Nália and Wenthi both knew the monster on sight.
“Rather, Doctor,” Penda said.
Doctor Shebiruht came over to the bed and prodded Penda’s head, neck, and chest. “You are a bit feverish. What were you doing?”
“Just . . . trying to feel the people out there.”
“Absurdities, girl,” Shebiruht said with a disapproving click of her tongue. “You were not made for such things.”
“So you keep saying, Doctor. But it’s what I can do.”
“And what I can do is try to keep you alive. Perhaps long enough for them all to see the value you offer. We’re getting closer, dear. They’ll see.”
“Can you just give me my shot and let me rest?”
“You’re in a mood, I see,” Shebiruht said. “Try not to impose it on the folks in the streets below, hmm? Today is bad enough.” She took a syringe out of her bag and injected it into Penda’s arm—which was heavily bruised, covered in scars of needle marks. More than Nália could count.
“The shit was that?” Nália asked when Shebiruht left.
Wenthi had his own question. “What did she mean, not what you were made for?”
Penda struggled to sit up in the bed. “The two of you are hopelessly dense. And you don’t have too much time. That truck is about to fail and be forced to stop.”
“Wait,” Wenthi said, and Nália could feel the realizations click in his mind, and as they did, the true horror of it resonated in her. “Doctor Shebiruht came here with Rodiguen, when he took over Pinogoz. Throughout the Great Noble War, they were working on a weapon. A weapon made with the mushroom.”
“And that weapon is you,” Nália said.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard Doctor Shebiruht tell me how I am her unappreciated masterpiece.”
“How?” Wenthi asked.
“I was built to be a vessel for the mushroom. Injection after injection, experiment after experiment. The horrors you heard of in the camp—yes, Wenthi, I see it in your memory now. All steps she took to figure out how to perfect me.” She laughed, a harsh, resentful laugh that turned into hacking coughs. “As if this is somehow perfect.”
“Wait a damned swipe,” Nália said, realizing what this meant. “If you can sense the both of us, feel what’s in our memories, then . . . you always knew he was patrol, infiltrating the Fists.”
“And Shebiruht did such good work creating him into the perfect infiltrator. Of course he already had the natural gifts, the untapped potential. Incredible. With your help, of course, Nália.”
“My help?”
“You discovered his natural vibration in tune with the local mushroom,” she said. “That’s what let him arrest you, thus allowing Shebiruht to discover the perfect way to combine the two of you. She doesn’t even know the power the two of you have unlocked together. She would be very excited.”
“What do you want?” Nália asked. “How could you possibly command the rebellion, be the leader the Fists think you are, while also being . . . this?”
“A pampered llipe doll?” Penda asked. “I have spent years trapped in this prison. These apartments and this dying shell of damaged flesh that my own family made me into. I finally—finally—figured out the full extent of my power, what Shebiruht made me into, and knew what I could do. What I needed to do.”
“Which is what?” Nália asked. “For you to rule over this country like your grandfather did? Another tyrant to take us over?”
“Please,” Penda said. “The last thing I want to do is rule. I couldn’t care less about any of you people, or your rebellion, or your war, or the fucking Alliance and what they hope for. Everyone can rot.”
Anger came off the woman in waves as she struggled to get back on her feet.
“I just want the chaos.”
Nália stumbled, in as much as her phantom form in this well-appointed apartment could lose her footing. Her senses flashed briefly to the empty dark of the ice room, the screaming chaos of the truck losing ground on the highway, but she didn’t lose her place here.
Thanks to Wenthi, who caught her—caught her in every way—and kept her up and present.
“It’s all a joke, isn’t it?” she asked, half to herself, half to him. “There’s no real revolution, no one here to save us. There’s just her, another llipe tyrant here playing games with us.”
“And all of it can burn, for all I care,” Penda said. “I won’t be a pawn in anyone else’s game, when I can be a queen of the inferno.”
Nália found Wenthi’s eyes, and for the first time, actually looked into them. She didn’t see the hard gaze of a dirty tory, burning with contempt for her. She didn’t see the indifference she expected.
She saw the eyes of that boy who had his life torn apart by the tyrant. Who took care of his baby sister in the camps. Who went hungry so she would eat. Who pulled Ajiñe back onto her cycle, who saved Mensi from the Alliance nucks.
“They’ll do whatever she says,” she said quietly. “She doesn’t care and isn’t who we need and we can’t—”
“I can stop her,” he said.
“What?”
“Let me, Nália,” he said. “Please, let me stop her.”
“How . . .” she stammered. “How do I—”
“Please. Let me.”
She knew what he meant. And as much as it shattered her heart, she knew it was the only way.
“Do it right, Wenthi,” she said.
And she let everything go.
59
Wenthi opened his eyes as the truck skidded to a halt, careening into the barrier on the side of the highway. Black smoke was pouring out of the engine, and everyone was shouting.
“Get ready to hold them off! As long as we can!”
Ajiñe stood protectively above him, nine-piece in hand. Wenthi looked up and saw an entire squad of patrol officers stopping their cycles and taking position around them. They would rain iron on them all in a swipe if he didn’t stop things.
He grabbed Ajiñe’s leg. “Stop,” he said weakly. He still needed to catch his breath, find his place in his own body.
She dropped to one knee over him, still holding up the gun and she leaned down to kiss him. He realized Gab and Mensi were still curled up next to his body, both alive but out cold. He couldn’t see Fenito and Nic in the cab, but he could hear them, both shouting about the truck and getting ready to fight.
“Renzi,” she said. “Did you do it? Did you reach her?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“And?”
“It wasn’t good.”
“Drop your weapons and exit the vehicle with your hands laced behind your head!” one of the officers shouted. “This is your only warning!”
“Do what they say,” he said quickly. “All of you. Guns off to the side, quick.”
“But—”
“We’re about to die,” he said. “And we need to live.”
He hoped she understood. He hoped she would trust him. Nothing would work if she didn’t trust him.
She threw the gun.
“Lose the iron, Nic!”
Wenthi heard the clatter of the rifle hitting the road.
“What are we doing?” Ajiñe asked.
Wenthi pulled himself up, hands high, lacing them behind his head. “Surviving. Follow along.”
“You sure?”
He stepped off the truck, keeping his hands in place. “We’re surrendering!” he shouted. “Weapons are gone.” Wenthi saw all the patrol officers, iron in hands, all surrounding them. He scanned for familiar faces. Thankfully, there were a couple. Minlei and Guand were in the front. He locked eyes with them, hoping they would catch on.
“The rest on the pavement, face down!” Minlei shouted. “All of you!”
The others all came out of the truck, getting to the gr
ound with their hands behind their heads. On Minlei’s signal, patrol swarmed in, grabbing each of them, tethering their wrists and hauling them to their feet. Minlei and Guand took Wenthi and pulled him off to the side.
Nália appeared next to him, tears in her eyes.
“You’re sure this is right?”
“Yeah,” he said. Guand and Minlei made a show of working Wenthi over while the rest of the crew were hauled out of sight.
“You do it, Tungét?” Guand whispered once the rest were gone. “Did you get what we need?”
“I got it,” Wenthi said. “Enough to take all of them down.”
REFUEL: REPORT
16 Tian, 0049 HSY
As of five sweep zero, eighteen arrests have been made of key members and ringleaders of the organization that refers to itself as the “Fists of Zapi,” a series of terrorist cells consisting of miscreants and agitators seeking to disrupt supply chains, corrupt distribution of rationed goods, and undo the fragile peace of the city of Ziaparr. These arrests include the following key figures:
Quiva Mascindi*, baniz, who had been using the name “Jendiscira” as an alias.
Bedo Hocnupec*, baniz
Niliza Dallatan, jifoz
Nicalla Menita, jifoz
Otaca Menita, jifoz
Casintel Vaitra, jifoz
Bindeniz Vaitra, jifoz
Ajiñe Osceba, jifoz
Narli Osceba, jifoz
Gabrána Corriba, jifoz
Daro Partinez, jifoz
Isilla Henáca, jifoz
Yenimensi “Mensi” Darabo, jifoz
* It should be recorded that both Missus Mascindi and Mister Hocnupec offered significant resistance when attempting to arrest them, and lethal force needed to be applied. Their bodies were, upon request, sent to the research labs in the lower levels.
We have reasonable information that these individuals, as well as several others captured over the course of the unfortunate uprisings in the 11th, 12th, 14th, and 17th Senjas in the past day, represent a sizable share of both the leadership and the rank-and-file of the “Fists of Zapi.”
Most notable is the arrest of Penda Rodiguen, llipe, who had been the mastermind behind the cult leader figure known as “Varazina.” While the full details of how she accomplished this from her placement in the Alliance Notable Confinement Center, we are sufficiently satisfied in her guilt. We are thankful to High Captain Sengejú for arranging the transfer of Miss Rodiguen from Alliance confinement to our hands, and to the work of Councilmembers Tungét and Hwungko for their tireless efforts in convincing the Alliance Ruling Overboard to allow this to be handled by local justice and authority.
This was made possible thanks to the incredible efforts of one Civil Patrol officer who was the lead for a deep infiltration assignment, identifying and directing Civil Patrol to the specific ringleaders and malefactors. We are deeply grateful for that officer’s efforts, and they will be rewarded with an extended paid leave before returning to regular duty with a promotion.
This has proven to be a very encouraging venture, and the Alliance Oversight Office has faith that this operation can demonstrate how Pinogoz-local officers could be, eventually, entrusted with leadership positions in the Civil Patrol, as an eventual step for the nation to reach self-rule on an acceptable timetable.
SIXTH CIRCUIT:
THE TRAITORS OF ZAPISIA
60
For three days, Wenthi’s mind had been quiet. No more Nália Enapi in his head. No more her controlling his body. No more of her, the constant and aggravating voice of rebellion and revolution, drumming in his skull.
A damned relief.
The silence was uneasy.
Three days ago, he had been brought into the headquarters in the 9th Senja, separated from the rest of the Fists crew, and put into an ice room so they could no longer sync with him. Once there, he delivered his full report, and cycles and arrest buses were sent out to pick up everyone he named. Everyone except Penda, initially, but Lieutenant Canwei said she’d work to make that happen. He wasn’t privy to what that work entailed, but Paulei brought him the report that detailed her arrest.
Wenthi had worried that she would be given some sort of pass, like she had been before. He didn’t want to know who else was in the Alliance Notable Confinement Center. He knew it would just make him angry.
He already knew Doctor Shebiruht was one of the residents. Who knew what other dark secrets were in there.
He was more than happy that he didn’t have to see her again. One of the nurses came and gave him a series of shots, which severed his connection with Nália, and then a bottle of pills they insisted he needed to take twice a day. Canwei told him to take a dozen days to relax and recover. “You’ve earned it.”
He had been in his room for three days straight, fucking half the squad on the late sweep patrol. That had mostly been a core cadre of Minlei, Guand, Cinden and Peshka (always together), Hwokó, and especially Paulei, but several others had drifted in and out of the group over time. Wenthi had enjoyed all of it; it was wonderful to be back home, back with his people, but it felt off. Incomplete. He had gotten used to sex on the mushroom, and the sensation of just feeling in his own body was, while oddly novel, distinctly lacking.
Not that he told any of them that.
He lay in his bed—he was thrilled to be back in his own bed after that horrendous mattress in the shitty fasai on Street Xaomico—looking over the arrest report once more. Names he knew, names he gave in his reports. Names that troubled him. He had mentioned people like Partinez and Isilla Henáca in his debrief, but not in the context of being part of the Fists.
Jendiscira and Hocnupec had been killed in the arrests. There was an odd comfort there, that they refused to compromise, refused to go quietly. They’d rather be martyrs than prisoners.
Narli Osceba was another name on the list that hung hard on his heart. He had done nothing, beyond being Ajiñe’s father. “You’ve seen all these people in holding?” he asked Paulei, who had been in a blissful half-asleep state for the past few minutes. Wenthi envied him. Everyone else had been called onto a stint or was recuperating in their own rooms.
“I mean, they don’t wear name tags, but, yeah, the cells are packed up right now. Once final judgment comes down, they’ll be shipped out, just like they deserve.”
“What about Nália?”
“Who?”
“Enapi,” Wenthi said. “The girl I caught, the one they synced me with.”
“Oh, her,” Paulei said, running his fingers on Wenthi’s chest. He was already ready for more. How did he do that, Wenthi wondered. “I think she’s still in the headquarters. I didn’t ask. She’ll probably be lumped in with the other judgments.”
“Good,” Wenthi said, not sure what he meant by saying that. Maybe he figured Paulei needed to hear it.
“You called her Nália?”
“She was embedded in my head for nearly two seasons,” Wenthi said. “Hardly room for proper social niceties. Not her style, in any event.”
“What was that like?” Paulei asked. He had, over the course of the three days, asked a few gentle probing questions about Wenthi’s whole experience, which Wenthi had only ever answered tersely. Paulei hadn’t been pushing too hard with those questions, but he would regularly leave a window open for Wenthi to crawl through and talk about it.
“Invasive,” Wenthi said. “You know, all those propaganda reels we saw about the mushroom are bullshit. Completely.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, they talk about how dangerous it is, but it’s really not—”
“We’ve heard all about how dangerous it is.”
“Heard, yeah. You ever actually brought in a mushroom bu
rnout? I’ve been thinking, and I never have. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen one.”
“I’m sure I have.”
“Have you? I’ve never had one when riding with you. I can’t even recall someone coming off their stint saying they had one. We’re just . . . told it’s a thing that happens, and we’ve accepted it as truth.”
Paulei frowned, still caressing Wenthi’s chest. “I must have.”
“I can tell you this, having done the mushroom—”
“How much did you do it?” Paulei asked. “Is this why you need time to get clean? Did you take your pills today?”
“Spirits, yes,” Wenthi said. Though he wasn’t completely sure. He must have taken it this morning. The past days had been a bit of a blur, but he was nearly certain.
Paulei’s voice dropped to a low, horrified whisper. “Is the sex really better on it? Is that why you’re talking about it? You want to—”
“No,” Wenthi said. “I mean, yes, it totally is, but—”
“It is?”
“You have no idea,” Wenthi said. “But my real point is, why were we led to believe it was so dangerous? Especially when the Alliance government is more than happy to use it to suit its own purposes?”
“I don’t know,” Paulei said, climbing on top of Wenthi. “So are you saying that no matter how many officers we get into this bed with you, it’s not going to be like it was on the mushroom?”
“Well, how many are we talking?” Wenthi said, letting himself grin. Letting himself feel happy. “Because I’m willing to make the attempt. You know, for science.”
“I do love science,” Paulei said, leaning down to kiss him. He climbed off the bed and pulled on a robe. “I’ll go knock on some doors, see what we can round up. A lot of people are working double stints, holding back the unrest and mayhem in Outtown.”
The Velocity of Revolution Page 30
