Back | Next
Contents

CHAPTER 23


They got turned around a handful more times, but finally found their way to the designated meeting place. This section of the station leaned more toward what passed for entertainment—thudding rhythms spilled out of open doorways, advertisements increased in number and volume, and a fair portion of the passersby were in altered states of consciousness.

The bar they wanted was no hole in the station’s wall, but a three-story extravagance lined in living green vines that occasionally pulsed with blues and purples.

Entrances from other levels are staggered, not all in one place. How do they secure it?

“The vines. They’re programmed to do something besides add oxygen to the area.”

No spark of code that . . . hm, no. You’re right, there is something.

“See, humans can know things.”

My human can know things. And most of the Eights. The rest remain questionable.

“All right. We need the gray bar.” Talinn scanned the space—wide walkways with tables crisscrossed above her, all gleaming in flawlessly painted cautionary colors—bright oranges, yellows, and reds, precisely tinted to catch the eye. The walls, coated in the same elaborately twisted vines that draped around the entrance, flashed an occasional bright light, but were otherwise unmarked by the advertisements that filled the halls outside.

Tables of varying heights were scattered around the middle of the open area, curving booths tucked against the side walls, and in a seemingly random but aesthetically pleasing set of varying distances, bars studded the further back wall along every level a walkway touched.

The one on their level was staffed by one person, surrounded by lounging people in various states of dress, and had neatly ordered shelves of bright blue bottles arranged behind the people.

“The blue bar, I presume.”

You drank blue things once. Disgusting the next day.

“Disgusting that day, if you want to be particular about it.”

I am always particular.

Talinn smiled briefly, remembering how proud Medith had been for scavenging some sort of “new” liquor from the unadapted trainers’ barracks. Within minutes they’d all been sure the overly sweet swill had been purposely abandoned by humans with no control over their taste buds, and within hours, every one of them regretted the fact they’d ignored the warning taste and swallowed far too much of the liquid.

Fortunately or unfortunately, it had all come up again, and they’d scrubbed their own quarters with bleary eyes and pounding heads before anyone could see.

Bee had found it hilarious, and refused to temper her headache. Even now, Talinn’s tongue curled protectively, warding against the deceptively bright bottles ahead.

“Maybe the bottles are color coded, but the liquor is not.”

Maybe it doesn’t matter, because you’re here to meet with Other Breezy’s contact, not revisit old times.

“I’m allowed to be curious about the world, you rude creature.”

Not when it ends in vomit.

“Take that up with our designers.”

Oh, I mean to.

It took a few moments to locate the gray-bottled bar, which presumably was what they were looking for. Talinn’s attention kept snagging on an intricate hairstyle, or an elaborate outfit, or someone using their magnetic boots to walk up a wall—much more challenging in the gravity of a station than the free float of a ship.

The gray bar was relatively small, compared to its closer neighbors, and tucked into the furthest corner from the entrance Talinn had used. It gave her plenty of time to examine the clientele and décor, and she made a point to drift toward one area and another as she made her way through the bar. Unlike some of the places she’d passed, the music was low, and yet she heard little of anyone’s conversation spilling over.

White noise fields in the tables.

“Good for people who like their privacy.”

They serve food here, too. That pulled Talinn’s focus away from the cosmetic choices of the people around them toward the contents of their tables. Many of them were in fact eating, and were involved in conversations that required a lot of intent gestures, often punctuated with food on various utensils.

“Is there a smell field too?”

I still have your nose turned down. Did you want it back?

“I . . . no. Not until I get my hands on some noodles.” A cursory evaluation of the actual foodstuffs showed a disappointing lack of the dish, though she hadn’t expected quite so many varieties of food. Maybe it was presentation? There couldn’t be that many different edibles.

Two people, heads so close their cheeks touched, turned away from the gray bar as she approached, and she slid into the space they’d left behind.

“What can I get you?” The bartender was a woman about her own age, with curls like nothing Talinn had ever seen. Each was a different color than the ones around it, and the effect was lovely, if utterly distracting.

A rocker with a burnside twist.

“I remember the order,” she muttered only to Bee, then ordered aloud with a smile.

The other woman didn’t so much as blink, only dipped her chin and ducked below the counter for a moment. When she popped back up, she had a curved glass and a matte-gray bottle in her hands.

“Looks like I’m all out of burnside, friend. But if you’ll take these to the room right over there.” She extended the hand with the bottle, and Talinn followed the gesture. It took an eyeblink to register the faint outline of a door in the vinery between the gray bar and the larger red bar further down the wall. “They’ll get you all set up.”

“Thanks.” Talinn smiled again as she took the glass and bottle, though the expression faded the moment she turned around.

So efficient. How often do they do this?

“I’m more interested in what she did under the counter. Signal, you think? Warning?”

Other Us didn’t send us here for a trap.

“I didn’t say I thought it was a trap.”

It would have been much more logical to kill us at any of a hundred other points—

“Bee. I didn’t say I thought it was a trap. But I do think a code makes sense—the room is hard to see, but not impossible. I’m sure at least one drunken patron has tried to open it.”

Maybe it shocks them. Blood for the machine god!

“You aren’t very helpful.”

Not trying to be.

Talinn flicked her pinkie, the gesture mostly hidden by the bottle, but intent clear to the AI in her head. She tucked the glass into to crook of her arm, freeing her hand to open the door. While she may have hesitated before touching the panel to open it, it was only for the barest fraction of a second. As soon as her fingers brushed the panel, the door slid open without light or surge to send her to the machine god, and she stepped into a dimmer room.

The door shut the moment she cleared it, and she was left in a much smaller replica of the space she’d left behind, only done up in shades of black and white—including the vines.

Only one person was in the area, her back to the door, her hands busy in the plant life on the back wall. A shock of recognition ran through her, but Talinn couldn’t possibly know anyone on the station.

“Took your time.”

Her stomach twisted, and her mouth dried out so fast she couldn’t speak for a long moment. Bee made a single short, sharp noise. That voice—

Then the woman turned, and Talinn swallowed back a sound that might have been a laugh or something entirely else. Medith. But not their Medith—of course not their Medith.

Talinn blinked more than she should have had to, and swallowed again for good measure. “Maps were wrong, and the machine god took a sacrifice. It’s been a day.” Her voice emerged steady, calm. Not like her guts were considering crawling out of any exit port they could find.

“The machine god?” Medith smiled, and it was exactly Medith’s expression. On a face she’d never have, because it was an older version. Talinn wanted to hate her and hug her, the urges so equally, violently balanced she crossed her arms, almost dropped the glass from her elbow, and flailed a bit to get everything sorted into its proper place.

“Is it not an actual religion? There was a shop down on one of the public levels, had ports for its sign, knocked out a kid who touched the door.”

“The activist stall?” Medith rolled her eyes, and gestured at a table for them to sit. “They keep trying to put different programs into different people, say it’s the way to end the war.”

“Programs?” Talinn did sit, putting more effort than necessary into setting down the bottle and glass, and pulling out the fabric-covered chair. Better to study the details than look at Not Her Medith.

“The automated ones that run garbage chutes and lifts, and search for the best departure or docking times. Not intelligent, but good task completers.”

“And they’re . . . loading them into people’s brains?”

“There is no end to the weird things people do out here. To end the war, to make sure their side wins the war, to get rich, to get famous.” Medith shrugged and slid into a chair across from Talinn, propping her elbows on the table. “A few cycles ago the big rage was modifying their limbs with circuits and pistons and all sorts of things to ‘upgrade’ performance.”

Weird is definitely a word for it.

“Am I the first one here?”

“Cute. No, the rest are back there.” Medith gestured to the wall she’d been fiddling with, and though Talinn could find nothing obvious in the pattern of vines, she was sure there was another room behind this one. Nesting hiding places, maybe. “Had a thorough debrief or two.”

“Is this something you do often?”

“What? Move Eights around? Meet with absurdly young versions of my friends? Drink in a private room?” The woman cocked her head and widened her eyes.

“Medith.” That confused noise rose in her throat again, though this time Talinn was fairly sure it would be more laugh than scream. “How many of us are out there?”

“Oh, Talinn. You love asking the big questions—I can answer that any kind of way. How many Eights exist, across IDC and UCF? How many are read in to the reality of our situation? How many yous do I know?”

“All of those answers would be helpful.”

“I know.” Medith leaned across the table and patted her hand, then snatched up the bottle and twisted it open. The liquid she poured into the glass was pale gold instead of gray, and Bee hummed in disappointment.

Talinn picked up the glass but didn’t drink, and Medith took a swig directly from the bottle.

“So . . . you’re not answering any version of the question?”

“You’re my third Talinn.” Her smile twisted at the edges, not quite a frown but not entirely not, either. Talinn had never seen such an expression on her own Medith’s face. “Sort of.”

“Wha—”

“Anything else you should share from your encounter with Base Two?”

Talinn blinked three times before she wrangled her thoughts onto Medith’s track. “If you’ve already debriefed the others, they know what I know.”

Medith frowned. “We’re digging into message history, but can’t find a hint of how your Base Two could have known about any of this.” She stared somewhere over Talinn’s head, then her gaze snapped back to Talinn herself. “I’m sorry your Medith didn’t make it. She’s the only other one I’ve heard of who went base defense like I did.”

It shouldn’t have distracted her, but the open sincerity of the other woman’s face was so like her Medith she couldn’t help herself. “You ever steal blue liquor for your classmates and make them vomit?” Bug-eaten bar, making her nostalgic and morose.

Other Medith laughed. “No. I did balance ten shots on my arms for my Talinn to drink during our Pre-Assignment Games, and I’m pretty sure at least two of us threw up that night . . .” She shook her head, then lifted the bottle. “A toast to your Medith.”

This doesn’t seem like a good idea.

Talinn stared at the half-filled glass in front of her and sighed. It wasn’t, but staring at a slightly unfamiliar version of your dead friend’s face was an excellent reason to drink in said dead friend’s memory.

“To the ones we lose along the way.” She lifted the glass, tapped it to Medith’s bottle, and took a sip that quite easily became drinking the whole of it.

It didn’t burn like that long-ago blue liquor, but her chest flushed with pleasant warmth, and her mouth was left with a clean aftertaste.

“More?” Medith asked, holding out the bottle, and Talinn nodded without thinking.

Again—

“Not a good idea. I know.” She blew out her breath, then spoke normally, to Medith more than Bee. “If you won’t tell me anything more about all of this . . . will you at least tell me what’s next?”

“Next.” Medith drank again after refilling Talinn’s glass, then put the bottle on the table and rolled it between her hands. “Next you go somewhere else.”

“To the machine god? Another Spacie trip?”

“No.” The bottle made a surr-surr noise, grating against the table, and Talinn’s eyes were happy to leave Not Quite Medith’s face to focus on the movement. The liquid inside sloshed, the sound loud in their private room.

“So you’re not going to tell me anything at all, then? What’s the point of meeting with me?” The edges of her jaw ached, like she wanted to yawn. Or scream.

“Things changed since Talinn left and decided to send you here.”

“Your Talinn?” She pressed against the edge of her jaw, close to her ear, a failed attempt to ease the mounting pressure. The back of her throat tingled, and she swallowed against it.

“Yes.”

“What’s changed?”

“Base Two knowing too much. Then the IDC took all the planetary rings in Govlic. While you were en route. The defense arrays—”

“Switched loyalty. We were there—our Spacies probably brought you that update—”

“No.” Medith rolled the bottle faster. “It’s not just that. They’ve won the entirety of Govlic. The defense array in Exfora has gone silent, and UCF is about to take over the entirety of the jump point. We’re not sure what’s going to happen in this system.”

“It’s war though, Medith.” Talinn tore her gaze from the gray bottle’s movement. It was harder than it should have been. “That sort of thing happens all the time.”

“Fun fact: it doesn’t. Small wins, sure. A planet, a corner, a station, switching of a colony’s loyalties. But a whole system? An entire jump point? No.”

“That’s . . .” The word slowed on her tongue, and Talinn twitched her head to shake it loose. “Doesn’t—” That one didn’t move any better, tangling against her teeth.

Talinn . . . 

“But how—” Two that time, and both an effort.

Talinn.

The black and white around her intensified, crowding closer, and she blinked. Her eyelids moved off beat from the other, making the lighting uneven. No, there was something moving, in her peripheral, if she could move her head half an inch to the side, she could see.

Talinn!

More blackness than whiteness, taking over the sides of her vision, and that didn’t make sense, except . . . It did, because it was the vines. Where Medith had been working, when Talinn walked in. Those vines were shifting, moving toward her. To . . . 

“Med—” The word strangled itself, her lips barely moving. She strained to focus on her oldest friend—not her friend, but like her friend—

Medith smiled, stopped rolling the bottle. She laid one hand over Talinn’s, then tapped the other against the glass still clutched in Talinn’s grasp.

“Sorry, my sweet. We’re not sure what’s moving in the system, and it’s easier to move you unconscious. I bet Bee’s gonna say I told you so.”

Like I would do that as you pass—

Talinn’s vision fled before she could decide on outrage or laughter, and consciousness followed.


Back | Next
Framed