“And in many ways, unlike you. How many applications have you found of the universal wave function since the fall of your parent civilization?”
“Many.” It slowly craned its neck toward the nanoports, and the hybrid sphere on the capacitator plate suddenly turned into a pyramid. “As you can see.”
“And your purpose—ambition, apologies—is to find out… what, now?”
“The remaining data points,” said Savant. “There is an equation that connects all systems in this universe. The wave function is a variable, but there are more. There are phenomena that we cannot account for. Expansion of the universe, expansion of mass—”
Oh, dear.
Adrial, Leid, whoever; come in.
—Neither. I’ve been benched for the time-being. What is it?
Zira.
You already killed everyone on your hitlist?
—Not everyone.
We need to rescind our legacy code from Pedagogue. Or corrupt it, or whatever.
—This sounds like an Adrial task.
Then get him.
—I can’t. He broke something on the south wing of Enigmus during reconstruction, and I can hear Leid and him arguing in the courtyard. I’m not walking into that.
Oh, for Heaven’s sake. Can you have Pariah contact me as soon as possible? Like, right now?
—Yeah, give me a second.
“—that has made us understand there are other forces acting on our universe that are not part of wavelength function. Your transmission devices have provided evidence that there are other universes, or places of reality. There are many coordinates mapped into its scripts that do not exist here.”
I tried my very best not to look nervous. The information we had given Pedagogue as a peace offering contained our resonating frequency. While it didn’t blatantly display pieces of the wavelength functions of Avadara or alpha-Insipia, I had a strong feeling they could figure it out, given enough time.
Attica pinged me of an alert. Pedagogue was requesting a message transfer. The contract.
I left my seat, the chair clattering to its side, and unleashed a scythe. They had found my conscious stream wavelength. It was an obvious display of power, or even a threat. Either way, it would not stand.
Savant did nothing, only stared ahead.
“You are provoking me,” I said, near-whisper.
“We were optimizing the transfer process. To make things easier for you.”
“You breached my mainframe.”
“We did not breach it. We do not see it, and will not try. We only sent our agreement to your terms.”
I relaxed, but only a little. “It is common courtesy to ask for something so intimate.”
“We realize that now. We are sorry. This is why we require counsel by your organization.”
I refused the data transfer from my stream. “Do it the way we agreed, please.”
I was given another bead, sweated from the pyramid on the table. I wouldn’t absorb it yet. Not after everything I knew.
“Thank you,” I said, slipping it into the pocket of my coat. My scythe retracted and I used some of the chair to regenerate my hand as I set it back straight. Savant said nothing of my scythe or regeneration, but I was certain its nanoports and Pedagogue had noted all of it. “This session is concluded. I must return to my nerve-center to process your agreement to the terms. I will notify Pedagogue of the next session.”
“We are sorry, Scholar,” repeated Savant, and that made me pause at the door. “Please do not think ill of us.”
I looked quizzically at the shell. “You almost sound sincere.”
“We have learned that it is important to apologize to biotic sentience when there has been a mistake or misunderstanding. Do you accept our apology?”
“I do,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean my superiors will. Reservations need to be made with us, Savant. You do not enter someone’s house without asking permission or being invited. Consider that the first lesson, under contract.”
Savant slowly bowed its head toward the table. I didn’t know what this gesture meant, but it seemed submissive.
—Yahweh, what do you need?
Pariah had been a minute too late.
Nothing, anymore. Don’t worry about it.
I promptly left for Enigmus, not at all frightened of breaking up our Nobles’ skiff.
5
MEHRIT
“BACK SO SOON?” ASKED Ema when I appeared, damp and shivering, at the entrance of our dwelling. “It’s not even lunch time.”
I did not answer her at first, listening to the thunder of my heart in my ears, trying to keep an even face as I took another glimpse out at the row. No one had followed me.
“Mehrit, are you alright?” asked Ema, now inches from my back. I felt her fingers lightly squeeze my arm and I closed my eyes, sighing.
“Yes,” I said, turning around with the biggest, fakest smile I could make. Ema’s worry for me wafted like a foreboding cloud around my head. It had a smell—like ash and vinegar. Her halo was green, at least. Ever-devout, my mother. “The shop was empty. I was first in line.”
“Good, then you can help with the washing. How is Adella and Kwame? I did not see Adella at worship last evening.”
I flinched at the mentioning of them. Thankfully Ema’s back was turned while she spoke, gathering the dirty clothes that I would need to scrub. “They are well. Kwame says the shop was very busy yesterday.” I went back and forth on telling her about Adella’s proposal, but none of that seemed important anymore.
“Ema!” Biri tugged on my arm. “Ema, look!”
I looked down at him, shocked. He’d said three things. In a row. His happiness spiraled upward in golden smoke, filling my nose and head with childlike glee. But my son did not have a halo. Why?
Biri was pointing to the auto-rove candied yam vendor moving down the row. The rain had let up just a little, and the treats were protected under a thin, rubber umbrella. The smell of roasted syrup and starch floated through our dwelling, causing Ema to look over and frown with disapproval.
“Treats before lunch,” she said, shaking her head.
“We can buy one and save it for after,” I reasoned. Biri deserved a treat. He’d said three things in a row. “Do we have any more scrap?”
Ema went to fetch the scrap metal from the sack beneath my bed, still shaking her head. She never wanted to use them, yet our sack was still full of three-year old scraps from our shop. I sympathized with her; things weren’t as stable back when Ema was a girl. Every little thing was saved, to the point of causing fights between us over clutter.
I hurried over to the auto-rove and set the tin and copper chips into the dispensary. On the screen beside the dispensary, it showed the weight and the type of payment received. I was given two yams in wax paper on a tray of plastic for such a generous donation. There wasn’t anyone else in line on the row. I hoped the auto-rove’s owner would make enough today.
“Look, even one for you, Ema,” I teased, as Biri tried to grab the other off the plate. “No, widi, not until after lunch.”
But the everyday pleasantries were dampened when I noticed the bowl of protein flakes that Ema was processing on the table. They were usually white, slightly-clear. Now there looked to be some kind of sparkling powder on them, glinting against even the dimmest light of our kitchen overhang.
“What’s wrong with the food?” I asked, going over to the bowl to inspect the flakes.
“What do you mean?” asked Ema, frowning.
“The sparkly stuff,” I said, pointing. “Don’t you see it?”
Ema looked at the bowl, then at me. “Child, didn’t I tell you not to overwork yourself?”
My mother couldn’t see it. It was the eye.
I grabbed a handful of the flakes and let them run slowly through my fingers, trying to get a better glimpse of the shiny powder. But I never could see it properly. It almost appeared as if the shine was inside of the flakes.
“M
ehrit, did you even clean your hands?!” scolded Ema, shooing me away. “I left the washing by the entrance for you to do.”
Ignoring her, I unwrapped one of the steaming yams that I’d set on the countertop. It, too, was coated in a silvery shine. On a hunch I moved for the filtered water canister at the other side of the counter, pouring some into a cup. There was no shine to it.
I thought back to the lines of drones on the strange, fan-winged structure, carrying bags of flakes and roots to the camp. There was something in our food.
Pedagogue was putting something in our food.
“I have to go,” I said suddenly, moving to get my frock. “There’s something I forgot to do.”
“But—,”
“I’ll do the washing as soon as I get back,” I promised, kneeling and kissing Biri on the cheek. “I won’t be long. Save me lunch.”
Before Ema could protest again, I hurried out into the row.
*
Should I tell someone what Kwame did to my upgrade?
I should. That was the best thing to do. It would show Pedagogue that I had no part in whatever drama was unfolding behind the scenes. I lived a good life—a devout life. And now I even had some information about where the missing ingots from the despot had gone, and how they were being used.
But then, what would happen to Adella? She didn’t know what Kwame had done. Even I didn’t know what he’d really done. All I wanted was for Pedagogue to roll back the upgrade; fix my eye. Here in Wereda-19, the truth was too painful to see all the time.
These thoughts circled my mind, moving to the rapid beat of my feet hitting road as I followed the Vestal’s pathway to the Artifact. It was hard to catch my breath, but running untangled the nerves bunching up inside of me. Exhaustion kept me grounded, kept me even-minded. Everything else told me I was going mad.
It was midday, and when I reached the terrace where the Artifact lay framed by bordering street, the Vestals were knelt in rows before it, praying for our souls beneath the clay-colored sky. This was the worst time that I could have been here, but was also the only time. The eye had beckoned me to come; every part of my being told me I should be right here, right now.
I stood at the mouth of the terrace, in the middle of the road. The concurrent prayers murmured by the Vestals became one, and I could feel it in the core of my chest. Bystanders were scattered amid dwellings and store fronts, their halos all vibrating a beautiful shade of green. For the first time all day, I was awash with peace. The relief nearly made me sink to my knees beside the Vestals. But as I closed my eyes and began to offer prayers, the peace was ripped away by the image of Kwame’s cold, dead stare.
Die, you bitch.
Icy shocks charged down my spine, the sensation forcing me to gasp and open my eyes. Now the Artifact was blurry. Vibrating.
Never before had such a thing occurred, and it was not just me who was seeing it this time; the bystanders began crying out, some even calling for others inside the stores to come and look. The Vestals watched on reverently, their prayers growing louder. They thought this was their doing; a miracle.
They were not Eyes. They did not feel the danger. They did not see the red and blue sparks flying from the Artifact’s fuzzy surface.
My heart raced faster.
The Artifact vibrated faster.
The crowd began to cheer, some moving closer to the spectacle, hoping to bathe in God’s glow.
“No!” I screamed, reaching forward with my bionic arm, as if that movement alone could smack the crowd away.
A deafening crack shattered the air, the sound forcing me to crouch and close my eyes, with arms covering my head. There were a few seconds of silence, where I only heard my pounding heart.
Then, screams.
I opened my eyes and saw the horror in the terrace center. The Artifact had sprouted spikes, long enough to have impaled several of the closest Vestals and bystanders. The entire pyramidal surface was now covered in thorns. It hovered in the air, only a dozen inches from the ground, the spikes remaining still but the rest of it moving beneath, churning like stirred liquid.
At this moment I could think nothing, do nothing, only stare in awe and terror.
The other Vestals and bystanders began fleeing the scene. As all the commotion ensued, the Artifact pulled in its spines and returned to the ground, resuming normal structure. A dozen people lay dead or dying around it, blood pooling on the ground around them from puncture wounds.
Some of the people were brave enough to try to help the dying. Others knelt at their loved ones’ bodies, crying. Two Vestals remained on the sidelines. One of them was looking at me.
Their halo turned red.
What was happening?
Run, said my eye, although I had no idea why it thought I needed to. They’re coming, run.
I pulled the hood of the frock over my head and quickly vacated the terrace, trying to stop the tremors in my legs and arms. I repeated several mantras in shaky whispers to try to even out my breathing, all the while battling the urge to crumple and cry. I didn’t run, but walked, as drones began swarming from all locations around Wereda, toward the scene. They soared past me overhead, and there were too many people crowding the streets on the route from which I’d traveled. I detoured through another district, Reascent.
And that was when I remembered the Prisoner Eye’s home address.
*
I could still hear the aftermath of the Artifact’s ire from the heart of Reascent, two dozen rows over from the Vestals’ site of prayer. There were so many drones in the air that it looked as though a mean, black storm cloud hung, still and heavy, over Wereda’s center. I kept my head low, my heart steeled, as I moved up the incline of the walking path, avoiding the flocks of Reascent residents that took to the streets, wondering what had happened.
‘The Artifact killed the Vestals.’
‘Is God angry? What did they do? Have we done something wrong?’
‘All the blood in the streets, you should have seen it!’
I closed my eyes, ignoring the whispers of gossip that caught my ear; on permanent guard for a patrol drone to materialize and drag me back to that place of knives and fans. There was no reason for me to think this would happen, but the eye was telling me it could. It would.
But, why me?
What had I done?
My legs turned to wet clay. Instead of collapsing in the street and drawing attention to myself, I staggered into an alley and leaned against the wall—allowing myself to cry, finally.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I whispered to no one, to anyone.
And someone—something—responded, but not in any way that I imagined. My mind was given a zap, and then I was forced to recollect the horror at the Artifact.
The vibrations, the intensity, my heart.
My arm outstretched, mouth open in silent scream.
The spikes protracting, stopping only with my arm fully extended.
I’d done it. That was all me.
My legs surrendered, and I slid to the ground with a shaking hand across my mouth. My thoughts spun so fiercely that it made me dizzy, and I didn’t dare move until the streets were quiet and the sky changed from yellow to pink. I wobbled back into the street, the eye urging me to continue up the row. I was no longer a person in control of themselves, merely a doll tithed to the arm of a wily, illusory child, dragging me along behind them.
It led me to a neighborhood of circular dwellings, each covered by canvas rooftops. The architecture was that of the Ogkd’ii people; Wereda’s inhabitants often segregated themselves by tribe. Tribes had assimilated at different points of the camp’s establishment, resulting in interlinked pockets of unique culture, like a quilt made of different patchwork.
There was hardly anyone on the row, which was surprising, given the recent events. I followed the lines of dwellings around a curve, through a smaller side-row and into an alley. At the other side, I saw patrol drones hovering in front of the very place I’d c
ome to visit. I slid back out of view, pressing myself against the flimsy wall of a yurt. I heard someone washing dishes inside, and inched slightly away before they noticed my indention on their home.
Two women—one younger, one older—and two children were being dragged from their residence by three Eyes. I could not hear what the family was saying, but I knew enough from what they felt. Three of the four people in custody did not know what was happening to them, or why. The older woman, I had seen in the captive Eye’s memory. She knew.
For a moment I felt some vindication from what I witnessed. What the criminal Eye had done had not only slighted Pedagogue in some way, but also me. Their stolen ingots had been used to make tools to corrupt my upgrade. Why anyone would want to do that, I didn’t know. There was a reason, though. They’d held the ingot up to the Artifact with purposeful expressions.
The vindication left me when I watched the tear-stained faces of the children being placed into the patrol drone. The children, too? Why them? Was it because there would be no one to look after them once their family was gone?
Sensing something, one of the Eyes near the patrol drone turned and looked across the row. His eyes met mine. I knew that face.
Abel.
As soon as our gazes locked, a halo appeared over his head, rotating in a vibrant, red haze.
I stepped back, alarmed.
Abel’s face was creased with confusion. He was trying to remember where he’d seen me. And then he did. “Mehrit,” he called.
No, he was one of them. How many of them were there?
I turned and ran down the alley.
“Mehrit!” I heard him shout.
Abel’s voice was closer. He had taken chase.
He was taller and stronger, from his service in the mines. He caught up to me halfway down the next row. I was too tired to run any longer. He grabbed my arm, repeating my name, as I doubled over and coughed with exhaustion.
“Why are you running from me?” asked Abel.
I looked up at him, outraged. “What is happening? What are you doing with that family?”
Covenants: Savant (Hymn of the Multiverse Book 10) Page 5
