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About
Violence has an echo, growing louder with each reverberation . . . how do you stop its echo once it starts ringing?
Ashme is a New Mesopotamian-a "Meso." She dreams of being a hero, fighting against the brutal Ostarrichi ruling her country. She is an indigo child, her DNA modified by sentient AI, enabling her to control computer systems at will. With this power, she has something to offer the Meso resistance. Her twin brother, Shen, however, suffers from a neurological disorder and needs someone to care for him. Increasingly, that task falls on her.
How can she become the hero her people need when her brother's needs are overwhelming? If she continues caring for Shen while joining the resistance, she risks leading Ostarrichi forces to her home. If she leaves, then looking after Shen will fall to her cousin, who is already overworked caring for his frail grandmother.
As her society collapses into violence, Ashme must choose between her fellow Mesos, her family, and her values.
Chapter One
Ashme remembered when she first realized her father was a broken man. It was on a night eight years past when a thunderstorm rattled the city of New Uruk. Unable to sleep and wanting to watch the lightning, she looked out her bedroom window and saw him in the yard. He was digging a hole by the light of the back porch, drenched, and when the lightning flashed, and thunder boomed, he dropped into the hole, hands covering his head, crying, screaming until the roll of thunder stopped.
With a gun pointed at her head and the corpse of Keshda-a good kid, lived three floors up-sprawled on the street, his blood warm and sticky on her face, she wondered if it had been days like this that broke him.
Every resident of the Agade Gardens apartment complex was on the street, guarded by soldiers of the Caelum Peace Corps-the CPC-backed by those floating death machines they called angels. Her twin brother, Shen, was on his knees beside her while other CPC troops looted their apartments in what some limp-dicked Ostarrichi sergeant called a mapping raid.
The CPC was acting as if Keshda was the first wave of the liberating Free New Mesopotamian Army sweeping through the city instead of a punk kid. Guns pointed at Meso faces, guards screamed, "Get down!", and angels swooped into attack position. The trooper that had shot Keshda looked unhinged, eyes wild, ready to mow down Ashme and every other Meso lined along the block.
Her twin brother moaned beside her. If this mess dragged on, he would work himself up to a wailing cry. "It's okay, Shen," she said, masking the fear in her voice with a sing-song lilt, trying to soothe him as she went to her knees. "Do as they say like we practised-"
"Shut your mouth!" Trooper Wild Eyes screamed, his voice breaking into hysterics. He planted the barrel of his gun squarely on her forehead. She held her breath. The acrid smell of burned gunpowder lingered around the barrel. His hands shook, causing the gun to vibrate.
"No threats detected," an angel announced, speaking Ostarrichi. Whoever developed the angels must have had a department of system designers and linguists working on programming that precise tone of contempt and condescension in their mechanical voices.
"Bullshit!" Wild Eyes said. "He came at me with a knife!"
"No threats detected."
Keshda had had no knife. She'd been right beside him, had his blood on her face. While the CPC had marched up and down in their cobalt-blue armour and stupid gold epaulettes, waving their guns about, Keshda had yawned and stretched in a mock display of boredom. It was the type of sassy defiance you would expect from a boy of sixteen.
Wild Eyes shot him. Eight times.
Sergeant Limp Dick stomped down the street demanding a "sit-rep."
"This Meso shit came at me with a knife," Wild Eyes said, swinging his gun to point at Keshda's corpse. Blood drenched the kid's grimy white sh
Ashme is a New Mesopotamian-a "Meso." She dreams of being a hero, fighting against the brutal Ostarrichi ruling her country. She is an indigo child, her DNA modified by sentient AI, enabling her to control computer systems at will. With this power, she has something to offer the Meso resistance. Her twin brother, Shen, however, suffers from a neurological disorder and needs someone to care for him. Increasingly, that task falls on her.
How can she become the hero her people need when her brother's needs are overwhelming? If she continues caring for Shen while joining the resistance, she risks leading Ostarrichi forces to her home. If she leaves, then looking after Shen will fall to her cousin, who is already overworked caring for his frail grandmother.
As her society collapses into violence, Ashme must choose between her fellow Mesos, her family, and her values.
Chapter One
Ashme remembered when she first realized her father was a broken man. It was on a night eight years past when a thunderstorm rattled the city of New Uruk. Unable to sleep and wanting to watch the lightning, she looked out her bedroom window and saw him in the yard. He was digging a hole by the light of the back porch, drenched, and when the lightning flashed, and thunder boomed, he dropped into the hole, hands covering his head, crying, screaming until the roll of thunder stopped.
With a gun pointed at her head and the corpse of Keshda-a good kid, lived three floors up-sprawled on the street, his blood warm and sticky on her face, she wondered if it had been days like this that broke him.
Every resident of the Agade Gardens apartment complex was on the street, guarded by soldiers of the Caelum Peace Corps-the CPC-backed by those floating death machines they called angels. Her twin brother, Shen, was on his knees beside her while other CPC troops looted their apartments in what some limp-dicked Ostarrichi sergeant called a mapping raid.
The CPC was acting as if Keshda was the first wave of the liberating Free New Mesopotamian Army sweeping through the city instead of a punk kid. Guns pointed at Meso faces, guards screamed, "Get down!", and angels swooped into attack position. The trooper that had shot Keshda looked unhinged, eyes wild, ready to mow down Ashme and every other Meso lined along the block.
Her twin brother moaned beside her. If this mess dragged on, he would work himself up to a wailing cry. "It's okay, Shen," she said, masking the fear in her voice with a sing-song lilt, trying to soothe him as she went to her knees. "Do as they say like we practised-"
"Shut your mouth!" Trooper Wild Eyes screamed, his voice breaking into hysterics. He planted the barrel of his gun squarely on her forehead. She held her breath. The acrid smell of burned gunpowder lingered around the barrel. His hands shook, causing the gun to vibrate.
"No threats detected," an angel announced, speaking Ostarrichi. Whoever developed the angels must have had a department of system designers and linguists working on programming that precise tone of contempt and condescension in their mechanical voices.
"Bullshit!" Wild Eyes said. "He came at me with a knife!"
"No threats detected."
Keshda had had no knife. She'd been right beside him, had his blood on her face. While the CPC had marched up and down in their cobalt-blue armour and stupid gold epaulettes, waving their guns about, Keshda had yawned and stretched in a mock display of boredom. It was the type of sassy defiance you would expect from a boy of sixteen.
Wild Eyes shot him. Eight times.
Sergeant Limp Dick stomped down the street demanding a "sit-rep."
"This Meso shit came at me with a knife," Wild Eyes said, swinging his gun to point at Keshda's corpse. Blood drenched the kid's grimy white sh