Blackfish City(86)

Soq


I’m impressed,” Podlove said, with a slight wobble to his voice, as the new arrivals closed in on him. He’s terrified, Soq saw. Desperate. “I expected your people would try to blunder in here. But I didn’t think you were capable of somehow crashing my lobby’s defenses.”

“Both are surprises,” Go said, furious, confused, frightened. To Ora and Kaev and Masaaraq and the polar bear she said, “I told you to stay on the ship.”

Podlove’s lips were tight. “Right. You didn’t get my grandson killed. You didn’t tell them to come here. Terrible things keep happening to me, with you standing right next to them, but it’s never your fault.”

Soq looked back and forth between Go and Podlove. Comparing. Wondering: Which is more fit to rule? Which is more villainous? They were both frightened. Both sweating. Barron, at least, was relaxed, or that’s how it seemed. Tough to tell with a sack over his head. His posture and general vibe of chill indicated a lack of fear.

On a sloop across from the Salt Cave, someone had spray painted BLACKFISH CITY.

“We didn’t crash your defenses,” Soq said, earning a death glare from Go. “You did. You ran that barbarian software against itself, and that’s what’s fucking you up. And most of the city, I’d imagine.”

“How did you get it from him, I wonder?” Podlove said. “My poor dead grandson. Did you torture it out of him? No. He’d probably have given it to you willingly. You’re just his type. Feral and filthy and frea—”

Soq laughed. “Don’t be childish.” That had the desired effect. Pointing out when octogenarians are behaving like children is usually a good way to shut them up.

The soft putty of Go’s face was hardening. Soq watched her slowly come to accept that the situation was out of her control. While the sensation was clearly agony for Go, for Soq it felt . . . expansive. Full of potential. Terrifying, but also thick with magnificent possible outcomes. Soq knew how the miserable poor of Mexico City or Pretoria might have felt watching the rebel armies march through the streets, or Lisbon or Copenhagen when the waters came flooding in. For once, the status quo is fragile. Things could change.

“And our new arrivals?” Podlove said, turning to the very tiny angry mob. “Surely you didn’t come all this way just to stand there glaring at me.”

Ora stepped forward. “Do you know who I am?”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, ma’am.”

She said her full name. His expression did not change. No recognition, no deceit flickered in his eyes. He really doesn’t know, Soq thought.

A groan from underneath them. The building at war with itself. A digital autoimmune disease. “We should take this conversation outside,” Soq said softly, noting that this time Go did not seem angry that they were speaking out of turn. “His weaponry could come back online at any time. We’d be dead in a millisecond.”

“Come,” Masaaraq said, arm twisting out to aim the blade at Podlove.

“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”

He thinks his old age will protect him, Soq thought, so maybe he is not as smart as I thought he was.

Masaaraq gave a half shrug, and both his flunkies fell to the floor, clawing at their opened throats. Soq calculated that it must have taken two swings, based on how far apart they were standing, but they had not seen even a single one.

Three swings. A single tiny red line formed across Podlove’s forehead. Lone drops of blood beaded up, dripped down.

“You don’t call the shots here,” Go said to Podlove, smiling, but the smile looked flimsy.

“Neither do you,” Masaaraq said, and swung again, slower, because she wanted Go to see what she was doing. The brass-knuckled soldier fell to the floor, gasping, refusing to scream.

Masaaraq’s face showed nothing, but Soq knew what was going through her mind. From the moment that they’d bonded, Soq had so many of Masaaraq’s memories, her fears and her nightmares, the pain she carried, the horrors she’d been forced to endure. Everyone had imagined that Ora would be the broken one, after so many years in the Cabinet, but Soq saw that Masaaraq was the one whose damage threatened to shatter them. And Soq loved Masaaraq so much in that moment, their beautiful formidable mutilated grandmother, that their heart hurt.

If you know someone, know them completely and utterly, does that automatically mean you love them?

“It’s a lovely day,” Podlove said, stepping over the writhing brass-knuckled soldier. Soq saw: politeness, good manners, these were his only real skills. The affectations of wealth were a suit of armor you could wear when the world threatened to wash you away. “Why don’t we take this conversation outside?”

Overhead, the windscreen was shifting back and forth with slow, graceful, aimless motions. Snow fell. People stood, pointed, made calls, took pictures with their screens or oculars. Made space for them. Made lots of space. Only the complete and momentary collapse of Qaanaaq’s digital infrastructure was keeping them at liberty right now—on a normal day, a massive Safety response would be in the works. A convergence. The once-every-five-years-or-so deployment of those big scary ships with the holds full of gnarly weaponry.

“You put her in the Cabinet,” Masaaraq said.