Authors: Jaine Fenn
‘You’ve got it. Only . . .’ Taro had looked around the stark cabin of Device’s ship, the white monotony broken only by the body of the Gatekeeper’s avatar. ‘. . . I’m not sure what I can do for you just now.’
‘I have already said: you have to kill me.’ Taro had picked up some of the old impatience in Vy’s voice; then, more evenly, the avatar had explained, ‘We avatars are flesh-machine hybrids – mainly flesh, in my case – but the seat of my consciousness is technology, specifically, a small chip buried deep in my brainstem. I need you to remove that chip.’
And that meant removing the avatar’s head, Taro had guessed, which would leave Vy as he knew him well and truly dead.
And that, Taro suddenly realised as he recalled the conversation, was what Zhian had been pleased about –
that
was what’d been nagging him! When she’d first turned up, she’d asked if there were any other survivors, and when he’d said there weren’t, she’d been
relieved
. He’d be willing to bet she’d known Vy was with him; she was glad to find the alien avatar was dead – so did that mean she knew about Vy’s real mission? But she hadn’t searched him for the chip . . . Now he thought about it, she probably didn’t know shit about beacons and downloaded consciousnesses – why should she, unless her patron thought she needed to know? He’d probably just told her to make sure Khesh’s avatar didn’t get off CN-Dingy Shithole alive.
He had another worrying thought: why had Zhian only told him he was going to be reunited with Nual and Jarek after he’d been on board her ship for the best part of a day?
There was all sorts of smoky shit going on behind the scenes here, and all he could do was keep his eyes and ears open and act like he trusted his rescuers . . . until and unless it looked like they were about to fuck him over.
His musings were interrupted by the sound of someone coming into the bathing area. ‘Nearly done!’ he called, palming the chip again. The man and woman who came into the steamy room didn’t act the least bit embarrassed, and they were as polite as everyone else around here.
After he’d dried and dressed, he returned the chip to its hiding place, then made his way back to the canteen. The food dispensers didn’t appear to need any sort of cred or ID; the only problem was there wasn’t an obvious way to select what you wanted to eat.
Behind him a voice said, ‘Greetings, Taro.’
When he turned, he recognised the pilot from the shuttle. ‘Oh, hi, Trin,’ he said. ‘Any chance you could sort me a drink and maybe some food?’
‘Okay-aye.’
Trin was happy to help – and to chat. Taro suspected there weren’t many people of their age on the ship. But he was still wary, and if Taro strayed into difficult territory – questions about their sept, their tech, or their relationships with patrons – he smiled fixedly and said Taro would have to ask Zhian. And there were deeper differences: when Taro commented on the way patrons could order their ‘populace’ to do anything, up to and including topping themselves, Trin looked taken aback and said, ‘Statement: most never would practise such cruelty.’
Taro knew he should let it drop, but he hated the idea of being owned and controlled like that, even if your particular owner happened to be one of the reasonable ones. ‘Yeah, I’m sure your patron – whoever he is – is nice enough. You still have to do what he tells you, though!’
‘Okay-aye. Assertion: this is how our lives are, we would not want it any other way.’ Trin paused, then asked, ‘Query: how is it you manage to live without such certainty?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Clarification: we know where we stand. We know that in return for our loyalty, our patron will protect and defend us. Supposition: to be without that, without someone greater than you to look up to, must surely make you feel a bit . . . lost.’
Before Taro could work out what to say to that, Trin’s face took on an odd, vacant expression. Then his gaze focused and he said, ‘Interrupt, high priority: Zhian wishes to speak to you.’
‘Er, right. Where?’ Taro decided he had to get himself one of them invisible com implants.
‘Clarification: she is on her way here.’
When Zhian arrived a few minutes later Trin stood, waved farewell to Taro and walked off. Out of the corner of his eye, Taro saw the handful of other people in the room just happening to choose that moment to leave as well. Definitely smoky.
He looked at Zhian. Judging by her expression, Taro guessed that whatever she had to say wasn’t gonna brighten his day.
She stopped next to his seat and said, ‘Statement: I have news of your lover.’
‘My lover.’ Taro’s mind raced. Did they know about him and Nual? But they’d been so careful! ‘Who would that be?’ he said, fighting to keep his tone even.
‘Statement: we have been made aware of your relationship to the Sidhe female.’ She didn’t sound too happy about it.
‘Her name is Nual,’ said Taro slowly, ‘and if something’s happened to her I want to know, right now.’
‘Statement: she has been disappeared.’
‘What d’you mean, “been disappeared”? How can someone
be
disappeared?’ He could feel his stomach start to contract.
‘Clarification: perhaps a more appropriate term would be kidnapped.’
‘Shit and blood!’ That couldn’t be right – he was on his way to her; they were supposed to be together again, soon. ‘Do you know where she is?’ he asked desperately. If Zhian was telling him this, then perhaps she wasn’t his enemy.
‘Answer: she is still within the Consensus structure.’
‘So, what’re you –
we
– gonna do about it?’
‘Statement: be aware that her disappearance was sanctioned—’
‘What the fuck’s that mean? Sanctioned by wh—? Oh. You’re saying the males agreed to this, and you’re prepared to go against them?’ That didn’t sound likely: even the so-called ‘free humans’ jumped when their patron told them to.
‘Clarification: we have been informed that a majority in the Consensus recently approved the abduction of your lover.’
‘But not your patron, right?’
‘Assertion: our patron would never act directly against the Consensus. No sane patron would.’
Not when they can get expendable humans to do their dirty work for them.
‘So he’s going to turn a blind eye while we go in and get her out?’
‘Statement: my crew’s actions cannot be seen to reflect badly on our patron.’
‘I thought your stupid talk was meant to stop people misinterpreting each other, Zhian. Just tell me what the fuck’s going on here.’
Zhian paled; he probably shouldn’t have snapped.
‘Sorry, sorry, it’s just—’ He stopped, took a deep breath and said, more calmly, ‘So: what’s the plan? You do have a plan, don’t you?’
‘Statement: we have been instructed to put you in a position to rescue the Sidhe female.’
‘You seem pretty certain I’m going to just agree to—’ Taro searched for a polite way to say it, gave up, and concluded, ‘to jump straight into the shit.’
Zhian said frostily, ‘Statement: she is a female Sidhe, and you are her lover.’
‘Yeah,’ said Taro, ‘you got me there.’
‘Statement: we understand that her com is no longer active. However, we believe that you may have other, less orthodox means of getting in contact. Query: are you willing to employ them now?’
‘Whatever it takes.’ The ship was steaming in towards the Consensus; maybe he was close enough to pick up Nual’s mental signature. ‘I’ll need somewhere quiet.’
‘Query: would the medbay be suitable?’
‘Should be.’ Taro considered asking for drugs to get him into a more receptive state, then decided against it. Zhian was helping him because her patron’s agenda currently fitted with his; that didn’t mean he trusted her. He needed to stay sharp.
Even with the lights dimmed and Zhian’s assurance that he wouldn’t be disturbed it took Taro a while to get into anything like a trance.
Eventually he managed to achieve something resembling a calm and receptive state, but that was all it remained: a trance, of sorts. There was no hint of contact with Nual.
He mustn’t panic. Their long-distance communion only worked if they were both asleep or in a trance at the same time.
Zhian came back in as he was sitting up, but she stayed by the door. ‘Statement: I shall take you to the area of our ship analogous to a “bridge”,’ she said. Before, she’d been wary; now she was treating him like he might explode if she spooked him. He guessed that was ’cos he was a Sidhe’s lover – even if the Sidhe was a female Sidhe, the enemy – and that made him something more-than-human in her eyes.
His guess was confirmed by the reactions of the crew-members they passed. No more polite nods; now they looked awestruck.
Guess I’d act like that too
, he thought,
if someone had slept with one of my gods. Or devils.
The bridge had no obvious controls, just couches. Two of them were occupied by semi-comatose people.
As they came in one of them, a man, opened his eyes and sat up. He didn’t introduce himself, but watched them intensely. Taro looked between the man and Zhian. ‘So,’ he said uneasily, ‘what’s the plan?’
‘Statement: we will set up conditions that allow you to find and rescue Nual,’ said the man, as if he’d been part of the conversation from the beginning – and maybe he had been, given the way their tech worked.
‘From the Consensus? How big’s the place anyway?’
‘Answer: it is approximately twenty-two klicks across.’
‘So even if you manage to get me in there, how’m I gonna find her?’
The man said, ‘Answer: our patron has told us precisely where your lover is to be found.’
‘Then let’s go get her.’
Back in the bedroom, Ifanna used the chamber-pot, washed her hands and face, then searched the chests in the bedroom for more appropriate clothing than the barely decent tunic she was wearing. The woman who had once lived here was shorter and fatter than she; the skirt Ifanna chose ended some way above her ankles and the shirt needed a lot of tucking in. Ifanna looked for some perfume to disguise the musty odour of the clothes, but the only thing she found were a few old incense cones in a carved wooden box on the dresser, and their scent was all but gone.
She did wonder about lighting one anyway; it had been a long time since she had sent any offering save prayer up to the Mothers – and even prayers came hard now. The Mothers must know that she had gone against the decree of their Daughter, yet they had not punished her – so did that mean the Cariad was indeed false, and Ifanna had been right to disobey her? The priest’s reaction to her admission implied he already suspected as much . . .
But the Cariad was Creation’s link to Heaven, at once the pinnacle of earthly order and the will of the Skymothers made flesh. Without her, everything would fall apart . . . and that was what appeared to be happening – unless there was some higher purpose at work? What if the Cariad had
chosen
not to manifest her power in order that Ifanna
should
doubt, and, because of her doubt, run away? Yet why would she do that? Ifanna’s thoughts were tying themselves into knots; no wonder such questions were left to the priests. She put the carved box back.
She wandered the house for a while, trailing her hands over the possessions of the recently dead and peering through cracks in the shutters at the world outside. This should have been enough after being so long confined in her squalid cell, but Ifanna wanted more – besides, she had used all the water: she should fetch more. She peered through the crack in the shutter again to check no one was outside then picked up the jug and lifted the latch on the back door.
The yard, and the alley beyond, were empty. She looked around: the houses across the way were shuttered, or else showed open but empty windows. She could hear a mother scolding an errant child, and slightly off-key singing from another house further down the row. She spent a while examining the ordinariness of the world outside: the houses, with their red-brick walls and roofs of small blue tiles, the lines of bright washing, and the potted plants that enlivened the yards.
She was about to venture out when the door directly opposite opened; she stepped back hurriedly, pulling the door closed behind her. She must not be seen! And even that brief exposure to the sky had set her heart racing; she put the reaction down to being too used to having roof above her, rather than fear of the naked gaze of the Skymothers.
She returned to the parlour and sat down in the most comfortable chair. She was still thirsty, but while she had been imprisoned she had learned to put aside physical discomfort, taking refuge in memories and daydreams. Now she let her wandering mind alight on
Gwas
Maelgyn. She did not think of him as a priest – priests were cold, distant figures who preached and disapproved. Maelgyn treated her with care and consideration, and he listened to her. All he demanded was her honesty. And he had risked much for her. The thought that anyone should act so on her behalf was intoxicating.
Ifanna wondered how she could ever repay him . . . He was not so bad-looking; she had been unfair to think him ugly at their first meeting – a bald head covered in tattooed text was never flattering. And she thought he was attracted to her . . . He was a priest, and her powers would not work on him, which meant that if he
did
respond to her, it would not be because she had entrapped him. Such love would be something genuine; something precious. This was a man who might love her for herself.