Last Mayor (Book 9): The Light

by Grist, Michael John

  "It hurt," Anna said.

  He patted her shoulder.

  "The pain's a memory, Anna. That's all."

  She sat with Chantelle on a rock in the desert, near where another demon had taken her, talking about boys. Chantelle had always had a thing for Jake, though of course she knew now that he was gay.

  "Have you seen him?" Anna asked.

  "In the distance," Chantelle answered. "It was more of a love from afar."

  Anna laughed. Chantelle had been like an older sister. "You can talk to him now."

  "I wouldn't know what to say."

  "Tell him you crushed on him like crazy. He was the best-looking guy in town."

  Chantelle laughed. "I'd die of embarrassment."

  "You're already dead."

  Chantelle sighed regretfully. "All the best-looking guys turn gay."

  Anna laughed.

  "Except yours. Ravi was quite a catch. I've seen him around."

  Anna smiled. "I'll see him soon."

  "See that you do, little sister."

  There were others after that. She had a beer with Feargal and talked drone tactics, and did knitting with Keeshom, talking about running pearl stitch and how best to resolve a dropped thread. For a time she walked with Crow, always a stern uncle in the distance when she'd been growing up, though he was too much of a wisp to say anything. The truth was there in his eyes, and she hoped her gratitude shone in hers. At one point she thought she saw Julio watching her from a distance.

  She didn't go to him. His crimes were his own. Perhaps, in time, he'd find a way to atone for what he'd done.

  It saddened her that her father wasn't there. Along with every other floater on the line, he'd been banished from rising up even when his gray body had died. Where was he now, she wondered? Trapped in Mongolia still, perhaps, clinging to the stony body that had carried him through life? Or simply disappeared, rubbed out by the winds?

  She stood on the top floor of the Wells Fargo building in Denver, looking out through the Pac-Man's black eye, and felt the low hum of billions of threads trapped beneath Olan Harrison's shifted signal. Ever since the signal had gone out they'd been trapped in their bodies.

  She hadn't known any of them, really, the seven billion, but amongst them were her family. Not only her mother and father, but Amo's parents, and Lara's, and Cerulean's, and Jake's. She'd never met them, and with Olan Harrison standing astride the world, she never would. There'd never be peace with him remaining alive. The line would steadily drain, so Jake's and Ravi's and even Julio's final reflections would be erased, and they'd be forced back into flesh, where they could serve as tattered, maddened slaves forever.

  She couldn't allow that to happen.

  "Protect the line," Jake had said, and she smiled at the memory of a memory; his boyish feathered hair, his dancing eyes. She would. But first, there was one more person to see.

  She went to the marina.

  Ravi was where she'd expected him, sitting in the yacht where she'd left him, berthed in the catamaran. This was the first time they'd made love; when neither knew what could possibly follow. He looked so young, his face shiny and red, his hair slicked too tight to his scalp with gel. His eyes though weren't those of a child, but of her partner.

  "We don't need to talk," he said. "You'll be back soon."

  She stepped up to him, slipping her arms around his back and beneath his shirt, so her fingers traced shivers across his skin. It hadn't felt like this down below. Only on the line. There was so much to say, but he was right, it didn't need to be said in words.

  "I'll be back," she promised, then pressed her lips hungrily to his. They guided each other down to the bed.

  22. LAZARUS

  She left him sleeping, and jumped outward and up; up through the thinning air and the clouds, up through the atmosphere to an impossible vantage perch amongst the graceful arcing rings of Olan Harrison's satellites. Of course there was no oxygen there, and the cold should have frozen her in seconds, but she didn't need to breathe now, and temperature didn't matter. None of this was really real; she'd figured that out a long time ago. It was a representation only. Still, it mattered.

  For a time she swayed on the solar wind, feeling the beams of light from the distant shadow sun caress her cheeks, watching the sprinkled dust of stars and wondering how the line might connect to them too. Were there dead aliens out there, sorting through the events of their lives? It was beautiful, really. What it meant, what it allowed. The line was truly a glory.

  She looked back over the curve of the Earth, coated in a darkness that represented so much life unlived, so many places unseen. Only the spark of her memories provided any light, spread around the globe as a trail of tiny pinpoints, each one flickering softly like a tiny muted television, ceaselessly repeating.

  By the light of their trail she picked out the outline of continents and oceans, illuminated most where her memories were strongest. New LA was a bonfire, as was the trail back to Minneapolis. Her line across the Pacific shimmered, as did the route to Mongolia, to Istanbul, and then around the world to American Samoa in a chain of twinkling fairy light jumps.

  This was her domain.

  And it was rotten.

  Only here could she really see it. High above the fray, sucked out of the clamoring memories strung on the line, she could see it for what it truly was. Olan Harrison's touch bathed the whole dark planet in corruption. The edges of it here were clear; where it began and ended, where his work on the Multicameral Array had extended its reach.

  It wasn't right.

  The line was supposed to be beautiful. It still held beauty, in the places he'd yet been unable to fully ravage its secrets, but the rot was clear. With his shifted signal and his T4 virus, he had permanently stamped a boot down across the whole of the world. Anna could see the victims; the billions of people cut off from the line and trapped in their bodies; turned white, broken down, left with only the simplest of genetic directives controlling their motions.

  Seven billion people, each still a tiny, barely perceptible television, playing a lifetime's worth of knowledge. They were down there yet, clustered in heaps around Mongolia and China, scattered thinly everywhere else like a sparkling veil.

  He'd done this. Now she was going to begin the unraveling.

  She spun the Earth, and focused. The path was clear. The only place where she'd crossed with Rachel Heron was somewhere above Kazakhstan. The television there shone brightly, because that was where she'd died.

  She went back; down through the rush of air and clouds and gravity, back to a dark and snowy hillside layered with dead lepers and angels, still glowing weakly with residual trails of the line. The sky glowered darkly, promising rain.

  There she found Rachel.

  She stood in her black combat suit in the midst of the dead, as if she hadn't moved since their fight. Her gaze was focused on a television situated incongruously on a low bank of snow before her. Anna circled around. The screen showed a powerful, white-eyed man Anna recognized as Olan Harrison, standing beside a body lying on a metal operating table. Wires hung down from the ceiling and rose up from the floor in thick, veiny bunches. The walls were coated with conical silver plates, each like a speaker projecting slightly inward. The body was a female, pale, and clearly not alive.

  "Lazarus," Rachel Heron said. She turned, and Anna saw the fear in her red-rimmed eyes. It haunted her. She realized that Rachel had not yet left this place. She hadn't taken her chance to go see her friends and family, because none of them were here.

  The realization hit hard. Nobody Rachel loved had died since the fall, and all of those who had died before it were banished in their floater bodies. To her the line was an empty, forbidding place, leaving the world in full darkness, lit only by memories in this place, where her path crossed with Anna's.

  Except for one light, far away to the east, where James While had died.

  "Have you seen him?" Anna asked. "Since you came up?"

  Rachel
looked away, hollow and afraid. "I can't face him. I failed."

  There was a certain truth to that. She'd killed James While to save him, but he wouldn't last long on the line. Anna could see it all now, the future falling around them like drifting flakes of snow. His death had been calm, so Olan Harrison would only be able to suck him down later, but down he would come, along with all the others. His punishment would last forever.

  It was terrifying for Rachel Heron. She was too ashamed.

  "You should see him," Anna said. "It'll be your last chance."

  Rachel shuddered, then stiffened and her fear came out as anger, burning from her dark eyes. "What do you know? You haven't seen Olan. You don't know what he'll do. Our punishment won't ever end. How can I face James like that?"

  Anna took her hand. She could feel the pull of the Lazarus effect on the line already, a dozen thin strings tugging on Rachel Heron like a growing magnetism. Ravi might call it a tractor beam, but the analogies didn't matter. With this tool Olan Harrison would drain the line dry.

  "How did you make this show the present?" Anna asked, nodding at the television. "All mine show memories, but this is happening now, right?"

  "Lazarus," Rachel Heron answered, too exhausted not to answer. "It's a bridge from here to there. That's my new body." She pointed.

  "Looks good," Anna said, trying for levity. "Younger. Hot."

  "It doesn't have a tongue," Rachel replied coldly. "He's figured out how to breed clones without them. The muscle just isn't there."

  Anna frowned. "That's dark."

  Rachel laughed, and there was defeat in it. "Are you here to gloat? We've lost, little girl. This is the end. I can see what he's going to do to your Last Mayor. I see what the future's going to be. He's beaten us all."

  "He hasn't beaten me."

  Rachel snorted. "Your 'cure'? Whatever Joran Helkegarde cooked up in his bloody lab, I don't think it's going to matter now. Your body's gone. It can't carry over into a new body."

  "I think it will," said Anna.

  "Then you're an idiot. Do you know that his wife, the 'Last Barista', she's nearly there? Olan's going to rip him to bits in front of her. He's going to break them all, and he'll have me and James there too, to watch. That'll be the future for us, our pain serving his vanity. I'll want to die, but I won't be able to. There'll be no mercy."

  "He's never had mercy," Anna said. "I could've told you that fourteen years ago. How did you not know?"

  Rachel Heron laughed. "You were barely born. What would you know?"

  Anna took a sharp step forward and grabbed Rachel by the scruff of her suit. "You think I wouldn't have known? Look in my eyes, woman, and tell me that I wouldn't." An awkward, tense moment followed. "Do you even know who I am, do you know what I've done? I'm the one who broke Maine and tamed Bordeaux, who forced peace upon Gap and Istanbul. I've survived helicopter assault and a leper eruption, I've led the dead into battle and fought Amo to a standstill and jumped around the world in a single bound. I did all that, and then I died by your side, not because I was too stupid to see what your Olan Harrison truly was, but because I knew." She let go. "I've seen all of this, Rachel. I went to battle with you because it's what I wanted; to fall into his trap. I'm here with you now not because I'm afraid, but because this is where I have to be. Understand that. This is not the retreat, woman. This is the attack. Olan Harrison is going to die today."

  Rachel Heron drew back. Her eyes flickered with fear, with hope, with fear. "No. What? How's that possible?"

  Anna laughed. "You still don't see me? You think Joran's work failed, so you've blinded yourself. He did more than just genetic alteration. He cemented me in the line. I've got an extra life, sister. Ravi would love that. 1UP."

  Rachel took another step back, disbelief etched into her features. "What are you talking about?"

  "I had a baby," Anna explained. "It disappeared, but it didn't die. At first I didn't know what that meant, but then I figured it out. It added itself to me. It means I can go back. I get another shot, without getting shredded from my time up here."

  Rachel's jaw hung open.

  "All I need's a ride. So here I am."

  Rachel frowned. "Where's the ride?"

  Anna grinned, and pointed at the television. "Right there. You've got a body waiting. Do you mind?"

  "I don't-"

  "I'll take that as a yes. I won't need a tongue for what I've got in mind. Stay tuned. This is going to be epic."

  "What's going to be epic?"

  "The rout of Olan Harrison. Go to James While. Together you can write a ballad about it."

  "A ballad?"

  She was stunned. Anna enjoyed it while she could. "Now, I'll just take these."

  She reached up and worked some actions across the invisible line, twisting the Lazarus strings so that they came undone. She then tied them around her own legs, round her arms, round her waist and neck. Already the pull was growing stronger.

  "He'll know it isn't me," Rachel said, trying to outpace the bafflement as the strings came off. "We've done this before. We hooked the wrong one and we let it go."

  Anna had an answer for that. "Give me your clothes."

  Rachel Heron looked aghast. "What?"

  "The stupid black suit. I've always wanted to wear one. Hand it over."

  "You think a suit's going to make a difference?"

  "Every bit makes a difference. Listen, Rachel. Nothing here is nothing. Everything means something. Your clothes are part of you. Your hair is part of you. Cut me some pieces off."

  "What, my hair? You're not even getting my clothes."

  Anna inclined her head. "I could just take them. You know that, right? I'd rather not; it'll be a bad experience for us both. But don't worry, I won't leave you naked on the line. Here, you can have this."

  She held out a grimy Alice in Wonderland outfit. Rachel Heron eyed it snootily.

  "I'm not wearing that."

  "I think you better. Unless you want to get sucked down with me and compressed into a single mind together." She pointed at the TV. "Which won't be pleasant, 'cos I'll win, and you'll be boxed, with all the jagged edges of the line screaming in there with you. There's only one ride waiting." She shook the filthy rags. "Put this on, and you'll stink of me, the best camouflage I can rustle up. And this too." She held out the silver necklace. "But keep it safe. I want that back."

  Rachel Heron stared as if she'd never been so insulted. Anna just began to strip. Off came her gray slacks and her snug white blouse, the frictionless casual wear of a yachtswoman. She folded them neatly on an icy rock to the side, then held the blue and white dress out again, naked in the afterlife.

  "Rachel, it's no big deal. I don't have cooties."

  "Cooties?"

  Anna laughed. "Tug's getting stronger. Take your shot, sister."

  At last, Rachel Heron's face firmed up. The shock and fear faded, replaced with a new conviction. She didn't believe it, that was clear, but Anna could see what she was thinking. Perhaps if she just acted as if there was hope, then there might be hope. That was faith right there, perhaps the most important lesson Anna had learned from Cerulean. Belief was everything.

  She unzipped her black suit, pulled her arms and legs out of it, and handed it over. She took the Alice in Wonderland outfit, and together the two changed.

  Anna felt the shift come over her as she dressed. Memories took shape as the zip came up. Fourteen years of drudgery under a hungry god; of hope under fire, of clinging to the slightest glimmer. She looked at Rachel with a newfound respect.

  "You did well."

  Rachel Heron had tears in her eyes. Dressed in the dirty costume she looked about twelve years old. "And you."

  "Good good," Anna said, "now a hug."

  They hugged, and she slipped the necklace over Rachel's head. "That'll give you someone to talk to on the line, while you're waiting. He's a great man."

  Rachel laughed. "He's famous."

  "We're all famous now. Wish me luck.
The pull's coming."

  "Kill him, Anna," Rachel said, suddenly intense. She stepped closer. "Kill him completely. Don't give him any chance. Don't let him come back."

  Now Anna laughed. "You've seen who I am. He's not coming back from what I've got planned."

  Then the strings tightened. The line spiraled, and something yanked Anna up and sideways at the same time. The past whistled by like the waves of the Atlantic with a spinnaker sail accelerating her ahead, so fast that at any minute the whole yacht would pitch-pole and cast her into the water, but she leaned right out, forcing the tug into perfect alignment with the weight of her body.

  She flew. The line hummed. She hit.

  And opened her eyes in a new body.

  23. ISHTAR

  It wasn't what she'd expected.

  It was quieter.

  The body on the slab was empty; empty of memories, of emotions, of the line. Raw and un-programmed, it was truly a blank slate. As Olan Harrison stalked around her pulled the rest of herself in like a damp towel squeezed through a wringer, dripping in to the arms and legs, into the eyes and the ears, down the spinal column and deep into the brain.

  Yes, it was a good fit. Being white was no different to being black. On the inside color didn't matter a bit.

  With a rebounding snip she cut the trails linking her back to the line, sealing her into this body. It was a nauseating and heady experience, to come back. Who'd ever done this before? She couldn't wait to tell Ravi about it.

  1up.

  She blinked, taking control of her clone body, and watched Olan Harrison looking down eagerly. He was waiting for something. Perhaps he'd been speaking. Anna just looked back at him. She could see into him plainly, this close. Until this point he'd been just a photograph in Joran Helkegarde's notes, a feeling on the line, a fear in Rachel Heron's mind.

  Like this he looked at once enormously powerful, but also small and tattered, a ripped flag trodden into the dirt, patched and repaired so many times it didn't look at all like the original. She almost felt sorry for him. He hadn't re-absorbed a floater baby, hadn't protected himself in any way from the ravages of the line, so his hollow head was full of only maddened half-voices, bitter schemes and pain.