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The Julii stares at Volga, her face coated with blood and dirt, her eyes gleaming from dark sockets, and it is as if all her hate turns to anguish. She heaves a horrible sob and turns away to stumble toward the treeline as if it held something that was hers.
* * *
—
I lean against the wall of the shower, sinking into the heat. The scar on my chest is mostly healed thanks to the Julii’s medici. I’ve spent more time with them in her estate than with Volga. She said she had something to do. I exit the shower and dress in the clothes the Julii provided. I keep waiting for the trap to close, but it seems even a Gold can learn to forgive. Or become too tired for revenge.
A holoCan plays in the living room. I find Volga there, back from her mysterious errand. She sits surrounded by half-repaired Olympian towers and a sea of chanting Reds and lowColor, each with a fist clenched in the air as they chant for the Reaper. Beyond the holoCan’s prism a city of mountain peaks glows. Attica.
After all this time, it must be fate to end up here after all.
The Reds go silent as Volga mutes the feed. “You’re awake,” she says.
“Did you complete your mysterious mission?”
Her face falls. “I wanted to see Ulysses. What they did to him.”
“Oh,” I say awkwardly. She stares at a spot on the floor, then wordlessly speeds through the channels faster than I can follow.
“How can you even follow that?” Undisturbed by the chaingun of information, she shrugs. “Stop. You’re giving me a…” I don’t finish. My train of thought has been hijacked by the silent stream of faces that flows through the living room. Volga never settles for long. Five seconds at a protest in Nike. Two seconds at a strike in a new Red mine city. Fifteen at two dead Obsidians carried by a mob through Olympia. Ten at Alltribe Obsidians landing to retrieve their brethren as pain tanks disperse the crowd with microwaves. Five of braves knocking down doors searching for terrorists.
This isn’t what Sefi wanted. This isn’t the world she tried to make. It’s not fair for others to come in and cock it all up.
“Sefi bit off more than she could chew. Typical Martian,” Volga mutters.
“Hyperionin ain’t much better, love. We don’t even chew.”
“They must have been high on God’s Bread,” she says in contempt of her own people. “As if Mars would want to be ruled by savages instead of the Reaper.” She whispers his name. A new reverence.
“Sefi isn’t a savage.”
Volga squints at me. “Concussion?”
“Just getting old. I dunno.” I take the controls from Volga and turn off the holos. “I think it’s time you finally tell me where you’ve been. Hardly had a moment with you.”
“I’ll tell you,” she says, heading to the kitchen. “But first we will need coffee.”
“Make mine with whiskey.”
She brings me coffee made of coffee. Passive-aggressive little shit.
Over the pot, we share our stories as the sun sets over Attica. I go first. She grins when I tell her about fetching Pax and Electra from the Syndicate. And listens breathless to the dragon hunt and my stories of Valdir and Sefi. I do not speak of Fá. My heart breaks when I hear her tale, and at the end of it, I can only hunch forward and stare at a small crack in the table.
“I’m sorry.” I meet her eyes. “I’m so sorry…”
She crosses her arms. “For?”
“Everything.”
“Be specific.”
“Julii rub off on you much?” She waits expectantly with a new air of confidence. “For, you know, trying to make you be like me.”
I sigh, feeling exposed. “Without me—” The words just don’t come.
“Without you, I would be nothing. Still working the docks at Echo City. Or dead on a stupid battlefield. Or dead a dozen times before.” She puts a hand over mine. “You taught me how to survive. I am lucky. Not all girls have a father.”
That one sucker-punches me.
