Laoshi limped closer. “Let’s leave the problem of climbing down from the platform for another day. There are plenty of others left to solve.”
Daoren sighed—the old Librarian was right. The grooll mill was replete with problems.
“What should we focus on next?” Heqet asked.
Laoshi cleared his throat. “I think we should discuss the problem of sympathetic liquidation.”
Daoren swallowed his dread. In the pit of his stomach, he suspected the term was even worse than it sounded.
* * *
CANG TARRIED IN the chamber of Riben Cheng’s district commander. She’d arrived ten minutes ago and Commander Hyro had already been called away twice.
The interruptions left her with little to do. Radan had remained in Zhongguo Cheng despite his desire to accompany her on the whirlwind tour of all fifty Chengs. She would have enjoyed his company, but she needed to engage the district commanders one-on-one. It offered the best chance for honest exchanges.
The down time gave her another chance to examine the chamber and, by extension, the mind of Commander Hyro. Riben Cheng was Daqin Guojin’s easternmost district. It occupied thirteen square-miles of territory on the Eastern Sea and was home to over a million denizens and prospects. Some of the city-state’s wealthiest families resided here, but Cang saw no signs of affluence in the chamber.
The forty-by-forty space afforded ample room for expensive artisanal wares. Commander Hyro instead chose to display a single sculpture. The spiraling crystalline vase glinted atop a glass pedestal on the corner of her desk. The piece was remarkable only for its rudimentary design and simple aesthetic. Beyond it, a bank of windows looked out onto the Eastern Sea. Curling wave-crests broke on a narrow strip of sand, scouring the shoreline. No denizens wandered the beachfront.
Commander Hyro alum Takeda entered clutching a quantum tile. At five feet, three inches tall, she held the distinction of being the shortest serving Jireni. Unlike other diminutive Jireni, she didn’t offset the shortfall with an oversized personality. In fact, Commander Hyro ranked as one of the more self-effacing members of the security force.
Hyro didn’t look up from the tile’s screen as she crossed the floor. “My apologies for the delays, Commander Cang. We have three operations underway to detain three cells of dissenters.”
“I understand,” Cang said. “It’s given me time to admire your chamber. It has a simple serenity.”
Hyro settled behind the desk and set the quantum tile on its surface. “I’ll take my serenity wherever I can find it.”
Cang motioned to the spiral vase. “That’s an interesting piece. From a local artisan?”
“In a manner of speaking. My daughter made it for me.”
“How old is she?”
“Thirteen,” Hyro said. “A very difficult thirteen. She thinks she knows more than me.”
Cang nodded. Part of her had always wondered what it must be like to have children. How strange it must be for parents to see their living, breathing self-caricatures discovering the world anew, displaying familiar character traits once thought unique. How powerful the desire must be to protect that precious creation, to do anything to safeguard its future. She dismissed the rumination. “Let’s get down to the business of why I’m here.” She nodded at the quantum tile on the desk. “Before you’re called away again.”
“I know why you’re here,” Hyro said.
“You do?”
“You’ve visited a dozen district commanders over the past week. Word travels.”
“Allow me to state the reason plainly so there’s no ambiguity,” Cang said. “I’m here at the Unum’s request. He asked me investigate the Primae Jiren’s loyalty.”
“I understand,” Hyro said, seemingly unfazed. “Though I don’t understand why the Unum would question Pyros’ loyalty.”
“You don’t?”
“I’ve known Pyros for fifteen years. He cares as much for power as I do for the trappings of wealth.”
“So you’ve never seen any indications of dissent from him?”
Hyro leaned forward and chucklebucked. “No, for Sha’s sake! Have you?”
The frank response caught Cang off guard. The dozen district commanders she’d visited so far had been evasive in their responses to the question, not wishing to tip their hand in any direction. A handful had thought she was trying to foster dissent against the ruling caste. The district commander from Nansilafu Cheng had drawn his crystal dagger from his belt-sheath and lunged at her before she’d convinced him she was acting on the Unum’s orders.
“You don’t have to talk around the issue with me,” Hyro said. “I can see from the look on your face that you don’t believe Pyros is disloyal.”
“You’re saying the Unum is wrong.”
“I’m saying the Unum is like any other Unum. They all tend to grow paranoid after a certain time in power.”
Cang sensed an opening. With the previous commanders, she’d broached the subject with much greater delicacy. With Commander Hyro, she abandoned delicacy in favor of expediency. “Did you know he plans to install his son as Unum Potentate?”
Hyro squeezed her eyes shut. “There’s a terrifying thought.”
Cang blinked. She’d come into the meeting suspecting that Hyro would support the plan to remove the Unum from power. She never imagined she’d be so . . . forthright. “Forgive me, but I didn’t expect this level of . . .”
“Honesty?”
“Yes.”
Hyro sighed. “At least fifty cells of dissenters are operating in my district. Forty percent of the denizens in Riben Cheng are calorie-deficient.” She swiveled in her chair and faced the windows overlooking the sea. “Every week, at least ten families wade into the Eastern Sea rather than starve to death.” She shuddered. “That sea is acidic. Imagine the hopelessness that must occupy a denizen’s mind if drowning in acid is preferable to living another day.”
“What if I told you there was hope?”
Hyro swiveled back. “Then I would embrace you as I would embrace my own sister.” The quantum tile on her desk chirped. She glanced at its screen. “It’s my aide in the operations center. I swear that girl needs to ask my permission to use the waste chamber.”
“Do you need to leave again?” Cang asked.
“No.” She looked up from the screen. “I’d wager we have more important matters to discuss, don’t we?”
Cang allowed herself a cautious smile. “Yes, we do.”
* * *
THE UNUM SKULKED up the pathway and stopped before the abode’s purple door. A single potlight burned above the doorframe, warding off the gloom. He paused to catch his breath.
The regal fleet had delivered him to the southern habitation complex in Meiguo Cheng ten minutes earlier. He’d ordered the fleet to stop well away from the abode so as not to draw undue attention to the visit—or to alert the abode’s inhabitants. He’d walked the rest of the way.
The commander of his personal guard had protested the break in protocol, insisting he accompany the Unum to the abode. The Jiren needn’t have worried. The few shadows the Unum had passed on the pediwalks paid him no attention. From their perspective, he was just another denizen. Larger than most, perhaps, but nothing to warrant undue curiosity.
The Unum swiped his forehead. The absence of studs triggered a fleeting swirl of cognitive disconnect. He wiped his hand across a simple blue pienfu, already darkened with sweat. He’d worn the pienfu for the same reason he’d removed his studs and ordered the fleet to stand off despite the late hour. The visit needed to remain anonymous.
He knocked on the door and counted off the seconds. After half a minute, he knocked again. Harder this time.
Fifteen seconds later, the door opened.
The Unum suppressed a gasp.
Cordelia stood in the nave, as haggard as he’d ever seen her. A crumpled mourning robe clung to her pallid skin, like it hadn’t been removed in days. Her eyes cast a hollowed gleam, like they hadn�
�t been closed in weeks. She displayed no signs of surprise or alarm. For a moment, he assumed she hadn’t recognized him in his plain garments.
“Unum,” she said. “What brings you here at this hour?”
“Forgive the intrusion, Cordelia,” he said, “but may I come in?”
Her eyes narrowed as though she was pondering a refusal. She opened the door wider. “If you must.”
The Unum stepped into the nave. The abode reeked of grief and resonated with an oppressing quietude that begged to be filled. No words came to him. Instead, he took a piece of grooll from the urn on the side table and placed it on his tongue. He gazed at her while he chewed, hoping his silence might prompt her into speaking first.
“Why are you here?” she asked, voice diluted with fatigue.
“To make sure you’re all right,” the Unum said after he swallowed. “Might we talk for a minute?”
Cordelia shrugged. She led him into the parlor, placing one foot in front of the other like an automaton. She reached a divan and slumped onto its glass surface.
The Unum settled onto the divan along the opposite wall. He eyed the square table near the windows. It still had four place settings on its surface—double the number necessary. Dust coated the wares.
“So talk,” she said.
He brought his gaze back to her and adopted a well-practiced show of concern. “I’m worried about you.”
“My thanks for your worry,” she said, “but you needn’t be.”
“You’re obviously not eating.” He motioned to the courtyard beyond the windows. “When’s the last time you stepped outside?”
“I don’t remember.”
The Unum glanced at the parlor door. “Is Daoren here?”
Cordelia shook her head.
“How is he taking Lucien’s . . . the most recent loss?”
She fingered her mourning robe’s sleeve. “You’ll have to ask him.”
The Unum masked his irritation. He’d come here seeking specific answers, not vague generalities. He tried another tack. “How’s the boy been spending his time?”
Cordelia’s brow creased. “Why?”
“I know how . . . difficult he can be. I imagine these heavy events haven’t helped in that regard.”
Her darkened gaze fell upon the floor’s tan-colored tiles. Whatever thoughts had prompted the expression, she kept to herself.
“Has Pyros come by to visit?”
She raised her head. The creases on her forehead deepened. “Why would the Primae Jiren visit me?”
The Unum raised his hands, palms out. “I asked him to stop by. Just to check on you.”
“He hasn’t.”
“He must have been too busy,” the Unum said, recognizing the futility of further discussion. Cordelia had no answers; the proof was inscribed on her face. He rose from the divan with a grunt. “I want you to know that I’m here for you. If you need anything—anything at all—you only have to ask.”
Cordelia remained seated. Her upper body swayed before finding its center. “If I needed anything, I already would have.”
The Unum forced a smile onto his lips. “I’ll let myself out then.”
He swept out of the parlor and into the nave. He exited the front door and paced down the tiled pathway. By the time he reached the pediwalk, he was cursing the time wasted. Cordelia had no more insights into Daoren’s activity than Pyros and his useless Jiren.
One useful fact had emerged from the visit—she’d shown genuine confusion when he asked whether the Primae Jiren had stopped by. In truth, he hadn’t asked Pyros to do so. Deep down, he suspected his Primae Jiren might have been in contact with the family, seeking to strike up an alliance. Cordelia’s reaction told him that wasn’t the case. It told him that—
The Unum halted. Why was he walking back to the regal fleet? He pulled his quantum tile from his pienfu and raised it to his mouth. “I’m finished here. Come pick me up.” He terminated the call and took in the surroundings.
Across the transway, clutches of Caucasoid denizens plied the pediwalk. None gave him a second glance.
The behavior struck him as strange. Take away his splendid regal mianfu, his edicts, and his personal guard and he was just another denizen. Invisible. Inaudible. Expendable.
He shuddered—there was a horrid thought. He lowered his gaze to the tile. Another question ached to be asked, but he dare not ask it over the device. He confined it to the relative safety of his mind instead.
How was Gustar progressing with the test preparations?
* * *
GUSTAR SHIVERED AND swore. He drew a flexglass quilt up over his shoulders and rubbed his hands together.
The alcove’s temperature tended to reach its lowest point in the middle of the night. Since forwarding Daoren al Lucien’s prep-test scores to the Unum, he’d spent every night trapped in its confines. The decision might prove to be one of the most regrettable he’d ever made.
In alerting the Unum to Daoren’s perfect results, Gustar had set himself upon an impossible task. Switching Daoren’s score with Narses’ score in the upcoming S.A.T. required the deft manipulation of countless qubits of biometric data—the most heavily encrypted data in the city-state. A tunneling algorithm was necessary for bypassing and sub-linking the encrypted data fields, but its multivariate computations proved horrendously complex.
So far, he’d devoted every iota of attention to the task, forgoing sleeping, eating, and all but the most basal biological functions. It wasn’t enough. The intermittent chatterwailing from Indonoid brothers in the adjacent alcove didn’t help matters.
“Don’t forget you need to go to the Center tonight,” the older brother said.
The younger brother sucked his teeth. “I hate going there alone.”
“It’s not haunted. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“I can feel them watching me,” the younger brother said. “Do you have any idea how many prospects have died in there?”
“No, but I could pull the data in a few seconds and tell you.”
“I’ll pull the data. You go test the tabulator.”
The older brother chucklebucked. “It’s your turn to calibrate it.”
Gustar flinched. The flexglass quilt slipped from his shoulders and dropped to the floor.
The tabulator!
The Center’s tabulator summed every test and displayed the scores based on the unique row and seat number assigned to each prospect. The encryption protocol protecting the assigned information was much less robust than the layered protocols protecting biometric data. Switching scores based on seat assignments would be relatively simple.
His elation dimmed as quickly as it had sparked. Switching scores based on seat assignments would also be detectable. The rigorous post-S.A.T. examination conducted by datakeepers would easily spot the anomaly. At best, Narses’ claim to Unum Potentate would be suspect. At worst, his claim would be denied. Neither result would sit well with the Unum.
He cursed the wretched dilemma. The switch could either be undetectable and too late, or detectable and in time. The first option would certainly lead to his demise. Would the second?
Gustar rubbed his hands to revive their circulation. He had no choice. He had to risk it.
The younger Indonoid passed by the alcove. Gustar snatched his quantum tile off the desk and hustled after him. He caught up with the boy mid-way down a row of quantum cradles.
“Tarry, friend!” Gustar called out. He would have used the brother’s name if he’d known it. “Did I hear you mention you’re going to the Center?”
The brother frowned, no doubt puzzled by the sudden interest. “I am.”
“Care for some company? I have some tests of my own I’ve been meaning to conduct there.”
The boy brightened. “I’d welcome it. That place gives me the creeps at night.”
Gustar feigned an empathetic smile. “Me, too.”
16
Tread Carefully
DAOREN TIP
TOED DOWN the gloomy hallway leading from his sleeping chamber, guided by the anemic yellow glow seeping from the parlor door. The stillness amplified every footfall, however lightly placed. His apprehension intensified every breath, however lightly drawn.
Cordelia had been asleep in the parlor when he crept into the abode late last night. He’d watched her for five minutes. Were it not for her chest rising and falling in fitful respirations, he could have mistaken her for a corpse.
He’d used all his restraint not to rush over and hold her, as any decent son might do, but the show of affection wouldn’t have done either of them any good. With any luck, he’d be on his way back to the Librarium before she awoke.
He edged by the parlor door and risked a glance inside.
Cordelia lay on the same divan, curled up on her right side. A single wall tile glowed near her head. Diluted yellow light spilled over the mourning shroud serving as a makeshift bedsheet.
Blunt pangs mauled Daoren’s heart. Cordelia had lost Mako and Lucien. Now his prolonged absences during the past few weeks had robbed her of him. Grief had drawn her into ever-murkier waters. She might never find her way back unless someone reached out to her.
He couldn’t be the one to reach out—not with one week left to go before his S.A.T. Any contact with her would lead to questions he couldn’t answer. The less his mother knew of his activities in the Void, the better.
Daoren slinked into the entry nave, keeping his movements slow and silent. He scooped grooll from the crystal urn, stuffing his waist pouch until its seams stretched.
Laoshi kept little grooll in the Temple and never ate. How he’d preserved his strength over these past weeks was a mystery. Rather than ebb, his vitality had increased by the day, and his intellect proved as keen as it was vast. The old Librarian’s knowledge of the grooll mill was encyclopedic; his tutelage clear, concise, and lightened with unexpected flashes of humor.
Heqet’s resolve had also surprised Daoren. Not once had she expressed worry or fear over the coming S.A.T. She possessed an inner strength that he’d never fully appreciated when she was seeing Mako, as well as a boundless capacity for absorbing technological knowledge and problem-solving. Laoshi hadn’t lied; she was as bright as cold-rolled crystal.
Survival Aptitude Test: Sound (The Extinction Odyssey Book 1) Page 17
