Fall of the Iron Gods, page 6
No pressure. “Understood.”
“Head down, soldier. Let’s give your sister a hero’s welcome.”
The control room is buzzing with excitement from the most recent mission to the Narrows. Ferric and Poonam Auntie gather around the large table with Commander Luz. They’re telling stories about the Narrows to a small group of techs. Commander Decker arrives with Bastian. Synch enters the room, and all eyes turn toward him. General Shankar and I linger in the back. The news of a spy in our midst clouds my joy.
All the doubt and worry leaves my mind: Taru. She enters the room looking sharp in her jumpsuit, sleek black nylon with gray reinforced seams. We applaud and cheer. Her pant legs are unzipped up to the knees, showing off her replacements. She never did like the sound of fabric against her metal, and I don’t blame her one bit. Her new legs are shiny, chrome, curved, like she’s ready to pounce any minute. The replacements have made her taller too, something she reminds me of every chance she gets. I’m thankful she’s no longer in pain, and she doesn’t have to worry about her legs failing her with every step she takes.
Our bodies are memories. Injuries and aches and joys are written in our movements. We are accustomed to each moan and creek, like the quirks of an old house. Taru getting the chance to step out without the past for the first time in her life brings me more joy than I can express. Which is why I encouraged this mission. She needed it. My opti-link reads her body temperature and heart rate. She’s calm, in control.
“We’re happy to have you back,” Synch says. Emphasis on “we,” and I love his lack of doubt. He’s been our go-between.
“Happy to be back. I’m sure some people are still not pleased about me going on this mission in the first place. But I was ready.” Taru sets her shoulders and puts her hand on her hip.
Taru hasn’t spoken a real word to me since we got to the Northern Fort. Small meaningless sentences, sure, but nothing true. She’s still upset about how I changed her medical records. The last battle on the offsite injured her emotionally and physically. Masiji’s death and witnessing me without my arm must have scarred her. But we are family, and there’s nowhere to hide here in the fort. All I can do is wait. Synch has coached me to be subtle. Don’t push. Be kind. Basically, don’t be me.
Synch shoves me gently, so I say, “I am thrilled for you, Taru. I wish I could have been there with you.”
“You just didn’t want me to go without you,” she says.
“Ferric might be a goof, but he’s a damn good shot.” And if he screwed up, he’d answer to my fist. My hand tenses. “I wanted to go.”
Taru looks me directly in the eye and scowls. Damn.
Synch’s hand slips into mine.
“The General has me running circles around myself.” Of course I want to head back into Central and tear Solace apart from the inside out. The cost of the SynGen is too great. I’m a weapon, not a person, and now I have to do god knows what to keep my place here. Sit through boring meetings with General Shankar and Poonam Auntie and the rest of the team, review security surveillance updates, wonder who among us is a double agent.
Synch smiles at me like it’s all good. He’s so nice, gorgeous, and kind, and smells like a goddamn summer day, a day in weather that probably doesn’t even exist on this planet anymore. And he loves me, the dung pile of drama that I am.
General Shankar points to Taru and Ferric. “Okay, let’s begin the debrief.”
“We landed in zero visibility on unstable ground,” Taru begins.
Ferric jumps in, “We walked half a click due east of our landing, located The Mechanic’s workshop and dug one and a half meters.”
Taru continues, “I emptied the safe. Then we heard the sound of metal moving, screeching, and I . . . I knew.”
“Mecha?” I ask. The pain on her face tells me everything.
She looks up startled, then nods solemnly. “And a new type of guardian. We took aim and fired at the ground under the mecha’s feet.”
“It was nicely done,” says Commander Luz, “but it was close. The South Asian Province has new mech suits. Did you get a scan, Taru?”
“Yes, we captured its image for analysis,” she says. “I can say for certain it was not a C.O.R.E suit. It was . . . different, powered up.”
Poonam Auntie pores over the contents from the retrieval mission spread out in the center of the table. Notebooks, microdrives, a smattering of items that could hold secrets to Solace. “Ashiva, work with the Tech Crew on these materials. Find out if The Mechanic left us any clues. Hopefully we can connect this with the other Solace intel we have from the other Provinces.”
I take a step forward and nod. Taru doesn’t even look at me. “I’m glad you’re back, sister.”
Taru stiffens. “Thanks,” is all she says.
Bastian chimes in. “I know you’ve already decontaminated, but be sure to leave your gear in the clean lab. We don’t want one single nanotech bug or tracking virus inside this fort. Got it? I’m taking the materials to tech for analysis.” Could Bastian be the spy? He has his hands in everything.
Ferric and Taru agree. She’s holding something back, though.
Taru punches Ferric in the arm. “Let’s get some food, brother. I’m starving.”
When she leaves, I realize there are emotions more excruciating than physical pain. Will she ever let me back in?
6//TARU
Old habits are like chains: hard to break. The makeshift nursery in the Northern Fort is my chosen seva. The children we carried directly out of hell from their glass cages and nightmarish tests will never completely heal. In their faces, my past is reflected. If only there was a treatment to help them forget. Hardships written on their bodies, bones, DNA. That’s the worst part. The ghost of their trauma sleeps inside their marrow and will haunt them one day, just like mine follows me.
Jasmine and I sit with the little ones. The annex of the aeroponic growing room of the fort is moist, warm, and makes for a perfect converted nursery for the children. The older kids take turns visiting, feeding the infants, and best of all, joining in during story time. They’ll soon be sent to adoptive families along the Neo Silk Roads, like the others before them. Without Masiji’s orphanage and school to train and care for orphaned children, we don’t know what their fate will be. All we can do is hope. But I wonder how this will impact the Red Hand, at least in our Province. Without a system building future recruits and a social net for children, countless more will suffer.
The little ones settle onto their soft mats, and all eyes are on me. I clear my throat. “When we were between our lessons, Masiji, the fierce Mechanic of the Narrows, would tell me and the other children a story about a raven.
“There was a great deluge that drowned many animals, except for the flying ones. Then an endless drought fell upon the land. The raven flew high above in search of water, but all she could see forever were salted oceans and parched earth. Thirst rose inside her like a demon, making her delirious.
“Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shiny vessel, a pitcher of water that must have been forgotten by humans as they fled the barren land. The raven dove toward the vessel, thirst driving her nearly to madness. But she couldn’t get her head inside, as the pitcher’s neck was too narrow. Afraid she would spill the bounty, she searched for tools.
“First, she dipped a stick into the water, but it did nothing but dirty the water. Then, she tried a dried leaf, but it just floated like a raft on the surface. Finally, settling on small, round pebbles, she dropped them in gently. One by one, over many days, she dropped pebbles into the pitcher, until the water rose high to the top, and the raven could finally drink.”
Some children clap, some are lulled to sleep by my words, and others ignore the story altogether.
“Taruji?” A little girl of about five raises her hand.
“Yes, baby, what is it?”
“Why didn’t the raven just go to a chug-chug line for water?”
I sigh. “In this story, there are no chug-chugs like we had in the Narrows.”
“Why not?” The children perk up at hearing the name for the familiar water machines.
“This is a folktale, fiction,” Jasmine says as she braids her long hair into one long plait.
The girl scrunches her nose. “A good story would have chug-chugs. And it would be true.”
“Yeah, I miss the chug-chugs. And mommy.” A little boy says with a yawn.
“I know, baby. We all miss something and someone,” I say.
Jasmine takes my hand and holds it for a moment. We stare at the quiet room, memories too big to contain in our bodies begging to be released. Is she thinking about the offsite tests and the machines they used to sequence our genes or inject us with strains of the Fever? I wonder about her life before the offsite, but we’ve never talked about it. Acknowledging there was a before makes the aftermath even worse. I daydream about what we’d be like if we had met under different circumstances. Would we be more than just close friends? Time continues to propel us forward, but the trauma is always one step behind. It’s much easier to pretend we’ve always been right here, standing in this doorway side by side.
Memories are no good.
One day, I’d love to meet someone who doesn’t know my past. A stranger who takes me in as a complete person standing before them, as is, without missing pieces.
“Catch you tomorrow, Jasmine.”
“Sure, okay.” She holds my hand again and then lets it go.
I wait until everyone is asleep before sneaking out of my room. The lights blink awake as I pass the motion sensors in the hall. If someone finds me alone in the clean lab without a scientist, I’d be reprimanded for breaking protocol. There’s already distrust among the crews. Some think the Narrows kids are all working for Central; others are convinced Synch is the villain.
When I enter the lab the dim safety lights illuminate. It’s quiet aside from the rumbling machines researchers use to run experiments. The scientists are working on survival tech, food production, and neutralizing the effects of radiation from nuclear war. And there it is: my pack in a bin, with an orange tag on the strap showing it passed decontamination.
I take my time opening it. The smell of the sea, ripe with metal and salt, surrounds me, and all at once, my childhood pours into the room like I’ve been yanked into virtual reality. Every sensation is heavy with longing and pain. Memories cascade over me: training with the Red Hand, replacement surgery, playing flash with my mates, tossing rocks into the ocean, finding scraps of seashells to make buttons. The ocean reflecting scorching sun onto my sunburnt skin. Though the Narrows was perilous, some part of me misses it, longs for it. The fort is deprived of nature and a sense of time. It’s like we’re traveling in deep space.
One breath in and out, and the memories of the Narrows dissolve like salt on the tongue.
I flick on the overhead lamp to get a better look. The side pocket in my pack is undisturbed. Unzipping it, I remove the tiny bot. “Hello there,” I say. His photo receivers blink open like he’s waking from sleep. An orange label hastily adhered to his chest reads “clear.” Maybe the techs thought he was just a toy. His wheel spins and spins, then seizes.
“Oh, buddy. Let’s fix you up.” I lay him on his side and remove his damaged wheel. An air compressor blows out the dust and dirt from his undercarriage. He makes small electrical bleeps and bloops when I touch him. He’s not alive, not really. But Masiji did a great job with his features. And anyway, she always said, Metal has mind. Just look at us. I want to bundle him up in a blanket and carry him with me forever.
I pull out a set of tuning tools: brushes, micro-screwdrivers, and chargers. He’s running on a very expensive battery with a perpetual magnet, which is surprising since we were always so strapped for parts and marks in the Narrows. Why would Masiji use a bit of rare earths to make this chota bot? That’s why he’s still running. His battery will never stop, but maintenance is necessary. I calibrate his gears, clean his circuit board, then set him up on the table to replace his broken wheel with a new one from the spare parts drawer. It’s red while the other is black, but it’s the same size, so at least the tread will be even.
“Give it a go then,” I say.
He blinks excitedly, then whizzes his wheels. Something’s misfiring, and the poor little fellow falls flat on his face. His wheels buzz again, then they freeze.
“Let’s try that again.”
He beeps.
“Chota baby, I’m going to have to open you up. I’ll be quick.” I pry open his panel. “Dry as can be,” I say. “Hmm . . .” I turn the lamp closer and inspect his chassis. The mechanics and hardware are standard. A few things are a bit quirky, but Masiji made bots as side projects to test out new tech, like a nani who knits blankets.
“That’s curious. Why would Masiji . . . ?” It all looks standard aside from his dual ports. Why two? Why in and out? Why in this Chota bot? Duplication is expensive and excessive. By the looks of it, he was just a cute refuse critter who kept Masiji company like a pet.
“You probably need an update.” I’m not allowed to touch these computers, much less access the system updates. I’d have to get permission and that would mean explaining why I kept this bit of machine in the first place. But I can’t leave him unfinished.
Chota plugs easily into the adapter. Instead of having to search for the updates folder, a series of files are already open. Could a tech have just left this computer logged in like this? I run the update for my bot friend. I wasn’t prompted for a password. With a bit searching, it’s clear there are a series of programs open. It’s almost as though someone scheduled them to stay on for a set period of time. What if a scientist is in the middle of something, and I mess it up? Scrolling through the computer’s access history, I notice that Commander Luz was the last to log in and before her, a series of techs. A careless mistake.
Footsteps startle me. The night guard must be taking a turn around the fort. I turn off the overhead lamp and wait in darkness for a few minutes. When the footsteps pass, I seal Chota up. “How does that feel?”
The little bot blinks and turns his wheels slowly, like he’s testing them. They rotate all the way around. Then he takes a spin across the entire rectangular table. Back and forth he goes. When he speeds up to me, I imagine a smile on his face even though he has no mouth.
Something cracks. The room is small, but there are several cabinets and storage spaces. Maybe it was just an experiment shifting. I ignore it and return to Chota. But a sound breaks the silence again, so I open each cabinet one by one before closing them again.
Nothing appears out of place. It’s probably best not to linger, so I pick up Chota, put him inside my pack and sling it over my shoulder. I pretend to open and shut the door, but stay in the room.
Two seconds later, a cabinet door I hadn’t noticed creaks open all by itself.
“Gotcha,” I say.
“Dhat. . .” the voice says.
“Who are you?” I remember hearing about some kid getting picked up with Romil and the others.
“Er, no. I’m nobody.”
“Isn’t your name Wasp?”
“Fine, yeah, that’s me.”
“What are you doing here?”
He stuffs his hands in his pants pockets. “Nothing.”
I laugh. “Right. Just like a game of hide and seek, but your friends never found you?”
He frowns. “Damn, I should have used that one. But I don’t have any friends here.”
“I’m Taru.”
“Right, so what are you going to do with me? Send me to the clinker?”
“What’s a clinker?”
“Like, what’s my punishment for being in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“Ah, you mean containment. We don’t have that here. But you could get a trip to see the General. Depends on what you just stole, Wasp. Dump your pockets, bhai.” I take a few steps closer to him to make sure he can’t get past me. The kid is my height but holds himself like a member of the Lords of Shadow. Every other word that comes out of his mouth could be a lie.
“Nice bot. Your superiors let you use the precious resources to fix it?”
Dhat. “Okay, Wasp. What’s our deal?”
“Didn’t see me, didn’t see you seems fair.”
I know this type of scoundrel. “But if you end up being a thief or working for the PAC or SAP, I’ll gladly hand-deliver your sorry self to General Shankar and then Commander Decker will sort you out. Ashiva’s my sister. You remember the one with the SynGen replacement?”
He perks up at her name and nods, hands in the air. “Okay, okay. All good, Taru. Don’t want the super soldier after me.” He removes something from his pocket and places it on the table. “A peace offering to seal our partnership. What do you say?”
It’s a battery. Precious. He could have traded it for a hundred marks. I smirk at him. “You know we’re the good guys. If you steal from us, you’re hurting yourself.”
He shakes his head. “Good is a matter of perspective. But I promise not to steal from you and your people.”
“If ever you get the urge, remember my sis. She is just a whistle away.” When he walks toward me, he takes out another smaller cable from his pocket and slides it across the table.
“That’s the last of it, I swear.” I can’t decide if this kid is going to be a pain in the ass or come in handy as a thief. I decide to tell Commander Luz about his trespass.
My training session with Commander Luz the next morning is the culmination of our tradecraft studies using science, survival techniques, and technology. So far, the other recruits and I have worked through a series of puzzles from bumps to basic hand-to-hand combat training, to drops and surveillance, which will all hopefully lead up to learning how to infiltrate a government group. Commander Luz has sorted us into specialties: intelligence agents to infiltrate the SAP or PAC, field runners to lead dangerous ground missions, and techies to assist the operations from afar. The best of these crews will be selected to join the next Red Hand mission. There are fifteen of us under her leadership, and in the end, only four will be assigned to be field agents for the Ghost Mission Spy Crew.
