Ayi’s Sichuan Red Snake Bowl
Gut, skin, despine, and thoroughly wash one adult tunnel snake. Slice into 3cm rings. Soak in vinegar brine overnight, rinse and dry. Deep fry until crisp and set aside. Reuse hot oil to fry thin slices of firm tofu until browned and set aside. Rub coarse salt into the inside of snake skin, bake until crunchy and set aside.
Chop chilies, onion and shallot. Peel and crush garlic. Chop bok choy, napa cabbage, bean sprouts and water chestnuts. Add fresh edamame or other beans if available.
Boil starch noodles.
THOROUGHLY OIL and preheat wok over high heat. Add vegetables starting with the hardest first. Add 50ml rice wine, 100ml vinegar, 50ml beet syrup. Cook until just tender. DO NOT OVERCOOK.
Turn off heat. Add DRAINED noodles, snake rings and tofu. Flip and stir aggressively. Add chili oil, bitter paste, and beet syrup to taste. Do not be a baby with the chili oil.
Crush salted snake skin and sprinkle on top. Good with algae beer or soju.
Lael wasn’t ready to enter the main attraction tent quite yet, but there were only two people in front of her, so I didn’t expect we’d be waiting much longer.
When I made my way back over, there was something that caught my attention. There was quite a large group of people near one dense collection of convoy vehicles that could have been people movers, cargo haulers, or both. The fact that it was a big and largely uniform-looking group wasn’t the odd part; rather, it was that they were all wearing the baggy and shapeless full-seal suits of 11-3 workers. Some of the suits looked old, judging by the repeated application of repair tape and patches. Others looked very new and were still glossy in places.
They were head and shoulders taller than the rest of the people around them, but most of those suits had exo-frames built in under the protective outer layer of the suit to help carry the tools and equipment that came standard with most of the sanitation worker jobs.
I’d seen 11-3 workers before plenty of times back home in 6-3. They were cliquish, spoke little, and communicated by gesture more than they did verbally. Generally considered rather rude, although I’d never had any problem with them personally.
But I was a bit odd myself, so perhaps not the best judge of character in that regard. I didn’t really see a problem with pointing at something you wanted to purchase or look at. Having worked on their holomasks on many occasions, I knew that it was typical for them to be multitasking inside their suits. Often playing digital games with one another.
I felt a sense of gamer solidarity with them because of that.
I let out a sigh as I took up my normal position by Lael’s side.
Fuck I miss playing WoD.
I’d thought about buying VR input devices and a helmet. The cheap and usually shitty intro-level stuff for people just dipping their toes into sims. Some of it was actually high quality, intended for people like me with IRS, or body purists. Lael’s claws slid over my hand and squeezed once. I squeezed back automatically.
My thoughts turned darker; the association with body purists and Clades was an easy parallel for my brain to draw.
The general belief among most of the people I’d known growing up in 6-3 was that you had to be just a little bit off to choose life in the Wildlands over life in the Arks. The doors were open, metaphorically speaking. Open immigration policy, with little to no restrictions involved. It was also a largely automated process with short processing times–there wasn’t an excess of humanity left alive, and not in a Clade at this point–and only a limited need for medical checks and the occasional quarantine period. Ark medicine was generally fairly up to the task of identifying and controlling potential disease vectors.
No, most of the people who lived outside the safety of the walls and the Axioms did so by choice, and for a handful of reasons.
There were the neo-Luddites. The people who thought that humanity was responsible for I-day, that we’d fucked up an asteroid capture operation and vaporized part of the planet. Or worse, they were conspiracy theorists who thought that the colonial projects elsewhere in the system had secured enough foothold to justify bombarding the homeworld. They rejected both AI and VI, and since both were intrinsic to life in the Arks, they wouldn’t partake.
There were the religious fundamentalists. Many of the old-world religions had some kind of apocalypse or doomsday narrative. When a big fucking rock killed billions of people, and the devout weren’t magically sucked up into whatever heaven or hell they imagined, they got particularly perturbed and refused to intermix with what they deemed a corrupted society.
The third group we’d learned about in school rejected life in the Arks for what I personally thought was the dumbest of all of the reasons I’d heard. They were just fucking species supremacists and anti-alien bigots. Some people really got their underwear wedged when the first contact we had with intelligent alien life bore a striking resemblance to bad guys from superstition books. Then the Tokh had come along, and there was a surge of the dinosaurs have come back to retake the planet quackery. The fact that they weren’t as friendly and accommodating as the Sul’vari and started lobbing bombs at us really fanned those flames.
The final group was maybe the most eccentric of the bunch, but that was hotly debated on the matrix. They were old-world nationalists. They wanted to rebuild the glory days of nation-states and return to a time when corporate states weren’t the dominant form of government. They waved flags with color blocks, stars, sickles, and leaves. Most carried an amount of weaponry that would make even a street heavy blush. Guns, bombs, and exosuits were almost worshipped and/or fetishized in a way that was both off-putting and more than a little disturbing to me.
I wondered what types would be represented in this meeting. I hoped that they’d be some of the more progressive members of their group. It would make sense that the most tolerant of their diaspora would be acting as the intermediaries and negotiators.
At least, that’s how I’d do it, if I were in charge.
The line moved forward, and the pair of Tokh in front of us stepped through the entrance that extended out of one side of the tent.
A figure walked out of the exit, and I found myself staring. Partly out of appreciation of their build, and partly because they looked so utterly out of place in the present situation that I couldn’t not stare.
They were tall at around 190 centimeters, and their light olive skin tone contrasted sharply with their platinum blonde hair. They wore it in an angled bob cut that looked sharp enough to draw blood, and had an eclectic mix of facial features. Manicured eyebrows, long eyelashes, and full lips conflicted with a strong jawline and high cheekbones.
My brain was malfunctioning, trying to identify their gender in a way that was really hard to put my thumb on. With one glance, I looked at them, and my brain went, ‘Oh, she’s beautiful.’ A half-second later, it went, ‘he’s incredibly handsome.’ The thing was, it wasn’t like either side was wrong; rather, both were right at the same time; it just depended on the exact moment of reference and particular angle.
They had powerful shoulders and arms, and the fitted button-down they wore did nothing to hide obvious muscularity across their entire upper body. They had a broad chest and shoulders. That conflicted with a waist a touch too narrow to be masculine-presenting and a butt that I was instantly jealous of.
I had an LED flash moment. It wasn’t that they were androgynous or ambiguous; it was that both masculine and feminine traits were present in equal measure.
They passed by at a brisk march, Oxfords clicking on the pavement with every step. A glance from the side of their eyes–black irises–told me I’d been caught staring, and it had been catalogued and filed away. Then they vanished in the crowd.
A suit. Granted, they were wearing one without the jacket, but it wasn’t like subtlety was ever considered. Even if they were wearing rags, though, you wouldn’t mistake them for anything but a corporate.
I swallowed. It takes either a certain kind of sociopathy or a level of self-assuredness that could blot out the sky to walk around brazenly corporate solo like that in X-3. Looking boardroom-ready without any kind of security detail, it’s either foolishness or notoriety, and I’m not sure which is worse.
I leaned in closer to Lael to address her more privately, hopefully. “I know you asked me to take down mental notes, but this place is…” I grasped for words that described the thick miasma of my thoughts and feelings about what I’d seen at the convoy so far. “...odd.”
Lael gave me a glance that I read as sharply analytical and a short nod. “Stay your tongue and compose yourself. You represent the house here, and not your personal feelings.”
The words might have stung if it were not for the subtleties of her tone and the data I collected from her aura. She wasn’t chastising me, not exactly. I could read between the lines.
This is a dangerous place, and this is an important event. Augs and Users alike can perceive orders of magnitude above human norms. Assume you are being watched by the Wildlanders.
I gave her a serious nod back, and the corners of her eyes turned upward.
A mammoth slab of a man with glowing metallic silver eyes and clusters of tiny horn-like growths around his forehead and cheeks motioned to us, then parted a curtain for us to enter the expansive tent. There was a short canvas tunnel with modern-looking sensors that swept over us, and then we were guided through another flap.
The inside was lit by electronic lights that simulated the flicker of open flame. There was a light haze in the air, and the scent of burning incense was emanating from a metal brazier with a bed of coals in it. A wide and deep collapsable table was central, and there were six individuals seated behind it. A carpet had been rolled out on the pavement that terminated in front of the table. Petitioners apparently didn’t get the luxury of a seat. There were five humans: three males and two females, and one female Tokh, seated in a low saddle rather than the high-backed chairs of the humans.
There were beautifully sewn tapestries draped over the back of each chair, but the meaning was lost to me. Tribalistic and mostly renditions of battles of various sorts, from what I could tell. Five of the six were Users, the only non-user was an ancient-looking human man with very dated and retro cybernetics that covered half his face and part of his skull. Old or not, they looked well-maintained and fully operational.
The Users might have looked young to my eyes, but I had no doubts they were probably alive during I-Day. Their clothing alone was telling: a lot of old-world designs and styling.
Lael showed deference first, dipping her head to the humans, and doing the claw-tap thing with the Tokh. When she was done, the Tokh tapped her claws back at Lael, and the humans each held up a single fist.
The old man spoke. “Lael’Mira, it is good to see you alive and well. We were worried you would not visit us before we left.” There was a warmth to his voice that I hadn’t expected. He might have been old, but his voice didn’t sound infirm in the slightest.
“Commander Robertson, it is a pleasure. I have been occupied with putting the finishing touches on your order.”
Robertson held up a hand. “Business can wait, please. Who is it that I see carrying your mark?”
Lael’s claws pressed against my back squarely between my shoulder blades and guided me two steps forward. I was desperately trying to control my blush at suddenly being put in the spotlight.
“This is my bonded attendant and trainee, Kiera Voss,” Lael announced.
My tail slid over the carpet behind me as I stood there feeling like a useless lump of meat. Entirely way too late, I realized that I had done a faux pas already. I clasped my hands at my waist and did a bow in the way I’d been taught months ago.
I kept my eyes cast down to the carpet, but I could hear the creak of chairs and the whisper of breath washing over tooth and tongue. They exchanged words in a language I didn’t understand, pitched low. Lael’s tail tapped mine, and I straightened up and followed her eyes to take a position to her side and slightly behind her once again.
I had to do something to try and distract myself, so I attempted to identify aspects.
Burnt umber with ruddy orange veins. Magma.
Electric blue and white. Electricity and… ice, maybe? Some kind of storm aspect?
Carmine and black streaks. Haven’t a clue on that one. Very unique.
A wispy silver-gray, that seemed to swirl or fluctuate. Aerokinetic?
And finally, one I recognized at a glance, and that made my chest twinge. Plasma.
Every one of them is a high-level user, even suppressing their circuits, I can feel it. The same strange gravitational tug, like you could accidentally slip and fall into orbit around it.
“Very unusual to see you with a human pupil, Lael’Mira. One might think her one of ours, at first glance,” Robertson said, breaking what felt like a one-sided gossip session.
Lael smiled and rocked on her heels. “You never know what you’ll find around the next corner. I saw someone who intrigued me, and she’s yet to disappoint.”
The woman behind the table, who barely looked a day into legal adulthood, with the swirling eyes responded. “Just give it time. She’ll fall, crack, or die. All the interesting ones do sooner or later.”
Lael rocked her head from side to side, sending her bangs swaying.
I didn’t know who this lady was, but given a basic knowledge of human history, I knew that Lael had been training generations to fight and dive for millennia, while our species was still scratching marks into clay tablets with reeds. Her nihilistic tone rankled my nerves.
The mood immediately shifted when Lael lifted her briefcase and held it in both hands in front of her. Every eye in the Wildlander leadership was locked on it.
Whatever is in that box, it’s something they want very, very badly. I really hope it’s not chunks of monsters.
“Shall we?” Lael asked the table, but I felt like she was addressing Robertson in particular.
Robertson gestured to our side of the table with an open palm.
Lael set the box down, placed her palms on the top edge, and I could sense her doing something with her mana and circuit. The locks on the box popped open with a satisfying clack, and Lael lifted the lid.
It was a pair of antique pistols. And not an antique like my dive pistol, but an ancient design. They looked like muzzle-loaders, with no visible magazine, or hell, controls for that matter. They didn’t even have triggers, just a curved, polished wooden handle attached to a heavy hexagonal barrel. They were covered in breathtakingly beautiful scrollwork similar in design to the work Min had done on my arm, but of a different style. Gunmetal gray with gold trace and scrollwork, and a red-brown wood.
Lael picked one up from the felt-lined inset it rested in, held it up by the middle section, and turned the box around so the table could see the other one.
“Demo units?” Electric Eyes asked.
Lael shook her head. “This is the full order.”
“We expected more than this,” the Tokh female rasped out in a voice that was hard on the ears, but managed to produce intelligible English.
The tip of Lael’s tail flipped back and forth. Engagement, but also annoyance. Whatever Lael was feeling, it didn’t reach her voice.
“Then you failed to manage your expectations.”
“We can take our business to Ilham; they produce similar products,” Magma Eyes said.
“Ilham will not do business with a Clade under any circumstances, and we both know that your repeated attempts at using intermediaries have failed.”
My mind was reeling at the mention of Ilham. Ilham Design Works didn’t produce arms and armor for just anyone. It was an invitation-only craftsguild, and their work was exclusively reserved for the most elite of Divers and executives. The waiting list to get something made was years long, and nearly everything they made was custom-fitted and tuned to the individual. Their craftsmanship was second to none, and even being allowed into their showrooms was considered a badge of honor.
The rarest weapon in World of Divers was a legendary-rarity artifact that was essentially a knockoff of Ilham’s Stillblade. A sword with a glass blade that could cut through anything. They also made Blackbody Blades, the Fulmination Staff, and my personal favorite: Solar Flare. All were mana weapons. I had a poster of Solar Flare growing up, and it was what inspired me to chase a plasma aspect in WoD.
There was something inherently cool about a gun that set targets ablaze with mana fires that couldn’t be extinguished.
Robertson appeared to be the moderate at the table, or perhaps just the one with the most favorable opinion of Lael. The others also stopped their griping and listened when he spoke.
“Number aside, do they work?” He asked.
Lael’s eyes were trained on him. “They will kill Convergent in a single shot.”
“What about the giants?” The Tokh asked.
Lael clicked her tongue. “Depends on mass and User input. Power requirement is…” She turned to me.
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They’re not guns; they’re mana weapons.
(“How are exponents said?”)
(“As in two, four, eight, sixteen…?”) I asked her.
She shook her head and clarified, (“No, by three. Nine, twenty-seven.”)
I cleared my throat and addressed the council. “Power required is cubic to the size.”
Grumbles and more of that other language were exchanged.
When it became apparent there was some disagreement, Lael spoke up once again.
“You will find they are very difficult to damage or destroy, and require no maintenance.”
She whispered to me, and I translated for her. “She has made them very efficient; a tier three user should be able to use them without a problem. Higher tiers are needed for larger threats.”
“What about other Users?” The Tokh asked.
“What about them?” Lael said.
“Don’t play stupid; you know what is being asked,” Magma Eyes practically growled at Lael.
Lael, for her part, addressed Robertson directly. “You asked for weapons to defend against Convergent. In the matter of killing Convergent, we are allied. I will not help you wage war against your enemies. The weapons will only work against Convergent targets. Unless you plan on hitting them with it.” She rapped the handle against her palm as a demonstration of the technique one might use.
Not what they’re designed for, but probably fairly effective with those metal caps on the handles.
Eyes flashed across the table, and I was hit by what felt like buffeting winds. More things were said, and I didn’t need to understand the language to know they were ugly.
Lael didn’t react in the slightest.
“Enough!” Robertson thumped a fist on the tabletop.
“We were specific in our request,” he said, addressing his side of the table. “We can address other security concerns through alternate means. We wanted anti-Convergent weapons, and that is what has been delivered.”
He turned his attention to Lael. “You will understand our disappointment in the number. Two leaves us with little flexibility in how we can use them to defend ourselves.”
Lael nodded in agreement to that point. “One can be a backup, or one can be defense and the other offense. Only one is truly needed, mana will be the true limit of effect. Understand, it is not merely expertise, but also material.” She tapped a claw on the muzzle of the pistol she was holding. “Conduit of this grade is beyond rare, and uses innumerable. Material value alone, you profit.” She smiled, or maybe bared her fangs. “I will caution: do not attempt to alter these constructs. More than value alone will be lost.”
“Is that a threat?” Magma Eyes chirped. I was pretty much already decided that I really didn’t like him, every time he opened his mouth, it only further reinforced that impression.
Lael shook her head. “Not a threat, only a caution. Loss of property and life can result. Conduit and construct are very carefully balanced; tampering will cause disaster to occur when used. You might think you understand the mechanism; you do not.” She clicked her claws together and looked over at me. (“What is the saying? Burn a hand on a pot?”)
(“Play with fire?”) I asked, and she snapped her fingers and winked at me.
Guess that's my cue.
“She urges you not to play with fire,” I offered.
“My request?” Lael asked Robertson, who crossed his arms over his chest. It looked a little silly to my eye, but I got the impression he was probably physically imposing at some point in the past, and it was a stubborn habit.
“Bring them in,” the Tokh female click-rasped.
Them?
A curtain on the side of the tent was pulled aside, and three Users walked in wearing colorful, flowing garments. All human, and all with light mutations that looked to be mostly cosmetic. They were guided in by someone much more heavily mutated, wearing a positively filthy and ratty oversized red poncho. It looked like it was made from some kind of thick fiber material I didn’t recognize and covered everything but the figure’s hands and feet. They wore similarly filthy wraps and had only four fingers and toes on each extremity.
What… exactly is happening right now?
Two males and a female wore two-piece garments consisting of a wide-sleeved, loosely fitted square shirt and loose pantaloons with straight, wide legs. They were a red-orange color, with royal blue sashes tied around the waist and blue trim on the elbow-length sleeves. Like the person in the poncho, they wore matching blue wraps on their extremities.
The woman with the swirling gray eyes introduced the three.
“Erin. Tier two body enhancement specialization. Michael. Tier two ranged combat specialization. Dirk. Tier two defense specialist.”
Lael’s eyes roamed over the three, and she made a noncommittal hum in her throat.
“All three have passed their trials, completed a Dive, are trained in combat and field medicine, and are blooded,” Magma Eyes said with a note of pride I didn’t expect in his voice.
Is he their trainer? Or one of them?
The mention of blooded made my skin itch. I had a feeling I knew what that meant, if the linguistic parallels to gang initiation rituals held. All three of them were standing in a pose with their arms crossed behind their backs, legs spread, and faces neutral.
I really sincerely hoped that this wasn’t what I thought it was. The Clades were regarded as crude and barbaric for many reasons, and their beliefs were only part of the equation that produced the commonly held disdain for them in the Ark.
Lael pointed at the poncho-clad minder for the three, standing behind the group.
“I want that one,” she said.
A chill ran down my spine to the tip of my tail.
“I’m not for sale, demon,” the figure in the poncho practically spat in a rough, gravelly voice.
“Deal,” Magma, Swirl, Plasma, and Robertson said in damn near perfect harmony.
Lael clapped her palms together and rocked back on her heels in a decidedly gleeful manner. Her ever-present grin was back.
I felt mildly ill as the poncho wearer started to sling both slurs and curses at Lael.
“Hellspawn! Demon! Two-sexed freak!”
Under a different set of circumstances, the old-timey shit being flung would have been more humorous than offensive. None of it seemed to bother Lael in the slightest. Magma eyes stood up from behind the table and crossed around to the front, coming to a standstill in front of the poncho wearer, and he held his hand out expectantly.
“Y-you can’t,” they objected.
“I can,” he stated.
“There aren’t any terms! It’s not valid!” Another objection, less outraged now, as if defeat was creeping in.
Magma Eyes looked over at Lael. “Until death, or discharge,” he offered.
Lael just shrugged, put the gun she was holding back in the briefcase, and closed it. She slid a ring off one finger and placed it on top of the briefcase, then slid it towards Robertson. He palmed the ring and it and placed the briefcase on the ground next to him. He untied the necklace around his neck and added the ring to the collection of miscellaneous items already present, then tied it in place.
As slowly and reluctantly as if they were being forced to pull their own teeth out with rusty pliers, the figure reached into the neck of their poncho and pulled out a brassy medallion on a braided cord. Then they handed it over to Magma Eyes. I saw their shoulders slump the moment it left their clawed fingertips. Magma Eyes took the medallion, turned, and extended it to Lael.
She took the cord between two claw tips with a look of visible disgust on her face, then handed it off to me as soon as Magma Eyes finished saying, “Griff is hereby in your service until death or discharge. Only when her medallion is willingly returned to her is she allowed to return to her Clade.”
“Treat your new Clade with respect, and conduct yourself with honor, Griff,” Robertson said, but Griff never responded. She simply fell in behind me in silence. Our business with the Clade was completed, and we were shown out of the tent and back out into the full-spectrum glow of the city’s lights.
Lael kept all the windows fully retracted, even with the excessive wind and traffic noise the entire way back.
Min was waiting for us on the landing pad when we arrived, as well dressed as ever. She led the silent Griff off with orders from Lael to “thoroughly purify her.”
It might have been a little demeaning, but it wasn’t entirely off-base. Griff was eye-wateringly ripe, and smelled like a cross between a stale dumpster and a sewer.
I wanted to talk to Lael very badly, but she told me to resume my normal training and just left the estate.
***
The sun had set multiple hours ago when she returned. Min was still off somewhere with Griff, I’d heard her voice and sensed her aura in relative proximity a few times, but never made direct contact.
I was fresh out of the shower and messaging Vael when Lael returned.
About to lose my shit, talk later or tomorrow, I sent Vael, then locked my slate.
She made me wait and give her a comprehensive briefing on what I saw, what I noticed, what I felt was important or odd, exactly as she’d promised that I’d have to do. Then, only after I was done with a Q&A session and quizzing, was I allowed to address the monster in the room.
I needed a distraction to try to moderate my feelings, so I used a hand mirror and a brush to try and tame the forever-overgrown mass of hair on my head while I spoke with her.
I wanted answers. I needed answers.
I wanted to know why she was selling guns to the Clades.
I’d known, or rather, had heard that people were traded like products between Clades. Not other people, but their own people. Part genetics. Part arranged pairings and marriages, part politics. They also took prisoners from other Clades on some kind of blood-life-debt barbarism shit.
Never in a million years would I have thought that Lael would participate in such a system.
“Why are you selling weapons to the Clades?” I asked her, already slightly testy.
“The desire to protect their people from Convergent is understandable. If it was only death, the concern would be less pressing.” Lael’s eyes flared for just a brief moment. “No species deserves predation by Convergent. I am happy to assist them in this matter, if my requirements are met.”
If my requirements are met. What requirements, exactly, Lael?
My jaw muscles twitched of their own accord. “So you sell them smart guns.”
Her hair swayed as she nodded. “It is immoral to support some of their ambitions. For the destruction of Convergent only.”
The use of the term immoral was like a wedge jammed precisely into the cracks I was trying to hold together internally.
“Immoral?” My voice rose. “You want to talk about moral uses of your weapons when you bought a person with them?!”
“She was the clear choice.” Lael seemed amused when she said it.
“The clear choice,” I repeated.
Lael nodded.
“She said she wasn’t for sale.”
“She did. Her elders thought otherwise, as you saw. They were happy to be rid of her.” The corners of her mouth were turned upwards. “Maybe tired of the odor?”
The facial twitch persisted, moving upwards to my cheek and eye. “You think this is funny?” I asked Lael.
She tilted her head. “Isn’t it?”
“You… You traded guns for a person who didn’t want to be traded, then you had her dragged away and scrubbed like a mangy dog, and you–you want to talk about what is immoral!?”
I tried, I really tried to keep it together, but Lael’s amusement just now was reminding me of her amusement in the moment. The small mirror was still in my hand. I reared back with it and flung it directly at her. It smashed harmlessly off a skin-tight envelope of teal light.
“Is this some kind of game for you? You’re no better than they are!” I screamed.
She just raised an eyebrow at me. I couldn’t–
I leapt at her and beat my fists against her chest and shoulders while screeching incoherently. My lack of ability to harm her in any capacity was like throwing methane bottles into a fire. My hands got a similar treatment to the mirror; I might as well have been flailing against hardened bunker polycrete.
She just stood there and let me harm myself until I flamed out, my bones already reknitting and flesh resealing. Red-faced, breathless, and leaning against a table.
“Sometimes I forget how young you are. Do you truly think so little of me?”
The emotional whiplash left me numb, but emotional numbness had already been tingling around the edges of my perception. I dragged my pillow off the bed, grabbed my loose bag of junk I kept by the bed, and just left the room. I went downstairs, below the estate where some of the unused staff quarters were, picked a random empty room, and locked myself inside.
I pulled my visor out of my bag, slid it on, and called Gen.
I wasn’t sure why I called her instead of Vael. Both of them had an uncanny knack for calming me down when I was stressing out. Maybe I was secretly hoping for an additional level of separation, or something. Objectivity.
Gen’s voice was warm when she answered. “Good evening, Kiera.”
“Hey,” I managed.
Gen picked up on the fact I wasn’t okay immediately, and I gave her the least biased recounting of events as I remembered them. When I was done, I spoke my mind without any filter.
“Gen, it just, I don’t know. She just pointed and went ‘that one’ like she was picking out a piece of clothing or a pastry, or something. Not the life of a human being, or err, sapient. Sorry, wasn’t trying to sound like a specist.”
“You weren’t giving me that impression; you were clearly talking about sentiment using a linguistic artifact.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. I had a pounding headache.
“Some of the terminology you used earlier is a bit problematic, Kiera,” Gen said after a long pause.
“Yeah? What part? The gleefully buying a person part? Because I’m really struggling to get past that.” My voice had more bite than I really felt; I was mostly just resigned and tired at this point. Overstimulated. My eyes were still faintly throbbing from the ugly crying.
“How would you describe your relationship with Veris? What are you to them?”
“Freak accident turned science experiment? Ugh, I don’t fucking know, Gen; technically I’m probably like a private contractor or something. I don’t have Veris citizenship, and I’m not a proper employee, either.”
“Sure, we can go with independent contractor; that’s both a healthy and accurate framing. You signed a contract, with terms and conditions, with both penalties for violating it, and bonuses for meeting or exceeding performance metrics, yes?”
“Mhm,” I said while stretching out on the bare mattress and stuffing my pillow under my head.
“So what if we looked at things in the most cynical light now? As of the last scan, more than fifty percent of your biomass is composed of proprietary technology that is the property of Veris. Does that mean that we own you?”
I grunted. “Of course not. I mean, in arbitration, you probably could make that argument, but to what end? They wouldn’t revoke my base citizenship or rights. And being granted a Veris citizenship would be considered an upgrade by most people in the city.”
“So couldn’t Griff be under a similar arrangement? A debt she has to earn herself out of?”
“Maybe.” I sighed heavily. “Probably.”
“And you know that with her age and experience, she has a vastly different view of the world, Kiera. You have said the same yourself when you have felt frustrated with a perceived lack of flexibility in the past.”
“Whose side are you on?” I grumbled, but it was a sleepy, pathetic complaint.
“I’m not taking sides, Kiera. I think you have valid concerns, but I also think you’re operating on assumptions and leapt to conclusions without a strong base of evidence to support them. Lael’Mira’s response, as you described it, also supports that. Regardless of whether or not Griff was sold on a debt arrangement, as a commodity, or against her will, you have turned a blind eye to local injustices to support preconceived notions about moral or cultural superiority. This is a fallacious and dangerous path, one historically filled with reducing the other to a simplified caricature. It’s been the basis for countless atrocities committed in the name of just action.”
Gen was silent for long moments after her response. She had picked up the change in breathing pattern immediately.
“Goodnight, Kiera. I hope tomorrow is a less stressful day for you. Sleep well.”
The connection terminated.
***
I woke up still feeling oddly exhausted for the relatively light amount of training I did yesterday. I kept having a nightmare that I was back in the warehouse, and there were little variations of the same theme: being sent to the great respawn screen with your familiar character now a headstone in the background.
One time I’d been chased to the utility shaft, but the borg caught me and tore me limb from limb. Another time, the hatch had opened, and I’d jumped down, but what lay below the hatch was a pit of tearing teeth and crushing muscles. Once, it was the gang chasing me instead of a borg, and Lael was standing in the doorway, blocking my exit. Nothing I tried had any effect on trying to get past her to safety.
I stretched on the mattress and winced as the muscles in my arms pinched and cramped. The insides of my elbows and wrists were especially tender.
Early on, when I’d first started training, my bond would itch to indicate I was being requested for breakfast, which doubled as a sort of daily preparation and briefing. I didn’t feel it now, but I didn’t have to, either. I’d done things I regretted last night, and as much as I was still unsettled by what had happened with the arms deal, I owed it to Lael to at least try and work past my feelings and hopefully, come to a better understanding.
My appearance didn’t show how I felt. I looked… well, as you might expect. Really good for someone who had just crawled out of bed. One of the benefits of the aspect; even when I looked like I had messy bed head, as I did right now, it looked purposeful with how much of a healthy radiance I had going on.
The wailing and gnashing of my stomach was an aggravated reminder that I’d skipped out on the last meal of the day last night.
I made my way upstairs.
Lael was at her normal position at her dining table and was eating with one hand, and furiously clicking away at the screen with the tips of her claws. Her having technology of the sort I was familiar with at the dining table was an oddity. Perhaps today was an especially busy day for her, or there was something time-sensitive she was working on.
Her teal eyes glanced up from the screen, and she smiled warmly at me as I came to a stop standing right next to her. She wiped the corner of her mouth and stood. Instinct redirected my plans, and instead of greeting her, I hugged her and rested my head on the shoulders I’d tried to beat the night before. Her arms looped around me, and we hugged.
My stupid feelings started doing their thing, and my vision got all blurry.
“I’m sorry, for the things I said and did last night,” I whispered to her. “I want to understand; I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. My emotions got the better of me.”
She squeezed me quite firmly, then pulled me back to kiss me. I didn’t feel any judgment in it, only warmth.
“It is good to be angered by the things you were. If you had not been, I would think less of you. But you must try to understand—”
I finished the sentence for her, this not being the first time we’d had this exchange, and I said: “--perspective.”
She nodded. “Liberation will take time, Kiera. The chains on her are around her mind, not her throat. Things would be much easier if it were backwards.”
“Reversed,” I corrected.
“Reversed,” she agreed.
I sat down and started stuffing rich foods into my tail, and Lael brought up a news holocast in the air over the table. I assumed that Min and Griff would be along at some point. I briefly imagined the lawyer wrestling Griff into complacency, and a shiver ran down my spine.
I turned my attention to the news while the two of us ate.
“Krath Defense Industries has posted another strong quarter, with growth exceeding their projections by nearly a percent. This comes despite investors expressing concerns over the rhetoric used at the last council meeting. Krath is considered one of the lynchpins of the heavy industry sector, and among the largest non-terrestrial origin companies by market share.”
“Krath, along with a large segment of the energy sector, including the Tokyo Electric Power Company, Toha Heavy Manufacturing, Green Buffalo and iFleet have been pressing the corporate council to open ethics investigations against other member corporations. This is the latest in a series of formal complaints over the past several years. Both Veris Biosciences and Song Precision Works, the targets of the latest complaints, have released press statements indicating they believed that the complaints were “political Kabuki theater” and were baseless claims aimed at attempting to influence both consumer and institutional buyers.”
Min walked in wearing a tight button-down shirt and pencil skirt, and Griff was sulking along behind her.
The two of us stared at one another. Me, gawking because I hadn’t seen her without her poncho on, and she was fairly significantly deviated from baseline in a number of areas. Her staring with huge green eyes locked on my tail as it upended the roasted leg of some portal critter and gulped it down.
There was a scowl firmly affixed to her face, like she had been born and raised in a state of perpetual grumpiness.
If you had told me she wasn’t human, I could have believed it. She had the overall figure and proportions of a human. One head, two arms, two legs. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth, and so on. But there was something just a little off about nearly every aspect of her that you looked. Her eyes were too large and too widely spaced, and there was very little white to her eye, it was almost all bright green iris and oval-shaped pupils.
She had a swarthy skin tone with darker patches of darker brown around her elbows, shoulders and hairline. Her hair was a rusty brown color, and was in a style I’d describe as butcher’s block.
She was very muscular, with bulging shoulders and arms on display with the plain tank top she wore–likely something Min acquired for her–and nearly as many muscles on display under the shirt and pants she was wearing.
She had claw-tipped fingers and toes, like a Sul’vari, but unlike a Sul’vari, she seemed to only have four of each on every extremity, and they were thick, heavy things that supported claws that were both robust and quite sharp-looking.
Lael gestured with her hand for the two to join the table with us. Min took her seat with a smile directed my way, and picked out some of my freshly grown fruit. Griff plopped into the seat as if it had personally insulted her, took one look at the food, crossed her arms over her chest, and let out a dismissive snort.
“It is rude to refuse hospitality,” Min politely informed Griff.
“Your city food disgusts me,” Griff all but snarled.
I couldn’t help it, I laughed out loud. It earned me a death-glare.
My eyes roamed over the feast set out on the table. A display of fuck you-level money, but one I had grown to appreciate. I don’t think there was a single item you’d find for sale in X-3, not unless you were in a very exclusive place. My tail decided a melon would be a nice palate cleanser from the haunch, and picked one up and gulped it down, like the greedy thing that it was.
We are. I am?
“If you think this is city food, I’ll have to introduce you to some X-3 corner store food. I still have a soft spot for Choco Bricks,” I said.
Griff gave me one additional glare, then turned to face Lael.
“How long am I bound for?” She asked.
Lael was back to her native state of looking some level of amused. She rocked her head from side to side. “Hmm. No set time. Maybe a month, if you don’t die before then.”
That earned her a sneer from Griff, and I noted that her exposed teeth looked like vicious cutting or slicing things.
“Then what, I do a job? Train your pet?” I wasn’t under any illusions as to who the pet was in this circumstance, but Griff decided to pointedly look my way in case I’d missed it.
I get the impression that subtlety isn’t really her thing.
“Hm? Maybe in a sense. I would instead say, you will be Kiera’s partner. Hopefully you can teach one another much in this relationship.”
Another dismissive snort and scoff from Griff, but my attention was now piqued.
“Partner for the game?” I asked Lael.
She smiled at me, and pointed a claw at the holo display and the news, which was playing on mute and largely ignored.
I glanced over and up at the display.
It was showing a construction project that looked nearly complete. A wide, shallow dome of some kind, resting on top of stout and decently tall walls.
New weather dome for an agricultural project outside the walls, maybe? Most of the land outside the walls is being used for agriculture, but… it’s surrounded by trees, and there aren’t any outside the walls.
My eyes dropped to the news chyron where the headline and scrolling text rolled by.
Final preparations for the new season of User Battle League nears completion: External battle arena and new format expected to draw renewed interest among veteran fans.
I was still staring at the holo; my mouth moved on autopilot. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
When she said represent the house in a game, I figured maybe she meant some kind of high-stakes betting between houses on who has the best trainees. Not being in the UBL! Don’t they normally do like… drafts and teams and things? But it said new format…
I swallowed and looked over to Lael’s face, which had the same amused smirk on it. I didn’t need to use my aura to read her.
“You’re not kidding at all.”
The smile only deepened.