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He watches me without speaking for some time.
“You look very much like your mother when you feign nobility, you know.” He ponders over a fig. “It won’t be an assault. I have recently concluded field testing of a new chemical weapon. Atalantia is intent on releasing it, so she does not destroy Heliopolis’s wealth before taking it as her own. The Master Maker will watch as his city eats itself.”
“What does the chemical do?”
“Omnicide.”
I see it already.
A catalogue of horrors wracks Kalindora’s face. I see her convulsing and vomiting blood. I see buboes bubbling on her skin. I see the skin melting away. I did not know until this moment how much I would do to stop that. She is a killer. But the weariness I saw in her eyes, the way she looked at me when the Praetorians came down…It was something close to pride. I can’t let her die, or Rhone or my Praetorians, or any of the loyal subjects caught between two giants. Too many lives have already been spent too easily by people who should know better.
“Did you learn omnicide in the Kuiper?” I ask.
“No. I learned to outsource.”
Cryptic. “You mentioned a Master Maker…”
“Ah, yes. Your old friend Glirastes. He’s no longer just an artificer. He’s proven himself a traitor. He abetted the enemy’s use of the Storm Gods.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Trust me when I say men do strange things out of fear. Now he will die with them. And his pre
cious city.” He does not sound happy about the last part. “Now, where are my manners? Are you hungry for a real meal? In the morning we’ll be departing for the Annihilo, but I’m sure Atalantia will cause a fuss if I haven’t fed you.” He fetches a bowl of fresh bread and two boiled pieces of meat.
“What is this?” I ask as I chew.
“What does it taste like?”
“Bat.”
“Well, there you have it.”
He watches with a strange expression as I eat. It is oddly civilized, this conversation, considering his men only just tortured me. He still has not tendered an apology, nor do I expect he ever will.
“You do not seem to advocate for Atalantia’s plan,” I test.
“I have no tolerance for rebels. But this planet did not rebel. It was conquered. I think you would agree it is a strategic mistake to confuse the two, and to cede the moral high ground to the enemy when we’ve only just reclaimed it. If we kill twenty million, will anyone remember the Reaper’s Storm?”
“Yet you do not contradict Atalantia…”
He laughs. “I am a soldier. Soldiers follow orders.”
“She gives you autonomy. Can’t you infiltrate the city? Bring down their shields from the inside?”
“No. My men inside are dead. The Howlers know counter-espionage all too well. And the loyalists are as neutered as a logos.”
That puts me in a unique position as I ponder playing yet another stupid game.
He grows suspicious. If anything, undermining Atalantia’s plan puts him on guard. I want him at ease. Get him talking about himself. About something he likes. I try his mother, Gaia, and tell him of my time with her, but he replies very little, and grows somewhat defensive. The figurines—they’re the only thing here without utility. I stand and approach them. The detailing is impressive, as is the variety of subject. There are a few Golds, but most are lowColor. I pick up one of a Red woman.
“That one is called Daedre,” he explains. “We became familiar on the outskirts of Olympia. Tough woman.”
“For a Red?”
“Tough woman.”
“Are they trophies?”
