Blend, p.24
Blend, page 24
“And dishonor the Breath? Allow a half-Blend into our home?” Galen shook his head. “The doctrine is clear.”
“The doctrine is wrong.”
Galen recoiled as if struck.
“You sound like her, near the end.”
“What?”
“Your mother.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “After her diagnosis, when the pain medication clouded her mind, she questioned everything. The doctrine. The separation. Her choices.” His fingers trembled. “She begged me to bring you home.”
Meera’s heart constricted.
“And you refused.”
“I couldn’t …”
“One message. One word.” She slammed her palm against the floor, disturbing the perfect sand pattern. “You robbed us both of goodbye.”
“She wouldn’t have recognized you by then,” Galen snapped. “The meds took her mind months before her body.” His voice broke. “Some days she thought you were still a small child. Others, she forgot she had a daughter at all.”
Meera pressed her fist against her mouth, stifling a sob. She never knew.
“The last time she was lucid,” Galen continued, “she made me promise to protect you from the worst to come.”
Meera felt an inkling now of why he brought her here. She allowed her grief to take a fleeting backseat to a familiar caution.
“The worst? You mean, the ones who want them gone.”
Galen leaned forward, his voice dropping.
“The Pure Breathers strengthen their hand daily. Ennis Vega is gaining favor with the High Wind Reader. His power base grows on the Council.”
“These things didn’t happen overnight, and I haven’t heard the temple refute their goals for relocation.”
He took her meaning.
“I’m one voice. If I ever spoke publicly without the full backing of the temple, I’d lose face. And your husband and son would …” He reached across the circle, not quite touching her. “Eyes would fall upon them first.”
Meera rebuffed his touch.
“Why the sudden concern? You’ve been silent for thirteen years?”
The answer seemed torn from him.
“Because I promised her. And because I was mistaken.”
She didn’t believe it. Had she ever heard Galen admit to being fallible?
“About what?” Meera asked.
“About many things.” Galen straightened his spine, resuming the formal posture of a Wind Reader. “The Breath teaches that suffering shared is suffering halved. I’ve carried this alone too long.” He met her eyes. “I consented to your husband’s imprisonment.”
The blood drained from Meera’s face. This wasn’t news; she suspected for years, only to have Steath confirm it. Yet Galen said the words as if he expected her to thank him for the confession.
Her answer was ice.
“You thought I could be manipulated into returning home. Vega’s people framed him, and you saw an opportunity. You stole five years of our lives.”
“I ensured his survival,” Galen countered.
“Dresh it all! That’s how you justify your choice. I worked double shifts so my son wouldn’t have to grow up in a stack-bed flat.”
“I protected your family. Imperfectly, perhaps. Painfully. But they live, and you’re together now.”
“And now you warn me they’re in danger from the very people you aligned with?” Meera softened in the bitterness in her ironic laugh. “Why should I believe anything you say?”
“Because the winds have shifted.” Galen’s voice carried the authoritative tone of a Wind Reader pronouncing doctrine. “Because your mother’s last wish deserves honor, even if I do not.” He reached inside his robe. “And because I have information that could save them, if you’re willing to listen.”
Meera stared at her father, a man who had shaped her childhood with rigid principles, who had broken her mother’s heart, who had orchestrated her husband’s imprisonment. Who now offered help.
Am I this desperate?
She was.
“I’m listening,” she said. “But understand this: I will never forgive you.”
Galen’s eyes narrowed as he leaned closer.
“The Pure Breathers are planning a purge. They’ll use more than legislation to justify their goals. They have established a network designed for direct action. Councilors Vega and Treymane have spent years infiltrating Enforcement Q. They have filled most of the administration with hardliners.”
“That’s not news.” Meera crossed her arms. “Enforcement Q has always targeted Blends for sport.”
“Not like this. They have finalized designs for detention facilities in the Northern Waste.” Galen pulled a data crystal from his sleeve.
Icy dread settled in her stomach, though the idea as presented made little sense.
“Wait. You refer to the old work village from the …”
“The Risen Era. Yes. A small city which housed a hundred thousand Blends who built the first Megas.”
“A third of them died raising this city. That village hasn’t been occupied for decades.”
He nodded. So, they agreed on one point.
“Forty years. This time, it will be caged. All they’d need is a grant of emergency power and a simple majority vote from the Council.”
Her skepticism asked an obvious question.
“How would you know this?”
“Because I’m still a man of some influence, and I’m able to walk in the gray spaces between the moderate and conservative factions. There are men of faith who show affinity for the Pure Breathers but hide their revulsion. Likewise, I have little doubt. Vega is about to make a crucial move at the next Council intake. If his effort succeeds, all he’ll need is justification for the next phase.”
If Galen didn’t say another word, he’d already disclosed far more than Meera could have imagined. Maybe too much to be believed.
“What justification?”
“That the Blend have outlived their usefulness and are nothing more than a burden on Vandress.”
She played along.
“How would he demonstrate this?” The question answered itself before her father replied. Meera’s cheeks fell. “Violence. All the raids. These streams blaming Blends for the five missing officers. They’re trying to foment riots.”
Her father seemed like a diminished man, frustrated by events he could not control. Meera recognized the same weariness from the day she left their home for good.
“I’m not privy to the specific strategy, but you might be correct. A friend who has eyes inside EQ believes they need only one spark to justify an escalated response. Meera, there are ninety thousand Blend in Sinquin, more than enough to take the Mega if they put their minds to it. Men like Vega will use riots to evoke the fear of an insurrection and force the Council to act.”
He placed the crystal on the floor between them.
“This contains transit routes, employ data, and guard rotations for Enforcement Q, and also the names of those of us in the Breath who oppose the Pure Breathers’ goals. Men like Muryll Steath can help. Sinquin’s representatives, such as Councilor Nesbitt, may be counted on, though I can’t guarantee how forceful their pushback will be.”
Meera stared at the crystal without touching it.
“Why should I trust you? This could be part of an EQ trap to identify Blend agitators.”
“You shouldn’t trust me.” Galen’s shoulders sagged. “I’ve given you no reason. But I’m not asking for forgiveness, only that you verify this information yourself. Speak to Legate Steath. He’s been working against the Pure Breathers from within.”
Meera’s mind raced. Steath had already warned her about growing tensions, but nothing this specific. And men like Vega wouldn’t be entirely wrong in their dire warnings. Factions of Blend long whispered about claiming more Sinquin territory to reduce overcrowding and improve living conditions.
“Even if all this is true, I can’t imagine these ideas about the Blend will gain enough traction. The Pure Breathers have influence, yes, but most Tets seem indifferent, and they haven’t forgotten what the Blend sacrificed.”
Galen swayed his head.
“The indifference is cultivated. The hostility grows in private.” He traced another pattern in the sand, this one resembling atmospheric pressure lines. “Vega’s faction has been systematically rewriting educational materials for the past three years. The history your generation learned has been ... adjusted.”
“Adjusted how?”
“The Blend contribution to environmental restoration has been minimized in the new curricula. Where texts once detailed how Blend workers sacrificed to build the weather shields and atmospheric scrubbers, new versions simply mention ‘specialized labor units’ of both pureborns and the engineered. The thousands who died in the Acid Falls are footnotes now.”
Meera felt sick.
“I heard nothing of this.”
“Because the Breath holds sway over education doctrine. The changes have been made quietly.”
“It’s madness. These men and women – and that’s what they are – still play a vital role in our fuel and water systems. I don’t believe the public would stand for it.”
“Not at first.” Galen’s fingers stilled in the sand. “But they will be assured we have enough workers to replace every Blend. Between humans, drones, and the automated systems …” Galen sighed. “Meera, people of faith have spent a lifetime hearing about ‘natural order’ and ‘planetary harmony’ in temple. Now, their children come home reciting revised histories. They won’t notice their compassion eroding. They will not face a moral quandary.”
This would have been the time to point how her father set aside just such an issue thirteen years ago.
“You and your allies in the temple can solve this before it goes any further. If you stood together and renounced these policies and asked the Council for a middle way …” Meera saw the frailty behind those stern eyes, reflecting decades of silence.
Now it made sense.
“You won’t stand up because you’re cowards.”
Meera expected pushback, a defensive posture. She got neither.
“I watched the doctrine twist into something unrecognizable,” he said. “I performed ceremonies for Pure Breathers while knowing their plans. I blessed children who recited hateful versions of our sacred texts.” His hand trembled as he smoothed away the pattern he’d drawn. “Each time I told myself: not today. Today, I must protect my position to fight tomorrow.”
Meera scoffed.
“And tomorrow never came.”
“Until your mother died. I realized I’d lost everything except my place in a temple spiraling into extremism.” He met her eyes but did not shed a tear. “I don’t expect your forgiveness, Meera. But perhaps I can earn a measure of redemption by helping your family now.”
Meera studied her father’s face, searching for deception and finding only exhaustion and regret. She pocketed the data crystal, her fingers closing around it like a talisman.
“There will never be forgiveness. What happens next is up to you.”
Galen nodded, accepting her terms without argument.
“Legate Steath has a source inside the EQ station on Sinquin. He can verify the information’s authenticity. Contact him.” He stood with the fluid grace of a man accustomed to ceremonial movement. “We should leave the temple separately. Your mourning garb will protect you from casual observation.”
“I know how to disappear in a crowd.” Meera rose, smoothing the gray fabric of her borrowed garment. “I’ve had thirteen years of practice.”
She turned toward the door, but Galen’s hand caught her sleeve, the first time she felt his touch.
“Meera.” His voice carried an unfamiliar note … uncertainty. “Your son. Does he have any other similarities to …”
She couldn’t believe he dared ask.
“You’ve never seen him? Steath never …?”
“No. He offered, but I …”
“He’s a beautiful boy. He’s independent, strong-willed, curious, and a troublemaker sometimes. But like you or Mother? Not his blue freckles. Those he gets from Arliss. The nose, the hair, and maybe the attitude, he gets from me. It’s enough for pureborns to bully him and even some Blends to question how he came to be. If they ask, I tell them it was love.”
She pulled her arm free.
“He can’t fit in anywhere, thanks to people like you.”
Galen did not reassert his touch.
“I’ve never met a Patchwork. I …”
“He’s not a Patchwork. He’s your biological grandson. I remember my history studies. The controversy about whether to design Blends with the ability to reproduce. Most are against it now. Men like Vega probably want them sterilized. But I think it was the most compassionate decision we Tets ever made. I hope you will come around to feel the same way before you die.”
Regret flashed across Galen’s face before he masked it with Wind Reader composure. He gestured toward the door.
“After you.”
They descended the spiral staircase in silence, footsteps echoing against stone. The chapel came into view, its circular layout now disrupted by an unexpected sight. Three men in gray-blue uniforms stood like totems at the main door, their postures rigid and purposeful. Upon closer inspection, Meera identified the defining feature of Pure Breather acolytes: The brown gloves.
Galen’s step faltered.
“That’s unusual.”
Meera felt the familiar prickle of danger at her neck.
“I should go another way.”
“No.” Galen’s voice was firm. “You’ll draw attention.”
They crossed the chapel floor, Meera keeping her head bowed beneath her hood. The mourning garment felt like flimsy protection against hostile eyes.
As they approached the exit, the men shifted position, blocking the doorway. The tallest stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Meera.
“Wind Reader Keet,” he acknowledged with minimal respect. “We’re here on behalf of the temple to invoke a heresy citation.”
Galen grunted.
“On what grounds, and by whose authority?”
“By authority of a concerned citizen of faith.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “Banned souls are not permitted on sacred grounds. We have reason to believe this woman,” he gestured toward Meera, “is such a person.”
“This is absurd.” Galen’s voice carried the full weight of his position. “This woman is a mourner seeking solace. The Breath welcomes all who grieve.”
“Not those who have forsaken the natural order.” The guard’s hand moved to his belt, where a neural disruptor hung in plain view. “Remove your hood, woman.”
Meera felt cold rage replace her fear. These men stood between her and her family’s safety. Between her and the information that might save Arliss and Kip from Vega’s plans.
“This is not a temple matter, and it is beyond your duty,” Galen insisted. “If you have concerns, take them to the Council of Readers.”
“This is a temple,” the guard retorted, “and we are its protectors. Now step aside, Wind Reader.”
Meera lifted her head, letting the hood fall back just enough to reveal her eyes, amber like her father’s, burning with enough accumulated anger to prepare a fist for this bastard. He was twice as old as the thug Roe Vega, but only a nudge taller. She’d offer him a fine challenge.
“Touch me,” she said, “and I’ll break your arm in three places before you can activate that disruptor.” She stepped closer, deepening her voice further. “I repair water induction systems for a living. I can dismantle a human body as efficiently as I enjoin erasite conduits.”
The guard blinked, uncertainty replacing his arrogance.
“Now move,” Meera continued, “or discover how little I care about adding to my list of transgressions against the Breath.”
For a moment, the guard’s hand hovered near his disruptor. Meera held her ground, muscles tensed for action. She’d spent thirteen years in the Servo District, where threats weren’t idle and survival often depended on one’s willingness to follow through.
“Let her pass.”
The command came from Galen, his voice carrying the unmistakable authority of a Regional Wind Reader.
“This woman has completed her mourning ritual. The Breath demands we respect grief’s passage.”
The guards exchanged glances, weighing their options. Challenging a Wind Reader inside temple risked consequences. Finally, the lead guard stepped aside with visible reluctance.
“This matter isn’t settled,” he muttered as Meera moved past.
She said nothing, keeping her head bowed just enough to maintain the mourner’s posture while watching her surroundings with hypervigilant attention. Galen followed well behind.
The bright lights of the temple plaza hit her as they emerged onto the tall steps. The plaza stretched before them, busy with afternoon foot traffic. Meera exhaled, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease. They’d made it out. She needed to reach the transit station without further trouble. One quick change in Trequin and then home.
Her wish did not come true.
Meera’s pulse quickened when she approached a tall figure in an upstyle brown suit with push collar and matching gloves. She recognized the man’s hard cheekbones and steely eyes.
Councilor Ennis Vega. Beside him stood a younger man in the formal attire of an aide, hands clasped behind his back.
Slag. Of all the people to run into. Not an accident, either.
“Keep walking,” Galen advised from behind. “Don’t break stride.”
They descended the steps despite the original plan of leaving separately. Meera kept her eyes fixed on a point just beyond Vega’s shoulder, hoping the mourning garb would be enough to discourage interaction. But as they reached the plaza level, the councilor stepped into her path.
“Wind Reader Keet,” Vega said, his voice smooth as polished stone. “What a fortuitous encounter.” His gaze slid to Meera, lingering on her concealed face. “And who might your companion be?”
