It was natural for enslaved people to share gossip. Thomas had, in fact, privately theorized that an impromptu minicosm might have sprung up among the penitents. Too many of them reportedly shared the same outlooks and opinions, even when they lived on different planets.

It is something like that, the Pink Screwdriver admitted. Not a minicosm! We never ascend. Here is how We share information:

She unfurled a scenario in her imagination.

The Pink Screwdriver carried a trash bag from Lieutenant Yolpeen’s house to the dumping receptacle at the corner of the block. On her return, she strolled past a fellow penitent in the street. Neither penitent acknowledged each other in public. They did not look at each other. They merely walked past each other, each one apparently busy with their respective errands.

Nevertheless, an information exchange happened.

It was furtive. It would have seemed rudely curt to a Torth citizen. Apparently, though, this quick exchange was a ritual which penitents had developed as a means of sharing gossip. Each penitent dumped a quick summary of newly acquired news upon the other.

Penitents made these furtive little exchanges any time they passed within telepathy range of another penitent.

I see. Thomas picked up his sunhat and dusted it off.

In some ways, their mesh network was more dangerous than he had imagined. It was formalized. And widespread.

He sensed, from the Pink Screwdriver’s fearful memories, that any penitent who refused to participate in the information grapevine was shunned. The peer pressure to share information was intense. Those who truly went renegade and cut all ties to collective thinking were castigated.

True renegades became pariahs.

Their meals got confiscated. Their chores got sabotaged. They continued to look and act like any other penitent, but sooner or later, they would get murdered, in secret. A mafia of “the unknown” had formed in the penitent barracks.

The Pink Screwdriver had tears in her eyes, making them gleam even more brightly yellow. Are You going to end it?

He should.

Their widespread network had an umbilical cord, however tenuous, to the Megacosm. That meant all penitents were listening to news they should not have access to, and learning things they should not know.

It is harmless! the Pink Screwdriver pleaded. It is just harmless, empty gossip. We hardly know what is going on amongst the Torth. The news reaches me hours later. Sometimes a day later. I barely know anything.

Thomas was hardly mollified. Although the penitents were not currently sharing anything useful with Torth leadership—otherwise Garrett would have picked up on it—sharing in the Megacosm was a two way street. All eight hundred million penitents could be turned in an instant. Sooner or later, the Torth Majority would apply pressure to the penitents in just the right way.

His territories had a gaping hole in their defenses. And he hadn’t even seen it.

No! Tears spilled down the Pink Screwdriver’s cheeks. Most of Us (penitents) want to experience emotions freely. We want to be good. Very few of Us want to return to the Torth Empire! She offered a shy admission. I don’t.

And yet they had collectively broken a core law.

Out of fear! The Pink Screwdriver gazed at him, her iridescent eyes reflecting her collar’s glow against earthy darkness. You have immense self-confidence. She reached out and caressed his arm. It was an oddly tender gesture, and a strange new experience for both of them. You never doubt that You will win the war, because You are the Conqueror. Her fingernails sent shivers across his skin. But We? She meant all penitents. We are far too small to feel certain.

Thomas’s curiosity was aroused. He craved a more thorough explanation.

The Pink Screwdriver was ashamed, but she wanted him to understand. I can meekly obey and serve Your loyalists, and that is not betrayal to the Torth Majority. That is survival. It is logical. Pragmatic. It is acceptable, from a Torth perspective.

Thomas knew that. He urged her to make her point.

But, she thought, if I get ready to shoot Torth? There is a line that gets crossed. If I take a spoken name—if I throw myself wholly on Your side—there is no going back. If I ingratiate myself with Your forces and converse out loud? That is choosing a side. The Torth Majority will never reaccept traitors.

Thomas leaned back on his hands.

The secret, furtive mesh network explained why the penitents refused to pick up weapons to fight their Torth brethren. It explained why so few of them chose spoken names. They would not cast aside the last dregs of their Torth loyalties as long as there was a possibility that doing so would get them killed.

You believe that the Torth Empire is going to win, he realized.

Of course they believed that. They were still Torth in their hearts.

How should I know? She hung her head, waves of misery radiating off her. No one knows who will win. All I know is that the collective wisdom of the Majority is enough (more than enough) to remind me that I am Torth, and that the Torth Empire may yet prevail.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Thomas felt elated and sickened at the same time.

This explained why Kessa’s outreach efforts were failing. The penitents were still Torth in their hearts. They clung to their Torth identities.

He should not allow this to continue. He could not—should not—approve of a secret gossip network that worsened the gap in understanding between former slaves and former Torth. It was too dangerous.

Once Garrett became aware of the mesh network, he would go ballistic. He would make sure that all penitents were eradicated or zombified.

And he might be right to do so.

Fear spiked off the Pink Screwdriver. You have turned My life into garbage. She curled up. (Please kill Me) You ought to kill Me. If You don’t? The penitent mafia will do it as vengeance. They will track down who told the Conqueror.

Thomas wanted to ease her fears. He had not come here to interrogate and threaten this penitent. He resented the unpleasant turn his visit had taken.

What do you penitents discuss? he wondered. Do you chat about ways to overthrow Me?

No! She threw the answer at him.

So are you simply biding your time and waiting for Me to lose? Thomas prepared to dive into her memories. This was too important to let slide. He needed to understand how traitorous the Pink Screwdriver and her ilk were.

You don’t understand. The Pink Screwdriver gave Thomas a pleading look. Our secret network is as You called it—a tenuous umbilical cord. For me, it is a breath of sanity. It is all I have. She propped herself up against the filthy wall. Can You understand that? She searched his face. I have lost everything I ever owned. My dignity. My status. My wealth. My sense of belonging. Even the beliefs I grew up with. I have nothing but this hovel. She flicked her hand around the cubby hole.

Thomas was prepared to harden his heart against her justifications. Instead, he found himself listening.

His foster sisters had suffered a similar loss. He contained Vy’s memories of being ripped away from her home on Earth and forced into slavery.

Whenever I gain a scrap of a delayed glimpse from the Megacosm, the Pink Screwdriver thought, I feel a Comfort. She was flustered. I am having difficulty conveying it.

But Thomas understood.

He, too, had quit the Megacosm for long stretches of time. It was like withdrawal from a powerful drug.

He knew that whenever the Pink Screwdriver caught a glimpse of ordinary Torth sharing their minds in the Megacosm, she felt assured that civilization was still going strong. She might hate her hovel. She might suffer from daily chores. Yet she could cling to the notion of a great and glorious galactic empire, and she could draw strength from the notion that someday, she might be part of something great again.

That hope gave her the strength to keep working. To survive. To keep going.

Promises from Thomas or Kessa did not offer the same hope. Those promises were sketchy and dubious. To former Torth, the Torth Empire still loomed. It was larger than Ariock. It was more concrete than love and happiness could ever be.

I will not take that away from you. Thomas tentatively scooted closer to the Pink Screwdriver.

He would have to cast this knowledge out of his conscious mind whenever Garrett or Evenjos was nearby. He would need to keep this a secret from his friends. Even from Ariock.

Was it worth taking such pains?

Thomas decided that for now, yes, it was. The emergent mesh network might be dangerous, but it was also fascinating. It kept the penitents sane. In time, all those penitents might betray him and rejoin the Torth Empire … or they might fully convert to his side and become his willing allies.

There was still time.

There was still hope.

Anyway, the alternative was mass zombification.

The Pink Screwdriver radiated warmth and gratitude. Thank You.

Thomas still felt troubled. Now that he was alert to the potential problem, he would be more assiduous about mind probes. The penitents had better not plot a rebellion. If he caught any whiff of a threat.…

The Pink Screwdriver opened her arms, inviting. Aside from galactic news, penitents just share stupid gossip. That is all.

Thomas crawled into the cubby hole with her. The scent of her conditioned hair was pleasant. He even liked the cozy environment. Never mind the scent of dirt, or the occasional crawly bug.

The Pink Screwdriver worked loose one of his upper buttons. We discuss silly stuff. She invited him to search her mind. We experiment with makeup. We practice with emotions and primitive behavior. She worked loose another two buttons.

Thomas barred her from touching any more of his buttons. Was the Pink Screwdriver likely to share news of this tryst with her fellow penitents? If this became a public scandal, all of his secrets would unravel. Who would trust him afterwards? Not even Ariock.

I am not suicidal. The Pink Screwdriver laughed softly. Your concubine (or sex toy, or whatever You wish me to be) would be a military target. I have no desire for that spotlight. I will keep Our encounters a secret, Great One.

That was reassuring. But Thomas didn’t like her self-characterization. People are not toys, he thought. I am not here to exploit you.

Whatever. She understood that he was offering one sort of truth, and she appreciated the sentiment. But she was also painfully aware of how little value her life had. I will serve You however You wish, Conqueror.

She ripped open the buttons of his vest and began to aggressively kiss him, on the mouth and then down his naked chest.

She was so pleasant, so soft and warm.

Part of Thomas responded helplessly to her touches. That part of him seemed to have a mind of its own.

His actual mind, however, processed and analyzed incoming data at a rate that was not conducive to the enjoyment of physical sensation.

He could not avoid overhearing her private thoughts. The Pink Screwdriver was academically curious about carnal pleasures. She had overheard other penitents attempting sex, and she wanted to test out the primitive act for herself. If the Conqueror was offering? Yum. That was far superior to screwing the creepy old penitent next door who kept sending silent hints that he was willing.

Yet she was also cognizant of the dank, cramped cubby that she called home. It wasn’t exactly welcoming, in her opinion. They were about to act like animals rutting in a den.

And she was so sexually inexperienced, she feared that she would accidentally offend the Conqueror. He must know all sorts of human tricks…

“Stop.”

Thomas used a spoken word. That seemed the best way to break through her anxiety.

I am just as inexperienced in sexual matters as you are. Thomas slid an arm around her, urging her to lie beside him. Let’s just get to know each other. That way, maybe it can be a good experience (instead of awkward) for both of Us.

The Pink Screwdriver emanated shame. She had accidentally inundated the Conqueror with her uncontrolled worries, and wasn’t that rude? Anxiety wasn’t sexy. No wonder he wanted to fend her off.

You’re fine. Thomas brushed a lock of dark hair away from her pretty face. I’m the one who interrupted your routine life.

He held her, enjoying her scent. And he opened his inner self for her perusal.

Spoken language could never equal the way mind readers spoke to each other. Thomas let himself relax some of his own wariness. He had well-hidden vulnerabilities, and for the first time, he allowed someone else to glimpse them.