16

Wenthi startled awake to the loud drone of engines. Deafening.

He was strapped in a seat. Roaring in his ears.

Her screams—Nália Enapi—in his ears.

Where was she?

Where was he?

He realized there was someone else in another chair, across from him, also strapped in.

“Officer Tungét,” she shouted over the roar. “You all right?”

“I—what is going on?”

“I was told you’d be disoriented,” she said. “It’s Lieutenant Canwei. Do you remember what happened yesterday?”

“Yesterday,” he said. The words eased into his brain amid the echoes of extra voices bouncing around. His eyes focused on Canwei.

“I wasn’t sure if you would wake up before we landed.”

“Landed?” he asked. His head was still thrumming, and the roaring around him didn’t help.

“We’re in a four-prop flyer, about thirty klicks outside of Hanezcua. We land there and then you’ll be put on a prison transport train back to Ziaparr. The story is you’ve just been released from Hanez Penitentiary and are being shipped out for relocation. That should give you cover to get yourself situated in your new identity.”

“New—” The words bounced around in his head. “Sorry, I—I’m a little . . .”

“I know,” she said. “I’ll try to explain the magic bullshit they did to you best I can. Shebiruht was able to forge an extended, long-term myco sync between you and Miss Enapi—the woman you arrested?”

“Right,” Wenthi said. The obvious question came up through his cloudy brain. “Why?”

“You’re going to be trying to infiltrate people who regularly use the myco with each other, to coordinate, to communicate. You needed—how did Shebiruht explain it?”

Shebiruht. The Mushroom Monster. The Witch. She had done this.

“You’re going to need a shield to protect your real self in those connections, when you use the myco in the field.”

That brought Wenthi back to the present moment, giving him a better sense of where he was. Sparse cargo hold, metal walls, porthole windows. This was the first time Wenthi had been in any sort of flyer, and the sudden realization that he was high in the air made his stomach jump. He dared a glance out the porthole, but all he saw besides the thick white-and-gray of cloud cover was the wide metal wing and two whirling propellers. The only other person here besides him and the lieutenant was the pilot at the stick.

“Why would I—” he started, then understanding came. “I’ll need to do the myco with them to join in, to fit with others.”

“Precisely,” Canwei said. “This sync with Enapi, Shebiruht says it’ll act as a magical mask you can use to protect who you really are. When you myco sync with someone else, it will make you ‘feel’ like Enapi does, or is supposed to. Plus you should be able to access some of her memories, her instincts, which will help you blend in with your new identity.”

“New identity.” That was something he could latch on to. “I’ve got the gist, you’ll load me on the train, so when I get off at Ziaparr everyone will think I’ve just been let free with the rest of the new releases.”

“You’ve got it,” she said. She handed him a few cards. “Those identify you as a jifoz named Renzi Llionorco.”

“All right,” he said. They clearly chose “Renzi” because it was the local version of his Sehosian name “Wenthi.” He’d learn to react naturally to that quickly enough. But “Llionorco” was an odd choice, putting him in mind of Mother’s warning. “Do you know how they chose that name? The family name, specifically.”

“That stuff came from above me. Usually for something like this, they choose a name that had a lot of casualties in the war. That way when people ask who your people are, you say they died in the bombings of Second, or Great Noble. Bombings are a good one to use, they never ask follow-ups.”

That sounded like it came from experience. “You did this before?”

“Four seasons in deep with some smuggling crews in Xaopan. But those folks were just working the docks, bringing in contraband. Nothing like this, with the mushroom or rebellions.”

[Revolution.]

That didn’t quite come from Wenthi’s own head. It was like a radio that hadn’t landed on the station, half heard through the static.

“So we’ll be on the train together?” he asked.

“Once we land, I treat you like a prisoner, and bring you to the trainyard. I’m gonna be a bit rough, fair warning.”

The four-prop suddenly bucked, jerking him to the side.

“Lot a wind!” the pilot shouted.

“You all right?” Canwei asked, reached out to him.

“Get your hands off me, tory!” he snapped reflexively, though he immediately wondered why. He had never said something like that before.

“Good,” she said. “Like your instincts. We’ll keep that up as we get on the train, and no one will doubt you.”

“All right,” he said. “So I have my papers and new identity, what’s my next step when I get back to Ziaparr?”

“Establish yourself in a jifozi district. Ideally one of the patches in the 14th Senja.”

[Miahez.]

Wenthi shook that off. “And then work to find my way into one of these rebellion gangs. Use this . . . connection? . . . with Enapi to guide my way.”

“Right. The bosses are hoping that you’re going to know who to find, where to go. From there, your goal is to get in deep enough to meet Varazina, or at least someone high up enough in the inner circle to reach her.”

“These are cycle gangs,” he said. “I’m going to need a cycle. I presume I’m not going to have a patrol-issued Ungeke.”

“Of course not,” she said. “When you get off the prison train back in town, you’ll be issued your personal effects. Well, the ones listed under Renzi Llionorco.”

“Which are?”

She looked at her files. “Looks like a pull shirt, denim coat and slacks, helmet and a Puegoiz 960.”

[What color?] Still so much static.

“What color?” he asked, echoing the voice in his skull.

She glanced at the file again. “Cold blue and chrome.”

[Mine!]

That hit him hard and clear, like an anchor pulling him down. The radio fully tuned.

“Yeah, that’s mine,” he said. “I mean, that’s Miss Enapi’s. Is that wise?”

“It’s available. It’s not like you can ride a shiny factory-fresh Ungeke.”

“All right, that makes sense. If I have that cycle, I can use it and hopefully get in with the same people that I—” He shook that off for a second. “That Miss Enapi was in with.”

“You all right?” she asked.

“I feel—” He tried to find the words for what was going on. “I feel like part of me is still left on the ground, in my gut, pulling me down. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what part of that has to do with the ‘sync’ they did to me, and what’s just being in the flyer.”

“Ten swipes to ground!” the pilot shouted.

“Thanks!” Canwei shouted back. “When we land, you take a few to get your bearings. There’s a cooler box in the back with a couple tortas—achiote pork and pickled onion—as well as a Dark Shumi. Take your time with that, and then we’ll shackle your wrists and ankles, and load you in a truck to the train depot. From that point on, you are Llionorco, and I’m going to treat you as such.”

“Got it,” he said.

“People ask, you were in Ward Eight at Hanez. Everyone in there was in solo lock, so no one would be able to claim different.”

“Strap up!” the pilot shouted.

The roaring props sputtered and thundered, as the flyer broke out from the wall of white. Out the porthole, the gray and brown city lay below, a sprawling metro belching flame and smoke. Hanezcua was an industrial town, where they refined the raw crude from the oil plains between here and Ziaparr. Filled with steel refineries, machine plants, and assembly factories. They made the Puegoiz cycles here, the Kathia autos and trucks, not to mention the gunrollers and bombers that the Alliance was using in the war.

The ground came up faster and harder, making Wenthi’s stomach drop and heart hammer like a raildigger. With a jarring slam, the flyer lurched back. Wenthi almost puked all over Lieutenant Canwei.

“On the ground,” she said. “First one’s always the hardest.”

“Nah!” the pilot shouted. “It’s the last one that’ll always get you.”

Canwei unbuckled herself as the flyer rolled to a stop, and then got Wenthi out of his seat. Only now did he realize he was wearing a white prison gown.

“Eat up,” she said. “I mean, take your time, but we do have a train to catch.”