The Velocity of Revolution

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  Wenthi didn’t like the sound of that, but he kept it off his face. Renzi Llionorco wouldn’t care. “I just want to make sure it’s all fair for you.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Your people teach you to make coffee? Find your pants and get on that.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a chuckle.

  His pants, as well as other clothes, were on the floor where he had left them, next to the tub still filled with tepid, grungy water. He got dressed and went to the kitchen, finding everything he needed to make coffee. This was not a skill he had acquired until late in life, and the style of pot was not one he was familiar with.

  But Nália was.

  Her muscle memory took control for a moment as he prepared the pot and got it percolating, all before he realized that he really didn’t know what he was doing.

  Without any thoughts of hers bubbling to the surface.

  He had pushed her thoughts down, kept her silent. He hadn’t yet had a chance to really delve into her, figure out what she knew, how that could help him. He hadn’t figured out how to use this connection he had been shackled with.

  He hadn’t had much chance to breathe on this assignment yet, get his footing about anything.

  He could feel her pushing on him, like she wanted to speak, but he wasn’t letting her. That’s what that monster Shebiruht had said—he needed to have dominance.

  He had lost dominance when making the coffee. She had taken control, at least the memory of her. He had used her skills, but not felt her intent.

  Had that happened at all in the escapades of last night? Had taking the mushroom opened up her connection to him somehow? Had he tapped into Nália’s knowledge or skills? He had felt that she had found Partinez as attractive as he did, and in some odd way she enjoyed the events as much as he did.

  [You’re an asshole.]

  That was far clearer than he ever wanted. Instead of trying to lock her back down, he shot back at her.

  What’s your problem?

  [You’re an asshole.]

  I’m doing my job.

  [Your job is being an asshole. These people welcome you on a lie, and you glance around looking for ways to arrest them.]

  Do you have something helpful to offer?

  [Why would I help you?]

  The sooner I complete this assignment, the sooner this bond is severed. I would love to get you out of my head.

  [Same.]

  So, we have a common goal.

  [Do we, tory? As much as I hate—hate—being stuck as a passenger in your skull, at least in here, I can make your life miserable.]

  You’re only talking because I’m letting you. I’m going to get what I need from you, regardless.

  [So why are you talking to me?]

  Why was he? That was a good question.

  Because I’d like it to be easier. I’d like to be able to report that you cooperated, they should go easy on you.

  [Go easy on me?] This was followed by some creative profanity in Old Zapi. [Do you think they’re going to do anything but keep me locked in this box? Provided I can even wake up from this nightmare.]

  Why wouldn’t you?

  [Please. We both heard the stories about Shebiruht. We know what she did.]

  This isn’t like that. She’s working with the government—

  [She always did, tory. Just like you’ve been—]

  Shut your shit up.

  And with that, he shoved her down so deep that he couldn’t even feel her push. That’s where she could stay for now.

  “Coffee ready?” Niliza asked as she came in, now fully dressed.

  “Yes,” Wenthi said. He went over to fetch it for her.

  “No, I can get it. I don’t need to be preened over.” She poured herself a cup and sat at her table. “Now, I’ve got fasai for you around the curve. You’ll be above the crystal shop, and that’s run by Isilla Henáca and her boys, and sometimes her sister Anizé. Anizé also helps with things in the candy shop, and if you need a ride to carry something she’s got a truck. She won’t let you borrow it but she’ll probably drive you wherever if she’s not busy.”

  “I don’t think I’ll need—”

  “Look, you don’t have people, so let the Henáca family be your people, hmm? I’ll be here, of course, but I’ve always got things going on. I don’t want you to know only about me. And I’m going to put Daro in his old fasai above the carbon shop.”

  “You’ve been very kind,” Wenthi said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “You ever been out of the pen before, Renzi?”

  “First time.”

  “Yeah, you need people. And Daro made you his people by bringing you here, so you’re here in this patch, these are your people. Wasn’t it like that where you came from?”

  “Not hardly,” he said. “Everyone just kept their own.”

  “That’s no way,” she said. “But also, the tories will be coming to check on you. Check your papers and cards, check that you’re working, that you’re not, you know—”

  “Being a crook again?”

  She scoffed. “You’re a jifo living on Street Xaomico in the ’hez. They’ll treat you like a crook, regardless. But you don’t want to get tethered up again, right?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Don’t you call me ma’am again; you’ve had your cock in too many places to do that. Urka Nili is just fine.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I most definitely do,” she said. “And I’ll take those vouchers, and I’ll be asking you to earn your keep as well.”

  That was promising. He leaned in. “What will you need?”

  “Well, you’ve got a cycle, which is huge. I can definitely find some small delivery work for you, if you can zoom these streets. You should start to learn them so you can get about.”

  That wasn’t something Wenthi knew too well. He knew Intown well, and the parts of Lowtown where he was often assigned to patrol, but the 14th—

  Miahez

  —Miahez wasn’t one he knew beyond the major streets and traffic circles. He touched his thoughts into Nália’s, and was hit with memories and familiarity with several of those streets, as well as parts of Ako Favel, and flashes from the baniz slums of Gonetown up north.

  “I’m a quick learner,” he said.

  “Real good,” she said. “How are you on the cycle?”

  “Pretty good,” he said.

  “You ever race?”

  That was an odd question. “Never really tried.”

  “Folks do like to see a race, is what I’m saying. There’s opportunity in that.”

  “Race where?”

  “Plenty of places. Spirits, half the junkers that crack around the curve here are racing each other. If you want to try, you can easily get a chance. Some coin or ration chit in that.”

  That sounded like a good way to get his head cracked open on the pavement. “I think deliveries and such will be fine.”

  “All right,” she said. “I will definitely have some of that for you as well.” She sipped her coffee. “Now go get Daro out of my damn bed. He’s sleeping like the dead and I don’t want him there all morning.”

  22

  The crystal shop was little more than a concrete hut with a handful of shelves, loaded with jewelry made from local geodes and onyx, and the candy store next to it wasn’t much bigger. Neither shop had proper doors, just wide archways with wrought-iron gates. It was around the curve beyond the temple—the temple was easily the most prominent structure in this patch of neighborhood—where Street Xaomico forked into two rustic roads, each barely a car-width wide. The candy shop faced out to one fork, the crystal shop to the other. Both shops were run by the two Henáca sisters, Isilla and Anizé.

  When Niliza brought Wenthi over—with the three dogs in to
w—the sisters spoke with Niliza with a clipped reserve. Wenthi presumed they didn’t like Niliza or him.

  Isilla Henáca sat on the lone stool in the crystal shop. She was one of those women whose age was impossible to gauge, somehow both youthful and weathered at once. She had to be around the same age as Niliza, since two of her sons—there were at least four—were about the same age as Lathéi. Those boys had been loitering about, and once Wenthi came over, they wandered over to the carbon shop—Partinez had headed over to the apartment above it with only a few terse words—and loitered in front of it. Instead Anizé, Isilla’s sister, sat on the curb in front of the candy shop. She had that same sun-weathered look that Isilla had, which made her appear nearly baniz. She might have been baniz, though they weren’t supposed to live in the 14th. Maybe she had a family exemption because of Isilla. Or maybe she was caste-jumping.

  He could feel Nália growling at him for thinking that.

  Wenthi pushed that aside. He had far more important things to do than bother over tethering a caste-jumper in the 14th. If she was, she’d get caught soon enough.

  After a quiet exchange with Niliza—all while Anizé glared at him silently—Isilla came over to him.

  “You want the room?” she asked coarsely. “It’s a shitty room.”

  “It’s fine,” Wenthi said. “Happy for anything.”

  She stepped out onto the walkway and pointed up to the door above the shop. Just a door, three meters up. He realized the only way up was to climb up the iron gate.

  “The stairs broke a while ago, so it’s a fasai for a young man,” Niliza said.

  “It’s shitty,” Isilla added. “But if Niliza says it’s yours, you have it.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “Should I go up now?”

  “If you want. Nenli went up and swept it a few days ago, so it’s ready.”

  Wenthi climbed up the gate, and with a bit of a balancing act, was able to get the door open and step inside.

  It was a room barely wider than twice his armspan, with a stained straw cot against one wall, and a metal bucket to piss in. There was no window, no other exit, besides the elevated door. Musky, damp odors filled the place, and there were spots on the wall that made it clear the tin roof leaked. A knotted rope was coiled up by the door, so at least getting back down shouldn’t be too hard.

  It was, as she said, shitty. But it would do.

  He went back to the door, and he saw at least one interesting advantage. From up here, he could see most of the action on Street Xaomico, the zocalo, the carbon shop, and the little plaza next to it, and the window to Partinez’s spot above the carbon shop. That last part might not be something he’d take advantage of any time soon—his gut said Partinez didn’t get attached to repeat lovers—but it was good to know.

  But from up here, he could see everyone in this patch, and from what he had already observed, no one would question him loitering about doing nothing. He could keep watch over the whole patch from up here easy.

  All he had to do next was find a coinbox to check in with Paulei, and figure out what, exactly, Nália knew that he could use.

  “This is fine,” he called down.

  “You need anything else right now?” Niliza asked.

  “Not at the moment,” he said, kicking the rope out the door. He scurried down to the ground. “I appreciate you all helping me out.”

  “Sure,” Anizé said. “You any good in the kitchen?”

  “Not very,” Wenthi said. “I mean, I can cut stuff up all right.”

  “Then you can come help me make supper,” she said. She pointed to the stairs going above the candy shop to the apartment up there.

  “You get settled, get to know all of them,” Niliza said, kissing him on the cheek. “I’m probably going to have some delivery work for you in a day or two, so stay sharp.”

  “Yes, urka,” he said.

  “Good, good, come on girls,” she said, shepherding her dogs back toward her house.

  “Hey,” Isilla said, pointing a weathered finger at Wenthi. “I know she really likes to fuck, and she thinks everyone likes to fuck as much as she does. Don’t be expecting that with us, hmm? Or my boys. That’s why you stay up there.”

  “I had no expectations,” Wenthi said.

  “Good,” Isilla said. “Last one she put up with us was like an alley cat.”

  “Exhausting,” Anizé said. “I didn’t cry when the tories took him back.”

  “You get a lot of freewalkers staying up here?” he asked. “Partinez seemed to think this street was the place to go.”

  Isilla shrugged. “Niliza likes her strays.”

  “So does she have a whole gang of them?” he asked.

  “You’ll probably find out,” Anizé said. “Come up and help me. Watch both shops, Isilla.”

  “Shit yourself,” Isilla snapped back, getting on her stool again. Anizé went up the stairs, giving no impression that she took her sister’s retort as a refusal.

  Wenthi’s attention went back to the street, and the two autos that roared up around the curve, and then four patrol on cycles ripping up right behind. They were really buzzing, easily in passing gear, if not racing, but those Ungeke cycles weren’t made to push that hard uphill, not in this heat. As the autos split off on separate routes at the fork, one of the cycles coughed and sputtered with smoke. He lost control and spun into the plaza next to the carbon shop, sparks flying as metal skidded across stone. Two of the cycle officers split off, staying on the racing auto, while the last one came to a screaming stop. He was on his radio, calling in a Seven Code as he ran over to his partner.

  Wenthi’s first instinct was to run over, see what they needed. The one who skidded might have snapped a bone, and his partner would probably need help before the wagon came. Where was the nearest hospital, or even wagon bay, in the 14th? There might be a few medics at the ready in the headquarters down in Circle Uilea, but the closest hospital was in the 12th.

  He wanted to help. But Renzi Llionorco never would.

  The officer got the cycle off his partner, got it kicked up back on its wheels. Smoke kept pouring out of it. The one who had crashed slowly got up. He wasn’t too badly hurt; at least he was able to limp his way over to one of the tables outside the carbon shop. The other one barked a few things at the proprietor.

  Then a handful of boys—jifozi kids, no older than twelve—started laughing, pointing at the smoking cycle. Both officers were on their feet, charging at the boys. The one who crashed grabbed the lead kid by the neck and threw him to the ground. The other snarled and snapped at the rest, reading them all that they could be brought into headquarters to get tethered, inked, and plated.

  These kids should know better.

  [Better than what?]

  “Rude little shits,” he muttered. “Just like you.”

  Nália didn’t respond. But he could feel her burning with rage—rage at him, at the officers across the street, rage at the whole city. He sent his own rage back at her. He was already very ready to finish this assignment and be done with her.

  All that must have been plain on his face, as Isilla looked at him, and then at the two officers slapping the kids. “Yeah, bunch of shitting assholes. Don’t do anything stupid to get tethered all over again.”

  “No,” he said. “Thank you, again. I’ll go help your sister.”

  Hopefully he wouldn’t be stuck here very long.

  23

  The next few days were spent settling into the routine of being Renzi Llionorco. He got to know Isilla and Anizé, and Isilla’s sons Mando, Nenli, Oscez, and Tendiz. He was invited to meals with them regularly, though Anizé took his food ration cards in exchange. The meals were meager offerings of tinned meat, canned chiles, undercooked beans, and rice that had gone sour, but Wenthi knew Renzi would never complain about such dishes.

  A point Nál
ia would often remind him of when his concentration lapsed and she was able to bubble up to pester him. She teased him that he had grown up with his mother’s servants, that even now with a patrol dorm in the rhique 9th Senja, he had jifoz servants taking care of meals and cleaning. She told him he’d never gotten his hands dirty once.

  Go shit yourself. I actually lived through Great Noble. Where were you when Rodiguen was building camps? When the city was being bombed? People marching and starving on the Burning Road? I actually lived that.

  [People are still living that shit, tory. And shit yourself, I was born in a purge camp.]

  And I was a child in one. Just me and my sister, and you have no idea what it took to keep her alive in there.

  [Because she’s llipe? Oh, poor thing suffered once.]

  Does that mean she—a toddler—deserved to have her head smashed in like so many threatened? To be starved?

  Nália was quiet for a moment. [No, of course not.]

  And we lived like that, just the two of us with whoever we could get to take care of us, for two years until the war ended. First in the camps, and then wandering the ruins of the Smokewalks after a bombing raid wrecked it.

  [So you know. And yet you’re blind to what’s still happening here.]

  He had learned how to keep her in a box, how to dip into her knowledge and skills. He hadn’t cracked into her real secrets yet; she was able to keep that boxed from him. He spent most nights on his mattress focusing his thoughts on breaking through her defenses.

  The days, he learned Street Xaomico. He chatted up Lajina at her taco cart in the zocalo, Mister Jendix at the carbon shop, Mister Osceba with two daughters and the mechanic shop at the bottom of the alley. He met “Doctor” Ojinzen, the holy woman of the temple, who tended to the spirit icons, and was also a regular lover of Miss Dallatan. He met the boys who liked to loiter in front of the carbon, the old men who spent the day dozing in the zocalo. He met every dog of Miss Dallatan and all the other neighbors. He met the cat that had no owner, but always managed to be in his apartment at sunrise.