The Cloud Roost (Jekua Book 5), page 27
Aeiko was still befuddled. “Why would he want to harm one of their biggest draws?” they asked. “You’d think the buzz around Remisti would get a lot of eyeballs on the competition.”
“That’s true,” said Wasaaru, “but as you’ll recall, she initially declined her invitation to the HSC. It was only later that she was able to make it work and got added to the lineup. During that intervening period, however, Mr. Damien Spiro put an absolute shitload of money down on another Summoner named Gordon Vance to win his first round match.”
“What a bad name,” said Niona.
“And I take it Gordon Vance was put up against Remisti in the first round?” Alani ventured.
“Ding ding ding,” Wasaaru grinned.
“If he was so concerned about his money and he was in charge of stuff, why didn’t he just pair her up with someone else for that round?” Aeiko asked.
“Seems he had no control over that aspect of the tournament,” said Wasaaru, “and it would’ve been super weird for him to randomly ask that she get swapped out for another Summoner. There’d be no real reason for the request. The only alternative, in his mind, was to take her out before the tournament even began.”
Niona laughed mirthlessly. “That’s insane. That’s gotta be hugely illegal and unethical, right? No way should he have been allowed to bet on the tournament, let alone do that to one of the competitors. How have I never heard about this?”
“Because when it was brought to the attention of the other HSC officials, our grandma was paid a hefty, hefty sum to sign an NDA and keep quiet about it. With the tournament starting in just a couple days, it would’ve cost them a huge amount of money to cancel or delay it due to a scandal that big, and it was less expensive to just pay her off and boot Spiro.”
“And she took the money?” said Aeiko. Alani was kind of surprised by that revelation too.
Wasaaru nodded. “Yup. She never told us the specifics, but she said it was a lot. I mean, I don’t blame her, really. A payday’s a payday, and she was well enough to still compete. Plus, she said she didn’t want her big return to the battling scene to be stained by a big controversy like that. She wanted her name to stand on its own, not be tied to all that shit. Easier to just take the money and put it behind her.”
Alani supposed she couldn’t blame her either, putting it that way. She asked, “Did she get her leg stitched up?”
“Yeah, you can actually see the stitches in the broadcasts,” Wasaaru chuckled.
Balt grinned too. “She wasn’t gonna let somethin’ like that stop her from givin’ Gordon Vance a pounding.”
“What happened to Damien Spiro? Aside from being fired, I guess,” asked Aeiko.
“Don’t know,” said Wasaaru. “Don’t care.”
“How’d she do in the tournament?” Niona asked him. “I don’t remember that one off the top of my head. Like I said, I was fresh out of a belly at that time.”
“She got second place,” Balt answered.
“Hell yeah!” Niona beamed.
Wasaaru sat up straighter, grabbing a few cashews from the center of the circle, brushing aside some of Balt and Niona’s trash in the process. He had certainly perked up over the course of telling his story. The food had definitely done him some good, just as Aeiko said it would. That, or telling one of his grandmother’s outrageous life stories had cheered him. Either way, he was looking much better.
“But anyway,” he said, “it’s your turn now. Tell me about Yuluhu.”
And so Niona told the story of the Waillaby attacking them upon their arrival on the island.
With some interruptions from Balt, of course.
27
The Whorl
If a person were to poll the residents of Garden and ask them what they thought the village was lacking, the number one response would most likely be a bar. Someplace for the lab technicians, the engineers, the chefs in the cafeteria—someplace for everyone to gather and drink and let off a bit of steam. But Garden was never intended to be a normal township, despite its population. It was a base of operations, and so it was hard to justify building such a place. The next best thing that its residents had was a spot called the Whorl.
The Whorl was an area deep in a mountain crevasse at the back of the village. Its entrance was obscured by large, flowering bushes and thick tree trunks, but it was not much of a secret amongst the Facet. Not everybody went there, but everybody knew of its existence. Even Madelaine showed up there from time to time, although that usually killed any vivacious mood that had been cultivated.
Makénu had gotten in the habit of visiting the Whorl most days. He didn’t always drink, since he was not a huge fan of it in general and definitely not through a pouch, but he would typically hunker down and chat with his peers. There were still no Veptilo experiments to perform, aside from some run-of-the-mill testing he did once or twice a week to ensure all their equipment was still functional and the crystals hadn’t lost their potency. Plus, for the past week or so, he’d been barred from joining Tano on his training sessions. He didn’t know why, and the only explanation he ever received was that the training was strictly for Summoners. He didn’t think that San was technically a Summoner, despite being Tano’s trainer, but maybe he was wrong. In any case, he wasn’t allowed to hang around like he had been, so what else was there to do but lounge in the Whorl?
Today was a drinking day for Makénu, and apparently everyone else had gotten the memo. It was late in the afternoon, and the Whorl was packed with bodies. The place was a narrow corridor with rock on either side and grass at their feet, with no real furniture to speak of, although some people made use of boulders and other natural outcroppings or alcoves. Every day, a woman named Astanya lugged a cooler full of drinks into the crevasse and plopped it down beside a strip of rock that was about ten feet long and came up to a person’s waist, which everyone referred to as the counter. More beetles and spiders scuttled across it than Makénu would personally be comfortable with for a countertop, but so be it.
The cooler was always brimming with bottles of beer and usually at least one bottle each of vodka and tequila. Sometimes a guy whose name Makénu actually didn’t know (who seemed to be Astanya’s lover, or at least he wanted to be given how flirtatious he acted toward her) brought in a bag filled with clanking bottles of brown liquor. It was yet a third person, a guy from Yuluhu named Bos, who procured the alcoholic pouches for himself and other people stuck wearing the respirators. Makénu asked him once where he got them, and he explained that he had to make weekly trips to Asanak. Madelaine didn’t like people leaving the sanctity of Garden too often, knowing that every time someone did it put them at risk of discovery, but she also knew that it was necessary for them to pick up supplies from other cities. Maybe alcoholic pouches weren’t a high priority, but evidently she was letting it slide for now. That, or she wasn’t even aware Bos was leaving to get them.
Makénu sat on the ground, leaning his back against the rock wall waiting for Risia to join him. She was his usual companion in the Whorl, as she was similarly bored waiting for work to resume on the Veptilos. He’d continued getting to know Marissa over the weeks, but she wasn’t really a drinker. When he explained that he wasn’t much of one either, he just hung out there most times, she had said that she also didn’t enjoy being around drunk people. That was fair enough, so he’d left it at that. Her sister, so far as he could tell, bore the same reservations. San seemed to have her hands full training Tano anyway.
The Whorl’s din grew in volume as more and more people filed in. Never before had Makénu seen so many people there. Being around such a large crowd always made him feel self-conscious about the strihova mutations marring his body. He knew it was pointless feeling that way, especially since he told himself that as a fifty-year-old man he shouldn’t give a shit what others thought, but he couldn’t help it. He ran a hand over his rough, scaly arm with a shudder.
Finally, Risia returned from fetching them drink pouches. Being around her helped dim those self-pitying thoughts, since she seemed to truly not care what everyone else thought of her. She tossed him a floppy transparent pouch full of brown liquid that he knew to be whiskey, and he took it gladly, thanking her as he hooked it up to his mask.
The connector tube slid into his mask and he brought it to his lips, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. What he disliked about drinking here, using the pouches, was that one could not obtain a normal amount of liquor. Whoever made the drink pouches did not manufacture ones that contained what most would consider a reasonable amount of whiskey for one glass; he figured it was because doing so wouldn’t be financially viable, but whatever the reason, the pouches were filled up as much as any other drink pouch was. For someone like him, who wasn’t a heavy drinker, it was far too much whiskey.
It hit his tongue sharp and hot, burning his throat on the way down. In a satisfying way, though. His face must have told the story, because Risia chuckled at him.
“You good?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, coughing lightly. “Might’ve just gotten too much at once.” In addition to the pouches containing too much whiskey, the alcohol itself was also not particularly high quality. He was no connoisseur, by any means, but anyone could tell when they were drinking truly shitty liquor.
“Slow down, now,” said Risia with a devious smirk. “Don’t go getting sloppy on me tonight.”
That made him laugh, and he took another sip of the drink. “No promises,” he joked.
Suddenly Madelaine strolled into the Whorl with a flourish. She was wearing a white and red-accented blazer, with a red pencil skirt and black tights. Her crimson hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her lips were painted their signature red. Tank was, as always, by her side, though he was looking far less stylish in a plain gray shirt and black shorts. At least he was dressed for the weather. “Ahh, I see the festivities have already begun!” Madelaine beamed as she entered, fluttering her long, curled lashes. “I suppose the good news precedes me.”
Makénu and Risia exchanged a curious look. He certainly hadn’t heard about any good news, and it seemed she hadn’t either. That would explain why so many people were cutting loose in the Whorl today, he supposed. Risia sipped from her beer pouch and turned back to their intrepid leader.
A sly smile cut across Madelaine’s porcelain face. “Well, the rumors are true: we have acquired this island’s Veptilo as of an hour ago.”
Cheers erupted, echoing throughout the crevasse. Beside him, Risia was shouting gleefully and pumping her fist in the air. Makénu remained stoic, although there was some excitement in knowing that they were one step closer to achieving their goals.
Madelaine gestured for the group to quiet down. “All that is left is making our way over to Pakree and accessing the Veptilo there. Unfortunately, we’re not quite ready yet—but soon, my little devils. Soon.” She winked, eliciting another triumphant roar from the crowd.
With that, she and Tank strolled across the Whorl to address Astanya, who stood watch by her cooler of beverages. She requested a drink, which the woman quickly procured for her, as well as a beer pouch for Tank. Sipping from her glass, which appeared to be filled with vodka, Madelaine scanned the crowd before her eyes landed on Makénu. Her face lit up and she marched over.
“Sitting on the ground, are we?” she said by way of greeting.
“Yep,” he nodded.
“Hmm,” she hummed, pondering for a moment before saying, “I don’t know that I can recall the last time I sat on the ground.” She then positioned herself next to Makénu, having to adjust her skirt several times in the process. When she finally settled in, she let out a deep, satisfied sigh and took another pull of her vodka.
Tank had followed her over, but he did not sit with the rest of them. He remained standing, his back turned to them, peering out at the throng of bodies in the Whorl. He held the beer pouch, dwarfed by his massive hand, and continuously sipped it. Makénu was positive he never saw the amber liquid stop coursing through the tube.
“I take it you’re happy with the news?” said Madelaine, nodding toward both Makénu and Risia.
“Oh, definitely,” said Risia. Makénu merely nodded silently in return.
Madelaine put on an exaggerated pout, pursing her plump red lips. “Oh, come now! I’m sure you can muster up more excitement than that. I know how bored you’ve been, moping around here like somebody just stole your lunch.” The pout morphed into a smile. “You’ll be able to work again soon, so don’t fret. I’ve been keeping myself quite busy, though. As has little Tannykins, from what mutterings I’ve heard through the grapevine.”
“Yeah,” said Makénu. “It’s almost like he’s got a full-time job, with how much time he’s been spending with San.”
“Well, he’s playing a very important role in all this,” said Madelaine. She started sipping her drink again, but with an expectant expression, like she was baiting him to ask what exactly she meant.
Naturally, he took the bait. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly say,” she said, waving her hand to dismiss the question.
But Makénu wasn’t going to drop it, and he knew that Madelaine didn’t want him to anyway. She simply liked toying with people, titillating them. It was her bread and butter. He said, “Are you…” He almost didn’t want to ask, fearful of the response, but he mustered up the courage. “Are you going to be using him to fight?” Surely as the boy’s father, he would have some say in that, right? Tano wasn’t some child soldier, here to follow the Facet’s whims?
Madelaine cackled. “Oh, dear, no!” she said, nearly spilling her drink. She took another dainty sip, the rim of the glass smeared red with lipstick. “Tannykins is far too important to dabble in such low affairs.”
Makénu thought he heard Tank grunt testily at that comment, but he couldn’t be sure. Regardless, what Madelaine was saying only confused him more. He loved his son, obviously, but since when was he important to the larger Facet cause?
“I’m not sure I follow,” he said, eyeing Madelaine suspiciously.
“You ask too many questions,” said Tank gruffly. His common refrain.
“I’m not sure that was technically a question,” said Madelaine, her mischievous grin never faltering. More than anything else, she loved lording information over others. It seemed to be her favorite part of the job. The greatest perk of being in charge. “Perhaps it’s time to loop you in. Let’s talk in private.”
She stood, readjusting her skirt again and brushing dirt off her tights. Makénu, with his weak knees, had trouble standing up, though neither Madelaine nor Tank extended a helping hand. Once he rose, he then followed both Madelaine and Tank to a secluded corner of the Whorl. As he departed, Risia mouthed a befuddled “What the hell?” at him, to which he could only shrug.
Away from everyone else, it was somewhat quieter, although not by much. Madelaine kept her voice low so as to not be heard, but Makénu would be surprised if anyone was paying any attention to them. Most of the time, the others wanted as little to do with Madelaine as possible.
“I imagine you’re wondering in that pretty little head of yours just precisely how we will be making our way to Pakree,” she said, batting her lashes.
Makénu nodded. The question had been plaguing his mind for nearly six weeks now.
“You sure you wanna spill this?” Tank asked his boss. Liquid dribbled from the holes in his cheeks as he glared at Makénu like he was a grub. They’d worked together just fine on Yuluhu when they had to retrieve the Veptilos, and they’d hardly interacted in the interim, so he wasn’t sure what he’d done since then to draw the man’s ire.
“Hush,” she told Tank. “He deserves to know. Tannykins will be at the forefront of all this, after all.”
“I really don’t know what you mean by that,” Makénu reiterated. He was growing impatient with Madelaine dancing around this information. How was his son involved in transporting them to some inaccessible island?
She finally dove into her explanation after taking one last pull of her drink, emptying the glass. “Could you fetch me another, please?” she said, wagging the empty glass in front of Tank’s face. He took it with a grunt and stepped away. “So,” Madelaine said, “As you’re well aware, little Tannykins has been training nonstop with his flashy new Jekua. I take it you’ve lain eyes upon the beastie?”
“I have.”
“I think it’s a bit gauche,” she shuddered, “but that’s just me. I suppose that’s what happens when you let a child behind the wheel, so to speak. Anywho, his kaylackt is imbued with the latest in a new line of Artificial Jekuas we’ve been experimenting with. We—”
“You’ve been experimenting on my son?” Makénu growled. His whiskey pouch was still attached to his mask, but he was suddenly not in the mood to indulge in any jovial drinking.
“Oh, calm yourself,” Madelaine said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. No, all the experimenting has been happening before we even arrived. His Jekua is the result of such experimentation.”
“And what is it? What’s so special about it?”
Madelaine flashed a smile. She said, “Even before we intended to travel to Pakree, we were working on replicating a Jenu’s power with our Artificial Jekuas. Not just in strength, but in its ability to use Warp magic.”
That didn’t sound possible to Makénu, not in the least. Especially since up until now, they’d only been integrating a single form of attack into every Artificial Jekua they produced. How would they implement Warp magic into them all of a sudden?
Madelaine went on. “We failed many times, as you can imagine, but tests started improving. Our technicians adapted technology left over from Lakahlo’s time manufacturing teleporter pads. They concocted a way to harness mana using the data that those teleporters used as a jumping off point, and they integrated that into the code for our Artificial Jekuas. Jekuas like the one little Tannykins has been training with.” She smiled, clearly very pleased with herself. “It’s all very technical and scientific, so I’m sure I’m not explaining it right, but you get the picture.”
