The four of us fall in line behind Sirna, and we merge with a school of Scorps headed downstream. It feels good to swim again, even if it is without water. But it’s harder going from having the whole ocean to explore to being trapped inside an air bubble.
We pick up speed, swimming in sync with the Scorps around us, until we’re a tightly woven team riding an air current we’re creating together. With every corner we round, we shuffle and reposition ourselves; travelers who are exiting cycle to the outermost lane, while those who have a longer journey stay put in the middle.
Their bright colors make Nepturn’s blocky buildings easy to avoid, and their spongy texture is pliant enough that even if a person flew off course and hit a wall, they’d be protected by its plushy pores. Once Sirna starts cycling over to the outer lane, the rest of us follow suit, and moments later, we peel away from the group, toward a blue building taller than the ones surrounding it: the visitors’ burrow.
Scorps are the Zodiac’s innovators; throughout the ages, they have been the inventors of our most groundbreaking and galactically coveted technology. The tech industry on Scorpio is so cutthroat that companies are intensely competitive with each other, making corporate espionage a constant concern—which is why the House operates under extreme conditions of confidentiality. And if there’s anyone a Scorp distrusts more than a fellow Scorp, it’s someone from another House.
Sconcion doesn’t get many visitors because Scorps make it difficult for outsiders to obtain visas. Approved tourists are put up in a city’s visitors’ burrow, where a Strident is assigned as their guide to monitor their movements and limit their access to privileged information.
When we land on the burrow’s rooftop, we stuff our waterwings and fins in lockers; air swimming is forbidden indoors. Up close the structure’s spongy surface feels fuzzy yet sturdy, and random debris—shells, sand, stones—packs its pores. The temperature is refreshingly cooler inside, and we take a lift down to the dining hall in the belly of the building, an enormous room that spans the full floor.
The scent of fresh seafood tickles my nose as a cacophony of voices assaults my ears; even though the burrow isn’t very booked, the hall is swarming with curious locals who want to hear the latest news from other worlds.
Long communal tables line the room. We grab drinks and silverware from a stand by the entrance, then we survey the space until we spot Link and Tyron waving to us from one of the tables near the back wall, the one closest to the hall’s oceanic wallscreen.
As soon as I sit down, a holographic menu pops up in front of me, and I tap to make my selections—grilled blacktail filet with a peppered seaweed salad. When I submit my order, the hologram vanishes.
Link and Tyron already have their meals, but only Link has started eating. “So? See something the rest of us missed, Wandering Star?” he asks through his mouthful of food. “Find another secret message from your boogeyman? Planning to get more of us killed with an encore armada?”
When I open my mouth to answer, he obnoxiously slurps up an octopus tentacle and chews it loudly. Yesterday’s Stanton and Mathias would have jumped in to defend me by now, but they’re different people today, too busy fighting their own demons to shield me from my detractors.
“Ease off, Link,” says Engle, studying me closely. “It’s not her fault the person behind these attacks is messing with her head. She’s just a little girl trying to play a grown-up’s game.”
I glare at Engle, though I don’t get the impression he’s being serious; more than anything I think he’s trying to provoke me into a reaction. And if he’s testing me, that means he hasn’t formed his opinion yet—so I still have the chance to earn his respect.
“Give me your Ephemeris,” I say.
“What for?”
“So I can call my boogeyman.”
Engle’s red eyes widen a fraction, but Link leans forward with interest. Since he and Tyron are from Pelagio, their sallow skin isn’t as translucent as Engle’s, and their eyes are a darker and less striking shade of red.
“My night just got interesting,” says Link, nudging Engle’s arm. “Do it. Give it to her.”
Engle and I are still measuring each other, neither of us willing to look away first. “Why don’t you use yours?” he asks me.
“Don’t have it with me,” I say. When he doesn’t react, I lower my voice. “You’re not scared, are you?”
He cracks a cold smile. “Not scared . . . just wondering what your game is.”
“Thought you said this wasn’t my game. That I’m just a little girl getting played.” I cock my head and arch my eyebrows. “But grown men like you aren’t scared of monsters, because you don’t believe in them. Right?” The lines around his eyes harden, and I know I’m finally getting under his skin. “So pass me your Ephemeris.”
“That’s enough,” says Sirna, who’s sitting to the other side of Engle. He flinches and looks at her suddenly, brows furrowed, and I get the sense she pinched his skin under the table.
Free at last, I lower my gaze and blink. Just then, a shadow falls over me, and I lean back as drones descend on the stone table, dropping off our dinner before flying back to the kitchen.
As I’m chewing my first bite of buttery fish, the enormous wallscreen beside us flickers on, and a holographic newscast begins. “We interrupt your night with breaking news: We’ve just been alerted that an announcement about the Marad is forthcoming from the Planetary Plenum.”
The food slides tastelessly down my throat, and the whole place falls silent at once. I whip my face to Sirna’s, but she doesn’t meet my gaze. What announcement? Why didn’t she mention that there was news earlier?
“Ambassador Crompton’s transmission will begin at any moment,” says the newscaster, “so stay with us as we await this latest update.”
A montage of recycled news packages begins to play as the station fills the airtime. “The Marad first came on the galactic scene by instigating and later escalating the conflict between Sagittarians and migrant workers from Lune”—another Scorp waterworld—“but as our network was first to report, the Wayfare Treaty has at last quelled that conflict. So where did the army go after Sagittarius?
“The Marad—allegedly made up of Risers—brought its savagery to the others Houses, including our own, when they sabotaged the air supply in Oscuro, killing dozens of our people.” I glance at Engle’s downcast face, and as his hand clenches into a fist, I wonder if he lost someone in the attack.
“Given the random and inconsistent nature of their strikes, it’s impossible to know what they’re truly after. They’ve hijacked hostages and cargo from ships all across Zodiac Space, assassinated Elders on House Aquarius, set off explosions on Leo, blown up part of the Zodiax on Tierre, and, most recently, targeted Piscene planetoid Alamar, which fell victim to a technological strike that knocked out their communication grid and shut down their network for nearly two galactic months.”
The screen cuts back from the montage of images to the somber-faced newscaster. “And now, silence. But have they finished with us, or are they planning their next attack? With no enemy to battle, and no new violence to point the way, how can our Zodai protect us? And how much longer must we hold our breath, waiting for our leaders to tell us what they know? This reporter believes if we don’t breathe soon, we will drown.”
New footage starts playing of an Ariean Zodai University student a few years older than me named Skarlet Thorne.
“New voices are emerging in our leaders’ silence,” says the newscaster as we watch the stunningly beautiful Skarlet speaking at a rally on Phobos, the Ariean planet where the Marad was first discovered. Zodai from all over the Zodiac have been scouting the location in the hopes of finding clues.
Skarlet’s clear, strong voice rings over the gathered crowd of Ariean Academy and University students. “If it’s true the Marad is comprised of Risers, then we alread
y know what they want. It’s what we would all want were we in their position: acceptance.”
Even though I’ve seen this news clip before, I can’t help nodding along to her words. Skarlet is one of the rare people proposing empathy for Risers, but unlike Fernanda, who deflects the issue of unbalanced Risers in favor of defending the whole race, Skarlet skirts the politics by narrowing her focus simply to finding a solution. “We’re fighting to defend our homes, but Risers are fighting for their right to have one—”
Skarlet cuts out abruptly, her speech replaced by the image of a forty-something Aquarian man with pink sunset eyes who’s standing beneath a holographic banner bearing all the House symbols. Standing in the background behind Crompton are a handful of Aquarian Advisors.
There’s a small delay while he waits to speak, and then he beams a warm smile before beginning his announcement. “Brothers and sisters across the Zodiac, I come before you on behalf of my fellow ambassadors with happy news following a long season of darkness.
“For months, Zodai from every House have been investigating the Marad’s hideout on Squary. I can now announce that we have found absolutely no evidence of future attacks, beyond the unfinished weapon that is no longer a threat, as it’s currently in our custody. Consequently, today—which is a relative term, as we are scattered across the solar system, leading dozens of different todays—”
Some of the Elders behind him frown and clear their throats, and his smile falters. “As I say, on this day, in House Scorpio, our own Wandering Star, Rhoma Grace, has visited Squary—”
I gasp at my name, and trade startled stares with Stanton and Mathias.
“—and she, too, has found no concrete proof of anything to fear. Therefore, it is with great hope and relief that this Plenum is ready once more to declare Peace in our Zodiac.”
3
I GLOWER AT SIRNA, BUT she keeps her gaze steady on the wallscreen.
I should be used to betrayal by now. And yet, each time it feels like a fresh slap across the face that I never saw coming.
Until this moment I actually thought I was here because the Plenum wanted my insight. I thought Sirna wanted my help. But what they wanted was a mascot.
I hate that Engle was right: Anywhere I turn, I’m stuck playing somebody else’s game.
My stomach seals itself off, and I can’t touch the food on my plate. I know I’ll regret this in the middle of the night when my appetite returns with a vengeance, but I can’t stay near Sirna another moment. She manipulated me, just like the other Ambassadors. This whole time, she’s been using me, and like a fool I thought we were friends.
“Rho, don’t—” starts Stanton, but I’m already standing up.
“I’ll see you upstairs.”
I hear Mathias begin to object, but I move quickly so his words can’t catch up. Each of us has our own room, so I take the lift to one of the burrow’s higher floors, and then I lock my door with the controls on my wristband and drop onto the waterbed.
Rolling onto my side, I stare out the window; from this high up, I have a bird’s-eye view of Nepturn’s colorful buildings that’s occasionally obstructed by schools of Scorps. Since there’s no weather to worry about, the window is glassless, and thin privacy curtains are scrunched up on either side of the opening. The air-cooling technology inside the burrow is powerful enough that the outside humidity doesn’t dampen it.
The window is outfitted with a laser alarm system, which can be activated from my burrow-issued bracelet. The black, rubbery band also controls the room’s locks and lights. The mattress sloshes as I sit up and open my Wave, and once the holographic menus beam out, I call Nishi.
Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t answer. I can rarely reach her anymore. Stan and Mathias keep telling me she needs space to deal with Deke’s death. But what hurts is that no one seems to realize I lost Deke, too.
For five years, Nishi, Deke, and I operated as a single unit. I only left Oceon 6 because I thought I was fighting for a future for all of us. And now, Deke and Dad are gone, Nishi and Hysan are absent, and Stanton and Mathias are ghosts of their former selves.
Wiping away the tears from my eyes, I sigh inwardly, and though I promised myself I wouldn’t, I hail ’Nox.
Some of my tension starts to melt away as my surroundings transform into the familiar glass nose of my favorite ship; at least my automatic access hasn’t been revoked. A tall man with white hair and quartz eyes stands at the helm, his face revealing no surprise at my unannounced arrival.
“Lady Rho,” says the Libran Guardian in his sonorous voice, “how wonderful to see you. I hope Scorpio is treating you well.”
“It is. Thank you, Lord Neith.” My heartbeat races as my gaze greedily scans the space beyond him for a glimpse of Hysan. “How is . . . everything?”
“I’ve been well since our last check-in, thank you for asking.”
After Pisces was attacked, it was Neith who answered the message I sent Hysan and Mathias. The regal android informed me that Hysan would be out of reach for some time but assured me he would stay in touch in his stead.
“Have you come to discuss the Plenum’s misguided Peace declaration?”
“I . . . have,” I admit, and Neith’s perceptive quartz eyes soften with pitch-perfect humanity.
“I understand. You were hoping Hysan would be here to comfort you, yet you’ve found me instead,” he says matter-of-factly. “I realize I’m a poor substitute, Lady Rho, but if I may, I would like to say something.”
I feel the muscles of my face relaxing, and I hear the smile in my voice as I say, “Lord Neith, you are never a poor substitute, and I would love to hear anything you have to say.”
“That is very kind of you.” He bows his head humbly before continuing. “I have always found it interesting that the symbol for Justice is a set of scales; the implication being that to achieve perfect harmony, good and bad must balance each other out. Rather than eradicating one, both must exist in equal quantities.”
“That’s depressing,” I say flatly, remembering how Ochus once said something similar to me. “Why fight the Marad if the outcome can’t change?”
“You fight them for the same reason they fight you—to tip the scales. Yet they hold an advantage over you: They’re already aware that bad must exist alongside good, and they’re equally aware that you don’t want to accept that. Which is why their best strategy is to wear you down, to make you feel small and powerless and alone . . . because once you stop fighting them, they’ll win.”
I feel my head shaking involuntarily. “And how is that fair?”
A laugh—short, bark-like—escapes Lord Neith’s lips. I had no idea androids could laugh. “And who said justice was fair?” he asks, his white teeth sparkling at the look of indignation that must be overtaking my face.
“Is it fair that for millennia most members of the Zodiac have had a home, a family, an identity, while we ignore the ugly fact that the stars like to quietly pluck people from our midst and curse them with a condition without a cure that changes them from the inside out? Is it justice if those cursed souls now band together to retaliate for what their people have endured, and continue to endure, due to the Houses’ ignorance and prejudice and disinterest?”
Neith shakes his head sadly as he goes on. “There can be no universal standard for justice or fairness, Lady Rho, for they are concepts that can only be defined in context; a villain is only a villain from the hero’s point of view. There is no universal right or wrong because there can be no universal judge. Existence is too complicated and nuanced for such simplicity. And that is why the bad must exist alongside the good . . . because to eradicate one is to eradicate both.”
I blow out a hard breath as I process Neith’s revelation. “Then . . . what’s the solution?”
“If one exists,” he says softly, coming around the control helm so there’s nothing between us, “th
en it must be what the wisest among us have known all along.” He towers over me, and I have to arch my neck back to keep my eyes on his. “The only way to have a just society is to remember each other. Down to the last individual, without discounting any person or population, without ignoring people we would rather not see, even those whose values we revile. Do you think this is possible for any civilization to accomplish?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Do you?”
He doesn’t speak, but the expression on his Kartex face is so compassionate that it feels like a reply, even if it’s a non-answer. I guess the question was rhetorical.
Neith’s ideas have left me feeling the way I do after speaking with Sage Ferez, like too many thought bubbles are multiplying exponentially in my head, and soon I’ll run out of space. But before my brain bursts, my heart intervenes, and my mind moves from brilliant Neith to his beyond brilliant creator.
For weeks, I’ve been trying to wall off my memories of Hysan, but my feelings are impossible to forget. And as my heart rarely follows my mind’s orders, it’s now battering my chest, reminding me how much harder it beats in his presence.
“Where’s Hysan?” Every muscle in my body tenses on speaking his name.
“I’m not permitted to say.”
I frown. “We’re supposed to be working together, not playing trust games,” I say, hearing my words growing heated. “I need to know he’s okay . . . and if he’s found out anything that could convince the Plenum to change their ruling and take the master more seriously, he has to share it now. Please, Lord Neith, I really need to know where he is—”
“I’m not permitted to say,” Neith calmly repeats. “I apologize, Lady Rho, I’m not trying to be difficult; I am simply programmed not to relay that information.”