The Nemesis

by S. J. Kincaid

  And soon I no longer saw him in the bunk with her.

  Anguish and I hadn’t fit in with the Partisans, neither of us, and since he’d lost her, his loyalties shifted toward his fellow Diabolic. After Neveni blew me up on Corcyra, he stole a pod and took it down to the surface in search of me. In the chaos of the mass casualty event, Anguish forged through the destruction. Amid the carnage of thousands who had been killed and injured, he found me, and his were the arms that swept under me as hoarse screams erupted from my lips, my skin chafing where it touched him, and my brain was a tangle of terror and hopeless confusion.

  He tended me in our hiding place in the Corcyra Field Museum and stayed long after the Arbiter had fled orbit. When I was well enough, we didn’t even need a discussion; we simply understood each other—and we traveled away from the accursed planet together to leave them all behind. Tyrus. Neveni. The Grandiloquy. The Partisans.

  Everyone.

  Now, on Devil’s Shade, I was the one caring for him.

  And I could not let him step out of here to seek Neveni.

  He tugged on one arm of his coat—far too large for him now—and aimed for the door. I hastily stepped in his path to block his way. The feverish, dark eyes met mine, and that small flame of hope I’d felt upon seeing him upright died away, for I perceived the murkiness in his face.

  “Neveni should not be wandering on her own in this place—”

  “Lie down, Anguish.”

  “It’s dangerous.”

  “She is not here, Anguish. Remember?”

  He would have shoved straight past me, had it been earlier days, before his strength waned. As it was, I caught him easily and manhandled him back toward his cot. There, Anguish collapsed—just aware enough to register the irregularity of being overpowered by me.

  I snared the arm of his coat to divest him of it, but he gripped more tightly, his face twisted as he battled to understand this situation.… And so I let him have the coat and clapped my palms over his heated cheeks, forcing him to focus on me.

  “Anguish: remember. Where are we?”

  “Corcyra…” He fell silent, confusion washing over his face. “No. We’re…”

  “We’re on Devil’s Shade. Neveni is not out there. It’s just you and me now. Two Diabolics. The last of our kind.”

  His face cleared somewhat. “Family.”

  “Yes. I am your family.”

  For that was what we’d become. Did we not share most of our DNA, with mere variations in exterior phenotype? We were closer to each other than all but identical siblings. At the core, he was fundamentally the same as I was, and so distinctly unlike any normal human. What was inhuman in me was inhuman in him; the brutality of my upbringing was matched by his.

  It was why he did not blame me, when I tried to save Tyrus.

  He was a Diabolic.

  He understood devotion. Even when it was one-sided. Perhaps especially then.

  He let me adjust his position on the bed, confusion still writ upon his face—as it always was now. “I have been ill,” he murmured hazily.

  “Very much so.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. I was going to be late for the acid ponds. “Anguish, don’t you recall why we’re here?”

  “Medical bots.”

  “Yes.” The public medical bots. Even now, illness cast a gray pallor over his face. He was small enough that he could have passed for a regular human now.

  Misfolded proteins. That was what had gone amiss with him. Somehow the proteins in his body were learning to contort themselves unnaturally, and an increasing number of them had acquired the same distortion.

  A kindhearted healer had put it differently, more simply: “It’s like malignant space for the body,” she had told me. “The corrupted proteins can’t nourish him. They also corrupt other, healthy proteins, causing them to assume the same distorted shape.”

  The healer could not have chosen more piercing words. I had not understood the damage a folded protein might do, but malignant space—that, I understood all too well.

  Malignant space destroyed all it touched. It grew relentlessly, exponentially, and seemed to change the nature of matter to what it was: a bright and vibrant and hideous death that devoured stars, planets, perhaps galaxies. As I had lain dying in the ball dome, Tyrus’s blade in my chest, malignant space had been the last thing I saw.…

  When the healer compared Anguish’s illness to malignant space, I finally understood that he was dying.

  Now, here on Devil’s Shade, I moved through my days working to get funds for different procedures from the public medical bots, just hoping to find something—anything—that could heal Anguish at last.

  I was but two hundred credits short for his next one, and… and nova blast me, for not thinking to rob those two men I’d killed. I lived like a cur but had not yet gained the instincts of one.

  “Your rations are on the table,” I told him, “and the heater is ready for you. Eat something even if you’re not hungry.”

  But his eyelids were sagging down already, and my heart sank, for I knew he would not. And I could not stay here and wait.

  As I stepped out of our apartment, the stale and sour air of Devil’s Shade met my nostrils, and then it all seemed to crush down around me like something within me was splitting, breaking, splintering apart, creating sharp little pieces that raked me from within.

  I could not lose him.

  The air felt thin. Inside my head it felt as though a thousand horrifying futures were blaring at me, for I would be alone in this universe soon unless…

  Stop this, I thought.

  Stop this.

  STOP THIS.

  I slammed my fist against the wall, and the pain woke me from my spell.

  I drew in a deep breath. I. Will. Save. Him. I could not save others, but I could still save him. So I forced myself forward to do just that.

  4

  THE SMALL, slippery eels swirled beneath the murky waters of the pond as I carefully sifted through the algae, waiting for the pH measurements to register on my sensor rod.

  “Hi, Nym!” came a piping young voice from behind.

  My fake name.

  Clumsy footsteps thumped through the tangled flora toward me. I didn’t turn, but raised a hand idly. “Atmas.”

  Atmas Forst was the seven-year-old daughter of the pond overseer, and far too fascinated with me for my liking. I blamed the burn scars on my face and body. She was on an endless quest to learn all about them. Since the child often strayed too close to these deep-cavern ponds about us, I told her, “I fell into an acid pond just like these.”

  I credited myself with the increased care she took near the ponds after that.

  Grandiloquy did not bring children to court, so I had never had prolonged contact with one—not since Donia and I had been small ourselves. It was rather bewildering to have one fasten herself to me like this.

  “I drew you a picture!” she declared, and presented her latest offering.

  I pulled the pH rod out of the acid and carefully set it aside, then took the crinkled paper she thrust toward me. It was a scribble of round blackness, with bright yellow stars dotted all about it.

  “It’s a black hole,” she told me helpfully.

  I’d seen a black hole. Tyrus and I had flown toward one to frighten the Interdict Orthanion into cooperating with us—and in doing so, we’d ruined everything. We hadn’t realized time slowed as one drew nearer to the black hole. We’d lost thirteen months and given Alectar von Pasus the time he needed to trap us upon our return.

  The memories must have shown on my face, because Atmas frowned at me. “You don’t like it?”

  I could hardly tell her that. The silly girl constantly came to me with new offerings of her art. They were rudimentary, inaccurate things: figures with overlarge heads and very tiny arms. I let her give them to me, and for some reason, kept them hidden in a corner of my apartment. They were the silly scribblings of a child, and I truly meant to throw them away
… at some point.

  “You need something else in the drawing to illustrate the curvature of the black hole,” I settled with saying, tracing my finger over the edge of the darkness. “You wouldn’t see the black hole in the void unless there was matter being drawn into it. A star. Or a planet.” Then, after a moment, “But it’s very… good.”

  It was not good, but she grinned at me anyway. I’d noticed children simply took for granted that most anything you said was the truth, without questioning it.

  “I have another one,” she said proudly. “But this one’s for school, so I can’t give it to you.”

  “And I’m certain you wish to show me,” I said, turning my attention back to the pond. The eels swirled beneath the surface of the acid. They were nutritious, an additive for the meatstock the miners subsisted on. The algae that grew at this pH carried the true value, for it generated a substance that was distilled into liners for most standard space-sheaths. I prepared myself to look impressed when Atmas showed me whatever her latest scribble was.

  And indeed, that was what the next drawing she unrolled resembled: a scribble. Two giant heads with lopsided eyes, and slashing dark lines that were meant to be arms holding something.…

  “It’s the Emperor and Empress… I mean, the imposter.”

  My heart gave a curious jump. I snatched the drawing from her. Now I could decipher this scribble: the figure with the slash of bright yellow about its head was meant to be me. The red fizz about the other meant he was Tyrus. And they held blades.

  “No blood,” I murmured.

  “It’s at my favorite part. Before the Emperor killed the imposter.”

  “This is for school?” I released my grip on the paper, and let her take it back from me and hug it to her chest.

  “We’re talking about the Partisans,” burbled the little girl. “Everyone thought the Empress died in a Partisan terror attack, but then she came back, and everyone was so happy. The Emperor even married her—but then he realized she was just a Partisan imposter. The Emperor killed her, but… but…”

  She lowered her voice, for even a child had the sense to take care with such things.

  “Some people say it really was Nemesis who returned,” whispered Atmas. “And the Emperor killed her anyway.”

  I released a slow breath. “Don’t believe everything you hear. If you want to live a long and honest life, do not repeat anything to strangers that can get you into trouble.”

  “But you’re not a stranger.”

  I looked at her. I was the person she annoyed at least once a day. “Knowing my name does not make me less a stranger.”

  Atmas looked ready to argue, then caught sight of a lizard scuttling over a nearby rock and ran off to investigate. A brief commentary on the lizard followed, and then a new announcement: “I’m going to be a Grandeé one day.”

  “Impossible,” I said, faintly exasperated. “You were not born to them.”

  She came back to my side, little fists planted on her hips. “I’ll marry one. Like Nemesis. She was a Diabolic.”

  The scar over my chest seemed to pulse with the memory of pain. “And look where that marriage got her,” I said coldly. “Gutted.”

  Atmas’s face fell. Not for the first time, I felt an odd flicker of recognition: she reminded me of Deadly, my dog.… The same bounding energy, the naked and unconcealed enthusiasm. She liked me.

  I cleared my throat, wishing her away.

  “A fine drawing. Now take it from the ponds before you drop it in.”

  But Atmas’s cheerful chatter lingered in her wake. I knew why her school was talking about the Empress Nemesis.

  Today was the anniversary.

  At the conclusion of my shift, I found myself wandering out into stone corridors transformed, for the usual shift schedules were not displayed on the screens. Just as I couldn’t escape the lavish fanfare of Consecration Day, or Victory Week, today I was trapped beholding images of myself on every screen I passed—for the Excess were all fascinated by the most dramatic event in recent imperial history.

  Waiting for my turn in the gravity shaft, I was stuck staring up at the screen showing this:

  An Emperor and Empress twirled in fluid circles about each other in zero gravity, encircled by a vast diamond ball dome. There were swords in their hands. The Emperor was young, vital, handsome, with his reddish-brown hair and gentle blue eyes, and the Empress was ethereal in her silvery gown, white-blond hair haloing her as though in preview of the tragedy soon to come.

  “I killed the Interdict Orthanion when I destroyed the Sacred City,” declared the Empress, her voice ringing defiantly.

  It was the last instance of truth in the transmission.

  “That’s absurd,” replied the Emperor.

  “It’s the truth. That man up there is an imposter. The Sacred City is destroyed.” The Empress seemed to be transforming, losing the bloom of beauty, her eyes narrowing and growing cold. “I destroyed the Sacred City and proved the Helionic faith is a lie.”

  “Why,” breathed the Emperor, “you are not Nemesis. My love would never say such lies!”

  At last it was my turn to enter the grav shaft. I slapped in 203 and vaulted into the dark. Up I shot through the air, my ears tightening, popping, and then I landed with a thump on my level and strode out into the stale stone corridor… only to pass another screen playing the ending of the same scene:

  “The Partisans will destroy the Empire!” The Imposter Empress had now dropped all pretense of being the true Nemesis. The subtle editing of the transmission had rendered her features distinctly unlike the true ones by now. “We will drown this Empire in blood!”

  “Never!” declared the brave Emperor, and he drove his sword through her.

  I ground my teeth. This lie, this lie! They all believed this lie.

  A mournful Eurydicean newscaster began to speak.

  “We all remember the fateful day when the Partisan imposter attempted to assume the identity of the late Nemesis Impyrean, but our cunning Divine Emperor exposed the truth of her before our Empire. It was nevertheless a grievous tragedy for our benevolent Divine Emperor and marked a drastic turn in his policy of reconciliation toward the Partisan terrorists who have been ravaging the Empire for…”

  I shoved my way past the line inching toward the grav shaft. It was impossible to escape my past.

  As for my future…

  I knew what awaited me when I returned to my dwelling. My last friend in this world was twisting, turning with his latest fever, and sometimes when he spoke I could not understand him anymore.

  And how long would I have after he perished? What was there to live for, once it was just me?

  An icy hand seemed to pull me to a stop. I could not go home just yet. Not until I scraped together the strength to look upon him again, to witness his suffering and bear the full weight of my failure to help.

  I turned back toward the crowd. One of the less-frequented Harvesters was working on a woman whose arm was sheared open. As he extracted the desiccating rose, her face turned toward me.… Eyes glazed with anesthetic, creased with lines. The scar tissue on her neck, her cheek, indicated just how much of her skin had already been donated to growing the substance.

  I could hear her low moans.

  The first time I’d seen the Harvesters at work on this planet, I had tried to intervene. I tried to save a young girl I saw bound to the Harvester’s chair. The Harvester had shouted at me for interfering. She consented of her own free will! All the Excess waiting in line had raged at me as well.

  How foolish I had been, trying to save those who were doomed.

  One of Tyrus’s Tributary Images was stationed here, gazing with its sightless imperial eyes upon the Harvester’s doings, and I wondered darkly how potent his power over machines truly was. Did he ever glimpse this faraway province and see the degradation of his subjects here?

  How is this for tribute, Tyrus?

  But suddenly the Tributary Image shifted—as di
d all the images on every nearby screen. In place of Tyrus and the Eurydicean newscasters, a frantic, harried-looking man peered out, asking us, “Am I getting through? Can you hear me?”

  My heart dropped. Tingles of ice moved through my limbs at the sight of the man who had just hacked every transmission feed on the planet.

  Nova blast me, I should have killed him!

  “I have news,” the man said, his voice shaky. He had not sounded so shaky when harassing a lone woman in an alley. But breaking into the transmission tower of Devil’s Shade, hijacking its signal, apparently warranted his nerves. “This is the most important news you’ll ever hear! This day is a lie. I have to tell you the truth about the Empress Nemesis.…”

  The speaker, of course, was Janus Metz.

  5

  “YOU KNOW ME,” Janus was saying frantically. “I am not a liar. Many of you have worked side by side with me. We’ve had drinks, we’ve seen each other around.”

  His voice trembled with excitement.

  “You know I am not a madman when I tell you all there is hope. I tell you all, it’s real what they say about Nemesis. It’s true!” Janus sounded like he was going to weep. “Nemesis is everything they say! She demands that we be good, and she will enforce justice against the wicked! She will destroy the Emperor for his misdeeds—”

  “Oh, don’t say it,” I moaned, but he could not hear me and in truth, it was already too late.

  “Nemesis Lives! NEMESIS LIVES!”

  With those two words, he was committing treason. He was throwing his life away, for that phrase declared the Emperor a liar.

  With joy blazing on his face, he shouted these words to the world, to every immiserated creature on this misbegotten hellhole of a planet. Onscreen, the door behind him burst open, and silence fell around me. The crowd waited to witness his death at the hands of planetary security.

  But Janus had anticipated this. He opened his coat to reveal the explosives strapped to his chest, and turned to greet his assailants with a triumphant laugh before he blew himself up with them.