Pit District, Simoom
Five years ago

Harmony

The only way I can explain about the dust is by telling you what happened to Sila. It starts with me running, stumbling through the back lanes and tripping over garbage, hugging Sila, wrapped in a blanket, to my chest. I had to keep the scarf over my face; I couldn't hardly see. With every cough, Sila jerked, and her bloody puke spread through the blanket, wet and sticky. I zigzagged upslope mostly by memory; no moons or stars that night—too many clouds—and everybody had their back doors and portholes blocked by blankets, trying to block out the goddam dust. No light peeped through.

Don't trust them, they had told me. Don't take her there. Those are Plat doctors.

I wouldn't listen. All I could feel was that tiny body jerking. All I could think was Just get to the aid station. Just get to the aid station.

But the lane in front of me was blocked by sand dunes and garbage. Without stopping, I turned right down a side lane between two shacks, battling my way, squeezing through, trying to hold Sila higher than the sand, plunging ahead, until I found a main track. I blinked, looking around, trying to figure out where I was. Uphill and to the right—a white light in the dark—the aid station, must be the aid station. I took a deep breath and started to climb. Almost there, Sila, almost there.

Mummy, it hurts. Make it stop. Came the answer from Sila, but only later did I realize we weren't speaking out loud.

Twenty steps from the aid station, the wind stopped and the air cleared of dust. In front of me a scene came into focus, like I was watching a show. I saw a line of Pit Pats, with helmets, and visors and filter masks—their flashlights harsh on the three aid workers standing across from them. Shit, shit. I ducked behind a rusted water drum. I really wanted to avoid those black-armoured bastards. What should I do?

A short man in white scrubs was standing up to a much taller Pat. "There's 10 minutes left until curfew. We were promised that we could run the clinic until then."

"I'm telling you to close up shop now, doctor," said the Pat, unshouldering a weapon.

"Are you pointing a gun at me, officer?"

"Not at all doctor—this is for your protection. My orders are to get you all out of the Pit safely by curfew. That means you've got to pack up now."

"But there may be more patients coming," said another aid worker.

"I have my orders, now pack up."

They can't leave now! "No, nooooooh!" Before I could stop myself, I opened my mouth and wailed, tasting grit. A gust of wind pushed me from behind. "You have to help me, my kid ..." I rushed forward, arms extended, offering up my girl. "She's sick ..."

I saw the doctor take a step and reach for Sila, but then something hard smacked me on the forehead. I landed on my backside. Sila flew out of my arms. The dust kicked up thick and blinding, and I couldn't see the Pats or the doctors anymore.

The grey blizzard began to swirl. Spitting sand, I came up onto my hands and knees. I was dizzy. I wiped blood from my forehead and got dust in my eyes. It stung. But where was Sila? Where was my girl?

WAVE Orbiting Station
Now

Doric

I listened to Harmony's story whispered to us through the microphone and I grew uncomfortable. God, she told a good story. I admit that during my time in the Pit Patrol I had used force on the rats—but only when necessary. And yes, I did think some of those Plat aid workers were delusional. But I don't remember an incident like she described—a woman with a sick child. I'd remember that, wouldn't I? It couldn't have been me—it had to have been another officer.

But here was Mac looking at me as if I owed him an explanation. When I didn't offer any, he turned back to the monitor and said to her: "It was an accident."

"An accident? I have a scar on my forehead where I was hit with the butt of the gun," Harmony said, lifting her hair from her face and turning her head slightly so Mac could see it through the camera.

"You came out of nowhere. The officers—whoever they were—probably thought you were attacking. They acted on instinct. Now, let's get back to the PCC. Did Omari give the orders?"

Harmony dropped her hair and sighed. "Yes and no."

Mac swore under his breath, to her he bellowed: "STOP WASTING MY TIME!"

"I'm not—I'm answering your question. Look, Detective Doric wasn't far off when she suggested we operated by consensus."

Mac chuckled.

"I know you're laughing," she told us. "You're thinking how can that happen? Consensus takes too long. Trust me, it's quicker if you're all mind linked. I mean, I told you we argued a lot, but there were no secrets—at least not any that you can keep for too long. There couldn't have been a rogue element on the council—we would have known about it."

Mac was about to interrupt, when she snapped at him: "Let me finish—or let me start."

Mac turned to me. "I've had enough of this bullshit. We're no closer to finding the rest of them than when we started."

"Wait," I said, pulling on his arm. "She's about to tell us something important. She is, I can feel it." And I could. I felt breathless—my stomach queasy.

"Girlie, no more weird shit, Okay? We've spent far too long on this perp. I'm going to recommend we search the Pit hovel by hovel to find these assholes."

I grabbed his arm. "You know the boss would have ordered that already, if the weather in the Pit had cooperated. But there hasn't been a break in the storms, has there?"

Mac shook his head. "No, but that shouldn't stop us. We've got the gear—we've got the manpower."

"Look, Mac, I know you're frustrated, but trust me. My gut's telling me to let this play out." More like screaming at me. "Just let it play out, Mac."

He stared at me, until finally he nodded. To her he said: "Please, continue."

"There's this thing every kid does without knowing it. It's caveman stuff, I suppose. Wishing on stars. Praying to Gods. Looking for signs that the Universe will answer you."

Mac rubbed his forehead. "Okay—I'll bite. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Isn't there a part of you who still believes—like maybe you did when you were little—that if you want something badly enough, all you have to do is put that wish out into the Universe, and somehow it will happen?"

"That's ridiculous."

"I know, but everyone prays when they're desperate enough."

Pit District, Simoom
Five years ago

Harmony

Sila! Sila! I crawled forward feeling around for my girl. I couldn't hear or see anything in the storm, but it was like I was tied to my girl with a long rope. I knew which direction to crawl. I'm coming, Sila, I'm here.

Sila wasn't answering back, but I could tell she was close. My heart kept time with hers—beating, beating, beating—and I followed the beat until I found her, still in her blanket.

Kneeling, and wrapping the blanket around us both, I gathered my girl in my arms, pressing my hand on her sunken chest, still warm and sticky with puke. Sila's coughing had stopped; she lay limp, almost peaceful, in my arms. For a moment, I thought she'd pull through this, survive, but then I knew. Her heartbeat grew slow and shallow.

Under the thin blanket, I began to rock; I began to pray. I prayed for quiet, for the storm to pass so that my girl could die in peace. I wished for a pool of water so that I could wash us both clean. I wished and kept wishing.

Then with a crack and a bang the wind stopped and there was silence. At first, I didn't know what had happened and continued to rock, humming to my girl, but then I sensed a change through the blanket and then I heard water dripping—and metal rattling. Shaking off the blanket, I saw the Pats and the aid workers had gone. The night sky was clear and you could see some stars, and up the slope, Simoom's two moons were rising. On my right, the sliding door of the aid station was open and behind me the rusted water drum had sprung a leak. 

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