The Descent into the Maelstrom (The Phantom of the Earth Book 4) (32 page)

“I don’t care.”

“I’ll rebuild our parents’ legacy if you won’t!”

“Just
leave!
”

Suddenly she was crying and couldn’t stop. “I’ll win the Harpoons and … become an aera and … solve the Reassortment enigma.”

“Not if I solve it first.” Pasha telekinetically threw her out of his room. She hit the wall and slid down to the floor.

Oriana cried in the hallway awhile, then dragged herself back to bed. Outside, the sun was up, burning bright.

Dunamis City

Dunamis, Underground West

Oriana didn’t speak with Pasha during the trip to the city. Not to discuss the Summersets. Not to discuss the Harpoons. Not to discuss the candlestick. Nor did Pasha speak to her. They sat quietly in their seats, watching the illusory landscape stream by.

They exited at Dunamis Hall. The line of candidates swirled round and round the velvet rope in a maze. Oriana searched the candidates. At last, she spotted Nathan and Desaray.

Nathan, look behind you,
Oriana transmitted. He nudged Desaray. They turned and waved, but they were too far ahead to join. The hall’s entrance sprawled hundreds of meters end to end, its lime marble stairs covered with candidates.

Oriana and Pasha moved steadily between the ropes, then split off into one of sixty smaller lines at the stairs’ base. At the rim, the atmosphere shifted to sanded aromatic cedar floors and platinum pillars. Granville panels read:

In place of the chandeliers that normally hung atop the hall, Harpoon harnesses dangled from braided carbyne strands.

A Janzer collected a DNA swab, fingerprints, and retina scan from Oriana. He did the same with Pasha, and they made their way to the next checkpoint.

I’m a champion
, Oriana thought. And once she’d proved herself, she would demand entry to the strike team training program, then demand to see her father. And if Lady Isabelle dared nullify Pasha’s first-half score, she’d demand to speak with the chancellor himself.

They passed through two additional checkpoints where Janzers scanned candidates for disallowed digital programs and algorithms. Then bots escorted them through a maze of harnesses.

“Aha, there will be two six-hour sessions,” the lead bot said. “If you require facilities or hydration during the first half, you must disengage from the simulation and lower yourselves.” The bot pointed out restrooms and a row of bronze water fountains along the wall.

“Aha, timing won’t cease for breaks during the first half,” said another bot.

One of them took Pasha by the hand and strapped him into a harness. Another did the same with Oriana. Before long, they were lifted in midair. Oriana felt weightless, powerful, and tiny as she looked around the cavernous hall.

For the better part of an hour, bots buckled and lifted candidates until arms and legs and strands surrounded Oriana, like endless rows of hanging spiders. She shivered but wasn’t cold. Her stomach tingled, but she wasn’t nervous. She checked the hundreds of thousands of pages of notes, formulas, descriptions, theories, people, places, and methods, everything and anything she could find in the data storage of her neurochip. Any minute now they would block her access, and the exams would begin.

Hundreds of rows ahead, Nathan Storm angled toward her. She leaned and grinned.

The lights dimmed. A holographic Lady Isabelle emerged through a slit in a curtain that cut across a golden rostrum. She delivered the exams to all the halls in all the thirty territories from Phanes Hall in Beimeni City. The Granville panels filled with her likeness.

“Welcome, candidates! We’ve reached another record this trimester with more than thirteen million of you participating. You’ve invested many hours developing the skills and abilities you’ll need to function as part of Beimenian society. From here, the process is simple. Perform today. Receive a bid at the auction. Achieve conversion. Access the Fountain of Youth in Phanes. Live forever.”

Oriana looked over at Pasha, who stared straight ahead. She’d never seen him look so determined, or so cold.

“Part one will consist of the language, math, and science skills tests. You will have six hours to complete one million queries. Then we’ll break for two hours and determine the teams for the critical-reasoning portion of the exams, which will be timed and scored according to your progress. After the exams, you will proceed to the Harpoon Hamlet. The auction is scheduled for 0800 tomorrow, so pay attention to your assignments.”

Lady Isabelle pushed her fingers through her hair, dropping it down her left shoulder. She glanced up. Oriana could have sworn the lady met her eyes.

“Marstone, please activate the first half of the Harpoons.”

Nexirenna City

Nexirenna, Underground Central

2,500 meters deep

“We’re going to have to pay for all this stuff!” Marcel said.

Another porcelain vase flew past his head and into the Granville panel, where it shattered with the rest of the antiques, clay planters, crystal glasses, painted shells, chandeliers, holographic artwork generators, and any item Gwen found not bolted to the floor in their hotel suite. Somehow, the panel hadn’t yet cracked. It projected mockingbirds soaring through ocean-side clouds and the smell of a beach bonfire. Juvelle huddled near a scarlet river in the corner, having already been chased with a piece of the bedpost.

“I’m a stooge, Marcel!”

Gwen hucked a bioluminescent lamp onto the terrace and paused, watching the green gel pool over the stone ground. She lifted her tangled, sweaty hair and wiped her hands on her dress.

I have to tell Marcel
, she thought.
I want out
.

You’re the violin of my life,
Antosha sent.
I’m nothing without you and you’re nothing without me—

“No, no, no, not another word,” Gwen said.

“Gwen,” Marcel said, “look around.”

Glass from the kitchenette cabinets was strewn along the tile floor, couch-cushion feathers fluttered in midair as if a flock of geese had exploded, and Loverealan wine streaked down the marble walls where she’d thrown the first glasses.

Don’t tell him,
she heard.
Don’t tell anyone.

“You can’t command me, I’m a Harpoon Champion, I have the commonwealth’s respect, and you can’t take that away from me—”

“Dear sister, please, please, please look at me, look at your Marcel.” He seemed as if he might cry, his face a shade of sickly red. “What’re you talking about? Who’re you talking to?”

Tears streaked down Gwen’s cheeks, and she covered her ears. “Get out of my head.” She groaned. “Get out.”

We are one, my violin, my love, my companion in the commonwealth, my eyes where I cannot see, my ears where I cannot hear—

“Getthefuckoutofmyhead!”

Gwen rushed onto the terrace and screamed. Bystanders on the patches of grass between palm trees looked up. Beyond, hundreds of tiered greenhouse pyramids, as transparent as day, teemed with growers, who stopped and turned toward Hotel Evergreen.

“Let’s get out of here,” Marcel said. “Let’s go back to Vivo where we can stay on my parents’ farm and where you may recover from the journey.”

You must come back to me after Dr. Shrader’s awakening.

“Get out!”

She covered her ears.

Gwen swayed into Marcel’s welcoming arms. She tried to clear her head, but she couldn’t disconnect from the ZPF. There was nowhere to hide.

She wept. Marcel held her tight.

Below, the Nexirennans returned to their work and whisked along the pedestrian paths.

“Marcel …”

They’ll think you’re insane; they’ll label you with depression; they’ll call you a traitor; they’ll send you to the Lower Level. Is that what you want? Is that what I taught my little violin?

“I’m not your violin.” She pushed Marcel away. “Do you hear me?” The veins in her neck pulsed. Tears ran down her warm cheeks.

Marcel frowned. “I’m afraid the campaign has taken its toll on you, sweet sister.” He held out his hand with three clear pills on his palm and called upon Juvelle to bring water and a towel. “Take these, they will help—”

She slapped his hand. The pills flew over the marble balustrade.

“Don’t you treat me like some sniveling child in development. I’m a Harpoon Champion, I’m a research scientist in the RDD.”

“Then start acting like it. End this madness. Talk to me.” He wiped her tears. “It’s me. Gwendolyn, do you hear me? It’s Marcel—”

“I know who you are.” She laughed. She
was
acting as if she’d lost her mind. “It’s not my fault. He won’t leave me alone.”

“Who won’t? Who are you talking to? You can tell me.”

Gwen looked into her brother-in-development’s gentle eyes.

Don’t you dare—

Marcel lifted an object (a benari coin?) from his pocket and activated it.

Gwen eyed it and pressed her lips together.

Silence in her mind—

She guffawed so hard she stumbled backward, slipped on the lamp gel, and landed on the ground where she laughed even harder.

Marcel helped her off the ground. She rubbed her fingers over the coin.

“What is this wonderful contraption?”

“It’s illegal.” Marcel flicked it with his thumb, and it flipped end over end in the air and onto Gwen’s open hand. She stared at it like it was treasure. “They call it a
recaller
. I picked one up in Alpinia City. Cost me a thousand benaris.”

“Expensive.” She examined it closer. “It can alter brain function?”

“It blocks access to our neurochips, recalls our brain impulses, and sends alternate ones to Marstone, over the zeropoint field. In essence, it gives us the ability to … speak and think freely.”

“Or in your case, to scheme freely.”

Marcel grinned and nodded toward the mangled suite. “Tell me what’s on your mind. Why did you slap Minister Kaspasparon? What did Minister Decca show you? What troubled you in the Palace of Luxor? Why have you been so irritable since you awakened in the hotel? And who have you been talking to during the campaign?”

“Oh, I’ve done something awful, Marcel.” She hugged him. She was feeling better already.

Boreas City

Boreas, Underground North

2,500 meters deep

None of the Granville spheres, none of the sessions with Father, nothing he’d heard from Nero and Verena could have prepared Connor for his first experience in Boreas. Ice pyramids and sculptures surrounded him. Synthetic snowflakes of all sizes fell from the sky! The smells of caramel, roasted chicken, and Volanon duck wafted up from the bazaar. A salmon-colored nebula hung afar in the horizon, Borean moons nearby.

Danforth Diamond’s report blared across the square: “We’re live in Boreas and thrilled to be here on what should be an unforgettable evening.”

Connor made his way through the crowd and tucked in his fur-lined parka, a string of candles around his neck. Before he could fully scout the scene, a man and a woman layered with furs so thick they might’ve been mistaken for polar bears, cut him off. They reeked of perfume and cologne combined with pheromones and herbs, Phanean scents that would have cost his year’s salary down in Piscator.

“Darling, I just
love
candles,” the woman said. “Shall you purchase me this chandler’s goods?”

She didn’t acknowledge Connor’s presence. It took all his willpower not to contact the man’s eternal partner and let her know he didn’t really have that business trip in Dunamis City.

Danforth carried on, something about how exciting and enthralling and historic the evening was, the greatness of Faraway Hall, and how he couldn’t wait for Antosha Zereoue to arrive.

Connor could wait all night if that meant Antosha couldn’t disrupt the operation in Nyx, where he surely kept an eye on the Lorum, no matter his physical location.

“We’ll take all of these,” the woman said. She stroked the line of rope and ran her eye across the candles, formed into various plants with wicks that perked from buds in the center.

“Two hundred benaris,” Connor said.

“You don’t need
these
candles,” the man said. A golden pipe hung from his mouth, beneath his high cheekbones and thin eyebrows, a face that appeared as if he maintained it with daily
E. pigmentation
treatments and trips to the Fountain of Youth.

“But darling, you promised me anything I wanted.” She licked her finger and wiped it under his chin. The man threw the benaris at Connor and scoffed and strutted off.

Connor unclipped the rope from the chain around his neck and pulled a synthetic bag out of his pocket. He set the candles inside, handed the bag to the woman, and picked up the benaris.

Danforth shouted and guided the guests into the hall.

Chants of “
Serve Beimeni, live forever!
” broke out, and Connor dropped his candles into a BP-sponsored booth outside the hall, where a man in overalls cooked apple fritters.

Connor used his faked credentials at the Faraway Hall checkpoint. The Janzer hesitated, then approved his entry, and he neared the sprawling lines of Beimenians awaiting entry to the eighteen archways leading into Faraway Hall. Chatter filled the air, Beimenians dizzy with excitement, drunk on the idea of living again upon the surface of the Earth—should Dr. Shrader truly have immunity to the Reassortment Strain. The movement was slow going, and Connor found he was losing patience. Then the world opened up to him, a full view of Faraway Hall, gray slabs folded over and under each other like scales on a reptile, crisscrossed by maroon beams, and below him, the rows upon rows of maroon marble benches.