Clarity's Dawn Page 13

  “And?”

  “We can’t let the Sevora tear you apart. They’ll find a way.” Rackt glances at his webbed, feathered hands. “That’s why the Amigga pulled us from the war. Why the Oratus took our place.”

  “But the Oratus can be captured by Sevora,” Malo says, now that we’re all standing around Rackt and listening.

  “Oratus are living weapons, bred and taught only to kill Sevora,” Rackt replies. “Vyphen, we’re different. Not as hardy, not as blind. The Amigga prefer species they can control, even if it comes at a cost.”

  Rackt gets moving again, but I don’t let the conversation die.

  “Which is it?” I press the Vyphen. “Did the Amigga get your species out of the fight because of the Sevora, or because of you?”

  “You don’t miss much, do you?”

  “I’ve found my survival depends on it.”

  Rackt lets this go another few paces. Gives me a chance to get a better look at his feathers, which shimmer in the light. At first I think it’s because the Vyphen are beautiful, but then I notice inconsistencies - patches where the gray and black feathers are dull. It’s not the lighting, it’s grease and grime. A glance back at the others confirms this - Clarity’s Dawn isn’t living in luxury.

  Rackt did say they’re trying to survive.

  “We got tired,” Rackt says finally. “All of the species did, not just us. Have you ever fought a war for generation upon generation? We’d get close to wiping out the Sevora only for them to appear, again, on some other world, with some other species subverted to their will. Eventually, the idea of peace started looking pretty good.”

  “But the Amigga didn’t want that?”

  “You’re talking about the ruling species of the civilized galaxy. The Sevora won’t submit to them, which means the Amigga aren’t going to stop till they’re annihilated. Now, with the Oratus, the Amigga just might manage it.”

  We reach the end of the corridor, where a wide set of doors trundle open at our approach. I look for a keypad, the same thing as on Cobalt, but all I see is a little black nodule towards the top of the circular door.

  “Wave,” Rackt mutters as we pass through, and makes a half-hearted gesture with his right hand towards the nodule.

  I copy him, though I don’t know why. A second later, I forget about it anyway.

  The space holds a small underground city. A chamber that extends far back, down, and up. A platform leading to stairs sits in front of us, and, when I peer over the edge, I see row after row of bedraggled tenants, ramshackle dwellings made up of rusted bits of metal, shallow fires and even small sections where green things grow, with lamps glowing overhead. Species shuffle along makeshift avenues - places, it seems, that are clear only because nobody’s dumped anything there yet.

  But for all the grime, there’s beauty here too. Many-colored lights are strung up between the larger dwellings, casting purples, reds and blues into the dim cavern. Laughter and the murmur of constant conversation bubbles up to us. The smells, too, mingle dirt and sweat with the meatier scents of cooking food. It reminds me of Damantum, of an urban life.

  Our doorway is one of many. Haloed portals ring the chamber, some large and some small, all with stairs or ladders leading to them.

  “Here we are, our home beneath the rock,” Rackt says as we stare. “This is where the resistance lives. This is where the only free souls on the Vimelia survive.”

  Rackt leads us to the stairs, which are far larger than the ones I’m used to. These are wide and long, and dotted with little beads. At first I think the bumps make them uncomfortable step on, unlike the smooth steps in Damantum’s temples, then I notice the mask around my feet grips to them. Useful, maybe, if I needed to run up and down.

  “So tell me what your world is like,” Rackt says as we descend.

  The question sparks a waterfall. Words pour out of me, descriptions that turn into memories of my home village in the jungle, the desert plains, and the sprawling city of Damantum. Of family and sacrifice, of windswept mornings and nights deep beneath a forest canopy listening to the haunted calls of distant birds.

  Rackt takes it all in as we go back and forth down the endless array of switchback stairs.

  “You know how long it’s been since most of these people have seen the sky?” Rackt says when I’m done. “Most, by far, were born here. Grown in Sevora vats only to live out their lives in in servitude until by chance or by neglect they managed to escape.”

  “I’m sorry,” I reply. “I didn’t mean to offend—“

  “No, no,” Rackt says and gestures with his feathers towards the mass of scrabbled shelters. “You should tell everyone what you just told me. Tell them that there’s something better than being stuck at the bottom of a sewer. Tell them that their struggle can get them something new. Can find them something beautiful. Because right now all we have is anger. Frustration and rage.”

  “That only works for so long.” I remember when the remnants of the Solare tribe attacked Malo’s troop on our way to Damatum; they gave into their vengeance and were slaughtered for it.

  “It’s nothing to live by.”

  We reach the bottom, where I feel a thousand eyes on me as we move. The settlement isn’t gridded like a city, and the paths that exist seem be formed at random. Junked hovels linger on either side of us, littered with species lying about, working or cooking or simply staring at us as we wander around various states of desperation.

  From what T’Oli had been saying, I expected something more from Clarity’s Dawn. I expected some sort of thriving society, an organized army. But this, this isn’t even on the level of the worst Solare tribes.

  Everyone here is falling apart.

  I don’t say this, not only because Rackt’s fellows with their miners are still behind us, but because I know I could wind up in the same pen. I have nothing here, and the only reason I’m not dead is because I happen to be human. I’m exotic, a bargaining chip between species that want to use me.

  We continue until we cross most of the settlement towards a giant shuttle wing. When we approach, I can see the wing’s not alone. A few species linger around it and they look like they’re chatting. What stops me, causes Malo to run into my back before he notices, is the creature in the center. The one that seems to be directing those around it with jerky waves of thin metal arms grafted to its body.

  An Amigga.

  It’s not much like Dalachite, Cobalt’s master – it hasn’t spread itself throughout, linking veins to terminals. Rather, it’s settled into what looks like a rusted metal chair. Those robotic arms look grafted onto its body, which is gray and patchy rather than the red and brown of Cobalt’s master. Tufts of frail hair spurt from various parts. A single mechanical lens grafted onto its face twists and focuses on us as we approach.

  “So you found them,” the Amigga’s voice, like Dalachite’s, comes out of the vent in the bottom of the chair and sounds metallic, toneless.

  “T’Oli did,” Rackt replies. “By accident, it seems. They managed to find their way to the upper sewers, where they were trapped in the muck when T’Oli happened upon them.”

  “Our small band survives on luck, I’m glad to know it hasn’t run out.” The Amigga shifts to us. “You can call me Sapphrite. And you are?”

  We introduce ourselves in turn, each of us cautious and suspicious. Sapphrite does nothing until we’re done, when it gives us a slow stare.

  “I’m not the first Amigga you’ve seen,” Sapphrite says and I shake my head.

  “The last one wanted to use us,” I say. “Wanted to take us for parts. To make something else.”

  I’m not sure how Sapphrite could show surprise, but the zero reaction it does display only drives further daggers into my perception of the species. That the Amigga don’t seem to regard operating on someone as evil tells me all I need to know.

  “That should tell you why you are so important,” Sapphrite replies. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen another worl
d, since I’ve spoken with the Chorus, but the Amigga are always working on the next thing. The new thing. And nothing prompts discoveries like an injection of fresh genes.”

  “Well, that’s creepy enough for me,” Viera speaks loudly. “I’m sure you’ll tell us all about what you want to do with our bodies, but I, for one, am covered in crap. I’m exhausted, starving, and in dire need of cleaning. So maybe this can wait? If you aren’t going to kill us right now?”

  “Yes, your needs are plainly evident. No need to fear, however. Now that you’re here, you don’t have to worry. Rackt, if you could show them to the Bunker?” Sapphrite says.

  Strange, I don’t feel tired. At least, not yet. All of the new things we’re seeing, the people and creatures we’re meeting, has me riding the same wave that kept me awake the very first night after Malo took me away from my village. But we’re all dripping and dirty, and hunger, as if spurred by the idea, starts gnawing at me. It’s been a long time since we had any real food, since the white room in Nasiya’s tower up above.

  Thinking of the Sevora leader turns me to Ignos. Is it still alive up there? Has it found another host?

  “Kaishi, come on,” Malo whispers.

  Rackt leads us away from the wing but not back towards the tents. Instead, we head to a series of rooms built into the back side of the chamber, behind the wing. This space is cleaner, the globe lights here don’t flicker much. A few species, older Flaum and Whelk, mainly, stare at us as we pass by, then turn to terminals.

  “Most of Clarity’s Dawn is made up of refugees,” Rackt says as we move through the hallways. “Most have small skills, things like cooking or selling. Making supplies or other gear. There are other ones, like me, that have a more military background. That plan the raids.”

  “The raids?” I ask. “Like when you rescued us from the prison?”

  “Exactly,” Rackt says. “There’s not that many of us, so we have to pick carefully. We need to understand exactly what we’re doing, and get in and out before the Sevora can marshal their forces. All that planning happens here in the Bunker.”

  Rackt shows us to our quarters, a shared room for the three of us. The facilities aren’t luxurious, but there’s something of a shower, which dumps smelly water that’s at least not brown. It feels incredible to clean myself off, to be refreshed. To remember every minute of existence isn’t spent caked with dirt and grime. Isn’t spent smelling of my own sweat and desperation.

  After, there’s a bowl in front of each of our small bed rolls. In the bowls are, for once, not nutrient goop but what looks like actual cooked food. I don’t recognize any of it, but the collection of thick, colored petals seems plantlike, so I devour it anyway. It’s sour, juicy, and one, a bright orange circle, packs a lot of tangy spice and I appreciate it. A little spark at the bottom of nowhere.

  “The water’s good,” Malo says.

  Each of us has a bottle, and when I try it I don’t necessarily agree with Malo – the water itself is flavorless. It’s been boiled, which means it’s probably been through less than sanitary places. Then again, so was most of the water we drank in the jungle, and we didn’t die there.

  So I guzzle it down.

  “When are they coming back for us?” Viera says as we finish, after each of us moves to our small beds, knowing nowhere else to go. “Because I am about to pass out right here.”

  “I can take first watch,” Malo volunteers.

  First watch? Here? Of course, these people may not be friends. We just met them, and Rackt made it clear we’re meant to be used. Targets in their game. So I tell Malo to wake me up in a few hours - not that I know how he’s going to track that time without stars or Ignos glowing overheard.

  That question doesn’t keep me up long - as soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m out.

  12 The Grove

  There’s so much green. It’s not what Sax expects when the doors open, when they reveal a domed expanse with a view of starlit space. Soft grass splays out in front of them, broken up here and there with larger plants, and tables lined with the ladder-like structures Ooblots prefer to use as chairs.

  A number of UV drones buzz through the area: floating bars that emit light and travel around making sure each and every plant gets the requisite amount before moving along.

  Sax has seen things like this before - usually if the Vincere were called into some sort of celebratory experience as symbols of Amigga military might. Wealthy owners would point and cheer as Sax and his fellows marched out, and he’d look at all the worthless bags of meat and wish he could get back to his ship.

  He feels the same way here. This isn’t a place for him, for Bas. But at least there isn’t a miner pointing in his face - the only one there to greet them is the blue-gold vyphen, Eneks, who looks less than thrilled to see two Oratus standing behind D’Arscale.

  “I thought you said you needed more security,” Eneks says, his eyes lingering on Sax.

  It’s clear the Vyphen recognizes him, but Sax isn’t mentioning the bar.

  “These two are the reason,” D’Arscale replies. “They destroyed my casino.”

  “Self-defense,” Bas hisses. “Your own clients destroyed your casino.”

  D’Arscale doesn’t dignify that with a response, and after an awkward moment, Eneks leads them away from the lift and through the garden.

  Beyond the flowers, there’s even rows of growing produce. Vegetables and fruits. Sax bets that none of this ever makes it off this level to the rest of the station.

  “Your sisters have a nice place,” Sax says to D’Arscale. “Why do you have to stay in the casino?”

  “I choose to.”

  Eneks burbles a laugh.

  “We’re not here to talk to you, Vyphen,” D’Arscale says.

  After the gardens, they come to a sprawling, if flat building. Too short for Sax and Bas to enter, the space is barely a meter tall. Enough, though, for an Ooblot to slide under and maybe enjoy. It’s plenty wide, though. About a third of the level.

  Then Sax catches what the roof is doing, and he’s actually impressed. A translucent roof - giving those inside the building a perfect view of the stars overheard. Here, the Ooblot’s home has the same, and Sax can follow the progress of the two sisters by the changing of the cream roof as shifts in and out of view.

  Stuff like this is expensive, and Scrapper Station doesn’t scream luxury. These Ooblots must be running some other game here to afford these things.

  “I present to you, the Sisters,” Eneks says a moment later, stepping to the side, keeping an eye on both of the Oratus.

  “You’re gonna love them,” D’Arscale mutters.

  13 A Walk With Anger

  Malo wakes me some time later - in that dark room, I have no idea how long it’s been, though judging by his sallow eyes and my own relative alertness, Malo held out a long time before nudging me. He mumbles something about no interruptions and collapses onto his own bed.

  I blink for a minute in the dark. The last time I’d held a watch we’d been back on Earth, out in the open. There, at least, you could watch a fire burn or listen to the sounds of nature. Now I have only the omnipresent hum of machinery to hear and nothing at all to see.

  Which leads me at first to my imagination, and then to the thing on my wrist. The dull emerald bracelet Ignos had given me. The Cache. It holds, theoretically, all the knowledge the Sevora put into it. I could search its archives and learn more about Vimelia, about the Sevora and, maybe, Clarity’s Dawn.

  The problem with the Cache, though, is using it is more like diving into an ocean than reading a page. I’d be immersed in its information, and unable to tell if someone decided to come into the room.

  So no, I can’t betray Malo and Viera.

  Instead, I pace. Practice my silent steps, rolling my feet along the cool metal floor. I listen to Viera and Malo’s soft breathing - and the latter’s gentle snores. I run through the names, whispering them aloud, of all the people in my old tribe, wondering how m
any of them are still alive. How many of them remember me.

  I wonder what my parents think happened to me - last I saw them, I told them I was going to stop the pair of Oratus that’d gone tearing through the jungle looking for me. When I didn’t come back, did they assume I died out there?

  Eventually, though, boredom rises again. There’s been no sign of anything at the door, no message or word from Sapphrite, Rackt, or anyone. Anyway, they said we were safe here? That we would be their key to their plans?

  That they wouldn’t hurt us.

  So I raise the Cache, look at it, and at my stare and with my focused thought it flashes in my eyes a brilliant green and I’m lost.

  First I look for Vimelia, the Sevora, and I embrace their history of conflict. Discovery plays out around me - their first encounter with a crashed Flaum ship, the taking of hosts and slow growth off of their planet and into the wider galaxy. Even as these events play out, however, I catch one constant refrain overriding everything:

  Fear.

  I press the Cache on this. On how fear relates to the Sevora and scenarios swirl: fear of discovery before they as a species are ready, fear of losing a valued host, fear of their own weakness. And, too, fear of their own irrelevance.

  For the Sevora, according to the Cache’s records of thousands of debates, writings, and more from their own historians, have never been able to answer the question of why so many other species are self-sufficient while they are linked, inexorably, to the taking of others.

  I rise back out of that despairing pit and instead try to find traces of Clarity’s Dawn. When I do, one thing dominates all else:

  Sapphrite, the Amigga.

  The first and only Amigga ever captured by the Sevora, and done so early in their ongoing wars. The scattered bits about Sapphrite’s capture reveal that, like Dalachite, Sapphrite had been found on a lonely outpost running all kinds of experiments.