54

Nália watched Wenthi’s avatar as they all rode in the back of the truck. She knew where his thoughts were at. He wanted to regain control of his body. But he was also tracking their route. Even now, she noticed—and Wenthi noticed as well—there wasn’t complete openness with the Fists yet. They were put in the back of the truck, the canvas closed.

“You don’t think that’s a bit odd?” she asked Ajiñe.

“Maybe a little,” Ajiñe said. “But an open truck with the six of us in the bed? Bait for the patrol. Especially with them still riled up over the fuel raid the other night.”

“Yeah, I think it’s less about keeping things secret from us, and more about being safe,” Mensi added.

Gabrána came over, caressing Nália’s leg. “You seemed pretty spooked back there. You can talk about it if you need to.”

“I want to know what you all experienced,” Nália said. “None of you felt what I did. None of you saw it.”

“I’m curious what you felt,” Fenito said to Nicalla. “I mean, I know for me, it was a full-on fuckfest. All the rest of us were all in it, so was Varazina, so were the old folks of the inner circle. People I ain’t even met before.”

“Yeah,” Mensi said. “It was . . .” He chuckled ruefully. “It was a lot more than I was ready for. I think I . . . I kind of lost myself in the waves and waves of the rest of you. And, honestly, I don’t think I’m going to be able to get hard again for the rest of the season.”

“Same,” Fenito said.

“Renzi isn’t having that problem,” Gabrána said, her hand moving to Nália’s crotch. Which was more than Nália wanted to deal with right now. As interesting as it would be fully engaging in the pleasures of Wenthi’s body, in complete control of it, her head wasn’t in that.

“Not now,” she said. “No, it was the same for us . . . for me. But then at the height of climax—or the apex of the coming upon coming, I suppose—it was almost like I left my body.”

“My body,” Wenthi said absently.

“But more, it was like I connected to everything, at a level beyond anything I had ever experienced. Like I was in sync with everyone who had ever used the myco, and the great mushroom itself.”

“The great mushroom?” Ajiñe asked.

“It’s all one lifeform,” Nicalla said quietly. “It’s older than anything else in the world, its tendrils and fibers spreading under the land.”

“You knew that?” Nália asked.

“I . . . felt it. While you were all scrumping each other, I was communing with the life force of the mushroom. And Varazina. We were one with the mushroom itself. I’ve never been more at peace.”

“So you didn’t feel us all fucking?” Gabrána asked.

“I was aware of it, but I didn’t experience it. I was also aware of being something beyond my own humanity.”

“But you didn’t feel the suffering, the fires, any of that?” Nália asked. “That was just me?”

“Just us,” Wenthi said, though he was only giving them a portion of his attention. The truck came to a stop, and she could feel he had mentally mapped out where the Fists headquarters was. She could still lightly feel Jendiscira and the others, and she was certain he could as well. He was taking advantage of the fact he wasn’t tied to his body right now, figuring out what his mind could sense when it wasn’t held back by flawed, solid flesh.

And most troubling was an odd sense of calm emanating from him. He was ready to wait. But he was also concerned about the fires, and the baniz people dying out in the burning fields of oil.

He must have sensed her feeling that off of him. “We could make a call, you know. Send official help.”

Nália didn’t want to speak out loud, so she sent the thought at him. Like the patrol would save them. Or the nucks.

His resolve quavered a little.

Nicalla was going on. “I felt . . . I didn’t feel any specific individual suffering. But I did have the sense of pain from everyone out there in the country.”

The canvas opened up. “You’re all home,” the Fists who drove them said. “I saw a lot of patrol out there, more checkpoints than normal. Be careful, maybe lay low.”

That riled Nália up. “How can we lay low when people are dying out in the country—”

Ajiñe grabbed her and pulled her into the tenement. “Thank you, we’ll be ready when you call on us.”

Nália let herself be led inside, but she was still upset. “This is wrong. This is what we should be fighting for, and we’re not . . .”

Ajiñe stopped her from talking by kissing her, which reminded Nália of the peculiar sensation of being Renzi, the masculinity of her own mouth and face and hands.

“What was that for?” Nália asked.

“To bring you back down to the ground,” Ajiñe said. “I understand you’re upset, but . . . if you saw it, surely Varazina did as well. We were all connected to her, communing with her power.”

“Did she?” Wenthi asked. “Were we really?”

“What do you mean?” Nália asked.

“We know she sees everything, knows what’s going on, which is how she reaches us.”

“Oddly singular in direction,” Wenthi said. “Did we really commune with her? Or what she wanted us to feel?”

“What was she to you?” Nália asked the rest as they settled into the bomb-out. The crew all looked like they were ready to sleep right then and there, which was understandable. As agitated as she was, the body was tired to its bones. Surely the rest of them were. “How did you see her?”

“Like a human manifestation of the spirits that watch over us,” Gabrána said. “A woman of absurd beauty, but—”

“Natural,” Fenito said.

Mensi continued. “Like she was one with the land and nature and—”

“Connected to me,” Ajiñe said. “Like she knew my every secret and—”

“Loved me anyway,” Nicalla said.

Nália had felt all that as well. But yet—

“A little too perfect,” Wenthi said. “I was sucked into it as well, but now . . .”

“Right,” Nália said.

“But why do you have this deeper connection?” Gabrána asked. “They all said they knew you were stronger with your power, which is strange.”

“You took control of my body on the highway,” Ajiñe said. “I’ve never known anyone to do that before.”

“I’m not sure,” Nália said. Was it Wenthi who was special? He didn’t feel like a tory that night he arrested her. He was able to slip under her senses, get right up to her.

“Shebiruht said I was very interesting, too,” he said. “But maybe part of it is that it’s us, synced and stuck together permanently, with more and more speed. A fluke.”

“Whatever it is,” Ajiñe said, pulling Nália over to the mattress on the floor where they were all lying down—even Nicalla—“We’re happy you’re with us. We’re all going to do great things together.”

The radio sparked on, and Varazina’s voice crackled through.

“Fires are burning in the oil fields. Your people, your blood, your sisters and brothers and cousins, are dying. They are slaves under the boot of occupation, and we will bear it no longer. Rise up, my friends. This is the moment. This is the time. We will bear it no longer. Rise up, take to the streets. Beat back all who hold you down! For Zapisia! For me!”

“Did she just—” Ajiñe started, but Nália didn’t hear any more.

She had felt the charge, the connection that had activated the radio, the signal that brought the voice to them. And she knew—she knew—that it wasn’t just a message to them. Varazina had spread it wide, talking to every single radio next to every jifoz in Outtown. She had just called them to war.

Almost by instinct, Nália reached out and grabbed that charge, and it pulled her senses out with it, bringing the entire city to her.