SENALL

37 In the Tempest Tower, in the original suite of Dorie Senall and Terl Plenko and, later, their copies, the four fugitives huddled quietly, afraid to move because it was unsafe. Structurally unsafe, yes, but also because any sound or movement might bring Sakson and his security squad down on them.

To be honest, they all lived in a domed city. There weren’t that many places to go and hide. She’d never told Sakson about living in this tower. All he knew was she’d tried to save the remains of the tower as a way to remember what happened to Ribon. They couldn’t hide at Max’s place. Not at Adi’s, or Ross’s, or her own residence.

They stayed off the balcony. The sun was up outside the dome, and the gauzy light turned New Venasaille golden.

Dorie had led them here through the side streets of the city, varying their speed, even cutting through open buildings, and out exits she knew well whenever they heard the whine of pursuit hopters. They twisted through the grid of the city, mindful of pedestrians and the citizens beginning their normal morning routines, smiling, nodding, speeding up again, crossing over here, sliding over there, never going in one direction for long, until finally they came to the Tempest Tower.

Now, she lay on her back in almost the exact spot where she’d taken the RuBy from the stash she’d hid long ago on the ruined balcony. Lorway rested against one wall, Max Rydell another, and Adi was splayed out next to her; he had fallen asleep.

She decided this suite would be a better place to hide, protected behind the Do Not Enter flashpaper and its designation as a structurally unsound room.

They were doing what they needed to do for now: rest. It also allowed Dorie time to puzzle out what to do next. She had no immediate answers. Four of them with three weapons. What could they possibly hope to accomplish? What had she been thinking when she’d pulled them all into this fool’s errand? No, it was wrong to think that way. Hadn’t she told Lorway she wanted her city back? Yes, she did. The stakes were high, and the odds stacked against her even more than she’d realized.

When she’d been governor, she hadn’t had but a few loyal assistants and some bodyguards at her disposal if she needed them. Already, it seemed, Sakson had built up his little squad of security beyond what she’d expected. He’d gained control of the Bubble and he’d intervened to subvert Shell personnel.

She hadn’t thought of Ross in a long time and wondered where her secretary was now. She’d have to ask Adi about that. If he even knew.

Okay then.

Take the fight to Sakson. She’d be stupid to engage in a fight, but if they showed up at the Brindos Building without running into Sakson’s goons before then, she might come across those who’d been loyal to her, but who’d had to bow down to him to keep their jobs. Maybe. Maybe with a little extra backup, she could turn the situation to her advantage. For all she knew, Sakson himself was out there with his squad searching for her. However, he also could’ve chosen to remain in the building, directing them from there. How many bodyguards would he have around him in there?

She should wake Adi. Tell him her idea. Tell them all she’d decided on the best plan of action. But—

She was tired. God, she was exhausted. She—

The sky whined.

The dream was deep and clear and altogether confusing. In her dream, she met the Ultras. She’d been chosen as an ambassador to cross the brane between the universes via the rebuilt tether, passing easily and without any severe aging, a creature made of almost pure RuBy, her skin red like a lobster’s, nostrils plugged with cotton to give her a respite from the constant cinnamon smell, and rebuilt fingertips from a nano slurry, and those too were already on their way to turning permanently red. And here were the Ultras, reconstituted and reformed from their sub-personas—it must be an antimatter thing, she thought—and they were utterly crimson. In fact, they were the direct source of the drug, and they willingly scraped the dead cells from the skin of their elongated, half-formed limbs and offered it in super-convenient papers to their new subjects, those infuriating Matter People. Pop as many as you want! Sure, now that they had lucked into the secret after all this time, after the Ultra scare this and Ultra scare that, and realized what we all needed was more RuBy—you want some?—and literally fed the waiting, desperate humans from their own bodies. Ultras were alive and well, they were back, thank you, and they didn’t really need hybrids anymore, and they didn’t need to invade our universe to survive, but then they saw how fun it was to enslave us and make us do their shit jobs. After all, they’d lived a long time without bodies and frankly had gotten used to the idea of not having limbs to do shit jobs, so why start now? And there was Dorie, ambassador to another universe, once Governor Dorie from some fucked-up planet, now 100% drug-protected—no need for any antimatter suit here—passing along wisdom to the Union about the best way to cross over to this new place, because after all, humans were dying, weren’t they? Dying and sluffing off new bodies, skin and tissue making the multitudinous seas incarnadine, turning the white moon Coral, and it wasn’t so bad, because hey, the Ultras knew all about digital shills, and wouldn’t that be a nice way to live for a while? Scratch away kids, it comes off easy. Keep scratching . . . 

The sky whined.

Again.

And then she was awake, crying out, her hands scratching at her clothes, and suddenly Adi Thakur was there, whispering, saying Dorie, stop. Dorie, they’ve found us.

She came to her senses. The whine came from outside, past the balcony, and hovering there, facing them, were several solo-hopters, looking and sounding like giant insects in the morning light.

“They’re here,” Adi said.

Lorway and Max Rydell stood nearby, and Dorie’s first thought was to wonder how that could be possible. Then she wondered if they should be grouped so close together like this.

From the hallway came the thump of boots, and voices barked down corridors and up stairwells. They weren’t even trying to be stealthy. Sakson’s squad had them surrounded.

“Drop the weapons!”

The voice snapped loudly from one of the hopters, momentarily blocking out the whines of the engines. The damaged balcony doors swung on their hinges, pushed by displaced air.

Dorie nodded timidly. “Do it.”

It was her fault. All the steps she’d taken had come to nothing. A lot of bad decisions had caught up to her and she wondered why anyone should have ever trusted her. Trusted a RuBy addict.

She bit back her self-pity and grit her teeth as Adi laid down his blaster. Lorway followed. They stepped away from them. Max Rydell held firmly onto his rifle, and he exuded such a grim resignation that she was taken aback. He was not going to let go of his weapon.

“Max,” she whispered. He didn’t move. She didn’t know why she was whispering now. “Max,” she implored, raising her voice.

This time Max looked over at her, but he didn’t budge from his stance or lower his weapon.

“Drop. Your. Weapon.” The pilot on the hopter must have increased the volume on the loudspeaker. All it did was turn Rydell’s attention away from Dorie and back to the hopters hovering there.

Voices in the hallway. Dorie heard one ask if they were clear.

“Max, put it down,” Dorie said. She held out her hands palms down and patted the air, hopefully giving the hopter pilots a signal that she was trying to get him to comply. “Put it down and listen to me. You can’t do anything. You’ll only endanger the rest of us.”

That made Max turn to her again. She saw his eyes soften. The rifle lowered a little. “What do I have now, Dorie? The Bubble’s done. I’m out of a job. What else is there? I’m fucking tired of this, and I’m scared, Dorie.”

She nodded. Then she smiled. “Max?” She pointed at herself. “That’s Governor Senall to you. Put down the gun. That’s an order.”

Slowly, he returned her smile and nodded. He turned to the window, intent on raising his hands to show compliance before he put down the rifle.

“Max!”

Both hopter pilots opened fire.

Max Rydell was pushed backwards with the impact of the concentrated beams of the hopter guns. They drilled perfect holes in his chest, and after a stunned look of surprise, he fell and hit the floor hard. He didn’t move.

“Max!” She started toward him, but Adi grabbed hold of her wrist and held her back.

“Clear now,” the loudspeaker announced.

The doors to the suite opened and half a dozen squad members in helmets and protective vests crashed through the warning tape, the scrolling words disappearing as the flashpaper snapped. They entered the room, weapons raised, and took positions around the four of them: three who were alive, and one dead on the carpet.

Another squad member came through behind them and gathered the weapons from the floor. She left the suite with them, and an instant later, Tom Sakson walked in.

“Hello, Dorie,” he said. “Welcome back to New Venasaille.”