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“The Minotaur, felled by a hookah.” Sevro kicks the hookah and pats the Obsidian on the shoulder. “Wicked swing. Looks like our deal with the warden’s off….”
“Why? Blind or not, he wakes up and reports this to the Republic, he spends the rest of his life in a cell. Something tells me he’s gonna bite the bullet.”
“Hell of a gamble,” Sevro says. “His men might go around him….”
“You think they’re not on the take? When in doubt, depend on self-interest. Take Thraxa and Alexandar and double back to the Omega Level to help Pebble and Clown transport the other prisoners. Thraxa and I will take this piece of shit to the sub. Go.”
He pauses, looking darkly down at Apollonius. “This is shit,” he mutters so only I can hear.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I won 6–3. Time comes, I kill the prick.” He jerks his head at the Obsidian. “What do we do with…hey! What’s your name?” The Obsidian stares at him in annoyance and points to his mouth. “Nevermind. Tongueless it is.” Sevro looks back at me. “He’s seen your face.”
The Obsidian waits patiently as I look him up and down. “Want a ride?”
ON MY LEAVE DAY I wake up early and eat cold cereal in the commissary before anyone but the maids are awake. I dodge past their little packs of cleaning robots in the halls. With a week left in the bright month, the sky is bruise blue and leaks lazy rain. I make my way down the Esqualine Hills to the southern tram hub, which I take to the main station, on the eastern side of the grounds. Under the Silenius Arch, I show my leave pass and security ID to the Gray Lionguards there. I wanted to bring Liam, but it’s a school day, and I’m worried the sounds of the city will overwhelm him.
“First trip to Hyperion?” the sleepy Gray asks at the station checkpoint as he examines my pass. Lines of first-wave commuters from Hyperion pass through inspection on the other side of the station. He’s taking too long. He’ll find something wrong with the pass. I keep my hand on my billfold in my pocket. How much do I bribe him? I should have asked one of the maids, but you can’t count on a straight answer from any of them. They’d lead me astray for a laugh. More guards watch a holoprogram inside the guard station. “Seeing the sights?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Skip the Circada. Lines are dreadful.”
“I have a flexipass.” I hold up the shiny silver pass the steward handed out to all the Telemanus servants.
“Ripper,” he drolls sarcastically. “That’ll get you in but it won’t let you cut the queue. Tourist sites are flat out. Martians everywhere.” He eyes me like I would a mosquito in 121. “Any fourth-class IDs are subject to full-spectrum assessment upon return after 22:00.”
“I’m second class….”
“Only on Telemanus grounds,” he corrects, referencing my pass. “Extra-Citadel clearance is a different protocol. Savvy?” I nod. “Enjoy our moon, citizen.”
I board the rain-slick train and huddle near a window, bundling tight my overcoat against the chill. The train sets out from the Citadel with only six other passengers. It cuts across trees and the low-lying autumn fog that buffers the Citadel from the city, rising up and up toward the jungle of lights and metal that is Hyperion. I remember seeing the city from the sky for the first time. It was magical then, thinking there were so many people in the worlds. Now, thinking of the riots and protests, it puts dread in my belly.
I disembark at Hyperion Station and push my way through the mass of commuters that cluster on the platform to board the train for its return journey to the Citadel. There’s Greens and Silvers in the crowd, but most are Coppers. All buttoned up against the chill in expensive identical overcoats and scarves and dark broad-brimmed hats. I beg their pardon as I push through them, but they don’t hear. Glowing earbuds fill ears. Holocontacts flicker in eyes. I use my elbows. I’m so short I can’t see my way through and almost get trampled when a speaker pings. “Train doors closing. Mind the pinch. Train doors closing…”
Hyperion Station reminds me of Lagalos. It is a huge stone cavern of bustle and echoing noise, full of travelers from the farthest reaches of the Republic—scarf-wearing, leather-skinned Reds of Terran latifundias. Waifish Blue lads from some orbital flight school in snappy black jackets. Biomod manic Lunese Greens listening to thundering music from shoulder speakers, all stirred into a pot like one of Ava’s stews. I pass glittering shops with moving advertisements showing expensive-looking things on expensive-looking Pinks.
At a map vestibule, I accidentally touch the screen and the holo flips sideways, showing a pitviper’s scrum of travel options. It’s dizzying and I’m not sure how the bloodydamn ticket machines work. The Yellow behind me is tapping her foot impatiently.
I feel a sudden panic. I stick out like a blistered toe. I want to flee, go back to the Citadel, watch holoflicks in my bunk. Kavax took Sophocoles with him to Lake Silene for the day for some secret meeting, so I don’t have any duties.
No. Hyperion is the jewel of the empire. I look up at the carvings on the stone of the station
. Ava, you would have killed to see this.
I owe it to her to give it a chance.
Overwhelmed by the transit maps, I leave the station and head out on foot. I can trust my feet at least, and the GPS in my datapad. Only a five-kilometer walk to the gallery. Half the distance Liam and I would walk from camp to the strawberry fields.
Along the way, I stop outside a little café on a glittering boulevard. Groups of Brown janitors in gray jumpsuits pluck at trash with metal claws. Vox Populi protesters are beginning to gather in a square to hear a man speak. Off the side of the tree-lined walkway, past flowering shrubs littered with trash, is a huge drop to the city levels below. Over the edge, apartments stretch as far beneath as they do above. My gut churns, having just realized I am kilometers above the surface of the moon.
Fliers trundle along in aerial boulevards like migrating beetles. Beneath them is a layer of pollution and fog. Lights glow beyond that. A whole other city concealed in the murk. It’s manic, Da. Would make even you look away from the holos. Might even give you a smile.
I go into a nearby café, feeling a bit heady from the vertigo. Confused by the huge menu, I order a coffee and pastry. It’s the first money I’ve ever spent outside 121, and the coffee alone costs a quarter of what I make in a day.
The Brown cashier sighs when I pay with bills instead of dataCreds and makes a show of rummaging through the cash register for change. Once she hands it back, I move to sip my coffee in the corner. The coffee is good, sure, but the pastry overwhelms me. Buttery and flaky, with chocolate and nuts inside. Woulda sold two of your children for a bite of this, Ava. See, I can enjoy myself. I’m a regular citizen.
I watch out the window at the pedestrians but still feel so alone. They’re part of this world. That’s how they can afford these coffees every day. They have skills. Went to school. Know computers and advanced things. I’m not like them.
