60

For three days, Wenthi’s mind had been quiet. No more Nália Enapi in his head. No more her controlling his body. No more of her, the constant and aggravating voice of rebellion and revolution, drumming in his skull.

A damned relief.

The silence was uneasy.

Three days ago, he had been brought into the headquarters in the 9th Senja, separated from the rest of the Fists crew, and put into an ice room so they could no longer sync with him. Once there, he delivered his full report, and cycles and arrest buses were sent out to pick up everyone he named. Everyone except Penda, initially, but Lieutenant Canwei said she’d work to make that happen. He wasn’t privy to what that work entailed, but Paulei brought him the report that detailed her arrest.

Wenthi had worried that she would be given some sort of pass, like she had been before. He didn’t want to know who else was in the Alliance Notable Confinement Center. He knew it would just make him angry.

He already knew Doctor Shebiruht was one of the residents. Who knew what other dark secrets were in there.

He was more than happy that he didn’t have to see her again. One of the nurses came and gave him a series of shots, which severed his connection with Nália, and then a bottle of pills they insisted he needed to take twice a day. Canwei told him to take a dozen days to relax and recover. “You’ve earned it.”

He had been in his room for three days straight, fucking half the squad on the late sweep patrol. That had mostly been a core cadre of Minlei, Guand, Cinden and Peshka (always together), Hwokó, and especially Paulei, but several others had drifted in and out of the group over time. Wenthi had enjoyed all of it; it was wonderful to be back home, back with his people, but it felt off. Incomplete. He had gotten used to sex on the mushroom, and the sensation of just feeling in his own body was, while oddly novel, distinctly lacking.

Not that he told any of them that.

He lay in his bed—he was thrilled to be back in his own bed after that horrendous mattress in the shitty fasai on Street Xaomico—looking over the arrest report once more. Names he knew, names he gave in his reports. Names that troubled him. He had mentioned people like Partinez and Isilla Henáca in his debrief, but not in the context of being part of the Fists.

Jendiscira and Hocnupec had been killed in the arrests. There was an odd comfort there, that they refused to compromise, refused to go quietly. They’d rather be martyrs than prisoners.

Narli Osceba was another name on the list that hung hard on his heart. He had done nothing, beyond being Ajiñe’s father. “You’ve seen all these people in holding?” he asked Paulei, who had been in a blissful half-asleep state for the past few minutes. Wenthi envied him. Everyone else had been called onto a stint or was recuperating in their own rooms.

“I mean, they don’t wear name tags, but, yeah, the cells are packed up right now. Once final judgment comes down, they’ll be shipped out, just like they deserve.”

“What about Nália?”

“Who?”

“Enapi,” Wenthi said. “The girl I caught, the one they synced me with.”

“Oh, her,” Paulei said, running his fingers on Wenthi’s chest. He was already ready for more. How did he do that, Wenthi wondered. “I think she’s still in the headquarters. I didn’t ask. She’ll probably be lumped in with the other judgments.”

“Good,” Wenthi said, not sure what he meant by saying that. Maybe he figured Paulei needed to hear it.

“You called her Nália?”

“She was embedded in my head for nearly two seasons,” Wenthi said. “Hardly room for proper social niceties. Not her style, in any event.”

“What was that like?” Paulei asked. He had, over the course of the three days, asked a few gentle probing questions about Wenthi’s whole experience, which Wenthi had only ever answered tersely. Paulei hadn’t been pushing too hard with those questions, but he would regularly leave a window open for Wenthi to crawl through and talk about it.

“Invasive,” Wenthi said. “You know, all those propaganda reels we saw about the mushroom are bullshit. Completely.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, they talk about how dangerous it is, but it’s really not—”

“We’ve heard all about how dangerous it is.”

“Heard, yeah. You ever actually brought in a mushroom burnout? I’ve been thinking, and I never have. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen one.”

“I’m sure I have.”

“Have you? I’ve never had one when riding with you. I can’t even recall someone coming off their stint saying they had one. We’re just . . . told it’s a thing that happens, and we’ve accepted it as truth.”

Paulei frowned, still caressing Wenthi’s chest. “I must have.”

“I can tell you this, having done the mushroom—”

“How much did you do it?” Paulei asked. “Is this why you need time to get clean? Did you take your pills today?”

“Spirits, yes,” Wenthi said. Though he wasn’t completely sure. He must have taken it this morning. The past days had been a bit of a blur, but he was nearly certain.

Paulei’s voice dropped to a low, horrified whisper. “Is the sex really better on it? Is that why you’re talking about it? You want to—”

“No,” Wenthi said. “I mean, yes, it totally is, but—”

“It is?”

“You have no idea,” Wenthi said. “But my real point is, why were we led to believe it was so dangerous? Especially when the Alliance government is more than happy to use it to suit its own purposes?”

“I don’t know,” Paulei said, climbing on top of Wenthi. “So are you saying that no matter how many officers we get into this bed with you, it’s not going to be like it was on the mushroom?”

“Well, how many are we talking?” Wenthi said, letting himself grin. Letting himself feel happy. “Because I’m willing to make the attempt. You know, for science.”

“I do love science,” Paulei said, leaning down to kiss him. He climbed off the bed and pulled on a robe. “I’ll go knock on some doors, see what we can round up. A lot of people are working double stints, holding back the unrest and mayhem in Outtown.”

“That hasn’t stopped with the arrests?”

“It’s gotten worse. But that means anyone who’s off shift and here will have a lot of tension to blow off.”

Wenthi lay back on the bed, his thoughts scattered. Thoughts still on the reasons behind making the mushroom illegal, scaring people from using it. Thoughts on the people from Street Xaomico arrested. Thoughts on the idea that there was still uproar in the Outtown streets, that nothing he had done had quelled it. If anything, he might have made it worse, and more riots were coming.

Paulei opened up the door to find someone already there.

“Oh!” Lathéi said. “I was about to knock.”

“Didn’t think you’d come see us up here in our hovel,” Paulei said lightly.

“It wasn’t my first choice, but this silly boy has been off his mission for days and hasn’t come to see me.”

“The fool,” Paulei said. “Go in there, it’s fine.”

“You sure?” she asked both of them.

“I’m off to round up some people to fuck some sense into him, but that will take me a bit.”

“It’s fine, Lath, get in here,” Wenthi called out as he pulled his own robe on. She came farther into the room as Paulei went off.

“I wasn’t certain you wanted to see me,” she said, coming over to the bed and sitting on the edge. She was dressed in what Wenthi assumed was the high fashion of the season in Ziaparr, her green dress fitting tight at the waist and flaring out at her knees. She wore what Wenthi could only describe as the tiniest hat he had ever seen, pinned to the top of her hair with lace and wisps of ribbon that elegantly framed the sides of her face.

“Why wouldn’t I want to see you?”

“Well, you haven’t made much of an effort to come out, have you?” she asked.

“You mean come to Mother’s house,” he said.

“I’ve been enduring that household all alone.”

“With Oshnå.”

“Practically alone.”

He pointed to the pile of newspapers and magazines on the floor. “Paulei collected those for me while I was gone. It looks like you spent the past season getting your tinplate plastered all over Intown.” Society, fashion, and gossip pages were filled with pictures of Lathéi and Oshnå, and every young llipe and rhique in the city tried to get tinplated with her. He had already seen how most young folk in the 9th were now dressing like she and Oshnå were that night at the brass club.

“I didn’t ask to be a style influencer. It’s quite annoying.”

“I’m sure.”

“I wore this hat for the first time today, and five people plated me on my way here. Mark me, brother, you will see this all over town in three days. It’s tiresome.”

He knew Lathéi well enough to know she was being honest, she didn’t relish this sort of attention. “I wonder what would happen if you dressed like I had to this whole time. Boots and raw denim.”

“Oh, I could get the whole town dressing like that if I wanted. Phony followers, the lot of them. They were all, ‘oh, Lathéi, you and your girlfriend are so elegant, so Outhic, so sophisticated.’ It’s like no one has ever gone to Hemisheuk before.”

“I bet you’re ready to go back.”

“Quite. And Mother keeps making noises about how my place is here and there is no need to go across the sea again, which is just impossible of her.”

“When do you go?”

“Five days,” she said, giving a playful slap to his arm. “Which makes your failure to come see me almost unforgivable.”

“As long as it’s almost.”

She sighed. “You look exhausted, though. Was it the assignment, or is it the ongoing celebration?”

“Bit of both.”

“I don’t begrudge you your fun, but unless you are getting on that steamer with me, I refuse to lose another day of seeing you.”

“I can’t get on that steamer,” he said. “I would have had to apply for travel permits two seasons ago.”

“Faith, they make it so hard. Normally I’d say Mother could find a way, but she doesn’t even want me to go, let alone let you leave the country as well.”

“I think she’d be fine with it.”

“Not at all!”

“Lath,” he said, “she wants you here because you are the presumptive heir to her place in the Prime Families. The ranking Tungét.”

“Like anyone really cares about such a thing,” she scoffed.

“Do you want to hear something wild?”

“Always.”

“Mother gained her place because she was the only surviving member of the Tungét line, but she had nearly been disinherited. Apparently it was only because the rest of the family was killed in the Second Trans that they didn’t have time to remove her standing.”

“You lie!” Lathéi said with a laugh. “Wherever did you hear such a thing? Mother has never talked about that. I think she was born thirty.”

“Do you remember during the Tyrant’s War—”

“The what?”

“The Great Noble,” he corrected. “The bunker, the camps? Being lost in the Smokewalks?”

“Only in the vaguest ways,” she said. “I remember you taking care of me, if that’s what you mean.”

“Partly,” he said.

“Which is why I want to take care of you now,” she said. “And I can. I can take you to Hemisheuk, and I think it would do you a lot of good to get out of this country. At least the city. We could take a train to Ureti for a day or two, live it up—”

“I appreciate that, Lathéi.”

“But you don’t want to do that,” she said, her face sinking a bit. “I get it, I do. Fine. Well, I have one more piece to play, and after that I’ll leave you to your celebration.”

“I am glad to see you, you know,” he said. “It’s just—”

“I know, dear,” she said, caressing his face with her gloved hand. “Mother is holding a dinner gathering tomorrow night. She has said it is in honor of your success, how the rebellion was quelled thanks to your work, but was very vague about if she intended to invite you.”

“First I’ve heard of it.”

“In which case, I am inviting you as my extension. Are your measurements still on record at the haberdasher? You didn’t thicken your waist too much on jifozi tacos while on mission?”

“No risk of overeating on the mission,” he said. She had no idea how hungry the jifoz were.

“Good. I’ll have a proper suit for this bash made and delivered to you tomorrow—on my account, don’t worry.”

“So Oshnå will miss the party?”

“Oh, she’s coming,” Lathéi said. “If I am the heir apparent of the Tungét seat or whatever, I will make a thing of having all the caste-breaking guests I want at a party.”

“It won’t be trouble?”

“It probably will be,” Lathéi said. “But honestly, the idea of Mother hosting a thing to celebrate what you did without inviting you to it? It sickens me. I will not stand.”

He smiled. “Hold on to that spirit,” he said. “No matter where you go, what position or seat you have. Remember how you feel right now and lock it into yourself, so it can always guide you.”

“What a peculiar thing to say,” she said, getting on her feet. She leaned over and kissed his forehead.

“I think Mother forgot more about who she was,” he said. “What she used to fight for. I don’t want you to do the same.”

She gave him a peculiar regard. “You have more story than you’re letting on. I’ll press you on it tomorrow. See you then.” She went out the door, leaving it open so Paulei could return with a half-dozen half-naked patrol officers who had just gotten off duty.

“Heard there was a sad hero here who needed cheering,” Hwokó said as she threw her blouse on the ground. “Let’s get on it.”

Wenthi put on a good face and waved them all into his bed. It would be wonderful, of course, despite being stuck in only his own skin.