“But—”
“Ilium is a warzone. It’ll soon get worse, and Fá’s not long for this world. Helios and all the might of the Rim is coming for him. Are you a soldier, Lyria?”
“No,” I admit.
“Then you really don’t want to be there…”
“It’s because I’m a Red, ain’t it?”
His eyes flash with anger, and then soften just as suddenly. His voice softens too. “Lyria, I know the spirit of Reds. I know it well enough to know a Red’s spirit is not in her armor or her size or her experience.” He sighs. “Listen, Virginia sent me your dossier. I know what happened to your assimilation camp. I know what happened to your family. The camps never became what we wanted them to. I am sorry for it.”
“I ain’t yours to protect,” I snap harder than I mean to. “Now you listen. I don’t want your sorry. Volga is my best friend. She’s my only friend. She gave herself to Fá to protect Mars. Everyone just let her. I don’t blame them, but she’s got no one. I know what that’s like. I promised I’d get her back. She’s got no one else to fight for her. Don’t you care at all? Ain’t she the true heir of Ragnar? Don’t that matter to you? He was your friend. We all know that.”
He grimaces. “I can’t fix everything. If all goes as planned, we won’t even see the Obsidians. Probably just the rubble they’ve left behind. But oddly enough, they’ve given Mars time to breathe. I wish them well in their war against the Dominion, and I wish you well in your travels. Your ship will leave tomorrow at 0500. Go home. Personally, I’d give anything to do that.”
I leave itchy with anger, and feeling small as a tick’s prick. Somehow I thought it’d go different, because he was a Red. Is a Red. Because I’m a Red. Is it because he knows I’m Gamma? I thought he’d see my spirit, my pluck, and pack me in with the rest of the cargo the drones are loading onto his ship. But no. My chance to matter flowed down the drain with the parasite.
* * *
—
Matteo wakes me early the next morning.
I shower and dress in silence. Before I leave the room, I look out through the ovular windows and listen for the last time to the song that seeps through the glass. It was with me throughout my recovery, and I think it will be the only thing I miss from this place.
“You are fortunate. The ship is stocked with cuisine from our own stores. It is run by a sophisticated artificial intelligence named Pilot,” Matteo says as we enter the hangar. A Y-shaped ship waits with its ramp unfurled. On the opposite side of the hangar, Darrow’s black ship undergoes repairs. It looks a little like a pitviper, I think. Light from welding drones casts wild shadows on the floor. “Pilot may lack creativity, as its name implies, but it will return to Mars as efficiently as any human could.”
“What if enemy ships attack us?”
“It will react.”
“What if I try to take the controls?” I ask.
“There are no controls to take. You are superfluous to the functioning of the ship.” And everything else. “It will leave in”—he checks his chronometer—“a half hour. All you need do is lay back, enjoy the ship’s myriad comforts, and you and your fellow passenger will land in Agea thirty-three days from now. Assuming you don’t get shot down or kill each other in transit, that is.”
I stop at the ramp. “My fellow passenger?”
“He’s already inside. Before we say farewell, I wish to thank you, Lyria of Lagalos.”
“For what?”
“A reminder of the beauty of friendship, and that any mob is made up of people, in the end. I’ll look back a little more fondly because of you.” Look back? I’m not sure if I’m insulted or not, but I blush when he sweeps down to kiss both of my cheeks. He smells like heaven and flowers and sunlight.
“Friendship.” I snort. “Darrow and the rest are going to find my friend. And I’m being sent the other way.”
His eyebrows float up. “Indeed. At gunpoint even. Safe journey.” He sweeps toward the hangar exit, whistling a lovely tune.
The hall entry from the ramp leads to the ship’s lounge where a shirtless, tattooed man sits on the floor drinking from a coffee mug. I stare in awe at my fellow passenger.
The Goblin of Mars. Holy bloodydamn shit. I almost run away.
“You’re late,” he rasps.
“What?”
“You’re late.”
“Darrow said the ship wouldn’t leave until 0500.”
“The shit you think we’re waiting on, ruster? Refueling? Clear skies? Naw. You.” He tips his mug at me. He slaps the floor. “Let’s get, Pilot.”
“Negative, passenger Barca. This vessel may not depart until the specified window. We are not the only ones in the asteroid belt. Your demand is declined.”
“Slag that. Let’s go.”
“Negative, passenger Barca. The vessel”—
“Heard you the first time.”
—“may not depart until the specified window.”
Sevro scowls down into his mug. I stand awkwardly until he glares at me. “Whatchu looking at?”
I look at the ceiling and feel stupid. I look back at him. Darrow is all weight and silence. Sevro is like staring into a woodchipper, not sure if it’s coming your way.
“You’re Sevro Barca.”
“So they say.”
“I’m—”
“Don’t care.”
“My name is Lyria of Lagalos.”
“Don’t care. Go do something useful with your mouth.”
He jerks his head toward the commissary. I stay rooted in front of him.
“I wanted to say…” My voice cracks. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. About Ulysses.” His head jerks toward me so fast I flinch back.
“What did you say?”
“Ulysses…he—”
Sevro blinks up at me. “He?”
I stare. Horrified. He didn’t know. Oh gods. I thought he knew. I thought the Sovereign would have told them. I thought he’d know like Darrow knew who I was. Does he know who I am? What does he know? Oh shit. Shit.
“He?” Sevro asks again. A lump forms in my throat. I swallow it down. “He?” Sevro rises to his feet. He’s taller than he looks. Sturdy in frame, lanky with sledgehammer fists. Next thing I know, I’m in the air, dangling from one of those hammer hands as he chokes me. The hand has a skull of a wolf tattooed on it. He’s not cuddly at all. He’s terrifying. I can’t breathe. My feet kick. I see knives in holsters on his belt. Knives on the floor. They’ve sent me home with a monster. I swat at his tattooed arms. It’s like hitting a tree. “He?”
“Your…son…” I manage. “Ulysses.”
Sevro’s grip tightens. He’s going to kill me. My lungs scream for oxygen. White spots dance in my vision. “It’s a boy?” He blinks and loosens his grip. “Why are you sorry?” He shakes me like a rag. “Why?”
I don’t know what he knows, so I just spill my guts.
“I—I was on the Pandora. I was Victra’s prisoner, along with Volga. Fá and his Ascomanni attacked. The ship was lost. We escaped down to Mars with Victra. She was trapped under a tree. We helped her get out, and the three of us tried to get to safety. Victra had the baby before we got clear. I helped best I could. But we were in a fishing village. Thought it was safe. It wasn’t.”