The Restoration of Flaws (The Phantom of the Earth Book 5) (15 page)

“The North is well compensated for the flow of water through the coolant piping.”

“On whose valuation? Yours, Lady Verena?” Jeremiah chortled. “Try walking into Genevieve Sineine’s or Nataya Mueriniti’s citadels and saying that the way you just said it to me and you might find yourself sitting in Farino Prison.”

“I never knew.” Verena had focused for many decades on strike team equality and Reassortment research. Never until she’d been rescued by Aera and Nero in the Research Superstructure transport station did she understand the breadth and depth of the commonwealth’s issues. Sometimes she felt like she was back in development, learning more each day. “Our genome is adjusted for higher temperatures.”

“To a certain threshold,” Jeremiah agreed. “The Beimenian transhuman is far more durable even than a Livellan transhuman, but even for us, without that water, the temperature in the Beimeni zone would rise and rise and over time cook us like nuts over a fire.”

Members of the Leadership shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.

Verena shivered. “Minister Mueriniti developed with Chancellor Masimovian, and you, in House Nexirenna, if I recall correctly.” Jeremiah moved his chin up and down. “She and Minister Sineine have supported the chancellor since the days of Livelle.” Verena shook her head. “Why would they want out of a union they helped to create?”

“After the commonwealth expanded to thirty territories by the 230s,” Jeremiah began, “they didn’t feel as if the so-called lower twenty-two paid a fair valuation for the use of the water that flowed through the North, down piping in the earth above the Zwillerzweller, Beimeni, and Archimedes Rivers. They threatened secession from the commonwealth unless a fair price for such resources could be agreed upon.

“The chancellor, ever concerned about his legacy and the maintenance of control, was willing to negotiate to keep the young commonwealth intact. But not until General Norrod moved the commonwealth’s primary prison from Phanes to Farino, positioning tens of thousands of Janzers in the region in case the talks broke down.”

“The ministers broke the precepts,” Verena said. “By the chancellor’s own laws, they should’ve been imprisoned or sent to the Lower Level for their crimes.”

“The chancellor was … different in those days,” Jeremiah said. “His authority wasn’t as defined, or centralized, as it is now. So he made sure the talks were conducted in utmost secrecy with only the highest consortium and citadel officers aware they’d occurred. The penalty for leaking any information was death by Reassortment.”

Verena cringed. “What did the ministers demand?”

“A price increase of fifty thousand percent per liter,” Jeremiah said, and when Verena gasped, “but they compromised to an increase of ten thousand percent and annual adjustments thereafter aligned with inflation. Decades passed without incident until a pricing dispute in 317 ended with the Northern ministers walking away from negotiations with the Masimovian Administration. The dispute coincided with heavy BP recruitment in the North, for it was in that region where I’d at first focused all my attention and resources.”

“Not the South?” Verena said.

“The North controls the coolant in the piping that keeps this commonwealth alive,” Jeremiah said, “so the North can control the commonwealth. The dispute and my campaign are why Lady Isabelle began her false flag attacks there in 317 and throughout the 320s and 330s, until in the 340s I was forced to shut down BP operations in the North.” Jeremiah knocked the table with his fist. “Isabelle sensed her strategy worked and soon shifted it to—”

“The Northeast,” Verena said. She huffed when Jeremiah nodded. “All those scientists in the RDD,” she struggled to speak, “killed … by the commonwealth?”

Jeremiah exchanged a troubled look with several members of the Leadership, then turned back to Verena. “Not entirely by the commonwealth.” Jeremiah blew out a deep breath. “Zorian was once the synbio thief, though I admit I didn’t at first understand how much collateral damage he’d caused in the RDD until our spies confirmed the figures. He wasn’t pleased when I shifted that role to Aera, but after that, the civilian casualties during our operations in the RDD dropped considerably.” Jeremiah paused.

Verena didn’t have to search his consciousness to see how much this hurt him to admit about his eldest son.

“I don’t doubt that Masimo knew about Lady Isabelle’s false flag attacks throughout the North and Northeast,” Jeremiah continued, “and he might’ve let her continue had he not discerned the depth of her control over his Janzer servants. My understanding is that the attack in Northport earlier this year, the lady’s deadliest strike ever in the Polemon name, was her last.”

“What happened with the pricing dispute,” Verena said, “and the secession movement?”

“The Northern ministers settled the dispute in 318, and Isabelle’s attacks served Masimo’s purpose well, for in addition to turning the Northerners against the Front, the region also gave up its hope for independence.” Jeremiah tapped the map at Xerean City. “Or so it would seem. Reports from our spy network suggest the Northern ministers, spurred by the recession, are once again considering a new round of negotiations with Masimo.”

“You’re going to send Zorian to Xerean City to negotiate terms with Minister Mueriniti,” Verena said.

“I’m sending Zorian to negotiate with my wise sister-in-development on my behalf in what I hope will be his last Polemon operation.”

Comments came fast from the Leadership.

“This is insane,” Zoey said.

“He escaped from us in the Cavern,” Lizbeth said, “and he betrayed us. We can’t trust him.”

“I agree,” Isaiah broke in, “Zorian cannot be given such an important assignment.”

“Nor can we trust the North,” Brooklyn added.

“We should execute Zorian for his crimes against the Polemon—” Zoey said.

“My decision on Zorian and the North is not a water pricing dispute.” Jeremiah’s voice echoed in the hall. “It’s not under negotiation.” He rose from his chair.

Again, Verena noted how similar his style was to Chancellor Masimovian’s, his occasional collaboration, his carbyne resolve, his reluctance to view his Leadership as equals.

Jeremiah leaned forward, placing his palms on the table. “Zorian will be judged,” he said calmly. “One day, his consciousness will return to the gods and he’ll face the ultimate consequences for his actions, as we all do, but we don’t execute our fellow transhumans, not in my jurisdictions.”

Unlike Masimovian
, Verena thought
.

“What about your people?” she said. “They aren’t secure. They deserve to know the truth.”

“So they shall,” Jeremiah said. He handed Verena an alloy ring that jingled with hundreds of keys. “I will issue the evacuation orders, and you shall lead them to safety.”

“I don’t know them. I don’t know your passageways—”

“You know the commonwealth. You’re the finest strategist from the teams. My commandos will show you the way.” Jeremiah peered to the grow lights that illuminated the garden and flowers in the distance. “And your little friend knows the Polemon passageways well enough …” He grinned, then turned emotionless when he faced Verena. “You must move swiftly between safety and danger, and one by one you will lead our people to safe houses in the West, South, Central, and soon, I hope, in the North as well.”

“What will you do,” Brooklyn said, “should the Janzers arrive?”

“I won’t leave until our people are with allies along the Underground Passage. We all know who they want, and so I cannot leave, not this time. My absence would lead the pursuit to perpetuity, but my presence shall conclude this forever war.”

Research & Development Department (RDD)

Palaestra, Underground Northeast

2,500 meters deep

Oriana pulled her bodysuit over her shoulder and slid her arms through the sleeves. Ramona zipped her up in the back and placed a fur cape over her. Scarlett, the kitten Lady Parthenia had sent Oriana as a gift, strutted across the dresser, her white tail swinging, white eyes teased with sapphire. The kitten purred. She lifted her paws and extended her claws playfully, whiskers twitching. Oriana picked her up and cuddled with her fluffy face, then handed her to Ramona. “Take care of her if they don’t let me come back.”

The keeper bot nodded, and its eye slit glowed, then dimmed. “Aha, madam, where’re you going?”

Oriana didn’t answer. Pasha lay in a coma in the infirmary, the Lorum synsuit still infused with his body. If only Antosha would’ve chosen her instead of her sweet, innocent brother. He didn’t deserve this.

Ramona’s eye slit glowed. “Madam, you have visitors—”

“Tell them I’m not here.”

“Aha, madam, Captain Ruiner Holcombe says he knows you’re here and he won’t leave until his team sees you.”

Oriana sighed. “Let them in.”

The frosted-glass entryway to her Champion’s Suite slid open.

“Hullo there, Miss Oriana,” Ruiner said and entered with Mintel and Dahlia. “We heard …”

She appreciated his comforting tone but not his escort. She had nothing to say to Mintel.

“For your brother’s recovery …”

Ruiner bowed to her, as did Mintel, and Dahlia presented her with a team tattoo z-disk, a carnation in this case, a wish for recovery. It was a token normally offered to an eternal partner or family member when a comrade in the teams was injured. This was a high honor, Oriana knew. She accepted the z-disk and activated it. A carnation grew over her neck, beneath her skin, the cells shifting with the instructions, her pores bleeding pink. She would wear the mark until Pasha awoke. She rubbed it with her forefingers.

I must finish this, for him
, she thought. Without the mission, Oriana had no leverage, and without the Reassortment Strain, Antosha would never lead her brother back from his coma. And without her brother, she’d be split down the center, alive but buried, like the Great Commonwealth of Beimeni.

The team turned to depart.

“Captain, wait,” Oriana said. The Holcombe Strike Team turned together. “Thank you.” To Dahlia, she added, “Pasha respected you, your dedication to this cause, your team’s loyalty to my father, and I look forward to completing the mission with you and your captain.”

“I would have been honored to go into battle with you,” Dahlia said, “truly.” She lowered her head.

“What’s wrong?” Oriana said.

“We won’t be going in with Dahlia,” Ruiner said. “Dr. Shrader will penetrate the lab and … you and I will provide his support.”

Mintel looked like he might puke, a sight Oriana would’ve welcomed but for the mess he’d leave behind.

After the team left, she flooded the Granville panel in her great room with her mind, but the images she sought, memories from development with Pasha in House Summerset, didn’t materialize. Instead, a world she didn’t create, not willingly, surrounded her. And it would not alter.

Crimson grass, thin and arced by gusts, covered a lifeless meadow. Hyena, buffalo, cheetah, duiker, and human carcasses lay strewn about. Her heart thrummed. The smell of death filled her suite. Ravens circled overhead. Maggots formed around the humans and crawled out of their orifices. Rats fought with the ravens for flesh and blood. In the center, a tree leaned. Its insides glowed with midnight-blue light, and its branches reached and flowed with electricity.

There was something strangely familiar about this place. In the dark blue sky, a pale moon contorted to form a face that twisted into her own likeness, until the crack of thunder and lightning flashed the world, and Pasha’s face covered the moon. Oriana’s hands trembled. She closed her eyes and severed the connection.

“Ramona,” she said, “what’s going on with the panel?”

Ramona didn’t answer. Oriana turned and yelled, “Ramona!”

The bot emerged with the kitten in its arms. “Aha, Madam Champion, I am at your service.”

“The panel …”

It was now taupe and reflective, as if none of what she saw had been there, replaced by the sound of water trickling down the marble wall beside the panel, behind the plants and water lilies. She smelled jasmine and lavender. She ran her hands through her hair. Was she losing her mind?

She thought about Pasha, in a coma, in the infirmary because of Antosha. It was Antosha’s synsuit, his design, his fault. He should’ve put on the Lorum synsuit himself! She was sick of doing his bidding, sick of waiting. It was driving her mad.

She ran out of her suite, Ramona bellowing gibberish behind her. She hopped on an RDD transport to the Ventureño Facility, checked in with the Janzers, moved swiftly through the corridors—the unnecessary labyrinth, as Antosha described it. She found him in his meditation center, positioned on a fluorite slab upon the marble ground. The largest gemstones Oriana had ever seen hovered in midair around him.

He was playing the violin. A ghostly woman, something between a hologram and a spirit, twirled about, nude but for the moonflowers that hung from her neck and waist. She had a small mole next to her lips. Her hair was silver blue, as ethereal as Natura at dusk, and there was a joy in her eyes that Oriana envied.

Antosha wore a white hooded silk cape, and his legs folded over the fluorite. He bowed the violin in long, mournful strokes, and the woman sang with his melody.

The woman’s voice disappeared with her body, into dust, and Antosha set down his violin. The giant gemstones sank to the marble floor. He opened his eyes and rose.