45

The truck bumped and jerked as it drove, and from under the canopy, that was the only hint Wenthi had where they were. They had left the paved cobblestone or smooth concrete, and were on a dirt road somewhere. His stomach was still churning from the story Miss Jendiscira told them and the visions her mushroom had induced. He had wanted to infiltrate the Fists of Zapi so they could root out the source of the rebellion, quell the problems they caused to the city and the country, but he had not been prepared for the toll it would be taking on him. He didn’t need all this infesting his mind, his very soul. Nália—her intangible avatar, only sensed by him—seemed troubled by it in a very different way, as she sat in the corner of the truck in dark contemplation. At least she was being quiet. The last thing he wanted was her chatter.

“You all right?” Ajiñe asked, reading his face.

“Just wondering what the mystery is here,” he said.

“You’re still in?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” he said. He had to keep playing the part. He looked to the others. “You all?”

“I’m not out,” Fenito said. “But I’m definitely not all the way in. I was doing this to help people, not join a—” He faltered.

“Cult?” Gabrána offered.

“This was always about faith,” Nicalla said.

“But not blind faith,” Mensi said. “I don’t see what stories about goddess sisters bleeding oil has to do with . . . anything.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Wenthi said. He was glad to hear they were at least skeptical. Regardless of the fact that they were thieves who would have to be arrested and send to prison, he had to admit a certain fondness for all of them. And not just because of what Fenito and Gabrána would do with their mouths. “Not that it is, but I just—”

“You still don’t get it,” Nicalla said.

“Did you know about all this?” Ajiñe asked.

“Some of it,” Nicalla said. “This isn’t just about faith or belief. It’s our history as a people. The land we belong to.”

“All of us?” Fenito asked.

“I’m wondering about that as well,” Mensi said. “They talked about being baniz like it made them more pure or something.”

“Is that wrong?” Nicalla asked. “That’s what baniz are, fully of local Zapisian heritage.”

“She’s right about that,” Wenthi said. “But does that make us less of the land?”

“She said we’re all children of the sisters,” Nicalla said.

“Yeah,” Ajiñe said. “But the baniz more so.”

“I worry,” Gabrána said, “that they don’t plan to dismantle the system. They just want to flip it.”

“She didn’t say anything like that,” Nicalla said.

“Yeah, but I wonder,” Gabrána said. “In their vision, because I have a grandfather from Reloumene or Renzi’s got a Sehosian grandmother, are we not properly Zapi or Pinogoz or something?”

“Pinogoz is a lie,” Nicalla said. “That’s a shit name from conquerors. It’s not who we are.”

“But you see what we’re asking?” Wenthi asked. “Are we all equals in this idea of theirs? Or are we the lesser, tainted children of the sisters?”

“Especially you,” Nália said in Wenthi’s ear. “Where would a rhique boy with a pure-blooded, Prime Family llipe mother and llipe siblings fit in the scheme of things here?” She nodded over to Fenito and Mensi. “What would they do to your mama?”

The truck pulled to a bumpy stop. Then the canvas opened up to show the bright light of day, and Miss Jendiscira’s grinning face.

“Come on out,” Miss Jendiscira said. “Come on, come on.”

They piled out of the truck, to a dusty, shattered landscape of broken buildings and ramshackle huts made from tires and corrugated metal. There were people everywhere in the dirt road. Baniz people, dressed in little more than rags.

It made the Ako Favel look like the 2nd Senja.

“Where are we?” Gabrána asked.

Nália answered in unison with Miss Jendiscira. “Gonetown.”

“You’re not serious,” Ajiñe said.

“We’ve crossed the Oliruco, left the bounds of the city, and are looking at Northsprawl.”

“Shit,” Mensi said.

“That is right,” Wenthi said. “What are we doing here?”

“First, you’re taking out the crates in these trucks.”

A few of the local baniz—spirits, these people looked wretched—came over to the trucks with toothless grins, holding open their hands. Those hands, most of them were missing fingers, or had horrifying infections.

Miss Jendiscira came over to them. “It’s good to see you,” she told one of them. “We’ve had a good season.”

“What are we doing?” Gabrána asked.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” Nicalla asked as she took out the crates. “These people are starving.”

“No, no,” Wenthi said. “That’s impossible, they’d have rations—”

“Rationing is controlled in the city,” Jendiscira said. “Where the occupying Alliance government is working with the council, building things, making sure the city is cared for. But this? It’s outside the limits. Purely under the Outhic military governorship. No one is watchguarding what happens here. None of the colonels gives a good damn if these people die.”

“The rationing is handled completely differently,” Nicalla said. “There’s hardly a system at all, and these people—”

“Please, please,” one of the baniz said as she approached them. “Is there medicine? My son.”

“Yes, yes,” Jendiscira said. “We’re getting right on that.” She looked at the rest of them. “Come on, daylight is burning.”

“What are we—” Fenito started.

“Are you this foolish?” Nicalla asked him. “We’ve been stealing fuel, food, other supplies. Who do you think it’s for? These people.”

Wenthi understood, but Nália put it to voice, even if only he heard it. “You’re here to deliver it to them.”

“Let’s get on it,” he said, opening up a crate. It was full of military rations—packets of easy-to-transport meals, meant to be delivered to the soldiers across the ocean. He started handing them out to the gathered folks. “One of you find the medicine this woman needs.”

“Well now,” Nália said as she stayed at Wenthi’s side. “You are putting up a good show.”

“Shit yourself, Miss Enapi,” he said under his breath. He handed out all that he had carried and went back to the crate. “Whatever you think of me, my job is to help people.”

“Some help you give.”

“I uphold the law,” he said. “But this . . . this is a travesty. I . . .” His voice broke.

“You all right, Renzi?” Ajiñe asked, coming over to him.

“Sorry,” he said, wiping away the tears at his eyes. “I didn’t expect . . . These people are hungry, let’s help them.”

“Yeah,” she said, opening up another crate.

“Very good performance,” Nália said. “I’m almost believing you.”

“No one should go hungry, not like this,” he said. He knelt down in front of a pair of children, no older than he was during the bombings of Ziaparr. “You guys want some?”

“Gia,” the kid said in Old Zapi. Wenthi handed over two more meals.

“What do you know of hunger?” Nália snapped. “You haven’t gone hungry a day in your life.”

“You’ve been digging around in my head,” he said back. “You’ll see that isn’t true.”

Her eyes narrowed in concentration, and flashes of memory rolled out. The days upon days in the bunker. Lathéi crying and inconsolable. The soldiers coming, taking them out of the bunker, being dragged from camp to camp. Held by Rodiguen’s forces, that camp falling to the Alliance, then the survivor patch before he and Lathéi were alone in the cracked streets of the Smokewalks . . .

Just a little way to the east, here in Gonetown.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think you really . . .”

“Because you don’t know anything.”

He looked to her, but she had gone. Retreated back to herself, still there in the back of his skull, shame burning like a dying ember.

“You all right?” Ajiñe came over, her eyes full of warmth and affection.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I just . . . I was thinking about when I was kid, when the war was on, and . . .”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here, on board with all this. I don’t know if I’ve made this clear, but . . . I’m really glad you’ve been with us, Renzi.”

“I’m glad I found you all,” he said.

“Listen,” she said. “Regardless of how the rest of this goes down, I think it’s time I climbed up to your fasai myself, if you’d like.”

“Just you and me?” he asked. He had been trying to ignore how attractive he had found Ajiñe. He had been acting on attraction with all the rest of the crew, for the sake of the mission, for the sake of maintaining his cover. Renzi Llionorco would, of course, fuck all of them because it was expected. Perhaps because he and Ajiñe hadn’t yet, he found her all the more desirable.

Which was decidedly off-mission.

But there it was, nonetheless.

“If that’s how you’d like it,” she said. “I mean, if you really want backup . . .”

“Just you and me is good,” he said.

She glanced around at the folks the others were passing food around to. “Do you notice something odd?”

“Like?”

“It’s all young folks—hardly any older than Ziva—or very old people. Almost no real adults in this sprawl.”

That was true. No one his age at all. “Maybe the ones who can work are off working right now?”

“Maybe,” she said.

Jendiscira came over to them, carrying another case. With a slight gesture from her, Ajiñe went back to the truck.

“I’m glad you’re getting it, Renzi.” Jendiscira said. “Renzi Llionorco. You’re not from Ziaparr, are you?”

“No, ma’am. The prison train just released me here.”

“And your people?”

“Lost most of them in the purges, or bombings of Tofozaun.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, though she had a slight smile. “But come. I have something for you to see.”