One Heartbeat

The only hacker I know who can do city-wide systems is Likua, Suka’s older cousin. He lives in the back room of a crumbling apartment complex in Menarka proper and hasn’t spoken to most of his relatives since he was eighteen or nineteen. Suka refuses to provide a reason. Maybe he hacked into his aunt’s kitchen and ruined an important meal. That seems unlikely. Likua confessed once that he hacks into most systems to fix glitches and experience challenges, and he does so while operating as an independent software troubleshooter. From the amount of prestige he must have—and I know he has some despite his living conditions—one would expect him to display more arrogance. Personality-wise, he behaves much like Suka … except I must confess that she lucked out with genes. Gray-eyed Likua’s skin has turned light because he only goes outside during monsoon season to swim in the canyons, which most modern Menarki people recognize as stupid and somewhat suicidal.

During our three-way video chat, I cleaned my room and inventoried my remaining gyenya. Menarki slang flew from our lips like spit and I mentally thanked Nurannyi for learning off-world languages instead of anything more local and practical. (Perhaps I should include for honesty’s sake that this conversation happened after the two hours I spent crying in a private chat with Suka. She is such an amazing friend.) After a few minutes, Nurannyi turned on some music in the kitchen and started cooking.

When I replay the video, Likua raises his eyebrows at me when I ask, “Can you get the video feed from the skyrail at the Blossom Street stop at 14h.76 yesterday?” My face is pleading. Pause. The slashes across my forehead make me look even more pathetic, but he hadn’t bothered to comment on them when the conversation began and will say something completely different when he replies twenty seconds later. Likua knows many things he shouldn’t know; perhaps Suka warned him in advance of my mental state. Perhaps she also warned him about my desire to see the video feeds because hacking the system took him less time than it takes me to fold a load of clean laundry. I would rather not think that my tax dollars are going towards ineffective security systems.

He relayed the file to my computer. While we played it, Suka talked about her family’s preparations for the Water Festival. She will wear a new dress for the occasion, and her boyfriend Amklia may propose to her. (She wants to have a wedding after the monsoon season when the second flower bloom comes, but I wish she wouldn’t—I want to attend the wedding without creating awkward tension from taking time off at the last minute.)

“I have an engagement deeper in the Canyons, so I won’t be there,” Likua said. “With satellite the way—wait, Salus, are you crying?”

Looking back at the security feed, I zoomed in on the video. I looked even more pathetic than I had realized at the time. As I tried to make a witty comeback, I saw five people walk into the car. Their lips moved as they spoke to one another in hushed tones. No one did anything to make the video look suspicious to outsiders because they all sat calmly in their seats, leaning in only when they wanted to speak without yelling. Likua chuckled. I looked back at his face on the wall display.

“This is precious,” he said. “I think you have two of the sorriest assholes in Tveshi politics there. Have you ever heard of the Daybreak Movement?”

“No.”

“They think that Ameisa is incapable of existing independently. According to their logic, all of our nations should submit voluntarily to the governance of an off-world entity.” He shook his head and moved his wall screen display to a different view. From this perspective, I could see the contact lens case on his bedside table. “Do you recognize anyone?”

At first, I did not. Sometimes, I confess, I have problems differentiating between different Shiji people—all of the women look like Sehutannyi. However, few people have the specific carriage she uses. Few people make my cheeks hot and my abdomen ache when I see them. Few people make me feel shame and hatred, pride and desire. The tactile memory of her lips against mine made me feel dizzy. “I know the woman with the hennaed arms.”