After a few minutes, I pick up Lyria’s trail. I can still detect the soft scent of the soap from the boardinghouse. How, I don’t know. The sweat from the jungle sun and heat has long since washed any traces of soap from my own skin.
Luckily, it takes me no time at all to catch up as she makes her way through the lower levels. I keep to the high ground, staying just above and behind her, giving me an easy view to spy from.
She’s got her black cap on backward now, her short red hair peeking out underneath. She walks unhurriedly, casually but still with purpose. Here and there she waves at some people and greets others. Lyria seems to know a great number of people in the sprawl for a syndicate who works in the city. I guess she’s off duty today or avoiding the outpost since she helped Sena and me escape. Or maybe … she wasn’t the lift operator at all but just using the job as a cover. The blanks in her story certainly raise suspicion. Just what was she doing up on the plateau?
Lyria pauses at a hawker stall two levels down, and I slow to a stop before a rope bridge, letting others pass as I watch her out of the corner of my eye. She laughs, chatting with the stall keeper, listening intently to him and his patrons. Something in her relaxed posture and easy smile has me recalling Alora and her father.
Before he was killed, Alora’s father wanted the Vegas to be seen as more than just syndicate bullies. He encouraged them to establish relationships across Maraas, whether it was with people in Verem or here in the slums, or even with the scavvers out in the jungle. Alora took that charge to heart even as she questioned her role and her future. Where I was engineered not to forget a face or a threat, to blend in with those around me, Alora remembered people; she knew them. Their names, details of their lives, stories about their troubles. Where I was a phony, faking my way to belong, she was the real deal. It was the one part of her future role that she didn’t mind.
Something about the way Lyria charms those around her reminds me of that. And makes me question her true purpose. Is she charming these people to get them to aid her in the revolution against Weiland? Is she high enough in the syndicate hierarchy to promise them changes should the Vega come back into power? If so, Lyria is probably important enough that she’s in contact with Revas. She could be doing all this directly under Revas’s orders. All the more reason for me to get closer to her.
With a wave and a piece of flatbread to go, Lyria continues on her path. I stay a safe distance behind her, still sticking to the upper levels even when I lose my line of sight. There’s so much clutter with ladders and ramps and ropes that even if Lyria thought she was being followed, she’d never notice me up here. As we move, I calculate the distance between us and the boardinghouse. Two miles so far.
And though the sprawl is completely different than anything I remember, there’s a familiarity in the chaotic levels and hodgepodge of buildings. But even this far out of the city, signs of TerraCo’s influence still appear unexpectedly. I spot the corpo’s logo plastered across the side of a building with makeshift repairs underway, on an updated bridge above a large river, even on a few hawker carts, the owners wearing matching green aprons. Like TerraCo is trying to get its claws in everything.
Lyria pauses again at a small outfitter shop, disappearing inside, and I scout the area while I wait.
Despite the occasional logo, I don’t see any sign of TerraCo’s commandos. They never came to the sprawl before because the Vega provided security and policing. Now I see neither commandos nor Vegas positioned on any of the pathways above the swamp or down below. No Vega guards milling around looking bored. No one stopping the few fights or thieves I spot on the trek. No security anywhere.
Though, even two years ago, the security didn’t do much either.
Alora once convinced me to accompany her into the sprawl. She wanted to get out of Verem, and the outpost wasn’t enough for her that day. She’d been at some meeting with her father, and though I don’t know what he said to her, she returned quiet and melancholy. But after brooding for a half hour, she grabbed an arken blade and proclaimed she was going to the sprawl, with or without me.
I tried to keep us in the Vega-controlled areas once we got here. But she wasn’t content with sticking a toe in. She wanted to dive into deep water and left me no choice but to stick close to her as she led us deeper and deeper into the sprawl.
I fight against the memory, trying to stop the replay, but my gaze lands on a ramp half buried in the mud and the familiarity triggers the echo fully. I’m not standing on this level alone tailing Lyria anymore. I’m down on the ground, trailing behind Alora.
As the two of us cross a rope bridge, a man steps onto a partially buried ramp, blocking our path. The me from before knows immediately what’s happening; I’d already caught a whiff of his two accomplices tailing us on the levels above. The man doesn’t say anything, just pulls out his blade and points it right at her.
For a moment, we all stand there, waiting. I remember running through scenarios, picturing what would happen if I let him kill Alora. Her father would be distraught, distracted. He’d make rash decisions in his grief, and the coup would be so much easier to pull off. My mission would be over, and I could leave this stupid, humid jungle.
But when the man lunges at Alora with the knife, I move, too fast to think. My foot finds his chest and he goes flying off the ramp. The other two goons flank us and send a call for more, too many for me to fight and keep Alora safe at the same time.
So, I grab her hand and we run. We sprint across the levels, Alora grinning the entire way. Even as hot rain begins to fall, drenching us, she tilts her head back and laughs. At some point, I find myself smiling, too. The rush of the threat in our wake, the rain splashing across my skin, the total freedom of not caring about missions or orders. Who we are doesn’t matter. In this moment, none of it matters.
We make it back to the Vega-controlled areas, and luckily the chumps don’t follow us. I lead Alora to one of the mag rail stations and onto the train heading for the plateau.
We sit in silence, dripping wet in the train car, a smile still beaming on Alora’s pale face.
“Thank you, Remy,” she says, her voice breathless.
“It’s my job to protect you.” I shake my head. “Even when you make it so much harder.” Now that the elation and adrenaline are gone, I’m pissed that she’d even put us in that position in the first place.
She laughs again, a spark in her clear blue eyes. “I’m not thanking you because you saved me. I’m thanking you for being there with me. For not letting me be alone. I know it was reckless. But … I feel more alive now than before. Don’t you?”
I blink. She’s not wrong. Racing with her through the sprawl made me feel different than any mission I’ve done before. In the heat of the moment, I ignored my protocol, my training. Kiran will be pissed when he finds out I let an opportunity go to waste. But I chose my own path. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” I say to her. But slowly, I match her smile with my own.
Low vibrations pull my focus out of the memory. I was hoping that with the sprawl ever changing, my genetic echoes wouldn’t get triggered by the place. But I guess my drive to find Alora is stronger than the mess of the sprawl around me. I shake myself loose from the grip of her smile and the pull of her energy. Now is really not the time to get lost in the replays.
Up above, the mag tracks begin to vibrate, announcing the train rumbling through. Coming out of the shop, Lyria pauses. I step to the side of a ramp, the sun biting through my layers as the humidity rests heavily on my skin. Other movement stills, as if everyone in the sprawl is waiting for the train.
The tracks rumble, and the buildings hanging from the rail or the support beams begin to shake and shudder. Finally, the train car rushes into view. I glance around for the lifts that go to the top of the tracks, but I don’t spot any nearby. I’m still looking for some sign of a station or landing when the mag train thunders by. It doesn’t slow one bit, careening down the tracks and continuing its path toward the mountains.
The mag train used to stop at multiple points along the sprawl. But now that I’m thinking about it, I haven’t noticed any active stations since we left the outpost. If the train is no longer picking up workers and taking them to the mountains, then who exactly is it transporting?
Or what?
But before I can steal time to speculate, motion below recaptures my full attention. Lyria’s on the move and then so am I.
We’re nearing a less populated area of the sprawl. Years ago, when they first built the mag rail, the only settlements were right where the stops were. Over time, the sprawl grew beyond the stations into the snaking line of continuous buildings and life pods and modified container shells it is now. But in between the more densely populated areas, there are still deserted pockets with not much beyond abandoned structures, marshy swamplands, and errant spider vines. One of these spots is where Lyria finally pauses on a makeshift dock perched on a large swath of swampy mud.
There are only a few other people passing by, not enough for me to blend in, so I duck behind an empty life pod that’s half sunk in the mud. The other buildings are mostly empty; hawkers and food stalls, the lifeblood of the sprawl, are nowhere to be seen. The jungle presses in around the dock where Lyria stands, ferns and grass poking up through the cracks in the old wood.
And then, out of the shadows of the impossibly tall trees, a figure emerges from the jungle. She’s muscular and tall, though not as tall as Lyria. Her dark brown skin is smooth; I’d guess she’s probably a few years older than me. Her layers are thin but sturdy and made from a mix of materials. She could almost be just another denizen of the sprawl, but her expression holds something more than those of the downtrodden sprawl inhabitants. Life lights up her honey-brown eyes. And I realize what she is.
A scavver.
Lyria nods at the scavver and they begin to talk softly. I study the newcomer. The scavvers on Maraas are different from the ones on Tundar, who keep to themselves under their frozen lake away from the rest of the planet. The Scavver War that was fought between the corpos and those who wanted to live outside their influence all those years ago had different repercussions on each Edge World. Here, the scavvers live deep in the jungle, but they still trade with sprawl residents. They’ve even been known to raid the mag rail in the past, stopping the train and jacking corpo resources. The scavvers on Maraas have no problem making their presence known and felt.
This girl is definitely a scavver, from the mashup of her clothes to the arken blade machete strapped to her thigh. Interesting that she came to meet Lyria without any others. Lyria must be encouraging the scavvers to join in the Vega revolution then. The thought makes my stomach sink. If the scavvers are getting involved, then it’s a lot more organized than I thought. Which could mean more complications for me and potentially more bloodshed for everyone else. I need to get closer, need to hear what they’re saying.
I scoot around the life pod and silently drop down to a lower ramp, catching what appears to be the tail end of their conversation as I crouch behind a railing.
“Everyone’s rounded up,” Lyria’s saying. “They’re eager to hear this intel you’ve promised. And what your side has to offer.”
“Oh, don’t worry your little syndicate head about what we can offer. It’s more than good enough for your mangy lot,” the scavver replies. I’m close enough that I can catch the faint scent of tahuayo flowers on the scavver girl. She must’ve come far to still carry the fragrance with her. Only in the deepest parts of the jungle does the glowing fire-colored tahuayo blossom bloom from the spider vines once night falls. Here in the sprawl, the fragile flowers are too easily destroyed by human activity or blown away when the storm hits. Even faintly from this distance, their scent tastes like fruity, floral honey on the tip of my tongue. The scavver points a decisive finger at Lyria.
“We want your assurances that Revas is on the level.” My heart races at Revas’s name on the scavver’s lips. “She better make it worth our while, or we’ll start dumping Vegas right on top of the burning pile of TerraCo corpses in our wake. We’re not here to be your cannon fodder.”
If the threat unnerves Lyria, she makes no sign of it as she nods once.
“Don’t worry. I can guarantee you’ll get what you want from Revas. Now, what about the intel you promised me?”
The scavver cocks her head to the side and grins. “I’ll do ya one better, new friend. I’ll show you that and more.” The scavver motions over her shoulder, then turns away. I’m about to move to a better position, but then she jumps off the dock, followed by Lyria.
Without another word, the two slip into the jungle, disappearing into the shadows between the trees.