The Vanity of Hope

by G W Langdon

  He spun around. “What do you know about that?”

  “Only what they show me. Your dream has become a nightmare that you don’t know how to wake from. Going round and round, searching for a way out. If only you had all the answers.” The old shaman walked off back down the track. “Come, I might be able to help.”

  What was happening to him? He could hardly think straight. “Who are you?” he asked catching up. “Nobody real would live out here.”

  She chuckled. “I’ve never met a newborn, blessed with clear eyes. It’s a shame you’ve chosen the path that leads to blindness, like the rest of them.”

  The Rewja hovered in heat haze above the road and the grit crunched under his boots. “I’ve come to find the answer to a question only the Federation can answer.”

  “Oh, them.”

  “I need to meet General Reuzk.”

  “Be careful. To be this needful and reliant on others opens you to corruption and decay. You are desperate and indebted, and more easily controlled. Vanquish your fears if you want to be free and be your own agent. Otherwise, you are fated to be a pawn in a game you can never win. General Reuzk only helps those who can help him. And do not rely on her.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” he said, unsure if the old shaman meant Sarra or Queen Lillia. Always indirect—hiding important information. “General Reuzk has the power.”

  “Amie, too. Don’t forget about her.”

  “She’s a machine.”

  “A machine?” The old lady shook with laughter and stopped to gather herself. She placed her hand on her stomach and settled the jiggles. “Is that what you think Amie is?” she finally managed to say.

  “Well, isn’t she? She’s not—real.”

  “Remember where you are before you talk about what is and isn’t real. Perhaps you are the machine. You have no idea how your machine-body works. You aren’t cogs, pulleys, or bits of fancy string, but you have bones, joints, and sinews, blood instead of oils, and nerves for sensors. You are a clever biological machine. Amie is much more than that. You are clever, but she is cleverer.”

  He leaned against the front guard of the Rewja to catch his breath and scrutinized the old lady. Could she help find Sarra or was he just so desperate he’d believe anything? “What do your spirits say about Sarra? Did she survive the crash?”

  “She did not, but also in a way, yes. The Sarra you met at the Macula Plaza originated from her neural Blueprint.”

  “Is there any hope she can live again?”

  “Sarra mightn’t have survived the Great Swamp, but her genes did. The Federation has the power to make her whole again.”

  “But it wouldn’t be her.”

  “Are you the same Thomas Ryder who hunted in the forest of Alice Holt?”

  How did she know such things? He didn’t care. “I have to be with Sarra.”

  “There you go again. Too eager to please others. What about yourself?”

  “I’m doing it for her. Can you get Reuzk to do it?”

  “You ask a lot. Now run along. It’s getting late in the day and there’s much to do.”

  He climbed inside Rewja and lowered the window.

  She curled her old fingers along the bonnet. “I’d hoped you’d take this one.”

  “Was that you on the platform?”

  “Till we meet again. I can feel it in my bones. Bring yourself to Macula Plaza, and your dancing shoes to Petalia in exactly twenty-four hours,” she said. “Come alone, and don’t be late.”

  “For what?” he asked, glancing down and setting the appointment time into his lightBand. “Are you…?”

  The small lizard crept off the violet shawl that lay in a heap in the middle of the road and scurried into the cacti forest. He carelessly shrugged. Perhaps anything was possible out here, even the impossible. He reversed the Rewja around and checked the rear-view screen as he crept forward. He jammed the brakes on and flung the door open. On the other side of the canyon, an impossibly high tower soared out of sight into the burnt-orange sunset.

  Chapter 33

  Tom stepped from the Streamer and double-checked his lightBand for the time. He straightened his tie in the side window reflection and searched around the foyer. He wasn’t being followed but logically it was impossible to be anonymous in Gi LaMon.

  “Welcome, Thomas Ryder,” an automated voice said, as the airScrew doors opened.

  “Krelian Avenue,” he said to the lift assistant. “Blue Enclave.”

  Sarra stood in front of a clothes store swiping through the display. He sneaked closer to surprise her and was about to tap her on the shoulder when she spun around, beaming with joy.

  “You’re not very good at the spy game,” she said. “I knew you would come in an easy way, so I tagged the access points. You arrived five minutes ago on the 259th Floor.”

  “Gi LaMon isn’t a natural place for me. I don’t understand the ground rules. If this were the woodlands then…” She hugged in close and kissed him. It felt so real—a rapturous, impossible dream.

  They strolled down Krelian Avenue hand in hand through the colorful crowd and chattered about their choice of clothes, the unseasonably hot weather made worse by the unusual power shortages.

  “I know a small eatery down a side street that serves food like in the old days where we can talk in private.”

  Hopefully, it wasn’t too obvious he had something serious to tell her. Reuzk wouldn’t have said, but she knew him too well.

  The Boar and Stag waiter took them to a reserved table. He took Sarra’s coat and draped it over his arm as he held her chair. He pushed the chair up to the table as Sarra made herself comfortable.

  “Might I recommend the oxtail soup to start with?” she said, placing her small clutch bag aside.

  “With lots of butter and fresh, oven-hot bread.” He checked out the other couples eating in the dimly lit room and picked up the menu. “They have a big choice of meat,” he said, reading down. “Think I’ll have the lamb—and a pudding to finish.”

  They held hands across the table as they waited for the bread and oxtail soup.

  “The food’s quicker here than the fancier places.”

  “You’ve been here before?” Had Amie given Sarra memories that she’d visited the eatery in the past or had she actually done this? Making sense of this crazy place was a pointless distraction. The only rational course was to focus his full attention on Sarra sitting across the table.

  “When I get time from my day job—on the outside.”

  “Nu’hieté?”

  “You don’t think I spend all my time in here? Silly you.”

  “What do you do on the outside?”

  “I’m training in enforcement and hope to be an agent one day. It sounds a bit farfetched, but my boss said if I pass the exams and get the results in the field there’s no reason why I can’t rise to the top.”

  “Your boss is General Reuzk.”

  “Yes, you know him?”

  The waiter placed a board of butter and steaming bread in the middle of the table.

  “Vaguely,” he said, as he pulled a corner off the loaf and layered on the butter. He hated keeping secrets from her. “After what happened here the other day, law enforcement might be a dangerous calling.”

  “I’ve always wanted to make a difference, but there was never the chance for a woman back home to go after the bad guys. For a long time after the crash, I didn’t want to understand Heyre, but I had to adapt or go mad. Reuzk told me the old days were gone forever and that nothing good would come from wishing things were different.” She squeezed his hand. “More than anything, I especially missed you. How did you cope with Heyre?”

  Her light touch was exactly how he remembered.

  “My tutors have been a big help.”

  “I heard Queen Lillia wants to make you a king.” She laughed. “And to think how you hated those kings.” She gently stroked the back of his hand. “What kind of a king does she want you to become? Heyre already
has its leaders.”

  The waiter brought out the potato and leek soup for Sarra and his oxtail soup. He paused to let the waiter leave.

  “It’s to do with Decay and the war ahead—centuries away.” He blew on a spoonful of soup and sipped. “Nice.”

  Sarra stirred her soup, round and round and took half a spoonful from the edge of the bowl, sipping without a sound. “Nobody does a favor round here for nothing,” she said, leaning in. “She’s using you.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “Yes, you do. Forget about her and what they want. If you believe you can be a king then you must. Remember how everyone thought it was impossible to kill the beast and you did it singlehandedly. Be an honest, trustworthy king and people will follow. A king who can look in the mirror and say he’s been true to his word.”

  The same waiter set down the plates of carved meat and their favorite vegetables.

  He stuffed in equal parts meat and bread and chewed for time. There would never be a right time to tell her he was leaving and wouldn’t return for maybe up to two hundred and eighty years. “You are happier than I’ve seen you for a long time,” he told her instead.

  “Because of you. We’ve changed so much—what would we do if we ever went back home?” she continued. “I couldn’t chase villains and you would be even more a fish out of water. For better or worse, we belong here along with every other exile.”

  He wiped the crust of bread around the plate and mopped up the gravy spills.

  “It felt impossible,” she continued, “when I was on my own and didn’t know if you were alive or not. Was I the only human on Heyre? But now we’re together again.”

  “Me, too. I guess that’s what love does to people. A relief from desperation.”

  “Don’t be so stupid. You know what I mean.”

  They ate the custard-covered plum duff pudding in silence and made small talk while the waiter stacked the bowls on top of the plates and left the bill on the side of the table.

  He held the bill up to the candlelight. “I have no idea what these numbers mean, but I’m sure Ba’illi’s Credits card will cover it.”

  “Can I see the card?” She looked at the card front and back. “A royal card.”

  He tapped the bill with the card and then went around the table and eased Sarra’s chair out as she stood up.

  “The night is young,” she said. “Let’s go have some fun. Have you ever been to Petalia?”

  “No, but I’ve heard the name.” Was she choosing Petalia because of its reputation for fun or had she been programmed to go there?

  They left the eatery and took a short cut to the Transit station down a side lane to shave ten minutes off the walk.

  “It’s usually brighter than this,” Sarra said. “I hope we’re not in for another power shortage.”

  A band of thugs rounded into the lane, pushing and shoving each other. Sarra unclipped her clutch bag. “Leave them to me. The way they’re walking indicates they’re hyped up—probably on Thrills after the big fight in the Arena tonight and heading to catch a shuttle for KiLep. Avoid eye contact and they’ll pass.”

  “And if that doesn’t work?”

  The thugs wore bright red pants and sleeveless shirts to show off their enhanced muscles and the dragon tattoos curling around their loosely swinging arms. The heavy rings on their fingers flashed in the streetlight. They were almost past when one shoved another too hard and he banged into Sarra. The gang stopped and those walking ahead circled back to check out the fuss.

  “We don’t want any trouble.” Sarra held out her badge. “And neither do you.”

  The thugs gasped in pretended fear and laughed.

  “That’s a traffic badge.” A thug stepped closer. “It’s not a real badge.”

  Tom stepped in front of Sarra. “That’s far enough.”

  “It’s all right, Tom. They’re only having fun.”

  “Yeah, that’s right, Tom. We’re having fun—with her,” the thug said, reaching around Tom.

  Tom punched the thug in the face.

  The thug picked himself up and drew his knife. “Get them,” he said, wiping his bloodied nose.

  “Can’t say you weren’t warned.” Sarra swung her clutch bag to distract the closest thug and scissor-kicked him in the face.

  Tom backed against Sarra as the thugs crept closer and attacked one by one then tried their luck in pairs. Back to back, Tom and Sarra fought against the tide, adjusting their stance and circling to meet the thugs and their weapons front on. They were made for each other; him and her against the world. Sharing, caring, kicking and maiming. They were an unbeatable team.

  “You’re some fighter,” he said as the last thug ran away, ignoring the groans of help from those still on the ground. “Not bad for someone with a traffic badge.”

  She smiled. “Reuzk made hand-to-hand fighting a compulsory part of the training. Some folks don’t take too kindly to having their Bug tagged. Did the knight teach you?”

  “Silak, a monk from Gukre.”

  “A monk? You are getting the full treatment.”

  He couldn’t tell her the upgrade made him a far better fighter than he deserved to be. She was right, the old days were gone forever. Each of them had undergone enhancement in one way or another since Bentley. How would the men of London react to a woman who could easily beat them? Had Amie or Reuzk orchestrated the whole fight, or was the clash with the thugs a random act? Don’t over-think; enjoy the moment.

  “We can’t go to Petalia looking like this,” she said, looking at the blood splattered on their clothes. She checked the clutch bag for damage then drew out a lightPad. “Just as well we have our very own clothes shop.”

  Sarra reset her ruffled hair and added extra curl. She updated to a blue jacket over a short black dress and applied a thin blush of makeup over her flawless face and reddened her lips. She added earrings and had changed to high heels. The ruby locket on a silver chain stayed.

  “Wow.” He selected a casual suit—loose pants, pressed blue shirt, and a woven, button up jersey. No tie. Tidy and comfortable.

  She slipped her arm under his elbow and leaned in. “Oh, Tom. I’ve never been happier.”

  A gush of tingles ran through him and his forehead and cheeks warmed. It had been so long that he’d forgotten what it was like to be this close to Sarra and in love.

  They caught the subTrain from Grand Central and sat in a window seat for the ride out over Nu’hieté’s suburbs to the Inner Ring.

  A lady passenger, wearing a long, yellow coat, leaned forward in her seat. “Excuse me, do you have the time?”

  “Eight forty-seven,” Sarra obliged without a second thought.

  “You seem anxious,” the lady said, as Tom checked his lightBand.

  Why had someone wearing ‘seeing’ glasses asked for the time? Small talk? She was tall and athletic with a quiet desperation in her eyes. He’d seen that look before. “No, tonight is all about us having fun.”

  She smiled and returned to the outside view. “It’s a long way to fall if you get careless out there.” The tall lady exited the subTrain first. “You make such a lovely couple,” she said, looking up and down the platform. “I hope everything works out for the best.”

  He guided Sarra to the waiting gondola. In a matter of minutes, they were nearing the peak of the highest hill in the central uplift zone. Far off, the headlights of fast-moving Bugs shone on the smooth blue tiles of the sweeping, four lane causeway, from central Nu’hieté to the exclusive Island Zone. Behind them, the waters reflected the dazzling colors of Gi LaMon nightlife. SkyBots whizzed overhead in the upper layers and enormous zeppelins drifted above it all illuminated by the flashing party lights of the elites. HyperTrains curled around the crater wall on colored tracks—red at the bottom for the freight trains to the blue passenger trains circling the top around the steepest part of the wall. Shafts of golden light shone from Kaleria Park into the crater waterfall. Gi LaMon dazzled with a luminou
s brilliance Nu’hieté could never replicate.

  “There’s the bridge across the Aiakar River,” he said. The overly bright lights above the gates had the cold glare of a sentry crossing.

  “I never tire of it,” she said, peering ahead to Petalia as they passed over the peak.

  The gondola swung to a halt outside Petalia.

  “The Color of the Room represents the primary role,” Sarra said, as they walked down the carpeted hallway of the entertainment hub. “Green is for eating, Black for gambling, Brown is the Lower Bar, Red is Pleasures and Visuals, Magenta for Conversation, and Blue for the Upper Lounge. We’re going to dance in the Rainbow Room up ahead.”

  “You know your way around.”

  “It’s my job to hunt down crooks, wherever they are.”

  Her job was either more than she said because she didn’t want him to worry, or she hadn’t grasped what Reuzk meant when he said she could ‘rise to the top.’

  An usher welcomed them into the Rainbow Room. He opened the doors and thumping music and hundreds of people trying to speak even louder blasted over them.

  “The lower zones are quieter, especially the Old Times bar,” she said, leading him by the hand down a set of stairs.

  “Where are the musicians?” he asked, keeping ahold of her hand as he searched the room.

  “Only the Elite or those in the Upper Lounge can afford an actual band,” she said as they settled into the back of a private alcove and ordered wine and a mug of ale from a passing waiter. “Who cares? Music is music.”

  “Just seems odd.”

  “And Gi LaMon doesn’t?”

  The waiter placed the drinks on the table and smiled politely. “Your first visit?” she asked. “The first round of drinks is free.”

  “We’ll pay,” Sarra said. “The Interior account.” She watched the waiter leave and turned to Tom. “Never let them give you anything. Nothing comes for free. I’ll pay on the way out.”

  “What happens if people try to leave Petalia without settling their account?”

  She pointed to the clutch bag. “Big trouble.” She removed her jacket and folded it on the cushioned bench. “Shall we dance?”