Static Ruin Read online

  I can’t tell if it’s a threat or a warning, but I ignore it either way.

  Ahead, two trees grow from the ground, ghost-eucalypts that twist around each other to form an arch. At the apex they break apart and spread like antlers reaching toward the earth overhead. Pale and I pass beneath and into Teo’s chamber.

  Within the sanctum the roof is open to the night sky, near-full moon edging across indigo. Flakes of ash drift through the gap, carried untold distances from the perennial fires that burn across the planet. Tree roots run thick through the walls, holding the earth in place as well as any man-made material would. There’s a rich smell of earth, the green scent of dirt and moss, the smell of a damp grave without the rot of a body.

  A man stands in the middle of the weakly lit space, hair in loose gray curls, long enough to rest on his shoulders. He stares at his open palm where a colossus moth rests, wings outspread, dim glow lighting his face from beneath.

  “Welcome, my children,” he says, without looking up. It’s a smooth voice, calm.

  “Do you even know who I am?”

  “Of course I do, daughter.” His eyes glint when they fall on mine, and he smiles warmly.

  “Mars,” Pale says, clutching tight to my arm, “I don’t like it here.” His eyes trace over the cavern, pupils shimmering with the reflected light of fireflies.

  “I won’t let anything happen,” I say softly. I pull my arm from Pale’s grip and step forward, holding a hand out so Pale knows to stay back.

  Teo watches me absently, his face calm.

  “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

  “We are not about death here,” he says, “we are about life. We come here to celebrate life, to . . . create it.”

  “Sure, create life then toss it aside. Sell it to the highest bidder. Let them turn children into fucking monsters.”

  The same smile again. “None of my children could be a monster.”

  I try to laugh, but it comes out like a cry. “Tell that to the people I killed, to their families,” I say, guttural thick, oddly painful after the high shriek of my laugh.

  I leave Pale behind and step closer, close enough to see the individual strands of his hair and the pattern drawn in the furry wings of the massive insect still resting on his hand, unperturbed by my approach.

  “Family is truly important. I was gifted with unconventional children, ones that I had a very deliberate hand in creating, rather than relying on the lottery of conception.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask with barely contained rage, as all the years of hurt and anguish bubble in my mind; gray matter humming, thoughts turning to violence.

  I cry again as anger sears through my mind. My thoughts strike out and dirt shakes loose from the wall behind him, but Teo doesn’t flinch.

  “What is—” I step forward and throw my arms out to shove him—physically—and stumble through empty air. Bright colors flare across my eyes, then I’m through him, through the hologram. Balance regained, I spin and Teo is there, smiling kindly, moth still resting in his hand.

  I walk through the hologram, throwing an arm out as if to push it aside but instead slamming the wall of Teo’s chapel with my mind, crashing a ton of dirt into the hallowed space. I hold out my hand and Pale grabs it, marching quick beside me as I storm out beneath the archway.

  Dehner’s honor guard has already formed up in front of their charge. I point a finger at Neer and yell, “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

  The guards raise their weapons and open fire.

  Their faces light up in split-second muzzle flash, handcannons booming loud in the confined space. I could have stopped them, could have tossed them aside before they fired—instead I flick my wrist and push the bullets aside, dense slugs peeling away to thud into the wall. A growl builds in the back of my throat, but in that moment Pale doesn’t hear it, he doesn’t know I’m ready to deal with the guards. He lashes out. The ground explodes beneath them, dirt, rocks, and people thrown high. One of the guards slams into the ceiling—something inside him snaps and he cries out in pain before he hits the dirt.

  Pale’s eyes roll back in his head, irises hidden. He crumples.

  I lift Neer from the ground, hand outstretched and twisted into a claw as I choke the life from the slimy shitstain disguised as a man.

  “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you,” I repeat, screaming. Through the film of tears Neer is little more than a white blur on black.

  “I can explain everything. I can tell you where he is,” Neer begs, choking the words out in a broken, slowing rhythm. His words mean nothing, less than nothing, but I let him go. He collapses to the ground, a sodden pile of robes and man gathered on the ground. I drop to my knees to hold gently onto Pale, seizing in the dirt.

  “Hey, hey, it’s me, I’m here, hey.” I keep crying, but it’s different now. The rage is gone, replaced by fear and something like love for the boy who’s shaking and hurt. “Pale, please, hey, it’s Mars. I’m here, okay?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Governor’s Residence is quiet. If Neer and his security officers followed me back inside, I didn’t notice them, my focus wholly on Pale.

  He lies on the mohair lounge, his head resting in my lap, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Ocho is a perfect circle on Pale’s belly, purring softly in her sleep.

  Dima approaches quietly with a small stack of clothing pressed to her chest, which she sets down on the couch beside me. “I found some clothes that should fit him—I noticed his were getting a little small.

  “How are you doing?” she asks Pale.

  He smiles but doesn’t speak.

  “Do you need anything? Water, food?”

  He nods, excited, but when Dima looks at me I only frown.

  “What happens next?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.” The man that Pale hurt, my attempt—and remaining desire—to harm Dehner. Things might have stalled with Pale’s seizure, but I’m still waiting for the storm to hit.

  “We’ll go for a walk and . . . talk it through.”

  She sounds calm, but I burst a message to Waren just in case; if we need to make a quick getaway, I want him ready.

  * * *

  It’s past dawn before we leave the residence, and sunlight falls in shafts through holes in the roof of earth over Sommer. A local could probably read the time from the angle of the sun, but I have no idea. My eyes ache with fatigue, black bags beneath them like I’ve taken a beating.

  It’s bright for a subterranean city, green-blue sky visible through the wide holes. These openings are lined with steel-retracted covers ready to extend over the gaps in case of a passing fire.

  Pale carries Ocho in his arms as we follow Dima down broad corridors. Townspeople whisper and stare, some openly, some subtly. At least here there’s a chance they’re talking about me in relation to Cilla or Marius, instead of all the dead on Seward: over three hundred thousand, according to imperial media.

  We stop in a wide town square, steel roof retracted, leaving the plaza open to the firmament. Each wall is dotted with tunnels, and I guess it’s a central node for Sommer. A fountain dominates the center of the space, a shallow pool with a statue of Marius standing in the center, the stone man surrounded by adoring stone children.

  In the far corner of the square, real children are gathered, overseen by three women around Dima’s age.

  “Where are we going?” I ask Dima.

  “That depends . . . on you.” She points to one tunnel. “I can take you to your ship right now and you can leave. Otherwise, if you promise to remain calm, I can take you to lunch with Neer. There is much for the two of you to discuss . . . if you can do so with civility.” She emphasizes this final word, letting it float through the gap between us and find its faults with me, with my violence and anger.

  “I’m not leaving without answers, without help for Pale.”

  “I understand that, but you must realize how
frightened Neer is.”

  I’ll give him something to be scared of.

  “I won’t apologize. I don’t appreciate being toyed with.”

  Dima sighs. “Come over here, I want to show you something.” She walks toward the class of children. Pale follows her immediately, then stops to look back at me. Alright, fine.

  Dima stands with her hands behind her back, admiring the students’ work. Boys and girls sit cross-legged in the shade of the reinforced earthen wall towering above them. Each one is painting a tree—black trunk and twisting branches, some with leaves in variegated green, others burning with watercolor flames. Every hand is empty, brushes clasped by their minds.

  “That’s incredible,” I say, and it comes out cynical and ironic, but I mean it. I can kill an army with my thoughts, but I’m not sure I could do this: the finesse needed for such fine line work, the gentle touch it would take to use the brushes without breaking them.

  I see Dima in the corner of my eye, watching me intently. She turns back to the children. “Neer was foolish to think Marius’s . . . avatar could deceive his own daughter. He shouldn’t have lied, but this is why he does it. Sommer is a safe place for people like us, for the children, and Neer will do whatever he can to keep it that way. We have to hide here, for our own safety, but if the people of Sommer know Marius is gone, they will search for him.

  “Out there . . . people only want us as weapons, but we can be more than that. We can teach the children to do more with their powers than kill.”

  It feels like an accusation, but when I look to Dima she’s smiling sweetly at one of the girls in the front row. Just my guilt manifesting.

  “Is that your daughter?” I ask.

  Dima nods. “We pass our gifts on. Some of our children are stronger, some weaker. Marius said that MEPHISTO . . . augmented you to boost your power. Without those augmentations our abilities aren’t suited to your scale of violence, but we . . . still need to teach the children to respect the power, and each other.”

  “Who else knows about you?” I ask. After I escaped their facility, MEPHISTO tracked me for seventeen standard years. And here’s a whole town of telekinetics, ready to be harvested for some new research program. Nausea churns my guts at the thought.

  “No one,” Dima says.

  “You think some cute kids will make me forget all the other shit? My dead mother in a creepy glass box, that hologram parading as my father? Where is he, really?”

  “That is what Neer would like to talk to you about.”

  “Fine,” I say with a sigh. “I’ll meet with him.”

  “Thank you, Mars. When you speak with Neer . . . remember that we need you. He might be too proud to admit it, but I’m not. Let’s go now.”

  She takes a step away, but I stay put. “How do they hold the brushes like that?”

  Dima chuckles. “Didn’t you pull a moon down from orbit?”

  “It was hollow, so it barely counts.”

  “How did you reach something so far away?”

  “I imagined it was close enough to grab.”

  “Right,” Dima says. “It’s a matter of perspective. If you imagine you’re holding something small and . . . awkward, that’s exactly what it will be.”

  Dima looks over the gathered children once more, her eyes pausing when they fall on her daughter. “You made things so much harder for them.”

  “I know,” I say. Add one more hurt to the fucking list.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I apologize for lying to you, Mariam,” Dehner says, face blank, no hint of remorse in his voice.

  I don’t bother to stifle a long yawn; it seems like the only response he deserves.

  “I was curious to see how the avatar system would react to someone who knew—who had history with your father. Obviously it was a mistake.”

  “You’d have been screwed if we were a hugging family,” I say flatly, and Dehner laughs.

  We’re sitting opposite each other at a large dining table, ghost-wood surface polished like a dull mirror. Dima is beside Dehner, and Pale sits opposite, devouring every plate of food that’s put in front of him—fuel for his next growth spurt. I don’t know how he compares to other boys his age, if being strapped into that weapon stunted his growth, but he looks happy. That’s got to count for something.

  He takes a shred of slow-cooked meat from his plate and feeds it to Ocho, sitting on his lap but hidden under the tablecloth. A smile briefly crosses my lips and for a moment I forget about Dehner and his muted reflection talking at me.

  “It’s a simple system, really,” Dehner continues, raising his voice to recapture my wandering attention. “A database containing everything he ever wrote, and every visual and audio recording we could find. It uses this information to generate new insights, answering any question as though it were Marius. It’s as accurate a distillation of his public persona as it is possible to create. I know it’s a deception, but the avatar gives people hope.”

  No one is their true self in writings, in interviews. Whoever my father really is, that avatar is nothing like him.

  “So, Marius is gone.” I stab a crisp piece of roast potato with my fork. I’m not hungry, but I eat it because I know I should be hungry. Just like I lie in the dark hating myself when I know I should sleep.

  Dehner puts his cutlery down and dabs his mouth with a cotton serviette before resting it gently beside his plate. “Yes.”

  I almost laugh, because of course it could never be simple.

  “The Hurtt Corporation contracted him to carry out some research. At the time we had just finished burying Sommer, and Sanderak was in dire economic straits. By taking the job your father was able to stabilize that situation.”

  “Must’ve been some contract.”

  “He was only to be gone for two years; it has now been almost five.”

  “I assume they’ve given you a reason for the delay?”

  “They say he’s too ill to travel.”

  “You haven’t been to see for yourself?”

  Dehner offers a wretched frown. “There is too much for me to do here.”

  I put my elbows on the table and drop my fork onto my plate where it clatters sharply. The room goes still at the sound, except for Pale who keeps eating.

  “And you waited until I arrived to do anything about it. Because who gives a fuck about the man when his image is enough to keep you in power.”

  “It’s not like—”

  “I know what’s happening here: you want to get rid of me before I disrupt your little Teo cult. Do they give a fuck about you now that I’m here?”

  He clears his throat, struggling to adjust his face back into a polite mask. “I worked beneath your father for years, but I won’t argue that your connection to Marius is greater than mine. You were his life’s work. All of the research he did here, all the early projects, all the women like Dima, were stepping stones he used to get to you. Everyone in Sommer, everyone on Sanderak, feels kinship with you, even if you don’t share it. You could take over as quickly as that.” Dehner clicks his fingers together and a maître d’ ducks his head in from the kitchen. Neer dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “That doesn’t change the fact that Marius is gone. Hurtt will not release him, or even provide us proof that he’s alive.”

  “You want me to go find out? The terrorist fugitive with a price on her head; real subtle.”

  Dehner frowns but stays quiet. I stare at him in silence, deciding how to play this.

  “I’ll find him,” I say. Before Dehner can sigh in relief, I add, “And then I’ll kill him.”

  “No no no no no no no,” Dehner begs, hands laid flat on the table and head pivoting from side to side. “Please, no. Don’t. Forget I asked; I’ll try another lawyer, or bounty hunter. I’ll try anything else. I thought you’d want him to be safe.”

  “He sold me to MEPHISTO when I was a fucking infant, Dehner.” It feels like Teo was father to all of fucking Sanderak, but he couldn’t do the same for
me and Sera.

  The waiter enters from the kitchen and pauses, the thick silence bringing a slight blush to his cheeks. He regains his composure and circles the table, dropping a dessert plate in front of Pale first.

  I hold Dehner’s gaze while the maître d’ serves the remaining plates. I still don’t trust Dehner, but now I can trust his motives. He wants me to bring Teo back—that much is true. He probably hopes I’ll raze Hurtt Corp to the ground while I’m at it; probably thinks he can point the human weapon at them. Depending on what I find there, he might be right.

  After the server has left the dining room, I say, “I’ll find him.”

  “But you just said—”

  I wave his words aside impatiently. “I’ll find Teo and do my best to bring him back alive, but that’s all I can promise. If he can’t help Pale—or won’t—my promise might not be worth much.”

  Dehner stammers again. Dima rests a hand on his arm, quieting him. “We have no other option, Neer. We just have to hope that . . . when Mars meets him, she sees that he is worth protecting, worth saving.”

  Dehner nods, staring darkly at me across the table. He sighs. “I will give you everything I have on Hurtt Corporation and Marius’s work for them.”

  “Upload it all to my ship.”

  I hate the idea of doing this weasel-faced fuck’s bidding, but part of me is eager to get moving again. The teeth-grinding anxiety of stasis is already creeping in, and we’ve only been here one night.

  A slice of pie oozing dark purple berries sits beside a large scoop of smoky-gray ice cream on the small plate in front of me. With my dessert fork I cut into each for a taste: tart sweet berries, buttery pastry, and cream. It’s delicious, but too rich. I see Pale watching me, his eyes flicking between my face and the dessert. I push the plate over and he grins.

  “We’ll go once Pale is finished,” I say. “I’d hate to keep father’s worshippers waiting any longer.”

  Dima opens her mouth to speak, but she’s cut off by the door from the foyer slamming open, rattling in its frame from the impact.