Children of the Divide

by Patrick S. Tomlinson

  “Were they alive?” Kexx asked in an even tone.

  “Yes, but I don’t think that was the plan. If we’d have been a half hour later, they wouldn’t have made it. Doc Russell is looking over them now. Whoever ze is, ze’s a tough kid to have pulled through, even for an Atlantian.”

  “Your people are just wimps. Lose one little limb and you’re done working for the day.”

  Benson smirked. “Ours don’t grow back without a lot of help, as you well know.”

  “Hold on,” Sakiko interrupted them. “You had a tracking chip implanted in Benexx?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did ze know?”

  Benson shrugged. “I didn’t tell zer mother, so you can bet I never told zer.”

  “That’s insane!”

  “Really getting tired of people calling me names for being right. If whoever took Benexx hadn’t known to look for zer chip, I would have saved you two the trip. Now, can we move on?”

  “Do I have a chip?” Sakiko asked in a panic.

  “Oh, yeah. Your mom insisted. It’s been inside your left eye since you were three.”

  Sakiko’s face contorted in such a way Benson was certain she was trying to look inside her own eyeball. Kexx laughed, and for the first time since Benexx had gone missing, Benson joined zer, even as Sakiko’s face soured.

  It felt perverse to find a moment of levity while his child was being held only Xis-knew-where, selfish even. But Benson and Kexx went way back. They’d fought together in the Battle of Black Bridge, and saved each other multiple times along the way. In the aftermath, they’d been important figures in the many months and years of negotiations between the uneasy allies.

  Hell, it was only thanks to Kexx that Theresa and Benson had ended up with Benexx in the first place. Ze would’ve never been in their lives if Kexx hadn’t conceived of the adoption as a sort of olive branch between the races.

  Benson had older friends, but none better. This weird, color-shifting alien was family. And even though fear and uncertainty still clung to his heart like claws of ice, seeing Kexx sitting there across from him in the transit pod, Benson knew that shit would start getting done.

  “May I talk to zer?”

  Kexx’s voice snapped Benson back into the moment. “Hmm? Sorry.”

  “The survivor. May I speak with zer?”

  “Not yet. Ze is still under heavy sedation. Russell had to remove a couple of big splinters from zer brain cavity and there’s still quite a bit of swelling. It may be a few days before ze comes around again, and Xis only knows if ze’ll remember anything. Or how much of zer is even still there.”

  Kexx nodded. “This residence, then. We should start there. Take us.”

  Benson punched the updated stop into the pod’s control panel. “By your command.”

  The pod slowed to a stop only a few blocks away from the flop house. But even still, the walk was not uneventful. A crowd had assembled around one of the large electrical junction boxes that had been set up to provide basic power to this quadrant of the city. They’d been intended to be stopgap measures until more permanent infrastructure could be installed. That had been eight years ago. The native quarter had never stopped growing long enough to take them offline and replace them. Brownouts and other malfunctions were common, exacerbated by illegal but largely-overlooked pirate cables spliced into the mains. For a people who hadn’t even heard of either electricity or metal less than a full generation ago, the Atlantians living in Shambhala had proven to be quick studies.

  As Benson, Kexx, and Sakiko approached, it became obvious from the crowd’s voices and skin patterns that they weren’t interested in being passive spectators to whatever was happening. Atlantians averaged about a head taller than humans, so Benson couldn’t get a good look at the eye of the storm. But his ears picked out a familiar voice.

  he sent with his plant.

 

 

 

 

  “What’s going on?” Kexx whispered.

  “We’re playing peacemakers.”

  “You, a peacemaker? Cuut be lenient.”

  “I’ll try not to take offense at that.”

  “Don’t try too hard.”

  Benson glowered back at Kexx even as he gently elbowed his way through the crowd. Once inside the circle, he saw Korolev, two additional constables, and a pair of pale-skinned technicians working on the junction box whose skin tone had very little to do with their level of sun exposure.

  Korolev and the other constables sported riot gear and stun batons. Korolev alone had a rifle slung across his shoulders. While it wasn’t an immediate threat, it did serve as a potent reminder of what could happen if the crowd decided to take things too far.

  “Well, well, well. What’s all this, then?” Benson announced to the assembled crowd.

  Korolev sent.

 

 

  Benson ignored him and turned to one of the more belligerent looking protestors, one of the rare Atlantian elders living among the sea of children and adolescents. Get zer to calm down and the rest would follow suit.

  Probably.

  “And here come the rulemans to bust our heads and shock our limbs!” shouted an Atlantian not even a meter from Korolev’s face. Zer crests were washed out, but zer muscles remained firm. An elder, but a fresh one. Obviously the leader of this little gathering. “Watch them close, children. Watch their lies become their action.”

  Benson put up his hands, palms out, showing that he was unarmed. At least for the moment. “No one is stunning anyone, elder. Open hands. No weapons. No fists. We’re just talking. Like civilized people.”

  “Say the thief!”

  Benson let the barb pass without comment. “What’s the problem here, elder?”

  “Not your problem, ruleman.”

  At that, Kexx bristled. “Do you know who this ‘ruleman’ is, elder?” ze said with the sort of patient voice one might use with a disruptive toddler.

  “Not matter. Just another deadskin trying to take our power. But we say enough!” The elder pumped a fist in the air and flashed a hostile pattern through zer skin. Echoing waves of color and light radiated out through the rest of the crowd, taking their agitation up another notch.

  “Whoa, everyone. I’m not a ruleman. I’m just a coach.” Benson spotted a young Atlantian he thought he recognized from one of the youth rec leagues.

  “You’re Tikik, right? You were so good at dodgeball the human kids didn’t want to play against you. They forfeited whole games.” Benson saw the gamble work as the youth’s feet shuffled under the attention. Thank Xis he didn’t screw up the kid’s face, that would’ve shot his credibility right in the ass. Benson ignored the elder and instead focused on Tikik. “C’mon kid, you know me. What’s going on here? Why is everyone so upset?”

  “We’re just trying to–” one of the techs interrupted, but Benson silenced him with a finger and a glare.

  “Go on, Tikik.”

  “Elder says they taking away our power. For our lights and water and false fire.”

  Benson looked over his shoulder at Kexx. “Ovens,” ze said. “False fire means ovens.”

  “Of course.” Benson turned back to the techs Korolev was protecting. “Is that true?”

  “Well, yeah. Beehive ordered it. We’re running on backups and batteries. We can’t afford the pirates anymore. Not until we start getting power from the Ark again, and who knows how long that will be.”

  “But deadskins get to keep their power!” Tikik said to an approving nod from zer elder. Someone was trying to get noticed so they could rub wrists. Hormones set a lot of political policies.
>
  “To keep the city running,” the tech said, “the transit pods, the wastewater treatment facility, the desalinization plant. We need them to stay alive.”

  “No, you need them,” the elder barked. “Human tongues need tasteless water. Humans need pods because they too lazy. Atlantians just want water pumped and light at night and false fire to cook our food. But that too much to ask if it mean you have to walk.”

  Benson couldn’t help but smirk. But there was genuine anger behind the snark. He looked around at the faces in the crowd, looked beyond to the streets and homes they lived in. There were so many of them already, and they had so little. For a moment, Benson tried to imagine the outcry from the human quarters of Shambhala if they all suddenly had to drag their own water from the river and collect firewood to cook their dinner.

  If he was honest, the crowd would probably be a lot bigger and a lot angrier than this one.

  “The elder has a point,” Benson said, much to the shock of everyone in attendance, the tech and elder included. “I know I could stand to walk more. How about you two? Why don’t you take a little walk? It would do you some good.”

  “But we have a work order. We can’t just wander back unfinished.”

  “Well, let’s put it another way.” Benson threw an arm around Korolev’s shoulder. “I’m going to take a walk with my friend here. He could use the exercise ahead of next week’s game. Isn’t that right, Pavel?”

  “Um…”

  “Of course it is. And I’m sure he’s going to tell his constables that they could use a little cardio activity as well, right Pavel?”

  “I hate you.”

  “We kid around. Anyway, we’re all going for a walk in that direction.” Benson pointed towards the flop house, then pointed back at the heart of Shambhala. “I suggest you take a walk in that direction, unless you’re really keen on finishing up your work here without these constables hanging around. Cool? Cool.” Benson spun around and pointed a finger at the elder. “And you are going to make sure they walk out of here without so much as a scratch, right?”

  Some of the elder’s fire dimmed under Benson’s glare. Zer crests fluttered. “We agree,” ze said finally.

  “Excellent!” Benson threw his hands in the air in celebration. “Glad we could sort that out like elders should. We set a very good example for all of these kids. You honor yourself and your people. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I have to find my own kid.”

  Without another word, Benson dragged Korolev away from the crowd. The other two constables tagged along behind like imprinted ducklings.

  “No,” Korolev whispered to the closest one. “You two shadow the techs out of here. Keep your distance, but make sure they’re safe.”

  “The elder assured us they would be,” Benson chided.

  “Trust, but verify,” Korolev replied.

  Benson snorted, wondering if his favorite Russian descendant recognized the irony of using that particular phrase.

  “You handled that well, Benson,” Kexx said.

  “Yeah well he’s not the one that’s going to get called into the chief’s office for abandoning their post,” Korolev said. “Oh, and hello, Kexx. Good to see you.”

  “Oh, I’ve got it much worse than you, Pavel. I have to share a bed with the chief. I’ll probably be sleeping on the couch after she gets chewed out by Agrawal for letting her husband interfere in official business.” Benson paused. “Again.”

  “Still, it was the right thing to do. Sco’Val owes you a favor now,” Kexx said.

  “Sco’Val? Is that the elder’s name?”

  “I’ve not seen zer in many years, but I believe so.”

  “Was ze from G’tel originally?”

  “Pukal, but I saw zer often enough during harvest.”

  “That’s good to know.” Benson filed the information away for later use.

  “I don’t remember this part of the city looking quite so… unfinished,” Kexx said as ze toed over an exposed length of plumbing conduit that hadn’t been hooked up to a water source. Benson looked around at the dirty streets, the ramshackle buildings, breathed in the foul air, and saw the Native Quarter, really saw it, for the first time. And he felt ashamed.

  “It’s been growing too fast, we haven’t had the resources to keep pace,” he said weakly, knowing it was true but knowing how insufficient the explanation sounded even to his own ears.

  Kexx seemed to recognize his discomfort and let the thread drop. They walked in silence for a block, each busy taking note of everything they saw.

  “Coach?”

  “Yes, Pavel?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Shut up, Pavel.”

  “OK, coach.”

  The flop house came into view. The crime scene tape still stretched across the front entry, but Benson’s eyes caught a darkened silhouette hiding just inside the doorway.

  “Look sharp,” Benson muttered to Kexx and Korolev. Sakiko took notice of the stiffening of her master’s body and put a hand on the hilt of her dagger, which technically she wasn’t supposed to be openly carrying in public, but since Benson wasn’t a constable anymore and Korolev hadn’t raised a fuss, she didn’t see any reason to bring up the point.

  Benson walked carefully, but purposefully, up to the building’s entrance. He kept his hands held open and a few centimeters away from his sides to show whoever was hiding inside that he was unarmed and not an immediate threat. The next few seconds would tell if that was wisdom or foolishness.

  “You can come out. We know you’re in there.”

  “Stay inside,” the voice said.

  Atlantian, Benson thought. And very familiar. “OK, that’s fine,” Benson answered. “But I don’t know if you’re alone, or armed, or what. So we’re going to stay outside for now. OK?”

  The shadow shifted forward into a sliver of light. Benson smiled. “Sco’Val, isn’t it?”

  The elder shot a look at Kexx, but gave an affirmative flicker of light across zer chest.

  “How did you beat us here?” Benson asked.

  “Shortcut.”

  “Shortcut?” Korolev said. “It was a straight line coming here.”

  Benson held up a hand. “Why did you come here, Sco’Val?”

  “You help us back there.” Sco’Val nodded towards the square. “I help you here. Then, we done, yes?”

  “Of course,” Benson assured zer. “How can you help me?”

  “I know what you look for. It is not here.”

  Benson’s heart raced. “And you know where it is?”

  “Might know someone who do.”

  Benson’s jaw clenched. “Take me to them. Now.”

  “Not now. Before dark. Meet here.”

  “Fine, but you’d better be here.” Benson stuck a finger in Sco’Val’s direction. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”

  Sixteen

  Something thudded heavily against the rock floor and interrupted Benexx’s lamentations. On reflex, ze doused zer skinglow until ze was nothing but a shadow, then scurried away from the threat until zer back was pressed firmly against the clammy wall.

  “It’s not a bag full of sukor bugs, if that’s what you’re worried about,” came a voice from the hole in the ceiling, different from the one who had caught zer trying to escape. “Go on, open it. There’s food, and some human medicine for your cuts so they don’t weep. But there’s not a lot, so use it sparingly.”

  Benexx brought zer skinglow back up, just a fraction at first. Enough to see, but not so much that ze didn’t have enough left in reserve to flash to full brightness and momentarily blind a threat. Down here in the caves, it could buy you a second or two to maneuver into a more favorable fighting position, or escape. Uncle Kexx had taught zer the trick many summers ago on an educational excursion to the Dweller caverns with Sakiko. This cavern did not feel like a Dweller cave. It was too quiet, for one thing. And the smell was, wrong. How ze would kill to have either Kexx or Sakiko here now, or even to have pa
id more attention to all of the lessons zer uncle had tried to teach.

  In the middle of the floor, right under the hole in the ceiling, lay a frayed bag made of course fabric. Cautiously, Benexx moved towards it. It was woven from yulka stalks stripped and cured with halo tree sap to preserve and strengthen the strands, a common process for making large quantities of cheap, yet durable fabric among the tribes of the road network. But the information didn’t help Benexx place zerself. Like the yulka crops themselves, the immigrants from Atlantis to Shambhala had brought the process with them and continued to use it in their new city.

  Zer legs tensed for a sudden retreat, Benexx threw open the bag’s flap with a flick of zer wrist. But there was no danger. Just as the voice had said, there was food. Dried berries, a handful of seeds, some inexpertly-prepared strips of dux’ah jerky, all sitting in a bed of a spongey red fungus ze didn’t recognize but assumed was edible. After what must have been two days since zer last meal, Benexx’s stomach roiled in anticipation of the feast. Ze hungrily dumped the food out onto the floor, along with a small plastic container of antiseptic cream, which ze set aside until ze was done shoveling the food into zer mouth.

  Benexx ground the tough seeds between zer tooth plates, then spat out the remnants of the outer husk. “So what are you supposed to be, the good cop?”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Of course not. What’s your name, then?”

  “I’m not supposed to tell you.”

  “Right, how silly of me.” Benexx grabbed a piece of jerky and ripped off a chunk. It was gamey and very salty. Even to zer salt-tolerant tongue.

  “So what’s your job here?”

  “I am to help you.”

  “Yeah? Throw down a rope, then lead me out of this nightmare.”

  “Except with that,” the voice said with patient impassivity.

  “Fine. You want to help me? Send down a waterskin or a bottle or something. Fresh water. I’m getting pretty sick of licking condensation off these rocks.”