Blend, p.38
Blend, page 38
“Unless what?”
Morran spoke up, his voice softer than Drace’s.
“Unless we can de-escalate the situation. Prevent a bloodbath.”
Drace shot Morran an annoyed look before turning back to Arliss.
“Your son is in mortal danger, Dubai. He’s now a fugitive with a price on his head. Your wife can and will be charged as an accessory. Both could end up on Rogue 19, or worse.”
The threat hung heavy between them.
“What do you want from me?”
Arliss already knew.
“Accept responsibility as the leader of this plot,” Drace said. “Read a statement pleading with Torque’s leadership to turn over the stolen weapons and surrender for trial. Otherwise, what happened up here will be escalated down there. You might be aware that the Unified Council is meeting in a fewurns for a public intake. My source says anti-Blend legislation will be proposed. When we inform the Council of tonight’s events, life as your people know it will take a sour turn.”
“And if I do this?”
“Then we focus our response on the actual perpetrators rather than conducting a district-wide sweep.” Drace sighed, though with no measure of satisfaction. “The innocent will be spared. Your family will not receive full immunity, but we might arrange a new start for them elsewhere on the Southern Platte.”
“And if I refuse?”
Drace’s expression hardened.
“Then I can’t guarantee restraint when my officers enter the Servo District. We’ll find your boy. Should he survive the encounter, we’ll make sure he’s executed alongside you.”
Arliss studied both men. Drace was enjoying this: The power, the manipulation, the leverage. But Morran ... something in the captain’s posture suggested discomfort. He showed none of Drace’s relish for revenge.
“I need to think,” Arliss said.
“Of course. Big decision.” Drace replied with false generosity. “Captain Morran, a word outside.”
The two officers stepped away, leaving Arliss alone with his thoughts. The moment the door closed, he allowed himself to slump forward, processing what he’d seen.
Kip was alive. Running, hunted, but alive.
They’ll never let my family go. This deal is just another trap.
The tagger pulsed again, more insistent this time. Arliss wished he knew what it was trying to tell him, but he dared not check it while in here. Fallon and Guise’s words echoed in his mind: Listen. Imagine possibilities beyond constraints.
What had they meant? That he shouldn’t accept the limitations of his situation? That there was an option beyond Drace’s false choice?
Arliss closed his eyes, trying to think. Torque would never surrender those weapons, not when they believed they were fighting for survival. If he read Drace’s statement, it would only buy time before the inevitable crackdown. And if that happened, Kip and Meera would be among the first targeted.
The best way to protect them isn’t to remove yourself from the equation. It’s to change the equation.
An idea took root. Dangerous, maybe suicidal, but with a slim chance of success. If he could somehow turn the narrative back on Drace, expose the truth about what was happening ...
The door slid open again. Drace entered alone, his expression harder than before.
“I assume you’ve made the only practical choice?”
“No. Actually. I’m still working through it, Commander. How much time do I have?”
“I’m not inflexible, Dubai. Thirty minups, starting now. Your family’s future depends on you being smart.”
Arliss straightened in his chair, the plan crystallizing. He wouldn’t be a pawn in their game.
Time to change the equation.
“If I’m to give a statement, it must be in my own words. I can’t think in here.”
Drace motioned to an officer, who returned Arliss to his cell.
Alone, Arliss pressed his back against the wall beneath the security node and closed his eyes. The tagger’s warmth radiated through the pocket, a constant reminder of possibilities beyond these barriers.
Drace thinks he’s crafted the perfect trap. He wins either way.
If Arliss denounced Torque, he’d betray his own people and validate EQ’s narrative of Blend violence. If he refused, he’d condemn the Servo District to a bloodbath. Classic strong-arm tactics, the kind his father had warned him about during their late-night study sessions.
“Know history and the law better than they do, Son. These are weapons they can’t take from you.”
His father’s voice, clear as morning air, cut through the fog of fear and uncertainty. Knowledge was survival in a system designed to keep Blends ignorant and compliant.
The law. Yes.
Article 47 wasn’t his only recourse. He focused on other provisions, the universal protections buried in the founding charter of the Nine Cities. Rights that even Blends retained, if they knew to invoke them.
Arliss opened his imagination, as Fallon and Guise advised, and an answer peeked through a tangled array of options.
Thank you, Drace, for the opening.
He zeroed in on the Council’s intake, a public forum where the city’s leaders would hear evidence of a so-called Blend insurrection. Anger would rule the day, and they’d use that evidence – and Arliss’s statement – to advance a larger agenda.
One years in the making.
Unless he changed the narrative.
Arliss pulled out the tagger, which pulsed with a gentle rhythm, almost like a heartbeat. He thought of Meera. Brilliant, fierce Meera who never stopped fighting for their family even when he couldn’t.
Time to be the man she married. The father Kip deserves.
He pressed his thumb against the device. It responded, warming beneath his touch. A small holographic interface materialized.
“Trust this cell. It wears you well.”
“Recording,” he whispered, accepting Fallon and Guise’s assurance that he wouldn’t be monitored, that their so-called transition field … or whatever … was still active.
Arliss got straight to the point, laying out everything Meera needed to know. The legal precedents. The timing. The evidence to expose the truth about what was happening in the Servo District.
When he finished, Arliss transmitted his message and tucked the tagger away. His servos hummed with nervous hope. Yes, the path ahead was still dangerous, but for the first time since Rogue 19, Arliss felt himself again.
No more noble sacrifices. No more playing their game by their rules. He moved to the cell door and knocked three times, the sound echoing down the corridor. Multiple footsteps approached, heavy with authority.
The door slid open to reveal Drace’s wintry smile.
“Decision time, Dubai. What’s it to be?”
Arliss met Drace’s gaze without flinching.
“I have made a decision. I know my rights.”
And soon, everyone else will too.
19
MEERA
SHE SET DOWN THE LAST tray of nutrient wraps inside a circle of children on Silar Engines' main operations floor. The synthetic protein sheets glistened, their edges folded around cores of Purple Push and Berry Basic. The vibrant purple and electric blue fillings leaked from the corners, leaving iridescent smears across the metal tray. The wraps emitted a faint, sweet aroma as tiny wisps of steam rose from the piping hot stuffing.
The Pikers barely acknowledged the food, their eyes fixed on each other. Their youthful faces were etched with expressions she’d never seen on children before: Hollow-eyed and tight-jawed, skin stretched taut across cheekbones that seemed too pronounced.
They aren’t children anymore after what they’ve done and seen.
Meera stepped back, finding a spot against one of Silar’s massive atmospheric regulator segments. From here, she observed without intruding on their grief. The six escaped Pikers sat in a tight circle, shoulders touching as if physical contact could somehow hold them together when everything else was falling apart.
Kip sat cross-legged, face streaked with dried tears and grime.
When did my son become this person I don’t recognize?
“He knew,” Kip said, his voice stronger than Meera had heard it in months, though the Blend-cant confused her. “TimBob knew what would pop if we got snagged. That’s why he made sure we had ghost-paths mapped, true-true.”
“When the lift started moving,” Twick added, “and those EQ flux-rats started blastin’, he just ... he just stepped to the front.” His voice cracked. “Like he’d been mapping that end-flow all along.”
My god. They’re talking about watching someone die for them.
Circuit, a small girl with silver patterns running along her temples, wiped her eyes.
“He told me leaders protect their peeps. Said it wasn’t ’bout droppin’ orders – it was ’bout makin’ sure we flow back safe to the crash-space.”
“Not everyone made it back to the crash-space,” another one added. “Scar didn’t. Ghost didn’t. Pixel ...” She couldn’t finish.
Children mourning children. What kind of world have we made?
Kip’s hand went to his chest and touched the pendant under his mesh. Meera never saw it before today.
“Before we bounced, TimBob dropped this spark-truth on me. He said, ‘The skin-pures think we’re just scrap-tech. Servos and circuit-junk. They don’t know we got hearts, too.’”
Wrench nodded, his Patchie freckles showing similar patterns to Kip’s.
“You can’t spark it to them Pure Breathers. They got no ears.”
“Yeah. They see us as junk they can frag and ghost-dump.” Kip’s voice grew stronger. “But we ain’t-a null-tech. Scar wasn’t. Ghost wasn’t. Pixel wasn’t.”
He sounds like Arliss when we first met; same fire, same conviction.
“TimBob said we got to remember his real name,” Zero said. “Garris Severn. So he wouldn’t be forgot.”
“Garris Severn,” the children repeated in unison, like a prayer.
They’re performing a ritual. Their own version of a Breath Circle.
Meera recalled those joyous ceremonies, long before she met Arliss or knew anything about the larger world.
“You know what else?” Kip continued, his eyes burning with an intensity Meera had never seen. “Garris, he dropped a spark-truth on me once that every rev starts when our fear is null. He wasn’t scared of death.”
Twick nodded.
“He was sparkin’ a smile when he shoved me into the lift. Sparkin’ like a live wire.”
“Because he knew we’d keep going,” Circuit answered. “That’s why he always said, ‘Keep flowing, my little revs.’’’
Little revs. Revolutionaries. My son was being groomed for war.
Kip touched the pendant again.
“He warmed our blood, for true.”
Meera studied the pendant. Something about the way Kip touched it felt different. She made a point to ask him about it later.
“We can’t let ’em jock our flow,” Spurge said. “Can’t let ’em make us all afraid again.”
“We won’t,” Kip promised. His voice hardened. “He crashed his circuits for us so we could keep the current flowing.”
Fight? No. No, no, no. You’re twelve years old.
“For Garris Severn,” Zero said, raising his hand in what appeared to be a Piker salute.
“For Scar, Ghost, and Pixel,” added Wrench.
“For all of us,” Kip finished, and the others nodded in solemn agreement.
Meera turned away, her chest stiff with fear but also a strange, unwelcome pride. Her son spoke with conviction about things she never taught him, showed courage she never instilled.
He found his own path while I was too busy keeping us afloat.
Beyond the circle of children, the adults of Torque gathered, their voices low and urgent. Farris Jakob overlooked a light table, flanked by Offante, Ven Rowen and Janu Kreager. Their faces were grim with purpose.
Meera moved toward them, leaving the children to their grief and newfound resolve. She had her own fight to prepare for.
Arliss is still up there. He needs us.
She approached the group, struck that Farris had not only lent his business to Torque but also brought energy to the planning. A lone Tetonian collaborating with blue skins. The man who had given her work when no one else would, who had trusted her abilities despite her marriage to a Blend, now risked it all by harboring them.
He could lose his business. His freedom. Everything.
Silar Engines’ massive workshop floor had transformed into a command center. The industrial space with its towering atmospheric regulators and water induction systems provided both cover and strategic advantage. The building’s reinforced doors and limited access points made it defensible … at least for a while.
“They’ll hit us before shift change,” Farris said, his salt-and-pepper goatee bristling as he spoke. “They’ll avoid the busiest times because they’re afraid too big a crowd will make it harder to pinpoint the true enemy.”
“On that well-reasoned argument, we should expect action within three urns,” Offante said, his injuries from the clash with Arliss healing. “They’ll want to make an example before the day-workers head up.”
Janu pointed to locations on a detailed schematic of the district projected on the table’s surface.
“These are the six most likely entry points. The lifts at Crosstrots Hub are the most vulnerable.”
“And the most obvious,” Ven added. “They’ll come heavy here, expecting resistance.”
Meera studied the map, her engineering mind breaking down the problem into components and solutions.
“What about the maintenance lifts on the eastern edge? They’re smaller, but EQ could deploy through them.”
Farris nodded.
“Good spotting. We can’t leave those unguarded.”
“We don’t have enough people or weapons to cover everything,” Janu countered.
“Then we don’t try to cover it all.” Offante’s tone shifted from charismatic shopkeeper to calculated insurgent leader. “We create chokepoints. Force them into a position where their numbers work against them.”
This is happening. We’re planning an armed resistance.
“The lifts are our advantage,” Ven pointed out. “Anyone coming down is vulnerable for those first few simps. They can only exit so quickly.”
Offante’s eyes gleamed.
“Exactly. And if we disable the lifts after the first wave deploys, we trap them down here with us. Cut off their reinforcements.”
“You’re talking about turning the Servo District into a kill box,” Farris said. “Strategically, it’s practical. But consider the larger picture. The lifts are sacred to a Mega. The central arteries. Shutting them down affects Tets and Blends alike, and since they run on automated systems, you can only do it with sabotage. It’s a line I recommend you don’t cross.”
The words hovered between them, heavy with implication. No one denied Farris’s point, but Meera figured anyone with blue skin must have thought Farris was showing his Tetonian sympathy.
Offante rushed in first with a counter.
“Imagine the reverse. If the uppers faced a similar threat, would your kind not resort to the same tactic?”
Farris shaded his eyes.
“Point taken.”
Meera’s stomach clenched.
“This is exactly what they want. Violent resistance gives them justification for whatever comes next.”
“And what would you suggest?” Janu challenged, his massive frame turning toward her. “Let them round us up? Execute more of our children?”
“I’m not saying we don’t fight.” Meera met his gaze, stunned she had moved this far on the issue. “I’m saying we need to be smarter than they expect.”
Offante nodded.
“Meera’s the voice of reason. Pure Breathers and Councilor Ennis Vega want us to react exactly how they’ve painted us … as violent, unstable and ungrateful. We must defend ourselves without falling into their trap.”
“Tallon and Dox have already distributed a quarter of the weapons to their cells,” Ven reported. “Our people will need explicit orders, especially in rules of engagement. Otherwise …”
Weapons in the hands of people with no training, driven by fear and anger. This won’t end well.
“What about communications?” Farris asked. “If you’re coordinating with cells across sectors, you need a secure frequency. As I understand it, the Pikers’ heist fell apart when EQ jammed their wrist pads.”
Ven sighed.
“I hate to spill venom on the blood of the dead, but TimBob should have known those simple pads were easy to jam.”
All eyes turned to Offante, whose embarrassment hit a new low.
“I did not coordinate well with him on that score. My eternal regret. Fortunately, we have Zero. A prodigy with comm systems. If the late TimBob is to be honored, so should his assessment of Zero’s ability. I’ll ask the boy to rig a closed network using taggers. EQ jammers will not fare well on personal comms, given their market range.”
Meera glanced back at the children. Zero remained in the circle with his brothers and sisters, but his fingers flew over a small, tablet-sized device while the others watched. Even in grief, they found purpose.
“What about evacuations?” She asked, turning back to the adults. “We need a way to get people out, especially the children.”
Janu scoffed.
“To where? Even the most sympathetic Tets won’t stand between us and enforcers.”
“The lowest levels,” Farris suggested. “The vacated manufacturing zone on L4 and L5. They’re not comfortable, but they’re defensible, and EQ would not likely spread their resources so far down.”
Ven traced a path on the map.
“Also, we could use the original water reclamation tunnels. They link into those levels.”
Meera countered with her expertise.
“We haven’t maintained those tunnels for years.” Janu nodded sharp agreement. “The air quality would be dangerous even for someone with enhanced lungs.”
“Better than plasma bullets,” Ven muttered.
