Lady Jewel sobbed on her balcony overlooking the palace garden;
the morning wind rippled the reflecting pond, tossing the plums
and pomegranates and buffeting the train of her white mothsilk
gown across the laser carved red sandstone tiles. Anma waited a
while longer with the tray, then said,
“M'Lady?'
Jewel turned to look at Anma, dabbing her eyes.
“You must think I'm weak,” then Lady Jewel's eyes met hers. “I'm
sorry, Anma. I know better,”
She lifted the tray a little higher, to urge her mistress to take
the glass of tea. “All of us grieve Lord Koinet. Y'know
s'truth,”
“Yes,” Lady Jewel took the tea. She gave a shuddering
breath, then looked down at the tray which gave off a slow,
pulsing blue glow.
“This will be the one,”
Anma choked on her excitement. “Hated t'tell you, M'Lady,”
Lady Jewel fixed her eyes on the tray and dragged her glance to a
spot on the sandstone wall where the message opened with zooming
images of the dominated colonies, booming orchestras and the
meticulously bearded face of the man himself, Holov, the New
Unifier.
“It is with great sadness and compassion that we reveal the the
next necessary phase. The CAP will be disabled in three days.
There is no reason for you to subject your loved ones to more
needless suffering. Surrender and we will open the gates. You
will be freed-”
Lady Jewel and Anma both made involuntary sounds of disgust and
the message paused automatically. They breathed out together, and
the message continued.
“-by those of us who will care for your welfare. Surrender and
join the rest of Mars in the New Uni-Colonies. You have 3 days,”
The music thundered again and the images rushed into the UniColonies
logo, which faded slowly.
“Could b'sick,” hissed Anma, her pulse pounding.
Lady Jewel sat on the sheepskin cushioned bench. The wind pulled
the tendrils of her black curls and made the glowing gems in her
swinging earrings blink like milky fireflies. Her thin and tender
ebony Earth skin had raised in anger at the laser scar on her
cheek. Anma bore the same scar, as all Adapteds were forced to,
though it made just a small dent in her much thicker skin. On The
Lady, Holov's mark of denigration was a fresh sign of nobility. To
bear the mark had earned her even more loyalty from Adapteds, from
Makes, from Bloodlines, from all the people of the Bowl.
“The time is long past for grieving," said the Lady, "I've been
horribly selfish,”
“Respectfully-”
“Speak plain to me, please, Anma,”
“Don't think you have b'n wrong, m'Lady. Don't think the time has
b'n 'pon us-”
They looked at each other.
“Until now.” said Lady Jewel, and her black eyes grew blacker and
harder, “It's time, Anma. There is no one else to do this,”
Anma's heart jumped, but she stayed somber.
“I know,”
The two women, one in flowing white and the other in tidy black,
locked fingers as the wind jabbed through the garden.
Anma's boots sent clouds of powder-dust into swirling shapes of rust
blooming above her head. She plunged down into the alley in the face of
the exchange winds, colder than frost and bitterly dry and full of tiny
sandstone pebbles that pelted her leathers and her eye shield. To Anma
this wind was a wild hug of home; she loved coming out to the Rim where
she had spent so much of her early life. She waded through the dust
and the trash with a sure stride.
Out here, on the edge
of filtered radiation and CAP, controlled atmosphere production, the
sky ended. Above Anma a shimmering edge cut the the mild blue away from
the grey, ruthless horizon of true Mars. The Rim colony sat in a neat
circle facing outward; the guard glass surrounding and protecting the
Rim communities was deeply scarred from decades of the wind. As Anma
descended into the tunnel-streets the air warmed and was moistened,
although the stink of Adapted cooking met her nose with a sour note.
Anma had gotten used to Palace life where delicate spices and precise
cooking times made every dish tender and fresh. Here on the Rim people
loved their stew pots and left them over low fires for days to cook down
the tough adapted mutton. Anma liked fresh meat better now.
She
nodded toward a group of towering Kham sentries, Tibetan Bloodlines, on
break from the battlements sipping their butter tea. They grinned and
winked under their broad black felt hats, their long black braids
swaying with the weight of silicone gems. Anma, herself a Made, wore
the skin of an Adapted although she was too small. All the others of
her Make had been eliminated for the safety of the Bowl. But the Khams
had no fear of her. Out here she was family.
She ducked into a doorway and only glanced up at two Adapted guards who leaned down to grin at her.
“Hey, a visit from down the Palace!”
“Shoulda dressed up,”
Anma
smiled but didn't pause. She made her way through winding carved
hallways lit with glow lamps and hung with thick wool tapestries; even
here, deep inside the Rim dwellings, the wind never entirely stopped its
faint howling and there was a thin layer of red sand on the floor. She
took off her eye shield and unwrapped her head scarf, spitting the grit
from between her teeth.
Hank's seven foot frame
engulfed her. She hugged him back, hard, then gazed up at his classic
Adapted face, the wide nose, twice as wide as the non-Adapteds, at the
scar in his smooth, thick copper skin, his shock of coarse black hair
and his silver eyes, only pale grey here inside where they had no
radiation to reflect.
“What will the Lady do?” he
said, in his formal accent. Hank had worn the Rim worker disguise well
since the last occupation but he looked equally at home in fancy blacks;
even in his coveralls he had the bearing of a Representative.
“Must
be sure the message s'perfectly clear,” said Anma, “Must look like
betrayal. Holov'll believe it and that will buy us the time,”
“When?”
“Tonight at 08:00. And can'ya have Plan 7/4 ready within 30 sidereal hours?”
“We
will multi-confirm. But we need to send it out now. We have consensus
on this one, especially after Holov's latest threat,"
“The
Lady,” said Anma, “Will bring a gift back to the Bowl the day after
tomorrow dawn. We must be ready to go live so everyone will see the
gift, and so the act can be confirmed. Need a live session for
presentation of the gift at the plaza just inside the front gates, but
won't know exactly when until we're almost back. You'll need to track
me. We go live, then we send out the first troupes to retake the CAP.
Once the signature of the gift s'confirmed we can strike. Must be
quick,”
“The gift...will have a signature?”
“The gift'll leave no doubt that the UniColonies r'leaderless,”
Hank laughed down at her.
“Tonight
is the first of the two sessions. Tonight we go live with Holov and
all Representatives must resist what the Lady says. Must make us look
divided,”
He sat and pointed his lips to the bench across from him. Anma shook her head.
“I mean it, An. You sit and talk to me now,”
Anma sighed, plopping down.
“You'll be joining us, when the fighting starts,”
“I can't, I'm-”
“You're not bound,”
“My Make can keep promises,”
“'Service is a cage, for you. After this your time with her is done. Don't forget what you are,”
“Think I ever can?” This came out louder than Anma intended.
“'It's time. It's time for you to be as you were meant, and to be with me, Anma. Come back out to the Rim. I have waited,”
“Told you not to wait,”
He
stretched an enormous arm between them, grabbed her by her coat and
pulled her into his lap in one clean motion. Anma submitted, heat
blossoming under her skin as his mouth closed over hers.
“Fight
with me,” he shook her gently in his lap, “Be what you are and fight
with me, be with me. Together we can make it through this, we can have a
new life,”
“Who'll keep her safe?”
“The
entire Bowl will keep her safe, when that gift is given! No one will
be safer than that Lady when Holov is taken down. What is it? Do you
love her?”
Anma laughed. “No. Not the way you mean,”
“And
what about me, Anma? Am I just a part of your past? Under that skin
you are still a Made,” he rubbed his nose on hers, “I remember you
before modification, you know. Little blonde thing with no business on
this world, but could you kill! I knew you before both invasions,
before you went into secret, An, and I'm one of the only people who will
ever-”
“Understand?” Anma stood and glared at him.
They had had this fight a thousand times. “Y'think I need
understanding! Piss on it!” she charged for the door and turned.
“7/4. Within 30 sidereal hours. Everyone must resist the Lady when we
go live the first time tonight. Holov won't believe anything else,”
“They
will,” Hank crossed one rangy leg over another as his lazy smile
lifted his cheeks into boyish curves, “Are you off to the labs?”
“Want me to take a message?”
“No, I'll see them later. And I'll see you in 2 days, An,”
Scott
was draped in his work apron when Anma entered the glossy, bright lab;
his sister Tassy was sprawled in a break chair with a reading glass, her
thick shock of Make 10 chestnut hair glued into a tall peak and
shimmering with agate powder. Anma saw the colorful pages gliding
across the glass and recognized the old comic stories. She smiled.
Tassy grinned back at her and tossed her a silver case the size of a
thumb.
“Custom zord," said Scott as she slid it open,
"Doesn't store. 'S'a one-make. But that means s' no charge upload.
When 's'dead 's'dead, but there is one thing you need to know,”
“What?” Anma shut the case and slid it deep in a hidden pocket.
“You can't use it,” said Tassy.
“It's not for me,” But Anma needed to know. '”S' there a block?
“No,
but leaves a retinal scar,” said Scott, “Too tiny to mess with your
sight, but scans'll pick 't'up. Template was designed to mark the wrong
Makes and I can't modify that,”
“Just a guess...” Anma grinned, “M'I one of the wrong Makes?”
Tassy laughed.
“F'course you are,” Scott snapped. “Y'don't give a weapon to a weapon,”
“Anma,”
said Tassi, “F'you use this you'll get marked for kill-on-sight.
Y'won't get scanned as an Adapted anymore. The grids will know what
y'are,”
“Just want it for my wall,” said Anma. “Look nice next to my UniColonies flag,”
“Well,
at least to remove the temptation,” Scott looked her over, “What's't
been like for you? To keep all your drives tamped down like that all
the time? Y'must feel like murdering all day,”
“It's not as bad as you'd imagine,”
“Anma's
different,” said Tassy. “You're the One Who Wept. It's in issue 112.
When Lord Koinet was killed. You're a deviation, Anma,”
“My ducts don't work. That was a lie for the sessions,”
“You're
the only Make 3 left," said Scott. "All the rest who got executed,
Alizon, Adom, all of them, they were the ones with the great stories.
Don't suppose you'd do an interview I could post after the-”
“Scott! You asshole!' said Tassi.
“Don't
jinx me!” Anma slapped his forehead lightly with the back of her
fingers, but she might have left a small bruise. His eyes watered as he
waved goodbye.
“Anma, let us not pretend today,” said Lady Jewel, taking the wand
from her hand and glaring with good humor into the mirror, “You never
will be any good at this,” Lady Jewel passed the wand over her hair,
causing it to spring into strategic curls.
Anma smiled. “Sorry for it, M'Lady,” She unrolled the spun opal gown and set the case with the smoke diamonds on the vanity.
“Have the frequencies been checked again?”
“Yes, and will be again one minute before w'go live,”
“Is
everyone cooperating? Need I speak to anyone?” The Lady held up her
arms and the gown slithered down, sliding tight around every curve.
“All will go as planned, M'Lady,”
Lady Jewel turned to look at Anma. “Your loyalty has never faltered,”
Anma stopped arranging cosmetics on the tray. “You are Bloodline. I'm bound-”
“This again,” Lady Jewel swung her long legs over the vanity stool and faced Anma.
“Are
you afraid of me now? I would understand,” but the thought didn't sit
easy; she would have hated to frighten her mistress. Anma lifted the
net of smoke diamonds and flicked it gently; it settled over the Lady as
lightly as spider silk.
“No. I know you, Anma. We
have become friends, you and me. I don't believe in signatures and
Bloodlines. We are more than just sets of neurons. And I am not
afraid. I would be afraid without you. I would be fair helpless
without you,”
“Not so,”
Lady Jewel
sighed, turning before the mirror. “He loved this gown on me at the
last summit, but that was years ago. Let us see if I still have any
power with him,”
Anma looked at her mistress, so tall
and curving within the fiery opal silk, the smoke diamonds blinking like
constellations on her midnight skin as she moved, her features gleaming
with a touch of opal powder.
“You have power with every man on Mars and Earth,” she said.
The
scroll glass lowered as they entered the chamber. Lady Jewel took her
position on the central mark and the lights adjusted to her.
The
scroll glass lit with windows that chased each other in various order.
In each window a representative was readying for the live session,
taking a sip of water, fussing about appearance or reading innernotes
with rapidly shifting eyes.
Finally the fanfare
sounded and the scroll glass was dominated by the UniColonies logo.
Lady Jewel looked sideways at Anma, who nodded, gazing at her with
confidence.
Holov was live. He smiled benignly and
then took in the sight of Lady Jewel. He was silent for a little longer
than was seemly.
“Welcome all to this meeting of the
Bowl colonies and most welcome, Lady Jewel of the Isikirari Ascended
Bloodline and widow of the right honorable Brend Koinet, Steward of the
Bowl,”
“Our New Unifier needs no further introduction,”
said Lady Jewel, “I have come to request a private meeting to discuss
the terms of our surrender,”
Frames swarmed over the
glass as representatives shouted. The frames glided left to right,
giving each representative 10 seconds to voice reaction. The outrage
was well played.
“She is not qualified to surrender us!”
“Stop her!”
“We are prepared to fight-”
The windows froze and faded; Holov appeared again, with the same blinding fanfare.
“We
require silence at this time or we will be forced to disable the CAP. I
can do this immediately and although I have great compassion for your
trials and do not wish to make this choice, the choice will be made if I
do not have consensus. And may I say, honored representatives, you
surprise me. We all know that Lady Jewel is the only true leader among
you, the only pure Ascended of Conqueror Bloodline,”
“Honored
representatives, if I may,” said Lady Jewel, “The terms of surrender
will be negotiated only with my people in mind. I only ask that my
people may live without fear, poverty or-”
“Well said,”
Holov interrupted her. “We will send escort for you at 18:00 hours.
And if you would,” Holov smiled, “Wear that dress, My Lady,”
The shock at his lack of respect and propriety registered only briefly in the various windows before the session was closed.
Back in the Lady's chambers, Anma slid open the small silver case.
“Here
it is,” the round, concave object the size of a fingertip floated in
viscous fluid; it was transparent and speckled with tiny blinking
lights. “Called a zord. Old-fashioned make. No implant. Fits over
your eye,”
“Does it store?”
“No. And there's no upload, so it can't be charged. It's only powered for 3 more days,”
“I am ready, Anma,”
“Y'must be, M'Lady,”
“I am. Don't fear,”
“The innerprompt is current standard. Just lock and drag like a regular innerprompt,”
“Except, the tool I will be dragging is a laser,”
“There will be very little pain. S'so fast,”
“That's what they always say, Anma. But dying must be painful no matter how quickly it happens,”
“For the people of the Bowl who have given their lives-”
“I know,” The Lady put her hand gently on Anma's wrist. “I will do this thing,”
“Only
worry is the exit,” said Anma, “Y'must wear the zord back through the
gate, but not use it on the way back. I'll get what I can from Holov's
tent. He packs vintage weaponry,”
“Will you know how to wield such weapons?”
Anma gave her a significant look.
“All weapons belong to you, don't they?”
“Well spoke, M'Lady,”
“You Bowlers and your agreement councils,” Holov said as he lazed on
his sheepskin under the ornate, star-stitched silk ceiling of his
enormous traveling tent; he was swallowing the finest grapes and berries
without tasting them. “Beyond the waste of time they must be so
tedious,”
“Because we have consensus, our laws and
policies proceed more effectively,” The Lady lay beside him, sharing the
grapes and looking not at all repulsed.
“Because people are tired of waiting for a decision,”
“The people know they will be heard. Our populace stays small enough to guarantee that,” the Lady even caressed his hair.
“Were your men heard, when that generation idea was passed-”
“Why would men have gone unheard?” she purred.
“The block is unmanly. It gives women too much control of the population,”
“Why
would any man oppose families of considered size?” The Lady poured,
filling Holov's glass for the third time. He threw down the liquor and
held the glass for her again to serve him; the gesture gave Anma a jolt
of nausea. Still she continued to bustle with the delicacies they had
brought, wonderful foods which only grew in the Bowl. She laid out more
bright, perfect fruits and clinking bottles while she sneaked glances
at Holov's weapons mounted on the rare wood panels. It was known he
kept the weapons charged and believed himself a master shot with them
all. Anma almost loved him for his arrogance, setting up so close to
the Bowl gates, readying for his victorious entrance. And alone with
only two women who were about to be conquered, why bother with an inside
guard?
“It denies a man his right to add to his line,”
Holov's voice was beginning to slur. He put his hand on the Lady's
breast. Anma kept her eyes on her tray. “That should be a man's say, not a woman's,"
“He
has the say,” The Lady was as sensual and calm as a cat. “When a man
disables his block because he is ready to make a child it is a sacred
decision and cause for much celebration,” she was smiling, acting as if
his violation honored her.
“And the grid knows. All the women know. It should be a man's private business,”
The
Lady's tone was taking on more edge. “Each man of the Bowl has the
choice to sign the agreement of responsibility and to assume his block
with full knowledge when he comes of age,”
“And if he hasn't signed it and taken the block, the grid knows,”
“Women
can make informed decisions then about engaging with him. The Bowl
observes transparency for all, because transparency is crucial for a
free pop-”
“M'Lady,” Anma interrupted, “Perhaps the
New Unifier would like to sample your fig spirits? And these apricots,
M'Lord, have been infused with spiced pomegranate liqueur, most rare...”
While
they continued Anma had time to profile all the weapons on the panels.
The laser pistol and laser rifle would do, as well as that nice rapier
for up-close if needed. She was rearranging dishes when she heard the
soft thump and the Lady's whisper.
Anma stood over Holov and blew on his eyelids. She pushed a knuckle between his ribs and ground down. There was no response.
“Now,” she said.
The Lady rose and backed away from him, standing next to Anma.
“It's time,” said Anma.
The Lady swallowed several times.
“It's the green icon-”
The
Lady was breathing rapidly. She stumbled away from Anma, hanging on to
the ornately carved central post and sliding into a crouch.
“I-I don't think I can do it, Anma,”
Anma had expected this; she knelt at the Lady's side and kept her voice soft.
“It's
the thing that will save the Bowl, save our people from his next
solution. It's the only way. You've prepared. We protect the Bowl and
the principals we live by, which no one else on this world-”
The Lady was vomiting. Anma took a handful of freshening cloths and tended her.
“Don't worry about this. S'just a reaction,”
The Lady put out a hand, pushing Anma away.
“Anma, I can't!” she stared at Holov. “I can't do it!”
“You must do it,”
“No! I am not made for this, this is not in me! I can't kill, I won't!”
Time was rushing away like sand in a storm. Anma looked hard into the Lady's eyes.
“You're sure that you can't?”
“Yes,” the Lady was sobbing.
Anma
took the Lady by her shoulders and threw her on her back on the bed.
She crawled over her, splaying the fingers of one hand down on her face
to hold her eyelid open. With her other hand she quickly pinched the
zord from the Lady's eye and dropped it into her own.
Anma stood over Holov. “The blood first, then. On your dress,”
Anma
jumped over him, took the rapier from the wall and thrust it into his
neck, nicking the artery. He moaned and started to rouse; Anma kicked
him once in the temple, feeling the delicious crunch on the tip of her
boot, and he was still. She dropped the rapier and stepped back over
Holov to the bed where the Lady was weeping. Anma pulled her to her
feet and then pushed her gently down onto the floor, in the path of the
jetting artery. The spilling blood, the brightness and silkiness and
scent of it filled Anma with longing for more. The Lady started to
protest. Anma dragged her in the blood enough to create the right
effect, then pulled the Lady to her feet and pushed her just hard enough
to seat her on the bed again. That would work for the live session.
Anma
turned and closed her eyes, finding the innerprompt on the zord. She
put her attention on the green icon, opened her eyes and dragged it
across Holov's neck, severing his head directly across the cut; the head
dropped from the cauterized wound with a scent of seared meat and
rolled across the sheepskin. It was not the most satisfying way to
kill, but it still gave her a comforting rush. The head was mouthing
something and Anma hoped the Lady wasn't watching; they were only half
done.
The Lady was vomiting again but Anma couldn't
tend her now. She took the head, which was still murmuring silently,
and slipped it into the bag. She turned to the Lady.
“Lay back, gotta put the zord back in your eye,”
The
Lady began to blubber, so Anma pushed her down again. Crouched over
her, she gave the Lady a light but stinging slap and looked down at
her. She kept her tone gentle.
“We're leaving. We're
taking the gift to the people of the Bowl. You'll do this for your
people and you'll do it now,” Anma leaned her palm on the Lady's face,
pried open her eye and dropped the zord back in. The Lady was rallying,
trying to gather herself.
“Oh, Anma. You had to do it. Oh, no, Anma! I've failed!”
“Stop
it now,” Anma pulled the Lady to her feet. “You did this. Y'must
never, not in a dream, remember anything else. You killed Holov. We're
leaving now,”
“Anma, I'm so sorry for my weakness.”
Anma smiled at her. “You're a noble,” she said.
Anma
looked the Lady over. The blood spray was good enough. She snatched
the cloak and threw it over the Lady's shoulders and stopped to hold her
hands.
“You're about to save the Bowl. Y'must
remember,” Anma was gripping her hands just hard enough to give slight
pain, “You. Killed. Holov. Y'did it for your people,”
Anma
rolled Holov's body over and took his gun belt; she had to cut an extra
notch to make it fit her own hips. She took the lazer pistol and rifle
from the wall, checked them for charge and fit them into the belt, took
the rapier in hand and slung the bag over her shoulder.
It was time to tell her.
“Lady,
I'm marked for kill-on-sight now,” she said. “If I go down, do whatever
it takes to get through the gate. Don't try to save me. Keep moving.
Remember we've people ready for the live session on the plaza inside the
front gates. Go directly to the central dais in the plaza and our
people will start the session for you. They're waiting now and tracking
us. If I fall, don't forget the bag,”
“You can't be kill-on-sight,” but the Lady's eyes widened. “Anma! Is it because-”
“Wait
until I signal you,” Anma crept out of the tent, staying low; she
sited the first guards and hit them each in the middle of the chest or
back with the laser rifle, which severed aortal arteries and sent them
all to the ground within seconds of each other; Anma's heart began to
sing, she began to feel giddy. She ran over their bodies, crouched again
and listened for voices. Hearing no one, she motioned to Lady Jewel.
The Lady moved low and quickly to join her. “Why must I not use the zord now?”
“Don't want you to hurt yourself,”
“I won't,”
“Too dangerous, if I'm not helping you,”
“It's this green icon on the left?”
Anma
pushed the Lady to the ground and stood, rapid-firing at an incoming
battalion. She took down seven men before she was hit in the shoulder
and then in the thigh from behind. She sprawled on her back, scrambling
to get up as the pain seared. Lady Jewel crawled over Anma and looked
up. The last three men fell; Anma could tell by the sounds they were
making that the deaths weren't clean. But then she heard them silenced
and knew the Lady had finished the job.
The Lady had
crawled away. Anma shout-whispered at her to take the bag. But she
returned with one of the guards' laser shields, a large, very light
piece of shimmering deflecting glass. The Lady was stronger than Anma
knew, hauling her to her feet and dragging her down the walkway under
one arm; the bag with Holov's head bumped along the ground. They were
too exposed. The risk was too great. Anma tried to disengage herself.
“Stop
it!” The Lady hissed, “We are almost home!” As Anma fired at Holov's
men with her good hand and pushed along with her good leg, she had time
to consider that although being a noble meant having important traits
she would never have, like conscience, there was still more to the
Lady. Anma had always suspected it.
The Lady dropped
Anma, threw herself down and slid the shield over them both in time to
deflect several shots. Anma began to grind her teeth; the mark must be
on the grid by now and her kill-on-site status was making this too
dangerous. She was a liability.
“Take the bag and go!” she huffed. “Go!”
“Shut
up, Anma!” They were in sight of the gates now. The Lady again pulled
her up and scuffled backwards under the glass as shots pelted the
shield and the sand around them. Then they fell, and The Lady was
still.
Anma rolled over in a nightmare, breathless, but The Lady was gone. Hank's face loomed above; Anma was carried.
“What happened? Why did your status change?” he seethed.
“Don't know,” said Anma. “Drop me here. Do it!”
“We're inside,” Hank was cursing as he checked her wounds, but Anma could feel that they were not critical.
Anma
was able to watch the Lady step onto the dais in her blood-soaked
gown. She lifted Holov's head from the bag by his hair and held it up
with an elegant sweep, as if she had rehearsed it a thousand times.
“The
New Unifer has been stopped. We will now retake the CAP and return
control of all sustaining systems to the colonies who use them. This is
our day of independence. Verify this gift,” she commanded. Several
people in the front rows raised scanners and the verdict circled like
wind.
“It's him. It's his head,”
“The Lady has done it!”
“The Lady!”
“We fight! Now!”
The
crowd dispersed as quickly as blowing sand and the plaza stood empty.
Lady Jewel sat, rolling Holov's head away. A guard grabbed it and
climbed a ladder to set it high on the gate.
Hank deposited Anma at the Lady's feet. He waited a few steps away.
Anma
was sick suddenly. It was a strange sickness, a sucking kind. Her
heart seemed to have dropped away, her eyes were streaming, spilling.
She could not take a breath. She stared at the Lady through her
confusion.
“You will miss me,” said Lady Jewel.
“Yes,” Anma choked.
“We are friends,”
“Yes,”
“I will never stop defending what we fought for. I promise you, Anma,”
Anma's
signature did not allow her to feel sorrow for long. Now she would go
out to the Rim with Hank for her final battle. The very thought made
her soar again, made her crave the cold exchange winds and the hard,
ecstatic freedom ahead.
Anma linked eyes with the Lady and bowed her head one last time.
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