Blend, p.35
Blend, page 35
“She did what you asked,” Perrin hissed. “Now honor your agreement.”
Ennis completed another full circle before responding.
“I believe she was playing both sides.” His voice remained conversational, as if discussing weather patterns. “Perhaps her sentiments weren’t aligned with yours. The Breath teaches us that ‘a child’s heart often betrays the mind’s instruction.’”
Hope flickered across Perrin’s bruised face.
“I’m sure it was a moment of confusion. Like you said. Her emotions. You’ll still uphold our deal?”
“The Fifth Doctrine speaks of ‘promises made in service to greater purpose.’” Ennis stopped to readjust his gloves. “But I wonder about you, Perrin. All your fellow Blends at risk now. A Patchwork daughter whom you almost certainly love. I must question your sympathies.”
“I did everything you asked,” she spat. “Everything.”
“Indeed. And yet...” Ennis tilted his head, studying her with clinical detachment. “I sense reluctance. What you fail to understand is that I have no intention of eliminating your kind.”
Perrin’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“The Breath teaches that ‘family forms the vessel through which purity flows.’’ Ennis resumed his predatory circuit. “The Seventh Wind Reading reminds us that children must respect their elders in all matters without exception. Order. Hierarchy. Structure. These principles govern not just individuals but societies. Corvaan Bless, your wayward Tetonian husband, understood nothing of these principles.”
Perrin flinched at the name.
“A weak man,” Ennis said. “He proves that a man without faith lacks the necessities to see the struggle through to its end. His failure to maintain control over his household … over you … speaks volumes about the decay in our social structures.”
Tears welled in Perrin’s eyes, whether from pain or memory remained unclear. Not that he cared.
“But his abandonment opened an important door.” Ennis softened his tone to something almost kind. “His weakness created the opportunity for your daughter to serve our cause. For that, I owe him.”
“Will you honor our agreement?” Perrin asked again, voice cracking. “Will you allow me to leave with Emilie?”
Ennis straightened his cuffs.
“The Breath teaches that ‘actions aligned with natural order bring their own reward.’ I’ll leave you to contemplate the wisdom in those words.”
He turned toward the door where Pietro waited. The aide’s face gave away nothing.
Ennis reached his decision outside the chamber.
“Finalize the extraction,” he instructed after the door sealed behind them, cutting off Perrin’s desperate pleas. “Standard protocol. I want to see it through. Understood?”
“Yes, Councilor. I’ll see it done.”
Pietro said nothing else until they boarded the lift. Halfway up, he broke the silence.
“Sir, I was wondering if I might … never mind. I shouldn’t ask.”
“Speak plainly, Pietro.”
The young man swallowed.
“I’ve done everything you asked, sir. I … uh … I’d like to see it again. The Whisper. To witness its guidance.” His voice dropped to near-reverence. “To understand the visions that direct our path.”
Ennis noted the hunger in the young man’s eyes.
“You’ve developed quite a fascination.”
“Please, sir.” Pietro’s composure cracked, revealing naked yearning. “Just once more.”
Ennis wondered whether he felt pity or pride.
“After we complete the Pivot,” he said, tone gentler than usual. “When our work has borne fruit.”
“How long?” Pietro asked, unable to contain his eagerness.
“Twelve urns.” Ennis placed a hand on his young aide’s shoulder. “Can you wait so long?”
Pietro bowed, formal and grateful.
“Yes, Councilor. Thank you. I exercise patience and discipline.”
Ennis nodded, turning his thoughts to the Council meeting urns away. The first public step toward a purified Southern Platte. The beginning of everything the Resonance long promised.
When they reached L150, Ennis smoothed his jacket.
“I’ll head home for a brief respite,” he announced. “Breakfast with my family before the day begins.”
Pietro nodded.
“Of course, sir. I’ll have your materials prepared for the intake by the time you return.”
“A new day should begin with proper discipline. My family will expect to see me at the table.”
He wondered if Pietro was curious about life in the Vega home. Did he think Ennis placed the same demands there as his workplace?
“The Breath teaches that ‘order within the home creates order within society,’” Ennis added, though Pietro hadn’t asked. “Children learn discipline by witnessing it consistently.”
“Yes, Councilor.”
“I’ll return by 8,30.” Ennis headed toward his private port on the levtrain route. “Ensure my spot on the Council dais is prepared to the last detail.”
“It will be done, sir.”
Ennis paused, turning back to his aide, thinking of the request for another viewing of the Whisper.
“You’ve served admirably these past months, Pietro. The Breath speaks of recognizing those who uphold natural order. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.”
Color rose in the young man’s cheeks.
“Thank you, Councilor.”
Ennis departed, his mind shifting to the next set of tasks that would advance his vision for Vandress.
He arrived at Unquin L197 twenty minups later.
Carys greeted him at the door, her silver-streaked hair styled impeccably despite the early urn. She wore the formal morning attire of a high-ranking official’s household manager: Charcoal gray with subtle embroidery denoting her years of service to the Vega family.
“Always on the stoop, Carys.”
Ennis handed her his outer jacket.
“The household runs best when preparation precedes need,” she replied, the familiar exchange a comfort to them both. “Breakfast will be served in one urn. Your wife and Roe are attending their morning devotions.”
“And Ren?”
A flicker of hesitation crossed Carys’s face.
“The young master should be in his quarters, preparing for the day.”
Uncertainty in her tone alerted him. Unusual for Carys.
Without another word, Ennis moved through the residence toward his private study. As he rounded the corner of the final hallway, Ennis stopped.
Ren stood motionless before the study door, his compact frame rigid as a statue. The ten-year-old boy’s eyes were open but vacant, staring at nothing. His nightclothes hung on his thin shoulders, and his bare feet were exposed to the polished stone floor.
“Ren,” Ennis called.
The boy didn’t respond, didn’t even blink. His breathing remained shallow and even, as though he were in deep sleep despite his standing position.
Twice in four days.
Both times, ending at the same spot.
“Ren,” he repeated, placing a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder.
He shook his son once, then again with force. The boy’s eyes focused, confusion and fear washing over his features as awareness returned.
“Father?” Ren wobbled backward and blinked, looking down at bare feet with growing horror. “I … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …”
“What is troubling you?” Ennis demanded, his voice low and controlled.
“I don’t know,” Ren whispered, tears welling in his eyes. “I don’t remember how I got here.”
Ennis searched for signs of deception and found only genuine distress. He activated his comm unit.
“Carys, come attend to Ren. He’s out of sorts. Again.”
“Right away, sir.”
Ren trembled under his father’s scrutiny.
“Please, Father. Am I in trouble?”
Ennis calculated possibilities. He couldn’t dismiss the timing and location of these two incidents.
“Return to your room and prepare for breakfast,” he instructed as Carys arrived. “We will discuss this at another time.”
Relief washed over Ren’s features.
“Yes, Father. Thank you, Father.”
He watched Carys escort the bewildered boy back to his quarters on the opposite side of their home. Then Ennis retreated to his study, thoughts turning inward. He unlocked the bottom-right drawer.
The Whisper sat in its cradle, pulsing with unusual intensity. It shifted between deep violet and strange, unsettling yellow he never observed before. The surface rippled in response to his proximity, as though reaching for him. They’d only been apart since the office, but the Whisper seemed somehow bitter at their distance.
Images flashed before Ennis, but not of a future. These were projections of emotions. Symbols from deep inside the Resonance.
Ennis interpreted the message and thought of Ren.
“You’re correct. He is a problem.”
17
KIP
BLOOD ON THE DECK. That image wouldn't leave Kip's mind. Three bodies crumpled near an incinerator like discarded parts. Scar's vacant eyes wide with shock. Ghost's face lying splat in his own blood. Pixel's small blue frame twitching after she collapsed.
Kip pressed his back against the maintenance shaft wall, knees pulled tight against his chest. His breathing came in ragged gasps that echoed in the narrow space. The metal mesh beneath him vibrated with distant machinery.
They didn’t even hesitate.
The enforcers lined them up and fired without a word. No warning. No arrest. Just execution. Then they dragged the bodies one at a time into the incinerator and cleaned up their mess.
Like it meant nothing.
If he ever saw these men again, Kip intended to kill them. But they deserved worse. Scar, Ghost, and Pixel never saw it coming.
Those fringing slags are gonna hurt. They’re gonna hurt.
And someone else, too.
“Flow true,” Emilie whispered to him just yesterday, her fingers intertwined with his as they hid in their private spot. “You and me, String. We understand each other.”
He’d kissed her. Trusted her. Wasn’t she supposed to be the one who understood him best? Weren’t they going to have children together someday?
Kip slammed his fist against the wall, pain shooting up his arm. The sound echoed, and he froze, listening for pursuit. Nothing but the distant hum of the Mega’s systems.
His mother’s face floated before him. The disappointment in her eyes when she caught him in another lie about school. The way she tried to hide her worry when he came home late. All those Fix-It Nights she spent teaching him, hoping he’d find a better path.
Kip massaged the flashgun and wished he’d been strong enough to step out of the shadows and use it on those EQ slag-heaps.
What would Mom think if she saw me now?
Three dead. How many more would follow? The thought of TimBob, Zero, Wrench, and the others facing the same fate induced panic.
“Keep moving,” he whispered to himself. “Find a way down.”
He crawled forward, each move deliberate and silent. The maintenance shaft branched ahead, one path continuing horizontally, the other dropping at a steep angle. He’d tried three different routes already, each ending in sealed hatches or active security zones.
There’s got to be a way.
A tight pressure built in his chest, not from fear but something else. Heat radiated against his skin, centered on a single point.
The pendant.
TimBob’s gift before the mission; he’d almost forgotten about it.
“For luck,” TimBob had said. “Don’t take it off.”
Kip reached inside his mesh bodysuit, fingers finding the small gear-shaped object. It pulsed with unexpected warmth. When he tried to pull it away from his skin, it resisted, clinging like it had fused to him.
“What the fring?”
The more he tugged, the warmer it grew. Not burning, but insistent. His fingers fumbled with the chain, distracted by the strange sensation.
Then an image flashed in his mind, as if he were seeing it through someone else’s eyes. A narrow vertical shaft behind a maintenance panel, three junctions ahead. A downward route that didn’t appear on any standard schematics.
Kip blinked, confused. The image hadn’t come from his memory. He’d never been in that section before. Was he hallucinating?
The pendant pulsed again, warmer.
Is this thing ... showing me the way?
It seemed impossible, but after witnessing three of his flow-family take plasma bullets in the back of the head, impossible lost its meaning. He moved onward, counting junctions until he reached the third. There, just as in the vision, a maintenance panel sat flush against the wall, unmarked.
Kip pried it open with his multi-tool and trembling fingers. Behind it, as he’d seen, a narrow vertical shaft dropped into darkness. Old service rungs lined one side, disappearing into the shadows below.
The pendant cooled, as if satisfied.
This is crimp. Total crimp.
But he had no better options. The sounds of nearby Enforcement Q search patrols echoed through the ventilation system.
Kip slipped through the opening and onto the ladder, pulling the panel closed behind him. The darkness swallowed him whole as he began his descent, guided by nothing but touch and the strange certainty that had planted itself in his mind.
I’m coming for you, Em. And the rest of those EQ murderers.
As he climbed down, rung by rung, grief hardened into something darker. They took Scar, Ghost, and Pixel from him. They wouldn’t take anyone else.
The pendant hummed, almost like approval.
Kip’s descent continued for what felt like urns, though his internal clock told him it had been less than fifteen minups. The pendant grew cooler against his chest, no longer directing him. He reached Level 100 – still in dangerous territory, far from Blend allies.
He paused at a junction, listening. The maintenance corridors were quiet, the usual hum of machinery muted as if all Sinquin held its breath. A service hatch to his right would lead to a tertiary corridor, one step closer to the lower levels and safety.
As Kip reached for the hatch controls, voices echoed from beyond.
“… sweep this section again. Control says they’ve got anomalous movement on the heat sensors.”
“Could be maintenance drones.”
“Could be. Or could be our little runners.”
Kip froze, his hand hovering over the panel. Two officers, their voices crisp with authority. He backed away from the hatch, eyes darting for cover. The corridor offered nothing but exposed pipes and junction boxes … nowhere to hide if they entered.
The access panel behind him provided his only option.
He slipped inside the narrow service alcove meant for repair equipment, pulling the panel shut as the hatch hissed open. Through the thin slats, he saw two officers step into the corridor, flashguns at the ready. Their caps gleamed.
“HQ, Team 7. We’re entering 100-CA4. No visual confirmation yet.”
The taller officer tapped his ear, listening to a response.
“Copy that. We lost the heat signatures but did see evidence of blood. Trail ended eight units NE.”
Kip pressed himself deeper into the alcove, heart hammering. His hand slid to the flashgun’s trigger. The weapon seemed lighter, natural.
If they open this panel, I ain’t-a going down like my brothers.
The shorter officer moved closer, scanning the corridor with a handheld device. Each step brought him nearer to Kip’s hiding spot.
“Got something here. Residual heat trace on this access panel.”
Kip aimed. Sweat trickled down his spine, soaking into his bodysuit.
I won’t let them take me. I won’t.
The officer reached toward the panel. Kip’s finger tightened on the trigger.
A voice cracked over a communicator.
“Team 7, report to Sec Lead on 100-GH. We have confirmed visuals on targets at SE auxiliary.”
The officer’s hand paused, then dropped from the panel.
“Copy, HQ. Redirecting now.”
They moved back toward the hatch, boots echoing on the metal mesh. The taller one paused, looking back at the access panel with suspicion.
“We’ll flag this section for a follow-up sweep.”
Then they were gone, the hatch sealing behind them with a hiss.
Kip didn’t move, didn’t breathe.
Ten simps passed. Twenty. His muscles screamed for action.
Then a hand clamped over his mouth from behind.
Kip thrashed, the flashgun almost spinning from his grip as he tried to twist free. The alcove was big enough for one person; how did he not see someone coming up from behind?
“Easy, String. Flow true, yeah? It’s me.”
The voice, only a whisper, cut through his panic.
TimBob?
The hand released him, and Kip spun around. In the faded light filtering through the panel slats, he made out TimBob’s face, his catlike eyes reflecting what little light penetrated their hiding place.
“How …” Kip began.
TimBob pressed a finger to his lips, then tapped his ear. Not safe to talk yet.
He gestured for Kip to follow, pushing against the back wall of the alcove. It swung inward, revealing a hidden passage so narrow they had to turn sideways to slip through.
They emerged into a small maintenance hub where two familiar faces waited: Twick, his silver-streaked skin almost glowing, and Zero, his cybernetic eyes whirring.
“String.” Twick whispered, relief cracking his voice. “Thought you went dark-current for sure.”
Zero just nodded, his usual stoicism cracking as he fisted Kip’s shoulder hard enough to bruise.
“My little revs,” TimBob said, his voice thick with emotion. “Told you I’d never bail on my crew.”
Kip felt something break inside him. The terror, the grief, the betrayal; it all crashed through the walls he built during his escape. Before he could stop himself, he was telling them everything, his emotions bursting.
