The Velocity of Revolution

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “Shit!” Nicalla said, gathering up her papers. “I can’t leave this here, or—”

  “Come on,” Renzi said, grabbing Ajiñe’s hand. “We’ll draw them off, the rest of you clear off!”

  Ajiñe would normally argue—that was her authority to say, not his—but he was right, and there was no time to waste. She ran out with him and got on his cycle. Spirits, hers wasn’t even here. Just one cycle for them to do this.

  “Plan?” he asked her as he kicked up the cycle.

  “Make noise, get their attention, so the others can get out with Nic’s notes and the truck,” she said. She wrapped one arm around his waist, and grabbed hold of her knife with the other. She knew she shouldn’t want a handcannon right now, but she still did.

  “What I was thinking,” he said, and gunned his throttle, off like a shot.

  Make noise is exactly what he did, revving the engine hard, skidding through the gravel to kick up as much as possible, and squealing the tires as he whipped around corners.

  Four tories on cycles came up right behind them, jagged static with them. “You feel them?” she asked.

  “Got it,” he said. He gunned hard through the Ako Favel, already drawing them more than a kilo from the bomb-out.

  “Where are you?” Gabrána, still in sync, appearing behind Ajiñe.

  “Coming up on the crossing to Miahez,” Ajiñe said.

  “We’re out of there, I’m not feeling any on our tail.”

  “They’re clear?” Renzi asked. “Then let’s scatter these tory shitheads.”

  He buzzed up one steep hill; over the crest would take them in into Miahez, but as he started to slow down from the incline, he whipped around and launched back down, right at the tories. The distance closed before Ajiñe was even aware of what was happening, and faster than she could blink, he had weaved in between their formation and went right past them. All of them swerved out of the way, losing pace and balance. She looked back and saw that one of them had crashed into a powerpost, another had just fallen over, and the other two were struggling just to get turned around.

  “Nice work!” she said. “Run it up and put some kilos between them and us.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. He knocked it up a gear and wound around another circle to lead to Miahez and Street Xaomico. He whipped through it, getting completely clear as she checked again. No one was behind them.

  Then the sharp static hit her hard from in front of them.

  “Renzi!” was all she had a chance to say before he came to a screeching halt.

  At least a dozen tories in a blockade in front of them, all of them with iron drawn.

  “On the ground!” one shouted. “Drop the knife! Hands spread, touch nothing!”

  “Too many of them,” his phantom whispered to her.

  She threw down the knife and stepped off the cycle. He did the same, and in a snap, tories swarmed on them, pulling them to the ground and ironing them up.

  REFUEL: MEMORANDUM

  FROM: Overdeputy Cannic Fanzhai, Ministry of Apportionment, Ziaparr Oversight

  TO: High Captain Tiré Sengejú, Oversight Officer, Ziaparr Welfare Force

  DATE: 06 Tian, High Sehosian Year 0049

  MIMEOCOPY: Vice-Governor Idanji Nangmai, Provisional Government Oversight

  Ministry of Materials, Ziaparr Oversight Office, Damas Kom

  Ministry of Resources, Ziaparr Oversight Office, Damas Kom

  Alliance High Command Archives, Wo Mwung Meng,

  Ministry of Records, Ziaparr Oversight Office, Damas Kom

  REGARDING: Safety and Security in Delivering Oil Quotas, Fourth and Fifth Season, HSY 0049

  High Captain:

  It deeply saddens me to report that we are significantly under quota on refined petroleum fuel delivery for the year to date, with notable shortfalls in the Fourth Season. Furthermore, deliveries to date in the Fifth Season are well below expected levels. This is especially shocking considering it is only the sixth day of the season, but the situation is dire enough that it requires direct intervention.

  These shortfalls cannot be blamed on the production end, and our fine allies of the Outhic Military Command who administrate the oil wells and refineries in the Zian or Ureticar regions. They have been performing their duties with admirable zeal. Oil quotas are being reached on their end, when they load it on the trains.

  But there have been notable shortfalls when the trains arrive at the port facility. Which means, the flaw lies in transit, and thus is a matter of security and welfare. I understand that we have an insurgency problem in the outer reaches of the city, which the tanker trains must pass through, and part of that problem manifests as petroleum theft. We have deemed a certain percentage of petroleum loss as “acceptable” while the problem was being investigated.

  However, in light of the latest action, where an entire train’s worth of petroleum was stolen by these insurgents, I must stress we have crossed the threshold into “unacceptable,” and demand action be taken in the strictest of terms.

  I recognize that the minutia of these matters is not within my jurisdiction, but I have gone over the reports of the latest operation to deal with these insurgents, and, frankly, find them deeply unacceptable. Are we resting our hopes on an infiltration mission carried out by a local Civil Patrol officer, hoping to make his way into the center of the rebellion and root out its leaders?

  And more to the point, said officer is the half-breed child of Angú fucking Tungét?

  Do you even read your own intelligence reports?

  I know I will receive a missive the length of my leg about how we’re rebuilding the local government, and that the Prime Families are the best strategy in using the existing infrastructure and leadership and we need to be respectful in how we handle them, and these decisions were made over my head years ago. And, yes, I know several people in the leadership back home really like the idea of a Pinogoz led by the Prime Families just because it harkens back to the Cultivated Roots from glory days of the old empire. She already has too much power entirely because the Wotungét Root still has nostalgic meaning here and back home in Sehosia.

  Power that she would have been kept completely away from had there been anyone else with her name left in her generation. Read your own files: The locals were barely able to put a leash on that woman twenty years ago, and I don’t see a way to weave this silk in a way that doesn’t undermine that and embolden her. If her dark-blooded son succeeds, that will give her further clout, and if he fails and is killed, there’s nothing left to control her with.

  In short, this is a stupid plan, and I want it on the record that I have stated this is a stupid plan, and it will not be on my head when Alliance High Command is asking why we’re failing to deliver entire tankers’ worth of petroleum.

  Signed,

  Overdeputy Cannic Fanzhai,

  Ministry of Apportionment, Ziaparr Oversight

  (Postnote, not included in mimeocopies)

  Tiré—Seriously, I know you like sharing baths with Ainiro Hwungko, but use some common sense and do not let her whisper stupid ideas into your head. Try to remember, even though most of the llipe locals might look like us, have our old names, and even maintain much of our heritage, they are not us. For your sake, friend, I hope this pans out for you.

  FOURTH CIRCUIT:

  CEREMONIES OF SPEED AND HUNGER

  39

  Well, tonight was mostly a disaster,” Lieutenant Canwei said.

  Wenthi couldn’t disagree. “I had no idea until it was too late that ‘the next job’ would be something of this scale.” One of the ice rooms had been set up as a comfortable debrief room, complete with a cot and shower. Despite the shame Wenthi felt about the loss of petrol, he was relieved to be sitting here, drinking a Dark Shumi with the lieutenant, with a plate of pulled pork tortas
between them. Wenthi wished he didn’t need to be confined down here for the debrief, but he knew that there was still risk of sync connection with the rest of the insurgent cell. Especially Ajiñe, who was being kept isolated in a different part of headquarters. At this distance, she’d easily still feel him.

  He could feel Nália, like a shadow looming over him. It was muted, but still there nonetheless. The strange combination of her being so close and yet the layers of the ice room’s sync-blocking walls made their connection feel like a numb hand. He was aware of it, but couldn’t quite feel it.

  But what he could feel from her was both angry and proud.

  “That’s not your fault,” Lieutenant Canwei said. “None of our intelligence indicated this level of escalation.”

  “I was supposed to be that intelligence, ma’am.”

  “Not our only source,” Canwei said, tapping her nose. “Though that’s not something you need to worry about.”

  “So what’s next for me?” Wenthi asked.

  “I want to go over the people involved that you do know,” she said. “Not just the people in the insurgent cell you’ve entered, but anyone else remotely connected.”

  “Sure,” he said, grabbing another torta off the plate and taking a greedy bite of it. Spirits, that was good. Not quite like the tacos on Circle Hyunma, which Wenthi was feeling an odd craving for, but it was clear that the Welfare Force had spent a fair amount on not only the Dark Shumis, but tortas from one of the finer restaurants in Intown.

  The image of the box labeled “Llipe Quality Beef” flashed in his head. He wasn’t certain if that was a memory of his own, or something provoked by Nália.

  That faint echo of seething anger from her was there.

  “You all right, Tungét?” Canwei asked.

  “Sorry, just . . . lost in the moment of this torta,” he said.

  “Spared no expense there,” Canwei said. “Because—and I talked about this with the high captain—that even though tonight was an extraordinary blow, we’re happy with what you have achieved. No one has ever infiltrated these rebels as successfully.”

  “Because they can feel the tories and—”

  “Tories?” Canwei asked with a subtle smile.

  “Sorry,” Wenthi said. “When you’re on the mushroom—”

  “You’ve been careful, yes?” Canwei asked. “I know it’s been this risk you’ve been taking, that you’ve had to take, but we’d all hate it if you ended up in a burnout ward.”

  “I’ve done what I’ve had to do, ma’am,” Wenthi said. “It hasn’t been easy, but it’s fine. As I was saying, they can sense us when they’re on it. Quite easily.”

  “Except for you,” Canwei said.

  “I can’t answer to why that is.”

  “And I don’t care, as long as it works.” She laughed as she picked at her own torta. “But is that why we have such a hard time catching them?”

  “When you all approached the hideout tonight, we knew. And I had to all but drive myself into your blockade to get us arrested.”

  “We did try to catch the others, but they slipped away. Let alone the spanking we got with the train. All we have to show for this venture is arresting . . .” She looked at her notepad. “Ajiñe Osceba, who at most seems a minor player in all this.”

  “Yeah, she leads the cell, but it’s Nicalla who is the actual contact who interacts with other cells, interprets the missions from Varazina—”

  “Who only talks on the radio? But any radio?”

  “I don’t know how she does it. Maybe Nicalla does, but I think there’re more people between her and Nicalla.”

  “Then the job definitely isn’t over,” she said. “Tell me about the others.”

  “Gabrána, Fenito, and Mensi. Gabrána is the lookout, at least from what I’ve seen. Fenito drives the truck, and Mensi is a little bit of everything. Whatever needs doing, Mensi does, it seems.” He could mention that Gabrána wanted to act in cinescopes, or that Fenito had a back full of scars from getting caught in an explosion as a kid in the Great Noble, but those weren’t relevant things that Canwei wanted to know.

  “Right. And what about Niliza Dallatan?”

  “Nothing, really. I mean, I could tell you a handful of petty crimes she’s involved in, but I don’t know about her connection to the rebellion.”

  “Nor these folks you live with. Isilla and Anizé Henáca?”

  “They’re just hardworking jifoz, frankly.”

  “But they’re connected to Dallatan.”

  “They’re friendly with her. But everyone on Street Xaomico is. She kind of runs that patch.”

  “Good, good,” Canwei said. “Good information.” She got up and pushed a button on the wall. “So this is the plan. Tonight and tomorrow we’re going to comb through the 14th Senja, and just tether up whoever. We need a good show of force after the train, anyway. But that’ll give us a good batch of jifoz in the holding cells. Sometime tomorrow, we’ll add you into the mix of those folks, and then around nightfall, we’ll release most of them, including you and Miss Osceba. That way you can still use her to get in deeper, find this Varazina person.”

  “Sounds good,” Wenthi said. There was an odd sense of relief that Ajiñe wasn’t going to be kept in lockup. He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt that. Probably because he couldn’t possibly get any farther without her.

  That must be it.

  “In the meantime, you can stay here tonight, relax, eat the rest of those. Try to feel like a normal person.”

  Wenthi wasn’t sure how to take that. Being Renzi Llionorco had been tough, living in the terrible fasai and managing on jifoz rations, but he had never felt like he wasn’t still a normal person. That life was as normal as anything.

  “Doctor Shebiruht does want to take a look at you, though,” Canwei said as she opened the door. Shebiruht, looking as sallow and wicked as ever, especially with the disturbing smile on her lips, was standing in wait there.

  “Hello, Mister Tungét,” she said, her accent seeming even thicker than before. “We’ve been having some fascinating readings from our tests on Miss Enapi, and we would love to run a series of tests—”

  That was all she said when a wave of emotion—definitely from Nália—hit Wenthi like a truck. Panic. Fear. Rage. So strong, Wenthi couldn’t protect himself from it, feeling it just as intensely as she did.

  Or maybe he just plain felt it, too, seeing this witch, this monster, looking so damned pleased with herself.

  “No,” he said firmly. “Get her the shit out of here.”

  “Wenthi, it’d be best—” Canwei started.

  “No,” he said again. “I don’t want to see her, let alone be prodded and tested by her. Get her the shit out of here.”

  Shebiruht laughed—she laughed!—and said, “We need to make sure your synchronous bond with Miss Enapi—”

  “It’s fine,” he said. “It’s been working perfectly, and I don’t need her, don’t want her, get her away from here.”

  “Wenthi—” Canwei pressed.

  Then the last person Wenthi expected to see here stepped into the doorway. “My son said to get her away. I suggest you listen to him.”

  40

  Mother waited quietly while Canwei and Shebiruht shuffled out, closing the door behind them. Once they were definitively gone, she let out a deep exhalation.

  “Spirits of my mothers, I can’t stand that woman.”

  That nearly broke something in Wenthi. “You knew she was here? That she was . . . that she was . . . what she’s doing . . . she—”

  “Easy,” Mother said, coming up to Wenthi, caressing his cheek. “Of course I knew. It killed me to be . . . weighed down with that knowledge.”

  “How the shit did that happen?”

  “Language, Wenthi,” she said, sitting down. “It happened exactly how
you imagine it happened. The Great Noble War had ended, Rodiguen was toppled, and she, cockroach that she is, was still standing. The Alliance governments all thought she was far too useful to simply imprison or execute, and they decided, since we’re rebuilding Pinogoz, that we’ll keep her here.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  She clicked her tongue dismissively. “One thing I’ve learned about the Alliance in my years working with them? They love to talk about their respect for their principles. Their code, their rights, their unimpeachable standards. Then they come up with clever loopholes to work around those things.”

  “What does that have to do with that witch?”

  “If they took her back to the Unity, or Reloumene, or some other Alliance nation, they would be obliged, by treaty and rule of law, to give her a trial, within their system of fairness and justice. And then follow through with the result of that trial. Likely life imprisonment or execution.”

  “Which she deserves.”

  “But here’s the clever bit, dear boy. Pinogoz is not an Alliance nation. We are simply—what’s the phrase the Oversight Board loves to use? ‘A burgeoning nation preparing itself for freedom on the world stage.’ We don’t have a law for how to treat an international war criminal like Shebiruht.”

  “Isn’t making one your job?”

  She laughed, dry and hollow. “I don’t have an gram of power that isn’t granted to me by the grace of the Alliance Oversight.”

  “You’re—”

  “I know what you are going to say. I’m the Root of one of the Prime Families, with a seat on the council. Empty thing. Last time that actually meant a damned thing was in—” She sighed, and went over to the icebox.

  “When?”

  She took out a Dark Shumi and popped it open without a tool. Wenthi didn’t know she had that kind of strength in her hands. “Those few years between the wars, before Rodiguen took power. Those were almost good years. Do you remember when we lived in that little green house, in what used to be the 5th Senja?”