The Velocity of Revolution

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  Wenthi tried to think back—flashes of incomplete memories. Before the Alliance, before the Great Noble, before the tyrant. The house. Flowers in the streets. Mother on a stage, talking about something with passion and conviction.

  That memory held and lingered for a moment, as if it had been picked up and examined like one of Isilla Henáca’s crystals.

  Nália. Muted but still there on the edge of his awareness. She couldn’t quite dig into him through the ice room walls, but she was still there, and she burrowed into that memory, as if to find a hint of whatever Mother had been so fiery about.

  But it wasn’t there in the memory. He had been so young. The words she had said hadn’t stayed, just the emotion.

  “Wenthi?” she asked him.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Memory is a little . . . difficult right now. Thanks to Doctor Shebiruht.”

  Mother’s eyes went wide, angry. “She damaged your memory? I’ll—”

  “No,” he said. “But when I remember something, it—Nália feels it as well. It’s disconcerting.”

  “She’s that girl you arrested. They told me—” She choked on the word for a moment, and then took a swig from the carbon to wash it down. “They told me you had some unique connection that they could expl . . . use. And it tied to her.”

  “I’m tied to her, all right.”

  “They didn’t tell me that. I . . . I’m sorry.”

  That may have been the first time she had said that to him in as long as he could remember.

  “Why did you come?”

  “They said my son had come in from his infiltration mission. Of course I came.”

  “That mission isn’t done.”

  She took another drink, sitting down. “And you’ve got to finish it, Wenthi. You have to do it spectacularly.”

  “I was planning on competently.”

  “And I know you can,” she said quietly. “I should tell you that people in Oversight are livid about the amount of fuel stolen. And they know that you are on this mission, and if you fail, they will use it as a weapon against me.”

  Wenthi let that sink in, and finally found only one word. “Amazing.”

  “What, dear,” she said, taking his hand.

  “I think, for the first time in your life, you actually need me.”

  The porcelain facade of her face cracked ever so slightly, just around her eyes. “That’s very hurtful, Wenthi.”

  “I know something about hurtful words, Mother.”

  “Hmm,” she said, standing up and smoothing out her dress. “I suppose that’s what we earn for our troubles. Regardless, I wanted to make sure you were well, and that you understood how important this mission of yours is for everyone. Stay safe.”

  “Give Lathéi my best,” he said.

  “She knows she has it,” Mother said. “But I’ll tell her, anyway. For your sake.”

  “I appreciate that, Mother,” he said. “But now I’m tired.”

  “I hope you really do appreciate it, my boy,” she said. “That you appreciate everything I’ve done in this world, and will continue to do in the next.”

  She left, and Wenthi was just alone with his thoughts, which dwelled on what he had done, and would still have to do to finish this.

  An ember of self-loathing breathed into life in his heart, fueled with the knowledge of the betrayals ahead. He pushed those feelings down, burying them deep to forget them. But they lingered nonetheless, and he wasn’t sure if they came from his own heart, or from Nália.

  41

  Breakfast—tacos of eggs, beef, and avocado with absurd amounts of cheese and salsa—arrived with Paulei, and Wenthi was thrilled to have both of them show up in his isolation cell.

  “How did you—” Wenthi started when Paulei came in with the tray. He couldn’t even finish the sentence, instead grabbing Paulei as soon as he put the tray down. Paulei pulled him into a strong embrace.

  “Traded a few favors with quite a few people.”

  “And you’re all right?” Wenthi asked, touching Paulei’s chest. He hated shooting him, even with a false round and Paulei wearing an armor plate. But the ruse had worked well enough to get Wenthi to that next level of trust with Ajiñe and the others.

  “I’m fine,” Paulei said. “Barely stung. And I think I missed my calling as a cinescope star, don’t you think?”

  “Great performance,” Wenthi said, accepting a kiss from Paulei before sitting down with the tacos.

  “So how has life been as a spy?” Paulei asked as they ate.

  “I’m not a spy,” Wenthi said. “I’m on an infiltration mission.”

  “Spy,” Paulei said. “You’ve been handling life as a jifoz?”

  “It’s not great,” Wenthi said. “You know how hard it is to get petrol for the cycle?”

  “How hard could it be? You get it on your ration days.”

  “Ration days are half of what they are for us. And you’re much more limited with where you can use your card, and most places run out of their jifoz allocation by midday. It’s very challenging.”

  “Huh,” Paulei said, mouth full of taco. “And you need to go back out there.”

  “Back to being Renzi Llionorco,” Wenthi said. He thought about that for a moment as he ate. “I should have asked my mother about that when she was here.”

  “She came?”

  “Yeah. And . . . maybe it’s nothing. But she had made a thing about having the right name when I did this mission. That the wrong name could get me killed. Maybe it’s nothing, but I almost have a sense that this name is one she chose.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Because she likes to control things,” Wenthi said. “That’s who she is.”

  “You get that from her, you know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, that’s what we do, Wenthi. We try to exert control on this chaotic city. We help keep it in line. Keep ourselves in line.”

  “It’s important work,” Wenthi said. “If we don’t, we’ll never—”

  The words froze in his mouth. He couldn’t force himself to say anything else, as if his whole body had decided to disobey.

  “Never?”

  “Be free from those Alliance assholes!”

  The words were not his, and once they forced their way out, his body became his again, and he covered his mouth in shame.

  “The shit was that?” Paulei asked.

  “Nália,” Wenthi said. That echo of her had, for just a moment, pushed through the walls of the ice room into him like a bullet. But that was all she had, he could feel, the effort had worn her out. But the fact that he could feel that through the ice walls gave him some concern.

  Like their connection had grown too strong.

  “You all right?” Paulei asked. “Should I call someone?”

  “No,” Wenthi said. “I’ve got her under control now. They’d only call in Doctor Shebiruht and she’s the last person I want to see.”

  “That witch is actually here? In the building?”

  “She really is. At least she was last night.”

  “That’s horrible,” Paulei said. “If you think you’re all right.”

  “Fine,” Wenthi said. “Nália pushed hard for one big punch into me, and that’s all she managed. I’ve got it.”

  “Speaking of punch,” Paulei said. “After you finish eating, there’s something we have to do, and you’re not going to like it.”

  42

  With one solid punch, Paulei had given Wenthi a bruise and busted lip that looked nasty. It would look good enough for their purposes. Then Wenthi got dressed, got his head back into character of Renzi, and Paulei signaled for two other patrol officers to drag him out of the ice room and throw him into a holding cell with a handful of other jifoz. Now out of the ice room, he could fe
el hints and shadows of Ajiñe in one of the other cells, and the heavy presence of Nália in the back of his skull. One of the patrol gave him another punch—this one completely for show—so the other prisoners in the cell could see it.

  Wenthi sat in the back of the cell, waiting for much of the rest of the day. Near sunset, they fed everyone a bowl of cold beans, and then dragged most of them out of the cells and into trucks.

  In the back of one truck, Wenthi felt Ajiñe’s presence strongly. She was in the other truck. After driving through the city, across a checkpoint into Outtown, the trucks stopped and tossed everyone out in front of the impound lot in Circle Uilea. Once they were dumped out on the street, most folk started shuffling off in every direction, surely anxious to get home. Ajiñe was brushing herself off near the other truck.

  “Hey,” he called out, moving toward her. He grabbed her hand. “You all right?”

  “Yeah,” she said, squeezing back. She pulled him close and kissed him, which made him wince. “What did they do?”

  “Tried to slap me around and get me to confess to shit I hadn’t done,” he said.

  “What about that patrol you killed?” she asked in a whisper. “I’d have thought they’d hammer you to the floor for that.”

  “Never asked. Assholes were far more concerned about the stolen petrol, if you can believe that,” he said, and he hoped she did. Their sync had faded too much for him to get any read on what she was feeling. “Shows you what they really care about.”

  “Assholes,” she muttered.

  “What did they do to you?”

  “A little less slap, but the same,” she said. “Though apparently all they held me on was a curfew violation.”

  “Same, thank my spirits,” he said. He pointed to the impound gate, where the ’goiz 960 was waiting. A patrol officer he didn’t know was at the gate, looking over a checklist. “Hey, that’s my ride.”

  “This piece of shit?” the officer asked. “And you think you get it back?”

  “I think it’s mine, tory,” he said.

  “Renzi,” Ajiñe said, grabbing his arm. “We don’t want another fight.”

  “I want my cycle,” he said. He got up close to that officer. “You going to let me take it?”

  “Name?” the officer asked, looking more bored than anything.

  “Renzi Llionorco,” he said. He pointed to the cycle. “Mine.”

  She glanced over the checklist. “Fine, you’re here.” She went into the guard booth, opened the gate, and then threw the keys on the ground. “Get your shit out of here.”

  “You need a ride?” he asked Ajiñe. She answered by picking up the keys and getting on the cycle.

  “I’ll drive you,” she said with a wink.

  He liked the sound of that. He got on and let her take the ’goiz through its paces, flying up Street Xaomico and parking in the zocalo.

  “Now?” he asked as he dismounted. “We never did get to properly celebrate.”

  “And we’re not tonight,” she said, pushing him away gently as she got off. “I’m going to my place, and you should climb up to your fasai and rest. I’m going to just fall down next to my sister in my bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She kissed him on one side of his face to avoid the bruised lip.

  She walked off toward her apartment over the shop. Wenthi sighed and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, just from spending the bulk of the day in the group cell. He almost didn’t want to bother climbing up into his apartment. He idly wondered whose bed he could try to find his way into, one that didn’t require scaling a wall.

  “You really disgust me, Tungét.”

  Wenthi opened his eyes to see Nália standing right in front of him.

  “The shit—”

  She grabbed him by the coat. “You’re standing here in my coat, my denim, riding my sweet baby of a cycle, all so you can betray those people who welcomed you into their hearts? Their beds?”

  He knew she wasn’t really there but her hands on him felt as solid as anything. How was she able to do that? He grabbed her by the wrists and pushed her off. “The shit are you doing?”

  “Telling you how fetid and gross you are, shitmouth,” she said. She looked thrilled at what she just did.

  He walked away from her, trying to force her back into the dark. “You are not supposed to be manifesting to me.”

  “Oh, right, I’m supposed to be locked in the back of your skull. That nightmare was what it was supposed to be. I forgot.”

  He closed his eyes, made himself slow his breathing. He just needed to push her down, put her in check. He didn’t need her shitty attitude or opinions, well, ever, and he certainly didn’t need her manifesting in front of him like this.

  Shitting nightmare.

  “Go back to your room,” he said as he went up the street toward his fasai.

  “Not a chance,” she said, walking with him. She started to laugh. “That witch thought this bonding would be something you could control, keep me dominated. Keep me down in the abyss of your brain. But she must not have known how speed would affect our sync.”

  “She must—”

  “I mean, you’ve been syncing with the whole crew over there,” Nália said, smug look on her face. “With speed syncs getting stronger and more intense, taking more mushroom the whole while. Did you think that wouldn’t affect your connection with me? Break down the walls holding me in?”

  “Shut your mouth,” he said.

  “Not a chance,” she said. “Right now my whole world is through you, my shitmouth friend.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Everything you don’t,” she said. “A free Pinogoz, free and fair for the people born of this land.”

  “People like me?” he asked as he climbed up to his room.

  “You are not—”

  “Excuse me?” he asked. “I was born right here, just like you.”

  “But you’re—”

  “I’m what? Rhique? All that means is I had only one grandparent of Zapisian blood, instead of two or three like you.”

  “And yet that makes all the difference, doesn’t it?” she asked. “The difference between clubs in Intown and going hungry in Outtown?”

  “No one’s—”

  “How many times do you get your papers checked in Intown, hmm?”

  “Any time I cross from one senja to the next,” he said. “Especially going into the 1st or 2nd.”

  “And out here? You can barely walk from one circle to the next without getting a hassle.”

  “That isn’t true. Half of Outtown has barely any patrol at all!”

  “The part that’s bombed-out, run-down, and unsafe?”

  “Unsafe because you people—”

  “There it is!”

  “Dissidents like you,” he said, stressing the word. “Who make trouble for the good people out here. The patrol wouldn’t harass folks like the Henácas or the Oscebas or Lajina—”

  “Spirits, you are dense. You’ve been here with us, living like us. I see it through your eyes every damned day. But somehow you don’t.”

  “Leave me alone,” he said. “I’m going to sleep.”

  “Funny,” she said, her image sitting on the bed with him. “I don’t need to sleep. I don’t need to eat or piss or shit or anything since my body is lying in a coma in a patrol headquarters. I’m just here with you with nothing better to do.”

  She looked at him with a trickster grin, and for half a moment, he was even charmed. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Like you said, you only live through me. See what I see. Feel what I feel.” He pinched his arm.

  “Ow!” she snapped. “The shit is wrong with you?”

  “We’re going to play nice, Nália Enapi,” he said. “Because if I’m miserable, you are too.
”

  “Not sure if that’s true.”

  “Don’t be such a pain that I call Paulei and have him smother you with a pillow.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Don’t test me,” he said, stripping his clothes off. She must have some control over how she appeared to him, wearing her denim slacks and coat, just like when he arrested her. “You coming to bed?”

  “With you? Please.”

  He got onto the cot. “I mean, don’t think I don’t know what’s in your head, either. You’ve been enjoying the time with Ajiñe’s group. Especially Fenito.”

  “Go shit yourself.” She sat down. “I mean, how can you even think about sex with all of them when you’ll just as soon arrest them? Ezodi.”

  “It’s not like that,” he said, bristling at the invective she just used. Bristling because it wasn’t a lie: He was fucking without any spirit. Hollow. Or at least in part. He wasn’t sure what it was with the crew, what he was doing. Sex was just a way to fit in. To be part of the group, get in closer. Necessary. Part of the job.

  “Which is why it’s hollow, ezodi.”

  He lay down. “Look, the sooner the job is done—”

  She lay down next to him. “The sooner I’m somewhere like Hanez. Probably better than your skull.”

  He could feel her anger radiating off her, her frustration and pain. Whatever their connection was at this point, she was as open as a book to him, and he couldn’t shut her down, or off. He wondered if that was supposed to happen, or if it could be fixed. Maybe Doctor Shebiruht could fix it, but she was the last person he wanted to call on. He’d rather just live with it.

  Nália lay there, wallowing in her feelings he felt with her. Anger, pain, fear, sorrow, and . . . arousal.

  “Are you turned on right now?” he asked her.

  “No. Shut up. No.” All her emotions spiked at that.

  “You want to fool around?” he asked, if only to needle her.

  “That would literally be you jerking yourself.”

  “Is it, though?”

  “Shut your shit,” she said. “Go to sleep.” And with that, she went quiet.