MONDRAGON

MONDRAGON

ARAN JANE

Copyright 2016 by Aran Jane

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2016
ISBN 978-1535107327
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016911686
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform,
North Charleston, SC
www.CreateSpace.com

DEDICATION
For Sheri

Aran Jane was born in Camp Pendleton, California,

attended college at Indiana University-Purdue University
Indianapolis, and now lives with his wife, Sheri, in
Encinitas, California.

Contents
Part One
1. The Edict of Shanghai
15
2. Cinderella liberty
55
3. The Third Factor
73
4. Surfing the blink
89
5. The Leap
115
6.
Reason for discord 133
Part Two
7. An instrument of conspiracy
155
8.
A dangerous shift 189
9.
The Slip 205
10.
PrognosisGrim 219
11.
Black ops 227
12.
Olympus Mons 247
13. Worlds on the brink
299
14.
Harks conjecture 315
15.
Coup de foudre 327
16. A whisper of wind
337
17.
An illicit interrupt 359
18.
Reflections on pain 367
19.
The Hunters Moon 381
20.
Meridian Bay 401
Part Three
21. A record of chaos
437
22. The Mandate of Heaven
489
23. The Entelecheia
513
24.
The gnosints gift 541

Epilogue 597

Acknowledgments 601
Authors letter to the reader 603

The surest defense against Evil is extreme individualism,

originality of thinking, whimsicality, evenif you will
eccentricity.
Joseph Brodsky

Part One

1
The Edict of Shanghai

When Derek burst through Infection Controls walkthrough mists, the last thing on his mind was the decon
protocol required to enter Shanghai Medical Centers
high-security ICU. He was preoccupied, wrestling with
his conscience over the nurse he called Thunder Jones.
She looked after his fallen brother-in-arms, and she was
a compassionate caregiver, friend, and confidante, in that
order. Over the past few weeks, they had grown close while
he sat by his buddys bedside. Maybe too close, if he were to
be perfectly honest. Close quarters, sparks and all. Maybe
one baijiu too many, smuggled in a hip flask and shared in
the small hours. Courting trouble and he knew it. As the
doors whooshed shut behind him, it occurred to him that
he had been spending less and less time worrying about his
badly shot-up compatriot, and rather more in an ongoing
tug-of-war between his own ever more elastic sense of right
and wrong and the dog in him. Thus, he forgot to wait

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for the all-clear before entering the ICUs sterile space,

which tripped the alarm; instantly, an electronic klaxon
horn filled the room with blaring triplet blasts, bouncing
off the surrounding glass walls and snapping him out of his
titillating daydream.
A squat, winged cyborg swooped down from his
overhead perch like a gaudy butterfly to silence the racket
with an impatient wave of his brightly colored exoskeletal
arm. You accidentals are always in a rush!
Dereks hands went up in apology as the strangely
beautiful guard lurched forward to block his way. A quick
jerk from the cyborgs iridescent blue chin sent him back
around for another pass through the gauntlet of mistadhesive disinfectants activated by contra-rotating ruby red
laser beams.
Derek placed his feet squarely on the scanners doublewide threshold, darkening its luminous pale blue glow,
and lifted his hands at his side; palms held out to the
crisscrossing lights. Waiting for the quick-cycling lasers to
neutralize whatever biological contaminants hed picked up
on the way in, he thought about the docks he had just
walked through, which were no doubt crawling with bugs.
Probably stepped in something, he said gamely, offering
a friendly nod and a lopsided grin.
The cyborg glared back at him in silence and crossed
his arms. The flex of the cyborgs massive cocoa-brown
shoulders suddenly dwarfed his brown-and-white teardrop
head-gear.
This second pass took two full minutes to complete.
Finally, the all-clear buzzer rang out which instantly set the
cyborgs particolored wings abuzz; with a spiteful grunt, he
leaped into the air and took off at a steep angle.
Derek watched him disappear among the dense canopy

MONDRAGON

17

of white globular drop lights before stepping through the

automatic doors and entering the ICUs din and clamor.
Once inside, he scanned the group of nurses and med techs
gathered at the medical station for the 0500 shift change.
His interest in Jones would have been problematic under
normal circumstances, he realized, but these were anything
but. Living in the shadow of a six-year, two-planet civil war
had a way of shifting a mans priorities. Somehow, he had
escaped largely unscathed, while his buddy, MacCullum,
had suffered a traumatic brain injury that threatened to
leave him dead oreven worseforever locked-in. Then
again, Don MacCullum was no ordinary warrior. He was
an EXO gnosint, after alla pattern findera reader of
unreadable symbols.
Pushing against the goad of Jones compassionate
nature and captivating good looks, Derek breathed out and
clenched his jaw, determined to focus, this time, to just be
there for a friend in need, to hear what his suffering buddy
had to say if that moment ever came. He was here this
morning, he reminded himself, to focus on the workings
of a gifted mind once adept at solving puzzles and ciphers
and mind-bending mysteries. He had told Jones he wanted
to be here when MacCullums gift returned to him, or else
when it became painfully clear, once and for all, that this
was not to be. When he left his friends bedside last night,
he wasnt sure which way it would go. Then something
extraordinary happened.

Earlier

this morning, an emergency text message had

startled Derek from a sound sleep. The blinking text scrolled
across the window of translucent skin on his forearm, stark

Aran Jane

18

and reddish-orange against the darkened room:

You might want to get down here soon as you can.

He spoke. Something about Romanian witches
and an enciphered fifteenth-century codex

The ghosting electrical impulses linking his forearm

communicator to the graphene implant deep in his
forebrain had fired the neural pathways of his reticular
activating system, making damn sure he was awake to read
it. It hit him like an electric slap in the face. He didnt have
to puzzle it out. It was the Voynich Manuscript. Again, he
thought as he put his feet on the floor and felt around in
the shadows to locate his trousers, keeping an eye on his
two comrades so as not to wake them.
He was half-asleep again when he settled into his seat
on a westbound space transport retrofitted to function as
a ship-to-shore taxi, the East China Sea shimmering below
under a spectacular blood-red moon. His destination:
Shanghai Harbor Medical Center. His eye had just left
the red altimeter on the taxis forward bulkhead when the
dazzling aerial harbor view on the wall suddenly blinked
out of sight. The aircrafts fuselage had switched from
transparent mode to lights out, full dark.
A collective gasp erupted from the fifty-odd other
passengers, but after two harrowing seconds in utter
darkness, the taxis interior lights blinked back on. A snowy
noise pattern lit up the forward bulkhead, and the great
azure dragon of the Emperors crest snapped into sharp
focus, with a resounding imperial fanfare blaring from
what sounded like long herald trumpets.
Thats painful! Derek muttered, now fully awake,
rubbing his temples.

MONDRAGON

19

He offered a weak apologetic smile to the disapproving

old Chinese woman beside him, then leaned back against
his Y-shaped headrest, bracing for whatever new flavor of
imperial-prerogative BS was coming. He could recite the
party line by heart: all about how we had made indefinite
life extension a fact and smoothed the sharp edges in our
biology that made our species so aggressive. And all too
often, so lethal. Biology is not destiny!
He felt a shiver of revulsion at the notion that society
had somehow magically overcome its baser instincts. To
put that fallacy of wishful thinking to rest, he had only
to summon the image of the gaping hole in his buddys
head, or his own most recent memory of the Emperors
Third Factor counterintelligence goons frog-marching
yet another grim, manacled captive to her public death.
Another traitor to the creative-evolution movement,
ferreted out from the imperial ranks, strung from the
gibbet and left to twist in the wind. Lately, it had become
public entertainment among the Emperors more zealous
followers, with ever larger groups of ever younger subjects
crowding the frequent execution spectacles, all of them
howling for blood.
The anthem ended, and the Emperors magnified
image appeared on the forward bulkhead, wearing the
usual flowing white imperial robes edged in gold, his long
white hair parted in the middle and pulled back over the
shoulders. Then came the requisite photogenic child in
traditional China-doll dress, trotted out at just the right
moment to ask for his autograph.
After bestowing this kindness and dismissing the child
with a light ruffling of her hair, the Emperor spoke. As
many of you know, enemies have infiltrated positions of
power within the Empire, hiding among our armed services

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and in all other spheres of our culture, quietly seeking to

reignite the Newstyler Rebellion on Mars, with an eye
toward exporting their vile contagion back to Earth. Such
pressing needs require that we now enlist even our youngest
subjects to end the threat. To bring a microscope and laser
scalpel to bear, as only the most innocent and truthful of
witnesses can, on those stubborn few holdouts who persist
as the cause of all our woes of lateto cut them out as the
insidious cancer they have become.
To that end, we have decided to change the nature
of the remaining accidental children in the hatcheries on
Mars. This we shall do by lifting the longstanding ban
on juvenile teleportation. Henceforth, children of all ages
currently residing in our Martian state-run hatcheries are
to be teleported forthwith
Derek furrowed his brow. Sonofabitch is going after
the kids! His mind reeled over the implications until the
second frightful clarion blast snapped him back, just as
the Emperor blinked out of sight and the shuttle touched
down on the Shanghai docks, pulling a foul whiff off the
Huangpu River: a bouquet of seawater, fish, diesel exhaust,
and sewage.
He stepped off the retrofitted space transport,
commonly known as a brick for its blocky shape and
stubby variable-geometry wings. Technically neither boat
nor spacecraft, the brick relied on flexible shape-changing
wing flaps and old-school hovercraft principles that made
it equally ungainly over water or land.
As his eyes adjusted to the hazy yellow light of the
predawn fog, whistles cut loose in the distance. The worlds
busiest container port cranked up for the daily hustle and
buzz. The megalopolis never actually slept, of course; it
merely gave a fetid yawn and closed one eye for an hour

MONDRAGON

21

or two. In a few minutes, the first thin beams of daylight

would pierce the low-hanging fog, eventually burning it
off and laying down a sweltering blanket on the ports surly
dockworkers and lumbering noncaste denizens.
Descending the stairs from the bricks debarkation pad,
Derek jogged across the fog-slicked quay, through a skelter
of dust and discarded fish wrap toward the sprawling
medical complex two city blocks back. Street vendors of
every shape, newstylers all, were busy setting up shop in
their rented stalls. Half-human para-accidentals and also
chimeraswhole new species arising from original genetic
materialrearranged their disordered wares for the daily
pinch and swindle ahead. As much as possible, he avoided
them.
His khakis clung to him in the heat. Breathing in the
fish-tinged scent of the open stalls and oil-drum cook fires,
he began to wish he had just stayed in his PT gear.
One by one, the catering trucks arrived on the dock.
Engines idling, they nosed into the cramped narrows not
already staked out with rented kiosks. Stainless-steel panels,
weathered and deformed as if caught in an apocalyptic hail
storm, swung open, and awnings unfurled to reveal hooks
slung with squid, octopus, and footless, wingless ducks,
cooked and strung by the neck for the morning rush.
But it was the other trucks that caught his eye: the bug
zappersblack-market teleporters. Thugs. His years in
the Teams had taught him to key in on anything out of
place. It was a skill he seemed to be leaning on more, now
that the Newstyler Rebellion had ended in a dodgy truce.
The smart money said keep your eyes open.
He paused at the end of an empty-euphorium-vialstrewn alley, its slick of foul drainage reflecting the odd
bloom of light from doors left ajar. Between two dockside

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warehouses, a sudden blue-white brilliance flashed from

the rear hatch of a lone roach coach.
You lookin for light in the darkness, Sweet Meat? a
voice snarled from the shadows. Or are you lookin to
become light in the darkness? A newstyler sidled up and let
out a low growl; his grimy tiger-striped face moved into the
wan firelight: black lips drawn back over two large chipped
yellow-gray canines. He held a laser carbine in his claws.
Cuz youre about one trigger pull away.
Derek lifted his hands, cautiously stepping back. Just
passing through, he said. Turning slowly, he cast a wary
glance over his shoulder and continued on his way.
His outsized shadow, cast against the mist beside him,
strode along in lockstep like some spectral companion,
flipping salutes at the half-dozen security checkpoints along
the way. He introduced himself quietly to each sentry as
he passed, Derek Mondragon. Though from his almost
daily visits, most recognized the familiar lean silhouette
and easy carriage, and simply waved him through, ignoring
his words, and the accompanying digital identifier served
up from his forearm communicator.

Looking

around the ICU, Derek scanned the ring of

immaculate glass rooms; their white privacy curtains were
drawn wide to reveal a large nimbus cloud hovering above
each of seventeen numbered antigrav beds. The polished
white lino floor reflected a multicolored glow from the
array of medical sensors by each patients bedside. He
spotted Thunder Jones, standing in the midst of her ICU
teammates. They were gathered around a monitoring
station lit up with medical holograms at the center of the

MONDRAGON

23

room.
Drawing nearer, he quickly picked up the gist. He
stopped beside a big, dark-skinned tech sporting dreads and
a chartreuse Fu Manchu. Whats going on? he whispered.
The big guy shifted Dereks way but kept his eyes riveted
straight ahead, like a gawker at a cat fight. Kabuki, the tall
one all dolled up there in whiteface and chopsticks
Smirking? Derek asked.
Fu Manchu nodded. Shes been pushing Jones to wrap
it up so she can give her report and cut outta here.
Whats the rush?
Newstyler meeting. Transaccidental Affairs.
Hearing the two loaded phrases, Derek cringed. The
world had long ago given up all prior connections to the
archaic word human, whose etymology derived from
humus, or earthremnants of thought that associated
the species with those who buried their dead. The Emperor
had insisted on a less pessimistic, more hopeful vocabulary
for his Promethean subjects, who had only recently
grabbed hold of indefinite life extension. So his inaugural
act as emperor was to do away with the term human,
along with all its derivations, such as humanity and
humankind, replacing them with the more optimistic
accidentalwhat arises by chance. The term newstyler
came from the Chinese xing-shi. And it was indeed well
suited to the body innovations now being widely adopted
all over the world. Categories and classifications had shifted:
what was once considered transhuman had now become
transaccidental, and transaccidental became newstyler
on the streets.
Dereks eyes moved to his friend Jones, who abruptly
pulled away from the holographic display. Excuse me, is
there a problem? she thundered, glaring directly into the

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scornful Kabuki face. Theres a lot going on with this guy!

Its an ICU, Jones, Kabuki said. Theres a lot going
on with all these guys.
Look, Jones snapped, I dont care what it is youve got
it in your head to do with your body, or how long youve
waited to do it. Para-accidental, chimera, newstyler
whatever. Right now youre an ICU nurse. And youre an
accidental, just like everybody else in this room.
For now, Kabuki smirked, examining the blacklacquered nails of her own hand.
Right. No, youre rightfor now, Jones said. Just
another accidentally occurring biological A-hole, with no
special privileges.
A few chuckles broke out. Derek and Fu Manchu looked
at each other, eyebrows raised.
Kabuki turned aside and mouthed the words just loud
enough to be heard by all, Would ya just let Savant decide,
and quit wrestling with the damn thing!
Right, thanks, Jones said, returning to her report.
Okay, so I look up, and there he is. She turned toward
Dereks battered brother-in-arms, EXO gnosint Don
MacCullum, unconscious in the white antigrav bed
hovering in the centermost suite behind her. Jones dipped
her head briefly to one side, her face filled with compassion.
Derek moved in closer. This was the reason he had
jumped the brick to get down here.
Hes got his head bandage completely off, she said,
acknowledging her newly arrived visitor with a quick
nostalgic pout, which is not pleasant. A quarter of his skull
is missing like he got hit in the head with a cannonball.
Pulse laser, Derek murmured.
She glanced over at him. Pulse laser, she repeated in
an accommodating tone that made clear that the type of

MONDRAGON

25

weapon was not the point. Whatever hit him blew off
the whole top right side of his skull. Anyway, hes standing
stark naked at the glass, with his dingus hanging out and
that ruin of his brain exposed.
Derek formed a mental picture: MacCullums stove-in
skull, covered with a thin biofilm of custard-hued medical
nanos writhing like a maggot dressing. Not pretty.
A collective groan went up.
Scary, Jones said.
Yeah, no kidding! one of the nurses said.
So, after I catch my breath, I notice hes got his
bandages and his gown all scrunched up in a ball, and hes
holding them out in front of him like hes trying to hand
them to me through the glass. Hes got his tubing off, and
all wadded up in there with everything else
Hes confused, poor guy, someone else said.
It was a mess, Jones frowned. Looped and knotted
through the sleeves of his gownbandages, tubing,
everything all twisted up and mashed together in a wad.
She paused and drew in an anguished breath, quickly
canvassing the faces of her team. Anyway, I finally get him
back into bedand he speaks.
Here it comes, Derek muttered, inching closer.
Even steam, my brother, Fu Manchu whispered. Best
not to get your hopes up.
Maybe not, Derek thought. Though when it came to
conversation, MacCullum was in a class by himself, at least
compared to most of his EXO brothers. A self-educated
gnosint, his training in nontraditional pattern recognition
had made him a blend of wizard, deity, and lightning
rod. He had an astonishing breadth of expertise ranging
from particle astrophysics and philosophy to the intricate
biomechanics of the nanoneurotransmitters that linked

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Aran Jane

up Savants worldwide network to the DBS implants

in everyones head. Being self-taught was one thing, but
MacCullum had actually taught himself the insanely
complex system that kept them all plugged in and buzzing
along. Savant was what kept them accidental, counseling
and advising them, serving them as a mentor, without ever
actually taking control of their thoughts and nudging them
over the edge without surreptitiously transforming them
into some sort of accidental meta-beings.
He reflected on how, over the past several months, his
gnosint road dog had become obsessed with decoding
that bizarre crypto book, the Voynich Manuscript,
carbon dated to somewhere between 1404 and 1438 CE.
Thinking back to when he first heard MacCullum mention
the Voynich summoned up a vivid memory of the last time
they had gone out and grabbed a cold one together.

Hong Kongs Club Babylon. Strippers and beer.

The lager was ice cold; the mugs slick with frost.
MacCullum was on fire as if hed been cramming for a
final. Dereks attention wandered to every athletically
built dancer who happened to saunter by, testing, in more
ways than one, the outer banks of his ability to stay on
track. All the while, MacCullum had remained aloof and
preoccupied, ignoring the scantily clad men and women
and nowhere near keeping up with his usual drinking
pace. When he finally did open up, it ended up being a
core dump of how the Voynich codex had taken its name
from some unknown Lithuanian book dealer back in
the twentieth centuryhow this book dealer had dug it
out of an old steamer trunk of rare books, belonging to

MONDRAGON

27

some Jesuit priest hard up for cash. Derek recalled stifling

a yawn with the back of his hand as MacCullum peeled
back layer after layer detailing how the codexs 235 vellum
pages were bordered with brightly colored marginalia
illuminations, he called them: colorful drawings of
plants, naked nymphs, stars, and a slew of other intricacies.
Wait a minute, Derek said. Whatd you just say?
What? Illuminations?
Djou just say naked nymphs? An arch look. Hard to
hear over the pounding music. He recalled being distracted
by the new talent up there on the stage, doing her thing in
a spectacular swirl of multicolored lights. Dark brown hair.
Sexy, crazya real head-snapper.
I said MacCullum leaned forward and raised his
voice, abruptly sliding his untouched beer to one side, the
drawings were
Theres your naked nymph right there, Derek
remarked, eyes glued to the stripper.
I said the drawings were prophetic!
Derek drilled him with his best Hey, cut me some
slack here gaze. Prophetic, he felt compelled to repeat,
nodding his head just so his buddy would call off the dogs.
He ducked briefly behind his frosted mug and took a long
draw from his beer. It wasnt that his eyes had wandered
back to the strippernot exactly. It was more that he liked
to keep his heavy breathing separate from his heavy lifting.
And this Voynich thing of MacCullums was proving to be
some heavy lifting. You dont see that every day. He jerked
his chin the dancers way, trying to change the subject. I
say theyre natural. What do you think?
There are these astronomical features, MacCullum
said, without so much as a pause.
What anatomical features? Farcical question; Derek

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was trying to get a rise out of him.

Astro-nomical. Whatare you thirteen years old?
Focus! Im trying to tell you something here. Astronomical
features. Stars. Spiral galaxies. Think about it. Galileo
doesnt show up until 1610. Before that, nobody even
knew the Milky Way had stars in it.
Really.
And spiral galaxiesthey werent described until
1936!
Wow, thats
Thats five hundred years later. See what I mean? His
face had a look of inspiration. And then theres all these
mind-blowing microbiological structures, shot through
with tubes
Derek looked at him the way he might look at someone
who had gotten hold of some bad acid.
Cells. Organelles. Things that predate, by more than
three hundred years, the illuminators technical ability even
to be aware of their existence, utterly mystifying. Check
Savant. Check the dates yourself.
Oh, I will, Derek said with a chuckle, knowing damn
well he wouldnt. His eyes were back on the brunette pole
dancer, strands of red and gold highlights in her hair. She
had turned her back to the crowd, standing there in her
stiletto heels with her long, shapely legs shoulder width
apart, casting a soul-shaking come-hither over one raised
shoulder, standing stone still except for her alluringly bare
backside, which was jiggling like a paint shaker.
Speaking of mystifying Another tease.
MacCullum didnt skip a beat. You dont get your first
primitive microscope, he continued, until 1655. Bacteria
arent spotted until 1683. And its 1838practically halfway
through the nineteenth centurybefore cell theory is even

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29

proposed. And another twenty years after that before we

see the first organellesvacuoles, mitochondria
Mitochondria, Derek muttered to himself in a dim
flashback to the kidney-bean-shaped organelle he had first
encountered in high school biology class. He quaffed the
last of his beer with a nostalgic smile to a simpler time and
lifted his finger to signal for another round. Catching the
raptor-faced barkeeps eye, he pointed at his empty. Uno
ms. Grande. He slid his glass toward the rail and returned
his ears, if not his eyes, to his friend. Man, you gotta get
out more. Mitochondria. Thats, thats
Thats not even the half of it, MacCullum hastened
to add.
Dereks eyes were riveted back on the dark-haired
gymnastic beauty, who by now had stripped down to her
bare feet and sparkling sequined thong, doing slow-motion
cartwheels aided by her muscled male partner; the two
of them reminiscent of an Olympic pairs floor exercise
routine.
Theres the text itself, written in ancient runes and
glyphs.
Derek looked back at him, perversely impressed. That
runes were somehow involved piqued his interest. Runes
he liked. For some reason, old Anglo-Saxon writing,
especially the divination and magic angle, touched him.
Now he felt tornobliged to listen, but he didnt want to
miss the show, either.
Think about it: a twenty-five-hundred-year-old codex.
Exactly thirty-nine thousand, nine hundred nineteen
words.
Derek looked peevishly to the barman. That second
round seemed to be taking forever.
Twenty-five hundred years and no one has been able

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to decipher it.
Let it go! Derek urged, ducking behind his drink
again as soon as it arrived. You should see this! This
woman is amazing. And you sit here babbling about I
dont know what! He glanced at his buddy sitting next
to him and laughed. MacCullums collar-length black hair
had fallen over one eye, hiding most of his high forehead.
The bags under the one eye showing told the story of his
lack of sleepdelving into these ancient mysteries of his.
Dark brown wide-set eyes; sad, it seemed to the Derek, set
deep in their sockets. Snap out of it, man! Voynich
what is that? Is that, like, where gnosint geeks go to die, or
something? I dont know
I do know, MacCullum said, cutting him off, grabbing
him by the arm. Did you hear what I just said? Were
talking terrible prophecies. Twenty-five hundred years, and
no one, no one, has been able to decipher a word of it.
Dereks eyes looked gravely down at MacCullums grip
on his biceps and lingered there for a puzzled moment
before rising to look him straight in the eye.
MacCullum released his grip and finally reached for his
beer. That is, he said, easing off on the throttle and at last
taking a drink, not till now.

Derek put the memory out of his mind. His thoughts

returned to the ICU, to the dust-up between Kabuki and
Jones, to the dark-skinned tech with the dreads and the
Fu Manchu, to this same friend of his now, in entirely
different circumstances.
What did he say? he asked, solemnly.
He said Jones looked up and peered into his eyes as

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31

if searching for a clue, Theyre everywhere.

Ouch, someone said flatly.
Then he gets this weird puzzled look on his face and
says, Lurking in the shadows. A look of concern and pity
suddenly shaded Jones features. Whos in the shadows,
Don? I asked him. So now Im thinking, you know, hes
a gnosint; hes probably hallucinating. Thats what theyre
trained to do, right? They see patterns; probably reliving
the horrors of combat.
Third Factor? Derek asked.
Jones looked him dead in the eye. You got itThird
Factor, he says. Then he gives me this creepy look like hes
gone completely catatonic. After a long silence, he says, I
could hear em. She turned to regard the others, briefly
looking into each face. When her eyes returned to Dereks
again, she said, Did I say creepy? I mean creepyeyes
vacant, like there was something substantially more sinister
going on with him than just the half of his head that wasnt
there. And heres the saddest part: he looks down at this
pitiful wad of rags and plastic hes holding in his hands like
they were some kind of sacrificial offering. Then he says,
Das Nichtige. Like thats supposed to mean something to
me! I had to query Savant to get what he was going on
about.
So what did Savant say? Derek asked, not particularly
surprised that his gnosint brother-in-arms had suddenly
taken to spouting German. Languages were patterns, too.
Another quirk with MacCullum was that, along with his
facility with words, he could turn gloomy on occasion,
especially when he got to drinking. He called it taking
the long view. Derek called it tiresome. Most folks had
a sunnier outlook. After all, what with the extension of
life for those willing to avail themselves of the technology,

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things were apt to work out for the best somehow, if only
given a head start and a long enough run. Not Donald
MacCullum. An ardent believer in the bleak outlook, he
had a particular fondness for depressing news. He called
it his fatalistic habit of mind. But oddly enough, it was
a habit of mind that had inspired him, on more than one
occasion, to throw himself in harms way on behalf of his
EXO brothers. This last foray, for example, had landed him
here with half his head blown away.
Das Nichtigethe nothingness, Jones said.
Derek mouthed the words without saying them out
loud, searching for the missing pieces to the puzzle, trying
to recall whether he had ever actually heard MacCullum
mention the odd German term before. Murderous Third
Factor bastards were the Emperors private goon squad
at the upper echelons of the M.S.S., the Ministry of
State Security. The Teams despised the Third Factor, so
there was nothing special in that. But this other thing
the nothingness He thought long and hard, sifting
through other conversations he and MacCullum had had,
but he kept coming up blank, kept returning to that night
at Club Babylon.
Its written in Moldavian, MacCullum had said.
A dialect of Romanian. They have a long history of the
occult.
No obvious match there. Derek turned to Savant.
Accessing Savant through ones DBS implant was like trying
to recall something that had just slipped your mind. Only,
in this case, the memory slip was temporary, for as soon
as a thought bubbled up as a query in ones mind, Savants
response was nearly instantaneous. So fast, he once joked,
it was like getting this creepy feeling of a presencethat
some wet, weird, ghostly little kid in a soggy nightshirt was

MONDRAGON

33

suddenly standing there, dripping water all over the floor

at the foot of your bed. Derek dismissed the image and
managed to locate some stray scraps of informationmore
of MacCullums philosophical claptrap, mainly, which,
for him, was one of the things that made his buddy so
damned entertaining as a dinner companion or a partner
out on patrol. Lately, ever since MacCullum had begun
deciphering that mysterious codex of his, he had been
grousing over what he called the existential threat that
the newstylers represented. And it didnt seem to matter
whether the newstylers were friend or foe. It seemed he had
a bone to pick with their sort either way. Turns out that
we the natural human race are part of the flowering
of a living Cosmos, part of a deep, deep game, MacCullum
had said while pulse lasers were stitching bursts of ruby
light back and forth overhead like tracer fire just before
they homed in on him and blew out a sizable chunk of his
skull. Trying to subvert what we are, what the Cosmos
intended us to be at the quantum level, would be to poison
the very ... He didnt get the chance to finish.
Returning to that harrowing event now, Derek began to
wonder whether this cryptic reference to a living Cosmos,
too, might be some kind of code that somehow tied in with
MacCullums ongoing obsession, delusion, hallucination,
or whatever. Had he not been hit, would he have insisted
that the Emperor and his Third Factor goons were ushering
in a new era of malignancy and perversionthe inevitable
surrender of humanity to the temptations and power of
Nothingness, reduced to mere existence like dead flowers
in a dead Cosmos?
Das Nichtige. What the hell was he trying to say?
He dug deeper into the details of that night at the strip
club, trying to sift through all aspects of the situation.

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Aran Jane

MacCullum had been uncharacteristically energetic, excited

over what he called his base substitution breakthrough.
Somehow, in a tour de force of genetic and phonological
sleuthing, he claimed to have linked the sequence of
nucleobases located on the single-strand transfer RNA
molecule to the vowel sounds missing in the encrypted and
de-voweled Moldavian text.
Nucleobases and Moldavian speech soundsmore
sensorimotor conflicts? It was crazy.
Picture a single row of teeth, MacCullum had offered,
evoking an unsettling visual image as Derek watched the
brunette strippers distracting undulations. One side of a
bisected zipper.
I dont get it, he said, shaking off the zipper-tooth
image. How do you make a connection like that? With
his brows twisted practically into a knot, he had added,
Associating some strange subset of the accidental genome
with ... vowel sounds? And thats supposed to be tied
somehow to some equally bizarre ancient codex! How do
you even begin to make a leap like that?
Though he didnt say it, Derek suspected that the answer
lay in the fact that guys like MacCullum had been trained
since childhood to use their preternatural gifts for finding
patterns. Some called it genius, but that was difficult to
determine. All he knew was that the Teams relied on their
gnosint members to help them get outside their hardwired
institutional way of thinking and identify, on the fly,
risks, and opportunities where others saw only chaos.
Its a book of ancient wisdom, MacCullum had insisted.
A treatise on nature: sudden origins and the fundamental
nature of our spin-foam multiverse. At that moment, he
looked fired by an interior glow, his eyeballs flickering
with laser effects and the pole dancers multicolored stage

MONDRAGON

35

lighting. How did I make the connection? he asked

rhetorically. Proliferation and differentiation are how. He
grinned, shaking his head a little.
And what, pray tell, the fuck is that? Derek recalled
asking.
Proliferationthats the rapid reproduction I was
talking about, and the other, differentiation, is when the less
specialized cells, you know, become more specialized.
He looked at Derek as if this information should be second
nature by now, after hearing it once. Thats where the
ancient ones buried the key. Whoever they were. Check it
out yourself. Youll find it writ large on every single page
of that document. Its like an illuminated manuscript.
Astronomical ornaments, fantastical plants, hydraulics,
medicines, wheels within wheels. So I asked myself, where
else do we encounter such
Proliferation and differentiation, Derek said in a flat
voice, touching his own forearm controls to see for himself.
Exactly! And the answer is the biosphere. Life itself.
Thats where we encounter it. Accidental life. Its right
there in our genes. Proliferation and differentiation.
Permutations and combinations. Hell, its right up here
on that stage! He glanced briefly at the dancer before
returning his inspired gaze to his friend. Thats how I got
there. Thats how I made the leap.
Dereks head rocked slightly back and forth. He followed
MacCullums eyes back to the dancer. She was hanging
upside down; the pole wedged between the crook of her
arm and her muscular torso, legs spread impossibly wide
over her head, doing ceiling splits.
Turning by force of will away from the compelling
vision, he faced his friend. Hmm. Interesting.
MacCullum took another sip and said, I asked myself,

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Aran Jane

why would the ancient ones direct us back to our own

genetic code? What if there were some kind of cosmic
message buried there among all the biological intricacies?
Leap is right.
Not all that much of one. Not really. I did what I do,
which is to say, I posed the question. And Savant did what
she does, which is to say, she served up her usual deliciously
rich variety of possible resourcesone of which, by the
way, just so happened to be the old ENCODE database:
The Encyclopedia of DNA Elements. The rest well, the
rest were still sorting out.
Like actually reading it, you mean.
Turns out MacCullum stopped and gave a
mischievous little grin. The teeth of the zipper are endless
permutations and combinations of the five nucleobases,
abbreviated as C, G, A, T, and U; Ill spare you the
details. Bottom linethey serve as the five vowel letter
substitutionsA, E, I, O, Uin what appears to be a
scheme that splits the codexs roughly thirty-eight thousand
word tokens into two distinct phonemes each.
Priceless! Were in a strip joint, brimming with talent,
and youre counting phonemes.
Listen to me, MacCullum said, turning away from
the stage to meet Derek eye to eye. Were talking about
seventy-six thousand distinct units of sound associated
with a specific languageDont you get it? Somebodys
talking to us!
Somebodys talking to us, Derek repeated; he had
brought up a holo image of the ancient codex and had a
look for himself. The manuscript appeared to be broken
out into four sections: herbal, astrological, biological,
and pharmacological. The herbal section featured naive
drawings of plantssome familiar, some outrageously

MONDRAGON

37

fantastical. Many looked like root-grafting diagrams

sketched by a fifth-grader. The astrological section featured
galactic formations, naively drawn spiral arms with hints of
light and shadow matter and antimatter, MacCullum
had surmisedsprinkled among the familiar zodiacal
figures of the day. The biological section featured a fourpanel foldout and pictures of little nymphs in baths, with
interconnecting tubes of liquids cut into sections like soup
cans. Water was depicted coursing through them; the cans
tops and bottoms cut away. The pharmacological section
was mostly text andon the surface, at leastconsisted
of recipes with detailed explanations of their medicinal use
and history. The entire codex, as Derek studied the holo
facsimile scrolling out into the air above his forearm, aided
by MacCullums disconcerting intuition, really did seem
to burst with a spirit of proliferation and differentiation.
Now that it was pointed out to him, even he could see
the leitmotif that had inspired MacCullums line of
inquiry. Inspired him and, at the same time, made him
impatient with the newstylers for unleashing their pentup frustrations, which only kept him from completing
his work and finally getting down to reading the ancient
message that had been left hidden there, perhaps since
the origin of the species. Maybe since the beginning of
life on earth, or before. MacCullum had little patience for
nuisance violence interrupting his real work, which was
vastly more important than keeping order.
Das Nichtige. Was that some sort of irony? Derek was
at a loss. He was not as skilled as his friend in the patternfinding art. Who could have encrypted so ancient a text
and seeded the key to deciphering it in our genetic code?
Extraterrestrials? Extradimensionals? And why would they
do it? First contact, maybe?

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Aran Jane

REM-disturbed

sleep, Kabuki blurted. Mimics

schizophrenia. Amyloid plaques are your likely culprit.
Burn those out in femtoseconds with nano-guided neural
lasers. Now, can we just move it along, puh-lease!
Jones ignored the remark and quickly wrapped up her
report, signed off, and returned to her glassed-in seat at the
medical station. Derek waited for her to get settled in before
he went in after her. Turning toward the whooshing sound
of the door behind him, she saw his eyes aglow with cool
blue light as he faced her workstation display and stuffed
his hands into his trouser pockets. His comely face, like her
own, luminous in the red-and-blue glow of the life-support
holograms, appeared amiable despite his sometimes terse
replies to her questions, and the strong physical impression
he made: broad shoulders, narrow hips, short dark hair,
practically zero body fat. A typical EXO: accustomed to
setting limits for others, breaking and exceeding them for
himself. He was serious but not in the boring, bourgeois
way. Somehow, those penetrating blue eyes held a gleam
of mischief. Sadness, too. She had recently confided in her
girlfriends that those eyes of his were like limpid pools,
that one could just stretch out her arms and fall into. That,
and the look of deep secrets about him: the tender way he
held her gaze, the silent anguish of prices paid and accounts
settled. She saw cunning there, too, but not the kind that
couldnt be trusted with the bundled-lightning insignia of
the special warfare operator he wore on his chest. And that
mischievous schoolyard grin of hisa grin that had been
conspicuously missing when he stepped through the doors
of the ICU earlier. Understandable. He and MacCullum

MONDRAGON

39

were close.
Always on call, always ready, Derek offered as a lame
boast, glancing down at the flesh-and-ink dragon that
concealed his forearm communicator.
It turned suddenly transparent, like one of those seethrough fish. Another message, in blinking text, from his
master chief:


POD

Two hours PT. Canceled

Six-mile run. Canceled

Team training. Canceled

Lunch.
Canceled

Team training. Canceled
Debrief. Canceled
Im just surprised youre still here, she offered, getting
up from her chair and stepping out of the red-and-blue
glow. After I called, I remembered you said you were
shipping out last night.
Was just about to say the same to you. The still here
part, not the shipping out part. Obviously.
Just finishing up.
You work another double?
Her head went up and down in slow motion as if she
couldnt believe it herself. She could find more interesting
ways to spend her evenings. At least, there were a few things
she might pleasantly imagine, PO-1 Derek Mondragon
being one of them. The lavender hue of her scrubs
accentuated her big eyesgray or blue, it was hard to tell
in this light. She grabbed the scrub jacket slung over the
back of her chair, and slipped it on, leaving it loose and
unfastened as she gathered it around her long legs.

40

Aran Jane

Its bloody freezing in here! she said, darting a glance

at him. Arent you cold?
Nah. He stood there nonchalantly as she sat down
again, his mind wandering, filling with vivid mental
pictures about raising hell with his fallen buddy, mixing it
up with the locals, getting tossed in the clink a time or two
when both of them had hit the sauce a little too hard and
gotten out of hand. Something about her ponytail snagged
his attention as his eyes worked their way up her body. Hed
been feeling uncharacteristically nostalgic these past few
weeks, ever since MacCullum got hit. He found himself
fighting the agitating pull toward melancholy over his
friends suffering. Thankfully, he had a knack for bearing
pain, emotional or otherwise. EXOs were trained to resist
those mental dead ends that started with fear and ended
in powerlessness. Still, he couldnt help feeling regretful
about the direction his life had taken. The past few weeks,
it seemed, he just felt grimhe was a grim practitioner of
a grim business, determined to make a fresh start.
So He stepped around behind her and began
kneading her shoulders, the back of her neck. How you
holding up? You okay? Throwing your usual thunderbolts,
I see.
She looked up at him with a beckoning grin, her hand
rising to grasp his. He smiled down at her, gave her hand
an affectionate squeeze, then continued the massage. He
enjoyed working with his hands. It helped combat the
distant memories, conversations, and rumblings that
sometimes separated him from those he had dedicated his
life to helping.
Im okay, she said. You know, living the dream, saving
the world one patient at a time. Oh, dont stop! she
moaned suddenly, her head lolling forward. Mmmm, Im

MONDRAGON

41

not kidding, Derek. You could coin it if you ever decide

to change careers. Mm-m-h-h She purred as his strong
hands plucked and pulled at her tired muscle fibers as if
playing a harp. Nimble virtuoso hands. Hed been using
one hand on each shoulder, but now he switched up,
applying both to one side only, really leaning into it, first
one side and then the other. He gave her shoulders a last,
firm, finishing touch, then stepped forward and looked
over at MacCullum, lying motionless just the other side
of the glass. His body was suspended in midair while two
medical robots fidgeted busily at his side like giant longlegged spiders.
Hows he doing? he asked. Sounds like he gave you
quite a scare last night.
She looked up to read the topmost heart-rate holo
glowing in the glass. Weird, she said, recalibrating the
strangeness of the event, hell cycle through Neuro the rest
of the week.
Derek looked out through sad, unblinking eyes. Tough
to see him like this.
Tough to see anybody like this.
His head moved in painful agreement. Yeah. He tried
to snap himself out of the gruesome combat imagery that
suddenly overtook him, disrupting the peace of his weary,
wandering mind. Distances again. Alienation. The truth was,
hed been suffering from horrific flashbacks himself. Bad
dreams. Dead and wounded women, men and children
too many to count, crying out in vain all around him. Most
of them were beyond his ability to help, bleeding out into
the dirt, their corpses to be left rotting in the sun. Some
looked perfectly healthy but for the small, bloodless wound
at the exact center of the chest, as if punched in place with
surgical precision. The holes were no bigger than the tip

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Aran Jane

of his little finger. Others were no more than scattered bits

of charred flesh, completely unrecognizable as ever having
been accidental at all. Unidentifiable body parts blown to
bloody smithereens. Unanswered slaughtera question of
forgotten names, never to be spoken of again.
I was just thinking He cleared his throat, making
a determined effort to get back to the matter at hand. You
realize that hes the last official casualty?
Last official casualty, she repeated, looking confused.
Im sorry, Derek. Last official She straightened in
her chair, wheels spinning slowly behind weary gray eyes.
Lifting an abstracted gaze, she ventured a hopeful guess.
Of the Newstyler Rebellion?
A grim nod. It pained him to have to acknowledge he
had ever been a part of the damned thing. And yet, for
some unknown reason, he kept bringing it up. Agitation
of the mind. Elite warriors liked to talk of combat about as
much as doctors relished talking about aches and pains
that is, unless they were talking to their brothers in arms.
Then it wasnt core-dump Q & A; it was camaraderie. The
ties that bind.
She drew in a deep breath and returned to her work.
One of these days, somebodys gonna have to tell me what
that bloody fiasco was all about.
Got all day?
I mean, really, she looked at him quizzically, I still
dont have a clue what set it all offhow we went from a
small local protest here in Shanghai to a full-scale rebellion
spread out over two planets. Who did what to whom?
What was the bloody point?
I take it back. Got all week?
And now the Emperors mandate thatdid you catch
that? that the Martian children are now being compelled

MONDRAGON

43

to teleport! Little ones forced, under penalty of law, to

permanently alter their biological natures. Wheres it all
end?
Derek nodded in sympathy but said nothing. He had no
intention of opening that can of worms. Hed been there,
had seen and done enough. Hed stood over too many
innocents with holes in their hearts.
An alarm clamored from the control console; he jumped.
So many lives ruined, she said, as she casually got out of
her chair. Now weve got children spying on their parents.
Family members. Everybody is spying on everybody else.
You know what theyre saying, dont you? Saying its the
return of the Cultural Revolution.
His eyes followed her out of the room.
Its beyond me! her voice called out, just as the alarm
went abruptly silent.
Any nurse, about any war, he thought, catching glimpses
of her lithe body as she moved from room to room. She
could have been a ballerina. A bit too tall, perhaps. Too
shapely She came back and plopped down in her chair
again.
All I knowall I need to knowis that the butchery
has stopped, she said. Finally. Good-bye and good bloody
riddance. So, to answer your question, did I know that
your dear buddy Don here was the last official casualty?
No, I guess not.
Its a bloody business, Jones, and thats all it is. All part
of the price of living under a two-world empire determined
to change our fundamental nature no matter what the cost.
Where theres nowhere left to hide, she said, echoing
the last refrain of the Battle Hymn of the Accidentals.
Where theres nowhere left to hide.
Galls me.

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Aran Jane

Its all about creative evolution, Jones. The state

manipulating our biology. His hand came up and rubbed
the back of his neck, and dropped again, My gut tells me
either theres something fundamentally wrong with the
Emperors thinking on this subject, or theres something
fundamentally wrong with mine.
She cocked her head and pursed her lips in sympathy,
You see everything that black or white?
No, of course not. Hey, I work for the state. Tyranny,
thats another thing altogether. I meanfair play, right?
Thats the way I look at it. Im continually asking myself,
Am I a bigot here? Because I happen to think this one or
that one, might be on the wrong track?
Whos to say? I mean, as far as what track is the right
track.
Who is to say! Were supposed to embrace bio-diversity
and radical personal autonomy. Makes sense, I get that.
But at some point, you gotta ask yourself
Has it gone too far?
His head moved slightly to one side; it might have
been true, but it still was hard to swallow. Reminds me
of something MacCullum used to say. He said truth is
a narrative; its veracity established by the firepower and
political persuasion backing it up.
But armistice is at least something, right? she said.
Something. A reluctant nod. Well see how long this
one lasts. I wouldnt bet my paycheck on it.
You still havent explained how the whole mess got
started.
He looked at her again, regarding her as a friend, but
a friend who was asking too much, leaning on him too
much. You oughta query Savant. All you need to know is
right there for the asking. She wasnt an EXO, she didnt

MONDRAGON

45

have the same intimate connection with Savant that he did.

She had to query the system to get answers, whereas for
him, Savant often volunteered answers before being asked.
Are you kidding? After working two back-to-back
shifts, Ive had all the brain-to-computer interface I can
stomach. You get to where you just want to talk to a real
person, you know?
He nodded, his inner voice reminding him: You want to
have a friend, you gotta be a friend. Okay and then we
never speak of it again.
Fine.
As in not ever.
Never, she said, with a hesitant smile that was more
irony than good humor.
Okay. Weand by we I mean we accidentalswere
the first explorers on Mars, the first explorers, and miners
of the Asteroid Belt, which, if you recall, was our original
reason for setting off for the red planet in the first place.
Lotta firsts back in the day. The great cosmic gold rush
platinum group metals, incalculable fortunes there just for
the asking, remember that?
Yeah! Her lips curled up on one side. Howd you and
I miss getting a piece of that action?
I know, right? Should have been born two hundred
years earlier. Though there are those who still try. Believe
me; we deal with those bastards every day. I dont care how
far we evolvegreed never goes out of style. You know the
type: bug zappers, rock hoppers, pirates.
She laughed as if tickled at such a wildly romantic
notion. Pirates. Really?
Really. And they dont all come from the qi-er, either
though they may end up that way.
He used the term that designated the lowest social

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Aran Jane

stratum, the qi-erthe noncastespopulated by the

poor, the mentally disadvantaged, and the criminal. The
next higher caste, and the first to allow newstyling, were
the qunthe swarmspopulated by former noncastes
who had been sufficiently brain-boosted through
psychosurgical nanotherapy to improve their neuronal
connectivity. Give them the gear to hear. The qun alone
were allowed to have more than one body. By special
imperial decree, they were given both privilege in line,
to teleport ahead of others by virtue of economic need,
and privilege in number, to teleport multiple versions
of themselves as a way of leveraging their meager earning
potential. Thus creating an opportunity for them to
save their way up the ladder, working toward someday
reappearing as a single, higher life form and breaking the
endless cycle of poverty and despair. The qun were tasked
with doing the dull or extremely hazardous jobs that no one
else wanted to do. Qun body forms were based exclusively
on the Turritopsis nutricula jellyfisheasy and cost
effective to generate, basically immortal, and known for its
remarkable ability to regenerate its cells in times of crisis.
Low maintenance. Next came the renthe people
merchants, landowners, academics, professionals, scientists,
technologists, explorers, members of the military. The ren
could be either accidental or newstylerentirely their
choiceas could all progressively higher castes. It was the
ren who had first advanced the original fashion interest in
transaccidentalism. Zhanshithe warriorswere the
next higher up. The elite warrior caste, which included
Derek, also comprised the upper echelons of the military
and intelligence apparat, Third Factor included. Next to
the top of the heap were the bazhuthe overlords
planetary governors who reported directly to the Emperor,

MONDRAGON

47

representing the Emperors voice locally. And finally came

the illustrious huangdithe Emperor himself, who, as a
caste of one, sat atop it all as if he were the lord high god,
master of the multiverse.
So Derek looked up from her chest and tried to
corral his thoughts, keep them from galloping off in a
distractingly carnal direction, we used to make up the
largest proportion of the Martian population.
Accidentals, you mean.
Yeah, accidentals. Which is what youd thinkweve
been at it for two centuries. Makes sense. It was our side
who started terraforming the planet. Lotta argument about
that, if you recall. Why not just let the newstylers do it
all? Tweak the teleportation to remodel their lungs so they
can breathe the early Martian atmosphere. Dispense with
the gear. Remember that? Yeah, why not just hand over
the whole shooting match! He scratched behind his ear.
Accidentals built the high-domed EXO Forces fortress as
a base camp on Olympus Mons. Accidentals made the first
private killing mining
The Belt. You keep saying that, and it keeps pissing me
off! Again, her lips crinkled into a playful smirk. What is
it with everybody getting rich up there except us?
Look, he went on, you know our Emperor earned his
Ph.D. in economics at the London School.
Id heard that, she said, her enthusiasm decidedly
muted.
While spying for the Ministry of State Security.
Ugh! Yes.
At that time, his listed assets consisted of holdings in
various A.I. companies that he had quietly accumulated
while working as economic attach for the Chinese
ambassador. Companies that he would later aggregate

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Aran Jane

together to form
Jian Sentientics, she said.
Turns out our intrepid Emperor was an early backer of
Dr. Lu Wen Chao. Built him his own institute to lure him
away from the academy. And as we all know, Dr. Lu was the
neurophysicist responsible for most of the breakthroughs
and heavy lifting done in the fields of teleportation. Stock
options and political promises were apparently made to
entice him to partner up with the inestimable Dr. Jian
Minsheng. After the success of Dr. Lus initial sentient
Savant Network, he agreed to move his skunkworks lab
from his private institute in Hong Kong to Jians Advanced
Technology Development Center in the Gobi Desert.
The Gobi She dropped her gaze briefly, thought
about it, then said, Thats where they do the androids,
isnt it?
It is. Once Savant went live, bang!the worlds first
sentient robots. Dr. Lu went on record saying something
like Once the hard problem of consciousness is understood,
teleporting a physical body from one room to another will
become trivial by comparison.
Trivial for him, maybe. She chuckled.
Yeah, well, break it down into three eventsone: the
rise of the global brain
Savant, you mean.
Yeahand the corresponding brain-to-computer
interface that followed. Two: the rise of sentient machines.
And three: quantum teleportation. All had a massive
impact on the culture in general and made an incalculable
fortune for Dr. Jian Minsheng in particular. After amassing
the largest personal fortune on Earth, no surprise that
he emerges as one of the five members of the Politburos
Standing Committee, one of the ruling cabal, ultimately

MONDRAGON

49

heading upwait for it the Ministry of State Security.

The M.S.S. again! Jones said, her eyes gleaming.
You act surprised. How do you think Dr. Jian staged
the putsch that installed him as Emperor?
I guess I didnt, Jones said. Deflated, she glanced down
at her workstation.
Once he ascended to the Celestial Throne, he tapped
Dr. Lu as his chief minister. This was a man he could trust,
or so he thought. It turns out Dr. Lu had other, shall we say
less centralized leanings.
Not a man of the empire?
No. Something else entirely, it would appear. After
thirteen years, the two split the sheets. Dr. Lu cashed out
his stake in Jian Sentientics and set off on his own. Word
on the street is he was determined to make transaccidental
teleportation widely available to the masses. Claimed
something nutty like I am the end of all sufferingI
shit thee notand just took a hike. That was it. Nobodys
ever seen him again. Course, this is where things get
complicated.
What are you talking about? she laughed. Theyre
not complicated already?
Derek shrugged. After Dr. Lus abrupt departure as the
highest official in the empire, it seems that he began making
private deals with a host of unsavory characters. Shadow
associations who ended up being responsible for his getting
tagged as the power behind the trafficking of teleportation
technology on the black market. I actually ran into one of
those gypsy outfits on my way in this morning.
Really? Where?
The docks.
I heard rumors you could go down there and get
zapped.

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Aran Jane

The fact that everybody knows a black market exists is

what forced the Emperor to organize the Third Factor
ruthlessly seek out and terminate those responsible.
But you said he knows its Dr. Lu whos behind it.
Dr. Lu was Chief Minister. He was considered a
wunderkind. As the worlds most reclusive black-market
profiteer, hes more like a god.
Why dont they just arrest his ass?
Mans a ghost, whereabouts unknowna ghost who
has managed to build up a vast underground network of
yakuza and triad mobsters with a few disgruntled scientists
and engineers tossed in for good measure. Working closely
with the yaks and triads, bug zappers have started popping
up in the back alleys of most major cities, like the charming
tiger-faced grotesque I ran into on the way here.
She looked up at the ceiling and seemed to mull that
one over. Something I always wondered about, she said,
facing him again. If thats trueunsanctioned teleporters
springing up everywherethen why havent the prices
come down? You know? I dont get that. Whys it still so
damned expensive?
Little thing called inelastic demand. Like the ancient
opium market. In fact, instead of dropping, prices have
climbed even higher since the mob got involved. Youve
got accidentals on one sidepeople like the two of us,
I suspect, committed to the natural cycle of growth and
decay.
She nodded. Yes, of course.
On the other side, youve got your newstylers,
committed to extending their lives indefinitely by any and
all means necessarynobody stands in their way. Then
theres the hostility out there over being automatically
sterile after some of the more radical procedures left some

MONDRAGON

51

of the newstyler grotesques unable to procreate. Thats a big

onetheyre scrambling to institute a repair action to get
that changed. And what does it come down to when its all
over? An eternal, inescapable indentured servitude. Slavery.
Pure and simple. You know, on account of the backbreaking
financing arrangements payable to the Emperor or the
mob. Add to that the power struggle over who controls
the red planet. Newstylers fighting over how to keep the
numbers of newstylers and accidentals balanced, fighting
for a homeland, vying for political influence with the
Emperor. And what do you have when its all over?An
endless war of all against all. Its a mess. I could go on
and on. Needless to say, all are contributing factors, in one
way or another, to the overwhelming resentment built up
that led to ... drumroll, please
The Newstyler Rebellion, Jones put in with a note
of heartbreak as if realizing that they were talking not just
about a rebellion but about the final ruin of a doomed race.
By the way, is Kabuki going legit, or is she using a bug
zapper?
No, shes legit. Lottery came in.
Okay, so shell save half that. Shell hand over thirtyseven-and-a-half percent of her earned wages forever. Still,
expensive no matter which way you go.
Thirty-seven-and-a-half percent!
Remember the first teleporters? Big, bulky, cumbersome
affairsthey took up a good-size room with special optics
and lasers, packed with all the necessary computing power
to get the job done. Today, theyre about the size of a
portable toilet. Seriously! Theyve got them in the roach
coaches down on the docks! Manufactured and serviced by
the mob. Tough to track, impossible to shut down.
Im hungry, she blurted. You hungry?

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Aran Jane

He cocked his head at the thought, which hadnt occurred

to him until this moment. Then he caught himself. Were
they talking about food? Yeah. He grinned, taken aback
at the sudden rumblings in his gut.
So, uh She looked him up and down. So why
dont you come over to my place? Ill cook you breakfast.
Breakfast, he repeated in a tone of intrigue, or perhaps
denialhe was having trouble telling which. So he stood
there like a big oaf while the synapses in his brain worked
out their unruly chemistry of attraction. Jones was most
certainly strikingno argument about thatand up for
anything. Or maybe that was his own wishful thinking.
Either way, add to that the fact that he hadnt had any real
food since returning to Shanghai. Or actual intimacy, for
that matter. Tempting, he said, but Ive got to get home.
Not much of a breakfast guy? Her lower lip pushed
forward.
Uh, okay, so heres a bit more complication.
No need to apologize; youre a complicated guy.
The deep breath before the plunge. I just dont think
my childs mother would appreciate your extraordinary
kindness as much as I.
Your childs mother! she screeched. Youre like, what,
twenty-two years old?
Twenty-three. I know, I look young for my age.
She shook her head as if she, too, were just waking from
a daze. And how long have you been domestically
situated?
Five years.
Get out! You are kidding!
Not kidding. We moved in together when I was
seventeen. Joined the Teams and got an imperial license to
breed twelve months later. Shes a few years older. He was

MONDRAGON

53

thinking about something his partner had said when they

first met: that what he knew about sex they could stamp on
the back of one of the titanium dog tags he wore around his
neckthe smallest one.
You telling me you set up a household when you were
eighteen years old? She laughed, her eyebrows went up in
astonishment. Wow! I havent even been in a committed
relationship yet, and Im almostwell, never mind that!
Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him with newfound
incredulity. She hesitated a moment, then asked, What
were you thinking?
I like to say my partner robbed the cradle, but the truth
is, I wasnt thinking. I was young and stupid and
Youre still young!
Still stupid, too. Despite the nobility of the intent, he
was already regretting his decision to abstain. Depends on
who you talk to.
Now, that I do not believe.
Again the flounce of that ponytail, though, for some
mysterious reason, it now had the opposite effect from
earlier. Now it just made him feel light-years from home.
So you actually got a license to breed?
Yup.
She looked at him and crossed her arms, So kids?
A daughter. Winnieshes four.
Winnie I bet shes adorable.
She is.
Nice name, Winnie. You dont hear that anymore.
Her mothers idea.
She paused a moment and seemed to be considering all
the angles before adding, Speaking of names, a man with
a family name like Mondragon, one would think maybe
the dragon in there might like to come out and play once

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Aran Jane

in a while. Besides, you know what they say: We are not

born with desires unless satisfaction for those desires exists.
A duckling desires to swim; there is water. She waited
a beat to make sure he was following her, then added, I
feel a strong, undeniable desire for you; there you are. And
besides, what one domestic partner doesnt know
Yeah, but the thing is, Jones, he said, cutting her off,
Id know. So, as tempting, and logical he chuckled
as that argument of yours may be, Im afraid Im going to
have to take a pass. But thank you, Jones. Im, well, what
can I say? Honored.
And as for that dragon thing you mentioned, hey,
believe me, I struggle with that every day. He waited a half
a beat to check her reaction before adding, What? Your
face just darkened.
Nothing, I just
What?
Just that I overheard some of the guys talking earlier,
thats all. She let out a heavy sigh, They said it was unusual
to see a gnosint targeted. You know, how they homed in on
your friend, MacCullum, in particular. They said typically
they go through a lot of trouble to try to capture gnosints.
You know, high-value targets and all.
He read the dread in her eyes, Yeah. So?
So, Im just worried about you, is all. Just she
turned sullen and shook her head at having left herself so
open and vulnerable, worried. Suddenly, her eyes were
glassy, like she was about to cry. Just that they said it was
more likely that you were the intended target. That you
were more likely the one they had intended to kill.

2
Cinderella liberty

Derek

arrived at his tower residence on the Shanghai

Bund and hurried across the buildings soaring hanginggardens atrium, weaving his way through a great coming
and going of accidentals and newstylers chattering away,
their voices echoing through the immense architectural
space in a continual low-frequency hum. Some were on
foot, some floating through the air, a number of them
accompanied by their android aides, each aide sporting
the snow-white hair, diamond-quilted purple bodysuit,
white stockings, and red-tasseled slippers characteristic
of those in the Android Service Korps. Each androids
forehead was stamped with one of the eight Taoist trigrams
consisting of combinations of three black linesplain for
yang, broken for yin. The distinctive facial imprints were
originally designed to lessen their robotic eeriness. The
close-but-not-exact accidentaloid look characteristic of the
glossy white polymer facial features had caused revulsion

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Aran Jane

among many of their accidental masters in the early days,

and the imprints served to eliminate the creepy uncanny
valley factor. The uncanny valley was a term in the field
of accidental aesthetics, given to the region of negative
emotional response toward robots that seemed almost,
but not quite, accidental. Beyond the aesthetics, the
trigrams eventually came to designate fields of expertise
as well. Chien represented heaven, sky, air (three plain
lines), for arts and music. Kun represented earth (three
broken lines), for medicine and the law. Chen designated
thunder (two broken lines above a plain line) for business
and technology; and ken, mountain (a plain line above
two broken lines) indicated science and education. Now
that almost all had become biodroidsrobots made with
living tissue instead of the original white polymerthe
cosmetic need was no longer there since one of the principal
products of naturalness was aesthetic acceptability. Like the
name itself, Android Service Korps, the A.S.K. trigrams
had been kept primarily as a nod to tradition.
At the far side of the atrium, Derek stepped around a
high cairn of moss-covered boulders and quickly skirted
the blue plunge pool that formed the base of a towering
waterfall. Off to one side, a crisscrossing of residents passed
noisily by an etched-glass reception desk surrounded by
sagging red ropes from which dangled small brass placards
reading in blue-and-gold intaglio: Private Estates.
As he rounded the corner, the buildings doorman, a
swarm newstyler shaped like a T. nutricula jellyfish, his
ample disembodied face suspended within a transparent
gelatinous bell-shaped hood, floated buoyantly into the
air with his lustrous hydrostatic tentacles dangling beneath
him.
Mister Mondragon! the jelly called out good-

MONDRAGON

57

naturedly, having spotted his friend heading for the bank

of elevators aimed at the penthouse floors. So the rumors
are true! The Indomitable did return to port!
Come on, Ping, you know I cant comment on that.
Derek lifted his hand to address the elevator sensor, his eyes
on the gelatinous crimson face.
When do you report back? the jelly called out.
Again, Derek called back, I think that would qualify
as an unauthorized leak of operational details.
Say The jelly continued to float bubblewise
out from behind the etched-glass reception desk and
drifted across the red-veined black marble floor, his slack
translucent tentacles trailing beneath him like streamers of
dense vapor. Did I ever mention that my brother tends
bar here on the Bund?
Um, dont think so. Derek smiled. Your brother. As
in one of your swarm selves?
No, my half-brother! On the spindle side. Accidental.
Me, Im the only one in my family whos swarmed so far.
Hes still as accidental as you. Hasnt made the great leap
yet. Works at the Godown Saloon.
Ah, Derek said, with polite interest.
Just down the street. The jelly drew up close beside
him as if carried on a tidal surge. Okay, funny story
Derek stepped away from the elevator door to give his
friend his full attention.
Dont worry, real quick. One of the jellys limbs
suddenly went stiff like a flexed tongue and came up taking
the form of a five-fingered fist that sent a friendly glancing
blow off Dereks shoulder before falling away, limp and
shapeless again, beneath his jellied bell. So, he said the
joint was jumpin last night. Jam-packed. All the beautiful
people, he tells me. Target-rich environment, eh? Eh? A

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Aran Jane

lecherous grin spread across the plump, gelatinous mug

that was too big for the enclosed space that held it.
Dimples showed on Dereks face, a flash of white teeth.
Okay, the jelly continued, single man, bartender
my brother, right?
So you said.
So he doesnt miss a thing, this guy. Got that devilmay-care glint in his eyes like you. Alert. Like a chicken
hawk. You follow? Never know whatcha gonna run into,
he says. Thats my name for you: Chicken Hawk.
Nice.
You know the type, eh? Eh? Anyway, he says when
they announce over the intercom that the Indomitable had
antigrav trouble and was returning to port for repairwell,
he says, the place empties out like somebody set off the fire
bell! The jellys swollen face added something of a sinister
leer.
Thats not all that surprising, I suppose, Derek
said, eyes tracking the rapidly approaching elevator car. He
wasnt sure that he got the point of the story. People get
bored, he said. His left foot started to fidget. Gossip did
not interest himespecially as, at first light tomorrow, he
was probably going to be shipping right back out again
himself. Was that the point? Was he trying to tell him that
Val had been stepping out on him? Derek stepped into the
elevator and turned around.
Abruptly, the jelly popped upward and reeled back.
Exactly! Accidental nature, right? When the cats away.
Hey, good to The doors slid shut, and the elevator
began its meteoric climb to the 210th floor.

MONDRAGON

59

Derek got out at the entrance to his penthouse suite,

shot a quick glance over at the retina scanner next to the
door, and waited while the immense coffered double doors
swung open to the plaintive bowed notes of a two-string
Chinese fiddle. Even after two and a half years, the strains
still assaulted the ear like the death throes of a strangled cat.
When he stepped into the high-domed marble foyer, a
little girl wearing a bright red Mao jacket and baggy black
silk pants scampered barefoot into the room, a full mop of
golden curls bouncing with every step.
Daddy-Daddy-Daddy! she said, throwing her arms
around his knees, hugging him. Daddy, look, I got a
medal! She held up a mock gold medallion strung across
her chest on a broad red and yellow ribbon.
Derek! A voice called out from the other room.
Derek! Is that you?
Whered you get that? he asked, ignoring the summons
from the other room.
I got it at school.
School! Thats great!
See, its gold. Its a gold medal, Winnie said, eagerly
holding the medallion up with both hands.
Wow! he reached down and gathered his daughter up
into his arms, looking closely at the stamped tin medal.
Whats it for? Did you get it for mathematics?
No, she giggled, I didnt get it for mafomatics.
Music? Did you sing a song?
No.
Reading?
No, silly. I got it for kindness.
Kindness! he said, taken aback. Of course, it made
perfect sense. He gave her a big hug, pausing a moment
before whispering into her thick mass of curls, Winnie,

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Aran Jane

darlin, you are the best! He pulled his head back, covered
her ear with his hand, and called out in a loud voice with
his little girls favorite expression when announcing her
arrival on any family scene: Here comes ME!
Winnie burst out giggling.
He carried her around the corner and walked through
the hall, past a life-size black obsidian statue of the sixarmed, elephant-headed Hindu god Ganesh, caught midsway in dance, one foot raised above a cowering mouse. A
gift from his EXO buddy, Cheeto, who liked to joke: Light
is an elephant sucking up the darkness.
From the sprawling white-on-white living room, the
wall of windows looked out onto a panoramic view of the
congested high-rises and billboards of Shanghai. The stark
contrast in color, indoors to outdoors, was jarring.
His partner, Valentina, stepped off her robotic crosstrainer and wiped a towel across her face. She looked hard
and lean in her all-white unitard, built for speed, absently
pivoting on her heel to toss the white towel back at the
robotic exerciser for cleaning as the contraption folded
itself up behind her in a concatenating series of clicks and
crunches and stowed itself neatly away in the adjacent wall.
What are you doing here? she asked, huffing and
puffing, her face red and blotchy from exertion. I thought
you shipped out last night! Her tone seemed to register
more complaint than surprise.
He shrugged without elaborating. She nodded back
airily. Habit. He valued their relationship, such as it was,
beyond the unspoken resentments that sometimes surfaced
in the occasional caustic snap. Beyond the sex, too, which,
though not bone-rattlingly ecstatic, was still quite vigorous
at times. The way he looked at it, they had grown to
dispense with idle chatter. It was as if one day they had