Chapter One
“I will push the cart to the loading dock, before the furies kill me,” the man said. His wife nodded, blinked hard, and turned away.
They lived on the second story of a converted grain silo in the east side of Unity. In the front room, the only room with a view outside, their daughter giggled and shrieked as she watched her schoolmates play improvised soccer on the abandoned lot beside the silo. She would never play again, unless the god granted a long-overdue miracle.
Every day since she first fell down the stairs, her parents had begged for aid. Every day since her legs weakened and her muscles evaded control. At the Temple of Indra, the Pantheon, the old hospital. No one helped, neither human nor divine.
One chance to help their daughter, one desperate, pathetic chance. Tomorrow her mother had to return to work at the Unity hostel, cleaning rooms. If only she could could get out and around the city, and not be left alone at home, crying and afraid. If only they had some kind of cart.
There was nothing like that for sale, and if there had been they couldn’t afford it any longer. The man had lost his job, staying home too often to take care of the girl, but his rating couldn’t take any further drop. He too had to leave to try to find work, though likely no one would hire him. The savings had gone into the temple coffers, encouraged by the priests: surely this will earn the god’s favor.
But, no. Their virtue ratings had climbed a little, and nothing more, then the man’s had dropped when he was fired. So it was time to steal a cart, so that the woman could take along to work their daughter who couldn’t walk and couldn’t be left alone.
“Do you want to say goodbye to her?” the woman asked.
The girl laughed again, and called out her friend’s name. Indecipherable shouts came from the park outside. A bitter taste filled the man’s mouth, like the bursting juice from inkberries that grew wild outside the city, berries his older brother once dared him to eat. They stained his tongue and lips for a week, left a lingering acrid taint.
This taste would last much longer, he was sure. “I can’t explain. Let her think it’s an accident.” Not the cruel vengeance of an unjust god. Neither of them said it. Just saying such things would lower your rating.
They held each other tight for a time. She trembled. He felt numb and disconnected from his body. He was the father; this was his duty. It was as the gods said, though they themselves did not seem to understand.
Outside a pair of crows called to each other. The train passed by, sending a deep rumble through the building. He felt his heart, beating in his ears, fast and hard. It was time. The gardeners would be at lunch soon. They would not miss a cart, he knew. He had watched carefully: there were always three carts left unused during even the busiest seasons, and many more for the rest of the year. He only wanted to help his daughter, not hurt anyone else. The gardeners might not even notice his theft.
But the gods would.
“I love you both,” he said, and released her, and turned away. He put on his jacket, despite the warm sun outside, shining over the city of Unity. He fastened his shoes and descended the narrow, awkward, dim stairs. He passed a door with a loud robolo game playing. He passed a door where two people argued. He passed a door with no sound at all. He stepped outside into the bright sunlight.
The garden was to the left, behind Unity University, part of the dean’s estate. Children continued to shout and laugh, their high pitched voices happy and indistinct. He might have heard, “Goodbye, Daddy,” but maybe that was only in his mind, in his heart. He did not look back to see if a little face stared at him through the window, if a little hand waved farewell, not knowing how final that farewell must be.
The street was wide as they all were in Unity. He crossed the pavement to the cushioned pedestrian walk. A few bicycles were beginning to glide along the pavement, gears whizzing, as people headed to the residential or tourist districts to eat somewhere fancier than the lunch dives in the commercial zone.
He passed a bench shaded by a pair of trees, where two boys studied a snail. He passed a garbage can which was tipped over, so the contents had remained, unemptied by the overnight cleaning crew. He righted the container, wondering how much that would improve his virtue rating. Not enough to offset a theft. No, he’d need to be much higher to have a chance to repent that kind of act. If he had that kind of rating his daughter would be healed already.
The air smelled of cut grass from the garden and ozone from the train lines nearby. He crossed the street and slipped through a gap in the hedge, going to the back service entrance where the garbage collectors engaged. Music drifted from the nearby shrine, calling people to prayer. Should he go again and plead one last time? No. Her vacation ended today, and then the girl would be left alone, if they could not find a way to bring her along. She was too big to carry through the streets, and though they had asked, no one was willing to help. If the god would not favor them, everyone believed, there must be some reason why.
He used his key, from his old job. He used to help set up garbage processors. The lock was just for safety, of course. No one sensible would dare to steal anything.
The gate swung inward. The dean’s processors slowly hummed, working smoothly. He patted the targeting paint, familiar and comforting, and went around, to the gardeners’ gate. It didn’t even have a lock. Why would anyone lock it? Was there some threat from garbage, that it might come to life to ransack the tended green oasis within?
The carts were lined up behind a lattice. He counted twelve. He picked the one that looked most worn, most used. Whatever repairs it needed, the woman would be able to get, once she worked again. He rolled the cart out the gate, out the door, out into the street. No one looked at him. The cart felt like ice, like electricity, like death, in his hands. The bitterness filled his mouth once more. He stared at it, imagining his daughter, with her golden brown locks blowing behind her in the wind, glinting in the sunlight, laughing at the sky and the birds and the trees. It was worth it.
He pushed the cart to the back of the converted silo, where the loading dock sat, unused. He set it at the top of the ramp, and walked away. The children still shouted on the other side of the building. The sun still shone, but it felt like wherever he went, the building’s shadow clung to him. The cold would not release him. Neither would the gods.
He ran then, to the unused warehouses behind the old silo. How long did vengeance take to travel? There was no place to hide, he knew, but he didn’t want any of his neighbors to see. He crossed an empty street, ran down an alley, through an abandoned lot to the waterfront, where yellow weeds sprouted from the murky, stagnant shallows. Three frogits leaped from the water. One had six legs, one had two, and the other was uncountable, but they all shared red spots. He sat on a chunk of broken concrete and waited. He reviewed his life fast, frantically. Where had he gone wrong? What was he supposed to have done different? He couldn’t find the divergence point. Couldn’t find the mistake that made it all change.
A knot clenched in his stomach, his breathing came fast, and his muscles tensed, wanting to flee. There was no place to flee.
In the distance, a woman screamed, and a man shouted. So soon, then. Well, the temple complex was not far, if you could fly on great black silken wings, track with all-seeing bloody eyes.
A shadow appeared over him. An inaudible scream sent him to the ground, cowering. The sour scent of poison made his eyes water. Wing-battered air swirled around him, then went still. Then the claws dug in.
The poison was very fast.
Arren Powers reread the job listings. No new opportunities for an engineer had appeared in the last ten minutes, despite his vigilance.
He should have played along yesterday and given the test the answer it wanted. A long essay about how their question was flawed and based on a fundamental misunderstanding of the power system had earned him an "unqualified" rating. Arren wondered who got the position to maintain the Unity hydroplant. Even if he'd passed the test, they'd probably have picked someone else, someone better connected, higher rated, with a university diploma. Arren read through the listings once more.
Wanted: Park maintenance. Familiarity with cultivation of both wild and garden plants required, experience a bonus. Flexible hours.
Arren didn't like being outside, much less playing in the dirt. Next.
Wanted: Daycare staff. Supervisor and assistants --
Ugh. Children. Next!
Several positions available, train conductor. Unity local, town spurs, and U-U high speed all open. Virtue rating +800 required. Contact Neovia Transport for application and suitability test.
Arren glanced over at the idol of Surya. The idol was motionless now; afternoon prayer was in another four hours. Displayed before the god's feet was Arren's virtue rating: 996, good enough for a train conductor. He sighed at the thought of working on the trains, but not on the trains. Still, it wouldn't be awful. It would be better than remaining unemployed, being unable to pay his rent, and having to move back in with his parents.
A surprise knock sounded at Arren's door. All the other guys at the Fractalpearl boarding house were usually off to work by this time. "Come in," he called. He hoped it wasn't Mrs. Fractalpearl trying to get him to eat breakfast. Maybe he shouldn't have answered.
The door swung wide to reveal Juan Geeky, who rented the room next door. Juan stepped in, carefully sticking to the narrow path on Arren's floor that wasn't covered with parts, scraps, disassembled mechanisms, and tools. "Hey Arren, busy?" Juan held a wristwatch in his palm.
Arren switched his terminal to the robolo game. Oreana was out, their ropony down for maintenance. Arren wondered if maybe their team could use help? But no, they were all volunteers. That wouldn't help. "No, I'm not busy, unfortunately. Still looking for a job."
"They didn't hire you at the Unity plant? Idiots." Juan handed the watch to Arren. "I took this to the local shop, but they couldn't fix it. Any ideas?"
Arren studied the piece. It was very old, nearly Orphan Era; the local shop probably wasn't familiar with this kind of construction. The visioner was flickering and dim, though it appeared to still display the correct time. He pressed one actuator, then the other. Both made the visioner go completely blank. He fished around and in the fourth pocket he tried Arren found his tiny pliers. He carefully pulled the watch's back off.
"I heard the temple complex is looking for a repairman. You might try asking there before they put up a listing, " Juan said.
Arren studied the connectors. Slightly corroded, but nothing that should have this effect. He checked the energy cell. The repair shop had already replaced it. "The temple complex? What would they need repaired? I think Surya would take care of everything for them."
"I know it's strange, but that's what I heard." Juan worked in the temple kitchen, helping to make food for the brothers and sisters and priests of the Suryan Order.
Arren checked the buttons again, and noticed a miniscule adjustment screw which was loose. He got lucky -- in the second pocket he tried he found the tiny screwdriver. He gave the screw a half-turn, and the visioner became clear. Time 7:44AM in blue, the date 32-Perfection-54 in green. The right actuator produced a small locating map showing the residential quarter of Oreana, the left button a list of messages.
"Here you go. Looks like some adjustment of the visioner was off."
"Thanks, I knew you could do it. I wonder why they couldn't figure that out at the shop? Anyway, you really should try out the temple. I'll vouch for you if anyone asks." Juan shrugged. They both knew that Juan couldn't even get himself accepted as a postulant of the Suryan Order. His word wouldn't mean much.
"I better go. Let me know if there's anything I can do for you." Juan strapped the watch on and let himself out.
Arren stared at the closed door until a faint cheer came from his terminal. Oreana had got their pony working again. Arren watched the game a few minutes, then switched back to job listings. Still nothing new. He searched through his closet and picked out his best clothes. Time to try for that temple job. After that, the conductor one, maybe. He glanced at his rating as he headed to the door: 997. Fixing your housemate's watch was worth one point.
Arren stepped into the hall and headed for the showers. From downstairs Mrs. Fractalpearl called, "Arren, sweetie, is that you? I saved some breakfast for you."
"No, that's fine; I'm not hungry." His stomach rumbled in contradiction. If he got a decent job, maybe he could move to someplace with his very own kitchen.
When he was as presentable as he could get himself, Arren entered the morning rush of traffic, already beginning to wane. He took the pedestrian walk off Bismarck avenue to West Cardinal street. It may not have many other virtues, but at least Fractalpearl's boarding house was close to the Oreana town square.
Five minutes of walking at a leisurely enough pace that the other pedestrians kept passing him, and West Cardinal opened out into the square. The temple complex of Surya occupied the entire block on the southwest corner.
The square was mostly empty, a few parents sitting around the fountain with their children, some retired people playing board games at the tables, and commuters late for work, running through. Vendors sold pastries or tea from carts. The sports arena was silent -- the robolo game must be in some other town.
Gentle buzzing warmth caressed the back of Arren's neck. He looked up to see a castle flying overhead.
Arren stared at the castle as it slowly drifted past, smiling at the soft tingle of its engines on his face. He wanted to see what sort of gemstone it was made of, see if it was one he'd identified before, but it was too high and backlit by bright sky, revealing only dark silhouette.
The castle drifted away west. Arren looked around, but no one else had stopped to wonder at the glory of the castle, all too busy with jobs and families and responsibilities. A trait Arren thought he could benefit from, as he returned his sights to the world below.
Gainful employment might lay ahead, if only he would get going. Arren approached the complex. The temple of Surya was the tallest structure in Oreana. It would have cast a deep shadow over the town square, except its translucent cream walls glowed, noticeable even under bright sun. The intricate striations in the stone were green and rose and silver, but the overall tone had shifted to violet to match the summer trees, and as Arren watched the subtly colored lines gently swirled and flowed.
The blue mirrored door retracted to allow him entrance. Arren stepped into the cool, dim, flower-scented interior and scanned the foyer. A family, all short and dark haired, was having an earnest discussion just ahead of him. Something about gardening space. An old woman in a frayed blue shawl was placing white lilies, one by one, at the feet of the icon of Surya in his aspect of judge. The icon watched her, nodding and smiling approval. A pair of Suryan brothers in golden yellow robes walked slowly past, their heads close together, their words muted.
"Pardon me," Arren said. The brothers stopped and looked at him, annoyance flickering briefly across both their faces.
"The Petitioners' Hall is that way," one of them pointed.
Arren shook his head. "I don't need that. I'm here about a job opening. I heard you were looking for a repairman?"
The taller brother nodded. "Yes, you'll want to speak to the exarch about that. It's his idea."
Arren waited a moment for clarification, but when the brothers turned away he said, "Where do I find him?"
"He should be through here soon."
Arren stepped into an alcove and leaned against a wall to wait. The brothers moved on. Soon, just like they said, the distant doors which led to the temple proper opened, and the exarch emerged.
Nathan Freed's white and gold robes were visible briefly, until every petitioner in the complex converged on him. Arren watched the crowd. Each person tried to be subtle as they approached Master Freed. As individuals their patterns might not be obvious, but as a group it was like a swarm of sweetsippers circling a sugar blossom.
Nathan Freed, however, was no stationary flower. He deftly swerved, coughed politely, hurried past, nodded, noticed some distant task, and otherwise managed to cross the vast foyer without engaging anyone. As the exarch got closer, Arren wondered how he could possibly inquire about employment.
In the very first pocket Arren searched, he found the light tester block. He slid its permuter all the way up, and flipped the actuator. Multicolored lights began to blink. No one in the foyer noticed; they were all busy watching Nathan Freed. Nathan, however, was constantly searching the area and immediately noticed Arren's bright blinking lights. Nathan extricated himself from a woman who'd grabbed his robe and approached Arren.
"I heard you were looking for someone to do repairs," Arren said.
Freed just looked at him.
"One of my housemates works in your kitchen."
Nathan nodded once. "Perfect. I was hoping not to advertise. Let me--"
"Master Freed? A moment, Master Freed?" An old man hobbled over quickly.
"Pardon, sir, I'm busy discussing maintenance issues with our engineer." Nathan grabbed Arren's arm and whisked him away.
