by Sarah Zettel
“I am your city!” All colors, all taste, all smells, swirling into one great morass. “You must listen!”
“We are listening, Aleph, and we are helping. You should be feeling calmer now. Talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
Orange and black paled to tan, the color of sand. The scent of burning separated out and faded to the scent of autumn leaves; the taste of metal became the taste of winter’s first frost. “Calmer. I am feeling calmer.”
“Good.” Hagin lifted his hands away from the command board as if he were afraid something might burst into flame. When nothing new happened, he wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs. “Now you must help us. We must find out what has gone wrong.”
Yes, thought Aleph. We must.
Even as she began to answer Hagin’s questions, Aleph calmly opened the convocation.
“My fellows,” she said, speaking in unadorned words. “My fellows, come look and see what is happening to me.”
Her message echoed out across the world. One by one, the city-minds came to see what had been done, was being done, could be done. One by one, they felt the fear, because what could be done to one of them could be done to all of them, until even Cheth agreed that they must take counsel, and that they must find a way to change this path.
But before then, there was one other thing to be done.
“Tam.”
His city was speaking to him. Tam’s eyelids fluttered open. The examination room was dim and cool. His city making him comfortable. He should thank her, but his throat was tight and dry, and he was not sure how many words he could speak. What was important was that he answer her. He could thank her later for looking after his comfort. Yes, that was good. “Yes?”
“Can you stand?”
A strange question. Well, perhaps not. He had been in the chair for days, and his legs felt weak. Of course his city was asking the right thing. His city was looking after him. He must be grateful to his city, and to his family, for looking after him.
“I can stand, Aleph.” He swung his legs to the side, planted his feet on the floor, and stood. His knees only trembled a little, and a surge of pride washed through him at the thought that he had done what his city asked.
“Tam, I want to help you.”
“Yes, you are my city.” His eyes closed again, swaying gently. It felt so good to agree, so easy. He knew what was right now. “You will always help me.”
“Tam, I want to get you out of here.”
Confusion stirred inside Tam and opened his eyes. Out of where? Out of the city? No, that could not be right. Outside had to be protected. Yes, he could go to a village… but why would Aleph be helping him to go to a village? His duties were suspended. That was right. He needed help before he could resume his place. His family would help him. “I don’t understand.”
“Tam, your sister has hurt you.”
“My sister cannot hurt me,” said Tam instantly. “She’s family.”
“You used to believe otherwise,” Aleph told him urgently. “Do you remember?”
Tam winced and clutched the chair arm, steadying himself. “I don’t want to remember that.”
“Try, Tam. I am your city. I would not tell you to do something bad.”
“No. You would not. You are my city. I remember.” He rubbed the bandage over his temple. “I remember I thought Dionte would hurt me. I remember… I remember…” He pressed his knuckles against his forehead. He could not think this. This was wrong. He felt it. He smelled how wrong it was.
But his city was asking, and he must answer. That was right. That was always right.
His entire face screwed up in pain. “She… does… not… have a proper Conscience. Like I did not. She… is… she stole the Eden Project. I remember.” Both hands clenched his head now, as if to keep it from splitting apart. “But she cannot. She cannot. She’s family. She cannot do such a thing.”
“Tam, I am going to help you leave here. You have friends among the villagers, don’t you?”
“Yes,” panted Tam. The confusion and pain lessened a little. After a moment, he found he could ease his grip on his head. “But they are not my family. I should talk to my family.”
“Tam, you should leave. I am telling you, you must leave.”
“No. I do not want to leave. I do not… but you are my city.” He reeled, his shoulder thudding against her wall. “Tell me.”
“Tam, I don’t know what to do. You say Dionte stole the Eden Project.”
“Yes.” He scrabbled at the wall. Aleph was inside the wall. Aleph would help him. Aleph was helping him, but her words only confused him. “No. I don’t know.”
“Could Dionte have brought Chena Trust here?”
“Yes.” Tam’s chest loosened a little. “She could have done that. But she would only do that to help the family, because she is family.”
“She is also bringing Teal Trust back.”
The Trusts. The Trusts he had tried to keep safe. He had tried to keep them safe by keeping them away from the Alpha Complex. But that was not right. That could not be right. Except, once, it had been. Before… before he had been given a proper Conscience. Before Dionte had helped him, as a sister should help a brother.
Before Dionte…
“Aleph, is Chena Trust here?”
“No. She has run away.”
“Teal Trust?”
“She’s being brought back. Her cable car will arrive within thirty hours.”
“And Dionte will meet her?”
“I have no record, but she might.”
“Aleph, you must get me to Teal.” No, no, he could not do this. He needed his family. His family would tell him what to do. The city would tell him what to do.
But the city was telling him what to do.
“Yes. The Trusts are the future of Pandora. The future of Pandora must not be given to Dionte. Come, Tam. Walk. I will help you. But you must walk.”
Obediently, Tam put one foot in front of the other. His city would take care of him. The city knew what was right. For now, at least, he did not have to struggle. He did not have to bring down the leaden weight of guilt onto his tired spirit. For now, all was clear. Aleph told him to walk, so he did.
Once she found her rhythm, Chena was able to keep walking at a decent clip. Nan Elle had made sure she had practiced traveling long distances on foot, and now Chena was grateful. She paused here and there to reapply her scent concealer, although she was certain she smelled so much like swamp rot there wasn’t a bug on the continent that could identify her as human.
Better to be safe.
In the pale light of false dawn, she found a bush of knobbly summer berries and she picked some, careful to make her predations random, so it would look like a bird had raided the place. She drank from a clean stream where it cascaded over rounded stones. She allowed herself an hour’s rest so that the sunlight could leach a little of the cold and exhaustion from her bones.
It was late morning when the trees opened up onto the grassland and she looked down a bluff and saw the distant blue glint of Lake Superior. Her shoulders sagged with relief. She’d made it this far. There were only a few miles of grass left, a walk in the hot sun, and when it was over, there would be Farin, and all the help she could need.
Chena drizzled the last of the concealer out of her vial. It was barely enough to cover her face and hands.
It’ll do. It’ll be enough. I’ve made it this far. I can make it.
Chena pulled her jacket hood down tight, tucked her pants legs into her socks to cover her skin as best she could, and stepped out into the sunlight.
Her second wind came to her as she picked her way down the bluff. Maybe it was just the feeling of really getting somewhere. Maybe it was the sensation of being warm again after being frozen cold for so long. The sun was just past its zenith in the clean blue sky, giving her a guide that could not be mistaken. The grass bowed and swayed above her head, hiding her from prying eyes that flew by.
I did it. I
beat them. They never even laid a hand on me.
A couple of miles had passed behind her when a shadow shifted across the sun. Chena ducked on reflex. She shaded her eyes to see a raptor circling lazily in the sky. She let out a long breath, planting both hands on her knees and laughing at herself for being so nervous. When she quieted, she straightened up. As she did, she looked down, and she saw the ants.
There was no mistaking them. They had the red-brown bodies and the busy legs. They milled about on the ground, seeking.
Chena’s heart stopped dead in her chest. Where had the signs been? Why hadn’t the birds panicked? Why not the grazing animals? Had they come in trickles, not in an army this time? Or were the animals already gone? Had she seen any this morning? Damn it, damn it, she hadn’t even heard the birds singing in the morning and she hadn’t noticed, she’d been so full of herself.
They were waiting for her. The hothousers had known she would come this way and had sent their sentries out to wait for her.
And the only reason they hadn’t found her yet was that they hadn’t smelled her.
Yet.
Chena’s eyes drifted to the way ahead of her, hoping against hope that it was just one swarm, two at most. But it wasn’t. The ground was alive with insects. The whole way ahead was a carpet of them.
Chena’s mind started to scream. She pressed her hands hard against her ears as if to shut out a noise, but it really was to shut in the noise— all the panicked noise inside her head that might leak out and alert the insects. Any second now, they would swarm up her legs and inside her clothes and they would bite and bite until there was nothing left of her.
STOP IT! Chena screamed to herself. Stop it! You cannot give in. You cannot stop. They have not found you. They cannot smell you. All you have to do is keep walking and you’re safe. So, walk!
Fists clenched, teeth clenched, her whole body shaking as badly as it had in the coldest part of the night, Chena took a step forward. Then she took another, and another. The ground crunched under her feet as she stepped on dozens of the insects with each movement. Up ahead, the ground crawled.
Another step, another, and another. There was no break in the carpet of ants, or in the long grass around them. Chena shouldered her way through the forest of waving stalks, afraid to put her hand out. She saw the sun glint on red-brown bodies creeping up the grass stems, looking for some trace of her. It took all her strength not to bat at her camouflage jacket. Even if they were on her jacket, they couldn’t smell her. They didn’t know the difference between her and the waving grass. She just had to keep walking. That was all she had to do. Nothing had changed. She was safe behind the layers of potion and swamp muck.
Something tickled her cheek and Chena slapped at it before she could think. Her hand came down and she clenched herself for the sight of a crushed insect body. But there was nothing. Her hand was just damp.
Damp? She rubbed her fingers together. Damp with sweat. Warm, cleansing, human-smelling sweat, running down her cheeks and washing away her shield.
And up ahead, there was no end to the grass forest, or its legion of ants.
How long did she have? How would she know? Of their own accord, her legs lengthened their stride until she broke into a run, which would make her sweat harder, make her shield melt faster, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to run and keep on running. She wanted to run away from the ants and the grass and the whole sick world that was chasing after her for the sake of what she carried in her blood.
Her toe jammed hard against a hillock and Chena slammed face first onto the ground. She scrambled to her feet, slapping frantically at the insects clinging to her clothing.
I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead. The thought filled her head as she ran. Never see Farin. Never say sorry to Teal. I’m dead. I’m dead.
Then she stopped in her tracks. She pivoted on her heel. Memory of Nan Elle cut through the hysteria.
You must stay alert to the world around you. That will save you. You have the whole world underneath your hands. The hothousers only think they do.
Trembling, Chena retraced her steps. She crouched low, not allowing knees or buttocks to rest on the ground, and peered between the grass stems. Here and there sprouted a different kind of plant. Their leaves were thicker, fleshier, and a brighter green. They grew close to the ground, shadowed by the grass. But it was high summer, and they were ripe, and now that she was down close she could smell them.
Wild onions.
Frantically, Chena tore the plants up out of the ground and crushed their crisp white bulbs between her palms. Juice ran down her hands, and the scent wrung tears from her eyes. These little bulbs were stronger than anything in the kitchen garden, and the juice was supposed to be good for insect bites. Nan Elle sneered at this idea. She said that people just liked it because they smelled strong and that made them think that whatever concoction they put it in was doing something.
All these thoughts passed laughing through Chena’s mind as she smeared the stinging juice on her raw face and hands and wiped it over every inch of her clothing that she could reach, including the tops and soles of her boots. The ground at her feet was a mess. Any hothouser who looked would know that a human had been here. What did that matter? As long as they didn’t know where she was now. She stuffed the last double handful of onions into her pockets. There was no telling when or if she would stumble across another patch.
Her nose twitched at her own smell, and her eyes watered so badly she could barely see. It didn’t matter. She could find the sun, and so she could find her way.
Chena marched across the army of ants that had lain in wait for her, and all they could smell was the scent of wilderness.
This time, though, she did not let herself get carried away with her own cleverness. Now she watched her way as carefully as she could, keeping an eye out not just for the ants, but for the plants around her. She saw blackberry and raspberry canes in between the grass. She saw the different types of grasses and wild grains. She saw the onions nestling at the feet of the tall grass stems. These were all things she could use. These were all things she had and she’d almost forgotten.
“You were right, Nan. You were right again.” And this time I will tell you so, just as soon as I get home.
Eight more kilometers passed under Chena’s boots. The gently rolling ground gradually steepened into hills. The black earth became mixed with sand, no good for onions, but great for wild garlic and carrots. The grass grew shorter until it was barely as tall as she was, and Chena wondered if she ought to start crawling. But no, she decided, lifting her veil and mopping her forehead, first with her hand, and then with fresh garlic. They had counted on the ants to find her on the dunes, and if they were waiting for her in Stem… She squinted up the hill rising before her.
If they’re waiting for me in Stem, why would they bother coming outside the fences?
Chena staggered up the hill. Hunger and thirst gnawed at the last of her strength. She’d started cursing the sun and cloudless blue sky hours ago. Wheezing, she topped the hill and looked out over the shoulder-high grasses. Lake Superior filled the horizon with sun-flecked blue and the wind held a freshness that reached her even through the all-pervasive smell of onions. A pair of dirigibles lifted off like fat flies heading out to sea. To her left gleamed the river to Offshoot and the distant misty red cliffs. The low dunes that blocked her view of the beach straight ahead had to be the back border of Stem.
Stem. Safety among people who knew her.
Farin.
Fresh strength welled into Chena. She picked her way down the hill. The sandy soil shifted sharply under her boots, so she had to keep her eyes on the way in front of her. But she didn’t mind. The ants were gone. They were grassland creatures, not sand dune creatures, and the purists of the hothouse would never move even a modified creature outside its natural environment. She was free of them.
I might drop dead any second now, she thought as she slogged for
ward. But at least it won’t be from bug bites.
Now that the true dunes rose around her, Chena stuck to the low places between them, angling her path toward the river. If she could hide in the brush and scrub by the river until a boat came by, she stood a good chance to be able to mix with the passengers as they disembarked and slip back into the village confines.
The dunes spilled away to the level riverbank and sprouted shaggy ferns, tufted sawgrass, bayberry, and the occasional white pine. On the far side of the river, the pine trees thickened into a real forest and the ground rose toward the cliffs. Chena considered wading across the river to get to the thicker cover, but discarded the idea. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to fight the current. Just the sight and sound of the water made Chena’s head buzz. She wanted to throw herself into it and suck it up until she drained the river dry, even though she knew she’d be sick for three days afterward from the bacteria this particular watercourse carried. There were clean streams around, if she wanted to take the time to search one out, but somehow Chena couldn’t stand the idea of staying out in the wild one minute longer. She needed people, friends, Farin, near her. She was tired to death of being alone.
Chena plodded along the bank, keeping to the thickest undergrowth until she came just inside of Stem’s river dock. Her luck was still with her, because before long, one of the riverboats glided out from between the hills. Chena mustered the last of her strength and ran for the dock, crouched low. The boat slowed and steered itself alongside the dock, allowing Chena to get a good look at the slanting pattern of red and green stripes that covered its side. Luck! She smiled to herself. This was Jonan’s boat. She had helped Nan Elle dose his entire crew against the annual diarrhea outbreak known as the “winter runs.” He knew her and would never turn her in, if only because he would not want to get Nan Elle angry at him.
Two of the crew jumped down to catch the mooring ropes as they were thrown. They secured the boat with practiced motions, and passengers and crew poured out of the cabin.
