‘Where are we going?’
‘Trust goes both ways, dracossa.’
Ice-blue currents bolted from beneath her boots as Rashelind trailed Rorick down the expansive holo-crystal catwalk in the centre of the Hub. Each footstep made the crystal sing, so that a steady astral shimmer followed them across the midlevel of Aunolen.
This was the core of the city, where the esteri who managed to make something of themselves after the labour revolts constructed their homes and shops. Now, they constructed furniture and blankets and volts and who knew what else of recycled metals and plastics, and sold them along this strip to their own, and to the dracossi who dared venture down from the Lofts. Anything old and unused got transported down to Basal Ward, junk for less fortunate esteri to collect.
Dreams were sold here, too, of course, both the safe ones and the not-so-safe—where a person tripped so hard on a nightmare, they would walk that other reality until they destroyed their own. Rashelind knew it happened in the Lofts, too, but the Hub was fertile ground for creative esteri who held old grudges. This shimmering testimony to esteri ingenuity still bubbled with grief.
Rashelind had never spent any time in the Hub. Before her about-face, she would simply have programmed her service droid with her interests and sent it to pick up new items whenever she desired. Seeing this place from its broad catwalk was different than soaring past it on an aerial bobber. Holo-petals drooped, sweeping the banister on one side of the walkway. The fluted towers on either side shimmered with starlight and holograms, rippling, imposing golems in the night. Rashelind felt small in their company, dwarfed by their sleek, corporate skins and the eyes within.
There were others on the strip tonight, as there usually were. Esteri travelled in packs bundled in neon and Molder leathers, trading in whispers. An inebriated dracossus stumbled about with his holographic playmate. Varos and vezzes patrolled, and hovercams zipped past. The gentle sparkle of holo-crystal lit them all from beneath in rich cyan, and the world smelled of camphor and acedia.
Rashelind kept pace with Rorick, speaking as loudly as she dared. ‘I imagine you have a fair understanding of the digital barriers outside the city. Once we get in, I will also need your skills in finding her precise location. The Theamira are not kind to those they’ve seized, and despite being tech-averse, their cybersecurity is topnotch. I believe they use a variant of D4RK like us, but—.’
‘They don’t.’ Rorick cast a bemused glance her way. ‘Calm down. We need an inconspicuous way out of Aunolen first. Lucky for you, I know a droid. That’s why I asked you here.’
On the sixth moon—one day early. He had found a way into her personal comms at third moonset the previous evening, when she had been lying awake in her flat. The message was simple and left no return address.
Need to know if you’ve got the guts.
Hub, north side, by the volt shop. Tomorrow night. Third moonrise.
‘A droid?’ Rashelind grimaced.
‘Unlike you dracossi, we treat our machines as equals. It’s something you learn when you’re on the other side of things—you know, the bootlicking side.’
Rashelind blinked. The esterin certainly enjoyed being provocative, and that did at least provide suitable distraction from the worry constantly gnawing at her heart. She found a strange comfort in the way he moved, like he always knew what would be thrown at him. She was smart enough to know that this was pride, and that it came from a dark place, but she nevertheless wanted that surety, badly. No, needed it.
‘We gave you your freedom, and what did you do with it? Hung pictures of us bound and collared in your bars.’
Rorick grinned. ‘We’re free to be bitter too. You’d just best be happy we keep expressing that bitterness in art, rather than another revolt.’
‘Art?’ Rashelind mused, pushing aside mental images of dead dracossi on the steps of the Assembly House. ‘Is that what you call it?’
He laughed harder still and swept away from the catwalk, past a pair of esteri making eyes at each other in the entrance of a parts shop. Rashelind hopped from crystal to grey stone in a puff of astral shimmer and followed along a thin branch crawling between two towers. The way was nondescript but so narrow that they had to turn on their sides to squeeze through. The cool blackglass walls tapered to a point, until they were sandwiched between them, and then, by some miracle, Rashelind found herself standing in an abandoned intersection. How Rorick had made it, bulky as he was, she wasn’t sure.
Rashelind shivered, wishing she had worn more than a thin cloak over her vatricloth trousers and tunic, and peered around. Such an empty place, devoid of verts even. Hidden in plain sight, the path functioned well enough as a sanctuary for those who wished to be easily forgotten. The area could have been meant as a transportation route for droids, or it had simply been abandoned.
Rorick waited ahead, beckoning her to follow him over a short bridge that spanned a litter-strewn road far beneath. They strode in silence past two swaddled esteri sleeping against the blackglass of a building on the other side, before skirting right into another alleyway.
Halfway down the alleyway, they stopped before a door made of Hesperian wood—smooth and soft, rich, fine-lined, black-and-cinnamon in colour—and inlayed with delicately-ornamented silver wiring. Rashelind narrowed her eyes at a figure carved into the centre of the door. It joined with, but protruded distinctly from, the curving, knotted pattern running along the door’s perimeter. Rashelind thought it was a language, perhaps, with its odd curves and lines, but it was unlike any she had seen before—certainly not Logistical Thearisian.
Rorick relieved a pockethacker from his jacket, fiddling with it for a moment before tossing it on the entry, just below the carving. The metallic cube clicked thrice before letting out a long, low bleep. The door opened, and Rorick stepped back.
Rashelind eyed the pockethacker and Rorick clicked his mouth. ‘Designed it myself.’ He gestured inside. ‘After you, Leetie.’
Rashelind passed over the threshold cautiously, and found herself in a grand, dark hall, its walls peeling with paint, benches scattered all around. The windows were arched, stained emerald, sapphire, and gold… Untouched by anything electronic. The place was silent.
Rashelind halted in the entry. ‘This is a temple.’
Rorick grunted, locking the door with the cube before pocketing it once more. She started as he sidled around her. ‘When you gave us this part of this city, my people didn’t see any need for it. So, for the time being, it serves as my home. Until you hand over the keys to that nice Oasys property, that is. Which reminds me—I want two hundred digimarks upfront. You can pay me sometime before we leave, but we’re not leaving until I get paid.’
Noticing that she hadn’t yet moved, Rorick swiped his arm in a brusque, dramatic invitation to the stage set up in the centre of the temple. Rashelind started forward gingerly. ‘We shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. This is a place for Vashenric worship. Sanctified. It isn’t meant to be a hideout.’
‘If your Vashenra were concerned about my presence here, I’m sure they’d have kicked me out long ago,’ Rorick cooed. ‘In the meantime, you’ll pardon my blaspheming, Senator. I’m the one helping you, after all. Now, take a seat. I’ll be back in a moment.’
Rashelind released a sigh and plopped down upon an old pew three rows from the tri-circle stage. She watched him backtrack to a closed door to the far right of the entrance. As he vanished through it, she fought the shaking inside. The vibrating tightness in her muscles.
The hall was cooler than she would have expected. Even the wood upon which she sat was glacial. She ran her hand along it, feeling at the places where the coating was peeling off, and glanced around absently. Nearly every wall was covered in stained glass, tinting the interior of the temple in the greenish colours of some abandoned underwater castle. She imagined an enormous creature floating past one of the windows on the second level, a monster from one of those blue-green seas belonging to the west.
There were no sounds here, none of the low thrumming one grew accustomed to in a city where everything relied on digitech. But that was to be expected in a Vashenric temple. The dracossi religion strictly forbade technology of any sort in places of worship. It was useful and necessary in all other aspects of life, but in a place such as this, where one visited to commune with one’s gods, it was a burden.
Rashelind’s jaw went slack at the arresting dome of stained glass that made up the temple’s ceiling. Glistening evergreen, cerulean, turquoise, and celadon shielded them from the world outside. She could make out flecks of amethyst, zircon, and tangerine, too, and the longer she stared, the more mesmerized she became with the exquisite art. It was so reminiscent of Junel Molin Fo’s work, and the fact of it in this decrepit place disoriented her. Beautiful, but largely unappreciated. Buried away.
How long had it been since she had attempted to commune with the Vashenra? Would she ever speak with them again? Not now, certainly. Not after everything that had happened. What would she even say?
It had been exactly three cycles and two days since she had set foot in a temple. She had stopped attending services the day Molga left. It was so strange, to be seated here, in this vast place, with miraculous colour and light dripping down its crumbling walls, and to feel nothing of the same joy she used to feel. Her relationship with the gods had changed so much since Molga’s sequestration. She wondered if this broken place was not more indicative of her faith now than the pristine temples in the Lofts she used to frequent every night at first moonset.
There was movement to her right. Rorick approached, followed closely by what looked to be a dracossa child, no older than eight. Rashelind stood, observing the doll-like girl in her polka-dot frock, pastel cerulean curls tight about her head, falling to her shoulders. Her eyes were frozen lakes, turquoise speckled with snowdust, and they sparkled as she offered Rashelind a lovely grin.
Rorick cleared his throat, watching Rashelind intently. ‘This is Moon-Raiser.’
‘Moon-Raiser?’ Rashelind murmured, bewildered. Then it dawned upon her, and her shocked gaze snapped to Rorick’s. ‘This girl is a droid?’
‘Told you so,’ Moon-Raiser tittered at Rorick. Though her tone was tart, her voice was as sweet as a Tarelov cake. Rashelind stayed impeccably still as the droid stepped forward, tucked her hands behind her back, and raised her gaze to Rashelind’s. ‘Until six rotations ago, I was the property of a dracossi family in the Oasys. The mother could not conceive, and so they had me specially made. I was tossed out during the labour revolts, and Rorick found me in pieces in the Molderlands. He put me together, enhanced me, and then brought me to this temple. I’ve lived here since.’
Rorick winked at Rashelind. ‘I bring her spare components when she needs them.’
Rashelind glanced between Moon-Raiser and Rorick. ‘And this… droid?… is supposed to get us out of the city?’
‘She can and she will,’ Rorick asserted.
‘It’s a child!’ Rashelind burst at Rorick, incredulous.
‘Only because I’m designed that way,’ retorted Moon-Raiser.
‘It shouldn’t be in this temple,’ she muttered.
‘I know what I’m doing,’ intoned Rorick, retrieving another e-cig from his jacket. He placed it between his teeth and added, ‘It’s why you came to me. P.S.—she can pack a punch, so we’ll have an adorable little killing machine to keep us safe all the way to Sefos. You’re welcome.’
She tore her gaze from Rorick and peered at Moon-Raiser. The droid raised her cerulean brows and gave a honeyed chuckle. ‘My dracossa mother was just as distrustful as you, Senator Oreli.’
The silence of the temple shrouded them, and Rashelind had a thought she had never had before: she was alone, and very helpless, and every decision henceforth mattered.
‘Forgive me.’ She cleared her throat, trying her best to wade through her wariness. ‘Please, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve never seen a droid quite like you before. And I am—I am rather anxious about getting to Sefos.’
The droid took her hand and smiled up at her. ‘To see your sister again.’
So Rorick had filled her in. For the life of her, looking into those eyes just then, Rashelind couldn’t help but return her smile. ‘Call me Rashelind.’
‘Rashelind,’ repeated Moon-Raiser with a nod, not letting go of her hand. ‘Mind if I give you a quick scan? Rorick tells me you’re a little bit crazy.’
Rashelind cast an irritated glance at Rorick, who offered an unrelenting stare in return, before tipping her head to the droid. ‘I suppose he’s a little bit correct.’
She initiated the scan, the only tell a flicker of light in her eyes. She hummed a little tune as she did so, and then said, ‘You are on a watchlist. You have been since the trial.’
Rashelind nodded. It didn’t surprise her. Rorick leaned against a pew, watching her intently.
Moon-Raiser buzzed. ‘You must know already that you will not be able to leave the city through the gateways, lest you wish to be caught by the jenas. Even if we modified your physical appearance, one scan and they would be able to tell who you are.’
‘That’s why I came to your—,’ Rashelind turned her attention to Rorick. ‘What are you to her?’
‘Dad. Dad works,’ said Moon-Raiser, and Rashelind found great joy in the warmth that rose to Rorick’s temples. This was an interesting turn of events.
‘She has a bobber,’ offered Rorick, face now clouded behind the smoke from the e-cig dangling from his mouth. Lucky for him.
‘I told you,’ Rashelind eyed him. ‘It’s parked in Dos and has been for nearly a rotation now. Forty atrelons south of Aunolen. Please don’t smoke in a Vashenric temple.’
Rorick blew a puff of smoke in her direction before stuffing the e-cig back into his jacket.
‘Could you convince your senate friends to let you out? Valerine seems to like you,’ said Rorick. He had done some homework since they had chatted previously. ‘Perhaps you have some political reason for being in Dos this time of rotation.’
‘No one goes to Dos for political reasons,’ she replied. Rorick glared at her, and she added, ‘No. I can’t ask them to help me. Didn’t you ask me here because you had a plan?’
‘I understand senators aren’t typically allowed out of the city nowadays,’ he pressed. ‘But you’ve got some clout. Surely, if you said it was just a day trip—.’
Rashelind shook her head. ‘Gods. No. It wouldn’t work. They don’t trust me. Varland, I thought you said you had a plan.’
Concern laced Moon-Raiser’s youthful brow, and she pointedly released Rashelind’s hand. Evidently the scan was complete. ‘Your cortisol, insulin, and dopamine levels are high.’
Rashelind sulked.
The droid swept her big lashes to Rorick, who appeared deep in thought. ‘One moment,’ she said, digital shimmers in her eyes. Seven seconds later, she shuddered to life again. ‘Discord in the senate triggered by Oreli Molga’s trial and subsequent sequestration.’ Rashelind covertly clenched her fists at her sides as Moon-Raiser shrugged at Rorick. ‘She’s had a rough time of late. No point in pursuing that end.’
‘What did—how did—?’ Rashelind gaped.
‘I tapped into RSE comms. My enhancements.’ Moon-Raiser added with a wink too much like Rorick’s by way of explanation, then pressed on, ignoring Rashelind’s disbelief. ‘Bobbers are not an option, anyway. Except for the rare custom model, most bobbers and volts have trackers. And transport bobbers require e-tat scans.’ She locked eyes with Rorick. ‘We will have to make at least part of our way to Sefos on foot.’
Rashelind watched the droid’s eyes twinkle again as Moon-Raiser presumably searched her database—or a database, anyway. If Rorick had in fact been able to get her access to RSE files, then he was the real deal. And it seemed as if he had. She was aware of the comms that had been sent about her since Molga had been taken. Aware that her position in the senate was tenuous at best.
It hadn’t been a half-cycle after Molga was taken that Aor Quen started to question, publicly, Rashelind’s mental aptitude. Dropping media quotes, making snide comments at meetings… In some futile attempt to protect her, Evera blamed it on Rashelind’s age. At twenty-eight rotations, she was the youngest senator Thearis had seen since the Before. Age had very little to do with it, of course. It rarely did, where the Theamira were concerned. Even Aor knew better.
Rorick nodded, rolling his tongue around in his mouth. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘No vehicles. At least not yet. Kroshvk.’
Moon-Raiser scratched her chin. ‘Apologies for all this. Rorick wanted to exhaust options before committing to the plan. See, we were thinking of using a hover-system over the byway, then over the wall, but that would inevitably activate the city boundary sensors and garner the attention of all the varos and jenas within ten atrelons.’
‘We might be able to ride it out for awhile,’ Rorick sniffed, ‘but hovers don’t have that much juice. Still, it would do the job.’
Moon-Raiser nodded, tapping her foot. ‘So, in the interest of getting the job done and not setting off any alarms, we settled on something else. Something unprecedented.’
Rashelind glanced between the two of them. The vast space seemed to expand further in that instant, but she thought she felt it—that strange, warm little feeling inside her heart that urged her to trust. Trust. All would be well.
‘I suggested we simply jump from somewhere else.’ Rorick offered a smug grin.
Rashelind shook her head at Rorick, utterly lost. He considered her a moment before pushing off the pew, cocking his head for her to follow. ‘Easier to show you.’