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CHAPTER XIV

Legacy



“Bhaaj?” the voice repeated. “You hear? Wake up.”

What . . . ? Bhaaj opened her eyes, bleary and confused. Maybe age was setting in faster than she’d realized, faster than even her supposedly healthy body could handle. She ached all over. No, wait, her muscles hurt because she’d fallen asleep sitting against a rock barrier. She was on a stone ledge, leaning on the wall behind her. Except that made no sense . . . 

“Eh,” a young woman said. “You alive?”

Bhaaj focused on the person standing in front of her. Woman? Man? No, woman. She had bleached hair that she’d razed off the sides of her head, leaving only the top standing up in a stiff brush. Her black leather jacket hung open, showing a ripped white shirt underneath. She wore dark trousers, worn and faded, and heavy boots. Her ears stuck out from her head a bit, not enough to seem strange, just enough to accent her stunning looks. She had the gift of smooth skin, not yet scarred by life in the aqueducts. As with most Undercity natives, she had larger eyes than normal for other humans. The aqueducts hadn’t yet stolen her beauty.

“Yah,” Bhaaj muttered. “I’m alive.”

“Good.” The woman sat on the ledge next to her. “About time.”

“Tam?” Bhaaj asked. “Tam Wiens?”

“Eh.” Tam gave her the once over. “You look like shit.”

Bhaaj tried to focus—

And it all came tumbling back, everything, the rash, the desperation—

The deaths.

“No!” She lurched to her feet, then lost her balance and dropped back to her seat.

“Not move,” Tam admonished. “Not ready.”

Bhaaj thought of Ruzik and Byte-2. “No. I have to keep going.” She tried again to stand, and nausea swept over her. She toppled like a broken pole.

“Ah!” Tam caught her before she hit the ground. With a grunt, she hauled Bhaaj up and set her on the ledge with a thump. “Stay put.”

Another factoid sunk into Bhaaj’s sleep-deprived brain. “Tam, nahya! Not come here!”

“I come.” Tam sounded unruffled. “Not get rash. Never.” She then added, “Bring Angel.”

Angel? “Nahya,” Bhaaj repeated. “Not bring Angel.” She already couldn’t live with herself. She wanted to fold up and die or keen forever for Ruzik and his brother and goddess only knew who else. If she’d gotten Angel killed as well, she might as well go jump off a tower in Cries. “Not Angel too.”

“Angel come.” Tam grimaced. “Bring slicks. We not want them. Gangers want to take tech stuff, beat them up, throw them out. Angel say nahya.” From her look, she might as well have bitten into a sour fruit. “Knights guard slicks. Angel tell Paul. Paul tell me. I go on path he make.”

All that? Bhaaj’s voice scraped. “Max, how long was I out?”

Static came from her gauntlet, but then it stopped and Max’s voice came through, scratchy but understandable. “About two hours.”

Hours?” No. It couldn’t be that long. Ruzik and Byte-2, they’d be long gone by now. She forced herself to look toward where they’d died. A medic stood at Ruzik’s bed, scanning the body and—

And talking to him.

“Ruzik?” Bhaaj’s voice scraped. “Byte-2?”

“Not good.” Watching her face, Tam quickly added, “Not dead. You keep alive. Sort of. Enough.”

“Ah, goddess,” Bhaaj whispered. “Max?”

“Here,” Max said. “And yes, I’ll turn on your ear augs. Only for your senses. No hydraulics. Your body can’t take it. No amped-up muscles or skeletal system.”

Bhaaj scowled. “You broke your oath. You let me pass out.”

“True.” Max didn’t sound the least bit remorseful. “That’s why you’re alive.”

He had a point. Bhaaj grunted at him.

“You’re welcome,” Max said. “Hearing magnified.”

The sounds of the infirmary intensified, the clink of equipment, the rolling tread of the tray-bot, the murmur of a few voices. Bhaaj strained to focus, blocking out as much as possible except for the beds where Ruzik and Byte-2 lay. Sounds there became more distinct . . . 

Breathing.

“Optical augmentation activated,” Max said without her needing to ask.

Her vision focused on Ruzik as if she’d jumped closer to him. He lay on his back—and his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. His face looked pale, so pale, but he lived. His eyes were open as the medic talked to him and he even gave a slight nod, so very slight, but enough to show he heard and understood.

And Byte-2? He lay on his side, still unconscious or in a coma—and breathing. Farther away, Lavinda was sitting up in bed, talking to a medic.

Bhaaj’s voice cracked. “Thank you.” She didn’t know who she meant, Tam, the medics, Angel, Karal, Paul, the doctors at the university, the Ruby Pharaoh, Vaj Majda, everyone and anyone who’d helped save their lives.

She let out a long, slow breath as her pulse calmed. Tam waited, not pushing.

“You brought the healers here,” Bhaaj finally said.

Tam nodded, accepting her thanks. She understood what Bhaaj didn’t add. The Dust Knights had become Bhaaj’s circle in the Undercity. Everyone knew Ruzik served as her second, that if anything happened to her, he would lead the Knights. It made no difference that she’d never given birth to him or Byte-2 or Tower; in all ways that mattered, they’d become her family.

As Bhaaj’s surge of adrenalin eased, she looked around the infirmary. Three medics in the uniform of Cries emergency responders were going from bed to bed and injecting patients with med-syringes or otherwise treating them. Angel stood a few meters away, clutching the mattress of an empty bed while she stared past several other beds to where Ruzik lay. She looked ready to explode.

“Eh, Angel,” Bhaaj said.

Angel jumped and spun toward Bhaaj, her body as tense as a board. “Eh?”

“Why stand there?” Bhaaj asked. Didn’t she want to be with Ruzik?

“Medic send me away.” Angel squinted at her. “I am maybe too much worked up. Not good for Ruzik, eh? Tam say go calm down.”

“Ah.” Bhaaj smiled wanly. Then she realized whose empty bed Angel stood by. Her pulse surged again. “Tower?”

“Am good,” a woman said to her right.

Bhaaj turned with a jerk. Tower stood a few paces away, beyond Tam, her hand braced against the wall for support. Lines of fatigue creased her face, she’d lost weight, and her hair curled in a crazy mane, but she stood firm. Bhaaj wanted to shout with relief, go throw her arms around the hulking Dust Knight, or do some other embarrassing business that would mortify them both.

“Eh, Tower,” Bhaaj said.

“Eh.” Tower left it at that. She obviously didn’t have the energy for anything else.

Bhaaj motioned at the packed infirmary. “Slicks came.” Four of them, it looked like. “Need room to move around.” She tilted her head toward Tower’s empty bed. “Maybe stay there. Give healers more room, eh?”

“Eh.” Tower didn’t look fooled by Bhaaj’s attempt to get her to lie down, but her voice warmed. “Checked on Kar.”

Bhaaj peered across the infirmary—yah, Karal still lay in bed there. “Alive?”

A woman on Bhaaj’s other side spoke in the Cries dialect. “Doctor Rajindia will live. It was close, but we caught her in time.”

Bhaaj blinked, startled by the unexpected language. As she turned, she also stood, slow and careful this time. A woman in the scrubs of a Cries emergency responder stood there, watching her with that intent stare medics got when they wanted to see if you really felt as “fine” as you claimed. A translucent shimmer covered her body, the membrane known as a molecular air lock. Normally those protected against air loss in spaceships, but a tech could change the thickness and permeability for other uses. This one fit the medic like a second skin, including her face, which meant they must have altered it to let in air but keep out the algae. Down here, the membrane would probably only last a few days before it started to break down, but for now it served the same purpose as a decon suit and gave the medics more flexibility to treat patients.

Bhaaj’s voice sounded as rusty as she felt. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’m sorry it took us so long,” the woman said. “We had, uh—trouble getting here.”

“My Dust Knight told me you got attacked.” It didn’t surprise Bhaaj; the medics must have shown up with Angel but with no advance warning to the Undercity. Angel had apparently reached the other Knights in time, though, to let them know what was happening.

Now that she looked more closely, she realized Angel also wore one of the decon shimmers. Bhaaj nodded to her, wishing she had a better way to express both the immensity of her gratitude that Angel had reached them in time, and her anger that Angel put herself at risk. She said nothing, though. She’d have done the same.

Bhaaj spoke to the medic. “And the rash? Did it spread to the Undercity?”

“We’ve seen no sign of it,” the woman said. “We left a monitor with Goodman Franco at the clinic. He’s still slightly contagious, but he never contracted the illness. The three thieves didn’t contract the virus at all. They were able to help give our EIs a map here.”

“Good.” Bhaaj decided she wasn’t so pissed at the thieves after all. Who’d have thought they’d end up helping to save so many lives? She hesitated with her next question, hating to ask but needing to know. “How many—?”

The medic answered in a subdued voice. “We estimate that twenty to twenty-five percent of the population in what you call the Deep have already died or will soon.”

“Goddess,” Bhaaj murmured. She felt ill again.

“We can’t be sure,” the medic said. “The fatality rate for patients here in the infirmary and cavern, the ones you treated, is only about twelve percent. That’s for a population of about one hundred and fifty people.” She motioned toward Callin, who was tending a recovering patient. “He says only half the people who live here managed to come for help. That’s why we predict a higher mortality rate. We’ll get a better idea as we spread out from this area.” She sounded stunned, but Bhaaj doubted it came only from the disease. Anyone connected with the doctors who’d worked on the treatment would’ve known what to expect with the rash. But a population of three hundred living this far below the surface? Even Bhaaj hadn’t realized that many people called the Deep their home.

“Several members of Callin’s team are acting as guides for our medics,” the woman added. “He’s taking them to patients who never made it here.”

Bhaaj wasn’t sure what she meant by Callin’s team, but she could guess. He must have gathered other Deepers who didn’t get the rash. She wondered if the Cries medics had any idea of the honor he did them by revealing his name. Probably not. It didn’t matter. They deserved that honor.

The woman continued in a quiet voice. “Major—”

Bhaaj focused on her again. “Yes?”

“If you and your Undercity team hadn’t come to help, the death rate would have gone much higher.” She took a deep breath. “From what we can tell, only about ten percent of the population here has full resistance to the rash. Another twenty percent has partial resistance because they carry one of the recessive genes. For everyone else—” Her voice scraped. “The fatality rate could have gone as high as seventy or eighty percent. And that’s just here. We think fewer people in the Undercity have the gene that gives resistance. If this had spread up there—” She shuddered. “A disease as simple as carnelian rash could have wiped out a substantial portion of your population. Over a thousand people.”

Although Bhaaj had never known of an outbreak with this high of a fatality rate, they’d weathered many endemics. “We live knowing that can happen.” And died knowing it. “That’s probably why the Deepers didn’t ask for help in previous outbreaks, those before Doctor Rajindia came here. They must have realized they could spread it to the Undercity and kill most of us.”

Bhaaj stopped then, unable to say more. Somehow, she had to deal with the realization that had hit her while she stood alone only a few hours ago, in desperation, amid the dying. The last time such an illness struck the Down Deep, two generations ago—and who knew how many other times in the more distant past—the people here had kept their population isolated. Rather than seek help, they’d protected the Undercity from illnesses that could have wiped out substantial portions of the people.

The Deepers had given their lives so their brethren could live.


“Paul has both recessive genes,” Karal Rajindia said. “That’s why he never showed symptoms.” The relief that suffused her voice said as much about her relationship with Paul as any words could have revealed. “So do you and Tam Wiens.”

Bhaaj was sitting with the doctor in the mini-clinic chairs while the med-tech worked on the consoles, replacing the trashed CPUs and healing their EIs. For the first time in days, the infirmary wasn’t full, with patients leaving when they felt well enough to walk. The Cries and Deeper team had also reached many in the caves, tunnels, and smaller caverns scattered throughout the Deep like an intricate maze. As word spread, more people came to the infirmary, both ailing patients who could still walk and those who needed stronger members of their circle to carry them. Those few who remained healthy helped treat the remaining patients, clean the infirmary, and carry their dead to the temple. Over the past hours, the brutal death toll had finally, mercifully dwindled to nothing.

“How much longer long do you think Paul will have to stay in quarantine?” Bhaaj asked.

“I’d say about seventy more hours.” Karal looked around the infirmary, her gaze pausing at a medic from the university. “All of us, including the ERs from Cries.”

Bhaaj didn’t know who’d dislike the wait more, the medics or the Deepers acting as their hosts. No one protested, though. Four Cries medics had come, including one who specialized in mini-clinic tech. They never complained or spoke down to anyone. The Deepers expressed their thanks with nods, and a few gave their names. Some refused to see anyone from Cries, but they allowed their own people to treat them. With the loss of Healer Sarzana, several younger Deepers stepped up to fill the void. They watched and listened intently to the quartet from Cries. Although the medics seemed confused by that silent attention, Bhaaj had no doubt the new healers were taking in everything they saw, heard, and experienced, not only how the medics treated this new version of carnelian rash but also anything else they could absorb.

A rustle came from behind Bhaaj. Turning, she saw Lavinda coming up to them. The colonel carefully let herself down into one of the mini-clinic chairs.

Karal spoke in Iotic. “My greetings, Your Highness.”

“Thank you.” Then she added, “Lavinda, please.”

“How are you feeling?” Bhaaj asked.

“Slow. Fuzzy.” Lavinda smiled wanly. “Alive.”

“Good,” Bhaaj said, ever the queen of understatement.

“How did you do it?” Lavinda asked. “My understanding is that toward the end, you were the only one here still functioning enough to keep treating people.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Bhaaj said. “Two Deepers who didn’t have the rash helped.” Quietly she said, “I’m sorry we weren’t able to save Lieutenant Warrick.”

Lavinda’s expression became shuttered. “We all knew this visit involved risks.”

“Oh, hell.” Bhaaj wasn’t having any of her canned phrases. “None of us expected this.”

“True.” Lavinda exhaled. “I thought I was coming to understand your people and civilization. I had no damn idea.”

Bhaaj met her gaze. “Know this, Lavinda. Everyone here realizes you rank as a queen in the above world. They may not fully understand what that means, but they know it implies the highest of the high. They all saw you working side by side with us just like anyone else. They know you told your sister to stop when she wanted to pull you out no matter what it cost us.” She regarded Lavinda steadily. “You were willing to die for my people. They won’t forget.” Nor would Bhaaj.

Lavinda shifted her weight, seeming as uncomfortable with emotions as a native of the aqueducts. “I’m just glad it didn’t come to that.”

A beep came from console one. The med-tech working on it straightened up and glanced at Karal. “I think it’s working again. See if you can get anything.”

“Good!” Karal scooted her chair over to the console. Within seconds, she was deep at work, bringing up holicons to float above the console and flicking her fingers through them.

A woman with hair bleached the color of white-gold was approaching them. Tam. Bhaaj would never forget her iconic appearance. Stories were already spreading about Tam Wiens in the ever-evolving Whisper Mill of the aqueducts. Without Tam to recognize the cryptic markers that Paul had left in the Maze, and her ability to lead the medics here, it would have taken them far too long to find the Deep, perhaps too late to save anyone.

“Eh, Tam,” Bhaaj said.

“Eh.” Tam stood on the edge of the mini-clinic. “Mean Jak wants talk with you”

Bhaaj blinked. Why would Jak contact Tam’s EI instead of hers?

“Jak try your talky,” Tam added. “No answer.”

Max spoke. “I still can’t get incoming messages. I can’t keep this algae out of my systems.”

The med-tech, who was working on console two now, looked up. “I brought several tech-mech sterilization kits. Would that help?”

“Absolutely,” Max said. “Thanks.”

Bhaaj took off her right gauntlet, undoing its fasteners on her lower arm. As she handed it to the medic, she spoke to Tam. “Jak still on talky?” She’d already commed with him several times, to let him know how they fared, and she wanted nothing more right now than to collapse in his arms. Except she couldn’t, not until this damn quarantine ended. In truth, what she needed most right now was just to sit for a while.

“I tell him you’re fine,” Tam said. “He says comm when you can.”

Bhaaj nodded, relieved. “Will do.”

With that, Tam headed off to help with patients. Watching her, Bhaaj was struck by how self-confident she seemed. It hadn’t always been that way. In the greater culture of the Imperialate, no one blinked at the idea that more than two genders existed or that some people might feel their biological sex didn’t match their identity. In the aqueducts, however, they’d never heard of gender dysphoria. When Tam decided to transition, it didn’t go well, to put it mildly. For survival, she’d formed a dust gang with three of her friends; soon after, they became Dust Knights, the top tier of the fighting hierarchy in the Undercity. After that, no one bothered her. Tam once confided to Bhaaj that she’d asked Karal for help. Not long after, she began to change, looking more like a woman, a process that evolved over several years. For a time her ability to run had slowed, but she’d gradually recovered. She seemed happier now, more at peace.

Karal suddenly spoke. “Bhaaj.” The doctor was squinting at the holos flowing over her newly operating console. “I’m getting some data here you might want to see.”

Bhaaj glanced at her. “Anything useful?”

Straightening up, Karal glanced at Lavinda.

“Uh, well, I should probably go rest,” Lavinda said. With that, she stood up, moving slowly, and left the mini-clinic.

Bhaaj rolled her chair over to the console. “What’s up?”

“We’re doing a genetic analysis on everyone we’ve treated,” Karal said.

“Well, yah.” Bhaaj wondered why the doctor had wanted Lavinda to leave. They all knew the doctors needed to analyze the genetic makeup of every patient, both survivors and those the rash had claimed. It was intrusive, yes, but the Deepers had decided the benefits outweighed the loss of their anonymity. They wanted to develop a genetic map to warn them who was at risk from this new variant, who was partially protected, and who had full resistance.

Karal continued to look at her.

“What did you find?” Bhaaj asked.

“You told me once your mother was a Deeper,” Karal said.

The world suddenly seemed to go silent. Into that void, Bhaaj heard herself say, “Yes, I think so.”

Karal spoke her next words—her impossible words—in a perfectly calm voice. “You have a cousin here. A woman.”

A cousin? Family?

“Bhaaj?” Karal said after a few moments.

“You’re sure?” she asked. “A cousin of mine? And she survived the rash?”

Karal nodded. “They found her in a cavern with several kids. The children took care of your cousin when she caught the rash. By the time they also got sick, she’d recovered enough to care for them.”

Bhaaj felt as if a roaring filled her ears, the pound of her accelerated pulse. She closed her eyes, trying to calm her adrenaline-fueled response.

Karal said nothing, waiting.

After a moment, Bhaaj looked at her again. “If she’s my cousin, and she recovered, does that mean she has the protein that protects us from carnelian rash?”

“Yes, she got one copy of the allele from her father. Genetically, her father was your mother’s brother.”

Her mother’s brother. Her uncle. “Is he still alive?”

Karal spoke with sympathy. “No. I’m sorry. No one else survives in your cousin’s family.”

A hotness gathered in Bhaaj’s eyes. It couldn’t be tears. She never cried.

Like hell. She’d wept like a damn baby when she’d seen the people she loved dying. She said only, “I’d like to meet her.”

“I’m sure we can arrange that.”

“And my father?” It stunned Bhaaj how calm her voice sounded despite the emotional explosions going on within her brain. “Did you find any trace of him?”

Karal hesitated. “Not here in the Deep.”

That didn’t surprise her. “In the Undercity, then. He must be there. He isn’t in any Skolian database the army searched.”

The doctor spoke carefully. “No, he isn’t in a Skolian database.”

Bhaaj didn’t trust this odd tone Karal was using. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Of course the army checked their databases. That’s also what we used for this endemic.” Karal paused, then forged ahead. “We were looking for such a rare Kyle allele, though, that I expanded the search. I found some anomalies in your DNA, enough that I took the search to secured military databases we don’t normally use for our citizens.” Her gaze never wavered. “Those databases have greatly improved since you enlisted over thirty years ago.”

Bhaaj waited. “And?”

The doctor spoke quietly. “Your great-great-grandfather was a Trader Aristo. A Highton, their highest caste. We might even identify him if ISC will check their dossiers on Aristos.” She met Bhaaj’s incredulous gaze. “I’m no expert on Trader slaves, but I’ve worked with ISC intelligence to compile stats on those with Kyle ability. Your father had to be a Kyle slave. His grandmother was almost certainly sired by a Highton with one of his female slaves. The Aristo probably bought her to breed for Kyle traits. They’re always doing that, trying to create a Ruby psion. That could explain why your father had some of the rarer alleles, like the one that protects you from carnelian rash.”

Bhaaj stared at her. “That’s impossible! How could a Trader slave even get to Raylicon, one of the most protected worlds of the Imperialate?”

Karal lifted her hands, then dropped them onto her thighs. “I’ve no idea.”

“I am not a fucking Aristo.”

“No, you’re not.” Karal met her gaze. “You do have about six percent Aristo DNA.”

Bhaaj spoke tightly. “Six percent of a monster is still a monster.”

“Genetics don’t work that way.” Karal waved her hand through the holos floating above her console. “I’ve done a lot of research for the military on the genetic profiles of Kyles. Aristos were a genetic mistake by Skolian scientists more than three centuries ago. They tried to alter Kyle DNA so empaths could better protect their minds against negative emotions. It worked, but not in a way anyone expected or wanted. It created the Aristos. When their brains detect pain, especially from empaths, who send stronger signals, it shunts that response to their pleasure centers. They’re essentially anti-empaths.”

Bhaaj gritted her teeth. She had to force herself to stop so she could speak. “They’re a bunch of egomaniacal sadists who prey on empaths.”

Karal grimaced. “We’ve compiled their genetic profiles. We know which genes contribute to their traits, the sadism, the narcissism, their tendency toward totalitarian government. It’s a relatively minor fraction of their total genome.”

“Minor?” Bhaaj stared at her in disbelief. “You call what they’ve inflicted on the universe minor? They enslave nearly two trillion people. They torture empaths. They consider it their gods-given right to make us scream in agony. They commit genocide if a population pisses them off.”

Karal met her gaze. “Yes. They do. What I’m telling you is that the genes which code for those traits are only a small part of their DNA. You didn’t inherit any of it. As far as I can tell, your Aristo genes code for strength, independence, and intelligence. Nothing else.”

Bhaaj clenched her hands on the arms of her chair and stared at a console so she didn’t have to meet Karal’s too-knowing gaze. Aristo. Aristo. Her great-great-grandfather had been a psychopathic monster.

Bhaaj, Max thought.

You’re working again. She still had on one of her gauntlets, enough for him to reach her.

The tech-mech sterilization is helping my repairs, including via wireless links. His supposedly neutral thoughts felt odd in her mind. She wasn’t sure of the right word . . . compassionate, maybe?

If you are six percent Aristo, Max thought, that means you are forty-four percent Trader slave.

Is that supposed to make me feel better?

Yes. Somehow a Trader slave escaped his owners. You studied the Aristos as an army intelligence officer. You know how well they control their populations. For a slave to escape at all would be remarkable. To make it to a Skolian world, in particular Raylicon—it would take an incredible person to manage such a feat.

Bhaaj didn’t know what to think. So why did he desert me in that godforsaken orphanage?

I don’t know. Perhaps he had no choice.

She exhaled, a long, controlled breath. Karal continued to sit, neither pushing nor speaking. After a moment, Bhaaj said, “And you haven’t found anyone else here with DNA that could match my father?”

“None.” The doctor hesitated. “I can’t guarantee we’ve checked everyone. But if he’s here or if he has other children, I’ve found no trace. I haven’t checked as many people in the Undercity, but I do have records for a good number there, too, and none show your DNA.” Karal paused, started to speak, then closed her mouth.

“What?” Bhaaj asked.

“How old are you?”

Bhaaj blinked at the question. “Forty-nine.”

“You look younger.”

She shrugged. “I have good health nanomeds. They delay aging. I also stay in good shape, eat a good diet, all that stuff doctors pester you about.” Belatedly, she remembered she was talking to one such doctor. “Which of course I greatly appreciate,” she added.

Karal met her gaze. “From what I can tell, forty-nine years ago, an outbreak of carnelian rash killed a substantial portion of the population here.”

“You’re sure it was exactly forty-nine years?” That didn’t add up. “The survivors had to be resistant, even immune to the rash. But only about thirty percent of the current population seems to have the genes that fight off the rash.”

“It was a different variant,” Karal said. “The resistance some of you show to the current variant probably helped fight the previous, since the allele you carry is more common here than in the Undercity.” In a musing voice, she said, “It looks like the previous variant also interfered with the methods of birth control the Deepers use. They had a flood of births after they recovered from the outbreak. It prevented the population from becoming so decimated, they died out.” She thought for a moment. “That doesn’t surprise me. Any mutation that helps increase the birthrate will survive.” Dryly she added, “Not that humanity’s overpopulated selves are otherwise in danger of dying off. That could be why the mutation is almost unheard of beyond the aqueducts.”

Almost unheard of—except for the Ruby Dynasty. Bhaaj thought it the ultimate irony that she—a woman who came from the lowest of the low, a child of the worst slum in the Imperialate and a Trader slave—also shared DNA with the highest ranked people in two empires. Yah, great, what a laugh. Goddess, she wanted to punch something.

Why? Max asked. Nothing Karal said reflects badly on you.

Yah, well, you never had to live in poverty and watch your loved ones die because you had no resources to help them. Lot of good it did me, sharing DNA with those exalted types. And quit eavesdropping on my brain. His repairs were going a bit too well.

My apologies. I can’t help but detect your increased neural firings when your thoughts become this intense.

Neural firings indeed. Only Max would talk that way when trying to make someone feel better. It did have the effect he probably wanted, though, distracting her enough to ease her reaction to Karal’s revelation.

Although Bhaaj still knew almost nothing about her father, Karal had given her a scrap to hold, the knowledge that whatever his history, he’d been remarkable. As far as her Aristo ancestor, well, if she’d managed to take what little good he carried within his DNA, then she could find a way to live with the knowledge of her heredity. It seemed fitting that the strength, intelligence, and independence he’d bequeathed to his distant progeny helped her become a military officer who could fight the horrors his Highton caste inflicted on the rest of humanity.

She regarded Karal. “If it’s possible—I’d like to meet my cousin.”


The woman stood by a sheared-off rock formation that served as a table in an alcove of the cavern. She wore a swirling yellow tunic and loose pants gathered at the ankles. Soft boots warmed her feet, so different from the heavy protection Bhaaj wore. Silver bracelets with sparkling yellow and gold stones adorned her wrists and similar chains hung around her neck, jewelry that Bhaaj could never in a million years imagine wearing herself. Her curly hair looked almost identical to Bhaaj’s, though. It poured around her shoulders and down her back in a gloriously wild mane.

When Bhaaj approached the alcove, the woman was looking the other way, staring across the cavern. Bhaaj recognized that gaze. Many thoughts occupied this woman’s mind as she tried to sort them out.

“Eh,” Bhaaj said.

The woman turned—and Bhaaj almost gasped. It was as if she stared into a softer, younger version of her own face.

“Eh.” The woman nodded as Bhaaj came up to her.

They stood for a moment, taking each other in. “Good meet,” Bhaaj said.

The woman reddened, and unlike with Bhaaj, whose flushes rarely showed, this woman’s cheeks turned pink due to the translucent quality of her skin. She and Bhaaj also both glowed with the blue luminescence the algae created when it interacted with receptors in their skin.

“You are The Bhaaj,” the woman said as if she faced a great person.

Well, that was embarrassing. “Is nothing.”

“Is much. All know of The Bhaaj.” The woman hesitated. “I am part like you?”

“Yah. Your hoshpa, he brother to my hoshma.”

“Is honor.”

Bhaaj grunted. “This Bhaaj biz, it means not even a little.”

“Maybe not. Maybe yah.” The hint of a smile showed on her face. “I am Barin Da.” She spoke shyly. “Many call me Barinda.”

Three syllables. People must like this woman a great deal, to honor her with such a name. Bhaaj inclined her head with respect. “I am Bhaaj.” Realizing she was taking the name of this woman’s aunt, she added, “Bhaajan.”

“Bhaaj’s jan,” the woman murmured. “My hoshpa—he was small when his sister is lost. He knew only a little. He tell me this: she had great beauty. Outside. Inside. Great caring for people.”

Bhaaj felt as if a lump formed in her throat, making it difficult to talk. “He tell you about my hoshma?”

“Some.”

“How—how is she lost?”

“During rash last time. She worry about baby.” Barinda reddened. “About you. Worry you get sick. She and her man, they go. She give birth some other place. Not Deep.”

Bhaaj had heard the rumors that her mother gave birth in the Maze that separated the Deep from the Undercity. Those stories had never included a husband. “Her man? My hoshpa?”

“Yah.” Sorrow showed on Barinda’s face. Or maybe it poured from her mind. Bhaaj felt more attuned to her than she’d ever experienced with another empath, even more so because of the way her barriers had softened here, submerged in the flow of empathic moods among the Deepers.

“He never come back,” Barinda said. “Die of rash, we think.” She paused. “We think you all die.”

Bhaaj spoke with difficulty. “Hoshma die.” She lifted her hands palms-up in the Undercity gesture for I don’t know. “Hoshpa gone. Go above-city? Die?” She lowered her arms. “Not in Undercity.”

“Maybe someday find,” Barinda offered.

“Maybe.” Bhaaj pulled off the pack she’d slung over her shoulder and withdrew two snap bottles of filtered water along with some exquisite blue-glass tumblers. “Come with?” She indicated a ledge along the wall that offered a bench for the table. Geodes showed in the rock, sparkling with color, purple, pink, and green crystals all overlaid by the shimmering blue luminance. The walls also gleamed with embedded crystals, and lines of algae swirled in pleasing patterns across them. It was so beautiful, it felt painful to Bhaaj, knowing this all existed in the darkness, lost from the rest of humanity, tended only by these remarkable people who never saw the sky or felt the wind.

“Eh.” Barinda smiled. She slid a pouch off her shoulder and gently removed two blown-glass plates graced with green and gold curves, followed by a bag of spice biscuits. “We talk, eh?”

They sat at the table, spreading out their wealth of food and drink. Barinda’s spice biscuits were small cubes hollowed out with intricate designs. Whoever made them had used sugar powder, a rare delicacy in the aqueducts. The cook would have needed a 3D printer to place the powder in such delicate, complex designs. Although the printers weren’t rare in the aqueducts, the talent to use them with such artistry came about far less often. When Barinda picked up a cube, Bhaaj followed suit and popped one into her mouth. Ah, heaven indeed. She offered Barinda a snap bottle of filtered water.

So Bhaaj spent the afternoon dining with a member of her birth family for the first time in her life.


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Framed