by M. J. Locke
He sighed. “Jane, they already know about Kukuyoshi. The night is half gone and you have a meeting with the prime minister in the morning. Nobody is blaming you but you.”
“Have you seen my sammy cache lately?”
“Set aside your pride, Jane. Come with me and get some good rest.”
She gave in, of course.
A slender, narrow-shouldered man in a bathrobe answered the door.
“I’m sorry to disturb you so late, Charles,” Xuan said.
A little terrier bounced out, yapping and bounding off the walls just out of reach. “No trouble at all. Glad to see you weathered the disturbance safely. Do come in. Quiet, Muffet! Away with you.” He shooed the dog away. “The wife’s asleep in the other room, or I’d introduce you…”
“I’m not asleep,” came her voice. “I’ll be out in a moment. Miss Muffet! Come here, right now!”
As they lofted over the door’s top frame, the dog sproinged off the ceiling and into the other room.
Xuan introduced the man to Jane as Charles Winford. They brushed hands. He had an English accent left over from his pre-Upsider days, sprinkled with plenty of stroiderisms and Upsider pronunciations. His glance at Jane held curiosity. A woman floated out of the bedroom.
“We’re very sorry to disturb you,” Jane said.
“Quite all right,” she replied, “the disturbance had us up. Glad you decided to take us up on our offer, Xuan.” Her accent, too, was British. She gave Xuan a peck on the cheek, and then put out her hand to Jane. “Rowan Fairchild. I’m a researcher at the university. I know who you are, of course. It’s a pleasure.”
They offered them tea and marmite on toast, while they set up a hammock in Charles’s office. They must know Jane had something to do with the disturbance that had just happened—word was already all over the wave—but they forbore from asking about it, and chatted instead about their work at the university. Rowan’s specialty was adaptive ecosystems; she was working on a project monitoring the genetic changes the animals had been undergoing in Kukuyoshi, and producing predictive simulations. Charles was a cellular biologist studying the long-term effects of low-gravity environments on certain fungi. It was clear to Jane that they were dear and trusted friends of Xuan’s.
* * *
They were both exhausted, but neither could sleep. At two a.m. the cameras went off, and she told him what had happened with the feral. He listened while she described it.
“Regrettable that it didn’t survive,” Xuan said.
“Yes.” She released a slow, sad breath. “We’ve been so busy dealing with the crisis I haven’t been able to prep to respond to Reinforte’s accusations. They’re going to eat me alive. And I haven’t got a live sapient for barter. The PM will have no choice but to dump me, to get Ogilvie & Sons’ ice. It’s probably going to be tomorrow morning. Today, I mean.” She felt more vulnerable than she had since she was a child.
It was dark in the room, except for the glow from a night-light; all she could make out was his dim silhouette. But her other senses shaped him for her: the small movements of his back muscles beneath her hand as he shifted in the hammock; the feathery touch of his breath against her hair; the beat of his heart against her cheek. His skin smelled faintly of Xuan-ness. His breath had its own scent, too, and both smelled good to her.
“Life is change. You know that.”
“I know.” A long pause. She pillowed her cheek. “But people will blame me. They already are. I’ll go down in history as the woman who brought an entire stroid cluster down.”
Xuan burst out laughing. “Look at it this way, dear. At least you’ll be remembered! The only ones who will know my name in years to come will be random geologists who happen to stumble across my outdated old tomes in some wave archive that someone forgot to purge.”
She did not know whether to be angry or amused. “Oh, Xuan.”
He finally said it. “We’ll weather this.” He kissed her head. “Don’t worry.”
* * *
Her sleep was troubled that night. She saw Hugh, floating faceup in a river, dead, only he wore Marty’s clothing and was covered in vines. She wept. Her mother said, “Don’t grieve, for I bring you joyous tidings.” A woman wearing an old-fashioned male Downsider’s suit moved past. She had her hand on her belly, and Jane knew she was pregnant.
“Look!” The young woman turned toward Jane, and she had the face of a man. Two snakes slithered up to her, making wave patterns in the sand. One was made of electricity with jewels for eyes, and one a smooth blue-green, with human eyes. The snakes wriggled up to the pants legs and moved upward.
“This child has two fathers,” the woman-man said and removed her-his clothing; the snakes had coiled around her-his hips, like a belt. “A father of flesh and a father of wave.” She-he pressed her-his fingers into her-his belly and it opened. Within, Jane could see clockworks. Then she-he closed her-himself up, as Jane’s mother’s voice said, “It is to remain sealed for a time and a time.”
Then Dominica came, only it was Dominica as she had been before she had left, barely beyond her childhood, willowy and boyish and solemn. She led the newly pregnant woman-man off.
Jane saw her mother standing at the edge of a pool in the light of the full moon. She wore no clothes, and her body was old and wrinkled. Her giant breasts sagged to her belly. Her hair was white, flowing, and beautiful. It went all the way to the ground.
The pool at her feet was dark, like spilled blood, and glass knives lay on the shore. The old woman stepped through the knives, which cut her feet till she cried out. She waded into the pool and as she moved deeper inward, the blood was converted to pure water that swirled around her hips, her waist, her chest. She grew young. The knives on the shoreline crumbled to a bed of clean, soft sand. Greenery blossomed at the pool’s edge.
“Don’t be afraid, Jane,” she said. “Much good comes after,” and sank below the surface.
Jane awoke with a start, heart hammering, the echoes of her cry lingering in her ears. She curled in the hammock, pressed against Xuan. It took a long time for her to fall back to sleep.
20
Sean did not go to bed that night. He sent the three uninjured teens home after the medic cleared them. Then he took stimulants and stayed at the hospital with Ian. He tried periodically to reach the boy’s parents, with no success. He did manage to contact the other three families, and made appointments to stop by in the morning.
After emergency surgery, the surgeon came out. “We have gotten Ian stabilized. He’s resting comfortably.”
“How does it look?” Sean asked.
“There is always the risk of organ damage, after a loss of so much blood. But I continue to be confident that he will recover,” he said.
“What about the arm?”
“We could begin to grow him a new limb as early as tomorrow, as long as his vitals stay stable. It will be several weeks before he has full use of the arm and shoulder again, and there will be quite a bit of pain for a while. Any sign of the family?”
Sean shook his head. “Not yet. Is he awake? May I speak to him?”
“Of course. This way.”
Recovery smelled of medicine and disinfectants. Life-support equipment made beeping and hissing noises, and nutrient tubes lay across the patients. People lay strapped to railed gurneys, with IVs and oxygen, hooked up to monitoring equipment, with nurses tending to them. Sean lofted over to Ian and laid a hand on his uninjured shoulder. The young man opened his eyes and eyed Sean blearily.
“Hi,” he said. His voice was a weak thread.
“Hi, hero.”
That brought a slight smile to Ian’s lips. “Am I OK?”
“The doctor says they should have no problems regrowing your arm. In due course you should have full use back.”
A sigh escaped the young man.
“The truth is…” Sean coughed. “You saved my life tonight.” He stepped back and gave the young man a military salute. That brought another faint smile. Then Ian cl
osed his eyes.
“Rest,” Sean said. “I’ll be back later.”
On the way to Administration, Sean pondered again how the feral had ceased its attack after injuring Ian. From everything he knew about feral sapients, that was unheard of. They had no capacity for empathy. Like highly intelligent sharks, they were merciless—they ate up all digital space, took things over, and fucked with whoever tried to get in their way.
Maybe Tania would have some answers. He would talk to her tomorrow, when he briefed Jane.
* * *
Jane woke early the next morning. She left Xuan asleep and crawled out of the hammock. She might as well cede the night and get going.
Charles was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. He handed her sausages, a tube of oatmeal, and a bulb of steaming tea. “I’m dreadfully sorry we can’t offer you a proper perch for dining,” he said.
“Please, don’t apologize. You’ve done so much for us.”
While they were eating, Muffet the terrier came bounding in. It came sniffing over to Jane. “Go on,” Charles commanded, but Jane said, “No, it’s all right,” and slipped the little dog a piece of sausage.
“You’ll spoil her.”
“Sorry. I have a soft spot for big brown eyes.” Even when they’re on little brown ratdogs, she thought, and made a face at the dog, who bounced into Jane’s lap and wagged her tail ecstatically when Jane caught hold.
Jane stroked the dog’s wiry fur. “Charles,” she said, “I want to thank you and Rowan for taking us in.”
“No trouble at all, really.”
“Listen…” she hesitated. “I’m sure you know I’m in charge of response to the crisis that started in our life-support systems three days ago.”
His eyes widened. “Of course. But we didn’t want to pry…”
“I appreciate your discretion. But I’d like to give you some knowledge about what’s been happening. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that we had a feral sapient in our systems.” He nodded. “We managed to remove the sapient last night. The city is no longer under threat. And,” she added, squeezing by brute force any trace of bitterness out of her voice, “our ice shortage is going to be solved soon, too.”
“Oh, excellent.”
Jane finished her breakfast. With a sigh, she said, “I should get to work. Thanks again for your hospitality.”
“Not at all, not at all.”
She took a bulb of tea back to their room. Xuan was drowsing but not fully asleep; she could tell by his shallow breathing and the way his eyelids pressed so firmly on his cheeks. Jane held the tea in front of his nose, squeezed it gently to expel the air, and wafted the ensuing vapors his way. He sighed and made a mournful face.
“Five more minutes, Mum.”
“No hurry. You can sleep in.”
“No, I need to get going, too.” With a groan, he sat up and took the tea. He sipped sleepily, dangling in the hammock, while Jane gathered her things.
“I’ll call you later,” she said finally.
“You’ve done the best you could. Hold on to that.”
“I will.” I’ll try.
* * *
Her direct reports were waiting. Jane’s stomach was so knotted by this time, and her arteries pumped so full of adrenaline, thinking about her upcoming meeting with the PM, that she couldn’t bear to perch at her desk, as distracting as Sean plainly found it. She needed to move. Better yet, bounce off the walls.
Aaron looked tired and distraught; Tania tired and haggard; Sean just plain tired. Jane said, “I only have a few minutes before my debriefing with the prime minister. Talk fast.” She gestured. “Aaron.”
“The Ogilvie & Sons shipment departed Ilion last night,” he said. “If we want to make a deal with them, today is the day.”
“Anything else?”
He opened his mouth, and closed it. “Perhaps we could talk on the way to your meeting. There’s a … private matter.”
Jane lifted her eyebrows, mystified, but he shook his head. “It’ll have to be after my meeting with the prime minister,” she said. “Tania.”
The young woman shrugged. “No progress on reactivating the sapient’s captive replica. Some crucial component is missing—some set of algorithms or key data structure—and I don’t know what it is.”
“Will it ever be recoverable? When will you know?”
“We don’t have the sapient’s responses to study any longer, so it’s all guesswork. Could be days, months, even years before we make a breakthrough. If ever.” She sighed, and rubbed at her eyes. “We’ll keep working on it, but don’t ride your pony.” The expression came from pony bottles, which were only used for quick jobs in vacuum, or short transfers from one place to another. In other words, don’t hold your breath.
Jane had been expecting this. Still.
“If you could get the PM to allocate us more tech and people resources…” Tania started hopefully. Jane gave her a bleak look. Yeah; right. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
Marty stuck his head in. “You have to head over right now, Chief. You’re going to be late.”
Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump: her heart pumped more adrenaline into her veins. She was developing quite the headache. “One more minute, thanks. Sean?”
“The kid who lost his arm looks fair to make a complete recovery,” he replied. “No more news on the sabotage.”
She glanced at her heads-up. Two minutes to get there, and she did not dare be late. “All right. Marty, go catch me an elevator. Hustle!”
Aaron took her arm as she passed him. “I really need to talk to you. Privately.”
Jane said. “I just can’t. Come see me after my meeting.”
“But it’s—” He broke off, looking tense.
“Sorry,” she said. “Out of time.”
The protestors camped outside the PM’s offices were fewer in number this morning. As Jane started to launch herself out of the lift, Marty touched her arm. They exchanged a wordless look.
“We’re with you, Chief,” he finally said. A lump formed in her throat. She nodded, managed to squeeze out a thanks.
She left him there, and made her way through the protestors, who quieted as she passed through. They seemed to sense the importance of this moment. All we need now, she thought, is the cup of honeyed milk to pour over my head, and the sacrificial knife. She passed through the antimote veil. Security opened the doors for her, and Jane floated through the PM’s outer chamber, greeting all the secretaries, undersecretaries, assistant subministers, and the like. Everyone was eyeing her.
Don’t be paranoid, Navio. Let events unfold.
It was amazing what you could do in a few hours with sufficient juice and a staff of bug jocks. The nutrient reek made her eyes burn, but little visual evidence remained of the damage Benavidez’s offices must have sustained, other than a few embryonic items of furniture and cubicle walls still growing up out of the floor. These were covered in translucent membranes laced with nano-grown arteries, capillaries, and miniature, heartlike pumps. At this stage they looked like living creatures that might stand up and walk away.
Outside Benavidez’s conference room, the staff members welcomed her; one made her comfortable in the lounge webbing with a bulb of coffee. Thomas Harman floated through. “The prime minister wants to move his direct-reports meeting back—” he told one of the staffers there, and then saw her. “Commissioner,” he said politely.
An emergency meeting with all his direct reports, and she had not heard about it. Jane peered at Beatnik Jesus. He seemed to gaze directly at her from atop his surfboard, but not unkindly.
Christ as deity. She wondered if he had actually heard God’s Voice in his head, and whether medications would have made a difference. She wondered whether events had simply gotten away from him, there at the end. Downside, back in the CFAS, such a thought spoken into the wrong ear could have landed her in prison. Such thoughts, spoken to her own family when she was a teen, had earned her exile. Her own Voice, thankfully,
remained silent on the subject.
She was ushered in. Benavidez was at his desk, editing something. She waited. He looked up finally. He did not offer to brush hands.
“Fill me in,” he said.
“The warehouse incident was certainly sabotage,” she told him, “and all indications are that the Ogilvies are behind it. No hard proof yet, though.” She gave him a quick sketch of the facts that Sean had transmitted to her yesterday afternoon, regarding the homicide investigation. Benavidez nodded and she guessed he must already have heard about this from his own sources.
She also gave him a rundown of their revised resource budget. She also, with the barest of hesitations, informed him of Aaron’s assessment that today was the day to make an offer to Ogilvie & Sons. After this, it would be more expensive and much more difficult to get them to change course for Phocaea.
“What is the latest word on the feral sapient?” he said.
“Dead and gone. Tania is pressing for more resources to try to recover it, but her people already have a huge task ahead of them, putting our computer systems back together.” She spread her hands. “It could be a long time before they recover anything useful.”
“A long time?”
“Weeks. Months. Years. There’s no way to know.” She leaned forward. “But this evidence of sabotage changes things, sir. If Ogilvie & Sons is provably responsible for the disaster, we can force them to capitulate—lower their price, change their terms. Force them to repair the damage they’ve done.”
He looked at his desk and rubbed at his lower lip as she said this, and looked up at her again when she had finished. The look in his eyes told her what was about to happen.
“I didn’t want it to come to this, Jane, but I don’t see a choice. I—”
She interrupted, “I can come up with something. Give me more time.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to resign.”
Jane stared. You fool, she thought in disgust. You bloody idiot. “I need to think it over.”
“There’s nothing to think over,” he replied. She only looked at him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We need the ice, Jane. Many lives are at stake. You said yourself that today’s the day, if we’re going to deal with Ogilvie & Sons. They’re the only game in town.”
