by Stu Jones
“Let me stop you right there.” A deep breath in through my nose, the air cold and burning. Going to ignore that she called me a sarding zealot. “I don’t need a lecture on religion from a Soufreit.”
Anastasia crosses her arms and cocks her head. “You say the name of my people like we are not human. Like being wanderers and not having an enclave of our own makes us lesser. We are all creatures of Yeos. I may not be a Logosian, but I’d bet with that high-brow attitude, you are.”
“Okay,” Oksana interrupts. “We’re getting off track. I’d like to hear the message before you two go to pulling each other’s hair and scrambling around in the mud like a couple of rodents.”
Anastasia and I both turn, staring at the unamused elite. Graciles. I might still break her nose before the week is out. No one says anything for a while. I cast a glance at Ghofaun, who simply shakes his head. He knows better than to interject himself in this boiler pot.
We are still alone, but we can’t stand out here all day. My gaze falls back to Anastasia. She’s feisty, I’ll give her that. Question is, how did she end up with Demitri in the first place, and why were they in the Vapid?
“I don’t get it,” I start. “You say you know both Vedmak and Demitri, and your group was out on the road. If you really knew Vedmak, you’d be dead. What gives?”
A scowl darkens the woman’s features. “Vedmak kept me in chains for the last three years. Shackled naked in the dark, cowering in my fear and shame, never knowing when he’ll arrive to ...” She almost shakes with the words, her eyes welling up. “Demitri is the only reason I live at all. He fought Vedmak. For me.”
Oh, Demitri, no. A familiar pain stabs at my heart. Faruq and now this. What has become of my friends? Maybe if I’d found them sooner. If I had not given up.
“Well done, Mila,” Oksana says.
“Close your mouth, Gracile.” I hate myself enough already.
“Look,” Anastasia starts, wiping her face. “What’s past is prologue. Do you understand? It’s all part of Yeos’ plan.”
His plan. Does he truly have a plan for us? Am I part of it anymore?
“The Vardøger was headed somewhere,” Anastasia continues. “Demitri told me to find you.”
“So, she’s here. Spit it out already,” Oksana says.
Anastasia glares at haughty Oksana before continuing. “I didn’t understand it all. Demitri told me what’s happening is worse than the Gracile Leader’s plan. He said the Vardøger is creating an army of Graciles like him.”
“See,” Oksana says, looking to me. “Bad.”
“Wait, Vedmak is creating an army of Graciles with demons?” I ask.
Anastasia shrugs. “He said like him.”
“There aren’t enough adult Graciles to have an army that could take Etyom,” Oksana offers. “At least there weren’t before.”
“Is there a way for him to create new Graciles?” I ask.
“We used to grow new Graciles from gene maps. But all the lillipads came down, and likely destroyed the body farms,” Oksana says.
“Wouldn’t that take years?” I ask. “To grow a mature human, I mean.”
Oksana nods. “Yes, unless he’s found a way to accelerate it. Though I’m not a bioengineer. I don’t know how he’d do it.”
“We’ve got to stop him—”
“Wait,” Anastasia says. “There was one more thing.”
Oksana and I stare expectantly.
“Something about a VME?” the strange woman says, looking to us for recognition of the term.
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” I look to Oksana. The color is drained from her face. She understood all too well. “Well, what’s a VME?”
Oksana licks her lips and shakes her head as if making intricate calculations internally. “It’s complicated. I’ll try to explain this in a way you might understand.”
“Uh huh. Let’s have it.”
“A VME is a vacuum metastability event,” she says. “It’s a theory which suggests the universe exists in a fundamentally unstable state—that right now it’s teetering on the edge of stability. Some scientists once theorized that at a particular point, the universe will tip over the brink.”
“Okay, what the hell does that mean for us?” I ask.
“Well, when it happens, a bubble will appear. Think of it as an alternate universe. This alternate universe bubble will expand in all directions and wipe out everything it touches, destroying everything in our universe.”
You’ve got to be kidding. “And Vedmak is, what, going to initiate this?”
“Vedmak or the Vardøger, or whatever you want to call this lunatic, may not even know he’s doing it. Look, every time he creates a new clone, with the same abilities as Demitri’s—as you’ve explained them to me—it’s like making a crack in our universe. The more clones he creates, the more cracks until eventually the dimension or universe, from which this Vedmak comes, will come spilling into ours completely wiping it out.”
I’m having serious déjà vu here. First a black hole, now this? “Is it even possible?”
“Demitri seemed to think so.” Anastasia looks to me. “He was scared.”
“What would Vedmak need to be able to create enough clones to tip the balance?” I ask, turning to Oksana.
“To create an army of clones large and fast enough for Demitri to be worried about an imminent VME?” The Gracile blinks several times, again making rapid computations in her pretty head. “A lot of energy. Something like that would require a huge power source, but there’s nothing in Etyom that would be sufficient anymore. Nikolaj’s fusion reactors were destroyed.”
“When we were attacked in the Vapid, we were going to get something critical to continuing his work. He said it was in Vel,” Anastasia says.
My skin tingles. Pulling my sling bag around, I rifle through it, snatch out my PED and read Gil’s message again. I’d never responded to it. Sard. My eyes wide, I turn to Oksana. “Vel, Oksana.”
The Gracile stiffens with the terrible epiphany. “The nuclear stockpile. He could use it as a power source.”
Ghofaun touches my sleeve. “Mila, we have to get back and tell Bilgi and the others. Kapka may have wanted the nuclear stash, but if Vedmak has found it ...”
“We are all in grave danger,” Oksana says, her voice as thin as glass.
I hand my PED to Ghofaun. “Send an advance message to Bilgi for me. Tell him the basics and that we’re on our way back.”
Without a word, Ghofaun starts typing.
“Mila, you’ll need help. Scientific expertise for combating this, to be exact. Allow me to assist you,” Oksana says, this time with no air of superiority in her tone.
“Why would you want to help me, your majesty?”
The defiance returns to Oksana’s face. “How about I don’t trust the fate of the universe to a Robust?”
You can’t help but poke the bear, can you, Mila?
“And what about you?” the Gracile says, deflecting the tension to Anastasia.
The Soufreit shakes her head. “No. I can’t be part of this.”
“You can’t walk away now,” I say. “What about Demitri? If you cared for him at all, doesn’t he deserve to have the favor returned?”
Anastasia’s gaze softens, her eyes welling. I can’t tell if that’s fear of facing Vedmak again or guilt for abandoning Demitri.
Oksana doesn’t let the silence hang and opens her big mouth. “We can’t let you leave.”
“Let me?” Anastasia says, her face becoming a scowl. She turns, scanning the rolling hills of ice surrounding us. “Ussuri.”
A growl, deep and menacing, echoes from the hills around us. Every one of us locks in place.
My blood turns to ice. “What in creation was that?”
Oksana, half crouching, looks absolutely terrified. The Creed regiment stands ready, their glowing metallic plasma rifles primed.
“Lower your weapons. He was only answering me,” Anastasia says. “If h
e wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”
“What the hell is an Ussuri?” Oksana manages to squeak.
Anastasia stands proudly as a massive beast, auburn and black, slides from behind the snowdrift where it’s been observing us this whole time. “Why does everyone keep asking that? Ussuri is his name.”
Chapter Twenty-three
FARUQ
Dirty fingers push a piece of dry cake along the bottom of the bowl, soaking up the remnants of taji stew. My tongue tingles with the sudden rush of salted broth. This sludge is a cheap way to feed large groups of soldiers, but after so long with so little it’s nothing short of a feast. My stomach roils. Could easily eat eight bowls, only to throw it all up again. I set the dish aside and rub my distended belly.
This nauseated state isn’t helped by sitting in Kapka’s tent. Rugs and silks, bedding of the finest make, chains of pure gold, an antique set of Persian armor inset with silver and jewels. Who lives like this while others suffer? Is this my life now?
No, I am not Kapka. I am not a leader, good, evil or otherwise. Not even Ilah knows what I am.
Everything is changed. The clouded veil of youthful optimism that covered my eyes for so long has now fallen away to reveal the cruelty of this stone-gray world. It is an ugly truth hidden beneath the surface of Earth’s last city since the beginning: even together, we are all alone, encircled and tormented by our demons. What is there for me now? A traitorous murderer with no allegiance to anything or anyone, except my own vengeance. And now, even it has left me unfulfilled.
The burlap sack clinging to my shoulders itches and burns my skin yet is contrasted by the soft heavy-pile rug enveloping my torn and blistered feet. An open-mouthed spice jar smokes on the desk nearby, sending its aromas swirling with snaking tendrils into the air. Just next to it is a wash basin, hand mirror, and the golden revolver I’d used to kill Kapka. I stand, the muscles of my legs emaciated but feeling stronger after taking food.
Unable to take the itching any longer, I shed the burlap sack and drop it to the floor. My heart falters. That old sack, my only possession for the past four years might as well be my own skin. Can I cast it off so easily? Can I make this wretched person I’ve become not exist?
With a grunt, I kick it away and move with careful steps to the basin to start the process of sponging the filth from my paper-thin skin. It is a painstaking process, the lashes and sores covering my body a constant stinging reminder of the abuse—delivered by my own people.
A haggard, bearded man with stringy hair and black pits for eyes stares back from within the glass of the ornate mirror lying on the table. With a snarl, I rake everything to the floor, the various accouterments clattering and splashing as they fall.
This is not me. This cannot be who I’ve become.
The tent flap moves. An attendant enters, his head bowed.
“Shapur, are you well?”
Shapur. A name for a prince. After a moment, I find my voice. “Don’t call me that.”
“Yes Sha ... um. Yes. I understand. What would you have me call you?” The attendant, a boy no more than fifteen, rubs his hands nervously. He was one of the few who did not take up arms and thus was not slain.
I shrug. “I don’t care, boy.”
The attendant licks his lips. “Sheikh ... a message arrived from Baqir. Before his death, Kapka called for a troop of reinforcements. They are set to arrive in the morning. What will you have us do?”
My teeth ache as I mash them together. More of his faithful to overcome. My body wavers, still too weak to be much good to me. I must rest. Must think on how to deal with these fanatics. Perhaps they will be glad to be free of his tyranny. Perhaps they’ll murder me. “Leave me. I need time to rest,” I groan.
“Yes, Sheikh.”
“Dammit, boy. It’s Faruq.”
“Yes, Sheikh Faruq.”
“No, just ...”
The young man is gone.
“I’m just Faruq.”
I pick up the revolver and lie down on the bed. These plush quilts are made for entertaining whores. Too soft to be comfortable. But I can’t summon the strength to crawl to the floor where I might feel ... anything but this.
In the darkness, they appear—Mila, then Husniya, both staring with those horrible looks on their faces. I turned them away. After they came to rescue me. The only people who ever cared for me and I sent them away to die in the storm. Just like Kapka said, I’m less than a pile of sard.
My fingers clamp down the wheel gun resting on my chest. “No. They left me to die. They abandoned me. What do I still owe them?”
Four years of my life. Gone. Years of abuse and humiliation. A tear slips down my cheek, running back to pool in my ear. I survived it—my only furious purpose to kill the madman who had ruined my life, prostituted my people, and made a mockery of my faith. Now it is done, but the death of that tyrant brought me nothing. No satisfaction. No further relief. What is left for me in this ugly world? Or the next? Surely burning in the fires of hell would be better than living in this place another day.
Time to finish this and end this miserable existence.
The barrel is cold beneath the floor of my chin. I thumb back the hammer. Eyes wide, I scream out to Ilah. “Where are you now?”
My index finger lurches against the trigger. The hammer falls with a snap like the rending of a dead branch. Ftzzzz.
The revolver, still clutched in my shaking fist, slips from beneath my chin. A small tendril of smoke wafts from the cylinder. A misfire. A failed primer in an antique round. I moan, the reckless sobbing catching and gurgling in my throat as the pistol falls from my fingers to the floor. Fate dooms me to live out this failed existence. Warm tears of misery and hate run heedlessly from the corners of my bruised eyes until exhaustion, slow and creeping, has its inevitable way with me.
Chapter Twenty-four
MILA
Not a soul stirs along the windswept streets of this place, once so colorful and vibrant. Beyond the usual desolation, there is something else hidden, waiting. A shroud of death hangs over the enclave of Fiori. A long trail of steam huffs from my mouth. Ghofaun and Oksana are two steps behind, hunched and forlorn. Trailing us, the squad of Creed clumps and thumps along without a word. Other than the fading tracks in the snow, there has been no further sign of Husniya or Zaldov, the Creed soldier who had resolved to care for her.
I shake my head with a grunt. “Hey, Oksana. What are the chances Husniya is still alive after being left alone with that death bot of yours?”
“The girl is safer with him than with us,” the Gracile replies.
“Oh? How do you figure?” I glance at Ghofaun who meets my stare but remains silent.
“I told you. Zaldov is special.”
“You’re going to have to elaborate,” I say, trudging along.
Oksana gives a sigh an exasperated parent might give a question-asking toddler. “He’s not like any Creed you’ve ever known. Not even like these few, which are still highly advanced, I might add. He’s also equipped with a tracking beacon I can follow to assist in locating him.” She turns to the Creed behind her. “What is Zaldov’s location at present?”
“Zaldov. Location.” The nearest Creed soldier processes the information. “Northern Fiori enclave. Half kilometer radius of certainty.”
“See? They’re around here somewhere.”
“Half kilometer certainty? That’s not necessarily exact.”
She shrugs. “It’s something.”
“Okay, I’m game. So, what else makes him special?”
“He’s been modified.”
I slow, turning. Typical elitist responses. Why does she have to be so difficult? “If I’m going to have to pry the answers from you, forget I said anything.” I shake my head, turning forward again.
“Zaldov is unique because I fed him knowledge personally. Developed him myself to remind me of Nikolaj.”
“Oh,” I say. “I thought he looked familiar. You made him look like
Nikolaj too, didn’t you?”
There’s a hint of sadness in the Gracile’s face. “He is not Nikolaj, of course, but he does have my mate’s loyalty—his strongest trait.”
“I see, and you did this yourself?”
She gives a curt nod. “I have had an interest in cybernetics for a long time. That, combined with my advanced training in quantum biology, helped me to understand how to better engineer these Creed to be superior to any that came before them, to make than more ... human.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not,” I say, tucking my chin into my collar.
“It is a good thing. Though a machine, Zaldov’s AI becomes more human every day. The irony is he’s a better person than all of us. You’ll see.”
“If you say so.” I shake my head again. “Seems unnatural to me, but I guess I’ll give it—uh—him a pass. For now.”
We cross the empty market, which is unusually quiet and empty this time of day. Where is everybody?
A lone man appears from nowhere, bustles past, and tries to disappear just as quickly.
“Hey, friend? What’s the rush? Where is everybody?” I call after him.
“Ripper attack. They came last evening from the direction of Vel, while the market was still open. The guard couldn’t hold them off. Nobody wants to be out here anymore. Too dangerous,” he says, evidently not wanting to stop and talk.
“C’mon. Let’s get back to base and hope Husniya beat us there,” I say.
Oksana’s pace slows, her brow knitted as she surveys the rubble of a fallen lillipad.
“What is it?” I ask.
“This was HAP One. I used to spend a great deal of time in this one ... with my friends.”
There’s no question the Gracile’s wounds run deep. She turns to me, her eyes wet.
“I know you think of me as a typical cloud-dweller, haughty and entitled. But to have your whole world, everything you’ve ever known, literally come crashing down. To be one of the last of your kind in a world of chaos and fear and then find out one of your own is attempting to pervert what all Graciles worked so hard to perfect ... It’s not an easy pill to swallow.”
