CHAPTER TWO - SABRA

Sand and dust drifted around Sabra Kasembe in strange patterns as a more quintessential sense of gravity reasserted itself. It was like she could trace the path of each and every grain of sand. Breathe, she told herself, just breathe. Funny. Her thoughts sounded so far away. If the shockwave alone had concussed her... Well, that was a problem for later, when she won.

Sabra grit her teeth and drew herself up, focusing on her breathing, ignoring both the whirling protest of her inner ear and the vertigo that heaved her stomach up behind her ribs. There was no danger of embarrassing herself--you didn’t eat before a work-out, and so you certainly didn’t eat before you sparred one of the most powerful men on the planet.

Her opponent hadn’t cleaned her up with that strike, but he’d come damn close. It was like Allah Himself had thrown a haymaker. No, she had to keep her head in the game. She wasn’t dueling a god--at least, not yet--but a man. He floated about a hundred meters away, maybe six inches above the sandy arena in the eye of a simmering storm. He wouldn’t kill her, wouldn’t cripple her, but he’d leave her bruised and sore for a few days. And that wouldn’t do. Not tonight.

Not when she was coming back.

She had to close this out, and soon. All it would take is a sprint across a hundred meters of open sand, against someone who could twist a fundamental force of the universe into a knot. She swiped the back of her hand against her nose, focused on the feeling of her skin, the weight of the wooden staff in her other hand, the way the sand felt under her bare feet, and the sense of déjà vu. That sensation of frisson down her spine, of spiders dancing along the back of her neck, all of it like a half-remembered song, fragments of a symphony. A thousand little notes that sang you’ve been here before.

Sabra moved and pushed off to the left as the sandscape erupted again. Danced into a spin to maintain her forward momentum, saw her opponent raise his right hand and unleash a whip of gravity at her knees, a subtle haze that twisted light as nothing but a side effect, and she was already vaulting it. Between breaths, in his shadow, she could glimpse the path to her victory.

She hurled her staff like a javelin, straight and true at his sternum. A roll of his left hand stilled it before him and, with the slightest flick of his fingers--

It warps and bends, snapping--

It erupted into a thousand fragments and Sabra ducked around and through, knew the pattern enough that none of them would touch her, and she hurled herself into a wild roundhouse--a stupid move, reckless, but she needed naked force to bring him to her level.

His feet touched the sand, and he gave up on the imperious floating stance. Now, the fight was more what she was used to--bare-knuckled pugilism, winner takes all. He could’ve crushed her bones into diamond, annihilated her with no effort on his part beyond a moment’s concentration and the clench of his hand.

But that was the trick, that was what he had drilled in her. Even someone with the ability to bend gravity still needed hands with which to manipulate it. Which, to Sabra, meant an empowered duel was much more like boxing than anyone in the IESA would care to admit.

He deflected her blows without touching her, moving like something between a martial artist and a conductor, holding his ground, parrying her with his mastery of a cosmic force. She worked his ribs with her fists, felt them slide off him far more than they impacted, but all she had to do was press him.

Blueshift raised his right hand, and she grabbed for it, let her fingers trace along his forearm until she had his elbow and just enough leverage to twist it and him and send his gravitic lance hurtling past her, her braids whipping against the back of her neck, and she planted her foot in his belly. Felt the satisfying pressure of something giving way, saw Blueshift’s face twist a second before her haymaker caught him across the jaw.

He stumbled back three paces, turning to face her before she could put him on the ground. He abandoned his exotic form, catching her right in his, pitting her strength against his--but in that arena, he’d lose. Sabra grinned, feeling the currents shift. Six months of this, and here it was. “Tonight’s the night, isn’t it, Shift? In more ways than--”

The world was ripped out from under her, her stomach crashing into her lungs as she was hurled toward the ceiling of the arena, the whole world spinning around her end over end over end, and she had the distinct, distant realization that she’d spent so long concentrating on his right that she’d forgotten his--

She hit the ground at some point, but she didn’t remember the impact. She knew it because she woke up there, on her face. Groaning, she sat up, spat out sand and blood. Her whole body ached but over that and behind her eyes, she could feel the first tremors of a headache.

“Than one?” Blueshift asked, looking down at her. “Such singular focus. The invisible arm? Miss Kasembe, I did not expect you to fall for something so basic.”

“Did I pass out?”

“You did.”

She sighed. “I almost had you.”

“Perhaps. But tell me, did they give out trophies for almost on Asclepion?”

“No,” she said. “But--”

“But nothing.”

She lay there for a time, frowning. More from the loss than from Blueshift’s admonishment. She’d felt it, she’d been so close! If she’d just had a few more seconds, or maybe two more arms...

“So,” she said. “What’d I do wrong?”

“You’re still holding back.”

“Christ and Allah, what?”

“You’re still holding back,” he said, unusually terse. “How far does your prescience extend, Miss Kasembe?”

“Years, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Even with six months of training, even with the admission that you’ve seen far more than these immediate seconds, your focus was so tightly wound to what I was doing with only one of my hands--and for only a few seconds ahead, at that--that I defeated you with something so textbook.”

Sabra sat up. “I thought we were sparring, Blueshift.”

“I know, and we were--and that is why you lost.”

“Fine,” she said, “Whatever.” Sabra raised her fingers to her lip, found it swollen and bloody. “But did you have to bust my lip? Like, tonight, of all nights?”

“Perhaps dear Revenant will welcome the opportunity to fuss over your wounds.”

“Perhaps she’ll burn you down for causing it.”

Blueshift smiled slightly. “Perhaps.”

For a time, silence. Blueshift raised his hand before him.

“Miss Kasembe, what was my first lesson?”

She sighed. “Power given is not power at all.”

“True, and the arc of history does not bend toward justice or liberty, power lies with those willing to wield it.” Blueshift flexed his fingers. “Why aren’t you willing to wield yours?”

Sabra frowned. He wouldn’t let it go until he’d made some point. “It’s not as simple as you’re making it out to be. I only see the future when I sleep, man, and it’s all feelings and impressions when I wake up. Same thing in the ring, y’know? It’s like looking out at the ocean and seeing things crest above the waves. If I want to look further, it’s like being underwater, caught in currents, trapped. I feel like if I push too hard, I’ll drown.”

Blueshift nodded. “Ah,” he said. “So, that’s your imago. Fundamentally, our abilities work by keying to pre-existing pathways in the brain. But this can be a limitation if you start to think the illusion is reality. You grew up on an island, are you that surprised that your mind works with oceanic metaphors?”

“I guess not.” Still, it felt like he was telling her that she could imagine the sky to not be blue.

“And the dreams?”

“The same as ever,” she lied.

Blueshift’s gaze didn’t waver.

“I think we’re done here, right?” Sabra asked, picking herself up.

Blueshift nodded. “I’ll see you in a week. Have fun, Miss Kasembe. Do give my regards to our favorite ray of sunshine. But one last thing, before you go.”

“And what’s that?”

“Take care that you don’t anthropomorphise her too much.”

----------------------------------------

Sabra showered, dressed in nicer clothes, and took a maglev south to Mount Saleve. She glanced at her phone now and again, if only to make sure that she wasn’t going to be late. Revenant had been quite clear about the precise timing required and, in the back of her mind, it was like she remembered seeing herself checking the time before, in the seat of a train carriage she had never travelled on before. Blueshift said déjà vu was a part of her precognition. Sabra wondered it might’ve been a brain tumor.

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Still, she stepped out of the station and into a dusting of snow. It was still strange to her, snow. She had grown up in the island metropolis of Asclepion in the south Pacific--the most inaccessible place on Earth. This might’ve been the first snowfall of the year for Geneva. It was like something that should’ve been happening to someone else.

She set herself into an easy run, the motions of it warm, welcome and familiar. Her father had once called it meditation, and it was one of the few things he had said that she’d understood intuitively. She’d been a runner since she was a girl, always pushing herself to go faster--to go further.

To win.

She made good time up the trail. Her destination was a spot on the northern side of the mountain, just off the trail, with a view of the city of Geneva and of Lac Leman beyond. It was their spot. Where she and Revenant had sat and looked up at the stars, and she’d asked her if she knew them and she knew all of them, where they decided that no matter who (or what) they were, they’d see the relationship through. It was where, in the shadow of a spruce tree, they’d had their first kiss. Even if it was, to be accurate, their second.

Sabra sat down on a log in the shadow of that spruce. Her heart was pounding, but not from the exercise. There was still a giddiness to the thought of seeing her girlfriend again. The discussion about that title had been a tough sell. Revenant did not, as a general rule, handle emotional intimacy well.

But she was trying. For her.

She did not have to wait long. A star slipped through the dawning sky like a satellite, then changed course and fell towards her, growing larger by the second. Revenant plummeted back to earth, cutting her momentum with a gout from the thrusters that made up most of her feet, and landed heavily. Her matte black armor, angled and sloped like a stealth fighter, might’ve made her invisible.

Revenant’s blank, visorless helmet retracted away into her armor. Her features were as strikingly aerodyne as ever, but she’d changed up her hair, shaved the sides but left herself a martial topknot. It highlighted the silver headpiece that ran from where her ears would’ve been and around the back of head. Sabra waved to her, realizing it was stupid but unable to stop herself. It wasn’t like she didn’t know she was there.

“Hey you,” Revenant said.

She stomped over to the log and sat down next to Sabra. It creaked quietly as Revenant reached over and pressed the knuckles of her left hand to Sabra’s bicep. Something about it felt different and, in the first rays of the dawn, Sabra realized what. Most of the armor on that limb was damaged or missing. Her synthetic skin had been burnt through, and the mechanics of her forearm--pitted and scorched--were exposed to the elements. Most of her hand was missing.

“Christ and Allah,” Sabra gasped. “What happened?”

Revenant looked down at her hand as if seeing it for the first time. “Bad intel, for the most part,” she said, clenching her two remaining fingers into half a fist. “It turns out that the Imperium possesses better surface-to-air intercept capability than analyses suggested.”

“You were in North America?”

“Not officially, Sabra, no--this is very classified.”

Isn’t it always?

“I can tell you that it was a target of some strategic importance to the American government. Regardless, I was exfiltrating when I came under fire from an anti-air battery. Long story short, I intercepted two of the incoming missiles but the third inflicted some minor damage.”

“Minor?” Sabra asked. “Rev, it blew half your arm off!”

“It’s an arm, Sabra. I appreciate your concern, but I’ve had worse. More to the point, if the Imperium believes that the intruder was vaporised within the effective radius of a high-yield plasma warhead, then operational security has been upheld.”

“Still,” Sabra said, for lack of anything else to say. “Don’t you think you were cutting it a little close?”

“Not as close as you think.” Revenant settled there, shoulder to shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, Sabra, but I have explained this before.”

“I know, I know--the only part of you that matters is your fusion core. Anything short of complete bodily destruction is just an inconvenience.”

“So, you do listen to me.”

Sabra smirked. “Sometimes. How about being blind in one eye?”

Revenant frowned, reached up and tapped at the side of her head. The golden inlays in her gunmetal eye flickered to life.

“Loose connection,” she said.

“You really should be careful.”

“You’re one to talk,” Revenant replied, voice edging towards arch. “Either way, I do not have the luxury of being ‘careful.’ When the IESA says jump, I jump.”

“Even if it means risking being blown to bits on secret missions?”

“Even if it means risking being blown to bits on secret missions.”

Sabra sighed.

Six months before, she had thought she’d managed to get Revenant out from under the thumb of her UN overseers. It’d felt like getting three wishes from a jinn--her prize for saving the world. But, like all good jinn, the wish to get Revenant out from under their thumb just ended up putting her under their heel.

And this, some part of her said, this is the price she now pays.

Sabra reached for Revenant’s damaged hand. She expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. It was something of a sore topic, her robotics. Something that she had admitted to, yet still did her best to hide.

“You know I can help with this, right?” she asked, and not for the first time.

“Sabra.”

“Repairs, maintenance, whatever you wanna call it. I just-- I hate seeing you like this, Rev. I hate being unable to help.”

“I know, babe.”

“And I know it’s not the same, but you’ve seen me work on my armor.”

“We both know that I do the lion’s share of work on your suit,” Revenant replied. “And a lot of what you do is under my direction.”

“Then couldn’t we just do that?”

“In the time it would take me to direct you, I could effect the repairs myself.” Her golden gaze drifted away, toward the horizon and the waking Geneva skyline.

“Sabra,” she said. “This is a very delicate topic for me. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t interrupt. This issue has nothing to do with your capabilities or anything you have done or said or think you haven’t done or said and everything to do with me. I hope to be able to explain it to you one day.”

“But not today.”

“Not today.” Revenant turned back to look at her. “Let’s not turn this into another discussion about my issues. Speaking of damage, Kasembe, what happened to your lip?”

Sabra thumbed the skin below the cut.

“Sparring with Blueshift,” she said.

“Ah,” Revenant replied.

There was something about Blueshift that she didn’t like, and Sabra still wasn’t sure what. It was more than that he was part of the apparatus that held her leash. It was more than the fact that he was taking her for lessons that left her bloody and sore. But, like so many other things, it was something she would talk about when she was ready.

Whenever that is.

Sabra shrugged. “It’s not deep,” she said. “It won’t scar or anything.”

“I’m aware,” Revenant replied. “I hope his lessons are proving constructive.”

“I think so,” Sabra said, glancing at her feet. “I think I’m getting better. Still haven’t won yet. But I think I almost had him tonight.”

Something about that admission felt shameful. It’d been six months, and she hadn’t chalked a single win for her corner. Even Blueshift had started to sound disappointed. If you were going to do something, her mother always said, you had to do it well.

“Is that so surprising?” Revenant asked. “He’s outside your weight class.”

“There’s no such thing as an invincible cape.”

“Perhaps. But this one is older than you and more experienced than you.”

“I’ve beaten people like that before.”

“Sabra, there are six individuals with empowered capabilities classed as ‘gravity manipulation’ within the SOLARIA database. Four of them are members of SOLAR. None of them, as best as I can determine, were ever active on Asclepion. Of those four, only one is on the high-end of the Dynamis scale, and only one is classed as a strategic asset--Blueshift.”

But she’d come so close. Hadn’t she? It’d felt that way, at least. Sabra clenched her fists, felt that frisson surge, but it evaporated like rubbing alcohol.

“I know,” she said. “But...”

“Naked defiance can only take you so far, babe.”

“You don’t think I can do it,” Sabra said. It stung.

“I never said that,” Revenant replied. “But I deal with facts and data, and in this case they are arrayed against you.”

“That’s what Pavel said about Taurine.”

“Yes. You have, on more than one occasion, defied any kind of sensible logic. But I would not be a very good girlfriend if I was encouraging you to bite off more than you can chew because I’ve not seen you choke yet.”

Sabra nodded, even if she wasn’t sure she agreed. Revenant reached out and ran her undamaged thumb along the laser-thin scar that ran from her cheek and up to bisect her eyebrow.

“If there’s no such thing as an invincible cape, then that goes for you as well, Kasembe. I’d rather not meet your parents at your funeral.”

“Well then,” she replied, smiling. “How about tomorrow night? You could meet them tomorrow night. We’re going out for dinner.”

“Sabra.”

“I mean, okay, it’s a restaurant and you don’t eat, but they’d love to meet you.”

Revenant’s eyes turned back toward the horizon. They’d had this discussion a few times before, and it hadn’t been a win then. But maybe...

Maybe...

“You wouldn’t have to stay long,” Sabra continued. “I’ve just told them so much about you.”

Revenant nodded.

“Have you told them I’m a robot?”

“Well.”

Revenant tilted her head, still staring out to the horizon.

“No, then.”

“It’s not like they’ll care,” Sabra replied, and she was pretty sure. Pretty sure.

“Then why haven’t you told them? Have you spent six months letting them think I’m something I will never be?”

Sabra grit her teeth. That unerring ability to be correct again. It wasn’t just that she didn’t have any response that wasn’t a jab, it was that she didn’t want her to be right. She hadn’t told them; she’d only just patched things up with her parents. The revelation that she was dating a robot could be a new kind of schism.

It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. But on some level, it did. Or could. That felt worse. The belief that it would be fine against the gnawing possibility that it wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Revenant said. “Let’s not have our reunion night spoiled by my issues. I’ll see if I can make time. For now, would you like to continue our discussion on the concept of qadar?”

She spoke better Arabic than her parents. Qadar--predestination, fate, power. One of the six tenets of her father’s lapsed faith and a way for them to discuss a thorny topic in such a way that Revenant wasn’t compelled to act.

It was one of the first things she had told her, that under certain conditions her actions wouldn’t truly be her own. From what Revenant had said, there were orders that she had to follow, ones she could not disobey in the most literal sense of the words. One of those orders, at least, concerned people like her: precognitives.

But she was smart, too. Control the input, she had said once, and you can master the output. And if they were merely discussing the technicalities of faith, if they were merely debating theology, then--well, there was no need for enforcement, was there?

But.

“No,” Sabra said, knowing it was petulant but being unable to stop it. It was three-nil, and that at least gave her one point.

“As you wish.”

Sabra took Revenant’s damaged hand in her own, clasped it in her lap. She watched the sun rise over Geneva in silence that wasn’t quite comfortable. A whole city waking up. The city that was supposed to give her family a better life. The city that held Revenant’s leash. The city to which the currents of her prescience had led her, and where she couldn’t shake the feeling that they would drown her.

The city that Sabra was sure she had seen burn in her nightmares, had woken up choking on blood and ash.

“I have to go, babe,” Revenant said, rising.

“Already?”

“I’ve forged data to feed to my MARBLE handlers, but there’s only so much space I can maneuver in.” She bent down to kiss Sabra on the forehead, then brought her helmet back up and over her head.

Sabra smiled. Even if she had to force it. Just a little. “Call me?”

“Abacus. And I’ll think about tomorrow night. But I can’t make any promises. There’ll be debriefings, meetings. Repairs.”

“That’s my line. Okay.”

Revenant leapt over the edge of the cliff and shot through the air toward Geneva. Sabra watched her go. There was still that awareness there, that thought--that desire--to tell Revenant about her dreams. The feeling of a storm in the distance, of an imminent precipice. Of drowning.

She didn’t. Because there was a splinter in her brain, one that was surprisingly bitter when she examined it. If you keep something from me, then I’ll keep something from you.

But then, in its wake, another:

I want you to trust me.