The Velocity of Revolution

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  The nurses came back in, with several Alliance Guard officers, including a lieutenant whom Wenthi had seen around headquarters, but had never spoken to. The officers carried a series of wooden boxes and laid them out on another table.

  “Officer Tungét,” the lieutenant said, offering her hand. She was definitely Sehosian zoika. “Pleasure to have you with us. I’m Lieutenant Canwei, I work with Covert Operations. I’ll be your immediate superior on this assignment. How much do you know about the situation?”

  “I know there have been a string of petrol robberies from the tanker trains, committed by an organized group of criminals on cycles.”

  “Right,” Canwei said. “We originally thought that it was just the work of various cycle gangs, simply looking to score petrol beyond their allotted ration. And as despicable as ration-thieves are—am I right?”

  “Quite,” Wenthi said. Resources were tight in the city, in the whole nation, and it was important that everyone respected their share. Ration-thieves ruined things for everyone.

  “As despicable as they are, their goals are far beyond just stealing petrol. The Hwungko boy told us that it’s much more insidious. Several different cycle gangs are cells in a larger organization of rebel terrorists, seeking to destroy everything we’ve built.”

  “And that’s what I’m going into?” Did Mother know this? Was that why she was troubled?

  “Very astute. We need you to get into one of the cells, and from there, find their leader. A woman called Varazina.”

  “I presume Mister Hwungko didn’t give us much to work with in identifying her.”

  “No,” Canwei said. “He’s never seen her. Very few have, but they’ve heard her. She leads from the shadows.”

  “How does that work?”

  “She’s able to give orders, coordinating the gangs, by hijacking radio broadcasts. We have no idea how she’s doing it.”

  “Why aren’t we finding their frequencies and listening in?”

  “That’s just it—it’s not any one frequency. She’s able to cut into any station, and frequency, and send a message. We’ve got no way to trace it.”

  The doctor came back in the room, her demeanor noticeably calmer. “And they use the myco to coordinate with each other, and sense their adversaries. Quite remarkable.”

  “Ah, I see you’ve met Doctor Shebiruht,” Canwei said.

  “Sheb—” was all he said before the full realization of who this woman was registered. His instinct kicked in, jerking away so quickly he nearly fell off the metal table. “You’re telling me she—the monster—she worked—”

  “Yes, yes,” she said dismissively. “The Mushroom Doctor. The Witch of Reloumene. The horror of two wars. Really an exaggeration, if you ask me.”

  “Doctor,” Canwei said sharply.

  “What is she doing here?” Wenthi asked.

  “Penance,” the lieutenant said. “For war crimes in the Great Noble, she is serving her time here, putting her vast knowledge to use.”

  “Knowledge of what?”

  She went over to the wooden cases. “Of the mycopsilaria. I remain one of the world’s foremost—”

  “Butchers,” Wenthi spat. He had heard—everyone had heard—of her horrors, what happened to the victims she experimented on.

  “Hardly fair,” she said. “Butchers work with meat.”

  “Wenthi,” Canwei said calmly. “I understand your reaction. I do. But the simple truth is, we have a real opportunity with you right now, and with Doctor Shebiruht’s help, give you the tools you’ll need for this mission.”

  “What tools?” Wenthi asked. His heart started pounding. What, exactly, were they suggesting?

  Shebiruht smiled, looking through the wooden case. “Right now, there’s a girl a few doors down who is, astoundingly, still processing an active, hypercharged dose of mycopsilaria zapisia, the local variation of the mushroom, and I’ve been able to isolate the strain. That it has lasted this long, that her receptors are still active, how she hypercharged herself, I do not know, but it is fascinating. Definitely something special about her.” She seemed very excited, and her accent grew even thicker as she spoke. “Did you know what you think of as simply ‘the myco’ is actually dozens of mushroom species, each with dozens of individual strains?”

  “Doctor, we don’t need—” Canwei started.

  Shebiruht went on regardless, as she held up a glass vial. “To think, every part of the world could touch every other part. Every mind, every body . . .”

  “Doctor,” Canwei said sharply.

  “Yes,” she said, coming back over to Wenthi. “And so many small-minded folk wanted to make it into weapons. Klwaza. Elbavu. Rodiguen. Small, petty folk. How can I use this magic to kill, to control, to subjugate? Your people, at least, use it mostly to fuck better. Still small and petty, but it’s something joyful.”

  “I don’t—” Wenthi said, the words barely able to come.

  “Yes, you’re a good boy, I can tell.” She shook her head and glared at Canwei. “What are you teaching them, hmm? About the myco, the war? Me?”

  “I think he has a fairly accurate picture of who you are,” Canwei said.

  “Yes, maybe,” she said, handing the vial to a nurse. “I may know more about mycopsilaria than just about anyone, but . . . that knowledge did not come cheaply. But it makes me useful, so this arrangement—”

  “Arrangement?”

  “Doctor Shebiruht’s expertise remains unmatched,” Canwei said. “The Alliance does not throw away useful knowledge.”

  Wenthi got on his feet. “Give me my clothes, ma’am. I don’t need . . . whatever this is to do my job.”

  “Wenthi, son,” Canwei said calmly. “I’ve given this a lot of thought. You’re going to need an edge to succeed. The mission will be impossible without what this procedure offers.”

  “Procedure?” Never had a word sounded more terrifying.

  “You need to get better at explaining things, Lieutenant,” Shebiruht said, bringing over two more vials. “Like I said, that girl’s connective receptors are still active, buzzing with the myco zapisia in her system. We’re going to use that. If your blood is any indication, based on my tests, you’ve got a certain . . . aptitude for what the myco offers. A remarkable aptitude, at that. So we’ll be using that strain she’s on, yes. And then the 14-mycopsilaria outhica to give you dominion over the bond.”

  “Dominion?” What was she on about?

  “You need to be in charge,” Shebiruht said. “This bond cannot be mutual. And then, of course, this very rare mycopsilaria astiknesa. Oh, this one is the real secret ingredient.”

  “For what, exactly?” Wenthi asked as his stomach threatened to crawl out his mouth and run off.

  “For the fusion,” she said. “Between you and that girl.”

  15

  Wenthi had seen the newsreels and tinplates of Nemuspia. Required viewing in school, and again at the academy. Seen the horrors of the myco.

  Near the end of the First Transoceanic, General Klwaza of Nemuspian Dominion had warned the world that he would unleash his great arsenal of War-Enders across Reloumene, Hemisheuk, and the other Outhic nations, across all the Zapisian Islands, and then the Sehosian continent. He demanded unconditional surrender. But when he planned to demonstrate the power of his War-Ender, this bomb fueled by mycopsilarian magic, something went horribly wrong, and the entire arsenal was released on his own people.

  They became mindless horrors, their bodies wasted and withered. It spread across the Nemuspian continent, barely contained by the few remaining forces. Millions upon millions, turned from vibrant, vital people into empty shells that only knew hunger.

  All of Nemuspia was a wasteland, thanks to the power of the mushroom. The First Trans ended with the Treaties of Sovereignty, where civilized nations all agreed to ban mycopsilarian weapons.


  At the height of the Second Transoceanic, when Rodiguen’s expansion of Reloumene pushed against the Hemish border, he claimed he had new myco weapons that were unlike anything the world had seen. He was defeated and ousted before he could use them, the laboratories and factories dismantled. He fled to Pinogoz with his family and inner circle, forced his way to power, and had restarted his myco experiments again before he was stopped in the Great Noble. He and most of his inner circle and family had been killed in the final campaign. The remainder of his loyal people were captured and imprisoned for life. That was what the newsreels had reported.

  And here was Doctor Shebiruht. The very woman who had been in charge of his myco projects in both wars.

  “Ma’am,” Wenthi asked Lieutenant Canwei as he got onto the gurney. His heart was pounding, but Canwei seemed so certain. She was his superior. She, and Captain Sengejú—he had to know, right? He had mentioned the myco in their meeting—they signed off on this. “You’re certain we can trust her on this? Trust . . . using the myco?”

  Canwei nodded and leaned in close, lowering her voice. “The truth is, these rebels use the myco without a second thought. It’s why they’ve been impossible to catch, really, until you. You. You’ll be our secret weapon.” She clapped Wenthi on the shoulder congenially.

  “How?”

  “People can’t hide who they are when connected on the myco. But if you are already melded with that girl, the girl who is part of the rebellion, then you will be able to. You’ll be able to hide who you are within her.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You’re worried about the risks.”

  “You know what happens. The comas, the deaths . . .”

  “Somewhat overstated,” she said. “Our discouragement campaigns lean on the sensational. As distasteful as I find her, the doctor is an expert in usage, dosages. It will be safe.”

  “But—”

  “And as troubling as it is—I do understand your misgivings, Wenthi, about the doctor, about using the myco—we need to match them weapon for weapon. These rebels aren’t just nuisances stealing a bit of fuel to run their cycles and trucks. They are insurgents, looking to undo everything people like us have been building here since the end of the war. Your mother’s good work getting this country on its feet. Our part in the war effort.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You’re scared,” Canwei said. “I don’t blame you. It’s a big risk, I won’t pretend it’s not. We wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t about the very security of the Alliance and the war effort.”

  Wenthi let that sink in. He had still been thinking this was a normal patrol infiltration assignment, busting up a cycle crew of petrol thieves. The real scope of it was settling in his belly. “Are you sure I’m your man for this?”

  “I am,” Canwei said. “I am sorry this is all a rush, but Doctor Shebiruht says we must act while the myco is active in the girl. But the rest of this will be handled clean and tight down the line, all right?”

  “All right,” Wenthi said, swallowing his fear. He was needed. Everyone—Canwei, Sengejú, Mother—was saying how important this was for the nation. How important it was that he did it. That only he could do it. He had to believe them. He had to try. “Let’s do this.”

  The lieutenant snapped her fingers, and the nurses wheeled his gurney out of the room, then down the hall to another room with a series of complicated locks.

  “They call this the ‘ice room,’” Shebiruht said as Wenthi was wheeled in. “It’s not a proper name, but it does serve a function. The walls have a breed of mycopsilaria sehosi growing in the panels. That would block any further connection she would have with someone she had synced with earlier. Antipathetic energies, the myco breeds have.”

  “Why are you talking to me, Doctor?” Wenthi asked. “The lieutenant says we need to use you, so I’m fine, but I don’t need to hear you speak.”

  She looked at him with an odd regard, raising an eyebrow. “Try to open your awareness, Mister Tungét. It will help you with the process.”

  They locked the gurney in place, right next to another one, occupied by the woman he had arrested the night before.

  “The shit is this gobra?” she snarled. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, she’s a yeller,” Shebiruht said. She took out a stopper and put a few drops in her eyes. She blinked a few times then took a good look at the girl. “Oh, look at all that. Isn’t it glorious? How much myco did you take yesterday, Miss Enapi?”

  “I—what? I’m not—”

  “There’s no harm in answering, girl, it won’t change your outcomes. In a few moments, you will fall into a deep coma, and then you will probably never open your eyes or leave this room again.”

  “What?” She turned to look at Wenthi. “You’re the tory who nabbed me.”

  “And now you’re paying for your crimes,” Wenthi said. “You should be happy it’s a myco coma instead of a lifetime in penitence.”

  “Crimes?” she shouted. “What you are all doing is a crime. What you’ve been doing. And you!” Her arms shot up toward Doctor Shebiruht, but only came up a few inches because of the restraints. “I know who you are. I know what you did.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Shebiruht said. She took a syringe and shoved it in Enapi’s arm. “I did so many things, which is why we’re able to do this to you.”

  Enapi thrashed on her gurney for a moment, her jaw clenching, before she collapsed down, still.

  “Ready, Mister Tungét?” Shebiruht asked, taking out another syringe.

  “Does the answer matter?” He was holding down the fear, the nearly overpowering need to bolt from the gurney and out the door. He was serving the patrol, serving his country, and he would do what he needed to do, not thinking about the syringe full of poison that this depraved madwoman was holding. He didn’t listen to that clawing panic at his heart as she approached.

  “No,” the doctor said, taking hold of his arm. “But I do strive to be polite to all my subjects. It is the very least I can do. Try it sometime.”

  She pushed the needle into his arm, and his veins caught fire. The fire ran up his arm, filled his chest and then crushed its way into his brain, knocking him into the dark.

  He roared out of the dark, out of the tunnel, stopping his cycle right on the mark and drawing his weapon as he dismounted. Standard training, perfect executing. The girl was there—typical jifozi girl, dark hair, darker eyes, tawny copper skin. Dressed like all the trash in Outtown, dirty denim jacket and pants, stained and fraying.

  “On the ground!” he shouted. “Hands spread, touch nothing!”

  She looked at him in confusion. “We did this before.”

  “On the ground!” he shouted, even though he felt the doubt. Where were they? Where had he just been? Not on his cycle. He had—

  She looked at him and took a step forward. “We did this. I should consider myself detained, right?”

  “Step back,” he said.

  “Or you’ll what?” she asked. “You already arrested me. We’re . . . already here.”

  Gun still on her, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. “You can consider yourself—”

  “Detained,” she said. “Expect to face punitive action in response to your criminal acts. Damn, man, think for yourself for once.”

  “You—” he started, but as he tried to turn her around to force her to the ground, his hand wouldn’t move. It was stuck to her wrist. “You will—stop that!”

  “Stop what?” she asked. “Get your hand off me!”

  He pulled his hand away, but their flesh had melded together. Tendrils came out of his hand, wrapping around her arm as they also snaked their way up his. Vines circled and ensnared them both.

  “You let me go!” she shouted.

  “I can’t!” he said. “You’re doing this!”

 
“No, I’m—”

  “—not, you are!”

  She was pulled into him, her body crashing into his chest. The flesh of her arm melted into his hand, and the whole of her body slid over him. Her flesh seeping into his.

  “What—”

  “—are—”

  “—you—”

  “—doing, tory!”

  He shouted that, his mouth, his body, which was also her. She had folded entirely into him, her words her mouth her spirit her everything embedded in his flesh

  “No!” she screamed with his mouth. “Let me go!”

  Then the tunnel opened up again and the darkness took him.

  REFUEL: BROADCAST

  You’ve been listening to Call Sign ZPR 1140, broadcasting news and entertainment for the city of Ziaparr each day and every day. The time is five sweep eighty, and we hope those of you who’ve been working all day are on your way home to a pleasant evening, and we hope those who work through the night are off to a productive start. Traffic is choked in the 7th and 8th Senjas, and the checkpoints from Intown to Outtown are backed up, especially at the Uzena and Mixala crossings. Those will hold up at least half a sweep, so plan accordingly.

  On world news, Alliance Forces report they have liberated the town of Gazamal on the southern coast of Ikriba, where they have been greeted with joy and celebration by the locals. Alliance soldiers returned their joy with open arms and baskets of canned goods—goods like Nimefaid tinned meat. Whether it’s pan fried in a tortilla for breakfast, or chopped into your dinner of beans and rice, there’s nothing quite like Nimefaid. Use your meat ration points on Nimefaid, and you’ll get more meat with every point! The hungry people of Gazamal were as thrilled as you are every time you crack open a can.

  Alliance Forces report that this victory puts us one step closer to releasing the iron grip the despotic Ikriban Council holds over their oppressed people. Alliance soldiers have made camp in the lovely town, and are eager to take their campaign to the next stage. Remember that we are doing our part—every can we save, every scrap of iron we rework, every drop of fuel that we can send to aid the effort brings the world one step closer to peace! We’re happy to work to pay our debt, as we give with an open hand.