Queen of Babylon


 
 
 Also by Michael Ferris Gibson
 Babylon Twins Book 1
 Also by Imani Josey
 The Blazing Star series
 
 
 
 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
 Copyright © 2023 by Michael Ferris Gibson and Imani Josey
 All rights reserved.
 No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
 
 
 
 Published by Girl Friday Books™, Seattlewww.girlfridaybooks.com
 Produced by Girl Friday Productions
 Cover design: Dan StilesDevelopment & editorial: Clete Barrett SmithProduction editorial: Abi PollokoffProject management: Emilie Sandoz-Voyer
 ISBN (paperback): 978-1-954854-71-0ISBN (ebook): 978-1-954854-72-7
 Library of Congress Control Number: 2022917246
 First edition
 To all the forgotten girls.
 Contents
 Prologue: A Song Like Bells
 Chapter 1: Unmeshed
 Chapter 2: Sheep’s Clothing
 Chapter 3: Defending Utopia
 Chapter 4: Sea and Snow
 Chapter 5: The Hunter
 Chapter 6: The Village
 Chapter 7: The Brother
 Chapter 8: The Shaman
 Chapter 9: Eclipses
 Chapter 10: The Chitakla
 Chapter 11: The Curator
 Chapter 12: The Cicada
 Chapter 13: By Faith
 Chapter 14: Circus Acts
 Chapter 15: Found Family
 Chapter 16: Swimming in Siberia
 Chapter 17: Solgazeya
 Chapter 18: The Wizard
 Chapter 19: Space Is the Place
 Chapter 20: A Great Hunger
 Chapter 21: Power Grabs
 Chapter 22: From the Ruins
 Chapter 23: Queen of Babylon
 Chapter 24: Sun and Moon
 Epilogue: A Walk in the Woods
 About the Authors
 Prologue
 A Song Like Bells
 Jingletown, Oakland
 There once was a family full of music. A mother and father. Two little girls. Each with their own song. Daddy’s was funky, filled with hi-hat and winding bass. Mama’s was sweet as jasmine, melodic like jazz. The kind of tune for easy listening. And then came the twin girls. They shared a song. Daddy often said it rang like bells. This family’s music was unique but perfect. Why? Because they loved each other, if sometimes in ways only they could appreciate. They lived in a city known for eclectic music: Oakland. Rock and blues. Jazz. Crescendos. Whispers. Hip-hop. The Pointer Sisters, Sheila E, Too $hort, Goapele. Pharoah Sanders. So many artists. And church. Lots and lots of singing in church. And this family, like many other residents, loved to sing and loved to listen. None could have known the music would one day stop.
 Mama’s song went first. Silence descended in a vicious swoop. Daddy’s inevitably followed: a silence to crush even the harmony belonging to one of their little girls. Soon the quiet not only coiled around this family, but held all the world in a too-tight grip.
 And what of the last little girl? What did she do in this time without song? It was simple, really. She didn’t let hers go. It rang in a secret key, filled with so much love that the great silence couldn’t find it. And when there was no music anywhere, the song like bells remained. My song remained. So I’m going to sing it.
 Chapter 1
 Unmeshed
 Yerba City, Eastern Sector Zone 3, Project Chimera
 I woke up immersed in liquid, surrounded by a dull golden glow, not knowing how I got here. Without thinking, I slammed my hands against the glass. The goo around me absorbed most of the thrust. “I’m drowning!” I wanted to scream. “Aunt Connie never taught me how to swim!” But I didn’t dare open my mouth. Panic was flooding me, but . . . already different. I could feel myself scared, I knew my heart was beating fast, but it was already distant, already far away. Different from the time that boy pushed me into the pool at the YMCA. Still, I knew I should be scared, so I was.
 I forced myself to focus. The tank was made of thick glass. But glass was still glass. So I tried harder this time, ratcheting myself back. I hurled my entire body forward, and this time, instead of my palms, I slammed closed fists against the pane. Some momentum was again gobbled up by the liquid, but I must have had enough might to do what I needed to do. It was a tiny pinprick at first, one that only some aquatic creatures would be able to make out. Then that pinprick became a scratch, one that grew up the tank like a coiling vine. In moments, golden goo began to ooze from the little white threads that were overtaking the glass. It all happened slowly at first, until the threads buckled under mounting ooze. The drop was coming. One moment I was suspended in the tank, and in the next, the container had shattered completely, allowing me to spill, with all its contents, on the lab floor.
 I gasped, clawing at my throat. Then my hands slowed. A strange understanding came over me. I’d been in that tank for a long time, but my chest didn’t burn. My lungs weren’t full. I wasn’t dizzy. This wasn’t at all like getting pulled flailing from the water at the YMCA. Somehow, air wasn’t a top priority right now. I glanced over myself. I was soaked in the goo and wearing a white dress, tennis shoes, and purple headband. The outfit I had worn to meet the scientist. And just as my breathing was different, so was the air outside. Not cold as it should have been against my skin, although I knew it was cold. None of the elements seemed to bother me⁠—like they were all just ideas now, suggestions of sensation. What was happening?
 Just then, voices carried into the space. That fear spiked in me, so I scuttled behind what was left of the tank just as a woman waltzed in. She and her companion had come through a heavy door to survey the lab. Recognition sparked through me. I remembered this woman. In fact, my talk with