believe…”
“What does that mean to you?” I asked.
“Could it be? Is it really you?”
“It is,” I said, “I was your aunt Marcy in my past life.” I paused a moment, “Rosy.”
“But how?” she said, her eyes moist, “how is that possible?”
“I don’t know how it works,” I said, “or why it happens to me, or if it even means anything. But I’ve had this happen to me for a very long time. Akira and I are…trying to figure it out.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I wish I’d known sooner. I wish I’d known when you were around back in Florida.”
“There wasn’t anything you our Silvana could have done,” I assured her, “I don’t expect anyone to believe me about this. The fact that there are some people who do right now is…quite rare,” I smiled, “I’m glad I got to meet you again. You’ve turned into an amazing woman.”
Rosy let out a single sob at this as she tried to suppress her emotions. “I…I started to resent you. For leaving. For being crazy. My mom…she always got so angry if I asked about you.”
“It’s okay,” I said, “I have no hard feelings toward either of you.”
She sniffled, letting out a single laugh, “What’d you do after you left?”
“I don’t know if you remember Mike,” I said, “my student.”
Rosy shook her head, “the name rings a bell. Somethin’ to do with the riots?”
“Somewhat,” I said, “but it’s more complicated than that.” I paused a moment, thinking of how to start and then continued, “As Marcy, I was a history teacher. One of the ways I distracted myself from my condition…from carrying all the memories I had…was to take on protégé. Troubled students I’d give extra attention to. I took on a girl named Isabella.”
“I heard about her,” Rosy said, “There was a scandal after the riots. Somethin’ about her and one of the teachers at the high school getting’ romantically involved.”
“Evan Robinson,” I nodded, “Isabella was my first protégé. But after she left, I found another one.”
“Mike.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I didn’t find out until it was too late to stop him, but he was behind the riots there.”
“So that was true, then?”
“Yeah,” I said, “It was a complex plan to expose the connection between the recently merged drug cartels. You see, Mike’s just like me. He reincarnates.”
“My mom used to say you grew an unhealthy attachment to a student,” Rosy said, “I guess I sort of knew she meant Mike, but I never really thought about it that much. Where’s Mike now?”
“Mike’s the one who started the forty-eights,” I said, quieting my voice as if to keep this a secret, “he was killed by one of his own people during the riots, reincarnated as a girl in Japan.”
Rosy’s eyes lit up, “that’s why you went there?”
“Yes,” I said, “it took me fourteen years of searching, but we finally met up again. That’s also where I met Akira and Masaru.” I paused, letting this soak in a moment, watching the look on Rosy’s face as all the facts started falling in line. “I died soon after. I became very ill in my search. I died during the computer crash in Japan. It was then that Mike – reborn as Sachi – took the others to Mexico to continue what she started on the cartels as Mike. Sachi eventually found me where I was reborn in the DRC.”
She didn’t find me…she wasn’t even looking. I had to find her.
“That’s crazy,” Rosy said, eyes wide, “if I’d only known…”
“It probably wouldn’t have made much difference,” I said, “you were still so young when I left. I figured I’d probably never run into you again.”
“I’m glad we were,” she smiled, “and I’m glad I’ve been able to help you.”
“There’s still a lot to be done,” I said.
Rosy nodded, “Wichita.”
“That’s only a start,” I said, “I have to be honest with you. What we’re doing…there’s a good chance you won’t enjoy the fruits of our labor. Ask Akira. Ask Masaru. This is a life of hardship that has a good chance of ending in tragedy. Maybe even failure. Masaru realized this, and that’s why he took his family out of it.”
“I’d rather fight on the right side of history and lose than fight on the wrong side of history and win,” she said.
Major Rosaline Riviera is a woman of strong principles. I wonder if Silvana would have been proud or horrified of that?
I glanced to the door, seeing Akira standing there, watching silently through the window. She gave me a nod when I looked.
“Good,” I smiled, “as long as you understand that…are you in?”
“You mean I’m not already?” she asked.
Both of us laughed. I looked to Akira again. Rosy followed my gaze. Akira opened the door
and walked in, closing it behind her, but said nothing, eyes on me. Rosy turned back to look at me.
“You’re now one of the few people in the world who knows my secret,” I said, “But I’ll tell you this – not everyone who knows about me is on our side. You might want to suspend your decision to join us, because soon Akira and I will fill you in on everything we’re up against. And that might make you change your mind about being with us for the long haul.”
After getting home, I trudged up the stairs, trying not to picture what I saw in my hallucination. The images – or, at least, the bastard children of the inexplicable horrors I witnessed – kept trying to probe their spiny fingers into my brain.
I stopped at the top of the stairs, rubbing my temples with both hands, when I heard something. Yukiko giggling. I made my way down the hall and looked in my room. Aveena, sitting on the floor with Yukiko, both looking up at my most recent painting, didn’t seem to hear me. Her hair was now indigo colored, matching the long fingernails tickling the toddler. The skimpy matching top she wore was held up by only thin straps at her neck and mid-back, making the intricate network of bioluminescent vessels – currently dormant – that sprawled just beneath her skin easily visible with my bionic eye.
I cleared my throat. Aveena’s head whipped around, deep indigo eyes wide with fear. She jumped to her feet.
“Hi, uh, I mean,” she stammered, “I was just…Laura said…”
I stepped into the room as Yukiko climbed clumsily to her feet and walked over to me. Her large eyes looked up at me as if awaiting my judgment for their crimes.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, hearing Laura step softly behind me.
Aveena still looked nervous, glancing to Laura. “She said it was okay to check out your weird guitar and stuff,” she signaled to the sitar case sitting open on my bed, “I told her I make music myself – mostly electronic music – and she was like ‘so do I’ – make music, that is, but not electronic music. She plays guitar! Did you know about that? We started talking about music and I asked what you listened to and she was like ‘some old Indian stuff’ and I was like-”
“I said it’s fine,” I forced a smile, “did this arrive today?”
“Bita brought it,” Laura said from behind.
I turned, seeing her standing in the hallway. Even from a few steps away I could smell the booze on her.
“I swear I didn’t even, like, touch it!” Aveena said, “I was too scared. It’s so beautiful, I didn’t want to, you know, mess anything up. I’d love to hear you play something sometime, though!”
I glanced back to Laura. A goofy grin passed briefly across her lips before she shrugged and walked around me into my room. She began to gently guide Yukiko toward the hallway, Aveena falling in step behind her.
“Sure,” I said, eyeing the sitar.
“Sure what?” Aveena stopped, looked to me and then followed my gaze. “You mean, like, right now?”
“Sure, why not,” I walked over and grabbed the instrument with both hands, turned around and sat down on the bed.
“Oh, my god!” Aveena said excitedly, looking to Laura. She didn’t share Aveena’s exuberance but turned around to watch.
I started plucking at the strings, adjusting the various kunti, trying to tune it. The three girls stood near the doorway, watching me as I did this – Aveena barely able to contain her excitement, Yukiko’s curiosity quickly waning, and Laura with her usual drowsy reserve – but I couldn’t seem to get the sound quite right.
“This might not be all that exciting for a while,” I said, holding my ear close to it as I plucked strings.
“Is that supposed to be like that?” Aveena asked, pointing toward the tar jawari near my right hand.
“What?” I asked, flipping the instrument onto my lap and studying bada ghoraj. There was a corner of folded up paper visible, so I pulled it out and unfolded it.
“What is it?” Aveena asked, stepping closer.
“It looks like…a handwritten letter,” I said, studying the intricately inscribed Bengali, “it says that Kali was able to get Tory Goodwin transferred…to Topeka, Kansas.”
“So close,” Laura said.
“I think we can get him sent to Wichita,” I said, “and free him at the same time we hack NexBioGen.”
“As long as whatever plan you’re coming up with doesn’t result in me getting shot or blown up again.”
“There’s something else,” Aveena said, reaching toward the lakadi ka tumba. She stopped just before touching it, looking to me. I nodded. She grabbed something and pulled it out.
“Some kind of tech?” I asked.
Aveena grinned, “I’ve heard about these,” she held it up in front of her, pinched between two fingers, “it’s a long-range LAN turtle. It, like, goes through satellites.”
I looked back at the sitar, grinning. “Clever. She got this stuff through Indian customs hidden in the sitar.”
“What’s it for?” Aveena asked.
“For what comes after Wichita,” I said.
Chapter 26
“Don’t worry, they can’t hear or see us,” the navy-blue clad officer sitting in the driver’s seat said, signaling to a piece of tech plugged into the computer of the cruiser. .
“Good,” I said, looking at my reflection in the window as I watched Wichita pass by. My face was altered with temporary polymer injections that broke down after a few days and be metabolized. The alterations were uncanny, making it easy to fool facial recognition software. “Can we take a few rounds about the city?”
“Sure,” he said.
Colonel Aaron Reynolds and I had traveled into Kansas to meet with our contacts in Wichita. The drive in was less eventful than I expected. Reynolds acquired a vehicle with a Syracuse, Kansas RFVID plate, giving us passage through checkpoints.
The booths were empty at the border on the U.S. 50, which Reynolds almost seemed disappointed about. Both of us had an implant in our forearms where different RFID chips could be inserted or removed. We acquired fake identity RFID chips from Keme’s cousin.
“Hardly seems worth it,” Colonel Reynolds had said as we drove off from the first checkpoint, looking at the implant in his arm.
“We’ll still need it for what we’re doing,” I assured him, “and we still have to get out of here.”
The other checkpoints – most of which looked like recent installations – were automated, scanning our RFID chips and faces. The gates opened, allowing us through, but there was still something eerie about the silence – nothing to indicate we were getting away with it and nothing to indicate we weren’t.
We circumvented a few towns on the road travelling east, wanting to limit our exposure. Some had guards in the booths – usually local police or even private contractors. At the gates of Wichita, we were stopped, as expected. The guard didn’t ask any questions, but he nodded to Keme’s cousin as I got out of Reynold’s car and into the cruiser. Reynolds went on to take care of his preliminary business.
Keme’s cousin Mikasi drove me through his beat. He was a smaller man than his cousin, stern face detailed with a well-trimmed black goatee. The navy-blue uniform fit loosely over his narrow body. His eyes constantly darted about as he drove.
There were still demonstrators against CSA involvement in Kansas, but the crowds were small and relegated to free speech zones. Some held posters with pictures of children freed during the Easter Emancipation, indicating that our rescue mission still had legs. A few held posters that simply had the number 48 written in a fancy calligraphy. Most, however, just held signs demanding the CSA keep out of Kansas.
The cruiser bounced slowly over pocked roads, midafternoon sun breathing hungrily through the window. CSA agents in gray uniforms patrolled fences around the free speech zones. Some Wichita City police officers, in their navy-blue uniforms, participated in the demonstrations. A couple eve held signs telling the CSA to get out.
We passed by NexBioGen headquarters, a five-story brick building o
n the corner of an intersection, an entrance on each street. Signs posted around it warned of CSA police surveillance for any would-be intruders. Lights glowed from several windows. We passed through the parking lot, allowing me to scan license plates with my bionic eye. I spotted CFO Richard Van der Meer’s vehicle – conspicuously not of Benecorp make – but not CEO Susan Dewitt’s or CTO Catherine Landon’s vehicles.
“That one,” I said, looking to Mikasi.
“Stop?”
“Just slow down.”
The cruiser slowed I opened the door, darting out. No one around, so I placed the bug inside the rear wheelwell. Glancing in the driver’s side window, I saw a mess of fast food wrappers and empty water bottles. A blanket and pillow lay in the back seat. Is he living in his car? With the bug, I’d find out soon enough, so I jogged back to the cruiser and climbed in.
“You gonna be able to hit the other two?” Mikasi asked.
“Yes,” I said, “But we know Van der Meer isn’t home right now.”
“Next stop Van der Meer’s place?”
“Yes.”
Mikasi continued driving, taking a roundabout route in case CSA police checked the GPS logs on his cruiser. Our path took us around a block of houses cordoned off by barbed wire fencing. Alongside the houses stood an out of place makeshift building.
“What’s that?” I asked.
He glanced over, “quarantine zone.”
“For what?”
“Shitheads.”
“They have an entire block quarantined for Shift addicts?” I asked.
“Used to throw ‘em in jail,” Mikasi said, “but our jails filled up and they usually died or killed ‘emselves in there. We hadda give ‘em medical attention while they went through withdrawals. Most of ‘em still die in there, but if it ain’t where people can see it, they don’t pay much attention. These houses were taken by the city. Sposed to make sure they can’t get more of the stuff, but they still do somehow.”
“Christ,” I said, “it’s a pretty bad epidemic here?”
“Yeah, but not as bad as other places,” Mikasi said, “we get a lotta patients come from the places out westa here.” He paused a moment before saying, “includin’ the LoC.
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