by Eden Wolfe
Cut from the same cloth.
He smiled. He had always felt the kinship between them, even if it was a near-ridiculous idea. He was her aide. He had complete faith in her.
He loved her.
He was convinced they came from the same original peoples, one of the boats which came over. It was the only explanation why his sequence didn’t degrade and why hers kept her so young.
Cut from the same cloth.
Built from the same wood.
A bird flew by, singing to its companion who awaited its arrival in the acacia in front of him.
Notes from the same song.
“What are you doing, Archer?”
The Commandante’s voice jerked him out of his romantic daydream.
He clumsily got to his feet.
“What is it, Irene? Why are you interrupting me?”
“Interrupting?”
The Commandante looked around at the trees, grass, birds. Archer fought the sense of shame. He had every right to remove himself for a while, to spend time in his thoughts. What he thought about was none of her business.
They stood, looking at one another, neither moving, neither breaking the silence.
Archer shifted his weight. The Commandante drew taller. He was sure she could smell his weakness.
“The Queen has called for you. And here you are, watching the sunset with the birds.”
“I was thinking.”
“Get to the Queen. I don’t care what you were doing.”
He wrapped his fingers around the edge of the door, opening it one inch at a time, waiting for her voice. Certainly, she knew he was there. She always knew.
“Come.”
He entered.
“Close the door.”
She was stretched out on the bed, the four wooden posts looking like a cell with invisible bars. One was cracked.
“Sit by me, Archer.”
He found a stool near the fireplace and brought it to her bedside.
“Hold my hand.”
He took her cool hand in his own. Her skin was always so soft. His had been rough since the day he’d been born. Large, rough hands. Hands made for agriculture, heavy lifting, physical work.
He’d never done a day of physical work in his life. He was the Queen’s aide. Her most beloved aide; he made sure everyone knew it.
“I will sleep, Archer.”
Sleep? Maeva doesn’t sleep.
“Everything is changing, Archer.”
She always knows my mind.
“Hold my hand until I awake.”
If I had any choice, I would hold it until the day I die.
Her eyes closed.
Her cheeks relaxed.
Archer sat at her bedside, her hand enveloped in his, until the dawn threatened to break.
10
Aria
Aria’s eyes settled on the black horizon. This was the best hour to practice collective thought, when the women of Gana had gone to bed and the only sounds were the pine trees rustling in the midnight wind.
She sat atop the tallest pine in her confinement area, the space allocated for her ‘privacy’ but which also served as her prison. More than twenty years, her prison.
If only she could be in the capital. Or even the Lakes Region. Or the Central Mass. If only she could truly spend time in communion with those who would become her people. Her blood called at her for it; she felt the longing to be connected with the rest of Lower Earth. It was a longing she'd felt most of her life. A deep-rooted knowledge that in her was the heartbeat of Lower Earth. The dreams of the settlers. The future of all women in her land.
The voices that hummed in her veins whispered words of transformation, dedication, and power. All that Aria would have when the throne was hers.
She inhaled deeply, letting the thoughts cast themselves away. Before the throne she had to sharpen her skills, and she couldn’t hear anything when her thoughts ran cycles through her mind. The voices hummed of all she’d ever dreamed, but if she was to master collective thought, she had to quiet them for a while.
She focused on the sensation of the air entering her nostrils, cool air that traveled down the back of her throat. Warmed air then mingled in her lungs. She felt all tension leave her body. She rested her hands on the branches beside her to stay stable.
She listened.
Breath. Breath and blood. Breath and blood and heartbeat. Heartbeats. Breath became breaths and slowly she connected into the sounds of the women who slept a few hundred feet away. Layer by layer, like a pebble in a pond, her consciousness rolled out in waves across them.
A woman started. Lightly choking on her own breath. Did she sense Aria’s consciousness? Aria reduced intensity and felt for a change. The woman’s heartbeat again slowed, steadied, and her breath became regular.
It could have been a coincidence. But perhaps not. Confirm historical references to collective awareness with Batrasa tomorrow.
She focused in on another woman in another hut. The woman’s breathing was labored. A wheeze emerging from between her lips, the sound grated on Aria’s ears.
Unnatural. She is in ill health.
Aria stayed with her, following the air in and out again, but the rhythm was disjointed. Blood tumbled awkwardly against its own nature through the woman’s veins.
Blood too slow, too poor, oxygen depleting.
Aria stood, surveying the area, trying to locate the hut where the sick woman lay.
Her eyes found it, more than three hundred feet from her location, just as the woman’s breathing stopped altogether.
Aria ran.
Long steps, steady steps, quick and sure, but urgent. Aria’s own heartbeat began to overtake the sound of the woman’s. She had little time. The woman’s heartbeat weakened with every second.
She burst into a hut and a woman screamed.
Aria ran through to the room at the back and threw open the door.
She covered the woman’s mouth with her own and began assisted breathing, chest compressions, monitoring the lungs, the blood, waiting for the beat of her heart to start again.
She continued. Worried voices rose around her. She heard them and filed the comments, but she had to stay focused on her mission.
The woman was young. She deserved to live. The doctor had not taken sufficient care.
Aria gave a breath, continued compressions, waited.
Then she heard it. Softer than a feather’s sound as it floated in the wind, the woman’s blood began to travel, taking oxygen, moving it forward, outward, across the woman’s body. There were women crying in the room. Aria knew Batrasa was there.
She placed her forehead on the woman’s forehead and whispered words, encouragement and praise, life-giving words, and the woman gasped. She took in a deep inhale and her eyes opened wide.
Aria nodded to the woman, stood, and walked out of the hut without a word.
She retook her perch on the pine tree’s peak and listened as the women spoke of Aria’s divine gifts.
Archer arrived two days later.
“My Aria,” he reached out his hands, enveloping hers within them.
“The Queen will have you torched if she hears you still calling me by that name.”
Archer pursed his lips. “She’s not here. For now, you remain my little Aria.”
Aria sighed. “Archer, you have habits that are entirely unsuitable for my eventual coronation.”
Archer’s face clouded over; Aria listened in. He had news. There would be no other reason for this reaction.
“Don’t wish the coronation sooner than it must be.”
Aria felt the heat rising from her core and inhaled deeply to keep it at bay.
“Don’t wish it sooner than it must be? What is that supposed to mean?”
“It doesn’t mean anything, Aria.” He touched her hair and she swatted his hand away.
“You take liberties, Archer. What have you told the Queen of my readiness for the throne?”
“I haven
’t said a thing. That’s not my place.”
His heart accelerates. His palms grow warm and wet.
“I don’t believe you.”
Archer looked away. “I have said nothing about you specifically, this I promise. But everything will change, Aria. Don’t you see that? This life will end-"
“And the life I was designed to lead will begin. Everything is headed in that direction. My isolation here, my preparation, mental, physical, it’s all for that moment.”
He knows more than he says.
Archer wet his lips and swallowed hard. He gave a sheepish smile. “Let’s just have a nice visit, how about that? Let’s go for a walk. Let’s discuss the different pines like we used to. The currents, the distance to the Forgotten Islands. Have you been since I last saw you?”
He tried to lead her by the shoulder, but Aria didn’t move.
“I think you should go, Archer.”
She saw panic in his eyes.
“No, no, Aria. Ariane. Listen to me.” He looked over his shoulder and took her a few steps further. “Word of your life-saving act reached Geb.”
“And?” Aria couldn’t contain herself. Finally, more was being known of her. The people’s consciousness more aware of her capabilities. Her love for them. Her people.
“And the Queen was pleased. I think she was. You know she’s impossible to read. But Aria, so much will change. Don’t wish for the throne, please just consider – "
“You’ve gone mad, Archer. Your words are nonsense to my ears. What omen are you trying to communicate here? Be straight with it or get out of my sight.”
“Aria.” He closed his eyes. “I look at you and I still see the child you were, though I know you are a woman now. I know your dedication, your commitment, your absolute blind belief in your takeover of the throne-"
He’s verging on heretical now. He’s desperate. I must hear what he’s not saying.
“-but be wary, my Aria. Be wary of false prophets and promises. I’ve been in the capital long enough to know you will have threats you cannot yet imagine.”
He fears for me. Is it as simple as that?
Archer touched her cheek gently and stepped away.
“I won’t stay. I can’t.” He again swallowed hard. “I see that it is me who must change, and not you. It’s not so easy, little Aria. I have become very set in my ways.”
Aria watched him walk away, out through the main square and out the entry gate to East Gana.
She turned and punched the pine tree.
There’s something he’s not saying, and I couldn’t get it out of him. Damn it. If I can’t get information from the man closest to me, then how can I possibly take the throne?
She ripped off a large branch from the tree and threw it like a javelin before sequestering herself in her hut in self-isolation.
Minimum of one week. I will fast and I will not sleep. I must hone my collective thought or I risk ruining the very thing I’ve prepared for my entire life.
11
Uma
There was always something missing inside her, Uma knew it but couldn’t put her finger on it. She was an expert on herself, her own code having been her research project in engineering school. Here she was, designed of the strongest elements, most likely to stand up against obsolete human instincts, and yet there was this sensation inside her.
A void. Something missing.
She knew it because of the dreams. Uma had always been a deep sleeper. It was the only way she knew how. She’d fall in deep to a different world for the hours it took for her brain to adequately rest, and then she'd pop awake, sometimes six hours, or on a rare occasion, seven hours later.
It took a significant event to disturb her pattern, but the dreams did it.
This morning she’d woken up in a sweat, the floating images of tearing clothing, and red satin, and touch, touch across her body, first of satin and then of skin. She had never touched satin, only seen it in the museum. None of the dreams made sense: skin touching skin and rolling across itself, opening and rolling, and pushing and falling, and then, like a smack across her face, she was awake. The dreams came only a few times a year, but the beads of sweat rolling down her back, her temples, the folds of her throat - she couldn't deny it and couldn't explain it.
Desire. It shouldn’t have been there. She knew well that sexual desire had been suppressed in her genetic code, just as it had been from all genotypes. That Directive had been in place for generations. It had been one of the first decisions when Central Tower recognized the certain death of men. Passion, yes. Dedication, yes. Even pleasure.
But sexual desire had been scrubbed clean. For obvious reasons.
"Damn it," she muttered, standing from her single bed. Stretching tall, Mary on the screen welcomed the new day.
"Lots of sunshine today in Geb!"
Uma didn't care.
“The Ministry of Reconciliation is preparing a very encouraging statement. I hope to share it with you in this evening’s address. Now I will allow the music of the harp to begin your day in peaceful tones.”
Eating, dressing, walking to Central Tower, she did it all in a daze, until Adam's voice snapped her out of it just in front of the Tower door.
"Uma! I’m glad I caught you before the review.” He stopped, perhaps seeing the look on her face. “Is this a bad time?”
"Yes and no."
Adam looked her up and down, "Rough night?"
"You could say that."
"Then this will cheer you up," Adam smiled, wide and bright, as was his way. "4880 was born healthy. And survived the initial stages of bonding, moving slowly to healthy detachment with no unexpected consequences."
"There are always consequences." Uma frowned; this was not a morning for experiments.
"Relax, relax," Adam continued, "It's good news, see? We anticipated issues with affection and independent thought, and we cut them off at the pass," Adam was demonstrating, acting out a kind of racecourse in front of her. He gently touched her arm and pulled her aside from the arriving colleagues. She wanted to recoil at the feeling of his hand, the madness of the dream rising up again, but she controlled herself.
"Uma, it worked."
She pulled her arm away, hoping it looked natural. "Well, that is a relief."
Adam laughed. "A major breakthrough and it's 'a relief'? You crack me up, Uma.” Adam then straightened, a look on his face like perhaps he realized he'd gone too far. "I'm ready to enact the next stage once you've reviewed the file, I've already posted it, but I think within the next ten or so days we should move into the testing phase. I’ll bring the report by your office later."
"Very well. I'll let you know when I'm ready."
Adam nodded, paused, and smiled at her before walking tall through the revolving glass Tower door.
A long leash, Uma thought as she watched him go. Give this man a long leash, the Queen had said. That's what he's got now.
She momentarily closed her eyes, inhaled deep, and straightened her back before marching into the Tower for Review Day.
Everywhere was a buzz. As Uma entered, she could hear the activity rushing around. She was both pleased by and suspicious of the commitment of her staff. But it was the monthly Review Day, of course, they would be putting on their best for her.
She paused a few paces from the doors and had a fleeting memory of the first time she walked through them.
Exams had just finished, and she'd done exceedingly well. The housemother had been bursting with pride, but for Uma, the exams were simply a means to an end. Central Tower had fascinated her for as long as she could remember seeing it. The sleek glass and rounded walls, how it penetrated into the sky. It wasn't until many years later she would know to call it the ultimate of phallic symbols, though no one knew exactly who had designed it.
"The Tower is one of the first post-Mist buildings to unite the peoples," the woman had said during the grade school tour. Only the fortress reaches taller than it, but that's because of the
city cliff. Central Tower is, in fact, the tallest structure completely built by human hands in Lower Earth."
It wasn't just the height of it that drew Uma in; it was what it stood for. No one questioned the announcements of Central Tower. It was the place where truth emerged, and all had to obey. Central Tower was the future, the place where all things were born.
The buzz of bodies rushing into the Tower brought her back into the present moment. With a deep breath, she clicked her heels into movement, putting on her best boss-smile to greet Security.
"Good morning, Ms. Uma." Jan Gillard was their top guard, and it wasn't hard to see why. She towered over everyone as Central Tower did across the city. She won the river swimming competitions year after year. And she was most committed to her job. The Gillard line was especially known for its physical superiority, large circulatory system, and powerful muscle regeneration.
Uma was one of the few who knew that Jan Gillard would likely not live past the age of thirty. Very few in the Gillard genetic line had surpassed it so far. Marion Gillard lived on, but in a sad state. A shocking thing, really, considering all she had done in the Queen’s Guard.
"Good morning, Jan. Anything to report?"
"No, ma'am. People have their heads down today. Do you know it's Review Day?" Jan smiled, a little too innocently.
Not the brightest line, Uma thought. Everyone knew that Uma was the one who established Review Days in the first place.
"Very good. Review Day, it is."
Jan gave a little laugh, pleased for having gotten the right answer when no question was asked. Uma took another deep breath and moved into the building.
Ground floor - logistics.
This won't take long.
"Ground floor report," she announced as she burst through the double doors, catching the workers by surprise. A collective light gasp and the Room Head was rushing forward with the mandatory papers showing accounts received, supply lines, alerts to potential power outages during anticipated rainstorms that week.
"Prepare the generators, make sure solar panels are covered twenty-four hours before the potential storms, not like the last-minute scrambling I saw you do last time. Understood?"
