by J. D. Moyer
Chapter Thirty-Two
Aina showed Jana her quarters, a domus in the same style as Maro’s, but smaller, in a neighborhood whose layout reminded her a little of Bosa: houses close together with narrow, stone-paved roads running through. Looking up she saw wispy clouds, and beyond the clouds a neighborhood similar to her own, far away and upside-down. The Michelangelo was a world on the inside of a vast rotating cylinder. The view gave her the sensation of falling.
“You may change into these clothes if you like,” Aina said, handing Jana a cream-colored tunic of soft material. “If you wear your own clothes you may get unwelcome looks from citizens.”
“Why is Maro so rude to you?” Jana asked, accepting the clothing. It was just the two of them. Maro had work to attend to and had placed Jana in Aina’s care.
A brief look of consternation crossed Aina’s face, but her expression quickly reverted to her normal cheerfulness. “I am his assistant. Maro is not required to be polite to me.”
“Of course he is. Everyone should be polite to each other. It’s disrespectful otherwise, unless you are a small child who doesn’t know better.”
Aina looked thoughtful. “Maro is like a child in some ways. I will look away while you change.”
On foot, Aina led Jana out of the residential neighborhood and into a shallow valley of parks and gardens punctuated by white stone buildings, some decorated with brightly painted frescoes. Aina cheerfully pointed out various bathhouses, academies, temples, and other noteworthy structures. Jana took in as much as she could, even forcing herself to occasionally look up, but she was more interested in Aina herself.
“Maro said that you are a machine. How can that be possible?”
Aina shrugged. “I’m a cybrid – a combination of biological tissue, robotic parts, and a quantum neural network. I don’t feel like a machine. I feel like a person, and that’s what I consider myself. But none of us can compare how we feel inside, can we?”
“No.”
“Inside, I am different. But here –” Aina grabbed Jana’s hand and placed it on her forearm, “– feel my skin.”
Aina’s skin was warm and soft.
“I have nerves similar to yours.”
“Do you feel pleasure?”
Aina grinned. “Most definitely.”
They passed dozens of people. Most wore simple tunics, but others were dressed outlandishly and elaborately while others were nearly naked. Many were olive-skinned and had features similar to Maro and Livia, but there were people of every skin tone and build. Nearly everyone was physically attractive. Where were the old people? Where were the people with unusual, awkward faces, like Jana herself? People stared at her with open curiosity, but without a trace of contempt or malevolence.
Aina led Jana down a long flight of stairs. The underground level was more utilitarian and did not resemble ancient Rome. They entered a tubelike vehicle that accelerated rapidly in a way that reminded Jana of the shuttle flight, though she did not become weightless.
“Where are we?” Jana asked.
“In one of fourteen subterranean levels. Most of the farms and manufactories are housed out of sight. And many of the plebeians live on the lower levels.”
“Plebeians?”
“Common citizens. Those who are not Artists, Engineers, or Defenders.”
“Are you a plebeian? Am I?”
Aina furrowed her brow. “I am not even a citizen. Nor are you.”
“Why not? Because you’re a cybrid?”
“Yes. Though that appears to be up for debate in the Senate. But Maro opposes the petition, and he is likely to become emperor.”
“Emperor? I didn’t know the Michelangelo had an emperor.”
“It doesn’t, yet.”
Aina, looking genuinely distressed, offered nothing more. Jana needed to understand the political landscape, but she didn’t want to further upset her guide. She was beginning to like Aina.
They exited the tubelike vehicle directly into the lobby of a high-ceilinged building filled with paintings and sculptures. “This is the Museum of Italian Masters, primarily works from the Renaissance period,” Aina explained. “Maro thought this would be a good place to start. His favorite artist from this period is Caravaggio, a painter known for his dramatic use of shadow and contrast. And also for his subjects – common folk, including beggars, urchins, and prostitutes – which drew controversy during his time.”
“How did the Caravaggio paintings end up here?” Jana asked. She already knew – Sperancia had explained how the Michelangelo founders had performed the greatest art heist in history – but she was curious how Aina would answer.
“They were rescued from the world’s greatest museums and galleries, many in Rome….” Aina trailed off, appearing to reflect on her own words. “Though Cassia says they were stolen, not rescued.”
“Who is Cassia?”
Aina widened her eyes as if caught in a misdeed, and tightened her mouth so hard that her lips turned white.
“It’s okay – you don’t have to answer. Tell me more about Caravaggio.”
Aina was a capable and generous guide, and Jana took in as much as she could. She felt Itria’s hungry eyes behind her own, pushing her to see and experience more. She did her best but after several hours Aina noticed her fatigue.
“Let’s take a break,” Aina suggested. “We’ll eat at the café and drink espresso. Have you had coffee before?”
Jana hadn’t, and when she tried it, she didn’t like the bitter taste. But it was important to say yes to every potential experience, for Itria’s sake. And soon after, revitalized and unreasonably happy, she began to understand why coffee was a popular beverage.
“Can you take me to see Filumena and Cristo? Is there a way to see them without interrupting the experiment?”
Aina shook her head. “They’re in isolation tanks, unconscious.”
“But they’re well? Healthy and unharmed?”
“That’s what Maro says.”
“Can you show me the tanks at least? It would be reassuring to know where they are.”
Aina nodded slowly. “Yes. I think I can do that.”
Jana reached across the café table and squeezed Aina’s hand. “It would mean a great deal to me.”
They returned to the surface in a different neighborhood. After a short walk Aina pointed to a pair of two-story domus joined by a semi-enclosed walkway overlooking an ornamental fountain and well-manicured gardens. “Here we are. These are the homes Maro provided to Cristo and Filumena.”
“They’re here?”
“Follow me.”
Jana wasn’t sure why Aina wouldn’t answer her directly, but she trusted the cybrid, who struck her as kind-hearted and entirely bereft of guile.
The house was spacious, luxuriously decorated, and empty. Jana followed a few steps behind Aina, peering into every room they passed. She had no idea what an ‘isolation tank’ might look like, but she saw no sign of her friends.
“This way,” Aina said, opening a door. Jana peered down a steep stone staircase into darkness. Aina smiled. “Go ahead – I’ll be right behind you.”
It was too obvious to be a trap, Jana thought. And Aina seemed incapable of deception. So Jana was genuinely surprised when the door closed behind her with the unmistakable click of a lock, enveloping her in darkness.
“I’m sorry,” Aina said, her voice muffled.
“Why are you doing this?” Jana asked. “Why keep me prisoner?”
Aina didn’t answer, but Jana heard a low, melodious voice from below. “Come down the stairs. Be careful – there’s a railing to your left.”
Groping in the dark, Jana found the railing. Her eyes adjusted; there was a faint light from below. She descended the stairs into some sort of cellar. The room smelled of wine and body odor, a combination that reminded her
of Micheli’s bar and gave her some small comfort.
“Who are you?” Jana asked.
An immense woman sat behind a makeshift desk of empty wine shelves. The woman’s face was in shadow – like a Caravaggio painting – but even in the dim light Jana could see the gleam of her bright green hair.
“Senator Cassia. And you are Jana Manca, from the town of Bosa. You are here to rescue your friends who were kidnapped by Maro Decimus.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a plan? I’m extremely curious.”
“I don’t know if it will work. But yes, I do.”
“Well, have a seat,” Cassia said, gesturing to an empty wine crate. “I’m all ears.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Tem’s entire body ached. The Liu Hui medics had offered him a plethora of painkillers, but the single pill he had tried had left him nauseous for hours. He groaned as he sat up in bed.
“The pain is good,” Katja said from the kitchen, where she was preparing or possibly burning lunch. “It reminds you that you’re injured, and to rest. Without pain you would end up like Lars, badly scarred and missing limbs.”
Tem laughed, remembering Lars on his back, cursing the ‘hell swine’ Fyrirgef. But the laughter triggered stabbing rib pain, and he groaned again.
Katja poked her head into his bedroom. “What’s so funny?”
“Lars and the boar. You’ve heard the story, haven’t you? Egil should write an epic poem about it.”
Katja frowned. “You could have easily died that day, from what I heard.”
“I know. You’re right, I shouldn’t laugh. But the sight of Lars thrashing on his back with his wooden leg in the boar’s mouth – you should have seen it.”
“Is it true you are banished from Kaldbrek?”
“No, I can go to Kaldbrek whenever I please. I just have to fight Svein to the death if I do. Honestly, I’m tempted.”
“He tried to injure you during the hunt. Grundar told me, and Baldr confirmed it.”
Tem nodded. “He tripped me with his spear when the boar charged.”
“A cowardly move.”
“Svein has always been a coward. He’s a skilled warrior, yet he hides behind larger men.”
“So what will you do about it?”
Tem scowled. What could he do about it? Saga was already angry with him. It wouldn’t help matters to march into Kaldbrek looking for trouble. And yet if Saga was the mother of his child, he had to see her. “I don’t know yet. I wish people like Svein didn’t exist.”
“And yet they’re everywhere, aren’t they?”
“It seems that way.”
Tem had shared his suspicions with his aunt that the malfunction of his prosthetic wings hadn’t been an accident. The Zhangjiajie park rangers were still investigating the cause of failure and weren’t yet disclosing any details, but Tem had learned on his own that his accident was unprecedented. While many park visitors had injured themselves flying into cliffs or attempting stupid stunts, none before Tem had experienced a catastrophic equipment failure.
Katja helped him up. He managed to use the bathroom on his own but had to immediately return to bed, wincing in pain from his ankle.
“Do you think he was trying to kill me, if it was sabotage?” he yelled to his aunt. Katja had returned to the kitchen to attend to the smoke alarm.
“Who knows?” Katja yelled back. “Why don’t you ask?”
***
Tem recovered quickly. A week later he could walk with only a slight limp and take a deep breath with only a small amount of pain. His shoulder wasn’t quite right, but his abrasions had scabbed over and his bruises had faded from blue-black to an ugly mash of purple and yellow. If he wore long sleeves, he looked almost normal, save a long scratch across his left cheek.
“It won’t be long now.” Manning’s robotic assistant took the form of a bright yellow cartoonish squirrel, about forty centimeters tall, with a squeaky voice. It had taken Tem four days to get the appointment with Manning. He’d used every bit of diplomatic leverage at his disposal as a Repop Council representative.
“No problem,” Tem said. “I don’t mind waiting.”
Eventually the yellow squirrel led Tem into a spacious office. Manning sat behind a glass desk, eyeing a bank of screens. “How can I help you, Tem Ganzorig?” he asked, without making eye contact.
Tem took a seat despite the fact that he hadn’t been offered one. He nodded at the squirrel, who bowed low and scurried out of the room. “I got your message, but it was a bit garbled.”
Manning looked up. “What?”
“I wasn’t clear on the specifics. Would you mind reiterating?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m a simple man, so please use plain language. Just say whatever you want to say. I’m right here in front of you. No need to mince words.”
“Is this some sort of a prank? I don’t have time—”
“Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the message was meant for my aunt? Did she ruffle your feathers at the Coalition meeting? Did you want to get back at her for threatening you, except that the person you paid off mixed things up? That would be an understandable mistake.”
“Ah, I see. You think I have something to do with your accident. I did hear about it, and I’m sorry that happened to you. But I can assure you—”
“Accident? What accident?”
“At the air park….”
“You misunderstand. I was talking about the message you sent me. There was no accident last week at Zhangjiajie, nor was there an accident thirty years ago with my mother’s bioskin.”
Manning stared at Tem in a calculating way. Trying to decide if he should call security, Tem guessed. But there was no need for that.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say. I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t know why you’re here.”
“Then I’ll speak for both of us. You weren’t trying to send me a message, were you? You were just trying to kill me, the same way you tried to kill my mother.”
“That’s an incredibly serious allegation. If you were to accuse me publicly, I would immediately sue you for slander.”
“I’m not going to accuse you publicly. Just to your face.”
Manning fidgeted. Through the glass desk, Tem could clearly see his clenched fists.
Tem leaned forward, enjoying Manning’s discomfort. “As attempts on my life go, yours was a weak one, not even the best this month.”
Manning stood and stepped back from his desk. “You need to leave.”
“You saw the way I looked at you during our meeting, didn’t you? And that scared you, knowing that I knew you’d tried to kill my mother. That’s not the kind of thing a son forgets and forgives. And your instincts were right. I’m not done with you.”
Tem heard footsteps and voices outside of Manning’s office. So he’d summoned security already, probably via his m’eye. Tem stood and opened the door. Two men in police uniforms stood at the ready, hands on the holstered weapons.
“I told them they needed an appointment,” squeaked Manning’s yellow rodent.
“It’s all right, I was just leaving.”
The police had a few questions for both Manning and Tem before he was allowed to leave, but Manning’s lies about a ‘heated argument’ were enough to convince them. Manning just wanted Tem out of his office and had no basis to accuse him of a crime.
On the way back to his quarters, Tem basked in a sense of satisfaction. Maybe it hadn’t been wise to confront Manning, but it had felt good to see the fear in his eyes. Even if Tem’s harebrained scheme to take Manning down failed – which it probably would – at least he’d made him sweat. And now he felt sure that Manning really had tried to kill him.
His father might have plunged a knife
into Manning’s throat at first sight, with the same casual efficiency of slaughtering a pig for a roast. But Tem was not his father.
He would get back at Manning without throwing his own future away.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Any news from Jana?” Tem asked.
Mèng had invited Tem, Katja, and Regis Foster to her apartment, a top-floor suite overlooking a vast botanical garden. The Ringstation Coalition follow-up meeting was scheduled for the next day.
“Nothing yet,” said Regis. “We lost com about halfway through her flight. But her shuttle made the journey intact and docked within the Michelangelo.”
“And they’re still pretending we don’t exist, ignoring all hails?”
“Yes. Though Liu Hui intelligence did intercept an encrypted signal a few days ago.”
“What does that mean?” Katja asked.
“It means we can’t know what the message says without a special key. But it implies that someone on the Liu Hui possesses that key.”
Katja nodded. “So you have a spy. Or many spies.”
“It appears that way,” said Mèng.
“Any suspects?” Tem asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Regis said. “Though how they would have planted a spy on the Liu Hui with no previous contact is beyond me. They’ve been in the outer solar system for decades.”
“Speaking of the outer solar system, what about the Iarudi? Anything from Liu Hui intelligence?”
“Yes, in fact. A Falcon cruiser from the Michelangelo is escorting the Iarudi back to the inner solar system at conventional speeds. Which means they’ve boarded the starship, and that it is at least partially functional. They’ve passed Jupiter and are approaching the Mars orbital ring.”
“What about Shane?”
“No news there. He’s either dead or a prisoner.”
Tem sighed. He’d held on to a thread of hope that his friend Shane was alive, but that was wishful thinking. Still, he was proud of what Shane had done, programming the Iarudi to take a scientific survey of nearby stars before he’d entered stasis. Researchers on all the ringstations were analyzing the star system and planetary data collected by the Iarudi. Shane’s description of the data – a treasure trove – was accurate, and could very well set the stage for humanity’s expansion into nearby star systems.
