Iron Gold

  She stands over Cassius and allows him one last honor. My friend crawls to his knees. Pauses there, gathering his breath, and with a groan manages to gain his feet. Dazed, he looks around the arena, lost until his eyes desperately find me. He gives me one last smile.

  One of thanks because he thinks that I have let him die for his cause.

  But I watched Aja die. I watched Grandmother die. And I did nothing but huddle in fear. I stayed silent and obeyed when Cassius said follow because I was afraid by crossing him I would lose him and be alone. Here at the end of the worlds, in the belly of a mountain surrounded by enemies, what is left to fear?

  I will not watch any longer.

  I launch myself from my seat, sailing in the low gravity over the heads of the Golds beneath me to land on the white stone of the killing floor just outside the circle. Seraphina turns around at the sound, stunned. I hold out my hands to the guards, showing I have no weapons.

  “Don’t…” Cassius slurs.

  “I won’t let them kill you.”

  “Do not step into the Circle,” Seraphina growls. “You have no right to this fight. His crimes are his alone.”

  I turn to face Dido and the host of Raa.

  “I have every right.”

  I let the Martian drawl molt away from my voice like a tattered cloak to reveal my Hyperion heart beneath, and for a moment, I feel proud to represent the City of Light here, so far from home. Luna may never have been perfect, may never have been as noble as I thought it was as a boy, but it gave peace for seven hundred years. I tire of apologizing for it, of being afraid of my own heritage.

  My days of running and hiding behind others are finished.

  I will no longer fear my name.

  “My name is Lysander au Lune,” I bellow into the cold room.

  I did not know what weight my name still had, but the seismic tremors that now shake the room bring chills to my flesh and deep, powerful pride. Hate my grandmother all they like, the blood in my veins came from Silenius the Lightbringer—greatest of our kind. It is the myth of my ancestors these people wrap themselves in. The first Raa elected Silenius Sovereign. They bowed to him, as did all Raa thereafter until this generation. Seraphina almost drops her razor. Her jaw hangs open. Dido curses under her breath and leans back in her seat, unable to comprehend it. Diomedes stands, a look of childish awe on his grave face.

  Cassius watches in silence, his heart breaking in his chest.

  “I am the blood of Silenius the Lightbringer, son of Anastasia, son of Brutus, grandson of Lorn au Arcos the Stoneside, and Octavia the Sovereign of Man. I was born upon the Palatine, west of Hyperion, at the heart of Luna and the City of Light. I may know little of the Rim, but even in the heart of empire, they spoke of the honor of House Raa. Of the Moon Lords, chief among them the Ionian Golds. Where has it gone? Has it deserted you? Has it fled after the tremors of war? You may have lost it, forgotten it, but I have not forgotten mine. And my honor will not let me sit idly as this travesty unfolds.” I feel Cassius’s agony, but I cannot look at him.

  “Your bloodfeud is sated by any measure. The Bellona have been wiped from the face of the worlds. Do not fall prey to the very cannibalism that allowed the Rising to flourish. This man, this Gold, is not your enemy. I am not your enemy. The Slave King is.” I turn in a cold fury to Dido. “Bring me the safe.”

  WE PULL OUT OF THE RAIN onto the fiftieth floor of an abandoned building on the outskirts of a reconstruction zone. I turn off the music and look out through the windshield. Lights glare down from the level above. Exposed electrical lines and ventilation tubes snake through the building. In his chrome suit and a black high-collared duster, Gorgo waits in a grand old dilapidated green armchair beside an industrial lift, smoking burners. Purple smoke slithers in a halo around his gigantic head.

  “Never thought I’d be happy to see him,” I say to Volga, but I don’t get out of the car.

  “Will they honor the contract?” Volga asks. I check the account. Twenty-five million sits in the balance, put there when the operators confirmed we had the prize. We get the rest on delivery.

  “Don’t know.”

  “You told the others they would.”

  “No shit. What else would I say?”

  I look back into the passenger compartment. The prizes are twitching under the plastic tarp. The anacene is wearing off. Hyperion is about to be thrown off its axis. The Syndicate is making a play. Can’t even begin to guess what they want. But I wish I could see Lionheart’s face when she finds out. She pardoned Gold rapists, slavers, murderers. Now comes the bill for stabbing the rest of us in the back. And she’ll find, as the rest of us have, that she can be touched by this war as well.

  I should feel driven by righteousness, but instead I feel dirty sitting here with my human cargo. A man has to have a code. When did mine begin to include kidnapping children?

  “They can’t very well break their own rules,” I say, trying to convince myself.

  “Are they broken if no one knows?” Volga asks.

  “When did you become a philosopher?”

  “I am wise. You are smart. This has always been our way.” She sets a comforting hand on my shoulder.

  “You stay here, wise one. I can carry them myself.” I get out of the car. Volga follows. I look at her and she looks back willfully. “All right, together then.”

  “Yes, together.”

  We haul the prizes out of the car. I lean in and lift the bag off Lyria’s head, positioning myself so that Gorgo can’t see her hidden in the back. “Remember, rabbit. Silence is golden.” I set the bag back and leave her in the car. I let Volga carry both the prizes over her shoulders to Gorgo. He stands as we approach, eclipsing me by more than a foot and a hundred kilos. His black shark eyes drift back and forth between us and the prizes.

  “Right on schedule. The Duke awaits.” He puts out his burner and motions for us to stop. “No weapons.” I put my pistol on the chair and Volga sets her plasma rifle down. Gorgo pats my arms, torso, balls, and legs with his huge hands.

  “You enjoying that?” I ask.

  Wordless, he slides the stiletto out of my boot and takes four more knives out of Volga’s jacket. “Really?” I ask her. She shrugs. Gorgo finds two more knives in her boots and an acid shooter strapped to her calf. He stacks these with our other weapons and seems amused by the collection. “Little crow likes toys. Would you like to be one of mine?” She ignores his predatory smile.

  With the children in tow, we take a lonely lift up to the fifty-second floor, where the Duke waits for us amongst a host of Syndicate thorns. They stand in the shadows of the half-constructed highrise, light from their burners catching on jewelry, platinum smiles, and chromejob eye implants. At the far side of the floor, a sleek luxury yacht rests outside on one of the highrise landing pads.

  The Duke applauds as we approach. “A debt was owed. A debt is paid!” He wears a jet-black asp skin jacket with long, calf-length tails. His lipstick is violet tonight and he sits behind a plastic table with a steaming pile of half-eaten crab claws and two bottles of wine.

  “Punctual. Well dressed. And devastatingly handsome. My dear Ephraim. You are a treasure.” He eyes Volga. “You brought a bodyguard this time. How precocious of you.”

  “She’s luggage detail.”

  The three Obsidian men behind him stare at Volga. All are ice Obsidian, probably ex-legion, and wear dusters and their bright white hair long and unbound. The biggest is a head taller than Volga and has emerald piercings in his chin. He grinds the haft of a chrome pulseAxe into the concrete floor.

  “The prizes, as agreed upon,” I say flatly. The night’s exhausted me, Dano’s death robbing me of any humor. Volga hands over the prizes to two thorns, who lay them down on the table. The Duke pulls the hoods off the children’s faces and coos to himself.

  “My, my, my. The Queen will be pleased. See, I told you, Gorgo. He’s pure quality. Syndicate material.” Gorgo shrugs. “Gorgo here did not think you wer
e up to the task. He thought you would run. Fly to Earth, Mars, but no, I said. A man’s reputation is his life’s work. It is all he has. And you have lived up to yours. That gravWell…” He shudders. “Patent Ephraim ti Horn.”

  He looks down at the children, focusing on Pax.

  “Hello, little prince.” He bends to inspect the boy more closely. “You may call me dominus.” He rears back and slaps the boy across the face. Volga twitches. A red welt forms on Pax’s cheek. “Weep.” He slaps him again. “Weep.” Pax stares on at him, trying to be brave. “Weep.” The Duke’s voice loses the affected polish bit by bit, till it sounds like an animal inside him is trying to escape. “Weep. Weep. Weep.”

  The sight of it disgusts me, but I stay rigidly still, afraid.

  “My Duke…” Gorgo says. The Duke looks up at him, murder in his eyes. Gorgo stares back evenly but says nothing more. The Duke slaps Pax again and tears finally leak out of the boy’s eyes. The Duke shudders with pleasure and tucks back the pink locks of hair that have fallen over his eyes. He takes a teardrop on the tip of his finger and licks it off with his eyes closed. “Tastes like justice.”

  His men laugh. Volga’s trembling with anger. Poor girl looks like she’s going to lurch forward and strangle the man. I shake my head at her, but her eyes are fixed on the Duke.

  The man’s voice softens to a coo as he bends to stroke Pax’s face. “There, there, little prince. Do not weep. Shhh. Consider me an ambassador, welcoming you to the real world. The rest of us have been here for some time. But do not worry. You’ll soon learn the rules.” He turns to his thorns. “Put them in my yacht. No rough play. We mustn’t damage the Queen’s merchandise. She has quite a plan for them.” The men haul the children up and take them away. Volga’s eyes follow them till they disappear into the ship.

  “Apologies,” he says, the polish back. “At the root, I am a creature of severe passion.”

  “I expect the rest of my payment now,” I say, eyeing the thorns behind me. They’ve crept closer. My voice sounds dead even to my ears.

  “Yes. Yes.” He makes a dismissive gesture to a thorn. My datapad vibrates as the funds transfer.

  “Thank you,” I say, checking the number. “It’s been a pleasure doing business.”

  “That’s it?” the Duke asks, raising his plucked eyebrows. “Am I a payday so summarily dismissed? I thought our fraternity ran deeper. I even saved you a bottle of La Dame Chanceuse. I was hoping we could drink it together.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now. A toast to a success for the ages. A triumph for the little men.”

  “It’s been a long night. I’m not thirsty.”

  “My darling Ephraim, where did the rogue go? Where is the bluster, the charisma? Dirty deeds deserve sweet reward.” His fingers run along the edge of the bottle. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think your scruples were rankled.”

  “You hired a professional,” I say. “If you want a social companion, I suggest you call up some Pink entertainment. I hear they’re splendid company.” His smile disappears. “Thank you again for your time, my good Duke.” I turn to leave. Volga doesn’t turn with me.

  “What will you do with the children?” she asks.

  No. No. No. I turn back around. The Duke’s eyebrows float upward. “It speaks.”

  “She’s passionate too,” I say. “Means nothing by it. Come on, Volga.”

  “Not at all!” The Duke beams. “It’s a fair question for the curious crow after all the sweat and ill deeds. What if I told you I was going to give them to the big brutes behind me to play with as I was played with my entire life?” the Duke asks. “What would you do?” Volga doesn’t answer. “What if I said I was planning to feed them to ants? What response would that elicit? Violence, perhaps?” He smiles. “Yes, I think so. Morality is a dangerous thing for a thief to possess in company such as this.”

  I pull Volga’s arm. Would be easier to tug on a house.

  I’m about to say something when a pipe clanks behind us near the stairs beside the elevators. The thorns wheel around with their weapons as a bolt of red hair disappears down a stairwell. The Duke snaps his fingers and his Obsidians are loosed. Their long legs cover the distance in two breaths and they fly down the stairs. My blood runs cold. You stupid girl.

  Gorgo blocks our path to the elevators.

  “Did you bring company?” the Duke asks me.

  “No.”

  “Are you certain? There are motion detectors on all the entrances. Your flier was the only one allowed in. Who did you bring with you?”

  “No one. My crew’s gone to ground.”

  “Sit.” I’m about to object, but Gorgo shoves me into the chair in front of the table. Two Obsidians wrestle Volga down. One shoves an industrial laser cutter in front of her face. The red beam wavers close to her eyes. She goes still. In the distance, we hear the muffled sounds of scorchers going off. I feel myself darkening.

  I let a rabbit into the wolf den. Now they tear her apart.

  The Duke waits, staring at me, a single vein pulsing under his right temple, until one of his Obsidians returns. I hold my breath at the sound of boots approaching. When the man finally comes to the Duke’s table, I can breathe. Miraculously, he’s empty-handed.

  “It was a ruster,” he rumbles. “She escaped.”

  The Duke stares at him. “A. Red. Escaped. You. Belog?”

  “We had her cornered. She dove into a ventilation shaft. She’s likely pulp.”

  “A ventilation shaft?”

  “We could not fit. It led down. Harald and Hjerfjord hunt. They will bring her head back by its bone tail.”

  The Duke continues to stare at the brute until the Obsidian lowers his eyes in fear. He glances plaintively to the other Obsidians, but there’s no pity in their arctic eyes.

  “I am…disappointed in you, Belog.”

  “Yes, lord.”

  “Do you know what the Queen would do if she were disappointed?”

  The Obsidian glances at Gorgo, who is baring his crescent of gold teeth. “Yes, lord.”

  “Fortunately, I know how difficult it is for a bear to catch a mouse. So many holes for them to run to. So I will forgive you, but I fear a debt is now owed. How will you pay?”

  The Obsidian looks forlorn; slowly he extends his left hand. The Duke slaps it lightly. “The left. Very good. How old was the girl?”

  “Young. Twenty winters.”

  “Distinguishing features?”

  “She wore a tuxedo.”

  “A tuxedo.” The Duke looks at me, then back at the Obsidian. “Go help your brothers, Belog.” The Obsidian bows and rushes back to the stairs, disappearing into the shadows. The Duke turns to Gorgo. “Wake the baron of this neighborhood. Criminsky, isn’t it?” Gorgo nods. “Put out a bounty on a Red bitch wearing…” He looks at me again. “A tuxedo.”

  Gorgo steps away. The Duke looks back to me, tapping his lacquered nails on the table. “I am also disappointed in you, Ephraim….”

  “She’s not—”

  One of the Obsidians slaps my right ear. But a slap from one of them is like getting a door slammed on your head. I pitch sideways to the ground for the second time of the night. They straighten me back in the chair. “Who was she?” the Duke asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you lying to me? I do hate liars.”

  “Why the bleeding hell would I bring someone else here?” I shake my head so I can see straight. “I know the rules….”

  “Yet you broke them. I said only bring your team. And you didn’t even bring all of them. As if you were afraid of me. As if I wouldn’t keep my word! As if I need to lie!”

  “I never bring my team to a drop.”

  He looks at Volga in amusement. “Except your luggage hauler. But do not fret; since you took it upon yourself to disobey me, I took it upon myself to help you follow the rules.” Gorgo returns from his call dragging a woman behind him. It is Cyra. They’ve brutalized her. Face one large con
tusion.

  Volga lunges forward. An Obsidian slams Volga in the back of her head with the haft of one of their axes. She goes woozy and tries to get up. He and another thorn kick her legs out and stand on her back so she’s belly-down on the floor. “Volga, stop,” I tell her numbly. The Duke watches me with neutral expression.

  “Is this how the Syndicate treats its contractors?” I say.

  “No. I am no slaver. Respect is given until a debt is owed.” The Duke smiles. “After all, what is a man without a code?”

  Cyra looks up at me helplessly through the swollen mess of her face. I never liked her, not that I liked Dano that much more, but it makes me sick what these psychos have done to her.

  “Let her go. She’s done nothing to you.”

  “On the contrary, she has betrayed a friend of mine.”

  “Who?”

  His eyes glitter. “You, darling.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Your friends are cheap,” Gorgo says. “I approached the Red man, but this one…she came to me of her own volition. Offering to spy on you, for money. Every smoke. Every drink. She scurried to me and chittered in my ear like a little, greedy pet wanting a snack and a pat on the head. Wants to be a thorn, this one.”

  Cyra can’t meet my eyes, and I feel sick knowing it is true.

  “You were our friend,” Volga says to her.

  No, she wasn’t.

  “I assume the Red girl you brought from the ship was your insider?” the Duke asks. “Lyria of Lagalos. The one you fooled into carrying Kobachi’s drone?”

  I never wanted the Syndicate to know about Lyria. Cyra did tell them everything.

  “Yes.”

  “And then you saved her life? Your professionalism is suddenly quite indicted, Ephraim.” There is no smile on his face now. “Why save her?”