—“the path leads to Venus,” Aurae murmurs. I glance at her. “The wind is oblivious to the obstacles though her path would not be the same without them.” She smiles. “So my book is intact after all, it seems?”
I hesitate again, unwilling to give credit to a book written by people I don’t know given to me by a woman who, while she’s had my life in her hands, I don’t exactly trust.
“It’s not toilet paper yet, no,” I mutter.
Cassius is confused by the exchange. “Were you two in touch these last weeks? You’re acting like you share a secret language all of a sudden.”
“Isn’t that always the case with those who’ve read the same books?” Aurae says with a little mischief. “My people believe only the dust knows the weight of Golden boots better than Reds and Pinks. You know Ares was a hero to my people, Cassius. So is his son. Which is why I will be coming with you, Darrow.”
Cassius looks as if he just got the bar bill for the Howlers after a successful Rain.
“No gorydamn way,” he says.
She frowns up at him. “Did I trade one master for another?”
He blanches. “Of course not. It’s just I…don’t think you quite understand where Darrow is going, or how he goes places, or what he does when he gets there. I’ve been on the other side of the equation…how do I say it? It’s utter carnage.”
“No offense, Aurae, but he’s right,” I say. “The answer is no. Apollonius doesn’t have very many men, it’s true. But the ones he does have eat scorpions for lunch and think whiskey and knife fights are for children. If it turns into a meatgrinder, I’d rather not bring the veal. No offense.”
Aurae uncoils from her seat on the ground. As she stands, she reminds me of a deerling—tall and perilously slender like most Pinks of the Rim. I could crush her ribs and puncture her lungs just by stumbling into her the wrong way in a hall.
“Blame the frailty. Sure. Or we can cut to the quick. You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t know you…”
“Darrow. I am a Raa hetaera. Slave to a house that lives on a molten rock raging with volcanoes, which also breeds dragons and founded the Krypteia. The Krypteia, not just an intelligence agency, but a cult dedicated to murdering anyone who compromises the precious hierarchy. Trust me when I tell you, the Raa do not raise creatures without fangs. If I wanted you dead, you would all be dead. Either from the heartfolly petals I brought with me from the Rim, ground down and dusted into the oats I served you when you were crammed in the halls of the Archimedes. Or sleeping in your bunks here breathing the air from the radiation filtration center on level seven b.”
Cassius and I exchange a worried look.
Her eyes are sympathetic. “You read the book, but still you struggle against the path. That is your nature I suppose.” She sighs. “But I am not veal. Veal can’t fly. Thanks to Cassius, I am now very familiar with the running of the Archimedes. You two will need an escape pilot to stay behind when you and Cassius board the dockyards.”
Cassius shakes his head. “Aurae—”
She raises her eyebrows in challenge. “I remember what you told me before I helped you escape from Europa. Do you?”
He clenches his jaw. He’s not used to being held to the fire by a Pink, much less a Pink he’s so obviously in love with, one who is so obviously not in love with him. He makes a grand show of his surrender. “Once more unto the breach, it seems.”
She squeezes his arm. “This is your path too, Cassius. The one you want to walk. Remember?” He nods. “I have provisions I’d like to collect before we leave. I will meet you two back here shortly.” When she’s gone, Cassius runs a hand through his hair. “That woman.”
“You don’t even like Sevro,” I note.
“No, and I imagine he’s aged as well as Mercurian milk in summer.”
“What did you tell Aurae then? Before she helped you on Europa.”
He flops down into a chair and fondles his drink. “You know, I’ve always been a weaker man than I’d like to admit, Darrow. That’s my charm.” He sloshes his drink about. “Truth is, I bear tremendous guilt for the man I was before all this.” I snort. “Don’t. I can put up walls too.” I let him talk. “I’ve always wanted to be a decent man, Darrow. But…well, I lacked the will to make the necessary sacrifices. I was a coward.
“The raw truth is, I liked my wealth. I…liked my Pinks. I liked being on top. A Bellona. I felt the wrongness of it, but I excused it. Said it was the way of the worlds. Pretended I wasn’t the boot on the throat of the Reds or the Pinks. I made myself believe my honor made me an exception. One of the ‘good’ tyrants. Honor was made to hide behind, I think. Like a crown, or an Olympic cape.” He grimaces. “I know now I was…only a more tolerable source of misery. If I am honest, that’s why I spent ten years traipsing around the asteroids with Lysander, doing small good when and where I could.
“I wanted to come back a long time ago. But I was afraid, Darrow. Afraid of how people would look at me. Afraid of the hate I’d see in their eyes—and I do see it—because I know they’re right to hate me. Wearing that Olympic cape, I killed Ares. Fitchner. A man worth ten of me. I was running from that guilt, that hate.
“So I fled. Further from home than I’d been before, and you know what I found? I found that hate—the hate I ran from for ten years—waiting for me in the eyes of the first woman I think I’ve ever really loved. She doesn’t love me. But that’s all right. She’s a mirror, I think. It helps keep me straight. For her part, Aurae tolerates me because I swore an oath.”
“What oath?”
“To pay back the debt I owe to the lows for killing their deliverer, Ares. I told you. She’s a sympathizer. It’s why she helped me. Because I helped you kill Octavia. Now I can’t bring Ares back, but I can fight for his cause, for the Republic, and I will help you save his son.” His eyes flick to me. “So please tell me you’re not planning to duel Apollonius.”
“You know me. I never fight fair if I can help it.”
“A simple exfil mission then. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Minimal carnage. Swear it.”
“Minimal carnage,” I say.
His eyes narrow. “And we’ll have an exit strategy?”
“Yes. Dominus Portobello,” I say.
“Huh?”
“Screwface named him after finding him in the armory, growing in the dark.” I go to open a kitchen cabinet and return with a heavy load wrapped in a towel. I toss it to Cassius. He unwraps the towel to reveal a black sphere the size of an ostrich egg with a smiling, fanged face drawn onto it. He sighs.
“Darrow, this is a thirty-megaton atomic warhead.”
I smile. “He has a big personality.”
“Well, then Apollonius should love him.”
* * *
—
With rucksacks of gear slung over our shoulders, Cassius and I head for the hangar. Aurae trails on behind. The halls are suspiciously deserted, even for so late in the base’s night cycle. When we enter the hangar, we discover why. Our way to the shuttle is barred by all my remaining men. Thraxa, Harnassus, and Screwface stand out ahead of them, marshals of this latest insurrection.